For the first ten months of this year I documented my marathon training in a public journal. I have scrubbed all trace of this journal from the internet as it’s by turns painfully dull (Tuesday: ran 8 km, Wednesday: ran 12 km, etc.) and hugely cringeworthy for me to read. Anyway… a couple of race reports and stories are well worth repeating so I’m doing it here (yeah? I’m being self-indulgent? sue me).
21st April 2009
I GOT CHASED BY A FUCKING HORSE. One of the farm paths I often run down has a few horses tethered to one side of the road, including a couple of foals. Today, however, one of the foals had been left untethered and it seemed to be full of energy, cantering and skipping all over the place. Now, when it saw me — a stinking, sweating brightly coloured thing bobbing down the path — it became curious and ran towards me, swerving at the last moment when I didn’t slow down. It then repeated this a few times, it was really fucking weird, running a few meters away, circling round and running really close past me again, almost bouncing off me. I guess it was just playing around, but it was as tall as me and I was shit scared of getting trampled by the thing. Although I briefly considered it, I didn’t think that punching or shoving the horse would be either effective or sensible, and I obviously couldn’t outrun it, so I froze. It ran at me a couple more times, then calmed down, losing interest. When it turned its back I legged it.
Oh… yeah. This is supposed to be a training journal: The run was fine, other than getting chased by a goddamned horse.
1st August 2009
Running protip time!
When you wash your shorts MAKE SURE YOU RINSE ALL (REALLY, ALL) OF THE SOAP OUT OF THEM. I just did a long run, and about 16 km in looked down at my legs. Around the crotch, where the fabric of the two legs rubs together my sweat had soaked the fabric. Soaked, soapy fabric being rubbed together? It lathers up.
I ran the final 16 km of the run with a crotch dripping white, every few minutes the foam would start running down my leg and I’d have to flick it away. I honestly must have looked like some sort of priapic sex-pest, and the white salt stains all over my shirt and muddy legs would probably also qualify me as looking ‘unwashed’.
An unwashed, sweating sex-pest. That’s me that is.
10th August 2009
…
Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Since I’m going on holiday tomorrow I’m trying to empty my fridge of perishables. Today’s dinner? Three chicken thighs and a pile of bacon. Nothing else. I wish I could eat like this every day.
