Glorious? I don't think so

November 28, 2018

 

These words are coming to you live from the moan zone, I’m doing one finger tired-typing, think I’ve turned squirrel and should be heading off to hibernate with some Brazil nuts (chocolate covered of course).

 

Maybe it’s the light, which has gone out, that’s causing my gloom, I feel like I’m groping around in the middle-of-the-night and it’s only lunch time. How about you, have you checked the view? See it’s gone, some blighter has rubbed it out. It’s suet pudding weather, no doubt about it, washed down with anything mulled and warming. And my very worn copy of White Christmas is calling from the back of the DVD drawer: Bing, honey I think it’s time to let you out again. All around, life is speeding up in a frantic chase towards tinsel town. Every time I settle down for a cosy bit of writing my inbox pings and overflows, spilling discount codes all over the place for Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Soggy Tuesday…all of them shouting buy, buy, buy! 

 

Is it me, or has the silly season started early? 

 

The world has picked up the pace and I’m stuck in the mud about to lose my shoe. No, seriously, I am, well I was, on Saturday evening with 399 other nutters in the town carpark ready and raring (them not me) to run off round the woods in the dark for an hour or two. The organisers said it was a 10k route. A muddy route. A route that might have the odd ‘wolf’ lurking ready to pop out and keep you on your toes. 

 

Well it was certainly an experience. I did in deed meet a ‘wolf’ which kept me more than on my toes. The man playing the accordion covered in fairy lights, deep in the woods, was an unexpected treat along with the fireworks, Samba band, fire eaters and the water station/beer stop. Not then, your average trail run. Forget electrolytes and energy drinks at the finish line, oh no, a mince pie mountain and a vat of mulled wine awaited all those who made it out.

 

I won’t mention the mud. We all know what it looks like. What it feels like when it’s squelching between our toes. What it smells like when it’s been sat there for weeks doing whatever mud does when it sits. You don’t need me to describe what it feels like when you put your foot down on mud that’s impersonating solid ground and you and your trainers disappear without trace…Am I going on?

 

“I’m never, ever doing that again,” I said staggering over the finishing line towards Mount Mince pie.

 

 

My trainers will be drying for the next 3 years.

 

 

 

My washing machine locked its door and is refusing to ever wash sports kit again.

 

On Sunday morning, after the best lie-in ever (I have the most wonderful baby-sitting in-laws) and still with a hint of mud between my toes, I sat down at my computer to squeeze out a few more words and a message popped up (because I wasn’t really writing, we all know where I was):

 

You. Are. A. Night. Nobbler!” It said.“You did it... you just ran (and occasionally crawled) your way through the toughest 10km in West Wales.”

 

That made me smile, in the gloom, without the view, sitting on Brazil nuts. I did, I did it. And if I can do that, then I can definitely ‘do’ this chapter and finish my proposal, which I will crack on with just as soon as I’ve entered the Night Nobbler 2019…

 

 Just incase you thought I was exaggerating

 

This Blog is dedicated to the ‘Running Man’ you know who you are. Thanks for nagging me to get it written.

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