Mrs. BB and I ran the 10K last weekend, part of the Oslo Marathon.
I would never consider running a full marathon. I am too slow. I do most things slowly: running, swimming, walking, blogging, love making... Thank goodness I am a marathon partier and a quick thinker.
The 10K is well suited for bon viveurs, alcoholics, drugs users and smokers, so I was amongst friends.
Mrs. BB ran with some work colleagues. She is very sporty and pretty much sprinted the distance. She wore a new running belt with six small water flasks attached around it. She looked like a suicide blond jogger. Whoa!
Inspired by Lance Armstrong’s meticulous preparations for the Tour De France, I prepared a glutinous carbohydrate meal the night before to ensure we had massive reserves of energy on tap for the run.
A creamy Smoked Arctic Char Risotto aside a 96 Fume Blanc (acquired from Le Petite Ferm in Franschhoek on a past visit), followed by Spaghetti Carbonara with crisply seared smoked pancetta, sautéed caramelised garden onions and shaved Reggiano companioned with a 98 Sassicaia (Tuscany last year), and completed with a crunchy Mela Torta with fresh berries and cream assisted by a 99 D’Yquem (tour of the Chateau in 04).
A restless sleep ensued. I awoke in the middle of the night with weighty matters on my mind. I poured a glass of wine and lit a Marly Light to contemplate issues further. Shall I wear my blue running top or red?... hmmm... Don’t forget to get the winter tires on car changed next week!... uhhhm... I really hope the US government sorts this bank bailout stuff... mhhhm.
The sun shone brilliantly from rise. After 2 double espressos, it felt great to be alive. Well good anyway. We made our way to the Start Line. I was well prepared. I had my game face on, I would run my own race, play my own game, aim high and draw the bowstring hard, take all of the chances offered.
At 5K, my belly was grumbling, loudly. The glutinous carbohydrates were seeking an exit strategy. The espressos were threatening a fecal evacuation.
I caught sight of a small forest in the distance... grumble, grumble. Panic set in and my mind was racing wildly for solutions to the impending problem... forest, run... forest... grumble... I can make it... grumble... evacuate, evacuate... grumble, grumble...
I recalled that champion athletes use visualisation to overcome pain. I visualised a wine cork stuck in my bum. Not a screw cork or one of those Australian synthetic jobs, a proper cork, possibly from an 82 Margaux, or even better, a champagne cork from a bottle of vintage Veuve.
Everything went quiet. The sun warmed my face. I dug deep, deeper, and deeper. I felt better almost immediately. I was going to be alright. The terror of the moment had passed. I was in the zone again.
I sprinted the last 200 metres of the race. Everything was in slow motion. Chariots of Fire played in my head. Gorgeous blond women were smiling at me, cheering me on. Mrs BB was waving her arms in the air and shouting encouragement.
I crossed the Finish Line and kept running, directly to the ‘Portaloo’, my official finish line.
It was a medal winning finish.
Beaverboosh
Showing posts with label Marathon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marathon. Show all posts
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
Maasai Marathon
I am in London on business and find all of my running colleagues hitting me up for a contribution to their charities for the annual marathon. There is great excitement this year as 6 Maasai warriors are arriving from Tanzania to run the London Marathon on the 13th of April. They are alleged to be so fierce that they kill lions with their bare hands, good skills to have in the city.
The warriors have been given a special 4 page guide on how to deal with the English with a special focus on, as the Telegraph describes it, ‘the most curmudgeonly species they may ever encounter: the English office worker.’
Quoting the guide, ‘You may be surprised by the number of people that are rushing around everywhere. Even though some may look like they have a frown on their face they are very friendly people – many of them just work in offices, jobs they don’t enjoy, and so they do not smile as much as they should.’
As one who ‘just works in offices’ and generally enjoys my job, I would agree with the Telegraph. I found many of the frowning people in offices in England to be absolute cunts. But not everyone has done the extensive anthropological field research that I have, mainly in pubs near offices.
Let us examine this pithy pocket pathfinder further shall we.
‘You will see many people in England who are wearing only small clothes and you will wonder why they are cold and may think this is disrespectful. This is normal for England…’ This is a valuable piece of advice for the Maasai, especially if they choose to go clubbing in the North of England. Regardless of the season, most girls exhibit in a slip with headlights on high beams. Knickers are optional as they usually will not be required within an hour.
The guide goes on to point out, ‘However, it is illegal to show certain parts of the body and for this reason, it is important the Maasai wear their underpants when wearing their blankets.’ Clearly the authors of this guide have no experience in any major English city when at the stroke of midnight most men turn into walking genitalia while princesses turn into slags.
The guide offers a questionable view on drinking. ‘Many people drink alcohol in England. They do so at pubs and clubs, the equivalent of a Maasai party. When people drink, they seem sillier or different.’ Everyone in England drinks, and drinks frequently. Alcoholism is a social institution. When people are sober, they often seem much sillier and different than when you have had a drink and it all makes sense.
I have decided to make a generous pledge to a few of my frowning banking colleagues running the marathon. The deal comes with a performance clause - they must survive the marathon.
To fund this generous pledge I have set up a spreadbetting index and am taking positions.
I have hedged with the Maasai who will be running the marathon dressed in full battle regalia. They will be in the money if they track down the bankers and execute them in any traditional manner they choose. The guide mentions nothing of this and I assure the Maasai they will be doing England a great favour.
The spread is tight but I am already counting my chickens.
Beaverboosh
The warriors have been given a special 4 page guide on how to deal with the English with a special focus on, as the Telegraph describes it, ‘the most curmudgeonly species they may ever encounter: the English office worker.’
Quoting the guide, ‘You may be surprised by the number of people that are rushing around everywhere. Even though some may look like they have a frown on their face they are very friendly people – many of them just work in offices, jobs they don’t enjoy, and so they do not smile as much as they should.’
As one who ‘just works in offices’ and generally enjoys my job, I would agree with the Telegraph. I found many of the frowning people in offices in England to be absolute cunts. But not everyone has done the extensive anthropological field research that I have, mainly in pubs near offices.
Let us examine this pithy pocket pathfinder further shall we.
‘You will see many people in England who are wearing only small clothes and you will wonder why they are cold and may think this is disrespectful. This is normal for England…’ This is a valuable piece of advice for the Maasai, especially if they choose to go clubbing in the North of England. Regardless of the season, most girls exhibit in a slip with headlights on high beams. Knickers are optional as they usually will not be required within an hour.
The guide goes on to point out, ‘However, it is illegal to show certain parts of the body and for this reason, it is important the Maasai wear their underpants when wearing their blankets.’ Clearly the authors of this guide have no experience in any major English city when at the stroke of midnight most men turn into walking genitalia while princesses turn into slags.
The guide offers a questionable view on drinking. ‘Many people drink alcohol in England. They do so at pubs and clubs, the equivalent of a Maasai party. When people drink, they seem sillier or different.’ Everyone in England drinks, and drinks frequently. Alcoholism is a social institution. When people are sober, they often seem much sillier and different than when you have had a drink and it all makes sense.
I have decided to make a generous pledge to a few of my frowning banking colleagues running the marathon. The deal comes with a performance clause - they must survive the marathon.
To fund this generous pledge I have set up a spreadbetting index and am taking positions.
I have hedged with the Maasai who will be running the marathon dressed in full battle regalia. They will be in the money if they track down the bankers and execute them in any traditional manner they choose. The guide mentions nothing of this and I assure the Maasai they will be doing England a great favour.
The spread is tight but I am already counting my chickens.
Beaverboosh
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