An 8 Mile Tempo Run On Saturday Followed By A Stressful Shopping Trip To Tesco.
Today has been an excellent day.
I did my 8 mile run in 1:15 which is my best time over that distance by 2 minutes. It’s the second week in a row that I’ve achieved a personal best and it feels like I’m finally making some headway with my pace.
It’s not a case of doing any ‘speedwork’ as such either. I employ Fartlek sprints when the desire hits. My ‘bursts’ (if you could call them that) last for no more than 30 seconds at a time and I follow them up with a return to my normal pace.
I’m finally getting to understand my limit so that I can run at a reasonable pace and still finish with enough fuel in the tank.
Tonight’s Supermarket Sweep
I’ve went a healthier dinner with some pasta, blueberries and raspberries. I had the 4 Shape Delights for dessert too. That’s the problem with low fat dessert. It’s difficult to get enough of it.
And before you think…
‘WHAT YOU ATE ISN’T HEALTHY!!!!!!!! YOU’RE DOING DAMAGE TO YOUR BODY!!!”.
Stop and wrap your lips around one.
The Urge To Kill Is 12/10 When I’m Shopping For Food.
I hate shopping in Tesco. I try to keep my head down and avoid contact with anyone I know.
A successful shopping journey involves getting what the fuck I need and getting back out again as quickly as possible with no human contact. I can’t be bothered with small talk when I’m shopping for my noms.
The survival instinct kicks in like a bad drug and I’ll be on edge, ready to elbow anyone who tries to stop my crusade for tasty grub.
I’m always struck with a fiery rage in the queue at the till. If I see an old dear who is taking too long over paying for her stuff I’ll be tempted to report her to the cashier for shoplifting a 4 pack of Snickers just for revenge. It’s a petty thought I know, but indecision at till-time fucking annoys me more than Communism.
Which reminds me. I went into the Iceland frozen food store for a routine packet of Cheestrings Twisted. As per usual I felt awkward only having one item at the checkout amongst the rabble of panic buyers who had baskets topped up with fish fingers and Cornetto cones.
Anyway, every time I go in there they insist on putting my Cheestrings into a fucking carrier bag.
Now I’m no eco-warrior, but fucking hell. I am not saving my Cheestrings for the apocalypse like the rest of your customers. I am ready for them now. Hand them to me, I’ll nod mutely and tear into them with my teeth as I walk out.
You should know the drill by now.
More Ranting About Booze and Resembling A Leprechaun.
I can’t believe I got ID’ed again for my booze tonight. I’m nearly 29. I know I’m somewhat baby faced but I thought my Sarajevo smile and the bags under my eyes should’ve been a giveaway that I’m a good bit older than 25.
My hostility comes to a head when I pay by credit card. I’m always expecting an alarm to sound and for me to taken into the back and beaten by heavies until I’m shitting spleen. When I see the ‘Transaction Complete’ message I’m overjoyed.
The words “conned you again you cunt” force their way into my brain and I’m almost ready to throw my Cheestrings into the face of the cashier as a victory salute.
But the joke is ultimately on me as I’m the one that’s having to pay 20% APR on cheese, wine and chocolate on a monthly basis.