Yesterday my left ankle was incredibly sore, as if I’d sprained it. The most strenuous things I’d done were lying in bed for seven hours, and watching lots of TV, so I was bemused about the source of this pain. I put it down to a symptom of fatigue, and went bed early.
This morning I woke up and it didn’t hurt, so I went out for a run, planning on a gentle 10k. Things got in the way.
My ankle didn’t hurt, but now my knee was sore. Every day, something different: while I was in Nova Scotia, I gave myself sciatica by driving a car. I’m not sure what will go wrong next.
I jogged off towards the bay. It’s been a while since I’ve run in the morning, so I was half tempted to just do 5 rather than 10. As I got closer, the decision was made for me. Today, I’d forgotten, was the day of the SAFRA race, when hundreds of Singaporeans would run a 10k round the bay.
I’d seen a few as I approached the Esplanade, people with race numbers and gloomy expressions, but I guessed they were finished and the event was over. Not so. As I got to the park, the crowds of people walking toward some distant start line grew denser and denser, while in the distance a radio DJ bellowed while playing the theme from Rocky.
I hate the theme from Rocky now. Every race I go to, it’s apparently mandatory to hear that da-da-DAH, over and over again. Nobody is running up a set of steps in Philadelphia. We’re running on the flat in a tropical country, and I seriously doubt anyone’s training rgimen consists of punching meat in a cold storage container. And yet again and again, we have to listen to this "inspiring" tune. It’s not even at the right tempo. Perhaps if they played Slayer’s Angel Of Death, there would be a few more personal bests set. The time signature change would result in a bunch of snapped ligaments though, I’m sure.
With the crowds of runners everywhere, I gave up on trying to run around the bay and tried to head out to somewhere quieter. Unfortunately, there were masses of people in every direction. Right now, I don’t like crowds. It’s not just when I’m running: last night my hackles were up when I had to get through a press of people at Dhoby Gaut to reach the supermarket. But particularly early in the morning, before I’ve had coffee and breakfast, I’m not good at human interaction.
Plus I wanted to be running at pace, not shuffling around behind people. You don’t put on a pair of skimpy shorts just to go for a walk.
Eventually I escaped and ran up the hill at Fort Canning. My legs felt just as dead as when I ran in Crystal Palace last week: I don’t know if it’s hills I don’t like, or mornings. I ran back down the hill then found I had to run back up as my exit was blocked by the back wall of the fire station, and then, having reached my five kilometre mark by the time I got to Hong Lim Park, I came to a halt and then walked home.
At least I’ve had some exercise. Now, having done the laundry, and gone out for scrambled eggs for breakfast, I’ve already done more (according to the Fitbit) than in the whole of yesterday. Which means it’s time for a undeserved nap.