The Final Two Days of Juneathon in one handy post

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Day 29: The grumpy hat was well and truly on yesterday. That strange familiar feeling of tonsillitis and/or hay fever was descending on me, and I felt utterly rubbish. My entire head was itchy, sore throat, just feeling like general shite. So I did nothing. I didn’t even lift the kettlebell. After work, I took myself off to bed early in preparation for the final day.

Day 30: The Final Day

I woke up feeling slightly less shitty than when I went to bed, so I decided to capitalise on whatever spark of enthusiasm I had and I got up to go for my last run of the month. When I started Juneathon, I had it in my head that I would build up my runs, culminating in running my first 10k on the last day. I already achieved this on Day 20, but I figured I’d do a 10k anyway, as it was the grand plan. I set out and altered my previous 10k route, thinking this would actually take me over that mark – how wrong was I?! It seems I took my supposed local knowledge for granted! What felt like a longer route actually wasn’t. So I ran just short of a 10k, a 5.75 miler. Balls.

My time was pants, possibly due to my restricted respiratory function, the hills involved in my alternative route, and possibly due to this being my first attempt at an empty stomach run. I was led to believe this was a good idea? Maybe not! Anyway, best not to dwell. Juneathon is done. I have covered 75 miles since the first day, which sounds good, but is feeble in comparison to some of the other Juneathoners who are up in triple figures! Fair play to everyone who took part. I suppose I enjoyed it, but the blogging element was becoming a serious chore towards the end! On the bright side, I can now run 10k. I can do a 5k in under 35 minutes. I can feel my body starting to ‘tighten up’ – no rude jokes please. I haven’t lost any weight though, and my measurements are largely the same as they were at the beginning; aside from one or two very minor decreases. A lot can happen in a month, but hopefully more happens in the next four! I read somewhere that ‘a marathon is the celebration of the end of your training’ – I paraphrase. Hopefully the celebration in New York will be deserved. If I can keep myself injury free, I’d say I’ll be ok. I’m in the habit now, so I shall let it consume me as responsibly as I can.

Speaking of habits, no more cigs as of tomorrow. I only smoke around three a day, but three less than that can only help me. Fingers crossed.

Juneathon BEGONE!

P.S. thanks to everyone who read my blog, and followed me on Twitter.


Juneathon Day 27

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More gym action! More elliptical action! Less action – more talk! 10k on the elliptical crosstrainer thingamajig, felt kinda weird – like I wasn’t doing much, but my legs still felt heavy afterwards? I also completed it in 45 mins, so it didn’t feel like a proper 10k… I would hate to be making the move from the gym to the road if I was relying on those stats!

Anyway, another day closer to July. Excellent.

Why God hates Irish Women, and why God is Irish too.

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I am literally just in from what can only be described as the single most infuriating run I’ve ever had. I spent the final half of it constructing this post in my head, whilst cursing everything in sight, and have come to the conclusion that God hates the Irish. Female Irish particularly. Why? Well let me tell you why. The Irish are white. Transparent, ghostly, ethereal lumps of pasty thin skin; freckles are an optional extra depending on sunlight exposure. Like a mandarin yogurt perhaps. Now, if you’re a really lucky Irish person, you may also be blessed with ginger hair. This is the one saving grace about being Irish – obviously it’s fantastic – but where there’s ginge there’s singe. I’m surprised I can rhyme when this angry. Here’s me earlier, thinking “Oh look, it’s raining! I’ll take myself out for a wee run in the rain, so what if I get wet? It’ll keep me nice and cool and it’ll be fun!” So I dressed appropriately, a vest to hold my flab in and a waterproof gilet to ensure my run didn’t turn into a wet t shirt event. Happy days. Out I go, all set for a 10k. Then what happens? The fucking sun comes out. I figured it was just a brief interlude between showers. As I hauled my fat ginger Irish arse up Convent Hill, I could feel the freckles popping up all over my face; which instantly turned into what looks like a Royal Mail postbox as soon as the sun came out. This was no interlude.

We are not designed for extreme weather like this. Ginger is the most extreme form of white. We are bleached.

With sunshine comes heat, and my outfit was not helping this at all. The gilet felt like a lagging jacket, and I in turn felt like a hot water tank. But I couldn’t take it off! Why? Because of my womanly chest! The last thing I needed on this runnus horribilis was to cause a stir around the very Protestant village of Bessbrook by whapping them out for the lads. See? God hates women. He gave us boobs, and they get in the way of everything. So I as I jogged along (badly), I could feel my thick, ignorant, red-headed Irish temper starting to rise…. Between the heat and my headphone cable bouncing about and irritating me, I was ready to explode into a typhoon of fucks – but because I was in this little God fearing village, I had to keep my fucks to myself. I paused the workout and started to rearrange my iPod, zipping the cable underneath the gilet so it wouldn’t bounce about and enrage me further. If it wasn’t for the bloody iPod, I would have ditched the shitty gilet in a ditch (ironically) and let my puppies bark on for all to see – I was unconcerned about modesty at this stage.

Past the the halfway point, I was seriously beginning to huff. I stopped jogging altogether and trudged along silently swearing to myself, like a scolded child. I knew my time for the run was going to be shite, and so started cursing myself for A: not making progress and B: for being so hung up on times and being so negative. Gah. I turned the corner for the home straight and broke into some kind of jog again. At this point I thought, “I hate running. I better get some serious sponsorship for this shitty marathon”. I’d say if it wasn’t for the fact I’ve committed to myself that I’ll raise money for the local hospice, I’d have quietly given up on this endeavour by now. I’m not saying I’m Mother Theresa by the way, but this fitness thing is not me. I’m having a midlife, post-obesity crisis. I don’t want all these shitty, infuriating runs to be in vain. I hope I raise a respectable amount for The Hospice. At least then, even if I spend the whole 26.2 miles running around New York pulling my keks out of my ass, blowing my nose into my hat, and hating every step I take – at least there’ll be tangible success at the end of it. So fecking donate something! Please! You’re not paying for me to go on holiday, the full amount goes to Southern Area Hospice Service.

Anyway, I have cooled down now. But I still maintain that God hates me, as an Irish female. And I also maintain that God too is Irish. Who else would be awkward and contrary enough to give us schizophrenic weather, religious fundamentalists who don’t appreciate sweary lesbians, pale skin, cumbersome boobs, and the distinct lack of brains that could have told me to just turn back and go out again later? Plus, in a splendid show of irony, as I write this I’m looking out at a blissfully cloudy, damp and breezy afternoon. Only an Irish God would find this amusing.

I’m off now to eat a plate of spuds. I’m not even joking.

Juneathon Day 26

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Well I decided to get off my arse and do something! I resisted Angry Jogger’s suggestion of speedwork via shoplifting, and made my way to the gym. 2.6 miles on the crosstrainer and 1.7 miles on the bike – 30 minutes of cardio and 0 minutes of back pain throughout. I usually hate the crosstrainer, but it was actually dead on. I may go for this again.

Here’s to some actual road action tomorrow, fingers crossed. If not, I may opt for the shoplifting.

Juneathon Day 25

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Blogging fatigue indeed! General fatigue to be honest, I feel like crap this week. I’m constantly tired and my sore back from the Days of Fat seems to have returned…. Because of this, I decided yesterday not to run and instead I spent some time on the bike in the gym. I have to say, it’s fairly boring! Plus I feel bad for not running, but I know it’s best to listen to my body. I also spent a bit of time doing the rounds in the sausagefest that is the weights section, as I have been neglecting it whilst trying to up my miles on the road. My aches and pains concern me, as I have quite a way to go and more miles to cover to get ready for New York. Or perhaps I just need a proper rest day or two. All this exercise is shocking my system!

Today’s plans for Juneathon are unknown. I want to run outside so I’ll feel like I’ve achieved something, but I don’t want to wreck myself either. Feeling like a fat hoor is not helping any of these decisions. Oh to be fat and happy!!

Juneathon Days 23&24

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I am getting fed up of Juneathon now. This incessant blogging is irritating and it makes my blog look like a borefest. Gah. Yesterday I didn’t run at all – some unidentified creature/creatures bit me on the leg at least five times at some point on Friday night (I’m blaming something the cat dragged in), so I spent all day Saturday and today doped up on anti histamines which make me drowsy as feck.

So yesterday was a fail. Apart from kettlebells. Today, I felt guilty so I went out late on for a run just shy of 4 miles. I
didn’t enjoy it. The sun was blinding so I took a different route to avoid it, and ended up running on unfamiliar roads which were rape-worthy to say the least. I shall not be returning!

Roll on July.