Friday, 4 March 2016

And let slip the dogs of war!


I had a battle cry raging in my head this morning. After four weeks of coughing and illness and weakness and inability to do much more than sit on my dead arse on the sofa and feel sorry for myself, there were a first three 'return' tentative miles on Tuesday followed by an amazing mind blowing few days in between (seriously bonkers) and then today I got to lacing up again.

"Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!" It sang and sang and sang.

A battle cry if ever I heard one, time is in such short supply and some completely annoying part of my psyche wants to feel weakened. But no. Sorry, no. I'm not having it. That mantra singing in my head, it was all I could hear, all I would ALLOW myself to hear, and considering there still is a cough (albeit of the 'headcold' variety thankeverythingthatisanything) I am toeing the line between going hell for leather and tiptoeing through the tulips. But JHC, I'm finally GOING. Phoooooooo.

So in the training log and the brain and the shoes and the joints were the four miles I'd promised myself would happen today. But rewind to Tuesday. On Tuesday I'd got back into the shoes, back round the route, back over a 5k strapped with heavy breathing and careful foot placement and weakened load bearing but damn it all if I didn't get through it and with aplomb. I had feared that 5k as much as I feared an intercontinental life move 15 years ago, packing all my worldly possessions into boxes and shipping it off to an unfamiliar country, begging for love to conquer all. Go LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT.

3. Lousy. Miles. But my word, I ran it. And I'll be damned if I hadn't run it well. I only coughed a little at home on the return. And then I ate healthy things like nuts and seeds and blueberries and yogurt and oily fish. I delivered this body nutrition and sleep and promised I'd do right by it if it would only stick with me. I bargained with my iron arse. Seriously, who DOES this.

I do. When it matters, me.

And then a rousing cry of havoc this morning. This unbelievably sunny morning, denying that worried forecast of snow and wind and winter and here in actuality we had hints of spring and That Friday Feeling and cyclistskeepingtotheleft and everything else that's been happening in my absence from the road. The unexpected has come. Once again it's come. And with it, I roll.


Still, Tuesday. Man it was hard. Today would be four, on top of that Tuesday Three, when my knee had reminded me I'd let it rest these weeks, I'd let it go slack and I'd let it remember couch potato and DVD rentals and cheese pizza and all those old times long long ago when I was a lazy sod. But I ran and I finished that three. My chest was screaming at the end (having checked that which is Garmin I see there were segments of 10 minute miles which is UNHEARD of when your chest has been revolting for a month) but wot hey, we did those three. Me and my creaking respiratory system.


We did those three and it drained me a bit - but only right at the end - still, I felt concern which was a bit jarring. But I ran. I rested. I reset. I slept and ate more seeds and beans and salad and healthy stuff that wasn't a curry or a friedsomethingmygrannyusedtocook. Or chocolate. Well, maybe one, but only the one.

And let slip.

So then came today's pre-run catch up date with my foam roller. I addressed it as if I hadn't seen it in weeks. Oh, that's right, I hadn't. Hello darling, where have you BEEN all my life. And I rolled. I rolled that Transport for London muscle and it screamed like an air raid siren or Medusa or someone who may well have been set on fire. It screamed and I rolled it and all the other bits that felt as if they'd want to cause me difficulty on today's venture and as I was thinking very seriously about releasing the tension I got a vision of the film 'Independence Day' which we watched just last night, where the scientist in Area 51 is in a chokehold delivered by Bad ET and he's going 'Releassssssssssssssssse meeeeeeeeeeee'. And I completely lost my shit.

I started laughing so hard there returned the cough with a vengeance and I nearly expelled a lung. Because that's what it's all felt like. You'd cry if you didn't laugh. I'd trained so smart and so hard and was swanning around under the 'trust in the training' mantra and there on the third of February in this year of our lord 2016 entered the unexpected thing that smacked me across the face like a fish in that Monty Python sketch. The deliverer dancing and taunting on the edge of that pier, ta ta ta SMACK, ta tatata ta SMACK! Sploosh!

Releassssssssssssssse meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

The dogs of war.

And then I pulled myself together and wiped the joyful tears off my face and stood up and set up the Garmin (and danced around while it searched for that elusive satellite) and stepped outside. And the dogs of war, they howled. They howled and reminded everyone around that there is a mission and a vision and a belief and by God I'm not going to let it go. And just over four miles later I was home again. Grinning like I'd just won the lottery. But I actually had - the one where the prize is your goal. Because as I finished I was clapping my hands and shouting 'f*** yeah!' And the pride overspilled. And there may have been neighbors peeking through their curtains with a finger ready to smash down the 9 button till that padded car stole me away from these otherwise peaceful confines.

I'm back.
I'm back.

Cough on the wane, easing into the load bearing again. Eating my seeds and nuts and anythingelsehealthyIcanfind. Daily quota of immunity boosting food, supplements, I am on a mission.

And I will not fail.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.

Run girl, run.

No comments:

Post a Comment