One of those hateful running-home-from-work things

I go to work and by 9:53 my boss has started swearing at me for something REALLY TRIVIAL and by 10:00 he has apologised for swearing at me for something REALLY TRIVIAL but it’s pissed me off and the rest of the day doesn’t go much better and people are annoying and having their stupid inane grandmother meetings round my pod and I think can’t you go and have your inane conversations somewhere else? and I take my iPod for a walk at lunchtime and go round the block and get back marginally more chilled out and for once it’s quiet at lunchtime and people aren’t having their really loud inane conversations that they have at lunchtime when they feel they have the freedom to be really loud which I suppose they do really but it’s still fucking annoying and the only light relief comes later when I find out that four more people are leaving which means that ten people have now defected to another firm and I find that really funny and I wonder if they’ll give me a job as it must be good over there and I go to do my running-home-from-work-thing and my boss comes over and says are you running home? and I say yes and he says that’s keen and I think aaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhh I hate the word keen and why do people insist on using that stupid word but I can’t think of another word except for eager but that’s just as bad and running home isn’t keen, it’s called training except in my case it would be better off being called taking-the-long-way-home-when-it-would-be-much-easier-and-quicker-to-get-on-the-train-instead-although-there-are-people-on-the-train-and-I’m-not-being-much-of-a-people-person-today and I go to run home and I have to walk almost to Angel before my Garmin decides to get a signal but at least then I don’t have to run up the hill and all the way down Essex Road are women with their stupid babies in their stupid buggies getting in my way and I’m thinking are babies in buggies the new cyclists? and I get to the end of Essex Road where it joins Balls Pond Road and a cyclist goes through the red light and I give him a dirty look and he sees me give him a dirty look so I complete the I’m-a-miserable-cow effect by calling him a wanker but it has no discernible effect so I carry on doing my running thing and I’m trying to go through the puddles to cool down my feet which are burning as I think I need new trainers and I had a record three black toenails the other day but the puddles aren’t deep enough to go over the top of my trainers and I get to Murder Mile and there’s a cyclist on the pavement but I keep it zipped due to Murder Mile being called Murder Mile for obvious reasons although I’m not entirely sure the reasons are to do with cantankerous female joggers being murdered due to swearing at cyclists but I keep schtum to be on the safe side and it’s getting dark and I think I can’t go through the path I’m too scared and I’ll have to go past Somerfield but I do need some cat food but can I go to Somerfield without buying wine too? and I think no, I can’t, in fact I think it might be illegal so I go to Somerfield and buy wine and fuck, it’s nice.  Yah.

Commutation ticket

I slacked last week.  I slacked and slacked and slacked and then I slacked some more.  In fact I slacked so much I even decided not to do my usual long(ish) Saturday run, preferring instead to lie in and then dye my hair and make a necklace.

So this week I decided to unslack myself and do my running-home-from-work-thing which I can no longer call a running commute.  Because it isn’t one.  Trivia time, feel free to skip this bit:  A commutation ticket was the American name for a season ticket.  The word “commuter” replaced “season ticket holder” in the 1950s and by 1960, it was so popular that it was confusingly used to cover anyone travelling to and from work.  (Thank you “Queuing for Beginners” by Joe Moran for this information).  So, because I’m such a pedant, I can no longer call it a running commute.  Just as well a running-home-from-work-thing is just as catchy.

Still, off I go on my running-home-from-work-thing and I decide to walk until my Garmin gets a signal which is just as I get to the only hill in Central London; who thought it was a good idea to put a hill in Farringdon?  And I run up the hill and get round the corner and my knees are stiff and I think uh oh, this is going to be difficult, maybe I should have gone out for a walk at lunchtime instead of reading about the history of the desk and queuing and I get to Angel which is as usual full of people annoying me by trying to give me a free newspaper or leaflets about Salsa lessons or whatever it was the people in yellow were trying to give me or idiots not looking where they’re going because they’re texting or lighting cigarettes and I wonder how many more times I’m going to call someone a prick on my way home and I think it’s probably a habit I should get out of before I get to Hackney because that could have some serious repercussions and as I’m going down Essex Road there’s a man in front of me reading the paper and I can see the headline and it says CYCLISTS V LORRIES: DEBATE or something like that and I think what about PEDESTRIANS V CYCLISTS?  Are we supposed to be feeling sorry for cyclists? and I think I would have more sympathy for the squished cyclists if they stopped trying to squish pedestrians and I manage to make it to the end of Essex Road without walking and I’m wondering if I can make it to the end of Balls Pond Road and way hey I do and I think uh oh, round the corner is where I always always always want to – and usually do – stop.  But I carry on round the where I usually stop bit and go past the smelly shop and over the zebra and then Haircut 100 comes on and I think shit, will I have to admit to that on my blog? and I get past Hackney Downs station and I still haven’t stopped to walk and then I get to the steep bit and I think uh oh, it’s a steep bit then I think it’s just psychological, I can walk up hills really slowly climb up mountains, just get on with it and I do just get on with it and then I get to the flat bit and I think almost at Murder Mile, not far to go now and just as I’m approaching Murder Mile a man is smiling at me and saying something but I can’t hear what he’s saying and although he looks friendly enough I’d really rather people didn’t approach me on Murder Mile and then I’m going down the road that has half of the pavement as a cycle lane and a cyclist comes from behind and I watch him to make sure he doesn’t veer off over the white line and onto the people bit of pavement but he doesn’t and then I’m going up the path and before I get there a cyclist goes in and I think wait for me,  you can save me from any psychopaths but he’s too quick and has gone and I wonder if there’s anyone working in the factories and how loud can I scream and I think probably not very loud if I get a knife stuck in my throat, I’d probably just gurgle a bit and I wonder how loud I can gurgle and then I think I shouldn’t be thinking things like that and stop being paranoid anyway and then as I’m going round the corner someone comes up from behind me and I jump but it’s only a cyclist and I don’t have to practice my gurgling skills and then I’m home and I’ve run the whole way home without walking for the first time in about a year.  Yay.


Distance: 6.18 miles
Time: 1:12:28
Pace: 11:44
Calories: 610
Black Kids
Haircut 100
Dexys Midnight Runners
Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster
Ian Brown
Panic At The Disco
The Police