I had it all planned out.  Sort of.  Increase my mileage by approximately half a mile a week until two weeks before the race, by which time I’d be up to about thirteen miles (half a marathon), then a couple of shorter runs and lots of rest to conserve energy before the run.  Simple.

After my mate USC (below) described how he’d done a similar thing to his knee and ended up under the surgeon’s knife, on crutches and completely out of sporting action for eight months, I went to the drop-in centre to get my knee checked out.

USC

I felt like a bit of a fraud as she prodded, stretched and massaged my knee, asking “Does this hurt?  How about this?  Or this?” while I sat shaking my head.  Eventually the nurse told me I was suffering from knee-gah! (© The Fiver) having damaged my anterior cruciate ligaments and I should refrain from strenuous activity for six to eight weeks.  “Definitely no rugby,” she said, bizarrely (I think she meant football).  What about running? I asked.  The same answer: Nothing for six weeks.

This is, not meaning to be crude, a bit of a shitter.  I was really getting into the whole running lark, and although no more running this year (!) will set me back no end, I’m still determined to run the kilomathon.  It just means I’ll have to work harder in 2010.

The crowning turd in the water pipe (© Blackadder Goes Forth) was that I went for a weigh-in at Boots today and found I’d GAINED three pounds.  I’ve been running twice a week and playing 5-a-side and I’ve GAINED weight.  I could very easily embark on a murderous rampage right now.

With exercise completely off the cards for THE REST OF THIS YEAR I have to discipline myself to eat very healthily.  I think over the last few weeks I’ve used running as an excuse to not be particularly careful with what I eat.  This must stop.  I hate eating healthily but it looks like it’s back to making my own shitty, flavourless soups to take to work every day.

Anyway, I’m off out now to run down some motorcyclists in my car.   AAAAGGGGGHHHHHH! 

Since the disappointment of Monday’s weight in I’ve been pretty healthy.  Home made soup for lunch all week and fairly healthy evening meals.  Well, the evening meals could have been a bit healthier (I made a lasagne last night and used a whole pot of cream in the béchamel sauce…), so there’s still room for improvement.

Tomorrow I’m at a wedding all day, but I’ll try not to get too drunk and I’ll try not to eat too much.  Chances are I won’t eat anything, I’ll drink far too much, and my girlfriend will find me asleep in my own vomit under a hedge at about eight o’clock.

A few words on Happy Ending: I’m not sure it works posting little snippets of it as blog entries.  A novel isn’t the type of thing you read in 500-word bursts, so publishing 500-word extracts of it on a blog isn’t likely to stir up much interest.  That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.  It may well just be that what I’ve written is shit. 

But regardless, I will keep on writing it, and will occasionally post bits of it.  They’ll probably be slightly bigger chunks than the last couple of instalments, and I’ll try to make sure they’re chunks of which I’m particularly proud.

Be good.

.

Today hasn’t been a good day, but intentionally so.  After weighing myself and as a sort of congratulations for losing a pound, I had a foot-long Reggae Reggae Chicken Sub.  It was indescribably disappointing.  I’ll stick to what I know in future; a foot-long meatball sub (which, I’m told, contains the same amount of salt as eleven-and-a-half bags of crisps).  Despite not really fancying it and despite realising it’s really not a particularly great deal, I made my foot-long into a ‘meal deal’.  This ‘deal’ involves paying £1.50 extra for a coke and a bag of crisps.  A coke and a bag of crisps that would ordinarily cost 90p and 45p respectively.

Tonight I want fish and chips and a few beers, and tomorrow morning I will try to have a fried breakfast.  The aim to all of this seemingly reckless gluttony is to fill my stomach with as much stodgy food as possible before hitting Oktoberfest tomorrow where, I’m reliably informed, “there’s nothing to do except sit and drink.”  

It’s a stag weekend, and from what I can gather the stag group consists of an ominous mix of Irishmen, rugby players and chartered accountants.  In no way meaning to stereotype, I imagine things could get messy, hence the need to load my stomach with alcohol-soaking-up food (I can’t afford to crash and burn like I did last weekend).

We have been instructed to wear Top Gun outfits.  The more I think about that, the more I think it’s a terrible, terrible idea.  To summarise, we will be walking around Munich dressed in US military uniforms.  I can’t help thinking some of the locals might take offence to this.  As someone suggested to me, “It’s the equivalent of some Germans walking around London in Luftwaffe uniforms.”  As someone else suggested, “You’ll be fine.  Fortunately Germans are known for their sense of humour.”

Right, I must sign off before I stereotype, offend or abuse any other nationalities.  I hope to be in touch early next week.  If I’m not in touch by Tuesday evening I’m probably being kicked around München or am getting intimate with its customs officers.

Auf Wiedersehen, meine Freunde.