Spring in my step

That’s a bit of an ambitious title.

More like spring in my limp but I can walk three or four miles now so improving, though I need to roller and stretch when i get back in.

According to scientists, brisk walking is better for you than running. Hmm.. I’m sure some of us would disagree with them. But a brisk walk is what I can manage just now, so a brisk walk is what I shall be enjoying.


late spring daffodils

Spring is late here this year. MrM is the weather-watcher, something about a wind being stuck in the Mediterranean which means we get lumbered with freezing temperatures. but it has been bright and clear, so I feel like I’m emerging from semi-hibernation.

I walked down to Chorlton Water Park to see the river.

The Mersey, Chorlton Water Park bridge

View from a bridge

This looks fun, although as they passed me the woman at the back assured me she was having ‘a nightmare’!

Horse riding at Chorlton Water Park

Horse riding at Chorlton Water Park

If you look this way, into the distance, you can see the rise of the hill I used to use for hill-running practice (little sigh).

My running hill

My running hill

I then went for a sit in the orchard.

Plaque on the orchard bench

The plaque on the orchard bench

And you know, sometimes it is nice to just sit. And breathe. And really look at what’s around you.

Chorlton water park, orchard view

The Orchard view

Even if we could do with more of this…

first leaves

Look – leaves!

Come on Spring!


Back and running… after a fashion

So, I’m back from Palma, tan miraculously still in tact and keen to get back out there running.

I’ve also put on 5lbs. How did that happen? Hmmm… tapas, cerveza, lolling about on a roof-top terrace reading, turning over and then reading… you get the picture.

But at 8am this morning I was out and jogging, if not running, with the plan to do an hour’s gentle run. Just to break myself back in.

Slightly over ambitious, it seems. It felt like I was dragging a sack of potatoes behind me. Or 5lbs of potatoes strapped to my middle, if I’m being slightly less dramatic.

From the first ten minutes I could feel muscles complaining, by 30 minutes I was wheezing and puffing as well. By 35 minutes I’d relented and was  run-walking my way home.

Not exactly encouraging and when Mr M asked how my run had gone I think the word ‘murder’ may have been mentioned. Like I say; I’m prone to dramatising.

I’ve had a bit of a scout round the internet to see if I can find anything about post-holiday running. I found a few blogs, like this one, which suggests I’m not alone. And realistically I’ve hardly been eating the diet of an athlete.

“I don’t suppose Jessica Ennis trains on a diet of salty snacks and beer,” I pondered as the sweat ran in rivulets from my forehead.

So, I probably got the run I asked for. You reap what you sow and all that. So shredded wheat for breakfast, homemade vegetable soup for lunch and chicken stir fry for tea.

Onwards, upwards and ever onwards to picking up speed.