Training, Day Five.

Amusing story involving late night running and a rape alarm to follow.

Fags smoked: 1.5
Booze comsumed: One glass of red wine.
Women inadvertantly terrified: 1
People you've called a cunt since quitting smoking: 5
Where does it hurt: My shins.
Are you scared: Not as much as I was.


It's getting easier. Might have to make things more difficult next week.

Training, Day Three.

Miles ran? About 3
The Time it Took You? Too fucking long.
Cigarettes Smoked Since Starting Training? 1.5
Alcohol Consumed Since Starting Training? Fuck all.
Where Does it Hurt? Mostly everywhere. Except my balls.
Did They Send You Nurses? No, because they are cunts.
Are you Afraid? Yes.

Training, Day One

Send nurses...
Send many nurses with soft hands.
For the love of god, one of you send me some nurses...


*Edit/Update* Don't send any nurses, I'll kill them for their cigarettes/ the contents of their hip flasks.




*Further update* Send nurses. with soft hands...

You Are a Runner and I Am My Father's Son.

For as long as I can remember it's been an amibition of mine to die childless attempting to do something really pointless. Mostly because I want to deprive future generations of my awesome DNA. I'm a bit spiteful, you see.

Anyways, because it will probably kill me and because I'm a fucking idiot, I signed up for the ballot to enter the 2009 London Marathon today.

This could be an interesting experiment, currently I can't get out of a chair without going into a coughing fit that sounds like someone has stabbed a dog with enphysemia in the lungs while giving it a good shake, by next year I have to be able to run for four plus hours.

I'm spending the rest of today saying goodbye to my two true loves; fags and booze. Tomorrow I start training.

It's going to be painful.

I'll mostly be turning this thing over to being my boring-ass training blog for the next year. I'm sure it'll be so exciting for you to read.