Wem-ber-ley, Wem-ber-ley….

Hurrah! Another non-running post. Excuses go:
Wednesday: Waking to rain lashing against window, not condusive to early morning run. Also fell asleep at kitchen table while reading the paper – I felt that this suggested a certain level of tiredness.
Thursday: Made the mistake of going to my mum’s to get changed. Got caught up in the loveliness of having a chat in the kitchen.
Friday-Sunday: Set off for Wembley at 8 o’clock. First beer opened at approximately 9 o’clock. Alternately drunk and hungover for much of the weekend.
Monday: I’m optimistic for later on, but am still feeling the effects of Friday-Sunday.

Basically, I went down to Wembley for the rugby league Challenge Cup Final. We do it as an annual trip and it’s an amazing weekend that is usually fuelled by quite a lot of beer. This year, I had the lovely idea that I could take my running kit, take it easy on the Friday night and go out for a restorative plod on the Saturday morning. I love the idea of running in London (or any city). Whenever I see city runners, especially at lunchtimes, I get running envy and start to whip up fantasies of how, if I had a proper job with a proper lunch hour (instead of 30 minutes eating at my desk followed by 10 minutes trying to shake couscous out of my keyboard), I would be one of those runners. I would also be thinner, less red-faced and have a perky ponytail that bounced as I bounded through the streets. My plan for the weekend was scuppered by the fact that we were staying quite a way out of central London and also that twelve years of experience have taught me that this isn’t the weekend to try and run.

As it was, I was rough as a badger’s arse on Saturday morning, much to the amusement of my husband. He had to endure me whimpering gently as I complained that it was far too hot, my head hurt and I really didn’t want to put clothes on. It took me approximately 45 minutes to get dressed. I was a pitiful sight. I’ll not go into detail about what put me right as it was quite unpleasant, but the end result was that I perked up and set off for London Village for a lovely breakfast and a bit of culture visiting the BP exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, of which I think this was my favourite.

It’s lucky that I had a spare week in my training plan, as I’m now a week behind (oops). I’ve also found out that the day that I’d planned for my race is the day after a charity do to raise money for Help For Heroes and Myeloma UK (and to raise sponsorship for a Myeloma UK place in the London Marathon). This poses the dilemma of do I do the race, stay sober and have an early night (bearing in mind that I have the breaking strain of a kitkat)? Find another race (which I’m finding a bit tricky as I’m running out of races)? Or admit defeat and weasel out of it til next year (and crown myself Queen of the Weasels)? Answers on a postcard please.

EDIT: I’ve been thinking about this and have realised that I’m absolutely petrified about doing a race as they’ll all be full of proper runners and I’ll be at the back.

2 thoughts on “Wem-ber-ley, Wem-ber-ley….

  1. eatingtrees says:

    Everybody feels petrified at doing a proper race. And everybody believes that they will come romping over the finish line just as it’s being packed away and the sweeping up has begun. And it is also that same thought that keeps you going throughout the race… that you don’t want to be last. But, unless you are up against an entire filed of Olympians, I can absolutely guarantee you will not be last. Do the race… even if it is with a hangover!

  2. Hauling My Carcass says:

    Do the race, do the race, do the race. You won’t finish last…. well unless you fall over an break something but I’m sure that won’t happen…. unless you’re drunk anyway. But anyway, races are great hangover cures and stops you (me) feeling guilty for opening the second bottle!!

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