The perks of training for the Marathon des Sables
We have been wondering what are the perks of running 60 miles a week - apart, of course, from suddenly becoming God’s Gift to Women.
One of the more noticeable perks is that I can now guzzle down whatever I want - second helpings? Yes please! - and I can also drink bottle after bottle of Barolo, and yet still the weight drops off me. I reckon I am seriously weighing what I used to weigh 20 years ago; if only I’d kept all my ultra-cool drain-pipes.
So, it has been quite a fillip this New Year to see that most of my friends (Charlie Ottley please note) have turned themselves into the most obscene porkers, with bellies that bulge over too tight trousers, while meanwhile… well basically I guess I look like I’ve got a tapeworm.
“Any other perks to all this stinking exercise that we’re doing?” I asked the Doogie. We were on a light seven-miler round Arthur’s Seat and the Innocent Railway.
“Well I’ve got a six-pack!” he said.
“You’ve got a six-pack?” I. Was. Incredulous. “You’re joking!”
“No mate - it’s a real six-pack.”
“Well let’s have a look then.”
“No - I haven’t got it now. Takes about half-an-hour working on my abs in the gym - and THEN I’ve got a six-pack.”
“Really?”
“I like to look at myself in the mirror. I like to touch myself -”
“Okay, okay! Too much information, Doogie! Any other perks of this training?”
“Ummm,” he said. “Well, I don’t sweat so much. The ladies… when they see me in the gym… they’re checking me out.”
“It must be a very low-grade gym that you’re a member of.”
The Doogie ran his fingers through his hair. He does that sometimes when we run - especially when there’s a woman coming in the opposite direction. “Hello lady!” he called to the twenty-something woman who was out jogging with some guy.
“Hello lady?” I said. “Have you gone mad?”
“I thought it was two women!” he said. “I was going to say, “Hello ladies!” and then I saw that it was just the one, so I had to say, “Hello lady!”
“You sound like a Thai escort girl.”
“Oh I know!” said Doogie. “I like wearing all these skin-tight clothes. The lycra shorts. I like them! Sometimes at night…”
“I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!”
“And people they just… they just look at me differently now. Once I tell the ladies that I’m running the toughest foot race on earth this April, they just -”
“Turn to putty in your hands.”
“Sort of - I mean Ginny doesn’t like it, but you know, I think it’s all these endorphines and pheromones that I’m chugging out -”
“You’re like a dog on heat!”
“That’s right!” he says. Happily. “I AM like a dog on heat. My sex drive’s gone through the roof!”
“And it was already pretty high to start off with.”
“Who told you that?”
“Anyway - I’ll bet Ginny’s really pleased.”
“She is! At least she says she is!”