Freedom of Speech

I grew up in a generation where everyone's grandparents had been part of the war effort. My Nan machined ammunition and both of my grandads fought in the war. I remember being told many times that this has been for our freedoms and the term 'freedom of speech' was bandied around a lot.

It's sad then now that we live in a time where a country like North Korea can try and dictate what films can be made and distributed, terrorists attack publishers and scare others into censorship but sadder is that the large organisations with the most clout and power seem to buckle and cower before the people on the street do. When events like this occur you MUST publish perhaps with even greater gusto to emphasise that they have will not be allowed to win.

More bizarrely is that we are increasingly being gagged by our own Government where people are have to be careful over their use of social media for fear of upsetting or offending people with their Tweets or status updates for fear of legal retribution.

Freedom of Speech means you will always be liable to offend someone. It also means you have to be prepared to let other speak freely whether you like or agree with them.

A quick note from your sponsor...

As every one jumps on the fitness bandwagon and starts signing up for events, a polite note regarding sponsorship requests. My chosen charities are NSPCC, Alzheimer's Society, Parkinson's UK, and The RNOH Charity . Like many I have leant towards those that I have a connection with. Where possible I have tried to support these by way of monthly direct debit as I believe this is most beneficial to them. In the past I have cancelled some of my direct debits and instead sponsored individuals as I felt bad turning them down and think it important to encourage people to support charities but cannot afford to do both. This of course has meant that I am supporting your chosen charities and not mine. By all means ask but please don't be offended if I decline your request.

Note:  I will be more inclined to sponsor events that pose a real physical or mental challenge e.g. NOT a 5k fun run.

P.S. and please whatever you do don't ask me to sponsor you so you can fulfill some bucket list item under the guise of charity, like a parachute jump. If you want to do a parachute jump pay for the cost of it yourself and put all sponsorship money to the charity (as well as your donation) instead of funding it out of the sponsorship money!

Wagon Wheels

Sometimes, I wonder at exactly which point the wheels fell off my wagon and how the hell it happened? Once there was a time when all seemed well with the World (at least my World) and I was where I wanted to be, doing what I wanted to do, with people I wanted to be with. Somewhere along the line the game changed, people moved on, and what once seemed enough became woefully inadequate. 

Four-Eyes

I develop software and one extremely useful set up is that of dual monitors. This allows me to see my code on one screen and the user interface on the other. However, of late I've observed that this is creeping into other areas of my life and even society in general.

No longer is one thing/view sufficient. When my wife and I watch TV invariably we will both also be on our mobiles or iPad at the same time. Similarly it seems seldom is there a conversation down the pub without one or more participants having a mobile in hand and a thumb beavering away.

With the arrival of Google Project Glass and the likes I can't help but think back to a saying along the lines of "a wealth of information creates a deficit of attention". Why is what we have never enough? Why must we always seek to cram more in? What happened to "less is more"? How can we appreciate the finer details of life if we choose to use a wide-angle/panoramic lens all of the time?

Mr Grey

I have always been blessed with a bit of baby face that has let me pass myself off as being a lot younger. At 27, if asked, many people would guess my age as being nearer 21. I was also blessed with a thick head of dark hair. The barber would always have to thin my hair when cutting it and often remarked that I had no fear of going bald. With the likes of George Clooney and Sean Connery going grey/sliver was never a concern of mine as a full head of silver seemed quite attractive to a large number of ladies adding a touch of distinction perhaps. 

Sadly, my genes disagreed with my barber. My father developed a 'helicopter' patch which gradually expanded forward along with an upwardly expanding forehead which finally met up leaving him bald on top. In my early thirties I could see the beginnings of this and it was amplified by the darkness of my hair. So, committed to going bad gracefully and escaping the comb-over I immediately trimmed my hair as short as it would go barring a razor blade. Thankfully I seemed to have the head shape to pull this off making it look more like a choice however a half head of grey hair was never going to achieve the Clooney look.

Despite starting to grey, the close crop has hidden this quite well as long as I cropped my hair right back once a fortnight. That is until recently. Alas that is not the case any more. Such is the extent of the grey /silver now that within one week it is clear as a bell and with it the chances of passing myself off as a thirty something have gone the way of the hair on the top of my head! Sob, sniff.

Intermittent Fasting

So..... two weeks into the 2012 Fat Dad's six pack challenge and I've gone from leading week 1 to trailing third in week 2. It's been an interesting week. Last weekend I stumbled across a website (http://rippedbody.jp/) that in turn lead me to another (http://www.leangains.com/) and an introduction to the concept of intermittent fasting. See above sites for more details as they can explain it far better than I.

Aside from the potential results (gaining muscle whilst losing fat and only training weights three times a week), what appealed to me was that the idea of an 8 hour eating window wasn't a million miles off of my current eating habits. I've never been one for breakfast so the idea of fasting for a 16 hour period then getting all of my food in in between the hours of 1pm and 9pm seemed do-able. Likewise the idea of training compound lifts 3 times a week suits me down to the ground.

I've always been anti-dieting and always viewed it as simply starving or depriving oneself of food but this approach seems more accommodating. However, I have been taken aback this week. In short the idea is I over-eat on training days with increased protein, high carbs and low fat. Then the next day, a rest day, I deficit my intake and go for protein but with low carbs and a more normal levels of fat. Seems straight forward enough.

In the past a normal work day eating pattern for me would be something like. Lots of coffee for breakfast, soup and a slice of bread for lunch, family dinner and then settle into the sofa with alcohol and crisps. Doesn't seem much but given that I've been gaining weight suggests that I have been eating more than my share of daily calories (approx. 2000).

So what soon hit me is that if you try and eat the appropriate levels of macro-nutrients (protein, carbs, fat) in the targeted proportions it equates to a lot of food. Most days I struggled to eat 1600 calories worth let alone my training day target of 2000+. They say 1g of protein or carbs = 4 calories, whereas 1g of fat = 9. So when you start watching your fat and lowering it you have to eat twice as much protein or carbs to replace it.

Case in point, I am struggling to come up with a 1000 calorie post-workout meal. A Burger King double whopper with cheese is 976 calories but has 61g of fat which accounts for 549 of its calories. On a training day I am only allowed about 30g of fat for the day. To put some perspective on it - 2 slices of rye bread toast, a large can of light choice baked beans, 2 turkey breast steaks, a four egg white omelette with low fat mature cheddar cheese, mushrooms, and tomatoes comes to 936 calories and only 11g of fat.

Seems the main problem I'm going to have dieting is eating so much!

Fit Dad, Fat Dad

So, it goes something like this ... each year my pub buddies and I have a 'Fat Dad Challenge' the winner of which get his Christmas curry paid for by the losers. The target is normally fitness or weight or body fat orientated but this year it is all about the six pack! Something none of us have seen outside of an off-licence for some twenty years.

No doubt it will mean weight loss, increased fitness, and reduced body fat but as it is to be judged by an independent female it's the look and firmness that will no doubt count. I predict some last minute tricks being administered such as fake tan, body shaving, and some flattering lighting. Anything that tips that final decision after all, all's fair in love and free curry!

Ukuleles are cool

'Nuff said.

A Year in Provence ... Part 2

So having rekindled my love affair with 'la bonne vie', what to do about it? Now I'm not naive, I know the dream often does not meet the reality. So let's start with what I did not like about my trip. 

Firstly, mosquitoes. I've always been some what of an attraction for these critters. Whilst my wife remained bite free, I was bitten to shreds and am still scratching myself raw. Secondly, the bloody cockerels waking me up at 05:30, and then virtually 'snoozing' to repeat their bird song every ten minutes. Now I think I was getting used to this as I seemed to notice it less and wake up later as the week went on. 

Finally, the sun. Yes the very thing that makes it so attractive. By 09:00 it was already on its way to 30. On such a short holiday you feel compelled to make hay, as they say, whilst the sun shines but it was far too hot some days and made for uncomfortable nights sleeping. Given more than a week I guess I would acclimatise more but at the same time would have to adopt a more European approach to the midday sun and escape it. 

From an economic point of view the pound is recovering, French property prices have been falling whilst French property taxes have been rising. In the past, UK ex-pats have often set up businesses to serve other ex-pats but with an increasing number of ex-pats returning to the UK this is hitting them. The other favourite is having holiday properties to let but there is already an abundance of these.

With all of the volatility in the EU at the moment the Euro has suffered and could further suffer if countries like Greece and Spain decline further. Ex-pat pensioners have already suffered with currency fluctuations. If the UK withdrew from the Euro zone then working and living in France would become even harder.

Divorce rates for couples who emigrate to France are high, chances of employment for non-French speaking persons are low. The French education system does not go out of its way to accommodate non-French speaking children often setting them back a year to compensate and not providing further help. Private schooling is better but only add to the cost of living.

So where does this leave my French dream? Well from a schooling point alone it puts it on hold until the kids finish school by which time I will be nearing retirement but I do not want to wait that long which brings us back to compromise. Being a home worker I can work from home, wherever that may be, as long as I have a decent internet connection. With kids being at school they have six weeks summer holiday each year. So I like the idea of letting a property for one month each year abroad. Maybe Provence one year, Tuscany another, Murcia the next, who knows.

But there remains an obstacle. Finance. My wife currently still needs to work and cannot get that much time off. So either she needs a job or business that allows her to work remotely or I need to earn enough for her not to work! Hmmmm......????

A Year in Provence ... Part I

... or at least a week in Poitou Charante but it's still time in France right? What a breathe of fresh air, quite literally, a family holiday in a rural gîte. 'Rustic' was initially the word of the week as it seemed to cover all manner of accommodation short comings but strangely as the week went on they seemed less relevant and our initial gripes were perhaps just residue of our normal life and expectations.

Like many, I long to escape the rat race and have often said that if I could live anywhere in Europe it would be about half way down France. From there you are but a days drive from Spain, Italy, Belgium, Holland, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Czech Republic, and the UK to name a few which makes it a perfect hub. A hub from which you readily gain access to beaches, lakes, rivers, snow capped mountains, or whatever other landscape takes your fancy. Furthermore, you can pick your climate. Further north for more 'English' weather, further south for more Mediterranean weather.

Waking up, an alfresco coffee and pain au chocolat for breakfast in the early morning sun and no further motivation was required for a run in the glorious and spectacular fields of sunflowers and vines. Admittedly I got a few strange looks from the local farmers (the French don't do exercise as a rule) but this did not deter me.

Upon my return a quick shower then into the swimming pool with the family for more 'exercise' under the guise of play. In fact I have come back browner, slimmer, and fitter. A break for a lunch of a baguette, fromage and jambon whilst escaping the too hot midday sun then a spot of sunbathing before plunging back into the pool to cool off. Come the evening and it's time to fire up the barbeque and start the drinks flowing. After managing to get the kids to settle in bed, some more drinking and socialising with guests from the neighbouring gîtes, and even a bit of impromptu ukulele! 

Finally, rounding the evening off lying on a blanket gazing at the truly magnificent night sky. The rural location being free from light 'pollution' the view was like someone had suddenly upgraded my usual night sky to HD, my eyes now free to see the milky way, satellites, shooting stars and constellations. This soon became part of the pre-bedtime ritual.

I wanted a holiday 'unplugged' and pretty much achieved this bar the quick email check and using an mp3 player for some tunes while chatting or catching up with some reading. The kids scraped through without iPads, pc's, DS's, or tv and thankfully since returning haven't demanded them back into their lives yet either. In fact before the holiday I couldn't get them out of the house, tonight I struggled to get them back in.

Simple pleasures indeed and I guess that's all I really desire. The French have always somehow managed to retain the appreciation of simple pleasures like food, wine, song and socialising. I liked the idea of living in France before, and I like the idea even more now.

Curse of the home worker

The are many advantages to working from home but it is not so straight-forward as one might think, especially if you have a wife that works part-time as well as being a mum. Being at home frequently can make you become a household 'resource' despite the fact that it is your place of work.

Little things start to slip in. "Are you going to be in if I get the groceries delivered?". Of course once the groceries are delivered at the very least the fridge and freezer stuff needs to be put away.

"If I put a laundry load on can you hang it out?". Invariably it will rain and I will have to bring it in and then the sun will come out and I'll be expected to hang it back out and of course it's not two sheets, it's about 100 pairs of kids socks and knickers.

"Can you put the dinner in the oven at .... ?", which of course becomes "and turn it over/serve it up if I'm running late".

Arguments about doing the washing up have advanced with technology to arguing about who loads/unloads the dishwasher.

Then of course there is the ad-hoc school drop off/pick ups, trip to doctors, nipping out to pick up some urgent groceries, the watching the kids whilst "I pop out quickly" or "go to my exercise classes". 

When they get in from work there is also the air of "I've been busy/at work all day and you've been at home so it's  my turn for a break whilst you help out". 

Maybe I sound like a dinosaur but as the major source of income to the household I think my work at least deserve some consideration. Rant over. Still love her.

The last word

It has to be said, some of the best conversations and some of the best ideas are the ones at the end of an evening on the drink. lol

Knowing your place

Well, we have managed to ship the kids off to the grandparents for the night. Last time this happened was on a Thursday which happens to be the night my wife does Body Pump and Body Combat. So faced with choosing between a few fours or torturous exercise or a romantic night out of course I lost out.

Tonight is a Wednesday so I do not have that to contend with. I therefore suggested doing something special like a trip into Windsor or London or maybe a drive down to the coast for fish and chips on the beach whilst watching the sunset. However, the sun is shining and my wife wants to sit in the sun not a car or train. Her alternative suggestion was to eat in the beer garden of the local Beefeater.

Of course, I tried to counter this with the offer of some other quality local restaurants but each was met with "Can we eat outside?". The answer in most cases being no. So I'm guessing the priorities so far must be something along the lines of:

1. Kids
2. Body Combat/Body Pump
3. Sunshine
4. Quality romantic time with me.

Size Matters

I think an important gauge in a relationship is the size of the things that annoy you or cause arguments. My wife is lazy very efficient/economical. Like Lewis Hamilton, if she can shave of a few seconds here and there through out the day she will. For example, we recently installed fitted wardrobes in our bedroom that have sliding doors. The doors alone cost around £300. My wife saves time by constantly leaving the doors open. Had I factored this in then as well as saving time we could have saved £300.

Another example is her keys, again she saves time by placing them at the first convenient place upon entry to our home. The place varies subject to what is most convenient at that particular moment. This does however seem to cause an issue the next day when she is late for work and cannot find them consequently spending five minutes running around the house cursing,  frantically looking for them.

Similarly, our kitchen has limited cupboard space. The best way around this limitation is to stack/organise items within the cupboard. My wife found this cost her valuable seconds and has found it far more efficient to grab an item and then when replacing it put it to the front of the cupboard and push everything else back. The challenge is further compounded by the fact that when doing the weekly shopping my wife purchases pretty much the same things each week saving valuable time by not checking what we already have. (It's not been unheard of to find four large boxes of All Bran taking up half a shelf). However, this seems to cost me time due to the fact that every time I open a cupboard, any cupboard, several items fall out and I then struggle to fit them back in the cupboard.

Of course my wife is not really lazy. She has a part-time job, looks after our kids, does the housework, etc, etc. So I guess my point is that if little things like these are my biggest gripes then I guess we're doing ok.

Paranoid Android

This morning was my eldest daughters leaving assembly at infant school as come September she'll be moving up to Junior school. It was an emotional event for many of the parents and staff made more so by the fact two key members of staff were leaving. During these reception years the kids have formed many friendships and as they move schools some will go to different schools, many will go to different classes, and yet more friendships will be made. This mornings proceedings kick off with an announcement that angers me every time I hear it: 

"Some parents have requested that photos not be taken of their children so please only take photos of your own children. Similarly please do not upload any such photos on to Facebook as it then becomes a Child Protection issue." 

For f*cks sake! The kids are packed in and the only way you're going to be able to isolate your child in a photo is to fit a telephoto lens and zoom in so only their face fills the picture and what's the point of that. It hardly captures the occasion. Now first off I do not blame the head teacher for making the announcement, and secondly I appreciate that paedophiles are the scum of the Earth but really?! 

This is paranoia to the extreme. I mean sure I wouldn't want someone taking a picture of my kids but if they're taking a picture of theirs and mine are standing next to them or in the background then so what. If that's a problem, what's with selling class photos? 

Just because these parents can't seem to look at their own kids without viewing them in a sexual light doesn't mean anyone else in the room does and if you're that f*cking paranoid then take them out of the assembly to protect them and let everyone else get on with capturing a key event in their kids childhood. If we're not careful we're going to end up with a generation that only has close up facial photographs of their school years. 

Rant over.

Billy Nomates

Fed up with living in my box, an unsuccessful day at work, and my unsuccessful attempt to convince my wife by text that I was Mr Grey,  I needed to get out of the house last night. I'd told myself earlier in the day that I would go for a run. Middle age spread has been setting in a bit of late as my metabolism, that had once allowed me to scoff at dieters and exercisers, seemed to have gone into early retirement (probably about the only part of me that will ever experience early retirement) and was now just leaving an advertising hoarding for Pirelli. 


The weather was having one of it's 'special' days. It was twenty degrees, the sun was shining, the rain torrential, and the hail stones were the size of M&M's. Yes, it's British summertime at it's finest. Given all that, my motivation to run was on par with wanting to take a shower in Auschwitz. I was feeling less than inspired and started to toy with a question that has existed since time began. Exercise or pint?

There was a definite lean towards pint and I had pretty much concluded that this was the decisive action to be taken. Prepped to leave it suddenly dawned on me. It was quiz night. Bollocks! This meant the pub would be packed with over enthusiastic semi-retired/professional quiz teams who arrive early for their weekly pre-quiz treat of a meal leaving not a spare seat in the house. Furthermore once the quiz started the pub would be echoing with the voice of the quiz master booming over the tannoy. This is of course made worse by the fact the quiz master, a lad far too young to be having such a task in his social diary, falls under the spell of the microphone and starts thinking he's funny. He's not.

With this mind I sadly and slowly start to dig out my running gear and haul my ass and beer gut out of the door. Fortunately, the rain has now stopped and I start my runny, joggy, walky thing. I decide 5km will be adequate for a night I just don't want to run (which these days is most of them). It's tough and I can't quite work out whether I'm struggling mentally or physically, probably both. Every step of the way I just want to stop.

Whilst plodding on I wonder what happened to the me from last year, the me that ran 10km three times a week in under 45 minutes and that was on the days I wasn't doing weights. Yep, there was a big step between 40 and 41. I keep going knowing that if I stop I won't get started again and that having now run half the distance walking back in the rapidly cooling air was equally unattractive. Eventually I get home.

"Good run?", my wife asks.
"No!", I reply trudging up the stairs to the shower.

Standing in the shower I conclude that quiz night or not I've earned a pint. An earlier Facebook post fishing for pub company had failed and so I wandered up there on my own. On arrival I was pleased to see one bar stool left and stuck myself on it. The barmaid tried her best to be social but it was quiz night and she was busy.

So there I sat, Billy Nomates, at the bar supping at my glass. Of course I needed something to do other than gaze into mid air do I pulled out my mobile, logged on to the free wi-fi and browsed to BBC News. There you have it, I was a modern interpretation of the old guy sat in the pub reading the newspaper and you know what, it wasn't so bad. Head tucked down reading my phone everyone just left me to it and it was in many ways quite meditative. My own little bubble, mentally answering the quiz questions (which is always easier when you're not actually playing), reading the news, and supping my pint. I realise now that when you see these old men sat on their own in the pub, maybe they came there to be alone, together.

Onward Christian soldiers

My wife, like many others, has fallen for the "mommy porn" 50 Shades of Grey trilogy and like many husbands and boyfriends there have been positive side effects. For example, on her first night of reading I had been down the pub with friends. Now under normal circumstances when I creep in from the pub late, with all of the subtleness of a hippopotamus ninja,s he would always be asleep, or at least pretending to be asleep, but no not that night ;o)

But here we are once again with a sense of frustration. One friend was moaning on Facebook how despite his wife reading 50 shades he was yet to reap him any rewards. One female friend responded to the thread that "if you want your wife to act a bit more like Ana, try acting a bit more like Mr Grey". 

Now, despite already benefiting from positive side effects, this sounded like good advice coming straight from the horses mouth. So with this idea in mind I send my wife a text, nothing brash (Mr Grey is too sophisticated for that). Far from a hot lustful reply the response I get was along the lines of  "Lol, so anyway ...".

There you go, dismissed in an instant. It's all very well you ladies rattling on about what you want from us men but first you're going to have to learn to recognise it when your presented with it!

Time bomb

I've never given much thought to the age difference between my wife and I other than the fact that her being 8.5 year younger is a bonus. However, yesterday I decided to do a rare bit of retirement planning and some shocking realities dawned on me.

My life expectancy is supposedly 87 whereas hers is 90. This means she will outlive me by almost 12 years. My state retirement age is 67, hers is 68. This means that I will supposedly retire almost 10 years before her. The chance of me retiring early at 55 (a similar age to when my parents retired) is unlikely as both my children would still be in university at that time. In fact, my youngest would not leave university until I am almost 60.

Of course, this doesn't mean I'm about to go trade my wife for an older model but it leads me to draw a number of conclusions:

• If I wish to spend my retirement with my wife, we must have sufficient funds for her to retire at least 10 years early. 
• If I wish to retire early then this just magnifies the issue.
• If I do not have sufficient funds for both of us to retire early ( me by 7 - 12 years, her by 17 - 22 years !!) then I am unlikely to ever retire early.
• If I am unlikely to retire early, then a lot of things we planned to do in retirement we may not achieve due to my age at that time.
• The only way to mitigate these issues is to;
• a) Put aside a hell of a lot more money
• b) Try and maintain physical and mental health for as long as possible.

Of course even then it's not that straight-forward. To put aside more money we must either work more or spend less. This will have negative effects on our lives now. Maintaining health will not be an easy option either. Both my Dad and Grandad suffered heart problems and on top of this, when I broke my back the doctor warned me I am likely to suffer arthritis of the spine in later life.

#depressed

WTF! I'm Stiffler!!

Ok, so hopefully I'm not that bad but I could certainly empathise with him in American Reunion. Looking back it wasn't so much the high school years that give me the fondest memories but the ten years that followed them. I had the best friendships and the best times. It's perhaps not then strange that I was the last one to to buy a property, the last one to get married, and the last one to start a family. 

Perhaps one of the hardest things is the way friends behaviour changed towards me. One day I'm the life and soul of the party, the guy people have the best times with. Then, without me changing, they started to move on and in some ways I got left behind or became surplus to requirement. Before long I realised I was the only one at the party. Like Stiffler, deep down I didn't want the party to end but as the saying goes 'all good things come to an end'. 

Gradually as friends got married and started families I saw less and less of them. As they acquired more responsibilities they became more sensible, and rightly so. In the meantime I was living life by one of my own ethics which was 'as long as I don't have a mortgage I'm not gonna take any sh!t from anyone'. Another movie quote that strikes a chord on this note is from Horrible Bosses:

"Quick story, my grandmother came to this country with twenty dollars in her pocket. She worked hard her whole life and never took sh!t from anyone. When she died, she had turned that twenty dollars into two thousand dollars. That sucks! You know why she didn't succeed? Because she didn't take sh!t from anyone. The key to success, and they will not teach you in business school, is taking sh!t."

This is probably a good reason why at almost thirty, like Stiffler, I was still doing jobs instead of laying the foundations of a career. Something which has cost me in later life. To many extents I am still just doing jobs and lack the financial security a career offers. So do I wish I had left the party earlier? Hell no! 

However, I do wish I'd started a career whilst partying, as I now realise growing up and having 'old skool fun' need not have been mutually exclusive. The things I miss from that time in my life is the tomfoolery, the lack of any pretence, not caring what anyone thought, making fun a priority. Sometimes things are best left as fond memories because things do change. I still don't want the party to end, there just isn't a party any more. 

The Discipline Route

Part of every mid life ... re-evaluation must include trying not to look middle aged. A such I've tried to ease myself back into running lately. I'd managed a few 5km jogs but they had not been easy. So tonight I came up with a plan and convinced myself that if I ran a longer distance then when I next run 5km it will seem easy. Or that was the plan at least ...

I set off at a purposefully slower pace and decided a different route would help break the monotony. I wasn't quite sure which route so just headed off in a different direction. All went well for the first kilometre but as I neared the 2km mark fate dealt me an unexpected hand. When running I tend to switch off and run on auto-pilot and just as I approached a junction there was a family of walkers so to avoid them I veered off to the left.

Being in auto-pilot my subconscious mind must have recognised one of my old running routes and without even thinking (quite literally) I ventured off down this route. I must have run another 500m before it dawned on me what I'd done. I'd taken the 'discipline route'. I nicknamed this for one reason only. There are no short cuts back, at all, whatsoever. The only short route back is to physically turnaround and run the same footpath back which definitely feels like defeat.

The key reason for the lack of short cuts is that it runs along side a canal surrounded by private land. The next point at which you can turn around is a bridge at the 5km mark. The other thing you should know about this route is that it is a 10km run. Once you do hit the 5km mark the shortest route back is well, 5km. There are no short cuts.

Now 2.5km in my legs are still quite fresh, the view by the canal in the evening is beautiful and so I convince myself that I can do it. But there is another issue. I had promised my wife I wouldn't be late as I had to bath the kids before bedtime. This meant I had to try and up my pace and at least make it back with an hour of my start time.

I had further failed to factor in the recent bad weather. 5km of this route was cross-country. The ground under foot was wet, muddy, slippery and continually trying twist my ankles. On top of the that the constant showers and sunshine had meant the grass, weeds, stinging nettles and brambles were growing into a jungle. 4km in and this was beginning look like a very bad idea.

I could either turn back and face the route of shame, back through the overgrowth and mud, or plough on the remaining 6km knowing that after approximately 1-2km the ground would become good as I would be back to running on asphalt roads and footpaths. Pressing on the overgrowth was such that I couldn't even see the path. The nettles had now stung my lower legs so much that I couldn't feel the stings any more.

I'm feeling fatigued and as I cross the bridge at the 5km mark my brain is reminding me I have same to do again. As I get back to the first road my body is starting to feel the pains of my efforts. My right knee is beginning to ache but more so my left hip. Now I'm not sure what that's all about. It's been apparent a few times lately but it's nothing I ever used to get through exercise. 

My aching hip makes me think of old people talking of their hip replacements but surely even at 41 I'm too young for that. I then remember a lady I once worked with who at 28 was told she would soon need a hip replacement. I often fantasised about just what a lady could've been up to to wear her hips out by such a young age!

Plodding on the nice lady on my mobile phone/GPS running app is pointing out that my pace is slowing considerably but as I look up I'm now facing a long slow hill and any thoughts of upping my pace are swiftly dispensed with. As I round the top I convince myself that it's all down hill from there. Of course it's not but that's what I'm telling myself.

As GPS lady tells me I've run 8km the aches are now definitely becoming pains. My hip is throbbing and my knee is struggling. I'm well and truly fatigued but know I can't be late back. GPS lady updates me once more and I suddenly realise my mental maths have been wrong and I'm actually not far off from my target time. Perhaps the pain and discomfort is just making it feel slower.

Inspired by this I try to raise my pace to get myself back on target. I convince myself that the moment GPS lady says 10km I'm going to stop the pain and limp/walk the rest of the way home. Panting up the next long slope I can't hear her next update but I'm guessing she said 9km. I keep pushing telling myself by the time I get to the park it will be 10km and I can walk the rest. I put on a final sprint to the park and just as I arrive I hear the GPS voice starting and the relief it brings.

"Your total distance is 9.33km."

What the f*ck!? She was meant to say 10km, the bitch! Mentally I've finished and lady muck is telling me I've got more to go. The pain now feels twice as bad as I try to keep my legs and mind going. It must be 10km by the time I get to the parade of shops. I tell myself. 


I knew at the outset this run would be as much mental as physical and that was before my evil subconscious took me down the discipline route. My hip and knee are throbbing but now there's something else. My nipple feel like they've been doing the lambada with a cheese grater. Joggers nipple. Tits!

I get to the shops and not trusting lady muck I get the phone out and look at the display still not 10km. Arse. I'm hobbling now and trying to hold my shirt off of my nipples which only serves to make it look like I'm trying to convince people I have breasts. My house MUST be 10km, I've run it before and it was definitely 10km. As I take the final corner the screen is still not my friend. I realise in my frustration I cut across the park instead of going around it.

I reach the path of my house. 9.8km. I've always prided myself on my mental strength and the ability to push myself but I'm done. 57 minutes and I'm not late but 200m is just a bridge too far. I ache, I'm in pain, I'm throbbing and I can't help feeling it's gonna feel a whole lot worse tomorrow!