I was reading Grellan’s blog this morning and identified with his comment that his running has been aimless since his target race earlier in the year.
He then goes on to list all the aimless things he’s done – pace a marathon, walked 50 miles in a day, entered a 50k race and then I realised that I’m much, much better at being aimless than he is.
I take my aimlessness seriously – I’ve done nothing.
It has made me think about what I’m going to do next. I think I’ll try to stick to my plan to do a bit of the off-road stuff in training but based on my life/job/attitude this might be one run every two weeks. Not great.
Speaking of work, I was in Galway for a right proper boring conference during the week. The sort of conference where you have to fight the urge to strip naked and run out of the room screaming. It’s not that the subject of the conference (water) was boring or anything……ok, it was boring but it’s how I earn a living so I try to pay attention….it was just that it was a two-day Powerpoint torture session. Why don’t people try to entertain you at these events instead of bore you? You always remember the funny lines from a comedy, never the lines from a boring documentary.
Anyway, in between conference luncheons and pinting sessions I got in a few runs. Nothing magic like pacing a marathon but enough to burn off a feed of pints.
The best thing about Galway is that in less than 2 miles you’re in Connemara – the sort of place the tourists love. To be fair, it is pretty scenic but it does tend to have a gravitational pull that attracts a certain type of knob-jockey that annoys me.
Still, they were all at work when I went running out to Barna – a little fishing village with slightly too many award-winning restaurants to cater for just the local fishermen.
On the way back from the run I stopped for a water-the-nettles moment and found the inside of the local handball alley covered in some very good graffiti. The sort of graffiti that these days is called “urban art“.
In case you’re wondering, a handball alley isn’t some sort of communal wanking lane. Although I suspect that’s what they were built to avoid. They seem to be a distinctly Irish facility and were built in the times of no internet and no TV where everyone went to school with no shoes and brought a sod of turf for the school fire. My guess is that the establishment (Church/GAA) feared that a generation of young men with no outlet for their ‘energies’ would start to direct their energies (and their mickeys) towards the local virgins and thus corrupt the very fabric of society.
A couple of games of handball would prevent this as your hands would be raw from slapping the handball off the wall as opposed to your balls being raw from just slapping them.
Anyway, when I was a kid they were only used for smoking in so I’m not sure it worked.