TOO MANY TOO'S/TWO'S!

I think it is safe to say that any iota of sanity my brain/body may have been clinging on to, has officially gone. The inability to move my legs this morning proves that. Maybe it is something in the water, maybe it is my own personal guilt rearing its ugly head or maybe it is my inherent fear of missing out that drives me to such lengths, whichever it may be (i'm going with the water), it must be stopped! To find myself crawling around the house ala Uma Thurman style, "wiggle your big toe", is really not a pretty sight. And the extent of the damaged is more like, "could anything below my belly button please twitch, yes? No?" And whilst I would like to say I have the patience to talk my limbs back into moving, don a sexy matching yellow tracksuit and blame everything on Bill, unfortunately there is only 1 idiot here, me! 

CHAPTER ONE: Killing the Cancer Sticks

This was done with great ease and panache. I woke up one morning, made a decision and the Gods made it happen. What actually happened was that  I was so sick one day that the sight of them made me so nauseous, they were completely dispensed with for what has now been 2 weeks. (Yippee!).  And whilst the ability to breath and taste has returned to 100% effectiveness, the brain is obviously still suffering the consequences of the years of tar and other unique ingredients these little evil sticks have to offer. Hence the decision.

CHAPTER TWO: The Decision

The decision was based on a number of factors previously listed above, namely the water. And with the new found ability to breath better it appeared to be a no brainer. So it was with these crucial aspects in mind that my brain convinced my fingers to begin the process of signing up for the P.A.L Half Marathon. It wasn't a difficult task either, with my obviously still malnourished brain leading the way from digital page to digital page and it's ability to retain numbers for the most important of occasions, the bank had my credit card details and I had an entry to the run! Without even getting off the couch (which I see now could have be a premonition of what was to come). 1 week to go, 1 half marathon entry and 4 months of non-existent training behind me... I was as calm as a hyperactive hamster on speed!

CHAPTER THREE: D-Day

4:30am on a beautifully cool Sunday morning, I hall my body (which at this stage can still move) out of the comfort of bed and commence the process that is ingrained in every runners head around the world, getting ready. As always, clothes, shoes and vaseline have been set out the night before in the order they will be put on, tied up and rubbed into. Car keys, cellphones, painkillers and emergency details have been carefully shrink wrapped to fit into the tiny runners sized secret pocket sewn into the waist band of shorts. One final once over and the experience of running begins. At this stage I am sure you are wondering why on earth I was up at 4:30 when the race only began at 6:35 and I will tell you. Firstly the race was in Boca Raton which is terms of distance from our safe haven is about a billion miles! Also, I wanted to give myself enough time to navigate the roads as the Americans drive on the wrong side of the road and car and the Floridians are just plain bad drivers. And last but not least, my brain wanted to get there before my limbs woke up so there was no possible way of backing out.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Race

All signed up, chip and number attached in the correct places and shivering in the utter blackness that was the start, we began. 21.1kms in the distance I could see my pancakes and syrup waiting. 18kms in the distance with lungs as fresh as daisies, my legs turned to concrete. And trust me, dragging 2 out of shape, concrete legs through 18kms of repetitive scenery is about as much fun as playing marco polo with a great white. Agonising and with little sign that you may in fact win the game. It was at about this point that my brain realized it's gigantic miscalculation of the events and gave me 2 options. Either stop and be ridiculed or continue and lie about your finishing time. Brilliant, the voice of reason has spoken once again and once again, a decision was made. Just keep running Crazii, and look at the bright side, at least you can breath! 

CHAPTER FIVE: The Finish

Finally with the end in sight and the vision of pancakes drenched in syrup returning, I turned the corner of the 20km marker to see the face and reinforcement of Prince Charming glowing in the morning sunlight! Whoopppeee! With a promise that the finish line was just around the next corner I gathered what strength I had left and dragged those concrete limbs over the finish line in a time of 2:02:02.  My second worse half marathon time and a lesson to my over zealous brain. TOO little time, way TOO little training and something never TO be repeated again!