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some old bullshit

I Fucking Hate Running

Dressed now. That’s the hardest bit. I’m dressed for running and in 99.9% of cases that leads directly to running. Very rarely I’ll get changed back into normal clothes without running. And certainly not today. It’s raining but I’m wearing a jacket. And a woolly hat. It’s not cold. It’s not warm either but it’s not cold. I’ll probably regret the jacket. It lets rain in and also keeps sweat in! It’s a really shit jacket. I should wear it inside out! Ha! Here goes. I’m running. It’s only drizzle. Fuck my legs hurt. Like… really. My achilleses. Plural. Both of them. I imagine they’re cables. You know, made up of strands. I think I can feel individual strands snap. Feels like somebody is flicking the back of my legs. Or drips are hitting them. Fuck it, they haven’t snapped yet and usually the pain eases. I’ll go up the railway walk. My Garmin bleeps. 4:40 for that kilometre. Holy shit. Hope I get into this. It’s muddy. It’s uphill. Just relax. It’s a slow run today. Long slow run. That first kilometre was slow though. And I was suffering like a dog. Flattens out in a minute.

This woman. Is she talking to me? I look around. Yup, or she’s mad. She’s asking me something. Saying she’s lost. I pause the Garmin. She’s asking me where Marks and Spencer is. And the main road. She’s fucked up big time. I tell her to go down to the bridge and up the steps to the side but she’s started thanking me while I’m talking about the steps. Hope she figures it out. I start running again. Start the Garmin again. Feel okay now. It’s flat. I’m feeling pretty good about my clothing. Warm but not roasting. I can tell I’d be freezing without the jacket and hat. 4:15/km. That’s okay. There’s another runner with a small dog. He’s struggling with the dog. It’s tangled. I pass them and say hello but for the next kilometre he’s right behind me. I can hear the dog. Fuck. I’m approaching a guy holding an Alsatian by the collar. Looks fucking vicious. Doesn’t bark at me but goes mental a few seconds later. I hear two dogs barking and then the guy isn’t right behind me anymore. It’s a relief. And then I’m on the road. Descending the hill at Corbiere and something about the way I’m running is making my toes wet. I don’t like that. I don’t like running downhill. At the bottom of the hill it starts going up. I don’t like running uphill. And then there’s a cross-country bit around the headland. I don’t like cross-country bits. And then I’m on the flat of the Five Mile Road. I don’t think I like running. Not in the cold and wet. I feel okay, though, pace has been all over the place but then so has the terrain and now I have a choice. I have to go up a hill. I have to. It’s that or live at the bottom of the hill. There’s no way around it but I have a choice. There’s Jubilee Hill. A long hill. A good mile long but it’s not particularly steep. But it’s a mile. Then there’s the hill next to Jubilee. Fuck knows what it’s called. It’s steep as fuck and long but not as long as Jubilee. Or there’s the reservoir. This involves steps and shit. Steps? Fuck that. Earlier in the run I’d toyed with the idea of doing the hard side of the reservoir. With many steep hills and descents and steps but now I’m here… nah! I’m going up the middle steep hill. It’ll hurt but not for long.

Holy shit, it’s a fucker. Look up and there’s the top. Get there and it’s not. It was a mirage. A fucking mirage. But the next bend looks like the top. It’s not. And so on. The way it’s on the side of a hill means you get to bends and find another long steep section ahead and when I get to the top my legs are hurting. And it’s pissing down. And it’s freezing. Running up the hill has made my hands really cold. Should really have made them hot. I shake out my arms and, ha! 5:15/km. Why am I doing this?

Eventually I’m on the main road. At the top of Jubilee. The way I went joins Jubilee hill, after it flattens out. It’s always I surprise and I nearly start running down Jubilee. I turn around. I run past the entrance for Iceland. Don’t look for cars. Fuck them. I’m on the pavement. I have right of way. Do not fuck with me now because my legs are hurting. They’re not killing but it’s uncomfortable. Feeling something a bit like sciatica in my right thigh. Shorts are plastered to me. I don’t care. Last three miles. Around the airport. This run’s going to be about 12 miles, I think. Should be doing 15. I could run around the cycle track at Quennevais three times. That would take me nearer to 15 miles but I’m not going to do it. I’m just thinking about. Legs are proper sore now. Achilleses. They’re been okay but they’re sore now. My dogs are barking. I try to relax. Nearly home. Warm clothes. The roads and paths around the airport are fucked, no matter which way you travel on them they’re uphill. Uphill in both direction. Fucked. That was a big puddle and I ran right through it. I don’t give a fuck. God I hate this path. This one that leads to the cycle track. Stupid twisty twat of a path. I spit and it goes on my shoulder. A string of gob. Hope nobody saw that. I wipe it off. I spit properly. Better. Harder. Stronger. So that if somebody was watching they’d know I could spit. That I wasn’t a drooling mess. I must look a mess. Try to relax. I’m on the cycle track and don’t even think about running around the whole thing, not even once.  Get this over with now. Get home. I’ll get up the hill past the Elephant park and then try to wind it up. It’s about 1,500 metres from there. But the hill, the tiny hill hurts a lot. I get up it. There’s no winding up going to be going on here. I try. Nah. That’s not happening. A van passes too close to me. I glare at it. At the van. Because I can’t see its driver and then I’m on the main road. My road. I try to wind it up. Nah. Is that my sister? Nope, it’s a very old woman. Little drag past the school. Ouch. Three lampposts and then I can stop. One. Fuck. Two. Fuuuuck. Wind it up. Last 50 metres. To the lamppost outside my house. Fuck. Did I go any quicker? For that bit? Doubt it. Press the Garmin. It bleeps. Press save. Squint at the screen. 7:21/mile. Not sure why I have kilometres flashing up during the run and overall pace in miles. But I do. 7:21. That’s okay. God my legs hurt. I’m limping in. 7:21 shouldn’t hurt this much. My hands are numb. Need to find my gloves for tomorrow’s run.