“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”→
Sitting down on the train to go to Bray (all pics here) I get a bad smell, really bad, and it’s wafting off of my jeans. It’s a smell that reminds me of a teacher I had in school years ago. The man smelled so bad I used to sit right at the back of the class and his stink would still offend my nostrils. Continue reading “One Day In Bray”→
Arriving in Clifden with a sleepy head at 11.30, the first thing I go in search of is a cup of coffee. Entering a bakery in Market Street to acquire same I am served by a pleasant young black woman and when she speaks she has as Galway an accent as anybody could ever hear. I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does, and is a sort of wow moment which makes me smile a bit.
“Where’s the loo?” I ask.
“You mean the toilet?” she replies, to which I nod. These days I feel I am increasingly speaking a different language to the youth of today.
I wasn’t properly trained to run for twenty-four hours but I did a beef-fueled 52.5 mile training run in early May after not training for four months. 52.5 miles was the longest run by 12 miles I’d ever done at that point and it took me 9.5 hours.
While I realise my choice of fuel sounds weird, last year I did a dietary experiment where I ate nothing but beef for a month. 20 years of chronic and worsening skin inflammation went away within that month. At this point I’m ten months without needing steroid creams which is quite something since I previously couldn’t go a week. Additionally, I experienced a dramatic reduction in chronic, and worsening, IBS and extreme fatigue. My weight reduced to what it was when I was in secondary school and my exercise recovery increased dramatically. Was it all fun? Hell no. I experienced insomnia, breathlessness, dry skin, and tightness in the chest, but I had felt all these symptoms before – every time I gave up smoking cigarettes. Can I afford to eat beef all the time? Hell no, I can’t, and don’t, and after my one month experiment I opted for a more ketogenic dietary approach, which seems to suit me better in any case. Is it healthy long term? I don’t know, so I don’t recommend anybody tries it; but one thing I am sure of is, from a subjective standpoint, is that carbohydrates can be detrimental to good health in many ways. Continue reading “24 Hours On The Run In Belfast At Energia 24”→
“YOU ENGLISH BASTARD!” was something I was called regularly as a child by the children in the neighbourhood in Galway. Strangely though, it didn’t actually bother me all that much. In truth, I’ve been called worse things in my life. The most recent thing I get called is “The Mad Cow” which is kind of funny and I guess I left myself open for that one. (Photos on Facebook here: #1, #2) Continue reading “One Day In Belfast”→
“He didn’t get the ride,” I hear a gray haired man opposite me say as I sit down in a tea shop on my arrival in a rainy Ennis. For a split second I wonder what kind of kinky den of iniquity I’m after arriving in. (Photos on Facebook here: #1, #2) Continue reading “One Day In Ennis”→
As the bus pulls up in Ballina, Co Mayo, the first thing I see is an abandoned looking building that has an old style bike and till in the window and so when off the bus I back track and then spot a sign for The Four Maols Dolmen which is just a little way up the road. (Photos on Facebook: #1, #2) Continue reading “One Day In Ballina”→
Arriving in Cork with what appears to me to be a clear cut case of the Black Death, I expect I’ll spread it to all of the Cork natives, wiping at least half of them off the face of the planet. (All photos on Facebook here: #1, #2) Continue reading “One Day In Cork”→