If you are running a Marathon and also taking part in a televised boat race (as I am sure many of you are) you cannot afford to slack off exercising for a day, just because you've run over thirteen miles the day before. Both my running and rowing timetables called for more work.
My legs did not hurt as much as I expected: I was a little stiff and going downstairs was slightly awkward, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as after the November 10K. The large, weeping, popped blister on the sole of my foot was more of a problem though. I certainly didn't fancy running on it.
I was supposed to do a 5K row on my ergo (rowing machine) this morning. That's over twenty minutes of intense rowing and at the first attempt my aching thighs protested and I gave in. Or, at least, I decided to defer til the afternoon in the hope that some passing Messiah might take pity on me and cure me of my aches and agues and maybe apply some kind of salve to my blister that would stop it hurting (Tony says you can get this at specialised running shops and any Messiah worth his salt would know this and carry a ready supply for such circumstance).
Despite my pain and tiredness I spent the whole day in a state of elation: it was really coming home to me how much I had achieved yesterday. I think it might be the most impressive thing I've ever done, but then I have lived a shallow and empty life of little worth, so running around for a comparitively long time is something to be proud of. By throwing myself into these two different physical challenges (when I've never been a sporting person) I am finding out some interesting things about myself. Not least that I am actually able to have a reasonable go at things that I would have considered impossible and stupid (but probably only because that would be a way to cover the fact that I wasn't capable of doing them) at any other point in my life.
Christ knows how I'll feel if I manage to finish the big race.
In the afternoon I had another crack at the 5K rowing test and though I was understandably slower than last week and though my body ached and willed me to stop, I pressed on through to the end. I impressed and surprised myself again. And though I might never win an Olympic medal at this sport (I have now accepted that although I will almost certainly get into the squad this year, that I can really only hope for a fourth place in the actual finals), in a way isn't it an accolade enough to find you can have a personal success at something you thought was beyond your limitations?
Though obviously that's an accolade that, unlike a gold medal, you can't sell at auction for a few thousand pounds. Which is what I will be doing with any Olympic gold medal that I win, or that I manage to steal from the house of one of the many Olympic medallists I have met in the last couple of weeks. Sir Steve Redgrave's got so many that he'll never miss one.
Please take note of the pain and suffering I am going through. I am doing this entirely for my charity and not because of some kind of mid-life crisis and attempt to make myself feel better about myself. So if you are enjoying this diary (or even if you aren't) please click on the link and sponsor me for however much you can afford. Don't wait, do it now. Thanks very much if you've sponsored me already.
