A few weeks ago I lined up at the start of a 10K race. A distance I have done many times. Hell, it’s only 6.22 miles. I have ran a marathon, so this race Was just a quick out and back, smile at the waving children, be loved by the ladies and have the other competitors marvel at how great I look. Job done.
Except that it didn’t work out that way.
It seems, according to my GPS, that at 5.75 miles I went from “Yeah baby! Check me and my fast runnin’ skillz!” waving at the ladies and being a man oozing awesomeness to “Aaaaaaaaaaand stop. Right here.” The reason my GPS told me that is because…well…I don’t actually remember a thing. I woke up 8 miles in to the race (yeah I know it was only a 6 mile race) in an ambulance. My GPS was still on registering me running at 2 minute mile pace. Half
naked…well…very…I was wearing a pair of tight shorts and a confused look. I have never ever EVER worried so much about getting an erection in my life as I did at that moment. Strapped down with tight shorts on and all confused…what would have happened if in my confused state I had seen the oxygen cylinder and thought “Hey baby! Wanna go my way?” thinking I was looking at some beautiful slim babe…with no arms, no legs and a ridiculously small head.
Hey…each to their own. Don’t judge me.
They had removed my shirt and attached things to my body…and no, it wasn’t a penis extension. Sure, the Health Service in the UK is free…but they do draw a line. I couldn’t even get breast implants out of them. “It’s for medical purposes!” was my case. “You’re a pervert” they replied. So I went to see if they could suck some of the fat from my arse. “We don’t have a machine that can store that much fat sir.” they replied. The unhelpful gits. Anyway, I digress.
“Hello Simon” the man in the ambulance said.
“ummmm….Hi?” I replied. A little confused as to just where the hell, my shorts covered in puke and wondering why I was strapped to a stretcher. I was more concerned at the being strapped down part because I figured they had finally caught up with me and that was it…I was off to the farm a’la funny.
“Do you know what happened?” “How do you feel?” “Can you tell me your address?”
“Holy crap fella…one question at a time.”
It was at this point that he asked for my wife’s phone number. Which I duly supplied. Except that I didn’t. I gave a number that I actually managed to dig up from some part of my brain which I have absolutely no idea who it belongs to. Luckily they didn’t ring it. I have considered ringing it since as I still for some reason remember the number I gave, but knowing my luck it will be my stalker from years ago and she will be back. Calling me 500 times a day and
begging for “Another chance”. I don’t ever remember giving that nutter a single chance! The only thing I wanted to give her was a restraining order. And maybe 12 roses with their heads cut off and a note that read “My dear…come near me again and the fate of your head will match the fate of the roses this note is attached to”. But I figured that would just egg her on.
But back to the hospital. On arriving at the hospital I got asked some of the single most stupid questions on the face of the planet. OK, so they were sensible questions…except when you keep bloody asking them when I already gave a proper answer….well…here…read for yourself:
“Simon. Did you bang your head?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember a thing.”
“So what happened then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember a thing.”
“What happened just before you collapsed?”
“I. Don’t. Effing. Know. I. Don’t. Remember. A. THING!”
You get the idea. But they kept asking. So I used my brain as they obviously weren’t. Let’s see. I was running. Fast. Therefore had I collapsed, I would be covered in scrapes and would highly likely be going “Ow…my bloody head hurts!”. So I started making up answers to the same questions they kept asking as each person that came in insisted on asking the same bloody questions.
“Simon. Did you bang your head?”
“Good god no. Not at all. Definitely not”
“So what happened then?”
“No idea. Don’t remember a thing.”
“But you said you didn’t bang your head? How do you know you didn’t?”
“Intuition my dear Watson.”
They stopped asking after a while.
It was shortly after taking more blood than I had in my body and not supplying me with a drink on the 200th time of asking that I realised something.
I was bald.
No, not on my head. But patches on my legs and chest. Someone had taken advantage of me while I was unconscious. I wanted to check…you know…down there…but I was afraid I was going to find someone’s initials there. And what if they were done by a man…even worse, what if they were done by a
woman…what would my wife say! Infact what if they were done by a 1 armed hermit called Stefanopolis who hasn’t even passed his advanced shaving course? Oh god…the implications going around in my head will stay with me forever.
The finding I was now semi bald in various locations on my body had an adverse reaction which resulted in my picking up the sick bowl and filling the whole thing in about 3 seconds. Sat there unable to get up, with a whole bowl of puke in my shaking hands I looked around. Wondering where I was going to throw up next or would someone come save me in time. Fortunately at this point a friend who ended up at the hospital with me appeared. “Hello fella…here…have a bowl of puke” and handed it to him. I considered making him the next target for the pukefest that had started in my body but he was looking after my children while my wife was in with me…so I was kind. Plus he had to get in my car to go home so it wouldn’t have been a wise move. Had I known he had broken my car window on the drive to the hospital, I would have reconsidered though.
On being discharged several hours later, I was confronted with the cause. “We don’t know. We think it is severe dehydration and heatstroke”. Umm…it’s October. In England. Heatstroke? Dude…look out the friggin window. Does it look like some heatwave is going on? So yeah…I dunno what happened. Ran 2 races since and it hasn’t happened again. I am still here to write random crap like this for you. Sorry.
One last thing before I let you go back to your lives scarred by the fact you won’t get the time you wasted reading this back.
There was one thing that confused me. When I was finally with it enough to actually ask what happened, they said “Well, you were found by the side of the road talking bollocks”. How did they know there was anything wrong?? It’s all I have in life. It’s my thing. Thank scooby they didn’t fix me.
wheelturninghamsterdead.com 