I was still pretty stiff from my Thursday morning personal training session, so wasn’t holding out much hope for a record time on the Park Run this morning. But I had underestimated just how much Me2 hates Me1. Me2 had steely determination to smash both his own and his main rival’s PBs and at one point started thinking he might actually be the first to smash the world record (I’d imagine) time of 25 minutes for 5km. I have to say even I think Me1’s showboating over the last couple of weeks has been a bit much. Me2 had to run on the impossible Woolacombe course, but Me1 still made out that this was somehow equatable with his flat Stevenage runs. Doesn’t he know Me2 at all? That kind of talk will just push him onwards further.
And the joke was on Me1, because the extra exercise that Me2 had got on those sandy hills clearly gave his legs a strength that Me1 could not equal. The darker side of me finished this race in just 25 minutes and 18 seconds, beating his own PB by over two minutes and taking a minute and a quarter off of what Me1 had managed.
I don’t know if I should be worried that genuine hatred fuelled this victory, but if it gets results then I don’t think I can complain. I’d hoped this might put me inside the top 100 for the first time, but I actually finished in 100th place, but with my age adjusted percentage score rising to a creditable 58%. I am pretty sure that at my fittest, 5 years ago I could have done 5k in about 22 minutes, so there’s still come competition to be had.
But does Me1 hate or pity Me2 enough to push himself hard enough to be the one who smashes his record? Or envy him his freedom?
Perhaps if I could harness this energy in my professional life, rather than in some sports I am not very good at, then I might be doing a lot better.
The rest of the day was pretty tough as a result of how much energy I had used up, although I only had the younger child to cope with all afternoon. To be fair, he’s the much harder one to look after. But I went to the supermarket with him and he was so well behaved in his seat in the trolley that I thought about just staying there for three or four hours. I almost lost the will to live when it came to getting him the car and he didn’t want to get strapped into his seat. Though knew that if I couldn’t get those straps secured then me and him would have to live in Waitrose car park for the rest of our lives. I was almost resigned to that on the third attempt. Every time he’d squeeze away and then climb into the front of the car so that he could play at driving. He said “nee ner, nee ner” instead of “rrum, rrrum” because he is a fucking idiot.
At one point I wondered if I should just let him drive home. Then at least it would be over.
But finally I managed to hold him down hard enough to get him safely in his seat and he cried like a baby all the way home. And I would have too if society had allowed it.
Incredibly I managed to stay awake until after 9pm, but then it was time for bed. I’d like to say Saturday nights are not what they used to be, but I spent a lot of them not going out in the past too.
Hopefully in the end a drive for fitness will make being a parent less tiring. But not yet.