Ankle

Perhaps it was getting my beard trimmed that did for me. I had a sore ankle all day, limping about the office, unsure if all that super high intensity training had been more than my body could stand.

I was so depressed that I couldn't even go for my daily walk around the block, and that meant that I sat in the office all day, gradually growing more and more drowsy, until the skies turned dark and the rain hammered down, and I woke up again. I woke up and had a conference call with a man in China, who told me to move closer to the phone because my voice was weak.

Weak, I should have said. Weak? I'll kick your arse, as soon as I've got a leg to stand on. But I didn't: I held back and stayed polite, especially as to go all the way to China just to have a fight about something that's manifestly true is a bit of a waste of time and money.

Walking back home, my ankle felt right again, but now my other ankle is sore. I've called a halt to sprinting this week, in the hope that a drop in intensity is enough for my extremities to recover, and now I'm off to sleep. Blessed, blessed sleep.