F*ck This

Right. 
F*ck this.

F*ck that.

F*ck the lot.

Though it’s only a few days since this injury made itself known, I’ve been wallowing in utter pity. Been eating fatty foods, in huge quantities, been in a foul mood and wallowing in self pity.

So, you know what, f*ck that.

Whether it is a good idea or not, sheer pig-headed single-mindedness will get me to the Belfast marathon start line. And if it takes me six hours or six days, it’ll get me to the finish line too.

From this moment I’ll be eating like a legend, spending all of my time on my exercise bike, swinging kettlebells and hitting the gym.

No more moaning, sulking, comfort eating, cryarseing or more.

Fuck that. 

Belfast marathon, I’m coming for you.

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