My training for the Great North Run seems to have gone totally to pot.
I had started to work towards training on a Monday and a Wednesday night, but with the return to the drama group last week, Monday is now blown out of the water. I can hear your shouts now: Run to drama!
Well, Monday, I did exactly that ... and I won't be doing it again!
All decked out with shorts, sports vest, iPod gear and a change of clothes in my rucksack - complete with mandatory flannel and can of deodourant - I set off for rehearsals. Before I had even left the flat, I knew it was a bad idea, but I was adamant that I had to catch up with the running, so forged ahead.
Boy was it a hard run: if you look at my graph for the day it looks like a seismograph output for a small earth tremor. Not that I moved the earth that night. If I had, the reaction would most likely have been, "Is that it?".
I'm putting it down to running a lot earlier than I would normally so, mentally, I had not really psyched myself up to it properly. That and the fact that I took a slightly less direct route which meant I had no choice but to climb a lot of hills ... should have thought that one through better!
Then there was the 4.2 mile run the previous night that I still ached from...
By the time I arrived at the church hall where rehearsals are held, a meagre 2.2 miles, I was leaking so much water I was in danger of drowning the local wildlife as I did a few cool-down stretches. However, with only 10 minutes to go before rehearsals started, I needed to get myself dried off and changed.
I really should not have bothered.
Before I even left the gents where I had changed, my clothes were sticking to me and numerous dark patches were appearing on my shirt, much like giraffe spots, though much less attractive!
But it wasn't the shirt I was worried about. It was the inevitable damp patch I knew I would end up leaving on the plastic chairs we were using: standing up is not an option when the director tells you to sit down at a certain point in the script. Even sitting on the edge of the seat in the hope of not leaving any marks is a total waste of time.
The first thing I had to do was sit in one of the seats and then stand up a couple of minutes later. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't resist seeing how bad it was. It was bad.
Lo and behold, taunting me from the green plastic was the imprint of my behind, a mark much like an overweight McDonalds 'M', ready for the next person to sit on.
I think I'll drive to reheasals next time.