NIGEL'S GONE SO NOW I CAN MAKE PLANS
The Met Office are naming 'storms' these days, or should I say they are naming seasonal Mid-Atlantic depressions which are quite typical for the time of year. With that in mind, if I was to name this recent cold, man flu or whatever it was, then trending towards current affairs and all this Brexit nonsense I would have to name it 'Nigel' with a certain Mr Farage in mind. The thing just wouldn't go away, hanging around for the sake of it despite having served it's purpose. Other comparable traits to Nigel Farage and my cold included making a brief comeback after threatening to step aside. Finally though, a persistent Nigel (the cold, that is) did fade away. I'm glad I didn't call it Boris or I suspect I would never have got rid of the bloody thing.
Last week I finally got back to some sort of training normality with 33 miles banked and much of that at a decent tempo. It was a bit disappointing to miss races such as the big one at Pendle and then another old favourite of mine, the David Staff Memorial race at Darwen which also passed me by. But now 'Nigel' has gone, I'm feeling ready and looking for a race.
Ribble Valley 10k is a possibility later in the month, although I've yet to commit - still not sure if I'll be quick enough to avoid disappointment and still unable to accept that it's a whopping £15 to enter - I'm sure it was under a tenner the last time I did it?! I've considered a Parkrun as a quick fix in the meantime, but two things have put me off Parkruns in the past; the 9am kick off is a bit of a bruiser for a slow morning person like me and secondly, two of my only four Parkruns at my local venue Cuerden Valley were marred by the discovery of the 'Parkrun snobbery' syndrome. Examples of this bizarre misuse of all things Parkrun were founded when Horwich runner Gareth Booth, along with a few other familiar faces that I couldn't put a name to, most definitely took part in the race and yet vanished without trace in the results listings. The Cuerden course is far from flat and certainly not the fastest. It seemed to me like these guys were avoiding the scanning of their number at the finish because it wouldn't look flattering on their 'Power of Ten' stats? If that was indeed the case, then certainly from my point of view they are taking themselves a little too seriously to say the least. Surely they have the sufficient self motivation to just go and smash a 5K out on their own, or even do a proper race somewhere without using and then snubbing the efforts of the Parkrun volunteers and it's registered patrons?
So speaking of which and with rant subsiding, although work blankets the whole of this weekend, the motivation to do a horrible run just won't go away and so I've set myself a solitary time trial this Friday. Against the clock on Witton Park track, twelve and a half laps, five kilometeres. Let's see what happens...

THIS BUG REALLY BUGS
Two full weeks have now passed being fit for nowt. This flippin' bug just won't bugger off. An attempt at some jogging earlier in the week seemed to be going fine until the cold symptoms worsened again. This slammed the brakes on hopes of even crawling to some sort of comeback.
In too much haste to get back to normal service, fuelled by the paranoia of fitness loss, I'd actually sent myself backwards. I never learn. As such, no venturing out to try and train again until this thing has properly gone away. The plug is now most definitely pulled on the Tour of Pendle race. Ambitions are primitive again, to slowly trying to get back to where I was just a fortnight ago.

MAN FLU SETS BACK TOUR HOPES
Another tasty track session under the belt was 6 x 1200m off two minute recoveries, run in an average time of 4:02 - all run solidly within four seconds of each other - only a few seconds shy of the halcyon track nights of 2009/10 when I could bang out sub four minute 1200's with time to spare. A steady seven miles on the Thursday was followed by eight cross country miles on the local park on the Friday. I felt great, running at a reasonable pace with ease. But sometimes you just know that feeling of an underlying tightness in the breathing tackle which, although not enough to hinder performance that afternoon by any means, nevertheless aroused suspicion that a cold was coming.
I could only hope it wasn't going to be enough to put me completely out of action, but the day after as I set off to East Devon on a family break, so the germicidal intruder began to inflict it's full wrath.
A croaky throat became a crackling chesty hollow. The sinuses were squeezed to absolute overflow and the nose has streamed continuously for two days. Combine this with a general feeling of total lacklustre and self diagnosis points to a well known affliction to the male of the species... man flu. Fortunately it didn't spiral in to proper flu and spoil my time away, but it did scrape icing off the holiday cake a little and probably more so for Sara who had to put up with me.
What was certain was that my running shoes were to be left redundant. This was frustrating indeed with a maze of quiet hilly roads to tackle near the village of Colyton and the chance of a session or two upon the coastal cliff paths. I have yet to run since that Friday on the park. As any male of the species can testify, man flu drags on and it's probably going to be another two or three days at a very optimistic best before I can gently start running again. This would leave me less than a fortnight until the seventeen mile toughie that is the Tour of Pendle. Not ideal, not even realistic. I've entered the race but there is no point speculating that I might be back and well enough to actually do it. Irritating as a bad cold may be, perspective prevails and I wouldn't swap it for an injury.