A car key, the Warden and me

I love my bed so much it hurts. I’m lying in bed now slowly rotating my ankles which are pleasantly sore after a run and it feels wonderful. I’d be OK with never getting up again.

Running is going well. On Sunday, I went for a run in the Phoenix Park. I was about 48 minutes late to pick my friend up to go out there, and I can’t imagine he was feeling the Connorlove. Anyway, it was dark as we ran around the park. We both had our iPhones to time our intervals. At some stage, after we’d been running for about 15 minutes, I put my phone back in my pocket. I couldn’t feel my car key in there. I checked the other pocket. No key there either.

I remembered locking the car, so I’d either left the key in the car door or it had fallen out of my pocket at some stage. My pockets are tiny mesh things. I’m too big for normal running gear so I run in giant swimming togs with rubbish pockets.

We went back to the car. Along the way, I mistook another car for mine, even though it was parked facing the opposite direction from mine and was a different make and model from mine. It was, however, a silvery colour, making it easily confusable with the car I’ve been driving for over three years. It took so long to get back to the car that I was convinced it had been stolen. It hadn’t. It was sitting where we’d left it, key nowhere to be found. My friend considered breaking into it. I was broadly against this idea. The key had to be out there somewhere.

We started retracing our steps, now using our phones both as timing devices for the run (that’s right – throughout this crisis we kept on running, completing week one of Couch-to-5K in the process) and as torches, shining them on the ground hoping against hope that we’d see the key.

We bobbed along keeping to roughly the same path we’d run earlier, shining our phones on all sides, occasionally stopping to examine a shiny stone that might be a key. As we did so, my friend commented that this was like something that would happen in my blog. I responded that it was actually like something that would happen in my life.

Eventually, miracle of miracles, I found the key. My friend jumped for joy. I think he might be one of those people lucky enough not to believe that there will always be a happy ending. Unlike me.

I ran again today. And I’m going boxing tomorrow. Exercise is going very well.

I wish I could say the same for eating. I didn’t go to WeightWatchers yesterday. I was working. Not that I made any great effort to get to an alternative meeting. I must regain control. I’ve been eating so badly that my digestive system is cracking under the pressure. I will overcome!

As well as missing WeightWatchers for work, I was on a tight schedule for getting home, for last night was our disciplinary meeting with the “Warden”.

I jumped in a taxi to make it on time. Unfortunately, he hadn’t a clue where he was going and he rolled down his window at two different traffic lights to ask other taxi drivers for directions.

Eventually, I got here. I paid the driver thirteen of my euros and ran to the Warden’s Office, barely five minutes late. The meeting was over. The Warden, a man wizened before his time, told me that the “other boys” would fill me in.

I was deflated. I was annoyed that I’d paid €13 for a taxi and organised cover at work for nothing. I was also disappointed because I’d spent over ten days building the disciplinary meeting up in my mind. I had envisaged a courtroom-drama-type scene; I had imagined myself in the role of the great saviour, not allowing the Warden to trample on the rights and reputations of “my boys”, possibly holding one of them back from punching the Warden in the process. I’d hoped for tears, rash accusations and promises of good behaviour.

I found the boys in the kitchen, which looked incredibly clean, and they all looked clean-shaven and well-dressed too. What a load of bother we’d all gone to. Apparently, we make too much noise at night. No punishments were levied…this time. And I still haven’t had any response to my application to be an Assistant Warden. Somehow, I sense there is some kind of future for the Warden and me.

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2 Responses to A car key, the Warden and me

  1. Pingback: The Priests’ Party | Project Connor

  2. Pingback: Why I am 98% adrenaline today | Project Connor

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