Friday, September 04, 2015

Wilderness to Discharge

The lonely fatigued plains between stress and recovery where the only thing that keeps you going is a need for the last 12 weeks to not have been wasted.

Written as I sit in the waiting room for my final haematology appointment,  yawning at a screen.

These appointments have a habit of appearing just after I have experienced a good run of racing and just before a major psychological crash. Yawning at my screen again.

The run here felt good. I mean people who have life-threatening bone marrow diseases don't run to their appointments do they? The door is opening and I am next.  Yawn.

It was a mix of slow and fast running.

Testing the leg muscles that seem to have developed over night and tempering a need to get down the hill in good time with a will to keep my legs fresh for the weekend. It was a resolve that didn't need much encouragement. As soon as I committed to running slowly I was happy to walk.  This isn't the coiled spring feeling I was hoping for.

The quiet, self-righteous aura that emits positivity in the face of all oncoming challenges, knowing that a tick in the box is the key that opens the padlock which has been securely fastened around all sporting ventures to date.

Also, I have an excuse not to take Tamoxifen.

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