What I did on my holidays

I was over-busy, double-busy before my holidays. I had the marathon and then a course on trauma on Monday and Tuesday. I finished up  where I've been doing volunteer counselling on Wednesday. On Thursday I went and squeezed as many hours of being a nurse in as I could and on Friday I had to go to do an exam for my counselling professional body through in Weegie-land.
On Saturday and Sunday I was on a therapy weekend. Don't ask. On Monday it was time to pack before our flight out to Portugal.

To tell the truth it is so long since we've been out the country I didn't believe our tickets would work. It was almost a  surprise to land in Faro airport on a warm and scented Monday evening. The air smelled subtle and sweet, like honey. We still had a transfer to get to where we were staying. 11pm at night we got there. We had had our tea on the plane. I had rice-cakes and cheese and Peter had big slabby sandwiches. All holiday we hoped that the times that we didn't get much to eat would somehow off-set the many many days when we had plenty to eat.

Peter was raring to run. He's going well, it's understandable. But he wanted me to run too. "I'm TIRED and I need a HOLIDAY" I would protest. But it fell on deaf dog-like ears. I do get it. I have gone on holidays where running was the holiday, but I had more catching up with myself to do than that. I'd run on Monday morning and I all out refused to run on Tuesday. It was the hottest day - 30 degrees, and I was having trouble breathing. I didn't sleep because of the heat and I was dog-tired. I found out I'd forgotten loads of stuff when I was packing, which is unlike me. Really irritating stuff like connecting cables for the computer and the charger for my phone. Plus the place where we were staying was minimally kitted out for self-catering. It had tiny little cups and little flat bowls and nothing for washing up and no sharp knives. We went on a shopping trip and Peter went a run himself while I cooked.

The next night I slept better and we went for a 10 miler Peter had researched. It was cooler that day. Just 29 degrees. The air wobbled. It was nice to get running again but I was done towards the end of it. We ran along the top of terrifying crumbling cliffs and then on boardwalks along the beach and over some marshes.

The next day I wanted to go a recovery run. It turned into a 5 miler, which was okay. I'd finished for the day, but Peter was pressing for going another run. I stepped sideways in the shower and a pain shot down my leg. I thought it would fade as fast as it had come but it just kept on coming. I tried some stretches to see if it would get any better, but that was making it worse. We had planned to walk into Portimao, which was about a mile and a half away, to find out about getting buses to places, but a half mile into the walk I had to call it a day. There was something dead wrong with my hip. Back at the apartment the only way I could get comfy was on the sofa with my knee up, propped on a cushion, facing the wall. My focus narrowed right down into the present and trying to get comfortable. I got the rest I'd been needing, although I didn't quite want it like that. Peter went off on a mega-run of 30 miles arriving back not long before midnight. I think it did him good - took some of his urgency to run away.

The next morning my hip had eased up a bit. We went a very sedate 5K round the harbour. It was a still morning and quiet. Was that the first day we went swimming in the sea? I can't really remember. I remember that the sea felt freezing at first, because my skin was so hot, but once you adjusted it was really fine and we were swimming around for ages before we started to get a bit cold.

The next day Peter was pushing for an adventure and I thought my hip would just about take it. It was a typical foreign land adventure with a bus-driver who didn't understand us. We over-shot where we were supposed to be going and then had to run back up the busy main road. I knew I had GPS on my stupid phone (which I am liking better and better) so I turned it on, and it was kind of helpful, but I couldn't hear the lady's voice over the thunder of lorries rumbling by, trying to squash us. When we got where we had meant to get off the bus we started off down a marked trail. "Isn't this wonderful" or something like that, quoth the Buchanan. I don't want to be dramatic but it was close to my worst nightmare. We went down a narrow road past a series of large houses with big fences and every one was equipped with an enormous barky dog. A rally driver nearly took us out on a tight bend. All the fences seemed to be in good repair thankfully, and contained the baying hounds until the last house on the right where an enormous dog (with eyes like saucers) was standing casually on the wall. It could have dropped down on our shoulders, getting a piggy back and biting our necks at the same time, but happily it didn't.

Peter loved the day more than I did. I was glad to get back to our apartamento and chill out.

I've no idea what day it was by then, which is what is good about holidays. I think the next day we went swimming in the sea again. Swimming in the sea was my favourite thing. My legs are still done from the marathon and the heat was knocking me out and my hip was still achy although manageable. One day I went swimming in the sea and then had a bath when I got in. I love having a bath but our flat is too wee to have one so I take one when I get the opportunity. It was 27 degree heat but I had a nice hot bath anyway. After my sea swim and my hot bath I slept like the dead. I'd highly recommend this if you're an insomniac.

Then what happened? I knocked out a hearty 3 miler at 11.30 pace on the last day. My legs were done. Peter doubtless went for a bigger run somewhere. I can't remember!

And then I have been working ever since and I have just finished.

Yesterday my hip was so sore again that I had to fill myself full of painkillers and hurple around. Today it was magically a lot better. Will I be able to run the 7 hills on Sunday? Who knows.