I’m Home Now, I Joined A Gym and I’ve Ran Another 200 Mile Month.
Let’s try to keep this simple fuckers. I’ve tried writing this post several times over the last few days and nothing sensible has come from it.
I was meant to come home from Eindhoven via Brussels and Paris on the bus but since I didn’t book my journey ahead of time the coach was entirely sold out. Instead I opted for the boat home from Hoek Van Holland Haven and a sleeper dorm. It meant I could spend the afternoon in Eindhoven instead of rushing across Western Europe.
Despite the seas being a little rough, I slept well and arrived back in London feeling refreshed.
4 months on my run streak and another 200 mile month.
I rejoined the gym in London and once again I can’t be sure that it’s for me. I just hate being around a bunch of grunting bastards. It’s fucking irritating. I hate those cunts who do weights randomly on the floor and move erratically towards whatever I’m fucking on. It freaks me out as I’m worried they are gonna offer me the drugs that the big ones take.
I’ve no interest in that shit.
Also, the music in a gym is a painful reminder of my drunken days in nightclubs. I can taste stale Jagerbombs with the cheesy low rent trance. I’m never comfortable there. There’s always a tense energy. In every gym across Britain a roidhead is one bad stare away from going postal and killing everyone with a dumbbell.
I’ve been on my run streak now for 4 months and I’ve ran over 1,000 miles during that period. It’s been great. I’m just a little disappointed that I only ran 201 miles this month after last month’s 387. Fuck me. I’m never satisfied. Honest to God. That’s the problem with us fitness cunts. We’re never happy. We’re always pushing ourselves until we’re fucking miserable and broken.
No wonder we’re always shooting donkey poppers into our fucking ball sacks.
So fuck it. I am happy I’ve maintained my run streak. I’m delighted I’m sober. And when I go back to the gym I’m bringing fucking headphones.
I’m sorry that this post was shit. I fucking hate writing at the minute. It’s miserable.