Well, this week went about as wrong as it possibly could’ve.
If you’ve been keeping up with the thrilling, fast-paced and boldly erotic story of my training for the Bristol + Bath Marathon on 25 October, you’ll doubtless recall that I was supposed to be taking part in the Great North Run this weekend just gone, as a kind of warm-up for the main event in five (shiiit) weeks.
Unfortunately/idiotically, I went and injured myself earlier in the week, leaving me not only unable to do the Great North Run, but any running whatsoever. And as I’m supposedly, y’know, running 26.2 miles in what feels like a matter of days, that’s a bit of a worry.
What I’ve gone and given myself is shin splints – and I know it’s shin splints, because the first time I ever got it, back when I first started running, it was so agonising that I actually went to see my doctor with it. And she was all, “Yeah it’s shin splints, and you’re a big idiot” (paraphrasing slightly).
If you’ve never had shin splints, it feels like every time you take a step a white-hot knitting needle is being inserted into your knee, down along your shin and straight into your foot. You wind up walking around like you’ve had some kind of embarassing bum catastrophe.
Like the doctor said, I am an idiot
And it’s all my own fault: I came in the door from a long run, got caught up in an unfolding toddler nuclear-meltdown, and completely forgot to stretch. Woke up in the morning and, right on cue, it was knitting needles down the legs. It’s probably the fifth or sixth time I’ve done this to myself over the last ten years or so. Like the doctor said, I am an idiot.
There’s absolutely nothing you can do about shin splints other than rest your legs as much as possible – even walking is to be avoided, ideally. With the marathon now in sight, I need to be back on my feet ASAP, so I’m currently remaining stationary on my arse at every opportunity. Normally I’d be quite into that, but right now, it’s making me a bit nervous…
High point of the week: The long run that resulted in the shin splits was actually pretty ace. I ran from Chorlton to Manchester Piccadilly station and back again, via Fallowfields and Rusholme. Granted, that won’t mean a thing to you if you’re not familiar with Manchester, so you’ll have to take my word for it: it’s pretty flippin’ far.
Low point of the week: Stupid bastarding shin splints. Obvs.