A trip to the doctor's today. It was much anticipated. My fear was that they would leave me in this limbo that I'm in. I've not raced since June for goodness sake.
"Why would we want to pay tax payer's money fixing you up Ms Hunter? We  have heard you are a bit of a shit runner." My only comeback would be that I read on an American site that the procedure to fix me costs about 5 years worth of medication, so if I manage to survive more than 5 years they're quids in. However, I doubt that's really true because the drug companies have 10 years to charge a lot for new drugs under patent after which any one can make them and the price comes down, and I think my drugs have been around longer than that. So what comeback would I have then? Threaten to go on a burger binge and then call out expensive reinforced ambulances as I tipped 50 stone? It seemed extreme.

Happily the real doctor was a bit more sympathetic than the one I had imagined and no such bargaining took place. They're going to do it as soon as they can. So that's good.

What a busy old week it has been. I didn't get my new job. I don't really mind although I wouldn't have spent much of last weekend reading about dementia just for fun. I had a fair run round Arthur's Seat yesterday despite having a snivelly cold. I am back to thinking running the Aviemore half is pointless, especially now I've got a cold, so the weekend will be a muted affair. I need to get the running club championship points up to date, so maybe I'll do that while Peter, Richard and Willie Jar Super-star go on a campaign up north.