Hubby and I were chatting about tattoos the other night. Neither of us has one ( although I accidentally started a rumour in theatres once that I have ‘love’ and ‘hate’ tattooed around my nipples) and I don’t want one.
I did say however , that in the very unlikely event of me ever completing a full ironman ( I can’t swim front crawl or ride a bike), that I would then get the tattoo, on my bum, where no one could see it. Knowing that it was there would be enough for me. Well no one would see it until I was old and frail and in a nursing home. Then someone would roll me over one day to wipe my bottom and they’d see it and say ‘wow! She was an ironman once’ and they’d remember that all the dotty old ladies were young and lively once and treat them with respect.
As I’m unlikely to ever do an ironman it might be more pertinent to have a cupcake tattoo instead!
It was a lovely morning, sunny but with a slight breeze off the river. A third of the route runs down a tree lined avenue which is nice and shady ( see picture). Despite that it felt like a struggle, my hands and face were dripping with sweat ( nice details huh?). Psychologically I struggled too, as I saw a couple of people who normally finish behind me running off ahead and I couldn’t catch them. I wanted to try for a PB but it wasn’t happening, I felt so disheartened in the third lap that I almost cried when I thought that I’d hit 36 minutes. Silly I know but I’ve been feeling a bit sorry for myself and it would have cheered me up to get a PB. Anyway I had things to do so I went straight home rather than staying for a drink. I stepped on the scales before getting I to the shower and was surprised to find that I was 2lb lighter than this morning! Dehydration! A litre of water would weigh 2.2lb and it’s entirely likely that I sweated that much!
when all is said and done my time came out at 35:54, not a PB but it was under 36 mins so I can’t complain. All that fuss over nothing!