By the time I reach the end of an ‘athon, I am usually in the grip of writer’s block*. It starts gradually (one short post in amongst longer ones), builds steadily (one long post surrounded by shorter ones), curtails scramble and words with friends (please, no, not another word) and then spreads to comments (does anyone else use the like button as a form of “I was here”?). The only cure is rest.
But, as with all injury-related layoffs, it’s tempting to return too soon. First bike ride in aeons? First swim in years? A flat car tyre? All of these could, under normal circumstances, be fodder for a blog, but if I use my meagre flow of words now, am I jeopardising the more interesting tales of the Juneathon meet-up or Sunday’s “should-have-been-an-A-race-10k”? Or even, heaven forbid, the anniversary (in mid July) of signing up for some real running coaching.
[Oh. Relapse. I feel that this needs a final paragraph, drawing out the parallels between this and the progress on my foot, but after four failed attempts to write it, I’m giving up. This was, like my parkrun last Saturday, too soon a return. I will walk to the finish and then rest a little more.]
*Writers’ block? The block of a singular writer? The block of writers plural? Anyway. That.