Front crawl, back crawl, Croxby Crawl

How I love to swim and even more so now my poor legs are being subjected to so much mileage.  It is definitely the closest thing to flying for me. Gliding through the water is bliss.  However back stroke is proving a bit of a problem at the moment due to this nose gubbins I've still got going on after all that illness at Christmas.  One drop of water down the back of the nose and I'm rearing up like a squid-on-fire.  That gets the lifeguards going I can tell you. Went to see the doc about it and also to get this medical certificate signed.  To race in France you need a special form signed and stamped by a doctor - no form, no race it's as simple as that.  If you think I'm going to do all this training only to get to Paris and be turned away.... Anyway fortunately all is well and I've also got this spray to use so fingers crossed I might see the back of it at last.

On Saturday with the club we did the Croxby Crawl.  I have mentioned this before but basically it is 4.4 miles of hilly hell. As one person pointed out 'It never gets any easier'.  Too right.  Anyway it was a lovely day, cold but sunny.  I ran it all and didn't walk any of the hills though the temptation was high.

And so on to yesterday. The long run.  16 miles was required but it's best not to think about that when you set off.  It goes something like this.  First 3-4 miles ... oh this is ok... what a nice day ... morning! morning!...(leaping like a gazelle)... next 4 miles ... hmmmm think I'll have a jelly baby at mile 6 ... glug ...hello!... looking around at the scenery... is my leg playing up again? ... (scampering like a curious terrier) ... next 4 miles ... stop thinking about the leg ... stop and have a stretch ... glug gluggetty glug ... hi! ... scoff a few jelly babies ... (trotting like someone trying to catch a bus but not wanting anyone to see them running) ... next 2 miles ... silence ... grimacing face ... extend hand occasionally to thank cars for giving me a wide berth ... (autopilot-type commando yomping mode) ... next mile ... maybe I'll cut it a bit short today ... don't you dare! ... feeble grin at passer-by ... glug ... silent screams of agony ... final mile ... barking 'come on! come on!' at yourself while no-one is around ... glance at the watch every 0.1 of a mile... try not to trip over your own feet ... will yourself to get there ... 16 miles! Hooray! Drop at the side of the road and lie there like a dead badger in the kerb.    Oh it's just like reading Mo Farah's biography isn't it?

All in all feeling pretty good.  Thank heaven for compression tights, no aches and pain today unbelievably.