Pride comes before a fall

So the Market Rasen 10k was a triumph.  Yes it was freezing cold.  No it didn't have half the original numbers I'm sure.  Yes it was muddy and difficult underfoot but guess what? A personal best of 57:07.  Oh yes! (Does that sort of stirring dance whilst hopping from one leg to the other).  Thanks to the fantastic support from fellow Caistor Running Club members at the finish.  And one anonymous chap who, on hearing the frantic shouts from my chums, turned around and proceeded to encourage me  through the last 200m and no doubt secured my brilliant time.  The fact that my entire cardio-thoracic system had decided to throw itself out of my heaving chest and across  the finishing line first had little to do with it.  That bottle of water tasted so good!

Doing well in a race creates a kind of personal glow and a sense of smugness.  So when a pal suggested a run a couple of days later I was ready and raring to go.  Perhaps a couple more days of rest might have been advisable. Of course I didn't know that we were going to head up such a steep set of hills.  Nonetheless I was trotting along quite contentedly when I found myself hurtling through the air with my legs well and truly behind me.  Scrabble as they might to try and get back underneath me, my arms flailed out wildly and the tarmac started to loom.  Funny how things appear to happen so slowly, I even had time to note the pattern of diamonds on the tarmac.  Then I managed to lurch sideways towards the grassy verge, resplendent with sharp thorny twigs left behind from the hedgecutting tractor that we had just run past. Oh and did I mention the lorry carrying hay bales that was just passing us on the other side of the road? Basically I hit the verge and the momentum pushed me along a distance.  Like a sack o' spuds. My entire body weight (not unsubstantial)  landing on my right arm and shoulder. Whoooompf! Lying there like a complete idiot.  But not hurt.  Just a little punctured. As I sat up and looked to see what I had fallen over, I spotted the culprit.  A sneaky little root growing out of the verge.  I must have stepped on one end of it and caught my other foot under the loop it had made.  Why I oughta...!

So there's my lesson.  And I am still aching but alas with no real bruises to show for it and garner any sympathy whatever. 

Race is looming

Yes the best way to keep yourself motivated to run is to have a race in the offing.  In this case the Market Rasen 10k this Sunday coming.  It was rescheduled after being cancelled at the end of November due to the hideous storms.  So there it is.  10am I'll be lining up with all the other maniacs (I mean runners) and wondering 'Why O why am I doing this?'.  Of course I know why I'll be doing it - I love it!

So last week I went a bit crazy and did the Croxby Crawl on two occasions and then did The Sting on Saturday. My poor calves and knees after all those hills.  For those not familiar with the Croxby Crawl, think rollercoaster and you might have some appreciation of the route.  As for Caistor's 'Sting in the Tail' - simply run for 5 miles and then just when you feel you can hardly get through the final mile add two killer hills.  Nice. Not.

I think I deserve to treat myself to a leg message.  The old pins need to be in tip-top form.

When I recall the Croxby Crawl there's a near vertical incline at the end called (imaginatively) Heartbreak Hill.  Last time we approached it we passed a group of shooters plus dogs and sundry hangers-on. 'Mornin'  Mornin'' we chirped and then merrily pranced past.  To which I hissed to my pal 'Oh no! We can't walk up it now' and then had to drag ourselves up it regardless.  Oh the agony!