Monday, 3 February 2014

Busting a gut

Okaaaay, so, one month in.

The brilliant idea that was me running the London Marathon.

And still is, still is, no backing out, no excuses about sore knees, clicky hips, painful toes, twisted pelvis, unstable discs, slippy towpaths, dark mornings, drizzly downpours, or...

M U D .

Gawdomitey.

I thought I had done my penance on the rugby pitches with three lots of minis kit and boots (plus OH's, because I am nice after all, nothing to do with marginal OCD and hating dirty gear being left on the garage floor regardless of owner) to clean up from September to April.

Nup. It would seem that the heavens have conspired against me and that I am duty-bound to share the frustration of flood-stricken Brits in the South-East (although, I'll admit, at least I can still use the paths/roads/lanes and not have to resort to floating vessels to navigate my route) and thus ensure that any outing consists of the following:

  • easy warm-up
  • get into running rhythm
  • hop over puddle
  • hop over more puddles
  • jump side to side to avoid stretch of puddles
  • squelch through mulchy border either side of mud bath
  • attempt hop over pond
  • fail
  • wade through pond
  • continue running with one sodden and one almost sodden trainer
  • distract self from very wet feet by looking at scenery
  • realise scenery is increasingly aquatic
  • wonder if taking off shoes might be better option
  • look at shoes and fail to recognise them from previous incarnation
  • am grateful cannot see rest of self if this is just the 'bottom part' of attire
  • give up trying to find a 'dry bit' to run on
  • keep on going with chorus from the Ride of the Valkyries playing in my head
  • return home and consider undressing in full outside front door before venturing inside
  • reconsider
  • spend next hour cleaning MUD off everything

Repeat.

The upside is that I have become (almost) immune to the brown stuff.
The downside is that I am running on my own because other potential training partners are far wiser.
Who knows, by the end of this whole venture I may morph in to one of these:

rugby plus mud all rolled into one -
yeah baby!


Anyhow, more to the point: HAVE YOU SPONSORED ME YET AND IF NOT WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

That's what mud does to you. 
It makes you very shouty.


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