Thump!

It was all going so well, training, work, life, everything was perfect. Too perfect. I was already waiting for the setback and hoped it wouldn’t be too severe.

I arrived on Monday evening. That’s my football night. I know, I know, some guy repeatedly warned me about football (soccer, that is) and marathon training being incompatible, but I did make sacrifices: I cut the football down from two nights a week to one night. Anyway, we were halfway through our game when I challenged for a ball. The other guy said afterwards he never saw me. I did see him, all right, but somehow it all turned out differently than anticipated. He came from one side, I from the other. He impacted me somewhere around my left shoulder. We were both running pretty much at full speed, and the force of the impact was enough to lift me straight off my feet. I did half a backflip and landed on the back of my head. Ouch. It was a wooden floor, and I felt it bouncing. My glasses flew off my head and shattered on impact (my spare glasses, thankfully). I was literally writhing in agony and the guys gathered around me, fearing a serious injury. Eventually I managed to sit up (with some help). I was dizzy, I had black spots in front of my eyes and a splitting headache. After a minute or two I even tried to continue playing on (in goal), but very soon had to pull out of it. I couldn’t even stand upright, never mind follow the game, and a second impact might have been serious. I was in no state to drive and got a lift home (from the same guy who I had collided with, no less). Niamh’s initial concern was for the broken glasses, until I told her what had happened.

I initially refused to go to the hospital. “They will let me wait for 4 hours in their hellhole of a waiting room, then talk to me for a bit and eventually tell me to get some rest”. Niamh didn’t relent. I went to work the next day (despite still suffering from headache), and she rang me about a dozen times. In my absence she phoned a nurse and then a doctor, and they advised her to get me to hospital. Eventually I relented and we drove to Tralee after work, not because I was worried, but to get her to shut up. “I bet you, they won’t give me an x-ray”. “Yes they will”. “No they won’t”. My initial prediction turned out to be nearly entirely accurate, with the one exception that I had to wait for 5 hours, not 4. After I said no to a dozen or so questions: Did you lose consciousness? Nausea? Headache getting worse? Dizzy? and so on he told me to get some rest. And he gave me some paracetamol. I did ask when I would be able to run again, and he said as soon as I felt ready. “But no stupidly long runs, like 10 kilometres”. I could have argued that 10k is not a long run by any stretch of the imagination, and that I could hardly remember the last time I ran less than 8 miles, but thought the better of it.

I have to confess that my main thought after leaving the hospital (at 1 am in the morning) was “65 Euros, 5 hours and a missed dinner, only to get the f***ing bitch to shut up”. I even started an argument in the car. Hmm. I blame the missed dinner. I tend to become an arsehole after going without food for 12 hours.

So, no running. Nada. Zilch. Null. Nichts. Just a few days ago Mike and Rob had argued for a cut-down week. I declined, but now I’m cutting down after all. 48 hours after the accident I’ve still got a bad headache. I won’t run a single step until I’ve gone a whole day without pain. I have no idea how long this will take, but definitely a few more days. Damn. It was all going so well!

30 Jan: 0 miles
31 Jan: 0 miles

Mileage for January: 333.4 miles. Yes, that’s a new record. By over 40 miles. Despite missing the last 2 days. Big Deal.