In two minds whether to go for a walk today after a longer distance yesterday and some intermittent rain forecast today and, after doing the weekly food shop this morning, set out pretty late for what was never going to be one of my longer treks. With the Manchester derby and then Villa v Spurs on the radio, I had plenty to distract and entertain in approximately equal measure as I took a fairly routine route up and then down to Chalk Hill, then up, along, down and up back home.
No reaction to yesterday’s walk. In fact, I felt positively invigorated in the first few miles, not really feeling any pain and little to irritate with just some light-ish rain for 15 or 20 minutes at around the four or five mile mark. However, the urban routes’ only peril can be drivers and cyclists. Sometimes they are meaning to be helpful, and you are only trying to be helpful in return. With about two miles left and darkness just creeping in, a driver kindly waved me across the road as he slowed. I felt a twinge in my buttock as I just quickly skipped in front of him. Didn’t appear to be too serious, but every time I then stepped off the kerb, I felt a sharp pain. Not much more than an annoying niggle, I think, I hope, and I don’t think I was limping noticeably since it was only stepping up or down when I could feel it. A&E not on standby!
Of course, if I was an overpaid Premier League footballer, I would have been rolling around holding my face, while ten of my mates would have been crowding around the car driver and any other pedestrians demanding removal of the driver’s licence. Fortunately, for my own sanity, I am not a footballer but a mere statistician and I was happy simply to count the miles. 11, bang on, perhaps ± 0.2 miles. With 95% confidence. Assuming normality. And don’t let anyone else say anything different – it’s the data are, the data are, the data are, not data is.