Well, it is almost time for me to leave this mortal coil.
No, I am not on death row, nor am I awaiting my uber dose of “man pills” to come through the post so I can be buried in a tent after having a heart attack during the 19th time in a row with a woman of quite frankly marvelously dubious qualities in a night of passion mixed with alcohol, condoms and an inability to say no to a can of pringles. The plain ones. Lets not get too spicy now!
I expect you to all read that first line of the last paragraph in one breath. I just tried in my head and lost 3 IQ points through a lack of oxygen. Who needs a full stop to allow an intake of breath once in a while? They just take up space.
Where was I? Oh yes. My death. Yes, after what feels like 22 weeks of solid training (I say feels like…well, it WAS that long), the London marathon approaches faster than Speedy Gonzales on speed desperately seeking Susana toilet. I in no way just called someone called Susan a toilet. So don’t go giving me shit if your name is toilet. Susan.
I have learnt a lot in this 22 weeks of long runs and alone time. I learnt that I have the ability to run a long way while not going mad from my own thoughts. It may be because I just don’t have many of them.
I learnt that sitting down looking at my daughter is the best way to run a race, thus the preparation for a warm up half marathon race at Silverstone Race Circuit looked like this:
I learnt that if you use plasters with the stickiness of KY Jelly, they wont stay on. And you will bleed hideously from the or both nipples. After the last occurrence, I honestly thought 4 days later that I could actually peel one of my nipples off. It was like a big scab. I can tell you this for nothing…I didn’t put clothes pegs on them that night! Wow they hurt. I took a photo, but lets be honest…do you REALLY want to see my bleeding nipple? You do? Well you are just weird.
I also learnt to always make sure my MP3 player is charged, and to never lend my earphones to my wife. I learnt this the hard way. After she broke my earphones, I was left to do a long run with no music. Running for 3 hours straight with no music can get a touch tedious as it is when running alone. But… Try watching toddler TV before you go out for a run. And the last thing you hear and watch before you step out of the door is someone with no self esteem singing what can only be described as “What the hell. You wrote that? And decided to sing it? On TV? So my daughter can hear it? What are you…stupid?????”. OK so maybe I just prefer heavy metal to the theme tune to kids tv shows….but you try running for 3 hours with nothing but the noise of your own breathing, your feet hitting the ground, cars going past….and the same 1 line from said theme tun in your head. 3 hours. 1 line. No I don’t think you are understanding the magnitude of how painful it was. Poke yourself in the eye with the finger with the longest fingernail on it. Do it. Don’t say no. DO IT! There. Did that hurt? Now do it for 3 hours solid. The trick is to NOT go postal.
Not as easy as it sounds huh!
Amongst this stuff I also learnt that people get what is affectionately known as “Runners Trots”. The need to, after a bit of a run, take a crap. Not always of the solid variety. Now, I live in an area where I have to run a bit of a distance before ready to become one with nature and ruin some poor lil bunny wabbit’s or foxywoxy’s day, so I am happy to report that I have in no way needed to lose my lunch the gravitational pull way during a run. Which is amazing considering I get told I am full of shit on a regular basis.
Warning: Soppy “awwww….” moment approaching rapidly.
But one thing I have learnt is the generosity of some people. People I have never actually met. People as far away as the US, Canada and Australia. I am in the UK before anyone says “The US isn’t that far away! I am already here!” It’s about me…not you. Geez. But anyway…as I was saying. People who I have never met, although one day very much hope to, who read this site have donated £200 to the charity I am running for in this marathon between them. From those who read this on a feed and don’t come to the site, the charity is Children with Leukaemia. For those that come to the site…well, you should know. If you don’t, look top right. DING! People giving money to someone they don’t know is something that I have always admired. I therefore expect you to click HERE, HERE, HERE and a Mr Phil T McNasty (hint: I don’t think that is his real name) who doesn’t seem to put a link to a site on his comments, to view the sites of the people that donated. Guys…Gals…you rock! It is a worthy charity doing some amazing work. Having one daughter and another child on the way (I find out what flavour it is the day after the marathon…if I can walk up the stairs to the room), I can honestly say I hope I never have to deal with the charity or their work in a way other than fund raising. But in the event that I do, I want the best care I can for my children and yours.
End soppy moment. It has passed and is now put back in my pocket. No, the OTHER pocket.
According to something I was sent, there is also a site you can go to where you put in my running number and can see how fast I am going over each 3 mile (5K) stretch. I would give you that link, and indeed my running number…but I just don’t think you need to see “Well he started off OK, then about mile 16 he started slowing down. By 22 he was walking. By 24 he was standing still with a little walking backwards mixed in. By 24 he was dead. But the good news is that he was carried over the finish line in a hearse. So at least he got a finishers medal. Shame he is now finished in more ways than one!”
So that is me. Signing off…possibly for good. Come to my funeral. And bring snacks. Or if you are in the UK and watching the marathon on the streets, when a guy who looks like the guy in the image at the top trots by looking like he is about to fall over passes you in a brightly coloured top with the words “Children with Leukaemia” on it, pictures of Mr Men on it and the name SIMON printed on it. Well, that’s me. (there are over 1000 of us running it…so I wont be the only one in the brightly coloured shirt! SO look out for the name!)
Yeah I know…my real name isn’t Sy. Who’d have thunk it huh! Surprise!
But should any of you feel the need to sponsor me…well, you can go HERE to do it. Please? I will show you my bum! What do you say? Have one less beer this weekend or one less glass of wine and give a couple of pounds, dollars, euros, whateverthehellcurrency you have? No? Why not? I got dressed up for you. Wore the stockings. Suspenders. Fireman’s hat.
I hope to see you on the other side. Of the race. Not what may or may not happen after death. Good luck. You too.
wheelturninghamsterdead.com 