Why the fuck is it called a "fun" run??

Apparently I can’t write a post saying that the culmination of Mission Fabulous is upon us, without actually writing a follow up. Given that the N key has just fallen off my keyboard, this will have to be brief – count the Ns in running !

So on Sunday, I was up with the birds (damn those fucking seagulls…) and ready to face the enemy that is a hilly 10k run, after a particularly sleepless night thanks to the dumbass “let’s have sushi for tea” decision. And those fucking seagulls.

Petworth House is about an hours drive away, so by the time we got there …well, let’s just say that Portaloos and a spot of Delhi belly do not a pretty combination make. It’s definitely one way to improve your running pace though – take heed Paula Radcliffe.

All in all 602 bleary eyed folk turned up and endured the endless banal banter of the token local radio DJ, not to mention 90 minutes of back-to-back ABBA tracks before the race even started. It’s enough to send you hurtling back towards the damn Portaloos….which might well explain the length of the queues.

The blurb about the race had mentioned that it was a “multi-terrain with some hills”, yet conveniently neglected to include a route map. Presumably because they were well aware that if anyone knew it involved 7kms uphill through open fields in the midday sun, it would be a very empty field indeed.

Bastards.

Which was pretty much the only thought going through my head for the first 40 minutes. You bastards…you sodding bastards…bastard bastards…bastard fucking bastards. Arse. Tits. Bollocks. Where is the top of this fucking hill? Bastards.

You’d think it would be quite hard to feel any strong hate-like emotion towards a nameless, faceless entity whose sole purpose is to raise money to help cure cancer (FFS), but…I made a convincing stab at it nonetheless.

Will I go to hell for laughing at the smug tit who tore away from the start line at crazy pace, pushing all and sundry out the way in his desire to prove just how big his penis is, before falling into his own vomit at the 1.5km mark ?? Sod it, stoke the fires, it was worth it. Arse.

I have turned into a very angry young lady indeed.

Fun run. Seriously? Going out with my friends and knocking back Cocksucking Cowboys is fun. Rollercoasters are fun. Skiing is fun. Sex is fun. Even shopping is fun. On a non “fat day” when the light is right.

Running uphill for 7km, surrounded by 601 puking, spitting, wheezing, gasping, wobbling strangers in the middle of an otherwise perfectly lovely sunny Sussex Sunday morning? That, my friends, is insanity. We should have been raising money for Mind. Quite clearly, given that I’ve just registered for the Bath Half Marathon. Which I’m sure will be on an otherwise perfectly lovely sunny Somerset Sunday in March….

So, the long and short of it is…no, I didn’t beat my personal best. I missed it by 5 minutes. But, given that my PB was on a flat 9km run (oops) across Sydney Harbour Bridge and entirely on-road, I’m actually quite pleased…despite the bitching.
And even though I obviously hate them for putting me through such a shitty course, Cancer Research have done quite well out of my plodding self – thanks to everyone who sponsored me, and helped contribute over 150 squid to this charity.

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