Well, since Saturday afternoon my wheels have been off and on like those of a Formula One car. When on, they've been buckled. I've done two short runs — both Cliffy shuffles that had me feeling like Walt Kowalski chasing the neighbours from his front lawn. I did something to my back. I'm pretty sure it's a pinched sciatic nerve.
Today, standing up and walking is less painful, so I'll try another easy run this evening. This minor drama makes me think about how much I'd miss running if I were unable to do it. I'd miss it a lot. I first had this realisation after my second marathon in 1981 — a knee injury made me a spectator for five months. Since that time, I've always trained conservatively, hoping that keeping something in reserve will extend my time as a runner. I'd like to run until I'm old enough to say to the Walt Kowalskis of my neighbourhood "Hey young fella — back in my day we used to chase kangaroos to exhaustion around the grass track at Stromlo!"