We’re all going to be dead and forgotten in 50 years time. The minuscule shit that’s annoying you inside your head today is fucking irrelevant. All of the cunts nagging at you to be different today don’t matter.
When you’re pissing yourself on your death bed you’ll be hungry for one last day of ultimate freedom and that day is today you cunt.
10 months sober.
What can I say? It’s been great.
I still haven’t went to the toilet since my 100k attempt. I honestly don’t know what’s happening with my insides. I went on a run last night around Bruce Castle Park. I didn’t want to go any further in case I got that emergency call from my arse.
It was fun jogging around the park. I seen 4 squirrels on my 4 laps around the park. Or maybe I just seen the same squirrel 4 times and it was wondering why the fuck I was staring at it so much.
I’m not sure what to expect from my guts at the minute. I don’t want Scotland Yard and their dogs barking up my arse if I get caught short in the park.
I’m gonna continue to run laps of the park until I’m certain that I’m not gonna give birth to the new Satan. The strange thing is that there is no movement inside. Not a fucking whisper. Usually I can hear cries of protest from my stomach, but it’s fucking silent in there.
I’d love to do another ultramarathon before the end of the year. Even a 50k. I’m on a high even though I failed on Saturday. Things are only gonna continue to get better if I stay on this path.
There’s too much to risk if I go back outside on the piss. I can’t become the archetypal thwarted old man. I have it within me to actually be a success.