By Doesn’t everyone else realise that Saturday mornings are sacrosanct? Thou shalt not upset me on my ever-aesthetic waddle round the streets and riverside walks of London! Clearly not; where should I start? Maybe with the wind – yeah that was wrong, wrong direction and wrong speed caused much cursing and muttering as I tried unsuccessfully to bend under it like a modern-day Bibendum from Battersea to Barnes. I must be honest that on that unrelenting stretch even the epitome of good nature, Ms Lola Hamilton got an absent but heartfelt earful – this route was her well-meaning suggestion you see – its ok Lola, I’ve forgiven you now, only took me 48 hours to realise you’re not actually in charge of the elements!
And then of course we have the dogs, you might think I mean dog walkers but at mile 9 yes, I did utter out loud “don’t you look stupid?” at a pink jump suited Labradoodle. You’re right – it was the dog walker after all. All this running has made me a slightly Doolally Dr Doolittle it appears. But whilst we’re here, yes madam the path is 3 metres wide and you and your dog only measure 1 metre but that big cord thing between you, well apparently it expands and directs me into the river. Thanks a bunch. And dogs off their leads? Yeah fabulous, obvs!!
As for pedestrians. Broadly they can be grouped into 4 types: 1) those who meander aimlessly in the opposite direction they’re looking 2) those who stop abruptly 3) those who must walk four abreast or holding hands and the worst of all 4) those who either control Microsoft or the National Grid because they cannot take their eyes off their phone for one second as they plough headfirst into this Mr Blobby Farah. Clearly Beyonce is waiting patiently for her 1.6millionth like from aforementioned phone controller and it simply can’t wait another second. So, pedestrians were not my friends Saturday and I doubt they thought much of this disgruntled, blobby waddler either.
Conversely, runners, now they’d be my friends, right? Incorrect. Incorrect and bloomin’ incorrect again. You see you have the fast runners, who scythe past you which is poor from an emotional standpoint but then they seem to need to cut in front as soon as possible just so you can smell their stale body steam and get a mouthful of their hard-earned muddy shoes but at least they’re gone in a flash and there’s zero chance of them hearing my challenging Belfast bred profanities! Then there’s the group runners – Serpentine runners, yes, I see you and yes I know you were a team but really the whole width of the path? Oh, and then Stevie Serpentine Speedster decides to overtake his group just so he can force me wider into the bushes; sadly it was the next lot that got the full Mercer mouthful and looked mightily bemused, a bit like the Lenny the Labradoodle! Stevie just kept running oblivious to the carnage and ire he created.
Who have I missed? Ah yes cyclists but really there’s no point. Everyone knows – put on some lycra and suddenly you’re Bradley Wiggins and rules of the road don’t apply , not just some middle-aged fat bloke who should know better and needs to stop at red lights!
Nutritionists, they can do one as well. I’ve decided it’s all nonsense having performed a highly scientific study. I ran 20 miles with no gels, no carb loaded pre run drink mixes and I’ve run 20 miles with loads of the gloopy stuff before and during. Net result – bloody hard both times, no discernible difference except a few thousand calories, fifty quid and strange stomach sensations. Too much information? Probably but sleep easily knowing you’ve helped this pointless industry prosper; there’s an old-fashioned alternative by the way – eat properly and stay hydrated. Just saying! Or rather ranting as indeed I did whilst trying to hold down sachet 4 of the gloopy gloop around Chiswick Bridge at Noon Saturday.
Did I enjoy my run Saturday? Well No. Did I feel good afterwards? Well No. Was I happy with my running route companions, see above. Of course not, they all should have stayed indoors and knitted pink doggy jumpsuits or concocted some syrupy gloop and sold it online for a fiver rather than stray into the path of this irascible waddler. BUT was it worth it? Hell Yes Yes Yes.
I’m super excited to be nearly ready, grumpily ready, to line up with the three other acceptable faces of Team Ruby, it’s ok I’m familiar with my place on the naughty step, and raising valuable funds for a wonderful cause. Thank you to all that have supported us thus far and please don’t be shy in sharing the link. The Hamilton Harriers women and their friends (not all of whom are so grumpy) are very grateful. And If you happen to be on the route on April 23rd, give us a wee shout out please – I promise to run with a smile and keep the profanities to a minimum… provided you’re not a curly wurley pink labradoodle noodle that is!
– David