Depressed, big time

I never thought it would feel this bad.

That ankle injury - whatever it is - is still with me, and I can't even walk without hobbling, much less run. The doc tells me it's RSI, and the only cure is to do the usual rest, ice etc. I've done virtually nothing but rest it for several days now (since getting back from a trip to London, for a concert and a funeral, with all the driving, standing etc. that implies), and there's still no sign of improvement.

I am so desperate to run I can't believe it. It's as though I'd discovered the Holy Grail - how to have my cake and eat it, literally - and felt the best about myself physically than I had at any other time in my life. Somebody's moved the Grail.

My poor husband had to cope with me throwing a complete wobbly last night - I felt as though every pound I'd lost and every muscle I'd developed was returning to its old state - bless him for being so patient. But as my main way of keeping happy is exercising, it's a double whammy.

I'm going to try a visit to the gym, using only weights and (the only machine that it doesn't hurt to use) bike. And it will mean going back to the Rosemary Conley food plans for the time being, if I'm not gonna be burning off running calories.

I've had to admit that the 5K Santa fun run in Buxton isn't going to happen; 9th December is too soon. I can only pray that the Wymondham 10K on New Year's Day is still possible. Oh, and it's not just me, by the way. Huge sympathy to Nikki with her knee. Hang on in there, girl, and I'll try to do the same.

Meantime, I sit at the PC, sulk - and at least get my tax return done...