HELP, SPONSOR ME, AND SAVE ME FROM MYSELF
Send help. Or sponsorship. Or both.
Yep, I’m mustering all the audacity I can and still aiming to have a bash at my first Hyrox next month — despite my training having well and truly fallen off a cliff.
If you fancy spurring on my impending doom, I’d love the extra encouragement (read: bribe) because right now, I’m questioning my life choices hard. If not, can we strike a deal? Will you promise to throw a few quid my way after I’ve crawled across that finish line in Glasgow?
You know it’s for an incredible cause, and Macmillan simply wouldn’t exist without kind souls like you sponsoring absolute twats like me who think they can take on these challenges.
Right, enough waffling — I’m off to research sports bras and track down a Macmillan running vest, because as much as I love the bra they sent me, it’s doing bugger all to keep the Disco Tits in check. And frankly, I could do without black eyes to go with my dodgy hip and questionable fitness levels…
