The hungover runs

OH how I wish I had the balls to write a whole blog post dedicated to those awful yet glorious moments spend on the toilet the morning after a skinful of gin and juice - but instead I will be focussing on the other type of 'hungover runs'. I also wish I could tell you all great tales about the magical hangover cure of RUNNING , and that all you need to do to clear your head is bound out the door with your trainers on and wait for the sins of the night before to melt away like that whole tub of Ben & Jerry's that you'd PREFER to be conquering. NO. That is all utter bollocks. Running with an almighty hangover is a terrible, terrible idea.

Let me explain...

When I first started running again, I was also (somehow) going out most Friday AND Saturday nights. I think I must've been living off of an odd cocktail of Echo Falls white zinfandel, plain scrambled eggs and a huge desire to lose some chub. This was a ridiculous way to live. I'd get out of bed at 1pm on a Sunday with a banging head and drag myself out for an 8 mile run. Firstly, I haven't ran more than 7 miles in about 18 months so god knows how or why I was doing that, and secondly it made me feel HORRENDOUS. I'd be back in bed by 6pm (after a cracking Sunday roast served up by Clare Jolliffe herself) and spend Monday completely zombified. Fantastic.

Last time I wrote this blog I had just finished the Bristol 10km. It was an amaaaazing run for me and meant I could fully reward myself - I had two weekends of heavy gin consumption planned and 100% deserved a little break. 

First up was Marbella for my friend Santa's hen do. Not only is she one of my oldest friends but also was there with me during school cross country's and any other type of athletics event. Santa has taken a more sensible approach to life and no longer gallops through muddy fields in her spare time, but EVEN SO I packed my running kit, just in case. 

Now Marbella for 3 nights with 14 girls is not for the alcohol-fearing women among us and I of course spent my time either absolutely bladdered out of my head or curled up in a hungover, sunburnt ball on my sun lounger. I considered running to the shops for supplies one day, then realised it was bloody hot, I was severely dehydrated anyway and WE WERE ON A BLOODY HEN DO. Going for a run would be bang out of order, so I got a taxi instead. 

Hungover runs done = 0. Times vomitted = 1 (but that was completely unrelated to running, lol).

My second weekend of celebrating was at Love Saves The Day festival in Bristol. This is always a highlight of my summer and I always go so overboard on the olllll' booze and ting. Being the sensible gal that I am these days, I got a long run done on the Saturday morning BEFORE el ginooooo started flowing and hoped to undo any of my upcoming sins in advance.

Two days of fun in the sun (lol) with my gal pals and main man Stormzy set me up nicely for a Bank Holiday Monday spent starfishing in bed and moaning at Ben all day - and not in a sexy way. The fact I spent over £100 purely on cans of gin and tonic in just 2 days should've been enough to keep me horizontal for at least 12 hours, but OH NO. My brain had other ideas, namely: 'you should go for a run and sweat out all this alcohol. Everyone says exercise is the best hangover cure'. UNTRUE. Here is what I thought about during my hungover run

• 'Well, this is highly uncomfortable.'
• 'I'm very, very out of breath...' 
• 'How long have I been running? OH. 1 minute and 37 seconds. Marvellous.'
• 'Why am I doing this?'
• 'My bowels feel very loose all of a sudden...'
• 'Why do I keep burping?'
• 'Ah, there's the gin'

• 'My mouth kind of tastes like that pizza I had for BREAKFAST.'
• 'Am I going to chunder? It feels like I'm going to chunder.'
• 'If I crouch by this billboard in the centre of Bristol maybe no one will see me shoving my fingers down my throat and bringing up the entire contents of my Love Saves The Day stomach...'
• 'OH NO I've been spotted. Has that man even been home since the festival? He looks dirty.'
• 'Move along, nothing to see here...'
• 'Great. Now I have sick on my top and 15 minutes until I'm going. Should probably try and jog.'
• 'HELL.'
• 'I'm never doing this again.'

Hungover runs done = 1. Times vomitted = 2 (and a half - there was a lot of spitting).

DON'T DO IT. YOUR BED NEEDS YOU.