I was wearing my Bacchus 2010 shirt this morning and that is one of my favourite shirts. So there.
I have a little confession to make (Foo Fighters, Best of You) and that is I'm using Juneathon as a training event. I feel like a bit of a fraud actually. I've put my hand up for my first ultra, the CP Ultra on August 2nd. It's a pretty flat 28-laps-in-a-park-in-12-or-fewer-hours thing. I'm hoping to get all zen and not all bored. It's 100km. So a single run in which I hope to cover the miles I've done in the past 5 days. That's a bit sobering, says the man drinking Nomad, a local brewery's, Jet Lag IPA. I do wonder why I entered it; I was going through a bit of a rough patch, a guy I know mentioned he was doing it, I was vulnerable. I was probably a bit drunk when I entered the event. I have a habit of buying running shoes and entering races after a few beers and just before going to bed.
Anyway, that's just the number for the day. The running itself? Well it was a commute to and from work. I do that a lot. I am, as I've said before, blessed with some spectacular stuff on the run. I cross Sydney's Middle Harbour, look out between the heads to the ocean, go over the Harbour Bridge with a fantastic view of the Opera House. A few months back there was a leopard seal - a fucking leopard seal! - down at the spit. There are pelicans and small parrots every day. But after a while it becomes just the run to work and I'm often lost in my own thoughts. Don't get me wrong, I'm often struck by the wonder of it all. I'm an estate-kid-done-good from a pretty ordinary part of London, but I've been here a while now. I should pay someone to slap me to my senses every now and then.
Right, that's your lot. I have beer and the DVD of The Imitation Game.
No comments:
Post a Comment