I've matured fully nought....

Planned 75min Warrimoo loop with Paddy turned to muck this morning. First a flat for Paddy and then a busted spoke for me. The wheel buckled and wouldn’t turn so I had to call the 1300-MEZZA collection service. There are few things in life that she loves more than 6:30am collection on a weekday when she is trying to get ready for work, though her gratitude was well concealed.

Got out a Tuesday night benchmark run last night – Standard 12k course including GWH and Sanctuary hills – 55:26, an improvement of 3:50 minutes (6.5%) on my effort of three weeks ago. Gotta be happy with that, damn pleased in fact.

I have been meaning to make the effort to do Parkrun for a while now and thought the opportunity might arise last weekend, as we stayed in the city Friday night, but couldn’t get out there. I notice in the results that Tripp, one of the groomsmen from our wedding has been running each week, 21.32 last week for the 5k. Glad I didn’t go out, I couldn’t run that at the moment on a tight, slow course – and it would have been unbearable getting rolled by him.

But now I know he’s there, it’s given my training motivation a huge kick along. I’ll roll up in a few weeks, psyched out of my little pea-brain, act surprised to see him, suggest a coffee and cake after an easy 5k stroll, and then give it full gas, being prepared to swim in a sea of lactic acid for the win. Hopefully it’ll be enough, because failure just wouldn’t be an option – he’s the most punishing winner I’ve ever known. We’ve raced a few times over the years, the first was down George Street between Margaret and Grosvenor for a bet – I think we were probably 19ish. He was faster, but I got the chocolates when he wasn’t prepared to take on a bolshy taxi trying to turn into Grosvenor on a red light – no ticker – 1-nil poof!. The last time was when we were 26ish (21 years ago! crap, time flies) at Hensley Park in a 400. He smacked me that day, and I’ve had to live with the burden ever since. But muscle mass is no friend in a 5k, and I will own the big fella’s ass by the end of July.

Ahhh, 26years, and clearly I’ve matured fully nought – I am Homer Simpson. Long live a life of trivial immaturity.