Running in anger, unhealing blisters, and other musings

So tonight I ran in anger. I was vexed, annoyed, pissed off, and generally not in the best of moods.

I was in this mood mostly because I've not been out for a run for a week. A week! I've hit a wall, I cannot be bothered to run anymore. Why should I punctuate my day off with two and a half hours of running? There's loads I could be getting on with, like sleeping and lying down a lot.

But this attitude will do a man no favors in a month from now, so I finished work and ran into the night.

The first thing I noticed that I was running much faster than I should have been, this was leading to altercations on the pavements of Holborn, I was getting far too close to people, and giving them a fright as I ran past. I didn't mean to, but I also didn't care, I wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. I found myself getting faster, my breathing out of time, and pain started shooting through me.

My legs were starting to feel uneasy and suspicious, as if the rest of me had turned 'evil' like Superman in Superman 3, when he got so evil he got pissed up on whisky, ogled some girls, and made a little boy cry.

And then it hit me, I was punishing myself for my slothful week, I was intent of teaching myself a lesson, and if that meant knocking over someone during the course of it, then so be it.

I gave myself a good talking to and no mistake for about 6 miles and my mood started to shift, and as I ran into London fields my mood was about to take a ecstatic turn.

For anyone reading in London, by the lido in London fields somebody, I can only assume a lag doing community service, has planted a load of daffodils to spell out the letters SOS in the flower patch adjacent to the lido. I've seen this done outside Cardiff city hall years ago when a couple of prisoners had planted flowers 6 months earlier that eventually bloomed the words 'fuck' and 'twat' facing the hall and crown court.

While I smiled to myself a memory popped into my head of a dear friend, who got very drunk in the Cardiff students union and walked home through the same flower patch outside City hall. I can't remember exactly why but he started to violently rip the flowers out of their bedding and started throwing them over his shoulders.

It wasn't because he was offended by the swearing by the way, this was a different year.

Anyway, this being the heavily CCTV'd centre of town, and in front of the museum, county hall, and crown court. And with the police station being just behind the court the police duly arrived. My friend tried to make his escape but his baggy and beltless jeans made him look more like a fugitive penquin as he waddled across the green.

The police gave chase and my friend managed to get across the green, over the road, and to a metal spiked fence that ran along a tiny river. He scaled the fence only to catch his massive jeans on the top of the spikes, he tried to vault over but the spikes cut into his jeans and he was left hanging off the top.

By this point the police had stopped running, and were casually wandering over towards the fence and my dangling pal, as they got there my mates jeans gave way, ripped in half, and he fell to the ground with half his jeans on and the rest stuck to the fence.

Then the police took him in, and we collected him the next day.

By the time I got home I couldn't remember being angry at all today. But I'm sure my legs will remind me in the morning.