The Grimness Factor

As I write this, my pal Sian is in hour seven of a faintly ridiculous endurance ultra-marathon called, with what could be described as a fair degree of prescience, The Grim Reaper. She's running a hundred miles, through mud and crap. Because she can.

To me, this feels instinctively like the kind of thing for which 'because I can' is not really sufficient justification. 'Because I have to,' yes. But to do this for some sense of satisfaction - no. There are far too many books to read, frankly. Still - my hope is that she makes it through without actually dying. One of the last things she did last night before grabbing a few hours of sleep was to berate me that I hadn't written a blog entry in quite some time, and she's right of course. Two reasons - ridiculous busyness and little to say. Weighed in on Tuesday at 18st 2, which was actually down on the week before, but not by any particularly great amount. Miss the vague sense of triumph of being in the 17s, that's to be sure, and every now and again, it hits me that I'm only 4 stone away (56 pounds, Americans) from what I was at my lightest in this Disappearing Odyssey. Not even that, in fact - if I got to 14st 2, I'd be five pounds lighter than that lightest.

All told, that really doesn't seem like it should be too hard. I certainly need to redouble my efforts though, refocus my discipline, get back in the groove. Still technically have the blister that stopped me doing the walking that worked well to push me down the Stone ladder, though have rather taken to creamy Starbucks drinks again, the elimination of which could also only help my cause.

I guess the point is if you said to me - Lose four stone or run a hundred miles, I'd choose to lose four stone, because although it's a bit of a bastard, it's a liveable bastard, whereas running a hundred miles would by contrast be a dieable bastard - fairly convinced my body would give out if I asked it to run for an hour, let alone for a hundred miles.

Am starting to walk again Sunday - there. A decision. Hallelujah. Another line in another piece of sand. The blister's still there, but it's by no means interfering or painful any more. Time to get back into my boots and push the hell on.

UPDATE: Wrote this while Sian's run was ongoing. She finished in just under 25 hours. 100 miles. In fact she was the ninth person to finish, and the 'First Lady' - in fact, the only woman to complete the gruelling bastard. How inspiring, and yet and at the same time, how mad-as-fuck is that?