9 Mile Walk With Some Running At Bastards In Central London.
Another good day today and a great walk.
I walked from North Tottenham to Oxford Street in the West End which is apparently about 9 miles going by the route I used. I started running quite a few times to try to release inner tension during the walk. I don’t mind running in this suit jacket as it only cost £20 from Asda and it’s machine washable so I can leave that fucker up at the laundrettes when it starts stinking like a Nun’s twat leading up to Lent.
For the first time in 3 months I feel in control of everything again.
Taking my life slowly and at my own pace has helped so much. I could have entered another 10 marathons at the start of this year but quite frankly I’m fucking bored of all of the silly shit about marathon training. Carb loading. Tapering. Fuelling in runs. Wearing the right gear. Running at the right pace.
Relentless forward progress? Fuck off. Sometimes you have to take a side step and ask yourself why you’re doing all of this shit.
And the truth is that I do love running and feeling fit but towards the end of last year the marathons were making me ill.
At the moment I’m just taking time to fucking breathe. I started a business back in May 2014 and at the time life was so chaotic I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing. I’m reading up on the basics now and I think I’ve got it.
Similarly I’m enjoying not having a marathon target/deadline looming in the distance. Every time you set targets for yourself you think you’ll finally arrive and experience something you’ve been waiting for your entire life. Fulfilment and peace. It never happens. You have to go further, faster and to impress more cunts you know you hate.
The moment you’re training for will never arrive. You’ll probably never be good enough in your own mind. It just ends up being like that fucking Peggy Lee song.