Slipping out of the back of my twenties and into my early thirties is being marked with an increasing participation in events designed to measure the performance of my body: half marathons, 10km runs, pizza eating races. Some friends charitably ascribe it to a decreased fear of looking an idiot in front of others, I reckon it's more likely an attempt to prove that I may be older and saggier, but I still *got it*.
Whatever. This year's primary event is the ridiculously gruelling Trailwalker. 100km, 30 hours, no sleep, walk or run. Boo's done it twice, Baz has done it once, I swore I never would, but now, for reasons probably little removed from raw machismo, I'm lining up with them on July 17th.
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