Holy Frel and other #Farscape swear words – it’s a broken ankle

It seems I am destined never to run an ultra with some sort of fuckwit incident kicking me in the gonads and dancing a tango across my chest. You’d think it was just a series of excuses to make up for my lacklustre performances but sadly that’s not the case.

What’s gone wrong now?

My grandmother has managed to wind up in hospital with at least a broken ankle and possibly other bits (more tests to follow) and so tonight I’m going to try and do all my prep for the SDW50, then tomorrow I’m going to try and do three days work in one, while also taking a work laptop with me on my travels. This will be at the same time as seeing the physio to try and fix my own knackered hips and early Thursday morning I’m going to head to Liverpool, pick up my grandmothers things for her two week stay in hospital, then Friday morning I’m back to sunny Kent to try and get a few hours sleep before the arrival of another shitty performance at an ultra.

There are stories around the shit that is being mentioned above but at the heart of it this is being one shitty week and it’s only frelling Tuesday.