Had the fireworks at the Plough tonight, but throughout the day — and especially into the early evening — I started to feel rough. It was exactly like when I used to overdo it at football: back aching, which then somehow shifts into stomach pains. Felt like the boot camp on Monday had finally caught up with me.
Mum arrived in good time, and I had a long shower trying to sort myself out, but when I came downstairs I told Tash I really didn’t want to go. Still, I felt I had to, so we wandered up. It didn’t seem quite as crowded as normal. I got the drinks — mulled wines and a beer — but I couldn’t even finish mine. We headed over to the bonfire.
The bonfire was huge and looked a bit out of control with how strong the wind was. For a moment it looked like it might set the nearby trees alight, which would’ve been dramatic, but it didn’t. Eventually it calmed down and we waited for the fireworks.
By then I was really struggling. We found a bench and sat, but once the fireworks started the pain got too much. I made my excuses and walked home — not comfortably either. I was bent over most of the way and honestly would’ve happily taken a taxi just to get there quicker. It was horrible.
Got home and went straight to bed by about 8.00pm. Didn’t properly sleep, but dozed off once Tash got home. I apologised, but truthfully I didn’t care much — I just wanted the pain gone.
Weird how it hits me like that sometimes. I’m certain it was those leg-raise exercises from boot camp hurting my back/groin/stomach or something.
Reflection:
A night that should’ve been fun but ended up dominated by pain — frustrating more than anything, and a reminder that the old football injury still likes to make an appearance now and then.
