More fun in the cold but spectacular Cumbrian hills, well most of it is fun – the rest is just marital exasperation.
Why do men not read important emails?, only the ones that are full of drival and information that they do not need? Why do they assume that the information that they really need will somehow miraculously osmose into their heads?
This week the email arrived with all the information needed for himself and the gruesome twosome to be where they should be at the right time in order for departure onto the school ski trip.
Now, as I have not gone on this extravaganza I assumed, rightly or wrongly, that I did not need to do anything with this email as himself had a copy and I assumed that all would be well.
The alarm bells should have rung when at around 0900 this morning himself asked if I was sure that they had to be at school at 1000. When I commented that I did not know but it was on the email I should, with hindsight, have been slightly alarmed.
Anyway, as I dug out my copy of the email, himself was reassured that yes it was 1000.
So, as we drove into the car park at 0945, the look of surprise from the Headmaster did not go unnoticed by me. As we heaved the bags out of the car and towards the minibus, the Headmaster intercepted us and explained that as per the email, (!), only children who were travelling without their parents were for the minibus, everybody else was to make their own way to the airport and meet at the check in desk.
At around this point, out of the earshot of the Headteacher I hasten to add, I asked himself if he had actually read the email. The answer of no with the retort of ‘have you?’ came back, with the blunt response of ‘no, but it is not my trip’ from me…….
I hasten to add that this was himself’s contribution to the Headmaster’s perception of our family as a tad dysfunctional, my contribution was made at the airport check in desks as he handed out boarding passes and as he approached out family I promptly fell over the suitcase wrapping machine and ended up in a heap. His reassuring words of ‘whoops, be careful’ were reassurance that he had seen the unfortunate incident and I could not hope that it had passed him by.
So, one unplanned and impromptu trip to the airport later, (taking a grand total of four hours including hanging around the airport to make sure there were no other pieces of vital information that had been missed – such as remembering that he has sole and complete responsibility for both children and ensuring that both children get on the correct plane with him), I am back at the cottage, fire lit, wine bought, rugby on and book ready for reading between matches….
So, what has been happening since my last submission to the EIOT blog?
Well, yesterday I set off on the savage, cruel and evil route of the 14.2 mile local run – all good except I can definitely say, without any hint of doubt, that the hoofing great big painkilling injection in my foot has worn off and to add insult to injury metatarsalgia has now set in in my other foot – damned painful.
There is clearly something wrong with my running gait, but the inner physio has thus far drawn a blank.
That said, the route is stunning, and I really mean stunning – beyond my wildest imagination and to a large extent that takes my mind of my feet – but alas it is still there and running over cobbles reduced me to a quivering mess.
But the route is evil – really evil. There are hills in it that would reduce a lot of runners to martyrs begging for mercy at the bottom. I am convinced that there are more 1:7 signs in that whole circuit than in the depot where 1:7 sign posts are made and stored for when unsuspecting runners are setting about a Cumbrian training regime. Perhaps they are actually made somewhere around here and the route is actually packed with storage points for them?…..who knows…..
These are the hills that separate amateur runners from the elite and as I fall into the former class rather than the latter then it all makes for quite a challenge.
So, I didn’t do the whole route, but the stuff that I did was not in a bad time, not a bad time at all. I was, for once, really impressed with myself. And yes, it was up hill and down dale of the Cumbrian hills – those savage, evil hills of Cumbria were not going to get the better of me. I sang, chatted to the sheep, watched the water and was generally captivated – apart from my feet which regularly burst back into my consciousness with searing pain.
When I was talking to himself later, (yes, we do occasionally speak and do not always grunt at each other), he asked how my cardio-vascular system has coped and after I thought about it, (such was the minimal inconvenience that this mornings 9 mile run had placed on this system), I was actually really proud to say that my cardiovascular system was absolutely fine and while my legs were a little tired all was well there. The only issues I had were my damned head, (regular readers will know what I mean), and of course, bigger issue, my feet. Without doubt if my damned metatarsal heads had not been such a nuisance then I would have completed the 14.2 miles.
So, where to from here? Well more of the same. London is a little over 5 weeks away and I know I am on track if I can just get my feet sorted. Everything else is steaming along.
So, more swimming, more gym and lots more running.
I have an appointment with the dude Dr and his Indian side-kick on 13 April for another hoofin’ big needle and I am wondering if I can persuade him to extend it to both feet. If he says yes then the upshot will mean two numb feet, so for the first few days I will falling over everything whether imaginary or real – but I will get through the marathon.
So, the gruesome twosome and himself have cleared off skiing, leaving me here all on my tod to run, swim, write the blog, read my book and drink wine – oh the hardship of it all! Back to Saudi towards the end of next week – bugger!
Right, Wales have whooped Italy, onto the next match…….
Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s