Cutting the Grass

I made a conscious decision that the days of tip tapping away in front of a screen while glugging red wine were behind me. I decided that Blogging is passé, entertaining virtual friends in the Blogosphere was sad, and in abandoning Subversive Running I'd developed into a more emotionally and psychologically mature individual.

That's all fine if you actually believe it. But those that know me well will realise that while the tip tapping away in front of a screen may have ceased, the glugging of red wine would continue in the same ferocious fashion it always has. They will also realise that any attempt at maturing my emotional and psychological sides is an exercise in futility and doomed to failure.

The fact is that public tale telling has some deep, deep pitfalls and I decided that for my own safety a step away from blogging, Facebook and Twitter was a good way forward. Well, blogging and Twitter at least. I've continued attempts to make the odd comical statement on Facebook but try to give that a bit of a wide berth when the cork comes out of the bottle.

I'll give you an example of how in the virtual world things can go from tripping along nicely to tits up in a heartbeat:

A couple of years ago I used to regularly relate tales from my employment as a London Firefighter. If you're a time served reader of this blog you may remember them; if not, have no fear, there was never any indulgence in airing the tragic, the gruesome or the pitiful, just some of the funnier sides of the job. Things like seeing ghosts in the laundry of an old folks home; chasing and capturing an exotic beetle that had escaped from a packing case from Egypt (later to discover it was a common or garden cockroach); and releasing an inebriated resident from his toilet because he was too drunk to open the door.......hold that thought......

So one day I'm hard at work in the fire station office. The phone rings and the discussion goes something like this:

'Hello, this is the local reporter from the Wandsworth Guardian, I'm phoning to see if you've had any newsworthy incidents lately.'

'I'm afraid not, we've been really quiet these past few days.'

'Really? Do you know anything about an incident where a local gentleman was locked inside his toilet?'

'Err......how do you know about that?'

'I read it on a blog called Subversive Running....'

'Cough.....splutter.....err......err......nope, I don't know what you're talking about, sounds like a work of complete fiction to me....'

So you can see my decision to leave the blogging alone was based on sensible and practical reasons. But having a blog that sits dormant is a little bit like having a garden that remains untended. You don't want to look at it because it's a mirror to your laziness and absenteeism.

So after braving the weeds and reading everyone else's blogs I should apologise. Particularly to the friend who has bravely related her current fight on her blog. You've ALWAYS accommodated the most lofty position in the female Scottish heirarchy regardless of owning your own teeth or otherwise.

Anyway, please view this post as me having got out the metaphorical lawnmower and hacked back the brambles. While not a horticultural showpiece of Chelsea standards my garden has at least seen some attention.

So what of training and running? Well, the training programme I've been following is still dictating my attendance at the gym and my presence on the hill. I had a bit of a hiccup when I was on a week long course in the flat lands of Lincolnshire a while ago and then a key long run of four hours turned into a shit short run of one hour after some kippers and toast played havoc with my lactose intolerance. You truly do not want me to say one more word about that.

The first test comes on Saturday when I run my first race of the season, the Dee 33 ultra. I ran this race last year after having done very little, if any, training. I reached the half way point successfully on a mission to finish in around five and a half hours then the wheels fell off. You can bluff it as an ultra runner up to a point only. Indeed entering an ultra marathon and knowing some of the participants does not an ultra runner make.

So hopefully a better performance will be recorded and it'll be upward and onward to June and the West Highland Way.

Check back in some time after Saturday to either read a tale of triumph or a story of woe and marvel at the developing garden. And if I foolishly eat something containing lactose you might be able to read of my exploits in the local paper. Imagine the headline:

'London Firefighter Dressed Like Max Wall Arrested for Exposing His Arse and for Causing Massive Bio Hazard Alert in the River Dee.'

Laters.