Um… Yeah you read that right. My suspicions that Newport is secretly a wannabe holiday destination were proved completely correct yesterday when I got out of my building in the morning and was hit by warmth and the smell of the sea. It was almost like I imagine living in Cornwall, except nobody speaks Cornish and there’s unhealthy food on every street corner. Actually, scratch that. It’s exactly like Cornwall. Or nice holiday-ish places, at least.
It was very good timing as I have foolhardily signed up for both a 10k run and a half marathon next month. And no. No, I am not ready. I daresay I can get round a 10k course and probably beat my own record, but that’s because it’s really flat around here, and therefore a piece of piss compared with running from the bottom of Stanmore Hill all the way to the top without giving yourself an asthma attack. But, well, a half marathon is still 13 miles and change. And that’s still a long way.
I wouldn’t feel concerned about it, except this Sunday just gone I was supposed to be in Paris doing a full-on marathon with a bunch of French people. Probably wearing onions. Definitely drinking wine. I like to blend in. Obviously, a few things have come up in the meantime which meant I just plain didn’t bother. so instead, I was in Chicago at the weekend, and I spent my Sunday doing the following:
- Having one giant lie-in.
- Eating chocolate pancakes.
- Having a little bit more of a lie-in.
- Eating multiple slices of pie.
- Eating tamales.
- Feeling very smug that I thought to bring an entire pizza with me in my bag for my flight home.
- Wondering why all of my luggage smells like cheese.