The main worry at work today was staying focused enough to get the jobs done while arranging to get someone to look at my broken boiler.
The boiler repair arrangements went very simply; the only issue was leaving at 3.30 or so to get home to allow time to have a look at it. The main thing with that was that I had to set out a building after lunch in order to give the architect the dimensions of the garden it fits into so he has information to extend the floor plan to accommodate a disabled family. The hiccup there was that I forgot the calculator, so tried to use the company mobile as a calculator to work out a hypotenuse to double check the co-ordinates with a good old fashioned tape measure. But the phone’s so shite it has no square root function (the old Nokia used to). So I radioed the office where our trainee was doing paperwork to ask him to plug the numbers in to the calculator up there. Having done the square calculations, all I wanted was the square root of the two numbers I gave him. His answer was unbelievable. He went to the Harvey Grammar School. A selective school in Folkestone, named in honour of the geyser who determined how blood flows around the body. A school that clearly hasn’t bothered to teach him what a fucking square root button on a calculator looks like. No word of a lie, the words that came back to me upon my request were “what’s a square root and what does it look like on a calculator?”. My response to that included far too many swear words for even my blog as well as an invitation to contact his teachers so I may throttle them followed by the decision that his calculation wasn’t to be trusted so I’d return to the office and get the calculator myself.
Which is where I came to the hiccup. Trying to run up the site (albeit in rigger boots) made my entire lower leg area hurt so much I simply couldn’t manage it. I had to walk. Which was lucky for the trainee since I calmed down and failed to sack him for being a cretin (but at least he admitted his lack of basic mathematical understanding, so at least he admits his shortcomings, I guess.). But was worrying for my run.
So it came to pass that I returned home, found out the boiler was bodgeable but might last “between a minute and a month” giving the wallet a brief reprieve at least, then headed out for a worried about plod.
A reverse route to yesterday was started (I had intended to run around Rye. That’ll be tomorrow now) and went ok, if painfully. My pace was low with the aim of preserving my legs and I manged to shuffle around but as I got near home, I considered that I won’t have a long run in me at the weekend (FairWeatherRunner take note…you’ll beat me at the line, I think, if you do another big half marathon training run as I feel you must have planned…maybe a 14 miler?!) so added a little loop to finish the distance to 5.4 miles. And each of them was sore.
Then I realised I hadn’t bought milk, so popped out on the BMX to buy some. And felt my legs get better with every pedal stroke. And manual. And x-up over drain covers.
God, I love cycling. But it was late enough that I didn’t have time to play properly.
Hope my legs feel like mine again tomorrow. It is the last Wednesday of Janathon, after all, and I’d like a hill to be enjoyable.
126 runs, 96 exercises and 47 cycles to go.
