A catalogue of errors

This week is half term, and hubby and I have both had time off. Lots of rest and relaxation, you say? No. It's been a mad dash around to finish all the jobs that really should have been done a long time ago, like buy new school uniform, mend the broken banisters (ask the children about that one - grrr!) and ferry said children and their friends around the countryside.

Training has been sporadic, and less than satisfactory, so I was determined to fit in my long run today.
I won't bore you with a long and complicated history, but hubby has some nerve damage in his spine that has resulted in a loss of sensation in his feet and legs. His patience and positivity throughout has been amazing. He could name a lot of downsides, but the one I notice most is the restless leg phase that hits him some nights. Unfortunately, last night was a particularly bad episode. Not that he'd know it. While he snored contentedly, his legs were doing the can-can, and by 7am I'd only managed about two hours of sleep, and was covered in bruises!

Look on the bright side, I thought. I might be tired, but the sun is shining.

The persistent blister on my right foot has been quite sore this week, and I am trying various combinations of socks, insoles and dressings - along with liberal splashes of surgical spirit - to try to find a cure. This morning I applied a rather expensive moleskin dressing along with copious lengths of plaster to anchor it in place. It felt secure, and I was keeping everything crossed that this one would be a winner.

Rather than repeat the same old circuits, hubby had offered to drive me into Redditch so that I could make my way home. I happily agreed, and we set off bright and early. Doubts set in as I realised that the entire journey there was downhill, and this meant only one thing...the way back would be the opposite. Gulp. In hindsight I should have abandoned the plan there and then, but somehow it seemed easier to go with the flow.

The first six miles were the best. The blister plaster held, I made good time, and was soon at Hopwood. It was about that time that I really began to regret not taking my jewellery off. I find that my fingers swell on long runs, but in the rush to get ready today I'd kept them on.

At the same time that I was thinking about my poor swollen fingers, and how quickly my supply of water was running out, I looked up to see the Redditch Road stretching ahead of me. For those of you not familiar with Birmingham, the Redditch Road is very long, and - heading towards Birmingham - very uphill. There was no way around it, so I just kept going (encouraged by a car-full of strangers who hooted their horns, waved and cheered me on - I've no idea who they were, but they boosted me just when I needed the encouragement!)

I followed the Redditch Road all the way up into Cotteridge, then cut left along Middleton Hall Road and out onto the Bristol Road. I popped into the newsagents to stock up with Lucozade, which promptly fizzed all over my hands, so not only were they swollen, but they were also sticky. Gorgeous.

The blister plaster had worked loose by this stage, and I could feel a whole lot of rubbing going on, but I didn't dare stop to investigate for fear that my socks would stick to my hands and I'd have to make my way home barefoot.

I had a blissful mile of downhill before my calf muscles decided that enough was enough. I had the most excruciating cramp, and no amount of gentle walking or stretching against lampposts made any difference. Twelve miles into the run, and two miles from home, I phoned hubby and begged him to rescue me.

Notes to self for next time: pick a route that isn't all uphill, leave jewellery at home, wrap plaster at least four times around my foot to ensure no movement and only but sugar-free drinks en-route.

Blister repair kit...a bit like a puncture repair kit, but slightly more sterile, and an awful lot more expensive

The blister

If you have any good ideas about getting it to vanish, please let me know! All ideas gratefully accepted!