I'm sure this post will be met with cries of "who are ya", "who are ya" and indeed it has been quite some time since my last blog, but I'm back, leaner, meaner and keener.
Last year wasn't bad, completing the Paris Marathon with Ultramarathon T, completing the odd 10k and a finishing the Jersey Half marathon in the teeth of a howling gail with scenes more reminiscent of Mary Poppins than an elite running event.
At the mid point of the year I decided I'd put my body through enough punishment and had improved the stock market value of Ibuprofen producers to such a level that I could take it easy, which is exactly what I did.
The long time mystery of who ate all the pies was solved as clearly it was me and I spent the autumnal nights eating fried food, playing computer games and re-enacting the scene from Seven where the guy killed in the sloth manner is found.
However, during a chilling conversation early in 2010 all that changed!
I must say at this point, towards the end of last year I grappled with the Lipotrim method of weight loss which meant I finished the year 3 stone lighter than I started it, but was as weak as a kitten and unable to stand never mind run on a treadmill.
Anyway, I digress, back to the chilling conversation; I'd received a flyer about the Jersey Half Marathon and was casually discussing my possible entry, when Ultra T told me about someone else who had entered and who he was training. (I won't refer to this person by name, she's a lovely person, however, as I reckon she's gunning for me and as such is now my nemesis I'll have to refer to her by a code name).
When he told me that "Dallaligio" had entered and fancied herself as being able to beat my two previous times I decided that was it, like Zoro putting his mask back on, like Batman going to his cavern and donning his suit, like Superman running into a telephone box it was time for action, this one is personal.
I went straight home and flicked through some dog eared, well thumbed half marathon training books, then looked into the cupboard in the spare room, where, in a scene like the end of The Raiders of the Lost Ark I found a box marked "Do not Open". Inside was a pair of running shoes, with neatly folded socks, shorts, T-shirts, some Ibuprofen, Vaseline, plasters and running silverware.
Carefully unpacking these artefacts I knew I had no choice but to don them once again and feel the burn of the treadmill, though this time with a training ferocity of a caged tiger.
I ventured to the gym for the first time in many months and carefully stood on the treadmill and was off for a gentle 5K jog. Well onlookers would have seen a gentle jog, however, internally I was a boiling montage of Rocky music, scenes of heroism, and thoughts of Dallaligio training twice on Christmas Day or running past me at the finish line.
Spurred on I increased the incline and speed which resulted in the fibres in my thighs and groin starting to snap like a tense scene in a film where our hero is hanging over a precipice with only an old twisted rope stopping him from certain death.
I finally wheezed to a stop and hobbled back to the shower.
Every journey starts with a first step and I'm on the road.
Dallaligio, good luck with the training and I look forward to pitting our wits on the start line, unless I don't train very well and get a note from my Mummy!
To be continued…………..
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