My Story – The Angry 2017 Edition And Why I’m Running Across An Entire Island
My alcoholism was that bad that I managed to convince myself that the only reason I went to Las Vegas to run the marathon was to one day WIN THE FUCKING THING.
Yes. You read it. I believed it. I was running drunk as research. I was gonna lay the smackdown on all those fuckers at the front one day.
That’s how divorced from reality I was in 2014. I was running marathons drunk just because I was a martyr to my own excess and everyone loves a fucking martyr. Or something like that. All bollocks. I want to punch myself in the face at every age I’ve ever been. 20 – prick. 21 – dick. 22 – arsehole. 23 – militant Communist. 24 – glutton. 25 – twat. 26 – knob. You get the picture.
If you’ve been reading for a while you’ll have no doubt been infuriated by my cognitive dissonance over the years. But this takes the cake, eats half of it and sticks the other half of it up it’s own hole.
My real story is this.
I was a fat goth kid. I was one of those clowns that wore silly ‘bold’ t-shirts like ‘Nobody knows I’m a lesbian’. I had farmers hair.
I loved primary school, hated secondary school, loved Technical college and enjoyed University so much that I ended up working there for 3 years.
I took my first drink of alcohol at 21 and loved it as it gave me something I never had – self confidence. I was confident as a younger boy but I let people beat it out of me. I wish I had stood up for myself but I didn’t and I guess that’s why I’m so driven now.
I loved all the booze. Became a drunken philosophy teller in pubs. Ranted a lot on Twitter. An angry pain in the hole. Got up to 20 stone by eating and drinking everything.
I found walking, Weight Watchers and then eventually running but never gave up the booze even after a few tragedies.
Started running properly. Did a marathon or 6 and then tried a 50k on 2 weeks of training.
I started this stupid fucking blog, some people read it so I decided to write a book about me running and being a piss head. Inspirational material certainly.
Moved to London because I was sick of the same 3 fucking arguments happening all year every year back home. Drinking got worse as I put the finishing touches to it. Up to almost a litre of Whiskey a day at the release of it. Didn’t tell anyone as I was way too ashamed of the situation I found myself in. Even though people in my family were dying from it at the time. Others kinda knew something was wrong. I lost a sense of who I was altogether and I just kept going to the West End to drink away my feelings.
Little did I know that my feelings could swim like Michael Phelps on beefburgers & crack.
Got back up to 16 stone after getting down to 13 and a half stone in mid 2014. Started running again after stopping. Kept stopping and starting.
Got a job. Got sacked, got sad, went to Tenerife, drank all day and night and listened to the Stone Roses. Tried to recover by day by drinking Sangria mixed with Fanta. Things degenerated and I started listening to The Happy Mondays. Fortunately I did not let shit get to the point where I was listening to The Inspiral Carpets.
Got desperate and prayed to the Universe for help and held some sort of weird ceremony at 7am in my kitchen here in Tottenham on the 15th November 2015 and since then I haven’t drank in 18 months and I’ve ran every day for 17 and a half months.
Realised that my depression was caused by alcohol all along.
Running 3,100 miles around Tottenham, North London saved my sanity in 2016.
I’ve found that talking about my problems on this blog has helped me a lot. It’s like being in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting but without having to nominate Iggy Pop as my super special friend.
I now mainly run ultra distances as I’m a bit of a lazy bastard and hate getting out of breath.
I tried to spend February 2017 running long distances in Portugal but it fucking backfired after the first night when I got lost in some orange grove 4 miles outside Albufeira and I started crying and eating stolen oranges like a complete fucking fanny.
In June I’m taking off to Land’s End to run all the way across Great Britain because I am trying to block out the fact that I’m 33 years old and my pubes are turning grey and it leaves me feeling scared at night. I’ve also started listening to Fleetwood Mac and I don’t know what’s next for me to be honest.
Gonna shave me pubes and join the marines.