Back in London And Fucked
I am back in the capital after the ultramarathon but you aren’t getting a full fucking review tonight as I’m fucked.
I finished the race in 8 hours 51 minutes and I was trying to storm like a lunatic at the end. This has led to nausea. And the vomiting of Soreen. Not pleasant. I need to work more on my speed so I can run faster with less effort. I’m pretty certain that’s been the cause of recent nausea.
I got an Uber home from Paddington and I was surprised he even let me in his car. I was clinging on to a mailbox just as the ‘your car has arrived’ message appeared on my phone.
The driver was a nice man but he kept asking questions and I was struggling to keep the sick in. The last thing you want to be doing at 6pm on a Saturday night is shouting “can you please pull the fucking car over? I need to be sick!” at an inquisitive cabbie. Especially on the Hornsey Park Road of all places.
I gave him a 5 star review.
Had an encounter with a cyclist very near the end. By this time it was dark and I had full beam headlight on the go. This annoyed him. And he shouted “That fucking thing’s blazing and not even in the good London way!”.
The good London way? This is the good London way guv’nor.
I’m just making my way to the end of this race and I could do without your lip.
See you tomorrow fuckos.