time goes by...so slowly

Its a Marathon, not a Snickers

time goes by...so slowlySo the training pack has fallen through the letterbox, which makes it official – I am running the 2012 London Marathon.

What have I done.

I have been a zealous sofa-supporter for years. I watch for hours. The speed of the professionals. The surging mass at the start line. The sob stories. The celebrities. The intrigue of whether the Cutty Sark won’t have scaffolding on it for once. I love it all, but reality has kicked in, and I’m going to have to run the bloody thing now. That’ll harden me.

For a while though I’ve kept myself calm with the notion that Kerry Katona had run it, and she’s a numpty, so I could definitely do it. Sadly when I googled the Warrington knacker along with appropriate prompts, all I got was articles about ‘running feuds’ and ‘marathon drink and drug sessions’. Back to the drawing board then, or the gym to be more precise.

Going to the gym is not really a fun activity, and even though mine is one of the friendliest in town, there is competition everywhere. Up to this week I thought this competition was a tool to encourage. Having the girl with a bottom like two eggs in a hankie in front of me at spin class really does increase my effort levels. Now the competition is spreading to the changing rooms, and my greying M&S comfies really aren’t cutting it.

As I stood at the hair dryers the other day, I was idly earywigging a couple of ladies behind me discussing how their training was going blah blah, what the plans were for the weekend, blah blah, when all of a sudden I nearly gave myself a black eye with the dryer. The hall of mirrors which is every changing room’s serious design flaw was giving me a super HD view of one of the ladies dressing. First came the thong – black with diamonds on the front. Then the suspender belt and fishnet stockings with pretty bows at the heel. The piece de resistance however was the bra – full on, open topped, peep-hole extravaganza. Initially, what with it being first thing in the morning, MIDWEEK, I thought ‘oh my god, that poor woman’s bra is broken!’. As I tried to appear unruffled while instantly shamed of my perceived lack of effort (even though getting into some suck-you-in-tights sometimes takes gargantuan effort) the pair of them continued with their chat and it transpired this ‘lady’ was indeed, a teacher! Teacher! I can only hope she teaches primary, as if it is secondary, there would have been a water shortage in town as a host of mothers with teenage sons stuck on the washing machine.

This is one gym competition I am happy to lose. I think I’ll stick to my old faded scaffolding. As I jubilantly cross the finish line on April 22nd, and the cameras flash, I can feel confident all the spectators will see will be my puce gasping face. And a smile.

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