I ran my furthest yet today, breaking the three mile barrier, meaning the marathon is still fucking way beyond any form of reach.
Writing a blog everyday I run about the run is bound to get boring, or it would if it wasn’t for my social awkwardness.
today it all seemed to be running smoothly (hahaha) when my hideous competitive streak set in, which was then joined by my default feelings of utter inadequacy.
It was all set off by one woman, running towards me in Greenwich park having clearly been running for some distance but with good posture, little sweat, an armband thing for her ipod and proper clothes. It forced me to look down at myself, some tracksuit bottoms handed down from my girlfriends cousin (it’s a point in a mans life when the hand-me-downs are from younger members of the inlaws family), a tshirt that is older than [INSERT SOMEONE FAMOUS AND YOUNG HERE THAT WOULD BE FUNNY, I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING... GIVE ME A BREAK I'VE JUST COME BACK FROM A THREE MILE RUN*] and my trusty hat.
I want the proper running tights and yellow thing tops and things on my wrist for my iphone to sit in. I swear that when I run past these people (and Greenwich Park has a lot of cunting runners) they pointedly avoid eye contact, with my beard and scruffy clothes, am I a tramp running from the police? Am I taking the piss out of them? Am I running? If I am then they certainly don’t want to be associated with me.
I kept on going, feeling shit but plodding along. Then, round the back of the park we met again, like bond and his nemesis, only this was when I was going up (and she down) the hill that kills me – she still looked fresh faced, I now looked like a tramp running from a sex attack and the police.
There was another runner in front, I was determined to overtake, using all my Formula One knowledge of overtaking moves, aerodynamics and wind resistance, I copied Renault and cheated, cutting out a corner and winning.
Hooray
Pathetic
I’m running the marathon for mind – it’s going to hurt (but be funny) please donate some of that money stuff here virginmoneygiving.com/terrysaunders
*I was going to put Jack Whitehall down as an old as my tshirt reference, but checking wikipedia I see he was born in 1988, I was eight then, the idea of me wearing a tshirt that I had when I was eight is laughable, but not in a funny way