WITNESS

It’s a strange world we live in. Bowie can be dead, Donald Trump is touring as a stand-up comedian and today (on a Saturday) I was awake and running at 8:30! Believe it or not I limped round a pretty looking London for a tidy 6 miles. For all those, like me, who are sane and have not done running as a hobby, that’s a 10K. So the next time you hear a runner bragging remind yourself it’s 6.2 miles and even I can do it. Not sure when people in the UK started measuring distances in ‘K’. Perhaps it’s because no one wants to run more than 6.2 miles and '10' sounds better. It’s going on the banned list of terms. The marathon, in case anyone was wondering, is 42.1K. A bit of sick came up typing that. Another gross bodily function occurred today whilst running with the temperature dropping somewhat. The condition I experienced I’m going to name ‘Snotpop’. That’s when, whilst running, your nose streams into your tash (unbeknown to you) and freezes. Similar to those intrepid explorers of the poles. It feels good!

Not so hot when you are running with your betrothed, who kindly supported my plight by joining me on an evening run on Wednesday. I hid it. Conversation has to remain short when running with others. One or two word answers and strictly concise stories and questions. A bit like if you were paying for a personal add by the letter. I do like having someone join me while I train. If anyone is a fan of moving slowly through the streets of London and fancies running, cycling or skating alongside me leave your details in the comments section and I’ll be in touch.

To stave off the boredom of longer distances on my own I have developed a new game called ‘RockyBomb’. Basically, pull a pose like Rocky as you run past a tourist taking a picture in the city. If you have already had a dying man in sweatpants ruin your snaps why not post them with the hashtag #beastinglondon

A strange thing happened in my leg as I crossed London Bridge today. My leg hurt and then got really tight. I’m either injured or I have grown a muscle. I slowed and considered stopping. However then I thought about Eddie Izzard running 43 marathon’s back to back and I had a word with myself. I read that a nice marathon technique is to think about someone you admire each mile. It worked a treat today. I will compile a list and add to it over the next 14 weeks before the off. Another motivational factor came into play today thanks to the beauty of iPod shuffle. Roots Manuva winning with this little beauty Witness. You’re welcome sports fans.

Don’t forget the point of all this is to raise loads of lovely money for a brilliant charity called Solace Women’s Aid. You can donate and keep me sweaty right here via my donations page:

www.virginmoneygiving.com/beastinglondon

Thank you!

“You can neither win nor loose if you don’t run the race.”            

(David Bowie). 

THE BEAST IS BACK!

Happy New Year sports fans! Time to get you up to date with my continuous struggle with athleticism. 2015 drew in fast with a Christmas trip to Brighton. Here I ran outside of my usual habitat of smelly pollution ridden London for the first time. Running in wide open spaces with clean sea air is boring and the hum of donuts on the pier, sickening. Met this bloke on my travels however.

He is Steve Ovett. He won the 800m gold in 1980 in the Moscow Olympics. The statue was unveiled in 2012 2 days before the opening of the London Olympics. Incidentally 800m is 0.49 of a mile. Which means I’ll run 52 times the amount run by Steve in the London Marathon. Maybe I’ll get an erection too. Although at the speeds he ran he’d be done in an hour and a half. My target is a modest: finish before people go home.

I have to be honest and say that over Christmas my training lapsed, with my only exercise I did being carrying my kit with me throughout the festive period. I did do some research by interviewing friends who had completed marathons who gave me good advice. A marathon veteran told me reassuringly “Don’t do it!” followed by a discussion about his new titanium knees. 

Christmas came and I received a running related gift from Santa. He gave me one of these Fitbits (Seen on my wrist below). It’s a Star Trek type gadget which allows hackers to know where I am at all times, when I’m asleep, how fat I am and if I have done any exercise at all. When I strapped it on it told me that I had eaten six mince pies, 8 lbs of turkey, 4 lbs of ham, drank four bottles of Prosecco, two bottles of Champagne, ten mugs of mulled wine, fourteen measures of whiskey, twenty pints of beer, twelve bottles of wine and that I had averaged at least two cheeseboards a night since mid-December. My bit that is fit also measures my heart rate which was scary to watch when I opened my London Marathon pack awaiting me when I returned home. It states that the London Marathon (That I am mistakenly running) is on the 24^th April 2016. Countdown begins!

Now it seems real. So I decided to get right to it on January 2^nd once my hangover had subsided. As you can see I reassuringly sweated another wolf and today I nailed another 4 miles to my coffin as part of a sixteen week training schedule I have carved out to ensure I don’t do a Jade Goody.

What does 'CS' stand for on my hat? Enter the competition in the comment section for this blog. The winner with the best guess can choose an item of clothing for me to run in this Sunday!

Unfitbit

COMPO

Channelling Compo off of West Yorkshire’s answer to Top Gear ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ after this morning’s run. Nothing slapstick about another 4 miles under my neatly tied elasticated belt. Nothing quite prepares you for ringing out the sweat from your underwear!  It’s something runners don’t tell people who don’t run. Just another reason to think it’s mental I suppose. That and apparently now I need to wear nipple tape and lubricate in between my legs. Could be worse, I could be an inside runner. I pass a few of these from time to time. An inside runner (for the uneducated) is those pant wetting, lubricated nipple tapers who choose to exert themselves indoors, usually in front of a window. I love passing them in a morning. It feels a bit like they’re at school and you’re in the playground. Don't tell them you can run outside for free. Although having said this there is one brilliant lady who holds on to a running machine. If only there was something for me to hold onto in the street. A bed on wheels perhaps. Turns out there is a Christmas market outside Tate Modern now if you fancy getting smashed on mulled wine and having a butcher's at a Lichtenstein. Jingle!

WHAT I HAVE LEARNT ABOUT RUNNING SO FAR

The binmen resent me. However when I run I have to taste their bins as they speed past me so the feeling is mutual.

I have an embarrassingly poor relationship with a security guard who ignores my advances for a Rocky moment.

I scare homeless people with my panting.

If you run with a bottle of water in your hand you can get away with anything. Although it adds weight.

I can steel part of my day back by getting up early. This stolen day doesn’t require working or texting.

An athlete named Paula did a poo in a marathon.

My leisure pants get heavy when it rains.

My nipples chafe when it rains.

I’m reluctant to have banter with other smug runners.

The skin on my feet is getting tough.

Running with my hair down makes me look like a talentless wizard. 

ROUTE

As an absolute beginner I am pleased to announce that I have already run the 26.3 mile distance of the marathon. It took me seven weeks. Here is my route week eight. 

Just over four miles and I turn a colour Dulux likes to call Raspberry Bellini. It is a combination of routes. I started with a 2.5 mile circle to Blackfriars and then added Tower Bridge. I like this bit as I remember it from watching the marathon on TV in the north of England with a hangover in previous years. When I moved to London a tour guide told me with a cockney droll that it costs £9.50 to commit suicide from the top of that bridge in 2015, a dark humour that tickles me across.

Imagining the poor souls that had to try and attack it, circling around the Tower of London humbles me. Into the moat for you and into the moat for you too. Again and again. That would have been de-motivating. Wheezing past Tate Modern is always a treat. As an artist who dreamt of exhibiting there as a young man and eventually doing so, I like this place. It spurs me on. I once overheard a couple discussing how industrial the TATE looked from outside. Funny that!

KIT

The temptation to ruin people’s mornings with a smug Facebook update or tweet post-run is sometimes overwhelming when the Dolphins kick in. I find that a quick pink faced sweaty selfie is not a bad antidote to this disease. This way I can document my own demise and remind myself of what a mess I have made of my dignity by dressing like a casual gnome. 

The thing about starting to run is that you don’t really have the kit. I mean I have my embarrassing Dad at the zoo trainers. Check. I have my pyjamas, turned puddle catchers. Check. If you look closely at my t-shirt in this image you can see that I sweat in the shape of a wolf. More animal sweat selfies to follow. Not quite as annoying as those images of animals run by people on a map with an app. Not so cool when you are doubling down a cul-de-sac. I do envy the tech runners intravenous music though. What music is good to collapse to?

BANNED WORDS

In order to be able to look myself in the mirror and not be ‘that’ guy here are a list of my banned words. This is an ongoing list and I am open to suggestions.

1.    Jog

2.    Jogging

3.    Jogger

4.    Burn

5.    Treadmill

6.    Carbload