Why My Problem Isn’t With Running.

My housemates have been having issues with my sweat again.

I came back home last night and I saw that they’d triple bagged my sweaty gear and put up an air freshener on the cabinet.

I’d prefer it if they just put a door mat at the entrance to my room with the words ‘YOU FUCKING STINK!” on it. That way there’d be zero ambiguity.

I don’t give a fuck anymore though, I’m a runner and I stink sometimes. I could be contrite and apologise for my existence and come back with a vase full of daffodils to try to make amends for my sweat.

I could only do with an honest heart if I pissed in the jug before hand. A real taste of an alternative Ulster.

Suck it in. Taste the hate.

Bravado aside, I’ve become that self conscious after their complaints that I’ve started spraying Febreze on my balls before going to work.

If a swarm of militant bees attempt to pollinate my ball sack because of the air freshener, I will be on the phone to ‘Injury Lawyers 4 U’ to make a serious complaint about these cunts.

Running isn’t a problem for me.

Let’s get everything straight, as much as I’ve complained about it recently, running hasn’t been my problem.

I’ve been my own problem.

I think there’s a self destructive element in most human beings and especially within me. Pre-2010 I’d feed into my dark side and celebrate it as my true self by drinking too much and eating like a cunt.

It still exists within me and it’s the part that complains about ‘having’ to run. When I think about it rationally I can see that it’s trying to draw me back into a destructive lifestyle.

The truth is I don’t have to run, but when I do run it makes everything easier in my life. That’s why I’m thinking about quitting ‘racing’ altogether and just coming back in the second half of this year and running totally for fun again.

It needs to become fun again. No more wacky 100k challenges after May until I’m ready for it. I need to enjoy training again.

Above all though I’m not going backwards.

I recognise that running has allowed me to strike a balance so that I can keep the worst side of myself at bay.

In London the temptation has been great to become a wanton depressive alcoholic but my running has meant that I’m often too tired to be depressed for that long.

On a Saturday night after a 15 mile run I’ll have a large sushi tray, a McFlurry and two pints and by that time I’ll want to go home as I won’t be able to keep my eyes open.

It’s good.

And although I’ve felt guilty for faltering somewhat with my ultramarathon training, I know there is no giving up or going back to how I was before.

Earlier this week the woman who helped me through my awful 50k experience posted this picture up on my Facebook Page of us after the race.