Let the great world spin. The stars wheel across the sky. We come once again to the Summer Solstice. A day of equal measures. Not in terms of light and dark; that honour falls to the Equinoxes. More in terms of equal excitement at this being the Longest Day, and knowing that tomorrow we begin our slow arc towards darkness. It’s a moment of stasis, when things hang in the air. We have reached a point. What that point is is not always clear. Welcome to my blog…
It would be a reasonable supposition to consider that someone who has been on the planet close to six decades might acquire some small shreds of wisdom. Even if we disregard the bigger geopolitical questions, and those of a religious or metaphysical nature, and just concentrate on, say, running… surely there we might find some small nuggets of pure gold?
To quote the late, great Richard Harris in his all-too brief role as Professor Dumbledore: “Alas! Earwax!”.
Such is my lot. I dip into the great bag of sweets looking for salvation, and pull out the coffee-flavoured one every time.
(Sorry, where is this going? And do I need to call someone? ed.)
Okay, let’s back up the truck. Week Three of training finished with some of the indicators heading in roughly the right direction. After only half a dozen interval sessions, I was finding that horrendous effort to maintain 3:30 over 400 metres was less, well, horrendous, and more just bloody difficult. But the speed was starting to come back. The 1k repeats were a different prospect, and where the real work is required, but again, I could see by the stats that the dial was shifting in small but measurable increments.
I was following the plan carefully. What I wasn’t doing was listening to my body. The signs were there, of course. The guys down in the basement shoveling coal into the furnace that power the legs were clocking up a serious over-time bill, and the engineering department from the lower limb division had been out surveying the various wheels and pulleys that make this whole meat wagon move, and they had been sending worrying reports back to head office. Head office had clearly misfiled these critical warnings.
Looking back now, as I rifle through the inbox of my mind, I can find these documents sitting unread on the in-tray. Even prior to the sub-20 attempt, there was a memo from the Dept. of Repeated Stupidity that suggested some form of exercises to prepare the body for a steep increase in training. Ignored. The Dept. of Intrusive But Useful Thoughts had pitched using the new shed as a gym to introduce leg exercises twice a week. Overlooked. And then as the madness took hold, those guys in the basement watched in horror as the needles hit the red, steam burst out of pipes, and the various mechanical levers that try and whizz around and create locomotion began to creak and pop…
On Tuesday evening, I began Week Four. A warm-up of about a kilometre, to be followed by 6 x 400m repeats. The first one was fine, but deep down, I was waiting for a problem. On the second repeat, someone in the basement hit a big red button as my right hamstring pinged, and I ground to a halt. I walked home. Limping, and gloomy, internally. Outside, I was just a guy out for a stroll.
Suddenly head office wanted to know what was going on. Meetings were hastily convened. Studies were commissioned (well, I Googled hamstring injury anyway) and all those reports and repeated warnings surfaced with a vengeance. It turns out all the signs were there all along. Like a well-lit highway with lots of really big signs. (not your best work, ed.).
One of the precursors to a hamstring injury is a sudden increase in strenuous activity, such as speed work. I mean, really… who knew? Hindsight is indeed 20/20 vision. I think that might even be my superpower. The ability to look back on life and realise where you went wrong. But then studiously fail to learn from the experience. It is a great skill. It explains the ultra-running. When I die and medical science examines my brain, they will find that a childhood physical trauma (I was dropped on my head) damaged a part of the brain that allows you to learn from your mistakes. It may even push the boundaries of neurological study. They will find a new, tiny part buried deep in my skull. Not the Amygdala, which is an area of the brain responsible for emotional processing, especially fear and anxiety, but something else. They will name it after the doctor who discovered it, but those in the know, having studied the research papers that lay bare all my follies, will call it the Amygduh!
(Right, I’m definitely calling someone now… ed.)
So, here I sit, on this fine Summer’s morn. I am heading off shortly with Tamsyn. We are taking the cameras and scooting off to a lake in the bogs of Kildare to photograph whatever wildlife will sit still long enough. Hopefully some dragonflies and damselflies, but failing that, we hope to find some orchids. It’s a favourite spot of mine, and indeed, it’s a treasure trove of bird and insect life and decent photographers have produced some stunning work from there over the years.
If I had been in the whole of my health, I would be off somewhere along a canal bank knocking out 16k at 5:30 pace. So I suppose there are some benefits to being injured. Indeed, the forced hiatus has been strangely enjoyable. I have a cast-iron excuse to not be running, and whilst it’s frustrating, I can do other stuff. With Tuesday’s woe behind me, I can but hope the hamstring is in the mild category of strain. Some foam-rolling has begun, and I will go for an easy run on Tuesday evening to see where we’re at.
Of course, life being the hilarious geezer that it is, I already purchased a ticket for the 5k effort in July. And to further rub it in, I had also purchased another second-hand pair of Saucony Endorphin Speed 3s that I love so much, from Vinted. In very good nick too. All I need now are two working legs.
Here are some of the pics from the trip to Ballynafagh Lake, plus a few from the nearby church, built in 1831, and since disused.
The big fat dragonfly is a Four-spotted Chaser, and the dainty damselfly is a Common Blue Damselfly. I think the purple orchid is a Common Spotted; the other one is a Lesser Butterfly Orchid. The butterfly is a Speckled Wood.
unironedman 