Post-marathon moanings

Ok ok, I apologise. One whole day abandoned, and I assume you were all on tenterhooks about how I got on.

Best part? Carb loading. Lunch? Bread basket and pasta. Tea? Bruschetta and massive pizza. I was not arguing. Loved every bite!

Went to see Source Code again. Not a good idea to see a film for the second time in 3 days full of carbs. Nor to see a film the centres around revisiting the same events over and over when a bit sleepy and full of carbs. I kept thinking I’d just blinked slowly but then realising I’d maybe been asleep for a few minutes as id moved on to a whole other bit of the movie. Thank god the cinema had a Costa, took a swift hit of caffeine which helped a bit!

So I did the marathon in 4 hours 9 minutes. A whole 8 minutes SLOWER than last years effort. In my defence it was 22 degrees, bloody stifling, with no breeze and I was shattered from staying in Hen Party HQ, inadvertently I hasten to add, which only afforded me a couple of hours sleep.

The route was changeable, as was my attitude towards the route. For a good few miles, I was happy. As I ran through Kemptown, I thought it was wonderful. I was imagining all kinds of enthusiastic conversations to get M-C to join me next year doing it again, as it was so quaint and seasidey. That continued through the uphill to a town called Rottingdean and Woodingdean, back along the seafront onto the main front, and for a time out towards Hove. Although I can remember about mile 16 being solely reliant on Single Ladies to keep one foot of mine in front of the other. And I chomped on Shot Blocks as if that was the answer to my prayers around mile 18. I was no more enthusiastic, yet felt a bit dirty for eating what had the consistency of a block of Robinsons Jelly Cubes. My problems occurred around miles 22 to 24. I was loathed to stop running. I told myself I was going to keep going. But the wall was there. It was not symbolic, or metaphorical. It is that tightening in my thighs, a dull throb, a feeling that it won’t help keeping up my now rather ridiculous jogging pace, it is still 4 miles to go and I am spent. In my defence, I never walked for more than a couple of minutes, I would start up again. But I did give myself a couple of rest moments. It was out of compassion for my weakening mental state.

I got over it, and upon spying the mile 25 marker I ran. Upon seeing Pete I ran a bit more. When I saw the 800 metre countdown, I ran a bit more, until I saw the finish line. And I then slumped. Water in hand, t shirt collected, medal awarded, floor hit with my bum. And since that moment, I have been walking like a cowboy. My legs will never forgive me for this marathon, I fear. I have blisters the size of Luxembourg, an inability to tackle stairs, and am constantly shattered.

On the plus size, I can now drink. Post run, I had a Nandos. Ever classy. Also did a post marathon trip to Choccywoccydodah!

Post Nandos I showered, lay down for a bit, then went to the Queens Arms for a bit. It’s windowless, and there was a drag show at 6pm. It’s a bit unsavoury when you are in a darkened pub watching cabaret when the sun is shining outside. I felt almost vampire-esque. We then went to the Star, which on our last trip to Brighton was bustling. Not so busy. We had a pint in there, and rather bizarrely it was there that Pete and I decided that we loved each other and would move towards having a civil partnership together. I wish it was more romantic a tale, but it was in The Star, having flicked through the News Of The World, with Bananarama on the stereo, with a pint of Kronenbourg. But it’s not about that moment, it’s about the future. And I like that it was an ordinary setting for an extraordinary decision.

So we celebrated over dinner at a fabulous restaurant called Food for Friends off East Street. Honestly, it was sensational. I had a ricotta, spinach and Parmesan bake, followed by Mexican rosti followed by a Portuguese custard tart. All exquisite. It’s a Veggie restaurant but so worth it if you are in town. It’s been a long time since I had such a memorable meal.

We closed the night in Charles Street and the Aquarium. More drag shows. By the end of the night I was dragged out. Very funny, but there is only so many times I can hear And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going. Seriously.

And night turned to day, casual breakfast on the lanes, bought a Le Creuset milk jug for pouring milk for tea, to match my two other milk jugs which are more for cereal, checked out the hotel and travelled back to Sheffield. And here I am. Watched some Ina. I love you Ina Garten. You were missed in Brighton. Two days Ina-less makes me worried about 10 days this summer in Mykonos without you. I will have to take Back to Basics with me and read a bit of you whenever I miss your voice saying “heavy cream” or “Parmesan”.

Dinner was Thai Chicken Cakes with a spinach salad, so lovely. Really good, mildly spiced, but with a real punch. And so to bed. Presentation for Thursday plotted, needs fine tuning. So one less thing to rattle in my head as I lay me down to sleep. Just the rest of the worlds woes to unsettle me. Well, night night world. I’ll report more tomorrow.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

One thought on “Post-marathon moanings

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  1. s'all about the carbs! well done on the running, a really top effort in that heat-bet you'll be back next year. and congratulations, does that mean you're engaged?! must be something in the peri-peri 😉


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