shit hole

I am repeatedly playing here comes the sun in dire hope that this rain will sod off! Five miles in the pissing down rain is not what I expected when I laid the law down yesterday by saying; ‘Ooh I heart running in the rain.’

Anyway, yesterday the three miler went well, really well, that was until about half a mile in my constipation decided to give in!

I need a poo.

I need a poo.

I need a bloody poo!

My insides screamed as I bounced around to Florence and the Machine.

Now, about a year ago I thought I hit an all time low when I was forced to use the toilets in Merthyr probation for a number two. I was there with work before your imagination legs it, by the way. Anyway yesterday I hit an even lower rock bottom. In fact, it was so low I was practically in hell.

Pontypridd Park is lovely. Don’t get me wrong, there’s far worse shit holes in the RCT/ South Wales area, in fact, I was brought up in one of them, but that’s neither here nor there.

Pontypridd Park toilets are another matter.

They are sticky.

They are dark.

They are, in general, disgusting.

And I had to shit in them yesterday.

I am practically hanging my head to the floor with the shame.  

And to top it all off, I had to shit, mid run, in a literal ‘shit hole’ with tight leggings and bloody piles!

Yesterdays run was an extreme amount of fun to say the least.

When I got back from the run I headed straight home to perform wifely duties such as febreezing the dog and throwing important things out. I also kept to my end of the bargain and blitzed the bathroom and bedroom, chucking a bit off hoovering on the landing for good measure.

As Lana Del Ray screamed about jeans or something I sterilised every part of my upstairs. (This is not a metaphor for those sick twisted sorts/ Eric had his haircut last week.)

I then, to really put ice on the cake, made Scotty Boy tea.

If the boy does not marry me now, surely there’s something wrong.

I went on to reward myself with a muscle soak bath, (need to get more of that grit) a flake and three glasses of wine. I am still struggling with the concept of eating like a runner but have promised to address this as soon as my Amazon order arrives.

Amazon has become my new church. If I want to know something, I have now taken to ordering a book on it. Pretty soon, I’ll be an expert in very many things, including Irish Water hounds!

Today, as I’ve mentioned it’s pissing down.

Bollocking down.

It’s raining really bad.

And to make matters far more fun my cold, my stinking, horrid cold has stepped up a gear and is now playing havoc with my right nostril and entire throat.

Boo hoo.

Good job I’ve got a wonderful Nike NON-WATERPROOF running jacket! (Both hands, two fingers on each. Fuck you Nike!)

Five miles…should be a piece of piss but that whole negative side of my brain is niggling away at my optimism. I wish it would kindly do one to be honest.

On the upside I only have four pound to loose off my fat arse to get a present of Fifi (that’s Scotty Boy) if I loose the four I get a super, duper pretty watch that I’ve had my eye and his card on for bloody ages. It seemed a good goal at the time but I know these four will be the most stubborn of shits.

I will run the five.

I will loose the four pound.

I will not shit in Ponty Park again.

I will also stop picking my nose whilst writing.

Happy Wednesday.