Damn that wild, irresistible urge to punt
While I'm a spluttering cartoon car trying to get going, my buddy Damian Hall is purring along 100-plus miles into the Spine Race
I feel like a spluttering cartoon car trying to get going at the start of the Wacky Races. Has someone sabotaged me by putting a bung in my engine? This year I have big running plans, but as you will know from my recent, somewhat wearisome, reports, I spent three weeks over Christmas coughing like an old man, and now I’m hobbling through my runs like a one-legged pirate.
I don’t have an injury exactly, but my left heel-stroke-Achilles is very tender when I run, and it’s sapping the fun and progress out of my training right now, meaning I’m running slower, less distance and with less joy than I’d like to be. The culprit, as it was when I injured my back a few years ago, is football*. Damn football and that wild, irresistible urge to punt (as my favourite philosopher, Snoopy, puts it).
