In approximately 34 minutes, I will be running a 10k race today. With no training. Oh help…
You may ask why. Well, at approximately this time last week (and with approximately 5 more glasses of Veuve inside me, I might add), Racer Boy asked if I’d like to. Naturally, I scoffed, said no, and went back to my prior occupation (eating my semi-cold Chicken Kiev at the Goodwood Revival ball. No, really..).
But then a teeny tiny carrot was waved in-front of me. “It’s for Help For Heroes” Racer Boy told me (there is a link here – it’s his cousin organising the race). And then how could I say no?
Without going off on one about the worthiness of the cause (I’m fairly sure that part goes without saying), how on earth can you refuse to do something on the grounds of an hour or so’s mild discomfort (hopefully less – apparently it’s set to rain tomorrow) when the guys you could be helping have endured so very, very much more.
You can’t. I can’t. So I’m running.
And it’s not all bad. I do like to run – it’s my “thing” (I’m better at it than Racer Boy which is awesome), and I did the marathon in April.
That said, I’ve hardly shifted my ass out the door since the Big-L-M (London Marathon, for those not down with the lingo). I’m completely. 100%. Terrified..
I’ll let you know how I get on.
Love, Laugh, Liverty x
