March 17th - St. Patrick's Day injury

You’re gonna love this! Ellie was having a pool party in advance of Wednesday’s 12th birthday, and I was feeling chipper enough to join in fully with her exuberant school pals in their energetic larking about. Until, that is, I was dislodged from the top of a large inflatable octopus and landed ribs-first on the head of a very hard-headed kid called Harry. Honestly think I’ve bust a rib. Bleedin’ agony, which just got progressively worse through the afternoon. Unable to breath deeply, cough or, heaven forbid, sneeze without whimpering like a wet puppy. You can imagine the degree of sympathy this elicits from Anna. None, since you ask. In fact, she reminded me with a hint of derision that I missed a week’s running the summer before last after injuring a shoulder in the Dads’ sack race at the school sports day.

Hamish announced that he would like to come on the run today, and as I knew that I’d be lucky to get to the end of the garden, I was happy to let him. Paris, his spider-legged cousin came along too. Jogged very gingerly down the track beside the house for half a mile, wincing and mincing all the way. By now Hamu had had enough of jumping over puddles, tripping over nothing and hiding from spies in the woods beside the track, so we jogged back through the trees, seeking shelter from the wind. I collected the dogs and carried on alone for another ten minutes, for a grand total of 23 minutes at little more than walking pace. I suspect this will be the shape of runs to come for a week or two. Things seem rather stacked against my build-up to my 40^th at the moment. My plan to take the vets rankings by storm may not get out of the blocks. For what it’s worth, the lurgy seems to be on the retreat, unlike my hypochondria, which is bloody killing me!