This week after two rides to work and a game of squash, I attempt to finish the knee off with a five mile run after work. I figure this will be ‘make or break’ for the knee. It’ll either be good to go for my next half marathon in a few weeks time or I’ll be in for physio treatment next week.
L meanwhile ignores her inner demon which is telling her to slob, coagulate and vegetate in front of the TV with a glass of sherry and goes to the gym. I’m not sure that the former is possible anyway; I think someone’s drunk all the sherry. At the gym, she claims to be doing some exercise routine that involves a supermarket trolley. I shall require a full explanation later, even if we have to go to Sainsbury's car park for a demonstration.
I have a good run, it’s relatively swift and the knee holds up. Although I’ll probably be sprinkling Doggo’s joint stuff on my breakfast tomorrow.
Then, wa-hey, it’s Friday. We’re not had a Friday since early December.
(Friday 4th January)
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