Going out for a run.

[Sweder]

Ah yes, the great Banana Squashathon. Was editing my Connemara notes last week and was reminded of how degraded a banana can get.

It was time to brave that last banana, see if I could stave off imminent limb seizure ... I thrust my hand into the dark recess of the bag, fingers scrabbling over all manner of icky nastiness, until I found the mangled fruit. This felt like some deadly right of passage, like the hysterical Treebeast scene in Flash Gordon, where Timothy Dalton’s ultra-camp Prince Barin oversees the unfortunate demise of erstwhile Blue Peter presenter Peter Duncan in a bizarre macho pissing contest, featuring a lethal stinging claw hiding in an old tree trunk. I drew my arm out slowly to reveal my prize, a blackened, limp appendage that could barely have looked less appetising had it been covered in flies.

Back in the real world, finding a tiny blemish on an otherwise pristine banana induces shrieks of alarm and wide-eyed terror. Fifty kilometres into a hot, hard road race this ugly battered mush was manna from heaven, gulped down with all the relish of a Gastronaut sampling the rarest truffle.

Also, never wrap peanut butter & jam bagel segments in tissue paper when planning a long, hot run. Sticky.