Run Commuting And Recovering From My Own Idiocy.
I’m becoming an expert in recovering from disaster.
I work with a new client and I’ve started run commuting from the train to their office just outside Cambridge. Eager to make a good first impression on Tuesday, I spent 3 hours packing and preparing for my first day.
This was all good until I stepped out of the shower after I’d completed my commute.
I hadn’t packed any jeans.
Entering the office wearing sweaty Karrimor running shorts, a printed T-shirt and a suit jacket would have made me look like a camp drug dealer in 1980’s Miami, not a reliable I.T. professional.
I wanted to cry.
Fortunately we’re located only a few minutes from a Tesco Extra and I was able to sprint across and buy a pair that fit me. I tried taking them into the bathroom inside the store to slap them on my arse but the tag set off an alarm and being a sweating, gibbering mess of anxiety and self hate I must have looked like a right shifty cunt to the approaching security guard.
I got them on and arrived for my first day 10 minutes early.
It’s good running in a new town. I was sick of doing laps of Tottenham, Wood Green and Walthamstow. Cambridge itself presents it’s own challenges.
The cyclists there are a reason I could never vote for the Green Party. Once they have been freed from their years of oppression by motorists they become complete fucking tyrants. In Cambridge they are fucking everywhere and they are not shy. It’s like being in Holland without the weed. Every path is a cycle lane and if you’re in their way they will ring their precious fucking bells until you apologise to them for existing.
It’s a challenge trying to restrain myself from telling them to fuck off.
With only 2 weeks to go until London 2 Brighton I’m delighted to say that we’ve hit the minimum sponsorship amount of £375 for the challenge. Donate and I’ll send you out a book.
I’ve been a bit crap at sending the books out recently so it might take a little longer than normal to reach you but they will get to you.