“Oh, well done, running a marathon is an achievement,” is something a lot of people have said to me to which I generally reply, “Meh, getting out of bed is an achievement too”.
On race day, I find that the hardest bit is, literally, getting out of bed at stupid o’clock to go and stand in the cold for an hour before running around the road for a few more hours. I’m not a person that’s interested in finisher medals but I think I’d be partial to the idea of getting one for getting up early of a Sunday morning and standing, semi-naked, with a few thousand others of the same persuasion who, for some reason, seem rather cheerful about the prospect.
At big city marathons I fancy myself a gladiator in an arena and so I don’t be inclined to wear headphones as I wish to hear the cheers of encouragement from the crowds who come out to support by clapping and cheering. I fancy they are out there for me, even though they aren’t, and I want to see and hear them and engage with them a little bit.
I’ve been having a bad bloody week. One might say a bloody bad week even. I took my car to a garage for some routine maintenance, and, while it was driving just fine when I dropped it off, the engine literally started to splutter and jitter and buck just as soon as I drove it out of there, and by the time I drove it a mile down the road there was smoke pluming out of it and a good portion of the engine oil had burned off. This is the second time this has happened to me in recent years and this is the second mechanic whose door I shall never again darken. One does not mind paying for a mechanic, but when your car goes in drivable and comes out undrivable then it makes one wonder just a little bit if foul play is afoot. Of course mechanics will generally blame you or make out it’s a total coincidence, but that doesn’t really make the frustration any less….frustrating.
I very recently had occasion to be all night in A&E and, quite honestly, it was the most chaotic I have ever seen it. I won’t delve into the details as to why I was there, as they are personal, but I would like to relate the experience nonetheless. Continue reading “ONE NIGHT IN A&E IN GALWAY”→
“Give me your documents or there will be no bed for you here tonight and you must sleep on the cold October streets,” is the reception I get when I arrive at my accommodation in The Ritz the night before the Dublin Marathon. Except that it’s not actually The Ritz and that’s not exactly what the receptionist said. But while the €56 for a bunk bed in a room shared with strangers could hardly be described as The Ritz, the reality is I am literally going to be turned out onto the streets as the identification I have, even though it is photo ID and has been accepted everywhere else I’ve ever used it, does not come in the form of a passport or driving licence. Lovely.
“He had this green growth on his langer and so he went to the doctor. The doctor asked him if he’d been out somewhere foreign and he said he’d been to Mongolia and so the doctor said, ‘ah, you have the Green Mongolian Veneral Disease then, you might have to have it amputated’. So, he goes to a Chinese specialist and asks him, ‘Will I have to have it amputated?’ and the Chinese lad says, ‘no,’ to which he breathes a sigh of relief. And then the Chinese doctor continues, ’It will fall off all by itself.’” Continue reading “One Day In Aughrim, Galway”→