Still Finding It Difficult To Write
Finally got out tonight for a 7.5 mile run around Hounslow. It was fucking painful. My legs hurt more than at any point during LEJOG. Then I interrupted what appeared to be the start of a gangbang hosted by some tough hoodies under the M4. I think they wanted me to join in but my dick’s on permanent leave with citalopram. I think they call it cit clit for a reason.
Really struggling to come up with shit for tonight’s post and it’s down to not courting any drama at all lately. This is a good thing for me, but a bad thing for you as a reader.
It’s much easier to write humour when you’re actively living a shitshow. I don’t want the shitshow life, I have more to offer than to simply exist. I want to actualize the best life I can for myself.
There’s nothing wrong with going off the rails a little bit as long as you make it back to some semblance of sanity. The problem is that a lot of people don’t make it back and there’s fuck all glamorous about it. But when you do make it back you understand what it truly means to feel lost and that will power you onto the right path.
Gonna only select races I want to do and keep it that way. I don’t run for anything other than my own entertainment. Stumbling blindly through the countryside whilst drunk without a headtorch isn’t helping anyone.
I want to live in a way that offers hope. There isn’t much of that around at the minute. I haven’t taken any Nytol since I’ve been back in London and refused any painkillers in the ultra yesterday. Those things are 100 times more dangerous than weed, yet they have gained a worrying prominence in ultra running.