Hail and Pace

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I know Ireland is not famed for its weather. The welcome, yes. The hospitality, yes. Sectarianism, religious fundamentalism and red lemonade, yes yes yes. Seriously, the weather at the minute is fucked up. I set off earlier today, in short sleeves as the sun was beaming and I knew I would bake after the first mile. It was all going so well, til the sky grew heavy and grey and I knew it was time for some splashy action. How wrong was I! Not rain, frickin hailstones! In May! The impending precipitation had spurred me on to increase my speed anyway, but there was no way I could outrun the devils hundreds and thousands that were being sprinkled liberally over my big red fat arms. When they started, it was amusing. I felt like Superman, with bullets pinging off his impenetrable pecs. As I was laughing at this image, the gods were obviously angered, and then it felt like a million tiny shards of glass. Shelter was not an option, so I plodded on. Passing motorists looked vaguely sympathetic. I looked like I’d been raped by an acupuncturist with epilepsy.

Not even Superman could cope with that.

But I survived, and the inclement weather didn’t affect my pace. I’m going to have to get used to shitty weather, I have five and a bit months til race day. There are plenty of soakings to enjoy between now and then, just hope the hail stays away. In mucus news, the runny nose has not abated. I must offer cyber apologies to my better half who’s hat I borrowed today. Due to the short sleeves, I had to blow my nose into my hands and then rub said hands all over said hat. If that’s not sexy, I don’t know what is.

Until next time!


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