There is something about a Saturday lunchtime sesh that makes it the London Marathon of the drinking world. You have to set off at a good pace and maintain it right to the end. Slacken off and before you know it you’re curled up at the side of the road in an exhausted slumber, too fast a pace and you’re running along with a yellow vapour trail and legs covered in a cross between baby cack and velcro which sticks to your legs until you’ve worn every last inch of skin away.
Like every other marathon you have to ensure you take on plenty of liquid but don’t overdo it, purists, that is those beer athletes who have reached the pinnacle of the marathon elite will tell you there is nothing worse that the feel of now-warmed lager swilling around at the top of your tube and threatening to spill over into a technicolour yawn of truly niagaran proportions.
The Saturday lunchtime marathon is also a highly mobile affair; moving from pub to pub. Walk in, order beer, consume, move on. This is a discipline only for the truly dedicated beerista, there must be no distractions, no sideshows. No friendly games of darts, crib or pool. Yes, take a few seconds to bury your eyes in the barmaid’s cleavage. Yes, tell your mates you could’ve shagged her but don’t let her presence distract you from the reason for participating in this noble sport. Certainly in the latter stages of the marathon and before you’ve hit the wall then take a brief few seconds to tell her she’s fcuking gorgeous and if she’s lucky she’ll get to shag you later (a word of warning here – make sure you don’t try this in a NAAFI – the ugly biatch’ll be waiting at the camp gates for you.
Every beer marathoner knows the phenomenon known as the wall. The wall is that moment, as all athletes will tell you, when your legs turn to jelly and focus and concentration become more and more difficult. One second you’re merrily supping your 1664 with a jaunty air (remembering to flex your bicep as you lift the glass so that the barmaid gets the full-on glory of your expertly honed body) the next your charming smile starts high on the left and ends low on the right were a trickle of dribble is steadily making it way, via your chin onto your ‘I’m with this idiot’ T-Shirt. Experts will tell you there is nothing for it but to plod on through the pint barrier, keep steadily glugging ‘til you’re back on song and the ‘upchuck effect’ has passed.
Remember, you have to train hard for these events, the competition is strict. Some athletes will try to use performance enhancing substances. DON’T, they strictly illegal and if found out you could be banned from beer athletics for days. If someone says ‘here, have a pint of milk it’ll line your stomach’ don’t do it. Someone might sidle up to you and offer to put lemonade in your beer to give you extra staying power. Ignore them; the real athlete achieves his success through training not through cheap gimmicks. There is nothing finer than passing the finishing line after a full beer marathon feeling the swill of 26 pints of lager sloshing around in your beer sack. Immediately after the finish make sure you ‘exercise down’, maybe a friendly game of freckles with your fellow athletes before off you go to meet your bird for a lovely Saturday night out together.

Next week: 3 Day Eventing

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