It stands for taking care of you. For cleaning up your own shit, in your bedroom, and in your life.
I have found myself falling down the very dark, Love-Island-Instagram-Why-Is-Everyone-So-Beautiful-And-I-Look-Like-Rab-C-Nesbitt hole
That late twenties gap
Our backs ache. From the typing mainly, and the hunching over our phone
We make new friends every week in the smoking area of some hell hole dressed up like an All Bar One. And then one day we wake up, and something has changed.
So, I know I've been quiet on here of late. And the original plan to document my journey from lounger to 26.2 miles went out of the window. Not because the words weren't there. Far from it. There were lots of words and most them ended in '-ucking'. But the last few weeks have been… Continue reading I did it, I ran the bloody marathon
As I sit here eating yet another bowl of whole grains and greenery through choice, and with just three weeks to go before I embark on the biggest physical challenge I've ever endured (well minus that St Patrick's weekend in Cork - that really did put my body through a lot), I've had the time… Continue reading Running : a poor (wo)man’s therapy