Another of my group of close friends has fallen. Actually, that’s not yet true, although he began the slide a long time a go when we shared a flat in Glasgow – a dark descent, which shall end in April when he gets married. As well as meaning that I shall have to buy a new hat for the wedding, it also involves something called a ‘stag weekend’.
From what I’ve been led to believe, ‘stag weekends’ are supposed to involve flying to Prague or Tallinn for lots of cheap beer and/or women and quite possibly some time in a foreign jail. Is that true? I don’t know – I’ve never been on a stag weekend before – not (just) because I have no friends, but because I’ve tended to go to Polterabend rather than stag nights.
Anyway. My friend won’t be having an ‘easyStag’ somewhere in Eastern Europe – not when the guy organising it is the kind of person who runs across the Sahara for a laugh – no, according to the invitation, we’ll be having a ‘weekend of competitive fun’ at a ‘training facility north of Pitlochry’. Apart from a half-marathon, I don’t know what else is involved, except that I’ve been asked if my mountain leadership, lifeguard and canoe instructor certificates are still up to date.
And I’ve seen the list of people who are going. They’re all don’t-give-an-inch, ultra-competitive types. Thankfully, I’m not like that – I just want to beat them. Which will involve training. Lots and lots of varied training. Yesterday I went running. Today I’ve done weights. Tomorrow, cycling to the swimming pool for a, well, swim. Thursday, running again. Friday, cross training and on Saturday, drinking.
I’ve got nine weeks to regain the form I had at university and we last all trained together. The running shouldn’t be a problem, but I currently fall over after three pints.
Song playing as this was published: Grant Lee Buffalo - “America Snoring”
