I had a brief fantasy that I would do a run so long that I would expire in the teatime heat. Later, while running, I realised that I was far too lazy to much more than run long enough for my feet to hurt a bit.
I did try and do a longer run than I normally do but instead of making halfway, where I start the journey home*, further into my run I tried to add stuff on to the end of it. The problem is the end of it is my home. By adding on an extra mile I ended up at ASDA in Hulme. The staff have been very kind and let me live on the spare shelf of the kitchenware section.
Of course I didn’t do this. Haha. It was a joke. I just turned right at some point on Burton Road and then shortly afterwards I took a left ran down a road for a while before getting back onto Wilbraham Road and joining up with my traditional route. This added about a mile on and I ended up doing 5.25 miles. This, Lance Armstrong testicularly recovered voice informed me, was my longest run. It wasn’t: I have done the Manchester 10k twice and more than 5.25 miles another couple of times. You idiot Armstrong: if you weren’t so busy winning 51 consecutive Tour de Frances, getting and recovering from ball cancer and then laying a pipe with Sheryl Crow you might know how far my furthest run was. That Lance Armstrong thinks the world before my Nike+ never existed.
Ha! No-one is reading my blog anymore so I am punishing the three people still bothering by writing the most boring 300 words ever committed to a ‘blog’.