I thought being injured and unable to run would be soul destroying. The kind of pain and frustration that has you lying in the faetal position dazed and confused, not knowing who you are anymore or what to do with your life.

It sounds dramatic but I’d be lying if I said it was a walk in the park.

Thinking about it now, I probably could have used that lounging around time a lot more effectively. But I digress.

On day 60, I walked into my myotherapists office and passed his little tests with flying colours. Well all but one of them. The bastard had a sneaky surprise test up his sleeve that I had not prepared for, a single leg stationary long jump. I face planted a few times (jumping is not exactly one of my strengths) and turns out I failed by a miserable 5 cm. “Once each leg is within 10%, you can start running again”. Sold.

On day 66, I ran. Sort of. The instructions were real. Skipping or jump rope intervals, build up the strength, improve the jump, run.

I didn’t want to risk further injury so I started easy. 15 minutes on the cross trainer to warm up ( a nice break from the stationary bike) and then I stepped onto the treadmill.

I’d be eyeing them off for weeks. Five bright and shiny new treadmills, all lined up in a row. I felt a little naughty stepping onto the treadmill. I kept looking over my shoulder like someone was about to tell me off. But it was Easter Sunday and most were at home eating with their families not hiding out in 24 hr gyms. Even walking on the thing made me grin. I looked over my shoulder again incase the walls of mirrors didn’t catch someone else in the room. I walked for 100 m, looked left and right, and bumped the treadmill up to 9.5 and ran. I burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to go faster, I wanted to go longer. I giggled, I smiled, I felt like real life snap chat filter with love hearts and arrows and other generic symbols of happiness bursting from my face.

After 100 metres I slowed it back down and walked for another 100 metres, watching the distance tick over until I could start running again.

Not wanting to push it, I stopped after 1 km. It took me 8 minutes and 18 seconds.

I smiled the entire way through my leg session. Even the deadlifts.

Can’t wait til Tuesday when I can run again.

Keep the faith injured folks.