9 Reasons Why London Is Turning Me Into An Angry Fucking Jogger Again.

There is definitely something about running in London which has really made me into an angry fucking jogger again.

When I was back home in Northern Ireland I was actually starting to wave at motorists and be polite to everyone. Over here I hate everyone and everything/

There are a number of contributing factors which I discuss in detail in this post.

9 things about running in London that have made me an angry jogger all over again.

1. The footpaths are uneven – I’ve already fallen once and tripped at least 4 times. Every time I stumble, my heart skips a beat and I want to roar “you fucking cunt!”. It’s always the pavement’s fault and never my own for being a footless cunt.
2. I have absolutely no fucking idea where I’m going most of the time – When you’re lost you’re always on edge. You worry if you’ll ever make it home. Being stubborn I’ll never admit I’m lost until it’s blatantly obvious and I’m lying crying by the roadside cursing all humans for being cunts.
3. Londoners are excessively paranoid and are always checking behind their backs –  And I get insulted as I think they are victimising me for breathing and running funny.  The truth is that you can tell how dangerous an area is by how nervous the pedestrians are. So when I see an old lady gawking behind her from almost 100m away I think “fuck. The bumrape rates around here must be sky high! Time to break into the speed work! Only this isn’t speed work, this is survival motherfucker!”
4. It’s difficult and sometimes terrifying to run into more central areas – Sure, you can just catch the tube to St James Park and run around there 50 times but most of the time I run from my house on a whim which is in South London. Crossing over from the South Bank into the City Centre is a boss level challenge. Do you risk bolting across the road or do you just turn back and run from where you came from?”. I’m a big fucking pussy so I know which one I choose.
   
5. Londoners aren’t shy people – After my 18 miler in Greenwich on Friday, I walked into the hostel and these diamond fucking geezers at the corner of the room broke into hysterics, pointed at me and mocked me with “you a bit wet there mate? we seen you running towards the door! You awright?”. No I’m not fucking all right. Leave me alone here in the corner to sulk and wince in pain. If I hate you hard enough I’ll be dry in an instant. Unless of course this 18 miler has rendered me incontinent. Which wouldn’t be a first.
6. You rarely see other runners – Unless you’re in parks the tendency is to believe that you’re outnumbered by motorists and absent minded pedesterians who are always gawking down at their fucking smartphones reading their SMS’s.
7. The pavement is often very narrow in London – And families love to walk all in a line together. There is no movement or compromise from them. I either have to jog on the spot and breathe angrily or wait until they fuck off into Boots and clear up a little bit of the way. I’ve tried running into a bus lane before but that nearly ended in tragedy I turned back to the fucking assholes who squeezed me off the pavement and gave them the fingers. Yes. This is happening a lot. I can’t handle the hate.
8. Very fucking angry motorists – London drivers are off their fucking heads on rage against runners, cyclists and pedestrians. You never have right of way even if you’re on a pelican crossing.
   
9. There is never really any peace in London for the runner – Back home I could run for 16 miles and maybe encounter 3 people. Even in large parks in London there are cars, hoards of families, militant squirrels and whore dogs. The stress never fucking ends.