I Ran On A Saturday Night And I Love Training For Ultramarathons.
Remember, if you’re gonna smoke indoors this Christmas, think about your family and stab the ones that will complain before you light up. Disable all smoke alarms too.
I posted last night about Iggy Pop being my higher power and he still is. I’ve ordered an Iggy Pop poster and a mug to prove that he’s my homeboy. Anyway, shortly after that I went out and ran up to Southgate and back. It was a lovely run. The best thing about running on a Saturday night is that everyone is fucking terrified of you as they assume you’re drunk off your tits on some magical crystals.
There’s no other rational explanation for anyone being sweaty and breathing rapey at 10pm Saturday.
I ran up Bourne Hill again which is a nice area. I’m not familiar with that part of North London so I’m gonna concentrate more of my runs up around there. It’s a lot better than Tottenham.
God I love training for ultramarathons much more than marathons or halfs. There’s none of this “oh God I’m so much slower than my race pace, I’d better hurry up otherwise I won’t meet the time target that some other joyless cunts picked for me and I accepted because I’m weak of character. In reality I should have stabbed them in the fucking head and thought “your head is so much prettier now that I can see to the daylight through the other side. Wow you’ve bled to death quicker than it would have taken me to run 100m. Only 53s.”.
For me it’s now about staying outside for as long as possible to try to escape the bullshit that’s going on my head. I desperately need to stay out of trouble.
Earlier I was reading about Lord Sugar and his drinking of cocktails in Park Lane and the hilarity that ensued. I thought to myself “oh my God Matt, how amazing would it be to go out and drink 3 cocktails in Park Lane. Lord Sugar is doing it and he’s really fucking successful. It just proves you COULD do it if you want to!”
I am atvtgect
— Lord Sugar (@Lord_Sugar) December 9, 2015
Every day I learn that I am pretty much fucked up as I’m having to constantly fight the thoughts the only the crazy bastards have.
Stop feeling anger. Forgive. Forget. Work the steps. Work the shaft. Swallow the gravy.
I don’t subscribe to the idea that anger is necessarily a bad thing. When I drank I had the tendency to repress it and it would then come out when I least wanted it to. Now I accept that the anger is there and I let it out little by little.
The other night I spotted an urban fox whilst we were both out on a run. I said “you’re a bit of a cunt aren’t you!” to it and it just looked at me and calmly carried on. I burst out laughing. Anger doesn’t work or make sense, but it’s there.