I may have mentioned before that I’m doing a marathon on Monday. O. M. Effin G. Like.
I have a plan. For every one of the twenty-six miles (“Did you say twenty six, Connor?” “Why yes, yes I did!”) Any way, for every one of the twenty-six miles, I’m going to pick one of the things I hate about “Old Connor” (the 1981 model). I’m going to pick one of the things I want to leave behind and say goodbye, one at a time, one per mile.
It’s all very Oprah-ish, very self-helpy and very, dare I say, “American”. But I don’t care. Oprah is a goddess, I need to help myself and America gave us both High School Musical and Gossip Girl, so not everything American is bad.
Here’s the list:
Mile 1: Goodbye to morning indigestion.
Mile 2: Goodbye to finding new stretch marks.
Mile 3: Goodbye to layers of nicotine phlegm.
Mile 4: Goodbye to constant tiredness.
Mile 5: Goodbye to underwear-related bruising.
Mile 6: Goodbye to shopping in horrible fat-people shops.
Mile 7: Goodbye to breaking furniture (my record was three chairs in one month).
Mile 8: Goodbye to wasting €40 a day on cigarettes and crap food.
Mile 9: Goodbye to not fitting in aeroplane, train, bus, cinema and theatre seats.
Mile 10: Goodbye to stinkiness.
Mile 11: Goodbye to panting from tying my shoelaces.
Mile 12: Goodbye to excessive flatulence.
Mile 13: Goodbye to bad skin and teeth.
Mile 14: Goodbye to my ginger beard, hello to facial definition.
Mile 15: Goodbye to thunderous snoring.
Mile 16: Goodbye to sweat and friction burns.
Mile 17: Goodbye to being called “big fella” (infinitely worse that “grotesquely obese fatty”)
Mile 18: Goodbye to sleeping in.
Mile 19: Goodbye to spending suspiciously long periods of time in the toilet.
Mile 20: Goodbye to feminine curves, hello to manly chiselledness.
Mile 21: Goodbye to constant self-consciousness (No, Connor, those girls on the bus are not laughing at you).
Mile 22: Goodbye to the possibility of “buried penis syndrome”. It’s real! Google it! Or not!
Mile 23: Goodbye to not being able to get away with trendy haircuts or guyliner.
Mile 24: Goodbye to dying when I’m 59.
Mile 25: Goodbye to being terminally single.
Mile 26: Goodbye to sleeping in cars in Sligo.