Carjacked.
Some 12 hours before the start of my R86+ revenge round, I spotted a new bruise on the lower inside of my shin. The attachment point of the peroneal, outside of the leg above the ankle, was also a bit more sore and twingey than one would expect, having done little else but ride in taxis and trains all day. Even the three mile shakeout walk I had planned failed to materialise, but still there sat the exceptionally un-funny comedy duo of Bruise and Twinge, daring me to dare greatly. Into the epsom salt bath went I, pleading with the fates to let me have my meticulously-planned day in the sun. Nothing else hurt. This would become a theme. Long story short, it could have gone either way. Had the stars aligned slightly jigged to the right, or left, or anywhere else but where I found them, it really could have. It all went so right, until it went so wrong. If ultrarunning had a mantra, I think that'd be it. I woke for the R86+ redux with great anticipation and greater co...