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I need help.  I need reasons NOT to agree to run 26 kilometres.  Please help.

I’m not sure if he was joking, genuine or completely taking the piss, but today a friend asked if I fancied taking part in the world’s first kilomathon, a 26km road race from Nottingham to Derby in March.  For those without a calculator handy, 26km is 16 miles.  SIXTEEN MILES!

I’ve gone through a range of emotions since this was suggested.  Initially I completely dismissed it.  Imagine that — ME running SIXTEEN MILES.  Then, I started to genuinely consider it.  This could be it.  Training for this kilomathon could be the thing that motivates me to get out there and do some ruddy exercise.

I spoke to a colleague who runs a bit.  “I’d need to do, what, a couple of runs a week to train?”  He winced, in that way that seems to suggest he thinks I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.  “You could start off doing a couple of runs a week.  Then maybe build up to doing more.”  Sounds tough, I thought, my interest tailing off.

But this is exactly the type of thing I should be doing.  My vague desire to lose weight and get fitter isn’t really working out for me at the moment.  (I don’t think I mentioned it but I didn’t lose any weight last week and I doubt I will this week.)  I need a specific challenge, and running a 16 mile race in less than five months’ time seems to tick the right boxes, doesn’t it?

But I know me, unfortunately.  I start things with good intentions, but as soon as I get bored or it starts getting tough I give in.  I’ll feel a twinge in my ankle, maybe I’ll start coming down with flu.  I’ll take a few nights off.  A few nights will turn into a week.  Suddenly I’ll decide I’m out of practice and that injury/illness has put too big a dent into my training regime.  I’ll find a way to give up without feeling like too much of a complete and utter fucking failure.

So should I do it?  I guess I could do it for charity.  That would give me motivation to actually see it through.  It sounds like a lot of effort though.  *Sigh*

On a less-energetic note, driving to and from Cornwall last week I spotted loads of brilliant place names, and — tragic nerd that I am — I decided upon my top five: (in no order) 

• Indian Queens
• Cricket St Thomas
• Ballywatticock (Northern Ireland)
• Goonbell (next to the also-brilliantly-named Goonown)
• Westward Ho! (the only place name in the British Isles with an exclamation mark in it)

 

But back to the kilomathon.  I’m going to do it.  I’M GOING TO RUDDY DO IT*

 

 

*maybe

 

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