...in which my legs perform a monologue.
If you've been paying attention you'll know that the original point of this blog was for me to write about how I was getting on with training for a half marathon. I've kind of meandered about talking about lots of other stuff on the way, but that's just par for the course with me.
Today was the day that all that training and preparation had been for, except...there hasn't really been much training and preparation for the last 3 - 4 months, and none at all for the last 3 weeks. This is because I've been working away (on a different contract to the one that I was on when I started the blog) and this time I haven't had much time for training; I have to drive across the country twice a week which leaves me with 4 days out of seven when I could train (weekends are out as that's family time), but recently I've had to work evenings as well because the contract isn't paying the bills so I've had to take on other work as well, which has to be done sometime.
Anyway, now my excuses are out of the way I shall tell the story of the event itself, in the words of my legs.
At the start: "Oh, we're going to some running? OK, well that's OK. We haven't done much for a while but I'm sure we'll be fine."
1 Mile in: "We're running up steep hills? Oh well, that's a bit new but you know us, always willing to learn. We can keep this up all day, no problem."
2 Miles in: "Yup, we're good. Keep on running, we're with you on this."
3 Miles in: "Toilet break? Why didn't you go before?! Come on, we're raring to go here!"
4 Miles in: "No more upwards hills now? Excellent! Let's get whizzy!"
5 Miles in: "Hahaha, look, a shop called The Knob Shop. And it's next to a family church!" (Editor's note: this is really true. They sell doorknobs and stuff. Here you go: http://www.knobshop.biz/ Yes, that link is safe for work, honest. Unless your manager objects to doorknobs).
6 Miles in "We're not stopping yet? Okay. You know it's in our contract that we don't have to do this, right? But we'll keep on going. For now."
7 Miles in: "We didn't sign up for this. We're not talking to the brain now. Lungs, tell the brain that if it wants to sign up for this sort of thing in the future it can damn well do the running itself."
8 Miles in: "You said there were no more hills to go up! You said so back at 4 miles in! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
9 Miles in: "*Dark muttering*"
10 Miles in: "Okay. We've tried to be reasonable. We've been nice. We've carried on well beyond the call of duty. If you carry on running We Will Hurt You."
11 Miles in: "Don't say we didn't warn you. Because we did. Here it comes. Let's see how the brain that signed us up for this enjoys being carried on two quivering pieces of jelly."
12 Miles in:"Argharghargharghargharghowowdamnyoubrainwehateyousomuchrightnow."
13 Miles in: "Alright, alright, we'll let you run the last .1 miles; because we're nice like that."
13.1 Miles: "It's over? Seriously, there is something very wrong with you. We quit. Oh wait, we can't, we've got tenure here...well we're going to ache at you for the whole of the rest of the day. So there."
On realising there was a mile or so walk back to the car park: "*censored*".
So, there we have it. What my legs don't know is that I will be signing up for the Bristol half marathon in September, because I hate my legs. Right now the feeling appears to be mutual...more on that soon, hopefully,.
For those who really want to know, I completed the half marathon in 2 hours and 53 minutes according to the website; I'm sure I can knock that down to 2 hours 20 at least with more training, and hopefully less.
Cheers,
