Marathon ( 200?) Update

My training regime is progressing slowly. Very. S.l.o.w.l.y.

Considering how I usually rush headlong into everything, bursting with enthusiasm, desperate to get as far as possible in the quickest recordable time, I have found it surprisingly easy to show much more self-restraint in pacing my efforts where running is concerned. There is absolutely no danger of me burning myself out at the first hurdle. The chances of me ever getting as far as a hurdle are remote.

Circumstances have transpired to slow down my already virtually-motionless efforts. First there was the fall over the bank holiday which left me looking and feeling bruised. A few days later I started to experience breathing difficulties. A mind as active and inquiring as mine immediately began to suspect a collapsed lung caused by a hitherto undiagnosed cracked rib. I'd landed on my back and had not consciously bumped any part of my torso on the way down the stairs but with my galvanised pain threshold, there's no telling what injury I might have unwittingly sustained.

The lumps, haematomas to give them their correct and far more dramatic medical name, were slowly starting to break down so I couldn't rule out the possibility of an embolism having worked its way loose. I reached for a cigarette and resolved to consult the doctor first thing the following morning.

The moment I walked through the consulting room door, the doctor directed me to the weighing scales. He claimed that was because his records showed I had last visited in 1994 and he needed some basic information but I personally think he was just amazed at my size and anxious to ensure that his couch could take the strain. I was delighted to find that his scales had me half a stone lighter than my own though which probably accounted for the happy blood pressure readings he took a minute later.

I was a little taken aback when he referred me to the hospital for blood tests and X-rays. I dashed up there immediately. I was reassured they must have found evidence of two fully-functioning lungs when they didn't keep me in after my visit to the radiology department and I didn't faint when the phlebotimist made for my veins, although I did keep my eyes very tightly shut, gritted my teeth and tried not to hear Mozart's Requiem playing in my head.

The palpitations continued intermittently over the next couple of weeks but by the time the doctor rang with the test results ( all clear although my liver function wasn't as perfect as it might have been but then it had been a Monday, what did they expect) , I had begun to relax and accept the fact that I didn't have a life-threatening condition. I invested in a sports bra, bought a copy of Runners World and rsolved to continue my training where I'd left off ( that was half a mile, broken up into two short jogs).

3 weeks later and I have finally managed to put the sports bra on without pulling a muscle every time or needing a lie down in a darkened room afterwards. I now have a head cold and everyone knows the perils of training when not at peak health. This is so frustrating. I am like a caged cheetah, prowling irritably behind bars. If only these fetters could be lifted, I'd be off, running like the wind, clocking up miles, pony tail swinging, lithe limbs glowing. I am doing a magnificent job of keeping the disappointment at bay with the aid of a large Fruit N' Nut bar, a Carl Hiassen novel and the occasional medicinal hot toddy.