Yesterday, the hard run went swimmingly. Back in the door; I stretched, showered, painstakingly updated the running diary. Ah... the satisfaction of rigorous training. And now for a cup of tea. In the kitchen, I put the kettle on, stretch up on tip-toes to the top shelf to pull down my favourite mug, and... felt a 'crack' in my left achilles tendon. No...! No no no no no no no... Panic gripped me, I
cannot be injured: the training schedule leaves no room for recovery before the April marathon. And even without the marathon, I'll both go crazy and balloon in size without my running. Today, I think it's okay. It was a warning shot, not an injury. I've gone away, done my homework, and will be far more careful from now on. But still, fear ghosts round my ankles.
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