Bad back blues II

Rubbish. Rubbish and rubbish.

So, my stoopid old back is still not better. Neither is it worse, but the young-enough people at the clinic have said no running and no lifting anything heavier than a chair, for an unspecified time period. Apparently there is a minor disc problem, nothing to serious but it's niggling away and will take time to heal. Very. Boring.

This is a pain in the proverbial for two reasons. Firstly, (and obviously) no running means no training and the 10k looms away, laughing maniacally, in the not-too-distant-future. Secondly, my job requires me to lift some very heavy things. Not all the time, but we've got a heavy (!) week coming up and there's no way I can't do it, so I've been out and bought one of those big reinforced back supporty things (which was well more expensive than I was prepared for - this minor disc problem is costing me a fortune...) I tried it on when I got home, and let me tell you people, what with the big non-matching granny pants and my old man corset, not only do I look like an utter cretin in every way, I also feel about a hundred years old. Well, optimsim rules; with this new addition to my wardrobe and huge quantities of ibuprofen, I'll hopefully get through the week.

Beers - lots (medicinal)
Trifle - one (pending, its in the fridge)
Fags - lots (no excuse)

Bad back blues

At my grandmother's 84th birthday party, I managed to do my back in. No, not at a wild, alcohol and drug-fueled extravaganza, where I danced madly all night and woke up in a compromising position with someone I hardly knew, but had had such an amazing night that I put my back out. No, it was a tea and cake 84th birthday party. This meant that for the next three days I am walking like I've had a serious pants accident and am pretending I am not in substantial pain, which no amount of painkillers can alleviate.
Eventually, I am convinced to go and see an Osteopath. Turns out it is a teaching school, which is fine; it's cheap and cheerful, it's clean and bright and I have complete faith (and am in too much pain to care much.)

I stand in my (non-matching) underwear in front of two students, whilst they scrutinize my lumps and bumps, ask me a lot of questions, including how do I think I've hurt myself (I think about giving the wild version of the story, but chicken out and have to endure the smirking of youngsters young enough to be, well, they're young enough.) They draw pictures of my back, poke me about a bit, come to the conclusion it isn't serious but that I need a treatment and go on to bend me about a bit, which feels good at the time but then I spend the next two days walking like a tortoise.

The bad news is I have (obviously) not been able to run all week - in fact it's over a week since my last outing. This is disappointing. I have also to admit that I have had a few consolatory pints and rollies, over the course of the week, as I have been feeling very silly and sorry for myself (and of course, that lack of willpower thing I think I've mentioned before...)

The good news is I'm on the mend, another appointment tomorrow (I shall spend most of the today washing and sorting the contents of my underwear drawer so I can choose something suitable for standing semi-naked in front of strangers; big enough to cover everything that needs covering but not to the point where I look like my Gran, but, well, let's face it, she's the reason this all started in the first place, maybe I should wear my biggest pants in tribute...

Non cool runnings

Well, it's been a mildly disastrous few days in the quest to become a fitter, healthier and more productive person. I ran on Monday night, then I ran on Wednesday night for about 30 minutes, which was enjoyable (and it rained a bit at the end so I felt ever so righteous on the way home). And then Thursday was a fairly terrible day at work, which resulted in a necessary trip to the pub to make up for the hideousness of the previous eight hours, during which I consumed a fair amount of rose wine and numerous roll ups. So no running on Thursday night. And then an even worse day followed on Friday; work was no improvement, so, a lager shandy was in order, which inevitably led to a few shandies, followed by more beer, more fags, dancing around like loons to terrible music and missing the last train home. So no running on Friday night (and hungover to boot on Saturday morning at work). So, as I write you, dear diary tool, and acknowledge my failures - I refuse to weigh myself today, too depressing - I am sorely aware that I need to improve my game and get out, tomorrow and run, even if it's raining. Which it will be. Rain and guilt may not make great companions. And I've just eaten a Magnum...

Motivation, motivation, motivation...

I've signed up for a 10K run in September. As a generally lazy, slightly overweight ladygirl in her thirties with a fondness for hand-rolled cigarettes, beer and trifle, you would be forgiven for thinking that this is already looking less like being a run and more like a definite 10k drag .
I should say at this stage that I ran a 5K earlier in the year. I have been quite a good runner in the past and have done the Race For Life 5K for the last three years. Problem is, I finish it in a respectable time, raise loads of cash for a good cause and and then feel all smug at my achievement, so I don't run again for months and smoke extra fags to make up for all the goodness. It is no secret that I am totally lacking in willpower and motivation. So, this blog is to serve me as a running diary/motivational tool/guilt trip, call it what you will. And I do so desperately want to give up the fags (yes, I've tried before and yes, I've read that Michael thingy book and all that). So I'm hoping that the running will help me to kick the bad habit. That and this diary jogblog thing.

So this evening, I'm being honest and am going to embarrass myself in the style of that ridiculous Bridget Jones and tell you, diary tool, that I currently weigh 11stone. Today I smoked no fags and ate no trifle and drank no beer. I got home from work and went for a run round the park, which I rather enjoyed, as it was cool and quiet; not much interference from the pit bulls or kids hanging out by the swings and apart from a slight gagging at the gentle waft of warm dog poo and tripping over a few bits of discarded fried chicken at the park gates, it was fairly uneventful.

The plan is to run at least three times during the week and a longer run at the weekend.
Monday down, only two and a long one to go...