Wild Goose Chase!

The number 13 is a Fibonacci number. It is the natural number after 12 and before 14.

It is the smallest integer. It is the age at which children officially become teenagers. It is also the number of miles my fat arse covered on Saturday!

Yes, the girl done good and legged it all the way from Merthyr Tydfil to Pontypridd.

13 miles. That’s pretty impressive if I do say so myself.

To be totally truthful I think I covered just over thirteen miles because when I hit mile three, I got chased by geese! Yes, Geese, I shit you not there were ten of the angry bastards and they chased me back up the Taff Trail until the owner, a somewhat relaxed idiot, herded them up and sent them flapping!

‘I’m terrified of them.’ I told her, she did nothing to boost my confidence in her by admitting that she hated the bloody things too.

See, I know that geese are nasty. I don’t know how I know this; I think it’s installed into you as child along with the fact you’re not allowed to swallow chewing gum or lick TV screens.

It was fate that took me to those geese and as the bloody things started hissing and flapping towards me in an angry manner, I literally saw my life flash before my eyes! In a split second I had decided what colour plaster cast I’d be having and what flavour water I wanted by my hospital bed.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Were some of the choice phrases I muttered as I was forced back the way I came. Hoop twitching.

Luckily, this ordeal did not deter me from completing the run, and when lax a daisy bloody Dora moved her winged creatures back behind bars I was able to continue. The one good thing about being chased by the geese, if you have to be optimistic about these sorts of things; was, it did encourage me to stick to what I know and run the old road way to Ponty therefore narrowing the chances of being attacked, or put off by any more wildlife.  

I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank the brain dead moron who found it necessary to hang his head out of the car window and shout ‘Tits’ in my general direction. You are nothing short of being a wanker and I hope you break all your toes in some sort of weird fishing accident, one that will make people more aware of your twat status; you will not get sympathy for your feet.

For your information, not that I have to justify the boys and their movement but believe me, I’m fully aware I have breasts and I’m fully aware that they tend to bounce I don’t need goons like you to point it out.

Anyway, let me tell you about the run. It was a beautiful day Saturday and I left the house not long after half past ten. I definitely had my head round doing a big run, although, I never thought I’d actually make the thirteen. I had a ponytail, copious amounts of Vaseline and a need to get out.

I ran the old road, only cutting on the Taff trail briefly to avoid the mind numbing bit of road that runs alongside Hoovers. I don’t know what it is about that stretch of pavement but I hate it. I’ve given up a few times on that particular part. It wasn’t getting the better of me Saturday; I had Geese to do that for me.

Then when I hit the nine mark mile at Abercynon I knew I had to push myself. It was only four miles, if I looked at it as a new run from there surely I could fly it?

Fly it, I didn’t but I did trundle on and as the sun literally got higher and brighter I knew I was going to complete the thirteen. If only Pontypridd would hurry up.

Cillfynedd broke my heart several times, as it’s the last stretch before Pontypridd, it seemed to be never ending. I’m sure in the car that left turn is nowhere as far as it was on Saturday?

When I got through he gates of Ynysangharad Park I actually wanted to weep with joy and had I been more hydrated I probably would have. But I was too tired to even muster emotion.

When I got to the hostel I nearly cried again. It was all a bit overwhelming plus half my foot was missing. As I peeled my sodden trainers and trainer socks off I realised that most of the skin of my left foot was actually in my dap. Nice.

‘Need water.’ I mumbled to Andrea who had been minding her own business doing her shift when a chubby, red faced, smelling me turned up.

I got the train back home much to everyone’s disappointment. ‘You should have run back too.’ I actually envisioned violent thoughts to this human being. Run back!

Then it hit me. Next May that’s what I’ll be expected to do. Run to Ponty and then back. CHRIST ON A BIKE! Twenty six miles is pretty epic. It’s also pretty exciting.

I felt brilliant after I’d caught my breath on Saturday, like I’d achieved, like I’d done something worthwhile. It’s been a gruelling nine months but it’s finally paid off. I can run thirteen miles and I can run it comfortably. How brilliant would I feel after a marathon!

Saturday night was spent saturated in deep heat and vodka alike. I deserved it though, right?

What I didn’t deserve was Sunday afternoon, again saturated in deep heat and this time Coors Light. There is no way I can justify my complete gluttony for alcohol yesterday. But in the laws of Karma I have suffered immensely for it today. Yuck.

And I wanted to be on top of my game today, practising radio voice and all. Instead I have wallowed in self-pity and Comedy Central.

So, I’m in work now, completely unprepared for tomorrow’s interview and feeling not unlike shit warmed up. Nice girl; can’t drink anymore.

So, my evening will involve sweet tea and a lot of Googling.

Valley girl who runs, valley girl who runs and can’t handle alcohol, valley girl who runs and can’t drink alcohol on the radio tomorrow!

Yee Ha!

Keep on running kids.