The happy dog, and The clicky hip.

I saw a dog this morning, and I swear it was the happiest dog I’ve ever seen. That dog was downright ecstatic. I think it might have been an Irish Wolfhound. But what do I know about dogs, anyway?

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Some years back, mum liked to buy these awesome Christmas novelty toys at that time of the year, you know, like the angel that you turn on and it plays some naff instrumental Christmas carol on a glowing accordion. Or a reindeer that stands on one leg and vibrates, so when you set it down it has a happy little Christmas seizure, sort of lazily spinning around in a circle. Playing a carol, probably. My favourite was this Santa, all dressed up in his fluffy red suit, who says something - probably on the ho-ho-ho train of thought - and ponderously declares that it’s time to sing a Christmas song. I can’t remember what song it was he was singing, but I’m fairly sure it was ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’. He would accompany his singing with a little hip action, a few booty shakes and the like, punctuating every beat in the song with some hot Santa moves (or at least that seemed to be the manufacturer’s intention). Now, this is a very random anecdote, I know, but it is ever so slightly relevant. You see, our little Santa (who stood at almost a foot tall, to my recollection) had a teeny tiny mechanical fault in the hip mechanism, so whenever he moved his hips, they clicked. They clicked LOUD. At the other side of the house, even if you couldn’t hear the tinny little Christmas carol, you knew the Santa had been turned on simply due to the constant ‘click, click, CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK, pause, click, click, click, pause, click’ and so on, for all eternity.

The relevance is here: After my run this morning, when I was walking the extra two kilometres home, my hip was clicking just like the clicky hipped Santa. On the left hand side. So loud I could hear it over the music.

I think I need to figure out a way to turn out my legs more when I run, because my knees shouldn’t be facing so far inward. My butt hurts like a son of a bitch after today’s run, and even if my hips aren’t clicking any more, I don’t want to do any damage over the next month or so.

So yay me, I ran 30 km this morning. Again. It was harder mentally than it was physically, and I was so relieved when it was over. Three and a half hours is a long, long time to be running.

I’m starting to think maybe I’ll get to 32, do a few training runs at that length, and then try to forge ahead for the 42 from there. Surely you wouldn’t need to run much further than 32 km in training for a marathon?