Just like life in general, blogging is all about consistency. Little and often. Always stay current. Keep in touch.
Ahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa.
Yes, I have been remiss, but I feel a glorious renaissance about to start.
Now, why do people usually restart blogs after a hiatus of well over 6 months? Because they've got a new job in the City, their child has got into Oxford or they've joined a religious sect. And I've hit all 3 bullseyes!!! Praise be to Mammon, the Bullingdon Club Gits and L. Ron Hubbard.
But no, not really. No, I'm restarting it for the best of all possible reasons.
'Cos I feels like it.
So, to get us up to date and ready to roll, here is a bullet-point list of the top ten running-related things I have learned since I last blogged here. Because life is all about learning. Grow or go. Think of it as an anti-round robin.
1. It costs £34 for a chiropodist to shave the dead skin off the end of your hammer toe, with what looks suspiciously like a potato peeler. The toe-shaving conversation goes like this:
'Does that hurt?'
'No.'
'Does that hurt?'
'No.'
'Does th-'
'Eeeeeyayaaaayuhhh.'
2. In the latter stages of an ultra, your fingers swell up like those things that the dog on That's Life used to talk about.
Shoshages.
3. The beat to Everybody (Backstreet's Back) is hypnotic and irritating in equal measure to run to, when you get to the shoshages stage.
I don't own an ipod. I'm talking about the beat in my head.
4. It's ok to talk out loud to wildlife on long trail races, but only if no other runners are in earshot.
'Hello, horsey.' It cheers you up, as well as the horse.
It's a win-win.
'Hello, grassy. You're wet, but the grass back there is dry. Are you sad, have you been crying, grassy?' That really cheers you up, as well as the grass. In fact, your laughter may be verging on the manic. Like the Joker in Batman. And you can do the 'Waaaah, waaah, waaah' bit he does, as well, if you like - anything goes. It takes your mind off the pain in your knee.
But remember, only if no other runners are in earshot.
5. That pace that starts off feeling really, really, really slow - the one that is slightly outside ten minute miles - yeah, sooooooo slow, yeah yeah, that one.
After 10 hours, that is like FLYING.
6. If my left knee went on a dating website (not an ordinary dating website obviously, just one for knees, be realistic), its profile would look something like this:
LIKES - Ibuprofen, freeze gel, frozen peas, elevation, rest.
DISLIKES - Downhills, steep downhills, very steep downhills. Did I mention downhills?
7. If you run for a very long time, you'll end up eating things you didn't expect to along the way, and they will taste wondrous. Rice pudding. Jacket potato and beans. Sausage roll. Some more rice pudding.
You'll also end up eating one thing which won't taste wondrous. Cheese breadstick. Eeeeeyayaaaayuhhh.
8. Impressions are good to keep you amused in an ultra. I quite like a bit of Tommy Cooper, 'My knee is abolutely killing me, fank you very much, aaahaha, aaahahaha'.
But one impression which isn't much fun, and I speak from personal experience, is a lost headless chicken in the dark. It's easy to go wrong at night, even if you know the route well - familiar terrain looks different by headtorch when you're tired. Stopping for a couple of minutes at turnpoints to have a good look can save you bags of time later.
It was a really convincing headless chicken, though. 15 minutes, in and out of a farm entrance.
9. You can do much more than you think if you're positive. RFM is the key - Relentless Forward Motion.
Keep moving and the down times will pass. Walk if you have to, but sometimes you think you have to, but you don't really - you'll see a headtorch light behind you and, miracle of miracles, you are running again.
It's true what they say, ultras are mental.
10. And when it's all over, the day after a long one, and you can't walk anything like normally - when you're hobbling towards the kettle looking like you've just lost a nut-kicking contest, and the loser's forfeit is to exit barefoot over a bed of hot coals - that's when you can count on your nearest and dearest.
To laugh until they cry. And to fetch the camera to film your discomfort and stupidity, and capture it for all time.
At that point, there is only one possible response. Give them the V's.
