This is why I run

When I mention to some people that I am in training to run the London Marathon 2012, they often ask, 'why the hell would you want to do that?'. On the face of it, it's a fair question as for somebody of my athletic ability running a full length marathon takes in excess of five hours on the day and about six to 12 months training. On top of working full time, trying to organise a wedding and thinking impossible dreams like buying a house.
But every now and then there are some big obvious reminders as to why I am looking to spend my winter evenings plodding round Bristol on the training treadmill towards April 2012 for my Olympic year marathon.
Anyway, we were just on a holiday and I had to take the chance to get a picture outside Rye's favourite teashop, see pic below:

I thought it might serve as a timely reminder of what being called Simon and eating all the pies really does to a man. Which is why since returning from our Kent sojourn I have been running three times, including a three miler yesterday and lost five pounds, a good couple of pies in my book.

So, I'm posting this picture today to serve as a reminder, if any is needed, as to exactly why I need to run, and, more importantly, stop eating pies. Nothing too deep or philosophical about it, no need to strive to find inner-peace, or to reach a point of zen tranquility to immerse myself in complete understanding of humanity, more like wanting to fit into a pair of jeans that I last wore in March 2010 which cost £40 and that's a lot of bloody money in this day and age to be stuffed at the back of a wardrobe devoid of any practical use. Come to think of it, an entire rack of shirts is hanging like a row of Lib Dem principles in my cupboard, utterly forgotten and unlikely to see the light of day for a while to come.
So instead of spending what hard-earned money I have left after the monthly outgoings on clothes that get a couple of days out before somehow shrinking beyond all wearability, I am, to paraphrase RUN DMC, going to take Take The Fat Back, mother lover. And that means running, lots, and for long distances. Or until I collapse.