Money talks, but it don’t sing and dance and it don’t… run

An email into my inbox this morning from the Irish Cancer Society reminded me that we are now firmly in ‘mini-marathon’ season. I was instantly gripped by a bad case of ‘the frighteners’ as I realised that I was eating a packet of crisps for breakfast and had paused in the middle of reading Clint Eastwood’s Wikipedia* page in order to get my eyes around Gmail for a few minutes.

(*Did you know Clint has had seven children by at least five different women and has been known as a ‘serial womaniser’? Did you also know that one of my favourite pastimes is reading random Wikipedia pages? Celebrities, serial killers,  20th century wars and addictive substances are my favourite topics)

Anyway, I have indeed signed up for this year’s mini marathon in Dublin city on 4 June, and I have even sent away for my sponsorship pack from the Irish Cancer Society, but that, dear readers, is all I’ve done. And what with this being the week of the fourth anniversary of my darling dad’s death from cancer, I may as well admit to sponsors and potential sponsors that I will not be running across the finish line, being a smug bastard about some kind of personal best. Instead I will be wheezing across with the oldest of the old ladies, mortified about my red face and hoping I don’t see anyone I know.

But please, don’t let that put you off sponsoring me. I will be carrying out this ten kilometre feat after two nights at the Rory Gallagher Festival in Ballyshannon and one night at the Forbidden Fruit Festival in Dublin, and I will still be at the start line, all guns blazing. (I know, I know, I’m hardly saving the world or anything, but hey, it’s for charity. I’ve even sponsored myself)

This is me the last time I did the mini marathon after three days of solid partying in Ballyshannon. I drove from Donegal to Dublin like the wind and made it to the start line with minutes to spare. Can you detect how smug I am? Insufferably so.

This is me the last time I did the mini marathon after three days of solid partying in Ballyshannon. I drove from Donegal to Dublin like the wind and made it to the start line with minutes to spare. Can you detect how smug I am? Insufferably so.

I am disappointed in myself that I’ll be doing more walking than running on 4 June, especially after starting the Couch to 5K programme three times in the past few months, only to be beaten by the crippling self doubt that I will ever be one of those people who ‘goes for a run’. You know the ones? With the bouncy ponytails and the expensive looking leggings and the iPod strapped to their biceps? That will be me NEXT year. I promise.

Soon, this will be me

In case you’re wondering what my mini marathon playlist will consist of, wonder no more:

  • Pat Benatar: Hit Me With Your Best Shot
  • Robyn: Dancing On My Own
  • LCD Soundsystem: All My Friends
  • Azealia Banks: 212
  • Neil Diamond: Forever in Blue Jeans
  • Florence and the Machine: Shake it Out
  • Marillion: Kayleigh
  • Kelly Clarkson (SHUT UP I LOVE HER): What Doesn’t Kill You
  • The New Pornographers: Challengers
  • Paul Simon: Graceland

Please, Click here and give what you can To the Irish cancer society…

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