Not quite sure when precisely during yesterday's two sessions I cricked my neck but by the time I'd walked back from the club to the flat I felt nauseous and distinctly out of sorts. Usually the first person to dive head first into housework on a Sat afternoon, especially when the flat looks like ours currently does, I walked straight into the bathroom on getting home to run a bath. In fact, I noticed on walking into the bathroom this morning that my house keys are still by the side of the sink by way of evidence! By the time Dominic got home I was sat on the sofa in my PJs (at 2pm) dosed up on ibuprofen with an ice pack handy. All I mustered up the energy to do yesterday was watch the GP qualifying and have copious amounts of sleep. I clearly needed it, and most people would call that a typical relaxing Saturday afternoon, but there's nothing that makes an athlete more despondent than being rendered totally incapable of doing anything. Especially when their own desire and determination to do otherwise can not overcome the fact that their body is telling them something different.
Had this been a week day I would have been to my chiropractors by now to have my neck fully examined and manhandled back into place. (I take the same approach to my body as the vast majority of the other aspects of my life - if it isn't working, keep pushing it until it does). However, being a Saturday afternoon I have to wait until Monday morning for that pleasure. In the meantime, the washing will have to remain in front of the machine and the hoover silent. Currently sitting in bed listening to the rain and catching up on Eastenders is all I'm capable of. Any other day I'd call that a fantastic recovery day - today it's a pain in the neck.