So this was the day after the 18 half marathons before.
Yesterday saw me complete my #18in18 Challenge, today was the journey back home from London followed by my normal Monday night club outing.
All pretty straightforward you might think. Not so.
I had my fair share of drama on the way back home via Stansted, although given my previous with that airport it’s perhaps not surprising.
I made it to Liverpool Street without any issues. Then, as I was about to go through the barriers to board the Stansted Express the feckin’ app that stored my ticket decided not to display it, then log me out and just be a general all round pain in the arse.
After what seemed like an eternity, but really wasn’t, I pulled up my ticket, said my goodbyes to Dawn, and made my way onto the platform … just as the warning came that the doors were about to close.
Easy enough, you’d think, just to hop on except my train was at the far end of the platform. It’s just as well I’m a runner, because I ran like the hammers of hell and just about made it onto the train as the doors were closing in on my backside.
I knew there’d be another one is 15 minutes, but that wasn’t the point. I was already a little late and, with hindsight, it was just as well I got that particular train.
After calming myself down, I made it to the airport and very swiftly made it through security … almost.
Getting to the actual scanner bit was grand. I was then held up for at least half-an-hour as my case was one of what seemed like 50% of bags to be selected for extra screening, a process not helped by laid back security staff. Eventually it was the turn of my bag, only for the chap to half-heartedly wave his little scanner thing over it and usher me through.
Seriously mate. All that hanging around for bugger all? I bit my tongue, otherwise I don’t think I’d have made it back.
Anyway … already stressed I negotiated my way past the dawdling idiots going at a snails pace through Duty Free to look for the board to see how long it’d be before my gate would be called. I thought I’d have at least half-an-hour to compose myself, use the facilities, get a drink and so on.
Ohhhhh, no. That’d be too much to expect, wouldn’t it? The buckin’ gate had already been announced, so off I went again to the far end of the concourse to wait on the dopey wee shuttle to take me to the gate. Arriving at the departure terminal there then seemed to be an endless succession of escalators before I finally got to the gate.
Thankfully, I dozed for almost the entire flight back home so I was relatively chilled by the time we landed. I’m not really sure why I’m including this on a running blog, perhaps it’s theraputic just to get it out of my system.
Anyhoo … back to the point of this blog, running club in the evening. Bronagh had asked if I was running up, I was, so we ran up together. It was good to catch up, and just generally exchange pleasantries.
On the way I spotted one bird, or should that be ex-bird. Poor thing. Then, not far from the leisure centre, there was another former bird on the pavement beside a broken brick … cue a debate on whether the bird had been hit by said brick by a human, or whether the bird had been minding it’s own business and the brick had fallen on it from a height. Such are the things discussed on a run.
At club, I was paid a lovely tribute by the secretary during the weekly announcements. All very sweet and embarrassing, but he hit just the right note and it was great to get a warm round of applause from everyone.
The run itself was great for unleashing all my pent up tension from what had been a stressful day. I was a bit worried that my legs wouldn’t work too well but they did, and the run, all four point something miles of it, was absolutely spot on as recovery runs go.
I don’t plan on doing much for the rest of the week, I’m very much in taper mode now for Dublin next Sunday. Rest is very much the order of the day.