Tomorrow, i’m afraid, i’ll be giving up.
I’d been keeping my pathetic hope alive today that I might still not waste a winter’s training by being able to bury myself to get the marathon out of the way. Well, “out of the way” it certainly won’t be.
There’s simply no way i’m going to be able to place one foot in front of another for 26.2 miles next week, no matter how many drugs I might consider taking to get me there. My attempt at a run this evening had almost stopped before it started, but not wanting to accept that the pain was real, I carried on for a few hundred yards before giving up and coming home. Why does a calf muscle tear on a training run so close to race day when it’s done so well up until then?
I’m gutted. Fit Artist has shown me the way to do it. Good luck to her especially. As will several thousand others, all of whom seem to be capable of not cocking things up. Even Peter fucking Andre is going to prove he’s better than me. My God, i’m going to have to cut off my testicles in shame. Being beaten by an antipodean, coiffured, pop prancing twat just because my leg’s weaker than his hair gel. The shame.
Still, as I stroll to the post office to post my “sorry i’m a fuckwit, but i’d like to defer until next year and hopefully be more capable then” form, i’ll be planning my races for the year. I just hope I can get some sort of running ability for the 17th May and the Stelling Minnis 10k, my favourite ever ever ever race, but judging the speed of recovery, i’m doubting it. I’d settle for a 50 minute jog just to be able to get there.
Damn. Cock. And balls.
At least my blog name doesn’t refer to running; I think i’ll start to list things instead. How about times i’ll want to rip my leg off over the next week in jealousy at everyone who can run? That’ll be a long one to kick things off…
One mince pie. 12.5mm rain. One despondent individual not going to be running the FLM ever. Hope Virgin don’t fuck up next year and the run still goes on…And the weather had better be fair next week – I feel a day’s skydiving coming on to take my mind off things. I’ve not jumped for fear of damaging the leg further on landing, but a good blast of adrenaline may just take my mind off what i’m missing.
Heaven’s above, the timing of my fantastic girlfriend’s move away from London was even planned around a convenient base for my run. Still, at least she’ll be here shortly. The year might not be a write off after all.
And I guess i’m guaranteed not to put on any weight for a year at least!
I’m so depressed, I don’t even fancy a drink. Poo.