So last week, all I’m reading is ‘Pokemon THIS’ and ‘Pokemon THAT’. Apparently all anybody is doing, morning, noon, night, is wander the streets like an overactive hobo, collecting Pokemon.
Pokemon is truth.
Truth is Pokemon.
And then comes Sunday.
I go for a run. In the centre of London, up and down lovely riverside pathways full of other runner and walkers, for over eight miles.
I saw two people looking at their phones, who might have been hunting Pokemon. TWO PEOPLE, people.
They might have just been looking at maps.
None of you are really playing.
(There was also a Pokemon hunter hunting during the March Against Racism later that day. But he was eight, so is forgiven.)
I swear to you, this is not a fitness blog …. but let’s talk about running.
One of the troubles with training for a marathon is that you have to run over twenty six miles. A corresponding problem with ME running a marathon, is that the most I’ve ever run is thirteen miles.
Typically, I run about five of them these days, so I’ve been working on running longer distances.
Today was 10 miles.
I had a plan — run to Richmond Park, and back home. Maybe run around the park a little if I was at less than five miles.
The route I know to get to the park is along major roads. Like most people with lungs, I dislike running alongside large amounts of traffic, so got smart — I followed the signs for cyclists. Then I got clever, and took my own turns down routes that looked nicer.
Soon, I was exploring the pedestrian footpaths and parks of Barnes and Richmond. And horribly lost.
Thankfully, we live in a world of Google maps, in which we can only temporarily misplace ourselves. I made it to the park (8 miles!) and back again. My legs hurt.
And I’ve learned to plan my route.
The Charity Bit
(I’m running in support of Shelter – please support my fundraising.)
The Picture Bit
And, because every post deserves a picture, here’s somebody running on Halloween last year:
Previously on the Big Bad Blog, I signed up for a marathon.
This clearly is insufficient for me. I’m turning forty this year, which means I have something to prove — and I cannot wait all the way to next year to prove it. Luckily for me, there’s a race near to my birthday.
It’s called the Urban Rush, which features me starting a run at 9am at the Olympic Park in Stratford and, well, running home.
So this midlife crisis type thing that has me signing up for marathons has moved up its schedule. A shorter distance, but sooner. And I’ll be running towards home, where friends will be waiting in the pub to celebrate my 40th with me. Life could get worse.
And if you want to give me a birthday present, you can help by supporting my run, by supporting Shelter.
(Above: me, at my first race. I’m the one in the pushchair.)
The scene: last weekend.
Karen has gone to Amsterdam for the weekend, lucky her.
Maggie has gone to a friend’s for a sleepover, lucky her.
And that’s how I found myself entering the ballot for the London Marathon.
I won’t find out if I have a spot until October, so I still might get out of it. But if I’m running way too far next year, I’m on record: this is why. THIS IS WHY.