Do not increase your mileage by more than 10% a week or you’ll get injured. That’s what all the top coaches say and I say this unto all the top coaches. Fuck you. If I want to suddenly double my mileage for no reason at all then that’s what I’ll do. You’re not the boss of me. You don’t even know me.
So I did that. After the debacle of running 98km in one week I started running at least 100km a week. Did 120 last week and it wasn’t too bad. This week was more of a struggle because I’ve had a bit of a cold that comes and goes. Been doing it mostly easy. Sort of laying foundations, you know? Building an aerobic base.
Did a harder run on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Thursday was The Sunset Trophy. The Sunset Trophy is good fun run. It’s not a fun run. It’s a run which is good fun. It’s a find your own way across the sand dunes kinda deal. Like, you don’t need to be a super genius to find your way across the sand dunes. It’s easy but there are a couple of different routes you can take. There’s a trophy for it so I was fucking stunned that glory hunter Dan Romeril never turned up to it. Not his thing, I guess. The cross country element. I knew Gilmour wouldn’t be there because he’s mental. Still, a trophy and no Dan Romeril? I wasn’t worried but it was odd.
A young kid won it by miles. And Phil was second. Phil’s really young as well. I was third and I’m really old so really I was the winner. I could’ve beaten Phil but didn’t because he was wearing awesome shoes. Mizuno Wave Ekiden 5s. They’re tremendous. I wish I had a pair.
Who’s at the finish? Only Dan Fucking Romeril! He’d gone to the wrong fucking start place! Not just slightly the wrong place, he’d gone to a place as far away as you could get. Like, 9 miles away! What the fuck!
“What the fuck?”
“I know, I know,” he goes, eyeing the trophy, his beady eyes green with envy and greed. Dave, the organiser, gave Dan a trophy he had laying in his car but although he took it and held it aloft you could see he was a bit gutted about missing the actual race. Probably for the best, if he couldn’t find his way to the start there’s no fucking way he’d find his way across the sand dunes. That was Thursday.
Saturday I met Gilmour and James for a fast 30min run. My cold was pretty bad and I was pretty tired because of all the miles but I saw it as a day off. Unfortunately it seems they had different ideas and after we started it was apparent they were taking it seriously. Very seriously. I think they’re jealous and concerned about all the miles I’m doing and wanted to teach me a lesson during their little short meaningless Saturday afternoon run. 3km were into a gale force headwind. Gilmour graciously let me do this bit on the front as he was tucked in behind while James was half-wheeling me. That was fine but as we got towards the turn Gilmour sprinted to the front and said he’d do a bit of the headwind. Fine except we’d done the headwind and Gilmour was now just being a dick. I eased up. It didn’t matter. I’d done 95km already during the week to Gilmour’s 12km so I was the winner, really. And I had a cold. Not making excuses.
This morning James, Gilmour, Tom and I met for our long easy run. I didn’t want to meet those guys, truth be told, as Gilmour doesn’t do long runs and James doesn’t do easy runs. But Tom would be there and Tom’s great. Lovely guy.
Met them. I told them what had happened to Dan. Didn’t tell them yesterday because Tom wasn’t there. About Dan missing the start on the Thursday. “Oh yeah,” said Gilmour, “he was asking on Facebook about it, I just ignored him because I think he’s a twat and one day I’m going to beat him up behind Iceland St Peter.”
“Do you reckon you could beat him up?” I asked.
“Yeah, I know kung-fu,” said Gilmour and he did some what I suppose was kung-fu. Like, you know that thing kung-fu people train on? It’s like a thing with pegs sticking out. Looks like a hat-stand but kung-fu people bang their arms on it? It was like Gilmour was using an invisible one of those. He did it for about three minutes, doing hi-yah! shouts, which was far too long but we just stood there and watched him.
“I’d probably have to back you up, hold his legs,” said James when Gilmour had finished his kung-fu exhibition.
“Nah,” replied Gilmour.
We ran 13 miles. The other three took their T-shirts off at the earliest opportunity even though it wasn’t very hot. I ran at the front because then it would look – to passing motorists – like a group of homosexuals were chasing me rather than me chasing a group of homosexuals. After ten miles James drank some manky water from a hose at the side of a road. I assume he’s dead now. Good riddance! I was pretty thirsty but knew I had a can of Pepsi Max in the car. Finished the run and could I find the Pepsi Max? Could I fuck. And then I remembered the shit bag kid had drunk it yesterday. I was well fucked off so I drank some water like a hobo instead. We stood around drinking water and slagging off triathletes because that’s not a proper sport. Tom who is a triathlete didn’t even seem to mind! What a great guy. I only remembered he was a triathlete on the drive home. We’d been slagging off his sport to his face for five minutes. Man. It’s not a proper sport, though, is it? It’s bullshit like decathlon or that stupid skiing shooting shit. Or tennis. It’s not a proper sport.
Oh yeah, this afternoon I’m cutting foliage from this bank and there are these flying insects pouring out of it. Then, while I’m cutting the shit out of everything with my petrol Stihl hedge cutter this fucking hornet or something that is – no word of a fucking lie – as big as a turkey stings me on the finger. Fucking stinger is like a carrot. I just dropped everything and pegged it. Wasn’t wearing my Garmin but you can probably add another kilometre on to that total.