So it’s six weeks to Mudderella and only occasionally now do I forget and call it mortadella. Six weeks until I am covered from head to toe in mud and as I have also been told, I will find it in every orifice known to woman. I am still searching for gloves and if there is such a thing as a body condom it’s mine and I will wear it proudly, even when the rest of my team disown me.
Around this time, a year ago Mrs Enthusiastic convinced me we absolutely had to do a fun run. Why I agreed, who knows but at the time it must have seemed like a brilliant idea. The night before the run I barely slept with visions of myself crossing the finish line at midnight, with no one but the local drunk to cheer me on. In my dream he was yelling, “I’m so bleeping proudshh of you loveshhh but move it along it’shhh your round at the pub.”
I still don’t know what I was afraid of and just before the race I had endless trips to the loo to do basically nothing. I wondered incessantly what the hell I was doing there because it’s not like me at all. Don’t get me wrong, I like to exercise, Mrs Enthusiastic and I are brilliant at it. We’re up at the crack of dawn for our 10-15 km walk but this time I had to run with actual strangers who all looked like professionals in their Lorna Jane outfits and flashy runners and they wouldn’t stop stretching. Isn’t there some time limit to stretching?
Everybody jostled and shoved their way to the front of the line but we stood at the back, next to the kids. A midnight finish was looking like a reality. Bang went a gun. Horrified, I thought I had been shot then despaired as I watched Mrs Enthusiastic running off at a great pace into the distance. Panicking I followed and even managed to pass a few other runners, a mum, two kids waiting for their mum, not the dad, he had run off already declaring victory. Odious man! Puffing and panting I passed a granny walking her dog. I’m not sure she was actually in the run and a man on crutches, perhaps he wasn’t either but as I don’t know for sure I will claim they were.
Then miracles of miracles, just when I thought my lungs were going to give out and my legs were going to drop off, I found my groove. I ran not with ease but without the “@#$%, !%&*, %$#@, I’m going to die,” mantra to, “It can’t kill me, it can’t kill me, I don’t think it’s going to kill me.” And it didn’t kill me! Sweating and breathing like a bull about to charge I stumbled across the finish line to where Mrs Enthusiastic, with just a hint of sweat across her forehead was calmly waiting for me. She’s lucky we’re still friends.
So six weeks to go and my running is at about the same level as it was a year ago, even though I’ve really upped my exercise routine and as it’s getting closer I’m actually starting to get a bit pumped. I just need that body condom, gloves and I’m thinking a tiara would set it all off nicely. Any more fashion tips would be greatly appreciated.