the final countdown

10 is our most important number because it is the base of our counting system.

Our counting system is based on 10 because we have 10 fingers.

"Ten" spelled backwards is "net."

Lobsters and other crustaceans have 10 legs.

You know where I’m going with this right?

Yes; the girl managed ten miles yesterday and as I keep saying; not bad for a chubby one. Its seriously baffles me that ten months ago I was two stone heavier, ten miles slower and in general, inactive, unhealthy and very unhappy with my appearance. Simply madness.

Anyway, I managed an eight miler on Thursday and was slightly concerned with taking on a hefty run yesterday seens as there was a mere eight days until the half marathon. Myself and Scotty Boy had a chat and we/I decided my best option was to just get out there and run. If I was tired I was to stop. If I wanted to keep going I would.

And I did.

And I managed ten miles.

And I was happy.

I started out on my normal five mile route but instead of turning I continued on the road towards the pretty bit of Merthyr. No, I didn’t run to the Gurnos, I ran past Brecon Mountain railway and into the sticks, looping back onto the Taff trail before getting back into the heart of the town.

And it was nice. Yesterdays running conditions were spot on. Sunny but not boiling. Everything looked lovely and yesterday I remembered why I had started running. Because despite my moaning and whining and in general negativity towards my hobby, I actually enjoy it. Yes, I am well and truly back in the game.

I did, however, make a school girl error yesterday. Have I mentioned about my new found acne problem? If I haven’t, all of a sudden I have become spotty. Yes, I have a face not unlike a seventeen year old and before embarking on my run, for some unknown reason, I cleansed, toned and the moisturised. Mixing a freshly moisturised face with sweat is not a pleasant combination I can tell you.

Slippery. That’s the only way I can describe my chops. Slippery and minging and a damn right mess. Lesson learned though; won’t be doing that again in a hurry. I’d rather be spotty than have my eyes stinging from whatever concoction Nivea uses that creates an explosive mess when mixed with perspiration. Yuck a ve.

Also, yesterday made me question my entire technique because three, not two, not one but three people asked me was I going for a run. Really like?

‘Are you going for a run?’

‘Out for a run is it?’

‘Been for a run?’

‘No, actually I decided to go ice skating half way down the Taff trail!’ I mean, seriously, I was clearly running, in the middle of running to be incredibly precise.  Surely in trainers, running trousers, carrying a water bottle it’s pretty obvious?

Another problem I have with running the trail on a Saturday is the cyclists. I have never had an issue with sharing my path with my two wheeled butties, however, I do have a problem sharing it with bell happy, rude idiots. I’m out for a run, I am not out to jeopardise your ride. There is no need to ring your ponsy bell at me. There is also no need to be so god damn rude. So, you got wheels, doesn’t make you exempt from being a pleasant human being, OK?    

Scotty Boy went out on his bike yesterday and I was sure to lecture him about the politics of politeness when he’s out and about. A smile, even a cheery ‘alright’ doesn’t cost a bloody thing. The poor boy now probably feels it’s necessary to ask passer by’s for their life story.

Anyway, a week today. Yes seven days and it’ll all be over. Well, the Cardiff half marathon will be over. Then training for the full on twenty six point two miles begins.

Oh heck.

That’s running the Cardiff half marathon twice.

Epic.

Epic yet exciting.

So, its Sunday today and I’m doing wifely things like cooking beef.

Yee ha.

I hope I don’t poison us.