Doing Epic Shit

...well - not really.  Don't read on if you are expecing a traverse of the Three Peaks or a foray into classical banjo. 

This week, and last week, NOTHING epic has happened unless you count lying in bed, lying in bed reading a book, lying in bed playing on the pooter, or lying in bed reading the Sydney Morning Herald, or indeed, lying in bed drinking gin and pepsi max with a slice of lemon and three ice cubes. 

I did get up and go to work every day, laryngitis or not.  Presently I am coughing only every thirty seconds, which sounds remarkably like the bark of a very old dog - a dog that smoked a large number of cigars every day and sang Edith Piaf songs for a living in a very smoky bar. 

And those sudafed tablets?  They keep you going.  All through the day, the next day and half of the day after.  I think there might have been three days last week that melded into one, thanks to 2 x Codral Cold and Flu Daytime Variety and a large long black. 

So - NO TRAINING to speak of.  Kinda puts the k'bosh on my "grand secret plan" (it's been a week and a half and there is no way I could run, my lungs are full of green gunk - you could wax your eyebrows with it).

But plenty of hard work thanks to the wonderful speedy up powers of the sudafed (not so wonderful at 3am mind you) except I sorta lost my voice, so I couldn't tell anyone about it.....

Anyhow, onwards and upwards, since I haven't run in a week and a half, I haven't had a pimple all week and when you are 43, and have been having pimples since you were 16, a week without pimples is something to celebrate.  So crack open the champagne and lets toast my unclogged pores!