Remember last year when I said there’s no better place to be on Christmas Day than St. Andrews? Well there isn’t, and I’m back here again, this time with all my siblings, partners and children (the partners and children of my siblings, that is… not mine... 'cause they're back at the kibbutz) and at 8am this morning I was down at the West Sands with chipper twins Rona and Keith to go for a run. I had a brief jog yesterday afternoon when I was “working from home” and felt no ill effects in my left foot so naturally assumed that my body had simply cured itself and one more run in my shitty old trainers would do me no further harm. I was wrong.
Two thirds of the way to the far end of the sands, the foot-throbbing was back and I had to stop and watch the twinnies run effortlessly into the distance. I hobbled about for a while hoping the pain would just disappear miraculously (why does healing take so long?) and occasionally clutched a fencepost for support, pretending I was doing a bit of stretching for any passing dog-walkers who might have given a shit.
Eventually the twinnies reappeared on the horizon and seemed to be coming back at quite a sprint so I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to suck it up and start jogging again to try and convey the impression that stepping onto the first rung of running competence might be somewhere in my immediate future. And here’s where I learned some invaluable lessons about marathon training.
(i) When you are in agonising pain, STOP f#cking running.
(ii) If you think running a marathon is a “race”, you better be training for the Olypmics.
(iii) Leave your ego at home on the mantelpiece (alongside the dignity you discarded when you chose the saggy-assed jogging pants) because no good can come from trying to keep up with runners who are fitter and more experienced than you.
(iv) See rule (i)
Anyway, the rest of the day in St. Andrews was gorgeous in every respect, despite me not being able to run and catch a two year-old in the park before dinner, and my secret Santa got me a lovely long-sleeved, skin tight, base layer running top which accentuates every single small ripple of your muscles and six-pack / spare-tyre ‘cuddly’ bits*. I’d post a photo of me modelling it but I’m sure you’ve just finished your turkey and stuffing and I wouldn’t want you to see your Christmas dinner consumption in reverse.
*delete as appropriate
Two thirds of the way to the far end of the sands, the foot-throbbing was back and I had to stop and watch the twinnies run effortlessly into the distance. I hobbled about for a while hoping the pain would just disappear miraculously (why does healing take so long?) and occasionally clutched a fencepost for support, pretending I was doing a bit of stretching for any passing dog-walkers who might have given a shit.
Eventually the twinnies reappeared on the horizon and seemed to be coming back at quite a sprint so I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to suck it up and start jogging again to try and convey the impression that stepping onto the first rung of running competence might be somewhere in my immediate future. And here’s where I learned some invaluable lessons about marathon training.
(i) When you are in agonising pain, STOP f#cking running.
(ii) If you think running a marathon is a “race”, you better be training for the Olypmics.
(iii) Leave your ego at home on the mantelpiece (alongside the dignity you discarded when you chose the saggy-assed jogging pants) because no good can come from trying to keep up with runners who are fitter and more experienced than you.
(iv) See rule (i)
Anyway, the rest of the day in St. Andrews was gorgeous in every respect, despite me not being able to run and catch a two year-old in the park before dinner, and my secret Santa got me a lovely long-sleeved, skin tight, base layer running top which accentuates every single small ripple of your muscles and six-pack / spare-tyre ‘cuddly’ bits*. I’d post a photo of me modelling it but I’m sure you’ve just finished your turkey and stuffing and I wouldn’t want you to see your Christmas dinner consumption in reverse.
*delete as appropriate
No comments:
Post a Comment