Another day, another run, another calf that went ING! You bloody idiot.
And so I’ve been enjoying the past three days doing some hardcore serious running on the indoor treadmill. It’s the coolest place to run during these balmy days, with the whole gym floor being air-conditioned to absolutely lush proportions.
I also like the challenge of a treadmill. I can pre-programme it to do the exact same workout that I was doing back in my Brixton Rec days in 1995.
Still got it, Comrades, still got it.
Except I haven’t. I was doing all fine for the first 10 minutes at a gradient of 5% and an average speed of 10 km/h. The next stage is always the tricky one. I decrease the gradient to 3% but increase this pace to 13 km/h.
Oh that doesn’t feel too good. Hang on that feels most uncomfortable. Just keep on grinning Jase, you’ll get through this.
PING!
Like a fool I pressed on for the final 2 km to complete the OCD-pleasing 15-minute time trial duration. I did offer a few concessions by not increasing the pace further, as is the case with my old Brixton Rec running schedule.
The only saving grace this time is that it’s my right calf and not my left. It was my left that did me for around nine months with no running action.
The slight irritation I’m now feeling on my right is nowhere near as painful as what went previously on the opposite leg.
My lesson learnt from the last nine months or so is just not to do anything until it’s fully healed. ParkRun is in my favour. Sadly it’s been cancelled tomorrow in Sunny Colch through a lack of volunteers. That seems like a first.
There’s the nonsense of the live music events in the park for the next fortnight, which keeps ParkRun away. I’m optimistic that a three-week running break might be sufficient to sort out this latest ping incident.
Also in my favour is that I’m back in the pool next week. My black ink should have healed after a month since my last tattoo session. I’m also back in the saddle and on the roadie, so there’s plenty of fitness options.
I’m quite looking forward to having an excuse not to go out pounding the mean streets of CO7.