Monday, 31 March 2008

Crazy Foo's

Yep. On the back of a new bet with Janus regarding weight loss, I decided to be utterly stupid and go for a run with an equally stupid Fisher. Being, as we are, both considerably under the weather, it would have been wise to take it easy - even not go running at all until The Bug is squashed. However, Fisher has a marathon to consider and is in considerable fear of getting behind on her training, so the minute she discovered she could still breathe this morning she was always going out. I, on the back of a coffee for breakfast and a bowl of cereal for lunch, decided that if she was going out, then I ought to as well.

We duly set off in the beautiful evening light, setting a slow and steady pace of around 11.15, chatting aimiably. 5k, I thought, would sort us out nicely. Then Fisher suggested going in towards Guardbridge rather than up Quarry Road, and it all got rather out of hand. Instead of doing the sensible thing and turning back at the 1.5 mile mark, I agreed to head 'to the bridge.' The bridge I meant was the one outside Leuchars station - but when we got there, Fisher continued onwards without pause.

"Where are you going?" I cried, balefully.

"Oh," she said, a picture of disappointment, "wrong bridge. I thought you meant the old Guard Bridge."

Unable to resist those big blues, I ground my teeth together and plodded on. The Guard Bridge turned out to be almost at the 3 mile mark, so I resigned myself to a long walk back, as I was pretty sure I'd flake after 4 miles.

And yet I plodded on, following in Fisher's determined, diseased footsteps. I enjoyed the big hill past Milton Farm (I do appear to be a bit keen on running uphill - at least for shortish bursts), and it gave me the endorphins I needed to finish 5 miles - just outside the Balmullo school. But, despite my better judgement, I continued to follow the Pied bleedin' Piper of Nutjob all the way to the bottom of our hill. I had to stop and walk at the Garage - but I did manage to run a few more bursts up the final stretch, and finished up at our gate at exactly the same time as Fisher, as her run and my stride uphill weren't a million miles apart in pace, and I
ran the final downhill at double pace.

So, I ran 6 miles in 1h 15.

Then I stopped, and my lungs attempted to claw their way out of my chest and throttle me. My throat felt as if Eric Cantona had taken a flying karate kick to it. Even now, 15 minutes later, I still can't take a full breath without coughing like a 500-a-day fag-chuffer. Fisher, meanwhile, is bouncing around as if fresh off the back of signing a new lease of life. I hate her and all she stands for. How can she be flat on her back, green to the gills, as she was yesterday, yet able to run 6 miles without a care in the world today?

Urgl. Just coughed up the remnants of my left lung.

Anyway, I think running 6 miles was bloody stupid. Any pride I might take in it is ruined by its foolhardiness. If we're flat on our backs for days because we couldn't wait until we were properly healthy before running, I'll be well peeved.

Enough. On the plus side - I ran 6 miles for the first time in about a year! Huzzah.

Oh yer - this bet with Janus. Let it here be announced.

On 3rd May, Fisher will hand Badger a piece of paper announcing the sum total, in pounds and ounces, of my weight loss. In turn, Badger will hand Fisher a similar piece of paper, only with a much smaller number written on it : )

Janus - I mean, the person with the least amount of weight loss - will then be forced to give up their favourite thing in the world ... for 3 months.

Yes. 3 months.

And this favourite thing in the world can't be chosen by the loser, but instead must be selected, without pity, by the people who know our weaknesses as well, if not better, than we ourselves know them. Yes, if I should lose (never!) then Fisher will exercise her right to veto something I love. Oh God. What if she stops me watching football?

No - wait - the season will be over. Phew. No point. I breathe again.

And, yes, if Janus loses, then Badger must pitilessly ban her from crisp eating, film watching, restaurants, the consumption of cheese ... or something worse. I know not what that could be.

HOWEVER - there is a proviso. Should both Janus and I both reach a target of 10 lbs in weight loss, then there will be no punishment. The loser must buy the winner a gift, but there will be no 3 month embargo on joy.

So that's the bet. Oh - and not to forget that Pro and I are still on with our end of April bet, too. This could be a very, very unfortunate month ...