Interrupted

In any campaign, there must be setbacks. I am trying to regain my fitness. The trouble is that I still have an image of myself as I was when aged 39 – twenty years ago. This leads to a fairly regular puncturing of the vanity.
Which is where I am now. Last Wednesday, I was running and jinked to avoid an obstacle (the wife) in a sprightly fashion – akin perhaps to a light on the feet 39 year old. I must have led a blameless life elsewhere, because in true child of the sixties fashion, I received instant karma – my achilles was tweaked. It didn’t quite twang, but the warning and effect were immediate and clear. Only now, six days later, are its complaints dying away. Today I must try running again.
And on Sunday, when I was feeling really in need of an adrenalin injection, I got to the pool to find that the power was off, and that the masters training session was equally and determinedly cancelled.
We are supposed to rest, I know. I just get fidgety.
Whilst wittering generally in public about things which might better be kept private, I will mention my knee again. It has definitely improved, and is improving, but it is still a long way from right. I just have to find out whether I can both have the knee and run.
Who knows, a double marathon one week might enable a single length of breast-stroke the next!