Delusions of a demented woman

One box of Milka marshmallows, as we call them, that's chocolate tea-cakes to everybody else, at least six bags of Tayto smoky bacon that I brought back from Ashbourne, probably six bags of Skips, six bags of Rancheros and by the end of it eight bags of Meanies, in other words a family box of crisps plus some. Two tubs of Ben and Jerry's ice-cream (Phish Food - forget MSG, I'm convinced there is something much more addictive in Phish Food), two large tubs at that, two Galaxy bars, a Galaxy ripple, a chocolate muffin, a chocolate pudding thing of some sort with three generous scoops of raspberry ripple ice-cream, and on Christmas day itself half of a decent sized Superquinn chocolate pudding, again with three generous scoops of ice-cream, that could possibly place itself at the top of my "most divine chocolate dessert ever" list. Thankfully not much booze, only a tumbler of Baileys and maybe two large bottles of West Coast Cooler.

Aha, therein lies part of the reason why my MEDIUM MENS Nike tracksuit bottoms are bet onto my thighs, so much so that they resemble skipants. Nonetheless all the sh1t above has to be run off so out I go in broad daylight dressed like that. I have a hoody on that covers my ar$e and in my deluded head I seem to think it also covers the thunder thighs.

Jees it is some sort of cruel and unusual torture choosing to punish myself with the four miles to the beach and back on my first day out A) since I ate all of the above and B) in my new Asics. The new Asics will be my saviour. I know they will. Those bad boys will call me each evening just begging me to take them out for a run.

On the way to the beach, my mind starts wandering as always when I'm plodding. I think it has to do that to distract itself from the pain travelling up and down my legs with each step. One side of the brain says to the other "distract the lazy beeyatch with anything you can. Use any and all available tools, otherwise she'll halt after five minues when she thinks she's literally dying from the dull thudding pain that's everywhere." So the auld brain kicks into action and comes up with this:

A silver fox drives by in a 03 Merc. I notice it has a palindromic number on the number plate. The guy must think he's auditioning for the Streets of San Francisco the way he takes the ramps. I hope he's flucked up his chassy. I figure he's going to one of the SIX local golf clubs, but there's no sign of his car at the first one I pass.

I could be a professional golf player. Don't know how much those women make but I could take them. I won a few trophies and a rather nice crystal clock playing pitch and putt in my day. Mind you that was mixed foursomes and Dad was telling me where to hit what and he can't be my caddy from the sky.

Jees, never mind my legs, I've got a huge poxy stitch under my left oxter. It's so bad that I seriously think that my left lung could deflate, and then what would I look like, an overweight woman jogging brazenly in skipants with her left breast after going in under her arm, like she's hiding a balloon in there, 'cos her left lung has deflated. How stupid would that look? How stupid would it look, is it even possible, you stupid sack of sh1t, keep going!

Ah would you look at these mofos with the horses, tell me they are not bringing them on the beach at this hour of the day, sure there'll be loads of kids down there in the freezing cold with hats, scarves, wellies and buckets and spades. Nah, they seem content to just stand around waiting.

Finally the beach at last. And the vista, Malahide and Howth Head to my right, Lambay is it, not too far to my left, and the hotel to my immediate left. Never mind all that, THE rock. Such a convenient location, just perfectly placed for me to recover for the way back and to have a song or two to relax and recuperate to. Jays if I stop here for too long I won't be able to get back up.

I don't know what I was thinking with the choice of songs. All that talk of pimps and hoes angered me enough to get me to the shagging beach but the choice for the way back was just plain thoughtless of me.

First off, "we get to carry each other, carry each other". I tell you what, at this point in time I'd probably do anything if someone offered to carry me anywhere never mind Bono. I didn't realise that jelly legs could carry so much weight without withering.

Ah would you look at that... typical. I'm doing well enough to actually entertain thoughts of jogging the two miles back home when this one comes running towards me in a t-shirt and those skimpy little running shorts with leggy legs that make MY jaw drop never mind the lads who are still messing around near their horse box. Are they ever going to take the blooming horses out? All I can think of is a prize mare, or you know whatever is going to win the Cheltenham Gold cup, striding out and some piebald pony plodding along after. I'm officially morto.

And then, great bass line to open up, nice drums, followed by "Ooooo, aaaaaa, ooooo, aaaaaa. I'm ready, I'm ready for the laughing gas. I'm ready for what's next." Bring on the laughing gas, I'll need it for what's next. I've one boob under my arm, one deflated lung, and one bandy leg that keeps clicking. If ever I needed the laughing gas...

"See the thorn twist in your side." Blah blah blah. "On a bed of nails she makes me wait." I actually am convinced that I'm running on a bed of nails. I'm giving it all and I don't think I have any more... without me then I guess.

Ah the Cornflake Girl. Now if I had only eaten cornflakes. If I had forsaken the Weetabix and toast, the rashers and the sausages, not to mention the fried mushrooms and the half bottle of ketchup, if I had just stuck with the cornflakes, I'd be the Cornflake Girl and four miles would not cause me to go half crazy.

Ah Mr. Petty, I'm sure you're free falling but I am literally close to crawling after the falling. And what kind of a good girl is this one he's harping on about anyhow? She puts her Momma, fair enough, Jesus, have to hedge your bets, but horses, America and Elvis all before her boyfriend? I don't know what's going on there... and her friends, there's no mention of her friends. A girl could go insane without her friends. Says a lot for where I am now. I'm not FREEEEEEE and I want to fall over and have the ground swallow me up before my cheeks get any ruddier. Have to stop and walk for two minutes as literally my legs are killing me. Something is gnawing at them from the inside.

Ah that's more like it. "I'll keep this world from dragging me down. No I won't back down. Hey baby, there's no easy way out. I'll stand my ground." Keep running for fluck sake. Do you think you'll ever get close to the C&C girls records for the mini marathon if you don't push yourself a bit? Not a bleeping chance. Btw, C&C aren't those cider-making dudes, they're the Cork and Cavan ladies. Sonia and Catherina.

"So take this wine and drink with me, let's delay this misery." Screw the wine, I'll take the West Coast Cooler, and lots of it, tonight, in front of the telly. "It ain't easy to say goodbye. Darling please, don't start to cry, 'cos girl you know I got to go." I know you do. I know the muffins have to go, the crisps have to go, the ice-cream has to go. All of it has to go. But sure I might have one last hurrah tonight, sure I've just run four fecking miles!