As is usually the case when I haven’t written for a while, I’m not sure how to begin. I suppose the only way to do it is to start typing in the hope it loosens the rusty tap of my brain and allows the brackish water of the reservoir of my mind to start dripping, errm, brackishly on to the dry parchment of the virtual page.
In a rubbishy, pompous kind of a way.
Perhaps I’d be better off going for something a little simpler and more Sesame Street.
Today’s post is brought to you by the number 21! And quite possibly the letters W, T and F!
Numbers are a funny thing (contain your laughter). 21 popped into my head tonight solely because I can hear the distant shrieking of a party further up the street and my immediate thought was “I wonder if it’s a twenty-first?”
OK it was my second thought, after, “Which God did I annoy so much that he/she/it ensures that every time I have to be up really early to go running there’s a party somewhere nearby?”
Note to my mum – I’m really trying to cut down on my swearing so the acronym stands for Where’s The Fire? Honest.
Anyway back to 21. It’s been twenty one days since my last post. Probably means I need to perform twenty one Hail Caesars and a Rosemary or something.
This troubles me (The lack of writing not the hailing or the herbs).
Strangely enough, it’s also twenty one sleeps until I attempt the Two Oceans Ultra.
This troubles me even more. I’m hoping tomorrow’s 4am start and associated 30km jaunt will leave my slightly injured left leg unaffected and leave me much less burdened with doubt.
We shall see.
If you take those two twenty ones and add them together you get forty two (Douglas Adams fans insert your favourite quote here at your leisure), which happens to be my age. For another three weeks anyway.
This does not trouble me at all.
At the start of this year I was at a pretty low ebb. 2015 was a tough year in many respects and the outlook for 2016 was (is) more of the same but with added nipple clamps and paper cuts to the scrotum. I was frustrated in my professional life both from a career progression and from a finanical-strain-of-being-a-four-person-but-one-income-family angle. And generally when one aspect of my life is struggling others get dragged down. I felt perpetually tired, lacking in enthusiasm and devoid of inspiration and creativity (no smart jokes about it still being the case based on the evidence of this post – I’ll do the funnies round here).
About a month ago I said “No More.” People looked at me quite weirdly as I was in a pub at the time and my beer was only a quarter poured, but WTF (Where’s The Foam mum…Where’s The Foam).
It wasn’t quite as dramatic as the “Either get busy living or get busy dying” line from Shawshank but the sentiment was about the same. You get one shot at this thing so make it a good one.
On the outside, not a lot has changed. Many of the pressures remain – time and money being the chief tormentors for me as they are for most people – but I’ve changed my outlook (insert bad email software nerd joke here)
Basically I just woke up one morning and decided to be in charge of my life again and to do things on my terms.
Simple when you put it like that isn’t it? The amazing lightbulb moment.
I’ve spent too long trying to please other people professionally, and I’ve spent too long setting myself ridiculous, unachievable personal goals and then hammering myself for falling short.
It bothers me that I haven’t written in 21 days. Move on. You will write, and, (some of) it will be the best work you’ve produced.
It bothers me that my leg hurts and that I’m afraid I haven’t done enough training. Move on. Get up tomorrow, have the fun you always have on a race day and rely on the 500km or so you’ve already covered in 2016. You will run Oceans.
Time for bed.
I shouldn’t have written this piece so late, but hey.
(Writing Time’s Fun mum…Writing Time’s Fun)
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