Born to Run

Well, hello there. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I’d like to tell you I had a brilliant excuse for not posting in a month, but it’s basically a very boring excuse. I’ve been training for Tough Mudder, the most horrendous obstacle course known to man.

This hilariously dangerous event takes place a week on Saturday and will involve me and three big blokes throwing ourselves into ice baths and running through a series of electrically-charged wires. Sounds like great fun, eh?

So, basically, for the past month I have been gearing myself up for this madness. The hardest part by far has been the cold showers. The first time I tried it I got such a shock that I screamed, fell out of the shower and writhed around on the floor like a baby cow trying to take its first steps. It was not a pleasant experience – for me, or for Dear Prince Charming who came running to the rescue.

I say he came running, but really he gave a half-arsed yell of “y’awright?” from the living room. He would be a freakin’ awful knight in shining armour.

Anyway, aside from the self-torture of routinely bathing myself in water cold enough to give an eskimo the willies, I have been working on upper body strength training, stamina tests, ladder sprints and blah blah blah. You name it, I’ve tried it. I’d like to tell you that the result has been I now have abs of steel and could take out Dog the Bounty Hunter with one punch, but that would just be a big dirty lie.

All that’s really different is I can now run for twenty minutes longer than I first could without feeling like I’m going to barf/collapse/wet myself. But hey, I’ll take it.

I also managed to tear my left quad and was resigned to crutches for a while. That wasn't too bad, really, as I just pretended my sticks were rocket launchers and used them to fire at people on the street who I didn't like the look of. 

Make of that what you will, Freud, I care not a jot. 

However, here I am, apologising for my absence and promising you it won’t happen again. I’m back and, provided I don’t end up severely injured/barfing/collapsing/wetting myself/ending up on crutches again next weekend, I’m here to stay.

Nae luck.