The Embarrassments And Indignities Of Being A Runner In The Modern World
I ran home tonight. It was miserable. I was cursing all the time and I stopped at McDonalds for dinner. Tonight’s post is a list of the embarrassments and indignities we put ourselves through as runners.
- The invasive thoughts you get on the run – You’re running next to an old widowed man called Jim in a race. He took up running as a way to cope with the loneliness in his days and he finally can face the morning without dread. Until you grab him by the fucking shoulders and push him in front of a truck. Jim’s fucked and you’re lucky it’s only in your head. I get these awful invasive thoughts throughout most races. I try to ignore them like Haley Joel Osment in ‘The Sixth Sense’.
- Being a 60 minute Nazi runner – The pure hatred you have for people who are just going about their daily business but are somehow getting in your way. Grandma on her scooter. Slow curb walkers who don’t believe in straight lines. Swans on towpaths. All cunts that are ripe for execution whilst you’re in the zone. It’s as if I become a Nazi stormtrooper when I am out there doing my 8 minute kms.
- Surfing for compliments in cringeville – You finished a race yesterday and now you’re walking around the office all crookedly on purpose to try to get people to ask you what’s wrong with you so that you can tell them you ran to Dubrovnik at the weekend. Then you can show them the shiny new medal you got for finishing in 124,156th position. You get an extra point for every sharp intake of breath you make and for every time you say ‘OW!’
- Bank statements that are a testament to your spiralling running addiction/mental instability – Your credit card statement which is almost entirely taken up with hotel reservations, race entries and sports wear purchases. Easy way to avoid the humiliation is to stop opening your mail altogether. It’s the millennial way.
- Intensive hygiene practices required – Having to take as many showers as an amateur porn star in order not to smell like a bowl of piss in a microwave made of shit. Difficult with bloody nipples, black toenails and scabs. Swab my balls and call me Annie.
- Giving it all but it’s never enough – The humiliation of realising that even though you tried your best you still finished 6 hours behind the winner. If you want to feel like a winner create your own section that you can’t lose in. I always finish first in the 33-year-old, Northern Irish, speccy, 6 foot 3 tall section.
- The wee conversations you have with yourself in your head on the run that sometimes spill out into the every day world – For me it can be anything from “I’m a fat bastard” to “Jim you cunt”. There’s nothing worse than saying something wholly inappropriate to yourself when you think you are alone only to see someone in their garden open-mouthed in disbelief. Then it’s time to sing away your hate speech and pretend it was all part of your own weird maori haka dance.
- Being an anti social wheezy runner – When people try to speak to you in a race but you are fucking dying and can’t breathe and all you can think of saying is ‘Fuck off and leave me alone!’. Instead you say ‘I’m OK thanks’ and then you put your earphones back in and listen to the same music that made you fat in the first place.