I'm a stubborn, silly man.
For the last seven or eight days, I have been so stuffed up with cold that even I have been forced to accept that going out for a run was a stupid idea. I'm now broadly on the mend, although the dregs of what remains of the cold appears to have descended into my lungs, giving me one of those annoying, hacking coughs. We're leaving for Canada on Saturday, and the most important thing was that I was feeling well enough for it not to ruin the holiday. Rest. Rest would be sensible. Play the long game.
So I went for a 5.30 mile run in the freezing cold air with running club. Wearing a dressing-gown*.
Kill or cure, I reckoned.
Well, my lungs felt okay during the run, which was good, but with about a mile to go my knee really started to hurt. You know, the knee I'm supposed to be resting so it doesn't ruin my skiing holiday. This morning it was all stiff and sore.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
Luckily, I had a physio appointment scheduled tonight anyway, and I think it's going to be fine...although I might need another steroid jab or to see a specialist.... Still. For now, I think I got away lightly.
Lesson learned. I really need to know when to stop.
....So after physio, and in spite of the fact that I'd be coughing more or less constantly since I finished running, I went for a swim. After 20 lengths, I realised that I was wheezing and thought I'd probably better stop.
Hmm. Some people just don't learn, eh? Oh, and I've also given my cold to my wife. Ooops.
Still. Nearly there!
* It was comic relief night at running club, and we were all out in our PJs, onesies and dressing gowns. And no, I wasn't about to go running in my new onesie... in spite of popular demand. Word, it seems, is out....
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