I can't believe it's nearly halfway through the month and I haven't uttered a sound. It all seems a bit timeless and vague.
January the 1st my legs weren't really wanting a run, so we ran over Arthur's Seat so we could spectate the NYD tri. As soon as we stopped still, even though it was a pleasant kind of a day, it got colder and colder and colder. It was hard to recognise anyone on their bikes so we did a mediocre job of taking pictures and cheering people on. Finally we had to get moving because the sun had crept round westwards and left us in shadow. Then there was an unforecast almighty downpour which necessitated running for home as fast as ever we could.
I was trying not to be such a grouch. Although good in theory, the numerous people in the park were irritating. I don't mean the triathletes. Joe Public. On their stupid phones, telling their boring stories, patting their stupid dogs, walking out in front of the cyclists; bumbling around. I have been trying to analyse it - why do I get so irritated in crowds? I'm starting to think it boils down to something as simple as personal space. We get angry because we're being encroached on. I don't have to say anything about people and their phones because you already know. People with headphones on shouting out half a conversation about their boring lives in the street as if they were important. We need more predators. I sound like my mum. I know. Aaaaaaah. Yep. Arthur's Seat's a lot better when most of the people go back home.
Every year I think about popping a coin operated turnstile just below the summit of Arthur's Seat.
Jim Hardie raced a good race despite bashed ribs.
So anyway, the following weekend we went to Gullane. The wind had switched to the East, so we started out running into it. It was bone-chillingly cold to start off with, but we did get into it, and had a nice run, finishing off with some lovely light in the sky.
The next day my legs were aching and nothing much appealed. We cooked up a run around Edinburgh which was alright for a while, but after about 7 miles my legs were aching and I was just forcing it. I don't know why I'm not soaking up the punishment so well at the moment, but I'm not.
I kind of backed off this week as I'm sore and uninspired and not as ill as all the ill people I keep hearing about, so would like to keep it that way. I still have a dodgy tummy, which is not very bad, but I would have hoped it would be away by now. I've undiagnosed myself with having IBS. I just have.
Anyway, this week I developed a mystery hand. I'm having to type all this with one hand, which is possibly limiting how much I want to say about things. It's pretty normal for me to be walking around with some minor tweaks, so I didn't pay much attention to a sore left wrist. But then instead of going away it swelled up and started to ache and kept sleep to a minimum for two nights. Yesterday morning I was very jaded as I cycled in the dark with one hand to work. My colleagues made a nice fuss of me and my spammy hand and said I should go to the minor injuries clinic at the Western and get it checked out. I kind of wanted to go out of curiosity as this service has a very good reputation of being convenient and well-run. I think it was set up in response to A&E moving so far out of town when the New Royal was built. It's run by specialist nurses and they can x-ray and treat most simple injuries then and there. So I popped by on my way home from work. It was great. They'd had an unusually quiet day so I was seen after a wait of about 7 minutes. The nurse was very nice when she said to take my spammy hand and go home and stop wasting her time. Spot of tendonitis. I'm sure she is right. I told Peter that I've been told not to do any housework though. When I told him he just looked crest-fallen and said the house was going to get in an awful mess. Newsflash. It already has.
Anyway, it's not terrible, but I'm not really enjoying January if I'm honest. Fecking grey and cold and hard to get excited about anything. Today was grey af and I couldn't see any point in us driving anywhere. Instead I led Peter on an exciting session in Inverleith Park. After a few miles it was quite good fun and we particularly enjoyed the Sundial Garden. Just over the hedge there was a big field of muscly, manly rugby players and it was tempting to shout inflammatory things at them and then run away, but I didn't, because I'm an adult. The End.