Bus 65 is supposed to go past every 10min. I waited a fscking hour for that piece of sh1t to show up!

I reckon ten bus 65’s went past in the other direction and two going my way even stopped and dropped people off, but let none on. Being late was going to fsck up my night – stopping me revise .NET for a job interview and pushing my run back so late I couldn’t do it. If I exercise too late I don’t sleep. If I don’t sleep, I get grumpy. My grumpy is worse than “normal” grumpy – trust me.

It was going to be late but I decided to run anyway. My legs were still tender from Sunday’s run with my shins letting me know how I’d treated them with every step. This just fueled the rage.

The over-sized red sardine tin finally arrived home and ejected me into the street. On the bus I’d decided to channel the anger into a fast run. No, it was more than that, tonight wasn’t just going to be fast, tonight was going to be a PB.

I was fuming. I wanted to hurt. I knew it was going to be a PB.

I changed as fast as I could and sipped on some water – as much to hydrate as to get rid of the “oh my god, too many coffees!” taste in my mouth.

Insert run here –>

It was a blur. Lots of awkward breathing trying to kill stitches and lots of shin pain. It was quite windy (“from the Southwest at 14mph gusting to 26mph“). Charge home. Stop clock.

Before I could even think about it, I had my breath back. This pissed me off because it meant any slowing was because my legs can’t handle the impact and NOT because my CV system is at its limit. I walked up and down the street to “warm down”, breathing as if I’d spent all day in a deck chair, but with legs that felt like they’d spent the day being pulverised with a ball-peen hammer. Who the fsck would be a runner eh? 😉

Time? 33:10

That’s another 2 minutes off my previous best and includes stopping for a car leaving a driveway and something else.. what was it.. fuggit..

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, bus 65!!!