23km. A nice taper Sunday along the scenic canal path. Way out past the boats, all by myself, lovely, lovely, and then, for no reason whatever, I'm on the ground, twisted and bleeding in a patch of stinging nettles. I blame my Vinyl Café podcast.
Yeah, it hurts, but, I'm kind of proud of it, of the horrified looks I get from the other runners. Yes. I am hardcore. Just an exterior manifestation of an interior athlete psychosis? No pain no...?
4 comments:
No pain no pie?
No pain no plane?
The pain in Spain?
ow.
Today Rick was chased and tripped by a small dog, then a big dog joined the fun, biting a hole in his shorts. Is falling a new part of the marathon training? Can I opt out? Do we need group insurance?
Hardcore!
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