January 2010

[Sweder]

Thanks guys. I cannot over emphasise Ladyrunners' part in all this. She's a trooper and deserves a medal the size of a dustbin lid for not dropping me like a hot rolex. I confess to feeling churlish after the race. I'd bagged a PB but it had taken a great deal of help to do it. Then I remembered that wonderful scene at the end of My Cousin Vinny. The utterly stunning Morisa Tomei plays Joe Pesci's long-suffering motor mechanic doll, Mona Lisa Vito. Pesci is a wanna-be trial lawyer. He's just sprung his nephew from a bum stick-up/ murder rap. He's won his first case but he's gutted; he needed his Miss Vito's help to close the deal.

Mona Lisa Vito: So what's your problem?
Vinny Gambini: My problem is, I wanted to win my first case without any help from anybody.
Mona Lisa Vito: Well, I guess that plan's moot.
Vinny Gambini: Yeah.
Mona Lisa Vito: You know, this could be a sign of things to come. You win all your cases, but with somebody else's help, right? You win case after case, and then afterwards you have to go up to somebody and you have to say, "thank you."
[pause]
Mona Lisa Vito: Oh my God, what a fuckin' nightmare!

I guess same rules apply. If I could bag a PB half every year but had to thank someone for helping me get there, I could live with that. I just have to learn to stop whining when they're dragging me off to a blistering start.

Niguel, I mislead you (not for the first time I suspect). Not all the way to the Tryp as A said, but to the entrance of the bridge leading to the Tryp.

Sub 100 is certainly a target, though not for Connemara where the hills will no doubt straighten me out. As for pacing myself ... well, I did, or rather LR did it for me. If I'd toughed it out with her rather than slacking off in the second half I'd've come in around 97 minutes.

There's more. The Recovery Run in Cabo de Gata was memorable, as was my hangover that day. It's the closest I've come to throwing up before running a step. First, more unbearable transcontinental travel in the hands of the maniacal Portuguesers from TAP. I suspect there won't be room to get my elbows thrashing out a report. And then there's this morning's red-hot beach run in Salvador to tell you about and two weeks' worth of Le Jog to catch up on: phew!

Food for thought: Satan gets his jollies by slipping on an airline uniform and tormenting passengers in the hopes of conjuring a homicide or two.
You're right; I didn't get the upgrade ...