Monday, 19 March 2012

Warning - TMI follows.

Well, I did warn you.

This week I should have hit 15.5 miles on my long run but it was a plan knackered by life. Friday I had a meeting with the company we hope to be our water suppliers for our September race event, and it was a 9am start. The rest of the morning was spent with my co-organiser, so even Millie the Dog didn't get a great walk. She did go and spend the day with my folks though, which she likes, not least because they have a garden and we don't.

Anyway, no run Friday except for a little two-miler in the morning. Saturday, me and Lovely Wife were on a training course for a Leadership in Running Fitness award. It was okay, but all day and another early start, so no long run as we'd be looking at a steady 2.5-2.75 hours or running. Not pretty, not quick, but effective.

After the course, we were due to go out to a fundraising evening, a gig held at a local brewery with three bands playing. Lovely Wife wasn't feeling up to it, so she stayed home and I took Stepdaughter and two of her friends. Great night, three excellent bands, and some lovely beer.

But that's where the problems began. I'd written off Sunday as a day to recover from everything and after a shitty week. Turned out I had to write off Sunday and today, because the beer I has Saturday night gave me absolutely chronic diarrhea through Saturday night and Sunday. It was fucking awful. Apparently it's something to do with a live ingredient in the beer; the lager is absolutely lovely, but it's not really working for me when I have to sacrifice an essential long run on not one day, but two. I had to err on the side of caution because with beer consumption, I would have been dehydrated; with beer and then shitting my bodyweight in brown fizzy gravy, I suspect my dehydration may have been much more severe. So that run is gone, I am not going to try to make it up as I'll end up with an overuse injury and scupper the marathon.

Bugger, shit and bollocks. I'm really struggling to think of anything positive that comes from beer right now.

Tuesday, 13 March 2012

A race report, and a fucking rant.

Well, I did a half marathon on Sunday, and it was really great. Not my part in it, I was shite, but it was a well organised and lovely event.

The Bath Half is one of Britain's biggest half marathons, and I can see why. Big time PB potential, pretty city, fairly flat course. S'nice. Oh, and plenty of toilets, all of which seemed to have toilet paper in. London, take note.

We got there, three of us, in cold and fog. When we got to the start line, clear blue skies and blazing fucking sun. Why oh why, Baby Jesus? Why do you hate me so??? Just give me one race in shitty weather and I'll PB, I know it...

Anyway, I struggled, until about 10 miles in, when I loosened up and started to enjoy myself. Those last three miles were lovely. The rest, not so much. Had to stop for a big wee (despite telling my bladder to re-absorb the fluid and use it, in the style of a boxer), then a big poo, which didn't do much for my own PB potential. But ulimately, despite the weather, the struggling, the anus, I didn't stop, not for a second. This is good. Not that I'm a stopper, but the temptation when struggling can often be there.

My companions did well too. Fred, 46, first race ever - an amazing 1:40. His secret? His knees and hips hurt if he goes slow, so he has only one speed - flat out. Marc did great too, finishing in 2:09:59. Me? 2:14, but I'm knocking seven minutes off that for the loo...

Annoying things - the corraling didn't really work. Too many fast people at the back of the green start elbowing and dodging their way through the crowds. Seriously, get there earlier and walk to the fucking front, ringpiece. And don't you let me see you collapsed by the side of the road later on because you don't have the intelligence to pace yourself.

Apart from that, an excellent experience.

In other news, the planned bookazine launch I have been working on for a fucking age has been cancelled. Less than what, six weeks before publication? Never heard of that happening before, and I am told it's because of advice from distributors because Men's Health etc have been block-booking shelf space in newsagent/bookstores in the US to fill with their regurgitated shite. I fucking hate that magazine even more now. I used to think it was just shit and is made to appeal to people who don't want to work hard, now I still believe that, but I think its publishers are also big bastards.

I know money talks. Always. But in my heart I still believe that something original, different, good will find its place in the world and if it is all of those things, grow and become something more. If it's not, it can wither and die and rightly so. But no, it's just fucking money these days.

Fucking fuck it. Seriously pissed off about that. Sorry, contributors, interviewees, photographers.

Even worse, Men's Health style covers are polluting the rest of the publishing world. The latest Runner's World in the UK has several bold lies on the cover in the exact same style:

"Lean & Fit Now" Now? Really? Erm... No. In six months, maybe.

"Beginners: ACE YOUR FIRST RACE" Wow, this one's for the morons out there. It's your first race, it's a guaranteed PB. Thanks, Runner's World!

"The Body You Want, Today!" NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. This goes against what running means to me - it means progress, evolution, moving forward physically and spiritually; it is the antithesis of the instant gratification brigade and what is Runner's World doing? Pandering to that very brigade. Fucking fuckers can fuck right off.

It's all numbers and the unquantifiable quantified - "Get 11% fitter in 15 minutes", "The five-minute injury fix". It drives me insane. It's for people with no attention span, who can't watch a show from beginning to end, or read an actual book.

I'm a little cross today. Does it show?

Friday, 2 March 2012

Random Friday Facts

Fuck me, Friday again? Did I blog anything since last Friday? Bugger shit and arse biscuits.

1: Designers occasionally piss me right off. Yes, we all have hard jobs. But yours? Not so much. So kindly shut your fucking moaning, and get on with the job. That way, it gets done much quicker, and you remain un-stabbed. Win-win.

2: I have officially worked 19 days without a break. Tonight I intend to get fucked-up drunk, and tomorrow, rehydrate ready for a 14-miler on Sunday.

3: All that work also means I have not been able to run much this week. Today, Friday, was my first since last Sunday's rather successful 11.5 or so miler.

4: Last night, I watched a physio put one of my models through hell, all for the sake of art. Kind of.

5: Too busy right now to do much other than work. That all changes in about five minutes when we take the dogs out, and my weekend of doing next to nothing begins.

6: I am currently reading 'The Art of Fielding'. Enjoying it a lot, though it is excessively reminiscent of John Irving. And when I say of him rather than of one of his books, it's because it reminds me of everything he's written.

7: This week, I read the new Max Brooks paperback, Closure Limited. I love World War Z, it's a beautifully put-together book and works on many levels. It's fun, it does zombies brilliantly. This turd, however, is fucking dreadful. 124 pages of wide-set type with filler images, this could easily have been less than 100 pages. It's like the album someone makes to get out of their record deal. And the writing... It's just no good. Even worse, despite this 124-page dog egg being an incredible £5.99 to buy full price, it has at no time been seen by a copy editor. Using 'sight' where 'site' should be used is such a basic error, it makes me want to hurt people.

8: But I didn't hurt anyone. I did, however, email the publisher to tell them I felt ripped off and that it was shite.

9: It's not the worst book ever though. That accolade goes to Harlan Coben. I can't even remember what the book is called. Fucking awful. First book he ever wrote, so when he got famous he got it published. With no word of warning on the back cover; that was saved for inside. And it is the biggest piece of dreck I can think of. I have not read any of his books since, because he fucking ripped me off with that one. As my first-ever editor told me, "You don't lie to the kids; if you do, they'll know, and they'll never come back". Harlan, you lied to the kids. Yeah, you admitted it inside, but I HAD ALREADY BOUGHT THE BASTARD BOOK AND TRAVELLED 30 MILES HOME BY THE TIME I DISCOVERD THIS.

10: I still adore Guns N Roses' Appetite For Destruction. Not keen on any of the other albums, but that one is pure class, start to finish.

11: I might watch a movie tonight. Maybe 22 Bullets, maybe Tucker and Dale Vs Evil, maybe just two episodes of Walking Dead.

12: This weekend, on my long run, I will try something very, very different - I am going to try and run while listening to podcasts. My lovely friend Toby, a comedian, has done one, and there's an ultrarunning one I fancy giving a go to as well.

13: Did I mention I'm tired? I am. *cue violins*

14: Bugger, I don't think we have anything for dinner. Best sort that out, too.

15: My lovely wife has cooked every night this week except last night, when my stepdaughter did the bulk of it. This is most unusual, I generally do most of the cooking, but it has been a most welcome change.

16: I'm booked to do a Leadership In Running Fitness course, thanks to my local council. Running club here we come!

17: I'm outta here. Normal blog service will resume next week.