Oh Hi Fuckers.
Been a month since we last caught up cunts and I’ve missed you.
I completed my London 2 Cambridge 100k in 15 hours 31 minutes. It was good. I can’t be fucked giving you a blow by blow account of the entire affair at the minute. I honestly hate writing about running. It’s so fucking boring. It’s like writing about breathing. Or walking.
It’s only interesting if you run with people with quirky personalities and I’m too much of an awkward loner to go fucking running with the normals.
Not that any of you are fucking normal.
I’ve made 700 posts about running. 700 fucking posts about the same shit. About the same trivial bollocks. It gets tiring. It really does.
My life at the minute consists of freelancing in Cambridge and running at the weekend. I just take myself out and jog for hours, always stopping before I’m exhausted and enjoying restaurants along the way.
I’m 8 months sober and that’s still the most important thing in my life. I went up to New Galloway in Scotland at the start of the week for a family holiday and enjoyed the countryside but struggled to find all of the hills I wanted to run up.
It was a nice break.
I don’t think I’ll ever train for a marathon ever again in my life. 20 mile runs are miserable. I’d rather spread it over a day and run 30 or 40. Slowly. No time constraints. Just enjoying the outdoors.
I made a post before about running helping my depressive moods and it couldn’t be truer. Running makes me feel better. Discovering new places is exciting. Hating myself for not hitting some arbitrary time target just doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I don’t have the energy for it.
My self destructive nature is hopefully in decline. I know it still exists within me and probably always will. I just have to be vigilant that it doesn’t overtake me.
PS – I haven’t shit myself in 2 months.