Juneathon day 16: Mrs Grumpypants

It might be the halfway mark, it might be my inherent laziness, but I really couldn’t be bothered today. Still snuffly, so I didn’t fancy an early one this morning. When I got in from work, household logistics meant that I didn’t have time to go out before tea and then had to go plant watering at my mum’s. I stalled for as long as I could, but eventually (and grudgingly) gave in to the power of Juneathon at about 8ish.

I was certain that it was going to be a rubbish one – I’ve never run that late, I was a bit low any way and at mum’s I got distracted by the scary sight of my bum. I’ve been convincing myself that my wobbly bits have been a bit perkier and curvier since Juneathon (they’re certainly not lighter), but the reflected evidence in the car window proved otherwise. It was the lethal combination of my tight running tights (bought online, they were a bargain but don’t have much give in them. In fact I can’t wear them for morning runs because I don’t have the energy to put them on and go for a run. It takes a tub of marge and a warm spoon to get them off again) and optimistically sized pants. Less a visible panty line, more of a visible panty gorge. I suspect you can see it from space.

The point I’m trying to make is that I wasn’t in the most positive frame of mind about myself or the prospect of  running.

Ha. What do I know? I ended up doing just over 4.5 miles and really enjoying myself, partly due to the accompanying late 80’s soft rock soundtrack to The Lost Boys. There was air drumming at around the 1.5 mile mark.

Only hiccups were that as I was wheezing down one hill, an older gentleman was striding effortlessly up the other side wearing tracksuit bottoms and what appeared to be a v-necked pullover. I was slightly shamed. That and the very big hill near the end. To distract myself to start with, I used the unorthodox technique of thinking that I had inhaled a fly up my right nostril, ended with the distraction of the hacking sound of my lungs and in the middle used what JogBlog said that RunningAmok said Fit Artist said Runner’s World said (phew) about looking at the floor. I think it worked.

Juneathon Days 12, 13, 14 and 15. Crikey.

Hello! There’s been a bit of a break in transmission because of a rather splendid weekend’s camping in Anglesey, but it’s been Juneathon all the way (certainly in spirit).

Day 12
Friday morning was a very hard early morning run. Not hard in terms of distance (2.9 miles) or speed (slow) but definitely in terms of opening eyes, moving body into upright position and leaving the house. After the previous night’s yummy Thai (pork and prawn dumplings, chicken panang curry and storm trooper birthday cake), which was a 50 mile round trip, we detoured to do a spooky late night camping shop in Tesco. With all the shelves being re-stocked and the staff listening to their own tunes on stereos, you feel as if you shouldn’t be in there. The upshot is that it was gone midnight when we got in and when the alarm went off at 5.45 it was like someone had taken a cheese grater to my eyes.

Work over, car loaded up and off we went down to Newborough.

Day 13
Early start, bacon butty eaten, packed lunch packed, factor 25 slapped on and off we go on a coast and country walk that clocked in at 11.5 miles. It was definitely an amble, with stops for paddling, lunch, looking at stuff and getting lost.

This was where we went:

11.5 miles ambled

11.5 miles ambled

And this is some of the stuff that we saw.13062009030.jpg

We set off through fields and into the forest, me keeping a beady eye on the weather (I have an optimistic attitude to packing for camping – in my head it’s always sunny. Add to that a particularly chaotic pack 5 minutes before we left and I was cagoule-less and wearing flipflops).

Eventually, we emerged into the sand dunes and onto the beach, albeit not quite on the path that we had intended to. Although we both know that it’s not a good idea, we had ended up (not for the first time) navigating using a map on the back of a leaflet. Erring on the side of caution, I made Husband promise that we wouldn’t attempt Snowdon using this leaflet and flipflop style of orienteering.

13062009043Onward we trekked, this was around mile 5.


And lots of nature too, including a very hairy (and possibly very hungry) caterpillar.



By this time, the weather had settled into blue skies and shiny sun. So much so that I exposed below my knees to the outside world for the first time since about 1999. I don’t know what you’d call my leg colour, but it’s fair to say that if I ran wearing shorts in winter, I wouldn’t need to bother with any hi-vis. I’m not sure who was more scared, me or the other poor souls in the forest.

The calories that we burned were completely offset by restorative beer, curry and bombay mix. And I was quite narked to discover that during the walk my locked phone had somehow connected to the internet and signed me up for a £4.50 a month subscription to one of those ringtone and “amaze your friends! X-ray your hand with your phone!” websites. Normally I struggle to connect to the internet intentionally using the power of the my thumb. Grrr.

Day 14
The day didn’t start well. I’ve had a cold lurking for a bit and it chose Sunday to break forth. Running was totally off the cards (not least cos my feet were still achey from Day 13) so I yoga-ed next to the tent watching the clouds speed past overhead. Felt a bit of an arse, but then really didn’t care because it was so nice.

Day 15
Woke up snuffly, snotty and feeling like someone had been hitting my face with a lump hammer. From the inside. Having had a hectic day at work and a whole banana for dinner, we decided to invoke the lovely walk clause of my Juneathon and pootled 2.5 miles up a new bit (well new to us, it’s been there for years….) of the canal.

More nature was waiting for us.

There once was an ugly duckling

There once was an ugly duckling

And best of all, a Mystic Horse. He was lovely. He was standing in a clearing,  looking very serious and quite unicorn-like. Even more mystic was that as we walked back along the towpath, Mystic Horse appeared to have vanished. Less mystically, he turned up in the next field having magically transported himself through a gate.

Mystic Horse

Mystic Horse

Fingers crossed that I feel better tomorrow. I think that an early run is unlikely, but have plans for going after work either alone, with chum or with the running group.