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)
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