Pull The Other One

On my late afternoon 10k today I was travelling along quite nice, thinking that I'm starting to get training for the running section of The Triathlon Challenge well under control, when suddenly while in full flow down a hill on mile four...

I felt a sharp pain in my left calf. Within six strides I had completely pulled up, literally.

At this stage of my run I was midway along Palmerston Way in Leicester, around one mile from my girlfriend's pad. I had no phone, no money, it was cold and getting dark and I had shorts and a t-shirt on; so essentially I'd regressed back to my teenage days, hanging out too far from home on an autumn evening.

As I walked back, meandering my way through Stoneygate I took the chance to enjoy the fine old houses that make up my favourite side of the UK's most central county. I also noticed that walking like a gangster through posh urban roads doesn't inspire the goodness in peoples hearts; not one stranger bothered to ask if the wounded runner was OK.

It took yonks to finally exit Southernhay onto London Road and when I did I was greeted by a bus shelter advert for Lucozade featuring Mo Farah and the caption: 'Faster, Stronger, For Longer', how very apt.

My hungover missus made us *posh cheese on toast for supper - it's not the ideal recovery meal, but then this was not the ideal recovery for a man attempting The Everyman Olympics.

*Posh cheese on toast is essentially made with any other variety of cheese apart from cheddar.