Getting sick two weeks before the Bridge to Brisbane spoiled the Training Plan of Awesomeness (which involved, you know, practicing my running) and the Nonexistent Training Plan was instituted instead, which mostly involved sitting around and coughing. So I didn’t get a chance to break in my new running shoes, but in flash of brilliance, decided to wear them for the 10k Bridge run anyway. And I should break in at this point and say that I mostly walked it – partly because of the two week break in training, partly because of my lovely new shoes.
I decided at the 5k mark that the new shoes were probably a mistake, given that my feet were increasingly agonising and there was a horrible squishing feeling at my heels. I stuck it out, and then peeled off my shoes when I got home to discover I didn’t have heels anymore, but the most enormous blisters in the world instead. They look quite disgusting. I have been wearing backless shoes, cleverly disguised by long pants.
While I was off destroying my heels, my husband drilled a screw into his finger while cleaning up the garage. He showed me the blood spatters and his bandaged finger, and asked me whether I thought it would get infected. Given that he’s drilled into it and then staunched the blood flow with a filthy oil rag from the garage floor, I think infection is probably a certainty. Hopefully the liberal amounts of betadine I poured onto it will prevent it from falling off any time soon.
Given that I was up at 4am for the run, I fell into bed at a ridiculously early hour and in the morning had two plaintive messages from my father because I had completely forgotten about father’s day. Oops. So, brief summary of the weekend – failed at running, also failed at daughterly love and affection, garage covered in husband’s blood. It’s going to be a good week.