National Andrea Day

Free Falling

Well, today is the 4^th of July! Happy Independence Day USA. In Pontypridd its national Andrea day so if any of you have your very own butty called Andrea, make today her day.

If it hadn’t been for my butty Andrea today, I wouldn’t have even put my trainers on let alone finish a four miler. Way to go Davies!

Andrea sent a text this morning, which I received after my mammoth twelve hour sleep shift, enquiring about my mood.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed that I was in the filthiest of foul moods yesterday.

I confirmed that I seemed to be in a better frame of mind after my sleep out but wasn’t looking forward to braving the bog that Merthyr had become, overnight, to do the four miles the now aptly named ‘bastard plan’ had in store for me.

I received this text;

YOU CAN DO IT…I KNOW YOU CAN…J

I suppose I could give it a go. My phone beeped again;

PUT YOU’RE EARPHONES IN AND THE WORLD IS YOURS…WELL IT SOUNDS GOOD J 

It was all the motivation I needed. Well that and a bit of a telling off directed towards my lazy ass brain. (I use the word ‘ass’ purposely as a tribute to my American friends.)

As I’ve said, I had an epic sleep last night; it was a half hearted attempt to shift the mood that had festered and made me not a very nice person let alone fiancée. Obviously being the closest human being to me on this planet he had the brunt end of the mood yesterday and for that I apologise to him whole heartedly. (Not that he’ll read this!)

Back to the running. Four little old miles with a black cloud above my head and a million black clouds above Merthyr. Marvellous. The Great British summer my arse.

I set out to the football field, this time, to the side of my house. Yes, Merthyr Tydfil is not short of a football field or two, you can’t say that Gods Country is not sport conscientious.

The Oval, as its formally known is a new field thing that plays host to two football pitches and a dog walking route. It’s lush in the summer, or in the snow for that matter. Not so nice on a soaking wet Wednesday in July but hey I’m a martyr to the cause and plugging my headphones into my lugs, stretching, not unlike a chubby kid limbering up, I started the run.

And boy was I in pain!

So much pain I actually shed a tear. And, me with a higher pain threshold than my Gurnos boyfriend. (We proved this one night when Scotty Boy bent my pinky so far back he actually frightened himself; I didn’t flinch!)

Now, I read a little article in one of my overpriced running magazines yesterday about mind of matter stuff when it comes to injury so I tried my dammed hardest to concentrate on anything other than my knee. My pending holiday, work…no not work, that hurt more, Scotty Boy, D-

ream and things only getting better and then…it was useless my knee still hurt.

I continued despite the screaming in my brain and the equally as loud screaming in my knee and slowly but surely I found a rhythm and the pain disappeared! Yes, just went. The worrying stopped and suddenly I was back to enjoying running despite being reasonably sticky from only wearing my sports bra and North Face jacket.

I ran ten times round the perimeter of entire field area so I definitely covered the four miles. I couldn’t stick to the pitch lines because, quite frankly, there were none. There was however sporadically placed marsh’s which were shit loads of fun to bound through, especially, when on about my fifth lap, my right lace came undone. I was too frightened to stop and tie it in case I wouldn’t get my fat arse going again!

I finished my run to Gina G’s, Ooh ah Just A Little Bit, and I swear to god, as I made my way to the finishing/starting point (depends on whether your glass is half full or not) the sun poked his little head round one of the black beasts that were decorating the sky.

I’d done it.

And it wasn’t that bad.

In fact, I enjoyed the mud.

My trainers on the other hand took a very soggy battering and I’ve been forced to bring them to work to wash them in our supersonic, super wonderful, state of the art super washing machine.

I think I would have really been pushing my luck if I’d left them for Scotty Boy again who asked me last night; ‘Why was there mud all over the washing machine?’ in not a pleased tone.

It’s also been the first time in around twenty years that I’ve had to scrub my legs because of mud! There was something quite satisfying about seeing mud at my feet in the shower. I felt naughty, child like, pleased.

Back to three miles tomorrow.

Back to a better mood.

‘Happy Andrea Day’ By the way.