In reply to TobyA:
F*cking nothing.
Having popped my A2 bouldering a week ago I have been out of action since and plan to be for quite some time.
So on Friday I decided to give fell running a go (having read that nice article here on UKC), turned out to be great fun. Managed 12km with a 10kg pack in 1h 26' and a total climb of 1095m. Despite a number of short stops to navigate I was pretty happy with that time.
Following that success however, my trail shoes were soaked through with mud, sheep-shit and general feet stank. As they were my only pair of running shoes I did the smartest thing I could, I went out and bought a new pair, exactly the same and on sale. Great! Took them out for a hike on saturday, they're shoes, they work... also great!
Then comes Sunday, and I'm sleeping until 13:00 or whatever (had a little tipple of 18 year scotch to much on saturday evening) and I'm lying in bed thinking what can I do. So, I get the genious idea to try a 10km in under 40 min, again with my pack... just for fun... right?! Seems like a good idea. I have a road run that comes in at about 8km that I do on my rest days (from bouldering that is) so I'm thinking ok, if I add an extra loop on it should come in around 10 km.
Despite going quite hard on friday, I'm feeling well rested and after a quick glass of water and some ibroufen I'm on my way, in my shiny new shoes. The run has gone well and I'm feling positive I can hit my target time. Now the last km of this run is a solid uphill and I'm going like a freaking freight train, grunting and groaning, spit flying through my barred teeth, steam coming out of my ears, past hoardes of sunday tourists... and the pain is building, and I'm still going, and I see my personal finish line at the entrance to a carpark... I pass it and nosedive into the gravel, my entire body is burning I'm choking on dust and the tourists are all gathering round, totally bemused at this sweatty glob of human tyrying to scrape himself off the floor. And then it hits. I cant get up. Excruciating bouts of pain shoot from my toes as I hobble the few hundred metres home. I carefully shake of my shoes and scuffle along the floor to the bathroom propping myself up on the bog.
It takes a good 5min before I pluck up the courage to peel off my socks and like a brain surgeon it is done with the utmost caution. On both feet across the top of every toe and along the side of each little toe, a series of massive red, raw, blood and puss-gushing blisters have formed, I shit you not, little cauliflower globules of fat are protruding out of my phalanges.
I sigh and realise that I now have to accept the fact that along with not being able to climb for another 4 weeks, I also can't run any more (f*ck even walking is debilitating enough). I have now resigned myself to the fact that for the next week planking or joining a gym is my only option.
Needless to say I managed the 10k in 38' which I'm happy about, but honestly I'm not so sure it was worth it and can't help but think staying at home and cleaning the appartment would have been a smarter choice.
As for why I lug around a heavy pack, well winter is coming... right?!
Happy monday everyone!