At school my latin teacher once told us that the latin for “tomorrow” sounds a bit like the noise a crow makes. I can’t remember the latin for tomorrow, so who knows if that’s true, but if it is those Romans must’ve found crows pretty creepy.
I’m on a bus to London so that tomorrow I can run/walk 26.2 miles around it. It would’ve been nice (not “nice”, but you know, better) to run it all, but I just didn’t do enough training. There we go. There’s always next year (there isn’t).
I’m pretty nervous. What if I injure myself forever? What if I poo myself in front of all those spectators (I have read of too many instances of marathon runners doing this and am now mildly obsessed with avoiding it at all costs), what if there aren’t enough jelly babies? Hmm? What if?
Although I’m really nervous and stressed and stuff, I think I have to stay in this state until it’s all over else there’s a real risk that I’ll realise that it doesn’t really matter and no one really cares… And if I realise that, then why the hell am I bothering?
That’s right. I’m having an existential crisis on a megabus. It’s probably quite common.