7 Ways I Was Acting Like An Alcoholic On My Cross Country Run
I’m back again! Still recovering mentally and physically from my wee run through England and Scotland.
Today I’m writing about how I was acting like an alcoholic throughout my trip without actually drinking. The parallels are striking.
- I visited over 70 pubs in 38 days – I’ve got a lot of explaining to do with my accountant. I didn’t go to pubs for beer, but for coke and crisps when a village had no shop. I don’t mind visiting pubs when I’m by myself. It’s when I’m with others and they are sipping wines and downing beers that I get fucking edgy. No amount of alcohol can extinguish the fires within me. I’ve tried it and failed. The highlight was The Hog in a place called Horsley. Visit there. They do good crisps and sell Coke by the pint which can’t be said for all that many rural pubs.
- I would drink on park benches – I’d buy a 2 litre bottle of pop and just sit there with it having a wee picnic whilst the world did what the world does best. Fuck all. I loved sitting in the village greens whilst uppity old wankers with their toy dogs would look down on the strange man drinking out of an Old Jamaica bottle. Suck in the hate and call me your cunt. I loved to hate those fuckers. Walking their dog so it could take a shit. But it could never take a shit as it was that inbred. If you have to buy your dog a jacket to keep it warm, then it isn’t meant to be alive. You have bred something so wretched that it’s straight out of Mr Trump’s Eugenics Toychest. Put it back in.
- I’d scream incoherently at traffic – On the A9 and A68 in particular I lost my shit whenever the timber lorries got too close to me. If I got shit off white van men I’d rant out loud about them all being inbred fuckers. A bit unkind really. I was raving like a lunatic more often that not.
- I pissed blood – It was in Cornwall after running to Boscastle on my 3rd day. I was staying in a hostel and I was creeped out by a man in the dorm who was washing his feet in the sink so I skipped breakfast juice, had one bottle of strawberry Yazoo and started running again without realising just how badly dehydrated I was. It was a wake up call when my piss came out like Ocean Spray.
- I didn’t wash some mornings – Especially on the warmer longer days. I’d run for a few miles and start smelling like death anyway. It didn’t help my self esteem and there’s little smell worse than BO mixed liberally with cheap anti antiperspirant. Balls like a breadbasket full of bad haggis.
- Terrible memory problems – I could never remember where I ran from that morning. Even when I was writing the blogs I had to spend about half an hour recalling the place name. Almost got into an argument with a B&B host in a place 20 miles north of Evanton who couldn’t believe I didn’t know where I ran from that morning. She kept pressing me and I just wanted to tell her to fuck off. She tried overcharging me for a room too and was the only host I didn’t like on my trip (I stayed with many great people and in many great places except on the Caledonian Sleeper which was awfully overpriced, pretentious shite and it should be fucking cordoned off and banned with immediate effect. £205 to stay in a room that looked like an Easyjet toilet. Fuck right off.)
- Had intense conversations with myself – Almost constantly arguing with myself. Shit went like this. “I can’t fucking do this anymore” “Yes I can” “No you fucking can’t. Just stop.” “Fuck up” “No you fuck up” “GET FUCKED OR DIE TRYING” “BUY ONE GET ONE FREE YOU CUNT”. It was like ISIS fighting the Taliban in my head. I wanted both to lose.