God created man on the 6th day
There are 6 strings on a guitar
6 is the number of points received for a touchdown
6 is the number of points on the Star of David
6 is also the number of miles I ran yesterday. Yee ha, go girl, party people its six miles!
And let me tell you I was impressed. Partly because I was itching to go last night so my heart wasn’t really with my trainers but also because of the monumental pain barrier I had to break through with the boys.
Yes, the shower was painful again yesterday evening as I now seem to have even less skin on my already very raw, left tit!
(I have included a hazy if not affective image of the tit in question…I would recommend that those of a queasy disposition look away around about five minutes ago.)
But hey, no pain no gain, right?
The run itself was lovely if not slightly boring towards the end.
I lapped Pontypridd Park six times, you got that right? SIX TIMES! And I came in just under an hour so not bad going really.
And I only ran into (not literally) one homeless person so all was well in the world.
I do have to be brutally honest here though. For the strangest reason Ponty Park appears to have some sort of influence over my bowel movements. As soon as I set off from the Bridge, which is my usual starting point, pretty much an entire mile from the top of the range toilets, my stomach seems to wake up and give me the nod. Literally.
Yesterday, thankfully, I played a psychological game with my belly, telling the wobbly bastard that I’ll give in after the first mile, then the second, then the third. In the end, I forgot that my arse was twitching and just got on with completing the run.
I did have a bit of a mad dash back to the hostel mind after the victory dance and I have now concluded that playing mind games with your stomach is an incredibly risky little activity.
At least in the running gear and undeniably sweaty head I didn’t look like a complete knob legging it through the town; arse cheeks practically clenched into my bellybutton!
Back to the running; I felt a little unsteady as I first set up due to a complaining left calf and the twitchy hoop but thankfully both eased within the first ten minutes or so. And to be honest, I didn’t feel the pain in my chest area until the last mile so it wasn’t that bad.
I am having technical issues whilst out on the road. And when I say technical what I mean is that bloody stupid iPod Nano tiny piece of crap that can only hold about twelve songs on it is doing my head in! (Did you know that twelve is the double of six…I ran six miles yesterday by the way.)
I desperately need a new playlist, unfortunately ABBA are no longer making me run fast…in fact they appear to be making me stop! Right there and then, I hear; ‘I don’t wanna talk,’ and my heads saying ‘then don’t open your gob Agnetha!’
I can no longer take any more Alanis Morrisette and I certainly do not ever want to hear another Jack Johnson bloody tune in a long, long, time. Longer than six miles!
I will get Scotty Boy on the case.
I also noticed yesterday that my beloved daps are starting to look slightly battered, not unlike my boys! Ha! Yes, you can see my little toes through the lining of the trainer. Sad times for me, sadder times for Scotty Boys bank account.
Talking of Scotty Boy…I’d like to take this opportunity to put it in print that there is a vast difference between Lance Armstrong and Neil Armstrong, may he rest in peace. I’d also like to remind Scotty that Neil actually went to the moon and it was a good thing…for mankind and all.
Happy Bank holiday!
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