11 Inventive Ways I’ve Fucked Things Up On The Eve Of A Race
Hey cunts. I’ve made it to the Isle of Wight. It’s like a mash up of Fawlty Towers and Deliverance.
I got the ferry over and I am looking and feeling very excited about the weekend ahead.
I’ve got most of my shit together. My head lamp and battery pack are both charged. I’ve got a taxi booked to the start line tomorrow. I’ve brought Vaseline for my nipples. If anything is gonna fail tomorrow it’s going to be my heart. Too much caffeine recently.
Shit used to be a lot worse for me. I was always fucking up my race preparation in new and exciting ways.
Here is a list of some of the more exciting ways I used to make running incredibly fucking difficult for myself.
- Drank energy drinks in the morning so I could get all of the shit out of me. I was terrified of becoming the next marathon runner who shat himself so I went gung-ho with the Monster to get shit moving. They just turned me into a flaky stuttering fucking mess.
- I’d never plan how I was gonna get to the starting line. As my drinking became worse this was more of an issue. I tried to wing it like the free spirit I was but with the combination of the hangover and my disorganisation it always went badly wrong and led to much head slapping.
- Always booked hotels in awful places. For the Munich Marathon I decided to stay at the airport of all places. No wonder I fucked it up so badly. Then there was the time I entered the Paris Marathon and stayed over in Amsterdam on the lead up to it. Fucked my brain up good and proper with space cakes and magic fucking truffles. Athletics and psychedelics never fucking mix well. Don’t let Lance Armstrong fool you with his lies.
- Never considered what I was gonna wear as gear on the day until I got to the start line. Just turned up in shorts and t-shirts and then bitched about the weather as if it was it’s fault that I was a clueless cunt. Best example of this was the time I filled my first and last ever Camelbak with Lucozade Sport and had it leak out of the bladder and down my legs whilst I was in an elevator with some golden oldies who thought I’d pissed myself. Then there was the time I turned up for a 62 mile Ultramarathon dressed as a French man in budget H&M gear.
- Drank alcohol on the evening before the race. I tried to place my limit as a maximum of 1 bottle of wine but I found this increasingly difficult to stick to. It’d become 1 and a half bottles and I’d always regret that last glass in particular. Why did I have to drink it? Why couldnt I pull myself together enough to not be a drunken arse? I always woke up in a depressive mood which isn’t the best way to go into any event.
- Always checked out of the hotel on the day of the race. This made shit so much more stressful. Always chasing my own arse in the morning and fearful that I was leaving something behind. This time I’ve booked my hotel for 3 nights and I’ve told the hotel staff not to enter my room on the day after the challenge. Means I won’t have to check in on the day of the race too which is always a fucking nightmare as I’m like the walking wounded and completely incoherent after 60 miles.
- Ate to the point that I was almost immobile at the start line. Before the Loch Ness Marathon I ate around 70 Jaffa Cakes. I was training to be a professional eater not a fucking runner. There’s a reason why Mo Farah does not ingest 6000 calories from Wetherspoon in the night before a race.
He gets his 6000kcal at the All Bar One as he’s on the big bucks now
- Overdosed on water and other liquids. Always pissing like a racehorse in the portaloos. When you’re on a tight schedule the last thing you need to do is to be pissing terminally down a Wynd. Hydration is all fun and games until you piss yourself.
- Never brought safety pins with me to attach my race number with. So I’d spend the entire evening before trying to locate them only to learn that most places had sold out of them. Not the best way to spend a night seeing other parts of the world.
- Drank alcohol on the morning of the race. To be fair it only happened in Las Vegas and I did it to “calm my nerves”. In reality I was hungover as fuck and using the booze to try to put out the fire inside of me. It was like pissing petrol onto a blaze. Only made shit worse and I singed my pubes.
- Most importantly I used to go into these races with a lot of anxiety as I rarely trained consistently for them. Now I’ve no worries with regards to that although I’m conscious that I’ve gained a bit of weight that I’m hoping to lose from tomorrow onwards. It’s much easier and better just to train for shit and relax these days.