What the London Marathon Means to Me.

Today was the London Marathon. A major sporting/cultural event in these parts. But for those of use not hanging out on the sidelines cheering on the runners or kicking it at a pub party along the route it was a major pain the nether-end. Allow me to explain. Less than a week ago I had a hernia operation. Currently I feel as if I have a severly battered and tender oversized meatball where my right testicle used to me. Walking any distance or sitting in one position for any great length of time causes major pain and discomfot. Well, today I decided to get out of the house and accompany my wife and daughter to the O2 (located inside the "Millenium Dome" on Greenwich Peninsula), about 5 miles from our house, to catch the 1 GBP kids matinees at the cinema there. Today was Megamind (which I recommend highly). We forgot to take into account that the marathon was starting at just the same time as we were heading out for the movies. What would have been a 15 minute drive turned into a 45 minute twisty-turny, around-and-around, mess. At first this was kind of a cute adventure through our hood. Then the pain set in. My left testie began to throb and groan more and more with every "Diversion" sign we passed. By the time we found our way to the Blackwall Tunnel, it felt as though one half of my family jewles were going to explode due to prolonged sitting in one uncomfortable position. I pictured one of those old Madballs toys chewing its way through my boxer shorts.

I was nearly in tears by the time Ellen dropped me off at the entrance to the Millenium Dome. Amelia and I shuffled our way into the dome and into a cinema seat. All the while it felt like an anchor was hanging from my manhood. Luckily the seat was comfortable and I was able to shift positions often enough to keep the throbbing Madball that had grown in my pants to a low roar of pain in the back of my mind.

On the way home, the only signs of the marathon along the usual, now open route home from the 02 were heaps of discarded water bottles, Union Jacks hanging from the pubs' windows and my pulsating tackle.

A severe pain in the nuts is what the London Marathon means and will always mean to me.