Category: The Athons

Juneathon 22/30 – events beyond my control

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I regret to inform you that my 100% Athon running record is no more.

The plan for the day was: arrive at campsite, get tent up, sort out belongings, go for a run and be home in time for tea under canvas. It was a good plan.

Unfortunately when we arrived at the campsite it was a bit breezy and despite the help of the site owner and another camper (who it turns out lives in the town where I went to school, isn’t it a small world etc) things didn’t go according to plan. In short, the tent suffered erectile dysfunction and two split pole sections later, we knew that there was no way it was going to be habitable.

We were too late for one camping shop in the yellow pages, another had turned into a furniture shop and the optimistic mercy dash to Halfords didn’t produce the goods. Luckily we were taken in by lovely relatives and didn’t have to spend the night in the car or JogBlog’s shed.

All of this explains how on the 22nd day of Juneathon, I am claiming a late evening dog walk to the beach (suggested by Morning of Magicians) as the day’s effort.

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Applying the benchmark of ‘it counts for an Athon if it’s something that you wouldn’t do normally’ I feel that this is the case because normally I have access to neither dogs nor a beach. On the other hand, if I admitted defeat I could spend the next eight days concentrating on enjoying my holiday…

Anyway, in the holiday spirit we made sure that we enjoyed a local ale (thanks Adele!) or two before retiring to our temporary home for the night.

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Juneathon 21 – Cereal killer

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It’s been a slightly chaotic week that peaked last night when we had to dash off to buy a replacement tent pole, do a last minute shop for perishables and I stayed up until stupid o’clock doing the ironing and watching a documentary about Jodie Marsh going off to do an American body building competition (which was oddly fascinating).

Once again I found myself going round Tesco in my running kit, though I did notice at least 3 other women in similar attire (proper kit, not just sporty loungewear. Inactive wear if you like).

Anyway, while we were browsing the cereal aisle I spotted this:

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Which sent me into a slightly sweary rant. Muesli. For MEN. Because clearly real men can’t just have some oats with bits in. Oh no. They have to have MANLY CHUNKS and extra SOUPED UP ENERGY because anything less would be an affront to their masculinty. I despair of this kind of marketing. And who actually wants or needs guarana* in their muesli? Ridiculous.

And breathe.

In the midst of all this I had to fit in a Juneathon run, which is how I found myself being thrown our of the car at the side of the road next to what we hoped was an interesting plaque. It was a plaque alright, just not that interesting ( unless you find the 30 year history of a playing field compelling.

I didn’t need the plaque because I knew that at the end of a mile or so Ginge would be waiting for me next to a kiwi (suggested by Heather, all the way from New Zealand).

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*Not to be confused with guano. You wouldn’t want that in your muesli either.

Juneathon 20/30 – getting the hard shoulder

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The fates were smiling on me this morning. I woke up with a start and the realisation that I hadn’t actually set an alarm last night. It could have been the early hours or it could have been horrendously late. Miraculously it was 5.00, so I managed a bit of a snooze and still managed to be out of the door before six.

Today was a lovely run, I felt strong and it felt comfortable. I jollied along up the road, pondered my options and headed up the track to the motorway (thank you Morning of Magicians) and looped back for a nice, tidy round three miles. It was a gorgeous morning and I would have loved to stay out longer but apparently I have to go to work. Pah

A big morning sky

The M6 northbound

Cows – snuck into the field while my back was turned

Another unusual bit of rubbish – this time a bit more family friendly

Juneathon 19/30 – Heads or tails

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There was around 9 hours between last night’s run and this morning’s run.  I knew I needed to run in the morning because I had something on after work and not running would be a Juneathon fail. It felt as if the alarm went off about ten minutes after I had fallen asleep and I could barely peel my eyes apart to swipe at the snooze button.

Basically, the morning went something like this:
NOISE!!!
Scrape eyelids open, paw at alarm, snooze.
NOISE!!!
Scrape eyelids open, paw at alarm, snooze.
NOISE!!!
Scrape eyelids open, consider turning alarm off, realise that inevitably I will fall back asleep and wake up too late to run, paw at alarm.
Continue persuading eyelids to stay open, consider matchsticks, consider whether standing on my head would force them open like turning a doll upside down does, realise that I have never been able to stand on my head, discount this idea, focus on standing up.
Find running kit, apply in correct order checking that every item is the right way out and the right way round. Say good morning to Ginge, whinge about Juneathon, lie down on the bed, realise that this a bad idea, close eyes, realise that this is an even worse idea.
Venture downstairs. Put Miles on his bespoke satellite locating stand wheely bin. Find shoes. Ensure shoes match. Apply shoes to appropriate feet. Curse Juneathon. Locate camera. Locate shuffle. Have a quick drink. Leave house, lock door, fasten Miles to wrist. Return to house, unlock door, pick up camera. Leave house, lock door. Unlock door, pick up shuffle. Leave house, lock door.
Spot treasure in car park. Silently praise Fairweather Runner for putting treasure on the list. Run half a mile, loop round, run back. Consider rounding up my mileage. Realise that I am tied to the tyranny of Miles’ demands. Break free of the tyranny of Miles’ demands. Be satisfied with 1.33 untidy Juneathon miles.

I have rarely been so pleased to find 5p

I have to run at 6 again tomorrow. Oh dear.

Juneathon 18/30 – are we nearly there yet?

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It wasn’t that I was tempted to tumble off the Athon wagon today. It would be more accurate to say that I was tempted to do a great big high dive with triple somersaults off the Athon wagon. Apparently I’m not allowed to do that though. I could have just done the miserable route back from the supermarket, but there is one piece of treasure that I wanted to tick off before we head down south.

For this reason (and I hope that Fortnight Flo appreciates it) Ginge dropped me off near the milestone and I had to run the two point something miles back home (inevitably this would be rounded up to a nice tidy three…).

Quite fancy for these parts.

Ginge’s eagle eyes came in use again as he had spotted a deceased hedgehog at the side of the road. Thank you, @torsparkles for turning me into someone who takes photos of roadkill…

Poor hedgehog.

I also spotted a postie’s red elastic band, which isn’t actually on the list but I took a photo of it for my mum because she says you don’t often see them any more.

Rarely seen round our way – one of the local councillors is waging a war on rubber bands. I am waiting for Mr Clegg to nick the idea to suggest as a government strategy.

I’m not sure which is worse, the fact that I have been photographing roadkill or that I have been photographing discarded rubber bands. In fact, please don’t answer that.