Ow! Bum! and other profanities

I'm beginning to get the feeling I'm not meant to be a marathon runner.

An not just because I despise running.

With the place to myself on Sunday aft, I thought I would indulge my manly needs and proceeded to my man-cave (the garage). I emerged armed with wheelbarrow, various garden tools, and the grin of a man who knew he had at last got time to get on with some manly pursuits.

After a couple of hours digging, hoeing (*schoolboy titter*) and generally being manly, I'd given the front garden a much needed tidy up, and had avoided killing many of the plants I usually inadvertently destroy when weeding.

I put the bag of weeds/garden waste in the wheelbarrow and wheeled it back around to the garage, and put things away in a manly way.

With the place to myself for another couple of hours I thought it'd be the perfect time to get going on an 8-miler I'd been promising myself - just to show I could get round it.

So I went in, got changed and bent to put my trainers on.

Then my back exploded.

Not in the "incendiaries-aplenty-on-Normandy-beaches" way, but in the "oh-christ-I-think-a-vertebrae-just-tried-to-climb-out-of-me" way. Which is still not nice.

I tried not to move as my brain was reliving bits from tv shows where the patient needs a spinal board to avoid further injury. Then I remembered I was still bending over to put on a shoe, so even if I could remain in this pose until someone found me it would be pointless as the paramedics would need a C-shaped spinal board. I don't watch much Casualty, but I think I'd have remembered seeing one like that.

So, I rolled sideways onto the bed and inwardly cursed at the pain.

I also outwardly cursed as it f***ing killed, but I was also doing it inwardly.

I went to the quacks yesterday morning, who after bending me painfully into a variety of poses (not for medical reasons, I just think she liked the control) has got me taking it easy and has prescribed diclofenac and diazepam.

So I got home, took them, and got comfortable. I then realised I'd taken too many of the painkillers, which, when combined withe the diazepam, led to some strange results involving a camera, a soft toy, and a drug-induced imagination.

Needless to say, the training is on hold until I can, you know, walk properly again.

Would be easy to say "screw it" and drop out, but the fact I've got so much against me makes me just want to do it even more. It was always gonna be hard, just now it's gonna be harder.

Deal with it