One man’s quest to run 175 miles non-stop from London home to Stoke-on-Trent to see his mother at Christmas. It began with an epic quest of brotherly love to run 100 miles from New York to the Rocky Steps in Philadelphia. Now, Simon’s Rocky Road is coming home for Christmas... FIND OUT WHY - GOTO: www.justgiving.com/simonsrockyroad
I'm sitting on my fat, white, goddamn ass feelin' all super depressed'n'beat'uptryin' to digest the diagnosis I just received from the X-rays and MRI scan I did on my right foot/ankle last Friday before I gonna regurgitate it ALL right back up onto you via my next blog post.
What's pulling me thru these sticky vile minutes, as I'm sittin' here morbidly mulling over my muddled mess, nay my entire life, is some meaningful messages that my brother - MARATHON MIKE FOWLER - has been sending me over the last couple of murky months.........
Check 'em out.
An' if they inspire YOU as much as they been inspiring ME all this time then, please my brothers & sisters, share this blog around amongst your goddamn billy-goat buddies and share some Brotherly Love. 'Cos these two brothers, Mike'n'Simon are doing our best to raise some serious money for charity.
Those funny folks who followed the fable about a fat man (me) from Stoke who ran 100 miles from New York to The Rocky Steps Philadelphia (dressed in Rocky Balboa shorts) earlier this year will be familiar with how this new chapter of Simon's Rocky Road is unraveling.
I'm smiling about the goddamn similarities between the 100 miles from New York to Philly in April, and the 175 miles from London to Stoke in December. If I'm not smiling now I'd be cryin' n drownin' me sorrows in booze.
Last time for the NY-Philly run, we had a family inspired dream. We got it again this time for the London-Stoke run.
NY-Philly, we had a tale of brotherly love, and we got it again this time.
NY-Philly, we had marathons and half-marathons in Paris, New York and Milan during Fashion Weeks as training preparation. We got it again for London-Stoke.
We had a fat dude doing too much too soon and busting up all the tendons in his feet, unable to run just weeks before the big event. Got it again.
Beeturia. We had it last time. We got it again this time. Berk. Got it.
Super Juicy Berry (click HERE to read about SUPER JUICY BERRY), we had her him smashing his big strong hands , powerful strokes deep into my flesh, massaging all my sensitive areas. And we got her him again this time. Got it.
Vegan plant based diet last time. Got it again this time. Got it.
Problems n delays confirming all the crew, vehicles and route last time. This time... Got it again. GOT IT.
And then, finally, f*ck me, last time remember I had a goddamn bust up tyre on my car? You'll never guess what's happened today. Yep, another goddamn bust up tyre on my car! GOT IT!!
I couldn't believe it.
SHIT OUTTA LUCK.
I've had a crazy week,working like a madman in the 9-5 (which is more like minimum 8-8 at the moment); first the operating system on my computer in the office totally shuts down yesterday, leaving me with only blackberry to work. Then, two hours later, the battery on my blackberry completely dies and needs replacing. Then today, after 2 hour bike/squats/lunges, knackered, and I'm mentally preparing myself for a 2hr x 5km swim my goddamn car gets a bust tyre on the way to the swimming pool!!!!!
When it rains it dunna half pour duck!!
The worst thing is: my right foot/ankle is still not healing. I still cannot run. I had a terrible horrific painful massage on it on Thursday night with SUPER JUICY BERRY. She he killed me she he really did. Friday when I woke up I had a foot like a Hobbit, all big n swollen n bruised. So I bit the goddamn bullet and made an emergency appointment, desperate to get a goddamn Xray and MRI scan to discover exactly what is wrong with it and determine if I'll be able to finally run or if I'll need to call the whole thing off.
It was scary to be alone in the hospital, in a foreign country, and then see all the machinery like the big ol' MRI machine. I felt about 9 years old again. They wrapped me up and told me not to move for 20 mins while you go into this big ol' Star Trek like machine with massive chunkin' n churnin' noises goin' on around you. For me, it reminded me of me lovely ol' man, and all those times I took him to get radiotheraphy when that goddamn tumour was takin' him. So, I just lay there thinkin' about me Dad and cried to myself while all this was goin' around me yesterday inside that MRI machine, chunkin' n churnin' away like a big ol' Star Trek contraption for 20 minutes.
I'd pulled myself together by the time it had finished, and then the dude that wrapped me up to make me comfortable to enter the MRI machine told me that his name was Perazzolo, from Padova, and he thought it a crazy co-incidence because he could see from the paperwork that it was a "Perazzolo" who referred me to the hospital. Grazie to my colleague and friend, Daniele Perazzolo for finding me this hospital at such short notice.