Who am I trying to kid?
‘I must kill the queen’ reminded me today that I didn’t
write a post last week even though I might have said at some point that I
would. I reminded him that I was a lying sales person so he should not believe
anything I said, he gave me his ‘stop fucking me round’ look and so here we
are. Poets Day post on a Monday – has the world gone mad?
Well yes, yes it has. But since every syphilitic dog walker
and illiterate dipshit is so readily able to tell me how mad the world is
thanks to the fact that there is no vetting process for purchasing an AR-15 or
a book of faces account (actually there is a sort of process – oh whatever, we
are not going there) I am sure there is no need to remind you how truly fucked
we are right now – so I won’t. Instead I will talk about my favorite subject,
me :) (readers of previous
blogs may have thought that my favorite subject was rugby or dick jokes or just
good old plain sexual innuendo and they are correct to an extent – but we are
not going there either)
Who the fuck am I trying to kid?
So I thought some time back about getting some people
together to do a triathlon thingy. It started with the guy that resembles Mike
the Cop saying he would like to do one, then Wayne in LA said he was riding and
wanted to do one, then the English Major said he might so I thought why the
hell not. I mean who is this going to hurt?
It is going to fucking hurt me is who, you bastard.
The others are out due to circumstances beyond their control
(they are pussies/busy – you choose) but I am still heading to Austin to relive
my glory days of 26 or so years ago when I could actually run 10k, swim like a
piece of driftwood and rode a bike with a rabbit thingy (squeeze toy not sex
toy) on the end of the handlebars that I would squeeze to squeak so that people
knew I was behind them – apparently it was really annoying and not really funny :) Back then I was about
2/3rd the man I am now and that extra 1/3rd is causing me
some issues.
20 odd years ago I was in a bloody underwear commercial on
TV damn it. Me, in underwear, on the television. The only underwear commercial
I could do now would be an infomercial reminding people that there are meant to
be 2 leg holes in their tighty whiteys, not 3. I mean it’s not as if I have let
myself completely go but it’s getting close :) If it wasn’t for this man-bod craze I wouldn’t be getting laid at all. Wait,
there isn’t a man-bod craze? Must be my accent and witty blog then :)
35 days now till I relive my glory days, about 30 days more
of getting out there on he bike, in the pool, and trying to work out how I can
run more than 50 yards without getting crippling shin splits. I ran a fucking
marathon at 19 damn it, now all I can do is run my mouth. I have a 20 hour
drive to Austin pre-race (and funnily enough a 20 hour drive home post race)
broken up with a night with a buddy in Florida. A couple of nights in Austin
and then I will try not to get overtaken by driftwood in the water, people with
squeaky rabbits on the bike and the post race trash collection team on the run.
Who am I trying to kid – I fucking hurt right now and I am
just training. My left knee hates me, my hips are out of whack, not going to
mention constant back pain. The only good thing about having pain in your left
arm all the time is that you never know if you are experiencing the first
symptoms of a heart attack or if you left arm just hurts. I get shin splints from
driving the fucking beast to work, and it’s an automatic. I am so screwed it is
not funny. I mean it, who the fuck am I trying to kid?
I know who I am trying to kid. I am trying to kid me. And
you know what, I am fucking well going to do it.
Because no matter how much this shit hurts someone else
hurts more. Whether it be physical or mental I know that as much as I am worse
off than a lot of people I am not as worse off as some. This is not a mean
thought, not a condescending way to think, this is a ‘don’t be such a fucking
wimp’ way to think. No matter how much crap life throws at you, you have the
ability to get past it, to survive, to endure. You might be reading this and
think “Fuck you James, you don’t know my life” and I would reply “Of course I
don’t you dipshit”. I know my shit (many people would disagree with that
statement by the way) and I know that a hug, a good word, a heartfelt comment
can actually make a difference in peoples lives for the positive. I know that
there is someone out there (apart from Mum who is pissed with all the swearing)
that actually get’s something from these posts, I know that this triathlon is a
really really really stupid idea but I also know next year that I will do another
one, and next time people will turn up to enjoy a hug, a good word, a heartfelt
comment and try to raise a few dollars for charity. To paraphrase someone old
and dead, every fundraising triathlon journey begins with an idiots idea, and
to quote King Richie ‘Pain is temporary. Pride is permanent’. So whether I
raise $250 for Make-a-wish or $2,500 I know exactly who I am trying to kid.
As usual nothing of any intellectual import was included in
this weeks blog and I believe y’all are probably dumber now for having read it.
However as it is my blog and not your blog and you read this far then at least
I am doing something correct in the ‘wasting my time whilst on the bog’
category of information on the world wide interweb. Crap, I just realized I
need to pop out and get some chafing cream, and possibly a sports bra :)
Work hard, play hard and earn your inspiration
Happy 4 days before Poets Day (yes I wrote this on a Monday)
and let the pains begin (well technically continue but we are not going there).
You can go here to donate though :)
http://site.wish.org/site/TR/
You can go here to donate though :)
http://site.wish.org/site/TR/
Brought to tears....that beautiful bod being tortured like that...'break a leg' darling!!!
ReplyDelete