So the first good news of the night is that today I finally got the parcel I was waiting for. Another brick in this marathon-wall. Sound!
On my way home from work I met Marcus at Sainsbury’s and we bought dinner.
The second good news of tonight is that we had pizza. To share. And then pasta. One bowl each. Actually I had it in a bowl, he had it in a dish. And bread with Parma ham, as a starter. And coke and vanilla cheescake. Which we bought yesterday but we forgot to eat last night. Classic.
Anyway while opening the door of the flat Marcus told me “You’ve got mail!” and I Lonely Islanded the moment. My package had finally arrived. My packages had finally arrived. I was overexcited.
Once we got in and we chucked all the stuff in the kitchen I ran into my bedroom and found the two parcels there, waiting for me. I was over the moon. There it was, The Parcel. While opening it my hands were shaking, tears of joy streamed down my face: I’ve waited for it for so long and now there it was. Right in front of me. I stared at it for a few moments – that seemed hours to me – and then somehow it was finally open. I carefully pulled its contents out and leaned it on my bed. Wonderful!!!
I’m in heaven! I kept saying to myself while trying them on one after the other and having consistent Lonely Island moments.
What I am going to do now is hang the red&black one somewhere in my room – probably next to the one from last season – and wear the black one when training for the marathon.
Right, the marathon! I then opened the second package as well and found all the stuff that Save the Children sent me: some papers and leaflets that will help me fundraising – in addition to my justgiving webpage – and of course my running vest! Which, believe it or not, doesn’t look that bad. Oh no wait, I’m still staring at the A.C. Milan top…
Can’t really wait to put it on – the A.C. Milan top of course – and go for a run!!! I am sure that it’ll give me some extra-energies and it’ll definitely help me looking less ridiculous than last time I went running. Which by the way it’s yesterday, but let me explain.
Let me briefly tell you first about the second last time I went for a run though. It was last monday – the very next day my 4,7 miles solo sunday run – and it was warm and sunny and life was beautiful even though that was my last day of holiday. James and I ran 5,3 miles in 47 minutes. Route-wise we did something similar to what we did on the previous wednesday – we even managed to get lost at one point but he’ll never admit it… – but we stopped at his this time because his ankle was a bit sore and because – after a pint of water – I just couldn’t be bothered anymore. I then walked home, stretching my legs every two seconds and pretending to walk with a limp everytime someone gave me those eyes like why are you not running, you twat?
Now back to what happened yesterday. I got home from work at 5:20 pm and got ready to start in something like ten minutes: blue shorts and a plain white t-shirt on, laced shoes, some tunes pumping through my mp3 player and I was ready to go and run 10 – TEN – miles. Not even a minute after leaving the building I had to go back to the flat and change my outfit: in spite of the blue sky and the shining sun, it was windy as fuck and pretty cold too. That’s why I went back in and put something more appropriate on.
Then I was ready: I walked up the Grassmarket, got on the Cowgate and at exactly 5:40 pm I finally started running. I ran all the way to Holyrood Park, circumnavigated Arthur’s Seat, went through Duddingston and then turned right till Portobello’s border with Joppa, turned right and sprinted all along the Promenade until its end. I then took Portobello Road which quickly began London Road, turned left and got right in front of the Scottish Parliament through Abbeyhill. A bit of uphill on Canongate then left – St. John Street – then right – Holyrood Road/Cowgate – all the way back to the Grassmarket.
It took me 1h20m to run this 9,6 miles and at the end I was exhausted but happy. And proud. And sweaty and smelly and a bit stoned too I would say. But mainly happy.
What I’ve done yesterday is one third of what I will have to do on May 27th and I must say that I feel quite confident. There are eight more weeks to go and things can only get better. Wish me luck. Or touch wood. Actually touch your balls, because that’s what we do in Italy, like Danny Bhoy – which I love – says here (from minute 2:27).