7 weeks to go (3 March)
Like most of the week’s runs, this is going to be a short one.
I’ve tried to reclaim my social life this week and though I’ve still
gone out running with the same frequency, I can’t pretend my distance hasn’t suffered
somewhat. It’s tiring, this, and trying
to survive in a busy job whilst maintaining contact with friends and family can
be hard enough without having to dedicate considerable amount of time to
aimlessly pounding the streets.
First up is the preview showing of the Book of Mormon, currently
London’s ‘hottest ticket in town’ [quotation mine]. It’s amazing, if you like that sort of thing,
though probably not to your taste if you don’t.
Which can admittedly be applied to quite a broad spectrum. Lows of cheap AIDS and Africa gags are
overcome by some riotously clever comedy and the infectious (and apt) ‘You and
Me (But Mainly Me)’ runs happily through my head for the rest of the week. It’s how I’ve always lived my life, though
I’m disconcerted when my girlfriend archly suggests I adopt it as our
relationship motto.
Next up is the screening of the BANFF film festival in Angel, not quite
as good as the year before but still pretty inspiring stuff. I run to the venue from work and as I’m not
100% sure of the way, and don’t have time to get lost, I rely on my phone’s GPS
to get me there.
Mistake.
It takes me to the Hammersmith Apollo, past Earl’s Court, along
Gloucester Road, through Kensington, past Harrods, along Hyde Park, past St
James’ Park, over Marble Arch, along Piccadilly, past Fortnum and Mason,
through Leicester Square, up into Soho, on to Tottenham Court Road, along
Oxford Street and through Bank to Angel.
In short: Every single place in London where there are tourists. It takes fucking hours. I’d love to see Mo Farah notch up world
records in these conditions. In fact,
I’d like to see how Oscar Pistorius would handle it more… with Tarantino
filming.
 |
| Mo never had this fella to contend with, window shopping for vintage teapots at the 5 mile mark |
I finally arrive, apologise to my girlfriend and spend ten minutes
moaning about the blister on my toe.
It’s hideous, right? Agony. I’m still moaning about it as the lights go
down and the films start for the BANFF film festival. Then we watch the short film ‘Crossing the
Ice’, about two Australians who decide to attempt the first solo walk to the
South Pole and back, and the ordeals they go through [http://casandjonesy.com.au/]. They run out of food and have to endure solid weeks of snowstorms through which they drag their equipment hundreds of miles. Incredible.
I’ll probably not mention my blisters again.
Being in Leicester for work curtails my intended run the next day,
followed by an evening of not drinking in Waterloo whilst my mates get happily
hammered. It’s not hard not to drink but
you do sort of wonder what the point of it is, and it unsettles them much more
than me. I’m glad of it the next morning
though as I get out and about and head to Kew Gardens, the sun catching London
at its shimmering best. Beautiful.
There’s a bit less love for the city the next day when I realise that
in order to meet friends as planned at Columbia Road Flower Market for 11, and
complete my week’s training schedule, I’m getting up at 6 to run 18 miles. It’s bloody freezing and though my choice of
destinations – Bushy Park – is a good one, getting there’s not too pretty as I
eschew the river and park routes in favour of A roads so that I’ve still got
some spare miles left when I arrive to explore.
It’s massive, 445 hectares, and when I arrive at a semi-respectable 8am
there is not another soul about. I spend
half an hour there and eerily don’t see a single other person, which is just as
well as I embarrass myself slightly by raising my hand in cheery morning
greeting to a passer-by that turns out to be a deer. But seriously, London’s second biggest Royal
park and no one there enjoying it: Where are you, London?
I head home and as I turn onto my road, not overly tired physically, my
Nike+ twists the knife and warns me that I’ve still got two kilometres to
go. This is my second introduction to
the world of psychological pain, something I know is going to be a massive
problem during the marathon. It is hard,
hard work to carry on past your front door and loop round the block a few times
just to build up your mileage and the mental powers required to stop myself
from just calling it a day leave me drained when I finally halt.
I could end this chapter so neatly, tying it back to 'Crossing the Ice' and bringing in Diabetes UK by referencing Sir Ranulph Fiennes' decision to pull out of the Antarctic expedition over concerns of the onset of Type II diabetes this week. "Drawing inspiration from the Aussies' triumph in the face of adversity and with the thoughts of people with diabetes on my mind, I found the strength to continue to the end" etc etc. Sadly the truth is more like You and Me
(But Mainly Me): I’m the person that inspires me the most and so thoughts of me
motivated me to continue. And well proud
of me I was after, too.
But an important lesson learned: I dread hitting the infamous ‘wall’
come the day of the marathon and if this is anything like a taster of things to
come, I’m going to have to do some training of my mind as well as my body.
Now to end the chapter neatly: Leicester is clearly trying to attract rappers to the city by the opening of a new niche department store...
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