Lyndar the Merciless

a personal beauty + lifestyle blog

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Nutters

Monday, October 02, 2006   |   0 comments


Himself and a few of the peeps from work have been in training for the Dublin City Marathon for the last few months. I have to say, I use the word "training" pretty loosely when it comes to Himself's, emmm, "regime". Initially, of course, there was much impressive talk of gruelling runs supplemented by super-frequent gym workouts. Paradoxically, there was very little talk [of any kind] of a marathon-worthy change of diet. There was the expected reaffirmation of the "All Vegetables Are Evil [With The Possible Exception of Mushy Peas, Mmm], How Could They Be Good For You" doctrine and a not-very-suprising resuscitation of the "I Just Need To Eat More Steaks [For Protein, Not Coz They're Tasty, Mmm]" mantra. The Crunchy Nut Cornflakes/nice things breakfasts were to be ditched in favour of the disgusting, smelly, mushy, puke-inducing, grey pulp popularly known as - I'm actually shuddering as I type this - porridge. Bleeeeeuuuurrrrgh.

A Marathon Masterplan™/training schedule was duly composed and distributed to all the relevant nutters those involved in the scheme. It dictated the day and nature of each of the aforementioned gruelling runs: run for X minutes, walk for X minutes, run for X minutes, collapse for X minutes... [ok, ok, so I made the last one up; it actually said "collapse for 10 minutes", jeez people!!] Himself followed the plan religiously for... oh, about 4 days, and then the improvisation began. I won't go into the minutiae of the digressions. Suffice to say, He somehow arrived at the conclusion that:

Seriously Curtailed Training* + Zero Modification Of Diet + Normal Alcohol Consumption** = Appropriate, Correct and Totally Safe Preparation For The Undertaking Of A 13- or 26-Mile Run

In fairness, Himself did complete the Dublin Half Marathon which I was vay impressed with; He decided to run/walk/run/collapsewalk the last mile but in retrospect [and possibly in the course of that mile!] felt that this was actually a bad idea as His legs started to sieze up. [Man am I glad I'm not athletic-ally inclined.]

After the success that was the Half Marathon, the impressive talk started up again in earnest. The probability of Himself joining an Athletics Club was given an airing. And yet... there has only been one [3 mile] run since the Half Marathon.

Now, all involved have pencilled in a training weekend down in Sneem, Co. Kerry for the 6th/7th/8th October. Himself will, of course, be in attendance. Good. Great. I am all in favour of this whole marathon thing. I'm just worried that what seems to me to be a very sporadic approach to preparing for such an ordeal as a 26-mile run [let's just call a spade a spade here] for someone who's not all that involved in sport etc [ditto] might not be very, well, safe.

Anywho, while I give myself ulcers worrying about Himself, have a gander at the photos below of Him and Marielle from work giving it socks at the Dublin Half Marathon on Saturday, 23rd September last. [I didn't make up the captions, that's what they were saying. True story...]


"This is a piece of p*ss easy peasy! Dunno what marathon runners do be whinging about."
"Me either. Wonder where the Kerry representative is?"
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"Yep, still dead easy. Aren't we so cool with our running?"
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"Oh sweet merciful Jesus, we're gonna die. We are actually gonna die doing this stupid goddamn marathon (half marathon, lads -Lyndar). Whose goddamn genius idea was this again?!"
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"I wa--wa--want my Maaaammy! Blub blub blub."
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* Yes yes, we all know about the injuries. I'm just saying, is all.
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** I should point out that, the Friday post-work Heineken and the very odd work-related, boss-imposed Sambuca [ewww!] notwithstanding, I'd say Himself's Normal Alcohol Consumption, or NAC as it is often termed by no-one, is well below that of the average punter. I just thought that nutters those preparing for a race were supposed to abstain totally..? Or, at the very least, not spend most of the Saturday 5 weeks before the race drinking with a mate in a Sligo pub and trying to negate the disapproval surrounding the revelation of same by inferring they spent the "Sunday" surfing. Huh. Last time I checked, "Sunday" was a bit more than two hours long...

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