Get drunk and run

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Yesterday we visited London once again. Popped by some attractions that probably are included in every typical tourist’s to-see list. Somehow we stumbled upon the Tate museum and therefore strolled past some paintings and other weird looking art. Seems like I’m not a big fan of art after all. Most of the renowned works just evoke no emotions whatsoever. Nothing, just emptiness. Majestic cliffs or other wonders seen in the nature have much greater impact. To think about it, seeing videos of cats always does the trick to make some chords inside me vibrate, especially the vocal chords that go ‘Awww!’.

London Eye, high up in the sky. Amazingly, I discovered that there’s quite a lot of trees in the city. But some local (London) Estonians say that Tallinn still has more. 1:0 for Estonia then. Took photos, lots of them and was happy that the bustling school group didn’t end up in the same capsule with us. Before entering I managed to make a fool out of myself telling the security that I didn’t have any alcohol in my bag, hoping that I would go undiscovered. Probably they took me for a stupid foreigner who didn’t understand at first. Anyway, I had to give my two ciders away and Karl Vana Tallinn and beer went the same direction. Got them back later though. I wasn’t going to get drunk high above London, they were for later. Or, actually, as I didn’t buy any normal thirst-quenching non-alcoholic drink, we had beer and cider with our meals of tortillas, sponge cake and protein flap jacks. Why all the alcohol, especially if coming from me? Well, it was Karl’s birthday.

A long walk and some eventful sights later, we arrived at the London Dungeon to get scared and spend horrible time (this is how they advertise themselves). This time we gave our bottles away with smiles on our faces. The security guard got a good laugh. ‘It’s a bar!’ and told us not to get naughty in London later. The dungeon. Well, I screamed a couple of times. When a pale-looking actor approached me in the dark. When we were in the Sweeney Todd room in the dark and something touched my hair. When the final attraction sent our sinful souls free falling from the ceiling (attached to chairs, of course). 

The most interesting phenomenon wasn’t other Estonians, who live in London, getting lost on their way to us in St. James park but our exit. By the time of our bus, I was fuelled with cider and Vana Tallinn liquer and my stride wasn’t totally straight anymore. 19 minutes is not enough for a relaxed walk to the bus station. Not really. So, we did what we also did when we had to catch a train to Tallinn in order not to miss the plane to Serbia. We ran. This time without a heavy suitcase, fortunately. But with sore soles and tired muscles. I think this was the best speed training I’ve had in a long time. 1.7 kilometres. Not much really. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or some magical component, but I felt like flying. Although my lower back had been hurting for a while and lifting one foot before another seemed like an awful task just a few hours ago, I did feel like I could run a marathon. I wasn’t even gasping, just running and running and, oh, then we were there. I think I almost killed Karl with this tempo. Got back to him for all these interval trainings where he’s way faster than me. In a long run, this would be probably a suicide. Alcohol and sport? Hello, dehydration. I’ve also heard true stories from my running friends who claim that running when drunk is bad for your heart. One of such friends, who is a very fast one and has won races, once bragged that he could run and did so while intoxicated. He ended up in the hospital. No wonder, he must have pushed himself really hard. Another story is about swimming a day after a party. Wouldn’t like my heart to skip a few beats if I was competing in a swimming contest and across the lake where no one else is around. So, alcohol and sport, not such a great idea. But still, I was flying! Alcohol killed the soreness (really stupid shoes that are not for walking 10 kilometres) and gave me wings. Interesting.

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