Slippery Slope

I do like to disparage those unfortunates who write about their running escapades on social media, as if their exercise tips, apps, times, routes or injuries mean anything to anyone.  HAVING SAID THAT, this is my blog party and I'll write what I want to, so today's captivating theme is my running shenanigans.

Much like your common mountain goat, I routinely run up a mountain track which, when the skies open up and douse me with haytchtwo-oh, is extremely capable of maiming or causing me enormous amounts of death, or at the very least ruining my enjoyment of each day I continue to do it.

And I feel that it needs to be written about in blogoform in the blogosphere so in centuries to come the denizens of Canberra will know about Asics running shoes and how completely fucking shite they were when it came to slippery, sloppy mountain deathtraps.  I may as well wear skis covered in margarine on my feet for all the benefits they provide in the rain and mud.

I write of this as I had a major stack on my butt on the deathtrap's trapdoor the other day.  The slope approaching my rocky mountain high likes to lure one into a false sense of security with its lush grass and seemingly low gradient, then pulls the mud out from under you.  Nothing is as it seems. 

Unless you stopped for a second and said to yourself, "ooh, that doesn't look as it seems.  That looks a tad treacherous.  Best to not venture that way today". Insight.  Sometimes helps to have some.

Following my somewhat graceless slide, I almost immediately regretted it. Mainly because I looked like I'd just survived a mining disaster and I needed to pick up milk on the way home. I've now noted this is a perfectly safe approach to the mountain on the proviso that you don't go anywhere near it when it has liquid on it. 

Speaking of articles for the foot, it has been raining pigs and horses lately - a shitload, in layman's terms - so I've purchased a stylish pair of gumboots because I'm tired of walking to work in cute but cheap flats that are made of Bangladeshi cardboard that disintegrate in water. Or sometimes they just disintegrate in thin air.

And speaking of 'air', and amazingly accurate segues, when you Google 'air' you don't get the atmosphere first.  No.  That's just silly.  No-one wants to know about 'air' when they type 'air' into The Google.  Want they really want to know about is 'Air', a presumably noisy and annoying French band that is named after the somewhat important atmospheric substance.  

Future generations won't know what the hell they are breathing in and out all damn day but they will know the name of some mediocre French indi band who were somehow noteworthy between April and May 2014.