Author: Buck

As ever, interesting times.

A week and a half into Mission Improbable and I’ve had to re-evaluate my strategy. I arbitrarily set the bar at 6 minute/ mile and told my body to get a grip and get on with it. Ten days in and I was still dying at 1½ miles. I just couldn’t keep it going. The heat is incredible and I just can’t seem to breathe enough air in.

I did a quick re-think of my goals. First I have to concentrate on cracking the 3 hour barrier. Then, the next year possibly try to win a marathon. With this in mind I went on to the Runner’s World website and found a sub 3 marathon plan. Week 1, day 3: Run 3 miles at 6m/m.

Finally got my arse into gear this weekend.

Admittedly I couldn’t really start my Mission Improbable training any earlier, my knee was knackered after that marathon so I had to rest it. I could have started everything else, mind.

I picked up my pencil and tattoo gun today. I can’t draw a bath, but you’ve got to start somewhere.

I had a simple thought that has lead to a bit of philosophical pondering. I seek input.

My thought was; in many sci-fi novels the tech exists to upload your memories, your brain pattern and basically your consciousness. If you had the tech implanted so you were always backed-up, when your body died would you still be alive?

Bloody marvellous. I’ve been hale and hearty for as long as I can remember, I finally had my first ever simple flat marathon (the Chester marathon, today, Sunday)  to test myself. Not at the end of a triathlon, not a hill marathon, not an ultra, just  an honest to goodness 26.2 mile trot.

Then on Thursday I was having a bit of hassle at work and thought I was feeling down with it, when I suddenly realised it felt like a cold. *PANIC!*

Friday I felt drained, Saturday I got up at 11.00 and gave up and went back to bed for 20.00 hrs. Not that that did me any good, I got straight to sleep then the neighbour’s kids woke me having a squealing high pitched game of tag. I couldn’t get back to sleep then until gone 0130 and I had to be up for 0600 for the race.

That bloody treadmill. It was way down South, cost me £85 just in diesel. All day driving there and back (well, from 0900 to 1730). I specifically ordered a low, short wheel base transit as that was all I would need given the dimensions of the treadmill and the load dimensions of the van. Would it fit in in it’s operating position (ie at it most stable and less likely to break)? Would it buggery! The van was an inch to small. So I had to improvise, adapt and overcome. This meant I had to lay it down, leaving the handles on the floor. So then I had to fashion a strap to hold the handles off the floor so they wouldn’t snap off.

Then I got it home and had to try and manhandle 100kg of unwieldy treadmill off the van on my own. Wendy was trying to help but she is a total feeb.

I’d got it half manoeuvred through the front door when I realised I would tear up the floor before I could get it past the second door. Plan B, partially strip it, whilst wedged in the front door. Eventually we got it into the kitchen and I set about re-assembling it. All in all it must have took an hour and half just to get it into the house.