The fig

I was a little nervous leaving my flat today for two reasons. One was I was worried that my patellar tendinopathy had returned. This started in 2005 when I was training for the London marathon but had receded in the last year or so after a lay-off of a few months plus some weird injections from a nice sports doc called Tom Crisp that set BUPA back a pretty penny. It felt like the problem was back on Friday, so I didn't run back to my parents' house as I had intended on Saturday, hoping that this short rest would do the trick. Miraculously, 9 miles today didn't seem like a problem, which was a huge relief - it's very irritating and took ages to clear up.

The other reason for my apprehension was that I tried a new route today, East along the Regent's Canal to Victoria Park, down to Limehouse Basin via Mile End Park and then back along the Thames. It's not an area I know especially well and there's always the chance of getting lost etc first time around. It turned out fine - a really beautiful run and one that re-acquainted me with some places I've not seen for ages. My friends Sally and Alice used to live near Victoria Park, Ellie had a birthday do in a pub on Mile End Park a couple of years ago, I discovered a couple of restaurants (Gordon Ramsay's pub the Narrow and, bizarrely, the sister restaurant of the Kyrgyz one referred to in a previous post) and some great views of London landmarks. Why, then, is my only picture of an Italian restaurant that I have never been to? Well - it's called "La Figa" and I'd heard of it mainly because nearby residents eventually realised that this means not just "the fig" but is also Italian slang for... wait for it... a woman's parts.

I love the logo. I am hugely immature.