Week 11 - Only women bleed?

This was a tough week, starting with a few strides in the park on the Monday to get the legs moving again after the weekend. So far so good, even Tuesday's rather pleasant jaunt from Forthbank (the theatre of dreams) up through Milhall and Shirra's Brae and back through town left me feeling fine.

Wednesday saw another early start in order to keep up the miles, 8 of them along Swanswater in very pleasant sunshine. Pleasant that is until about 6 miles, when I was overcome by violent stomach cramps of near-Paula proportions, I think you know what I mean. I was too far past the Pirnhall Inn to go back and not close enough to home. Caught between two stools, you might say, if you were speaking scatologically. Result was cries of agony ringing around the Cambusbarron quarry and carefully timed spells of walking in order to prevent a nasty accident. Much too close for comfort. Nice sunrise, though.

The club session salvaged some pride, being 8 track laps of sprinting the straights and jogging the bends, which was fine. I foolishly played football the next day and felt the presence of my hamstrings (and not in a reassuring way) so was glad of a rest before the big one on Sunday.

18 miles done on the Sunday, in snow and sleet and rain and sun ... from home along the back road to Dunblane and back again. I experimented with eating and drinking, taking an energy bar at around the half-way point and I was aware of a wee buzz for the following few miles. What I wasn't aware of at the time was the state of my nipples. Not until I stopped and the blood dried and stuck my t-shirt to my now-shredded chest did I become aware of what I had done to myself. A solution will need to be found by next week.