The best laid plans and all that.
My master plan to run the Art O’Neill Challenge as a kick-off to my ultra year has come unstuck through a combination of my lack of a hair trigger on the internet register button and the flat earth society that is the National Parks and Wildlife Service in Ireland who have limited the entry to 200 (that’s for walkers, run/hikers and ultra entrants). The NPWS are one of those government agencies that attracts all the Ray Mears/Bear Grylls wannabes you can think of who are (to use generic language) dark green in their outlook.
All that said, I think I had previously promised to cut off my feet if I ever entered a race called a challenge again but with age comes memory loss.
Maybe they have my best interests at heart.
The main problem with not having a goal is that I am slipping back into my 6 mil/4 mile routine of about 30 to 40 miles per week. The sort of runs where you stop for a piss at mile 3 and wonder why you’re running at all. The sort of runs where you realise that training is a mental and not a physical activity.
Focus the mind and the body will follow – as the script writer from a particularly cheap Kung-Fu movie might say.
And so I have decided to sharpen the sword – as the same shitty Kung-fu script writer might say – by handing my visa card details to the internet and entering the West Highland Way for 2013.
I am confident that the saying there’s many a slip b’tween cup ‘n lip will be deployed more than once in the next 6 months in relation to this enterprise.
I suppose that if you don’t plan then God will have nothing to laugh at.
If this all goes wrong (I’m not accepted to race or my legs fall off or my wife finds out) I can fall back on my plan to do the 100km race in Italy in May – a massage tent every 5km – about the same level of support you get on the WHW!
To close this post on the theme of mice and men I’ll tell you what we were told during our many long and boring wet caravan holidays in Ireland in the 1970’s and 1980’s – As we were kicked out of the caravan to wander around in the rain until teatime –
It’s only rain, what are you? Mice or men?