‘I can play’

Corporal Luis Fernandez – Escape to Victory

It’s a very important day today. The World Cup starts, Newcastle’s Premier League fixtures are out, and it’s Mrs V’s birthday. Remembering 2 out of 3 of those isn’t bad odds.

For the next few weeks, I’m going back to running early mornings every day. It’s all part of a great masterplan. This really can’t go wrong. For a start, the weather is great, with a heatwave the Daily Express would cream over predicted for weeks to come. Secondly and more importantly, the early morning running will free up my evenings, therefore allowing me to watch International humdingers such as Costa Rica V Switzerland and Morocco V Iran.

Get in the miles, watch the football, jobs a good un. Everyone’s a winner.

I get up at 5:30am and the weather isn’t as per the plan. It’s unseasonably windy. It’s tropical wind apparently. Flying Pineapples and Mangos, that sort of thing. I’ve been getting a slight niggle in my right calf. Doesn’t really bother me, it’s just one of those annoying creaks to remind you you’re homing in on 40.

I’m 3 mile in to my 4 mile run and the niggle is starting to become pain. Not an ouchy pain, more like an pressure pain that’s just gone beyond a creak. Half a mile later and that pressure suddenly and quickly gets more painful and then ow you absolute bastard. It feels like someone has knifed me in the calf and I scream in pain, probably waking up half the town.

This is not good. I’m half a mile from home and I’m not going to be able to jog back. Walking back is even a problem, the whole of my lower right leg is howling in pain every time I try. So I limp pathetically back home, thinking that this is looking a bit grim. The rest of the day at work consists of hobbling and piss taking.

The next week is spent resting. It’s friggin awful. All I want to do is run. My whole routine is out the window and with every day I can’t run my head is being a right bastard pointing out how hard it will be to come back. I’ve been flying over the last couple of months, PBs at pretty much every distance from 5k to Half Marathon and now I’m reduced to doing nowt. Violins out.

I make the mistake of Googling what this could be and what to do about it. The results come up with everything ranging from resting a week, to having to have surgery, to potential amputation (the internet is weird). By the following Thursday I can take no more. I strap my leg up in enough tubing and taping to stop a toilet leaking and attempt a 3 miler.

Tight. Irritating. Sore. This is the general mood of Scottish football fans during England’s surprise route to the Semis – but it’s also my calf during the comeback run. I follow this up in the next few days with more gentle runs and eventually get back into my stride. The weeks see the pain disappear but I’m leaving on the strapping for the time being – it’s my comfort blanket till further notice.

It’s a been a pretty interesting half term running report 6 months in. I started the year determined to try and run everyday, an attempt to raise the fitness levels. This progressed to running faster and better than ever before, ending with my body finally going pop and being back to square one. As long as it survives till September, that’s all I need.

Next stop the Gateshead 5k on August 15th. I hate 5ks.