Pre-marathon musings

My mind is all of a muddle these days it seems. I spent most of last night watching distracting tv, such as American Idol and Temple Grandin (which was very good btw), trying not to face the fact I have to prepare a 5 minute presentation for next Thursday as well as more immediately my task is to run the damn Brighton Marathon tomorrow. In Sue Sylvester fashion, here is how I see it. Last year, I trained like I was some 2012 hopeful, pounding streets and treadmills like every mile was imperative to me getting that coloured piece of tin at the finishing line. I dried out from new year to the race, I followed a nutrition plan. Then I arrived in the US of A and got jet lagged, barely slept, ran round the streets of LA and died aiun mile 24. I don’t know how this one will go.

I got the miles in, have trained, tapered, have been eating carbs and slept as much as this whole job situation, student neighbours and my tiny bladder have allowed. It’s an added stress. I tend to think what will be will be. The weather is an added stumbling block. Predicted 22 degrees. In the UK in April? I blame my nan and her CFC’s from her hairspray habit.

Carb loading to plan when I arrive off this packed train. Chips with everything I say. Got my alabaster pins out. Post run I want to be Kardashian colour. So excited about this weekend, will be fab to just be out of the sober, sombre reality I have been facing the last few months with little respite.

I will blog post run. If it’s hot, and I’m dying, may dip my legs in the channel and cool them down. If nothing else it will be a great photo for this thing. If it’s too cold it will simply be another smiley on the street photo.

Someone is eating egg sandwiches on a very warm train. Sick sick bastards. Who does that? I also need a wee. I’m listening to Alexis Jordan singing Happiness. Hurry hurry hurry now, quick quick quick indeed. Girlfriend feels my pain, she must have been on a tiny hot local service train with a full bladder and a pungent smell of egg mayonnaise. Word.

– I don’t run for pleasure. I run for the love of cake. And bread. And pie.

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