It’s been a while since we attacked a post with the “usual” vigour, so to all our regular visitors and readers, apologies for the lull. After the IAAF World Champs, things went through a bit of a quiet patch, and that co-incided with a particularly busy period for both us in our “normal” jobs (the ones that pay the bills and take time away from the more enjoyable stuff!). The other thing that has been particularly time-consuming, and exciting for us, is that we recently teamed up with a South African website called Health24, who have agreed to host a lot of our content. It gives us another avenue to talk sports science, so we’ve been putting a lot of content over there in the last week or two.
But for a change, for a post, and for the sake of poking a bit of fun at ourselves, I thought I’d put in a post about procrastinating, since that’s what tends to happen when we get so busy! Actually, I wanted to put this post up since I read it over on Vanilla’s blog, Half-Fast (seriously funny read) but never had the chance. I still haven’t really had the chance, but figured I’d put it on anyway. This is a poem about putting off running (or posting, as the case may be!)
Starting this weekend, though, since there’s a bit of a lull in world cycling and running, we’ll do a series of articles on training, physiology, and exercise science – call them fillers, if you will. What we really need is another drug scandal! Just kidding – we’d settle for a World Championships to discuss! But do keep reading, we’ll work at posts on training in the meantime!
Here’s the poem, courtesy Half-Fast. It's based on a poem by Shel Silverstein, Sick, as you'll see in Vanilla's comments after. Enjoy...
"I cannot run this race today,"
Said Half-Fast, while in bed he lay.
"I pulled my hamstring and my groin,
I have a serious swelling in every loin.
My feet are blistered, my ankel's sprained,
And what if I have over-trained?
My arches have fallen to the floor,
My body feels like it's ninety-four,
I've got shin splints, athlete's foot and stitches,
And now my kneecap really itches.
My heel is burdened by Achilles Tendonitis,
Or it might just be Plantar Fasciites,
Either way I should stay at home,
And not risk Patellofemoral Syndrome.
My feet are too slow, my legs are too fast,
And what if I keep getting passed?
I once heard that running can cause arthritis,
I'm already developing Hip Bursitis.
My quad's are too loose, my hamstring's too tight,
My left leg's faster than my right.
My calves have turned a dark shade of orange,
I got my toe caught in a door-hinge,
It caused a muscle tear, just partial,
And I know it broke my metatarsal.
I have Iliotibial Band Syndrome or I.B.S.
And look! My hair is such an awful mess.
I dislocated my funny bone,
I'm sure I suffer from Plica Syndrome,
I have Tennis Elbow, and my belly is -- what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today's the scheduled pre-race rest day?
G'bye, I’m off to carbo-load and eat soufflé."
Inspired by Shel Silverstein's poem 'Sick' which can be found in the book 'Where The Sidewalk Ends'. The orange/door hinge rhyme didn't work so well, but I've always wanted to try to rhyme something with orange and that was the best I could do. Yes, I know that Iliotibial Band Syndrome is technically shortened to 'ITBS' but 'I BS' seemed a much more apt abbreviation for my purposes. What are you a doctor?
See you soon!