Wednesday, 26 August 2015
Since my last post, I have followed through with the ultimate way to torture my body, and it wasn't acupuncture.
I ran a marathon.
And an ultra marathon.
People already think your a paddock short of a few cows when you tell them that you're going to compete in a marathon; 42.2km of non-stop running complete with thoughts of 'my legs are about to fall off', and 'I really, really need a poo'.
But I did it. I stowed away negative thoughts as well as the extra piece of peanut butter on toast I hadn't planned on eating that morning and ran my little heart out.
With an impressive time for a newbie of 4 hours and 11 minutes, I felt slightly invincible and opted to sign up for an ultra marathon directly after I'd crossed the finish line. Pumped with adrenaline, I didn't really consider what running 64km through bush terrain might ultimately mean. But alas, as of this weekend past, I completed the last of my running challenges for the year and have a medal and four buggered toenails to show for it.
I am sore and I am attempting not to complain to every passing person with ears, but I'm also very proud of my accomplishments. I'm 33, I can pee all by myself, cross the road without holding mum's hand, and now I can run for no other reason at all other than I've been secretly training for the zombie apocalypse.
I have absolutely no idea what the rest of the month will hold, though I suspect there's going to be some mass peanut butter consumption and a few wild nights on the chocolate to balance out all this 'healthy' clean living I've been doing of late.
Keep running. The zombies ARE coming.