Surviving Drinking Urges in Budapest and The Long Bristol Hangover
I’ve finally fully recovered from the let down of the ultramarathon 2 weeks ago in Bristol.
The Green Man Ultra was staged on the day of the 5th anniversary of my dad’s passing and I wanted to do something positive to mark it. That’s why I was so disappointed with myself when I dropped out.
That said I am closer to knowing who I am and what I want from life. Every time I fail I chip away at another layer. I’m happiest when I am running on roads or canal towpaths. Running for miles through mud is not what makes me happy. I find it fucking irritating. Life is too short to be doing shit that pisses you off.
Every time I fail I get a little closer to success. I’m growing all the time even if sometimes it feels totally hopeless.
Oh Vienna, I am off
I enjoyed the last few days in Vienna. It’s a beautiful place and my favourite so far on the trip.
Running along the Danube was a highlight. On my first night I spotted lots of wild rabbits by the river side. Yesterday I ran across one of the main river bridges and probably looked like I was about to swan dive off with my gurning. I think I was mourning the lack of rabbits on this run.
I arrived last night in Budapest after a 3 hour bus journey. For the first time in a while I was attacked by odd drinking urges. As I made it into the city past the Groupama Arena I noticed lots of drink offers up in neon lights outside bars.
My inner alco was having a great time goading me with shit like.
“£1 for a Mojito. 50p for a pint of beer. Come on let’s do this! Just one night! 20 Mojitos and you’ll find your comfort zone!”
My long term happiness is worth more than £1 and a cheap buzz. Every day I have one last chance to live the life I want to live. If I give in and get sloshed on mojitos then it would show how little I value my life.
My hostel is located on a street lined with pubs and with it being Saturday it was full with revellers. I went to a restaurant, had Spaghetti Bolognese and went to bed early. If that makes me a boring cunt then I’m happy to say I am a boring cunt.
There’s nothing more boring and sad than having to take a drug to make yourself feel comfortable enough to allow you to socialise. I’d rather go to bed with a bag of fucking Haribo.
When I get back to London I’m rejoining the gym and I’m gonna plan another running and travel tour for late summer / early Autumn. This time I want to run along West France and into Northern Spain / Portugal and eventually to Italy and Croatia.
Off exploring in Budapest soon. Fucking glad it is Sunday now!