My recovery from last Sunday’s race is coming along nicely. There’s no more stiffness in my calves. I’m walking up and down stairs with no problems, and I don’t have that vaguely drunk-like shuffle caused by trying to find the floor with tight-muscled legs. If it weren’t for the fact I promised the honey I would take a week off, I might be inclined to go out for a short jog this evening. But, if I did that, I’m sure she’d Tonya Harding my knee so I’d never run again.
Perhaps another quiet evening at home is best.