'ooh, Vic - I've fallen'

I need a bit of Reeves and Mortimer to cheer me up. Today started well. I'd prepped for my first 20 mile run of the year with a good meal last night, and porridge this morning. I got a couple of critical work tasks out of the way, and the sun came out. I was ready to run.

I'd planned to run to Richmond Park, do a lap, then home, which works out neatly to 20 miles. It even has a natural 'blue pop stop' (or for you non-northerners, a newsagents that sells blue Powerade) built in on the way back. It was perfect running weather, sunny but mild. Great conditions for a 20 miler.

I should have known however, when that lone magpie landed on the roof outside my office window at 9am, that it would be a bad omen for the run. I am incredibly superstititious about magpies, and have never yet been let down by the 'one for sorrow, two for joy' mantra.

My magpie kicked in just after the 4 mile mark, where I somehow stumbled on God knows what. I went stuntman, slo-motion style right into the road, and landed flat on my front, with my kneecaps and elbows bearing the brunt. Sometimes when I fall when running I just wish someone could record it so I watch the playback. It seems to take forever to fall, so long that sometimes I have been able to right myself and not go splat. But I was not so lucky today.

I was lucky there were no cars were coming along - it could have been much worse. I took a bit of time to pick myself up as I'd winded myself going splat on the tarmac, and pretty much decided that 20 miles was now out. But because I am a crazy runner, and crazy runners do that thing where they just can't leave running alone, I decided I would run the 4 miles home again.

My left knee quickly disagreed with this course of action. If knees could talk, mine definitely said 'get yourself to a 65 bus stop now, before I go on strike completely'. This was literally adding insult to injury to me, as I hate buses (as famously described in series 2 of Green Wing, 'mobile asylums') and I hate not being able to finish my run.

I was a bit teary by the time the bus turned up, and nearly broke down into full flown sobs when he charged me £2.30 to carry my wounded pride and joints home. My elbow was covered in blood, and my favourite running top is now sporting an extra bit of arm ventilation, and the pain in my arm was so intense I was seriously worried I had fractured my elbow. I felt pretty confident my knees were intact, if just battered, bloodied and swollen. But my arm did not feel good at all.

One shower, lashings of Savlon and several judiciously placed 'cotton wool pads tacked on with plasters' later, I am now back at my desk, bag of peas on the knees, and counting my lucky stars I'm still intact enough to run that marathon in 7 weeks and 2 days. No long run this week, and pretty low on the mileage overall since Monday, but hopefully I can get back out in a couple of days and start building up again. And, of course, learn how to lift my feet a bit higher!