This weekend I am running again. It’s the Robin Hood half marathon in Nottingham (surprisingly enough) and I am massively ill-prepared.
When I ran the marathon I was very focussed indeed. I had a plan. I stuck to the plan come what may and the resulting statistics were something that I was quite proud of:
- Miles: 480
- Hours: 87
- Calories: 58,000
This time around, although I had a jolly good plan, I exhibited all the self discipline of a labrador left in charge of a plate of sausages. Consequently the figures look a little* less confidence-inspiring:
- Miles: 28
- Hours: 5
- Calories: 3,700
Add to this I have a very busy week this week, culminating with a leaving do for a couple of colleagues on Friday that will doubtless involve a sherbet or two and just possibly we are witnessing the genesis of a disaster.
But with all the misplaced confidence of a flamboyantly handlebar-moustachioed World War 1 General I am looking forward to standing on the start line on Sunday. I’m sure it’ll all be fine.
* – a lot.