A return to Park Run on Saturday morning. A pesky injury has kept me away from the unforgiving hills of Castle Park in Sunny Colch for over six months. I’ve found this really frustrating. ParkRun on a Saturday morning is what anchors your weekend. It sets you up for what is to come.

I arrived relatively early for me as I cycled my way over to CO1. Relatively early for me is any time between 8:58 and 8:59 ahead of Park Run getting going at 9:00 prompt.

Castle Park looked stunning in the sun. Some of the prim and proper civic flower beds are strangely empty this year. No worries. The rest of the park looked spectacular.

I heard the buzz of pre-ParkRun as I approached the bandstand. Before you turn the corner you can hear the excitement and mutterings building up. It’s similar to the start of play for a Test match.

A friendly greeting came from the stewards. I felt fighting fit. Gosh I’ve missed this.

The numbers were a little down when compared to the winter months. One minute or so into the race that’s not a race and it became clear to me: Christ, the Sunny Colch heat was punishing.

I always get a little confused with the course. I never know if it’s twice or three times around the mill circuit. Your mind can do strange things whilst you are running your arse off. Basic memory seems to evaporate from me.

A young kid pretty much tracked me around the entire 5 km course. We played a friendly game of cat and mouse as I pressed on ahead of him down the slopes, whilst he overtook me on the climbs.

The final stretched-out climb heading back towards the castle was a little too much for me. I tried to catch his tail. I failed. Mr. Chunder came close to making a Saturday morning appearance. Oh dear.

So that’s a return to ParkRun ticked off. The injury held up well. Like a fool I’m now going to be away for another couple of months with self-imposed ink action on my legs.

Live to run, run to live. Or something.

I had a major fashion faux pas whilst out for a run this morning. Actually, the major fashion faux pas took place in the Lidl middle aisle yesterday afternoon. That’s where most of my fashion faux pas have tended to have occurred over recent years.

The Lidl middle aisle is ace for sporting goods. Why pay over the odds for running tops and shorts that you’re only going to sweat your arse off whilst wearing? Simply buy at Lidl, sweat your arse off for a year or so, and then buy and replace. Talk about fast fashion, etc.

And so on Thursday I clocked in the cheapo aisle some UV tops. Great, I thought. These are just what I need to keep the pesky sun rays off my lovely ink sleeves. Even better when the price said two for £6.

I got to the self-checkout. Beep. Beep. That’ll be £12 please. WTF? Always read the small print, always read the correct pricing labels, even in the Lidl cheapo aisle, Jase.

Oh well. All is not lost. I got home and surveyed my recent purchase. Oh Gawd. It turns out that they are actually more aquatic wear rather than outdoor physical running wear.

They look as though they’re designed for an afternoon of splashing around on Clacton Beach rather than pounding the mean streets of C07.

No worries, I thought. As long as that magical UV is working its wonders, I could probably still get away with these as running tops.

Friday morning came and the grand road testing of my aquatic tops that are not really aquatic tops arrived. Christ, they stank. I’m not sure what’s been used in the material to keep them waterproof but it didn’t half pen and ink.

They were bloody tight as well, but I pressed on. Around one minute into the run I was absolutely soaking wet. I was looking a right dick.

At least the aquatic kind of lives up to the tagline; although they didn’t keep the water out, they certainly kept the water within.

Hey hoe. We live and learn, even in the Lidl cheapo aisle. I’ve had the brainwave of reverting back to what these are supposed to be used for. I go rowing; I go kayaking. Occasionally I even go paddle boarding. Maybe a Lidl cheapo aisle aquatic top is labelled for what its intended purpose is.

A return to the 10 km estuary running route on Thursday morning. Woh, I have bloody missed this. At a push it’s my fave running route - and yep that even trumps the well-trodden and well-tested King of Clapham Common.

My calf injury has kept me away from the 10 km since last September. I managed a 9 km route around the University at the weekend. What’s another extra 1 km? Surely I can manage this?

The heat was already building by the time of my mid-morning run. This led to an interesting aroma down by the estuary, as the baking mud was starting to evaporate off all the other shit that it collects.

I passed the army of nursery pram pushers by the sailing club. The girls do a great effort in getting their little ankle biters out and about. It looks bloody hard work as they double up with pairs and often triplets of prams.

The tide was low. Parts of the trail were overgrown. I wanted to take it easy so as not to have any scratchings on my legs ahead of another heavy ink session, which is imminent.

I reached the Creek. The field had a dozen or so sleeping cows. It looked quite the life.

I took it easy on the back leg of the route towards Alresford. 10 km was crossed off in what was a semi-decent time.

I’m back!

A big old run to start Sunday morning. There were blue skies up above and I had miles in my legs, or make that kms in my legs. I’m a metric continental type of guy.

I did look an absolute running dick though. Not only did I have the compression long socks on, I also had my stupid sweatband. As ever I feel the need to explain with the disclaimer that this is there for practical purposes and not vanity. It keeps the AirPods in place and acts as a useful covering strap for my oversized ears.

Like a fool I chose to head out on the same route where I first experienced the injury that has taken me the longest ever to recover from. It’s not the most adventurous route but it is relatively quiet and is on flat pavement. I am no fan of cross country running.

The route involves heading through the town towards the University and then down towards The Hythe for a quick turn around. Then we do it all again for the reverse route.

Trying to distract me from being a hypochondriac with more injury concerns was the ever excellent KLate Junction in my AirPods. It’s such a magical listening especially first thing in the morning. I do love the paradox of Late Junction in the morning.

On the return leg for the University a game of cricket was already starting. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m. yet. SHOUT OUT to the committed two teams who were pitching up in all white.

This was very much a run all about distance rather than pace. I was reminded of this closer to home when the renowned Wivenhoe Flyer sped past me without blinking.

Run to live, live to run.

I woke up early on Saturday morning, fighting fit and all set for a return to ParkRun. I was getting my arse in gear and had the last-minute thought of: Hey! Let’s check the Colchester ParkRun Facebook page to make sure everything is tickety-boo.

Arse, Sunny Colch ParkRun is not taking place this morning. There’s the annual nonsense of people firing off big cannons in celebration of some old duffer. Not my King, etc. It’s not even his proper birthday. Cheers, Charlie.

It felt like the perfect early June morning outside. There is no such thing as a perfect early June morning these days. I’ve got it lodged in my memory from some long-distant late 70s past of how a June morning should feel: fresh but bright with blue skies. Betcha it pisses it down by midday.

The mean streets of CO7 were relatively quiet. I did clock Mr B, who was also out pounding the pavements. I think he was on route to the allotment. Good effort fella.

I felt as though I had the legs and the fitness to press on a little further than the usual 5 km recovery route. I really want to get back into the swing of running 10 km all the way around the estuary circuit, but I live in fear of another calf ping! moment. Instead I tagged on an extra couple of km or so. Build it up slowly, Jase.

And so a decent run. I really wish I could have completed a ParkRun once again. In the end I went a little more than the ParkRun 5 km, clocking in 6.9 km at under 5 min/km. Happy with that.

Run to live, live to run.

I was later than I usually like to be for a bit of a Weird Wid Waddle on Friday afternoon. Usually if it’s past midday then I can’t be arsed to run. Various other commitments kept me away from pounding the mean streets of C07 a little earlier.

It wasn’t quite Mad Dog’s and Englishman weather, but the Estuary Wild’s rays were starting to heat up. I was a little restricted in trying to pick up the pace and clock a new PB. I wasn’t wearing my fancy Lidl carbon trainers.

It all felt good with regards to my on-off injury. I think the ridiculous high compression running socks are actually working. I’m threatening a return to park run in the morning.

A very wet run in the Weird Wiv rain on Thursday morning. I do like my alliteration. Maybe I could fiddle with Strava and make it a very wet run in the Weird Wiv rain on Wednesday.

I was free at 11:00 am. The drizzle started at 11:05 am. By the time I’d got my arse in gear at 11:10 am, the drizzle had become something a little more substantial. The very clever weather app, that is often quite stupid, tells me the situation wasn’t going to improve. Just bloody do it, etc.

Once I was out there it was so-so. I’m trying to make the most of running whilst fitness and ink commitments allow me. I’m anticipating a two-month layoff due to more vanity ink-induced body modifications coming up. The two-month break will actually be quite useful in terms of my on-off hypochondriac calf injury.

I headed toward the top of the town and then back down towards the quayside. It was most grey out along the estuary. No one else was making the most of the light drizzle.

I had a few lace malfunctions for the final stretch. Arse. That really pissed me off. I never like stopping whilst I’m out running.

Run to live, live to run, but not whilst the vanity ink is healing.

Push it, push it real good. I pushed it real good for the run on Tuesday lunchtime. I ummed and aahed over whether to set off and pound the mean streets of C07. Today is new bike day. New bike day is the best day. I’m waiting for delivery of my new electric model. To run or not to run? If in doubt just bloody do it.

I reasoned that I could spare 20 minutes out of my stay-at-home day to get in a quick lap of Wivenhoe. Always back yourself with these kind of odds, Jase.

As ever, I’m still unsure about the calf injury that may or may not still be an actual injury. The plan was to take it easy. But I can never take it easy when out running.

After the first minute or so I started to panic about new bike day and my shiny new toy arriving. Time to put my foot down on the Lidl cheapo carbon running shoes and leg it around the town as fast as I could.

I felt really strong on the downward slope, heading down the High Street. Three friendly waves of familiar faces took place. I often think other people must think me most strange when out running. All those endorphins kick in and you’ll smile at any old fucker. Maybe they just think I’m strange anyway?

Fifteen minutes earlier and there had been a torrential downpour around the estuary wilds. Now I was down by the quayside under glorious blue Big Essex skies. I pounded it like a demon along the quayside front.

I think I’m about ready for a return to parkrun, although I did feel the same this time last week and bottled it last Saturday. Here’s hoping the new bike has arrived by the weekend.

The aim for the run on Thursday, as ever, was to beat the rain. I set off under bright blue Estuary Wilds skies. I returned with a darkened gloom spreading over the town.

This was a pacey run. I increased my speed significantly compared to yesterday. I’m still very much off the pace when compared to where I was pre-injury. I’m turning into the Dot Cotton of the Estuary Wilds.

Elsewhere, and it was fairly uneventful with little to see. The best it got was a comedy moment with a middle-aged couple fighting a losing battle in trying to keep their umbrella erect. It collapsed within and almost swallowed them whole.

I had a few twinges when I returned, not so much the calf muscle itself, but on my ankle where I think I pressed it a little hard. I admit to relying on the comfort of the Bionic Lidl running shoes.

There’s optimistic talk of a return to parkrun at the weekend. That’s going to go well, right? I always approach parkrun with the mentality that it’s not a race. But then you get sucked into the herd and the adrenaline takes over.

I expect this to be one of my final running updates as I succumb to yet another bloody parkrun injury and have another six months of no running.

Live to run, run to live.

Plans for a swim on Wednesday morning were abandoned due to the bloody Estuary Wilds rain. I’m limited to which bicycles I can use right now. There’s no way I’m getting my Brompton wet for anyone, swim or no swim.

And so a run instead. I didn’t really feel up for it. I never really feel up for it. Just put on your Fores top and go and pound those mean streets of C07, Jase.

I did. The Forest top was something of a surprise. I’m finding long-lost Forest kits following the flat move that I had no idea I actually owned.

My clothing attire of choice this morning, I think, is more of a training top than any match day kit. It had the classic Umbro design, which I feel like I’ve earned as part of my birth rate after sticking with Forest during those mid to late 80s Trent End days.

The run itself was all about beating the rain. Twenty minutes later, my object had been achieved. It started to spit ever so slightly down by the quayside. This was my signal to get a shifty on.

The WFH fella down by the quayside was standing proud by his front window, as ever. He has the best work seat in the house. He stands in front of his screen most of the day, looking out and dreaming beyond the Estuary Wilds. Nice work if you can get it.