normal service resumes

Thank fuck yesterday came and went. This morning I woke up and the foot felt OK. Considering it had been throbbing when I fell asleep last night I was quite glad about that. The house was all quiet. AJ didn't wake up for her morning milk so I quietly dressed, puled on my Asics Eagle Trail, shoes that I'd mashed about 2rs ago but haven't yet retired, and headed out.

Got back and the toe felt a little warm but mostly just like a toe. I was taking a day off of work to pack the house up before the painters arrive tomorrow to add lipstick to the pig and hopefully fool some buyers. At home I did some packing and then, with Sal about to give Alex some breakfast, I ducked out for a stock 7km loop. Legs still ache, heels ached, felt a bit wobbly but I was moving.

At 1.71km - I checked the Garmin - I started to think about my dad. Now I am a fairly simple, scientific, no-nonsense person. No time for sentimental, spiritual mumbo-jumbo. But something happens when I am on the run and need to dig a little deeper. I think about the old man. I want to make him proud, despite knowing that he was SO proud of both my brother and me. And I feel as if he is with me as I refuse - re-fucking-fuse - to give up. Mum and dad were not dealt a great hand, but they did an epic job with me and my bro.

Regular readers and lucky randoms may know that my dad was an RAF physical training instructor (PTO) and parachute jump instructor (PJI.) For my entire life - well, until he died - he was registered disabled. He had an accident while testing an ejector seat. That damn near killed him. So did the treatment. After mum died I thought a broken heart or the booze might get him. In the end it was a nasty stomach cancer. Anyway, dad taught me to swim without ever getting in the pool with me. He taught me to ride a bike. He helped and advised me on my exercise. I engraved my first marathon medal for him "For my dad, my inspiration." When the going gets tough (anyone else hear Billy Ocean? No? Just me?) I feel closer to my dad than I ever did when he was alive. It's not unusual (Tom Jones anyone?) for me to  well up and shed a few tears. But I love that feeling. It means that I keep his memory very much alive. I could do without the occasional sob-of-overwhelming-sadness while I'm trying to run, but what can you do?

By about 5km I was a little more stable. The old man had popped up to help and I knew - KNEW - that today I was going to get my 21.1km completed. In fact I had told myself that even if I had to fucking hop the last bit and finish at 23:59 I was going to get my target miles done.

I just had Sal read that and told her that's why I do it. She corrected me (she is my wife, after all) and told me that's HOW I do it.

So I notched up 7km-and-change and then got stuck into chores. I needed to work out how I'd get my remaining miles and thought a lunchtime loop and one in the evening would do it, but in the end it was 14km at just after 4pm. I decided that the best thing for my feet and mental state was to keep my shoes on all day and just not look at my toe. And that worked out really rather well, although 12hours stuffed inside some minging old Asics is not something I'd advise others to do to their tootsies.

Lap 2 saw the old man return briefly but by lap 3 I was thinking about my kids, mainly 29 month old Alex. Earlier in the day she had managed to thread a pair of her undies over the handlebars of her scooter and down the whatever-you-call-the-pole-at-the-front. She's tried a couple of times to remove them and then given up in frustration. She was telling me "can't do it." I wandered over and showed her what she needed to do. Lift them up, thread them back over one handle...I showed her a couple of times and then asked her if she could do it herself. Yes, she could. We high-fived.  I told her that sometimes you think you can't do something and you feel like giving up. Don't. And I didn't feel like a hypocrite. Which was nice.

House is packed away and ready to be painted, Alex is asleep and 5wk old Harriette is too (though the grunts and snorts would suggest otherwise.)  I have a glass (actually another glass) of red. I've run 21.1km and my oldest daughter knows she can remove her knickers from a pole.

A somewhat better day than yesterday.

There is one more thing; thanks for the tweets and comments of encouragement. I read them this morning as I walked the dogs and that was the extra bit I needed to get my mojo back.