Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Bring It On Home.

'Lo readers.

I don't ever want to wake up at 5:30 ever again ever, if I can help it. I know I'll have to do it again in a month, but still. Bloody hell.

So, get up then, drag self to shower, drown self, wake up, get coffee, wake Beardman, go to school, steal the back of the bus with Jess and Sam (and Rossi, who made things difficult for the girls), fall half asleep with fuzzy new headphones. The bass isn't too bad, Bonzo's drums are punchy as hell, but everything else just fuzzes together, eq doesn't help a lot. Oh well.

Rain threatened all the way there, spat a bit as we arrived, but nothing really there. We walked the course, nothing new, ate a bit, went for a warm up (Pat insisted on sprints, though he was suffering from a cold), then come back to headquarters where Sam gleefully tells us we'll have to wear tiny running shorts. Conveniently, there's none left.

Our race arrived far too quickly. Was numbered GGS40 this year. New start too, we were only boxed for the marshalling, then got taken to the starting line. Gun went off, I kept to the outside so I wasn't flattened, get within sight of the leaders after the first hill. Cumpster took the lead here and didn't lose it the entire way.

The big bastard of a hill wasn't too bad, no headwind once I got to the top, and I started gaining ground on some kids, including a chubby looking ranga. Hit the gate, saw Pat and Sam fairly close, Pat overtook me around there somewhere, then we hit the downhill. Always fun. Was taking it a bit too cautiously because of the wet. Got to the bottom, chest seized up. WTF, says the alarm bells in head. Jesus god, still another 2 klicks to go.

So, drop pace a bit too much, try and recover without losing too many positions, and bloody Sam overtakes me. He's an invitational runner too, so if he beat me, I had to buy him dinner. Bugger that, says I. Start trying to accellerate despite chest whinging at me and making me splutter. Got to last corner, end in sight, duel with one bloke but he got in front, the bastard. Came in and got a free gatorade, Sam quickly reminding me that he beat me.

Half an hour later, slightly recovered, turns out Cumpster won by like a WHOLE minute, then we go and watch the girls arriving. Meg did pretty damn well, and so did Jess and Nemo, and Jess's little sister Sophie (year seven) was running in their (year eleven/twelve) race. She was sprinting in with some gaunt and scary looking girl behind her. "RUN SOPHIE!" The girl behind her loses her shoe ten metres from the finish, beaten by a year seven. Lawl. Someone thought the girl did it on purpose, so she had an excuse for not catching Sophie at the end.

After that was fairly meh, we captured the back again, Aiden got his medal, we won the shield (by like a hundred points), and then back on the bus as the sky turned grey and yellow. My kind of weather, all dark grey and forbidding, just before the rain. Bus trip home was fairly uneventful, drifted in and out of conversations. Girls were trying to do homework, they ended up watching the movie because it got dark. Pat seemed a bit depressed, but hell, he beat me, and he was sick. Stop at KFC, bought Sam popcorn chicken to shut him up, and Meg kept on whinging about how everything had cancer in it.

Get home, fairly wasted, and on a low after the endorphins from running and the caffiene from a Monster. Didn't do a lot, caught up on garbled news from Alison, and glanced at history textbook in case Ms Henry makes me do the SAC tomorrow.

Anyway. In conclusion. I'm sort of worried about chest, either I had a particularly bad stitch or there's something up with my right lung (must be fine cos my heart's still beating), and I reckon I could have done better, but oh well. Sixteenth isn't too bad, I suppose. Had two Zeppelin songs stuck in my head THE ENTIRE BLOODY TIME, but oh well. The whole

Speaking of which, Them Crooked Vultures. Must remember this name.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, so only four classes, but more running training, which I'm really looking forward to, obviously.




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