Sunday was spent icing the knee and celebrating my good fortune at having survived saturday's racing unscathed. Monday was spent managing the gradually increasing hamstring soreness as a result of saturday's racing whilst marvelling at sunday's naivety. Still, as far as an old shite like me is concerned, sore hamstrings are small price to pay for racing a young man's itinerary. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
It's perhaps a cliche that runners must listen to their body, but certainly a truism that the majority will ignore its message. My legs seem to be very heavy and, for want of a better word (or rather for want of an actual word), very lactic-y. I felt as though another quality session would be a bad idea given my upcoming racing so I settled for a long run of about 14 (slow, dead legged) miles at a pedestrian 7:35 pace.
It did get me questioning whether I was perhaps listening too much to my body. Arriving at speculative ph levels in the muscles and then adjusting training based on this nebulous calculation is a step nearer to the cuckoo's nest. Next I'll be farting with a French accent and hearing voices coming from a Polish headstone as a prelude to belting prostitutes on the back of the head with a ball-peen hammer.
Assuming I'm not hauled in for questioning on more serious charges after being caught for an inconsequential traffic violation I'll be racing the 800m and 1500m in the Cambridgeshire County Champs on saturday. My legs better feel a lot different by then otherwise I may as well stay at home.
On reflection a bit of a weird entry m'lud.