Boycotting London Freesheets

Has anyone ever noticed little hoops of plastic hanging around pavements? The sort of thing you can see in the picture.


Look out for them.

Recently, we have seen a huge increase in the number of free newspapers that are actively given out on the street. Walking between Charlotte Street and Russell Square, I once collected eleven without even trying. How many London Lites does one person need? I suppose if I had a shredder and a horse that lived in a stable they could come in handy. Alternatively, if my job involved posting fragile goods abroad. Or if I had lots of shoes to clean, or if I ran a Greek restaurant that engaged in plate smashing... OK, so there are lots of uses for newspaper. I, for one, wrap my Christmas presents in it. But I am sorry, I digress, what the purpose of this blog is, is to give colour and life to my Marathon training in order to encourage you to give me money. So what, I hear you ask, is the relevance of the rise of the freesheet? The little buggers who throw them out willy-nilly on the street do so at such a rate that they leave their blue tie things in the street for people like me to get their feet caught in.


Yes, I was at pace, on the Charing Cross Road (yes, in the road), just opposite Leicester Square tube (just to maximise the amount of people who could watch), and one foot stood on it, the other got caught in it, and the only reason I still have a nose is because I have elbows. Well, did.

And you know what? No one bloody offered to help me! So there I was, damp and bleeding on the side of the road, and I actually had to ask a girl, from my undignified gutter-dwelling position, whether she might stay with me whilst I cried. Well, I didn't say the crying bit explicitly, but that was really why I wanted her. She had a perfectly good shoulder and I was damned if I was going to cry on nothing.


And this lead to the charity of a newsagents, who gave me water, tissues, plasters and a heater to sit in front of. When I pointed out what had caused the casualty, however, they talked quickly amongst themselves, exchanging meaningful looks, and added lucozade and chocolate to their offering. Hmm.


Well, I am in one piece (bar the skin that I left behind on the Charing Cross Road) and I can now spend a day or two convincing myself that I enjoy running in sub zero over-pedestrianised London town. And while I do so, I would love people to think about donating to the spinal injuries association (via moi), that we might start mending some spines in this country.

Speed

Mega. It's four miles to work from home which is just about right for a daily quota, I reckon. So today, it was 35 mins door to door. This makes 6.8 mph average ish. And to do 26.2 miles in under 3 1/2 hrs you need to be doing 7.5 mph ish. So I need to speed up.

Ah, but then on the santa run (which was conducted not entirely sober after 3 hours sleep in a full length Mr Claus outfit, and involved jostling in a slow crowd and chatting for a while) was done at 7.9 miles per hour for just under 4 miles... were it not for the fact that I was somewhat out of sorts at the end of it, evidence could be taken to suggest that red wine and a lack of sleep are in fact essential aspects of any marathon training plan.

And that run to work also involves 4 major roundabouts, 1 Thames bridge, two mainline stations, theatre land, a giant gold Freddie Mercury and the Tottenham Court Road. Not entirely condusive to Going Fast.

I've just discovered how to link stuff and its great. We like. I should try a picture, perhaps.

Pictures don't seem to work.

Skirting Bored

Still very much off the wagon. The office christmas party was last night and I managed to lose my skirt. A santa outfit that I happened upon seemed preferable at the time. So now I'm going to have to go back to the bar and request my skirt. Is there ever a way of doing that while maintaining one's dignity? "Excuse me, yeah hi there, I came for an office party here last night and I forgot my skirt."

I'm going to take my trainers away with me this weekend in the hope that their current redundancy will guilt-trip me into putting them on. Next week is when the training plan kicks in and I'm going to have to run 8 miles on Christmas Eve. But did you know we put on, on average, 4 1/2 pounds over Christmas? HOOOO-RAH, lets all eat and drink as much as we possibly can to induce a few moments of elation before groaning, executing a horizontal collapse and feeling uncomfortable for approximately four hours, at which point, certainly for no hunger-related reason, we eat yet MORE turkey (this time cold with pickles).

And I've never really worked out how to deal with the guilt. The guilt I feel when I get given something I don't like, something someones spent time and money on, and then the guilt at wishing I could go on opening presents for EVER. Why must a stocking have a foot part? Could it not just go on, and on, and on... I want MORE! ... NO, Jessica, you are spoilt, obnoxious, avaricious, covetous... you have lost the true meaning of christmas, hail Mary eight times and stand on your head in the corner.

And then there's the guilt that Mummy puts sooooo much effort into every Christmas! Oh, the meticulous precision with which she stocks her larder with festive fare; the way she fills her wardrobe with presents that we invariably find; the careful wrapping of presents with the price tags still on. And then whoompf, its all over and I piss off back to London, leaving nothing but a mess that shows 'Jess woz ere'.

I won't go into the whole Christmas shopping thing - it tends to get me angry so I prefer to do it vocally, to really maximise the enjoyment of slagging off the General British Public.

Bah Humbug. You wouldn't believe that Christmas is actually my favourite time of year, would you? Merry Christmas, folks!
J

On the Christmas Spirit

So I've started a Blog to encourage people to pay me money for running the marathon. So far so good. i have now 'blogged' twice this week. However, i have not run once. Blogging to running ratio would ideally lean in favour of the running.

So yes, I have fallen off the wagon. Christmas, it seems, is not condusive to exercise. In three days, i have eaten in five decent restaurants (both Fino and St John's come highly recommended) and probably consumed my monthly recommended alcohol alowance.

On the plus side, i do now have a HOME after nearly a year of wandering the streets of london town (not in the Ipswich sense). This means that i have a Washing Machine, which in turn means that i can wash my running clothes, thereby facilitating more running. I worried momentarily whether washing might now eclipse the running, in a similar fashion to how blogging seems to have done, but washing happily must be prefaced by dirtying, so all should be OK there.

next week, i intend to be strapped tightly back onto the old wagon.

Marathon Diary of an Online Virgin

Apparently running nearly twenty six and a half miles isnt enough nowadays. Apparently one has to supplement five months of regular sweat and pain with parties, speed dating evenings, jumble sales and blogs in order to even get in sight the rather unrealistic target you set yourself when you dive enthusiastically into your project. So here it is, my first bit of supplementary toil.

Im running for The Spinal Injuries Association and im running for those people who have experienced just how crucial spines really are. I won't go into detail, but all of us know someone who has been affected and I can't begin to imagine what it would be like if it was me or a person I love.

"But Jess, Hold Your Horses", I say. "Have not the first 24 years of your life been characterised by the reckless abandon that leads to this sort of thing? Night cycling in cities with neither lights nor hands; climbing trees drunk in high heels; sneaking off on your horse to jump Big Hedges that you Dont Tell The Parents About; bouncing on trampolines and getting that tummy / mouth fear when you realise you may have jumped that little bit too high; rolling your eyes when told to drive safely, giving an enfield-esque 'Mu-uum' and then scaring yourself slightly on that tight bend near home; showing off with swan dives that leave your outstretched hands hitting the bottom of a pool hard..."

But the thing is, nothing ever happens with rhyme, reason or rationality and often the world does come across as what one might call A Bitch. Does the heel of a shoe ever fall off 3 yards from your front doorstep? My heels, certainly, are in the habit of parting company their from soles only when at least twenty minutes away.

The SIA website quotes, "Living with spinal cord injury is like being reborn, with a body which doesn't behave as it used to, into a world which wasn't designed for it." And find a broken Gina heel is difficult to cope with...

So I'm going to do my bit minimise the trauma and maximise the recovery for patients with spinal injuries. Treatment options are moving, research is ploughing ahead and people need this cash.

Well, I seem to have achieved a blog. Now I've just got to start running...