I Ran A Half Marathon Today After Taking February Off Running Because I Hated That Shit
Fucking hell. It’s only the 1st March and I’ve already ran more miles than I did in February!
Today I did a fucking half marathon. It was my slowest ever half marathon by some considerable distance but my body is still adapting to burning fat for fuel.
A bad February but it’s dead and I’m back
I’m still following the low carbohydrate diet. It works for me as I can have 8 Cheestrings for breakfast which is what I’ve always craved.
I tried this same shit back in July last year and I quickly stopped it as it really impacted my running and I was having severe Haribo withdrawals. More importantly I couldn’t find anywhere to eat out so I only really ate at Marks & Spencers Cheese Pick N Mix. Now I go to Wetherspoon for the All Day Brunch without beans, Chipotle for the meat salad bowl, Subway for something similar and FUCKING NANDOS.
I log what I eat on Myfitnesspal but don’t really get hysterical with the carb limits. I try to stay below 50g but if I go a bit higher it doesn’t matter (If I eat between 10-20g carbohydrates then my mouth feels and tastes like it’s been violated by a horny Dalek and I’m possessed by this dreadful bright energy in my brain.)
Running off fat.
Since I stopped running in February I thought about reintroducing the running slowly back into the regime and it’s been going great.
The greatest appeal of this low carbohydrate shit is the idea that I can use my body fat as fuel. I want to be able to run forever without having to carry a fucking bag full of gels.
I’m thinking about running London to Cambridge in August to see if I can disgrace myself some more. I want to be an ultrarunner. A proper one.
I’m running slow as fuck but I don’t care. I’m running again. I’ve changed the display on my Garmin 310XT to show only time elapsed, calories burned and distance travelled. When I start worrying about pace I become so fucking miserable. Feel like such a fraud for being so slow and all of that fucking nonsense. Don’t give a fuck. Fuck you.
Now I worry about distance, happiness and seeing more shit.
I’ve purged that awful drill sergeant cunt out of my head. I want to run to Surrey for no reason and keep on going. Who caress if it takes 3 fucking years?
I never want to have to perform that sadistic gel bukkake ritual at mile 18 to get over the marathon bonk. I want to run further than 26 miles in training runs. Fuck the limits and fuck my head.
My book is now available on paperback.
I’M SO FUCKING GLAD THE BOOK’S FINISHED.
Instead of writing a book I should have went to a psychiatrist and talked through these issues instead of spunking out that little beauty. But it’s out.
I’m spending the rest of this evening spraying Deep Freeze over my sore legs. I’ve missed this. Might celebrate with a Babybel and a blast of this to my tezzers.