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. 

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.

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!

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!

Where do Egyptians swim?

Am I in denial? The symptoms are there, but what differentiates a reasonable middle aged re-evaluation and a mid life crisis? This has prompted me to do a little research on the topic and it really is quite scary. Whilst there are many amusing anecdotes there also some terrible tales of the damage and hurt that a mid life crisis can cause. Yep, I may regret having not done some things so far but there's plenty of tales about people who have gone on to regret what they did as a result of a mid life crisis.


Well the mid life bit is easy so what constitutes a crisis? Time for a quick look at the dictionary:


Cri-sis [noun]

1. a stage in a sequence of events at which the trend of all future events, especially for better or for worse, is determined; turning point.
2. a condition of instability or danger, as in social, economic, political, or international affairs, leading to a decisive change.
3. a dramatic emotional or circumstantial upheaval in a person's life.
4. the point in a play or story at which hostile elements are most tensely opposed to each other.

Hmmm, a 'condition of instability or danger', quite possibly. 'Dramatic emotional or circumstantial upheaval', 'point in a story at which hostile elements are most tensely opposed to each other'. Certainly these fit a few of the tales I've read about. But what about 'for better or worse', many of us had heard that before, isn't that the the vow us married couples make to each other??? Of course as well as the term 'mid life crisis' do we also have the term 'averting a crisis'. 



A-vert [verb]

1. to turn away or aside
2. to ward off, prevent

People seem to talk of mid life crisis with a certain aspect of inevitability but for every tale of mid life crisis there are far more cases where it either wasn't an issue or just didn't happen. Whilst I feel the need for some tweaks or changes to the way lead my life I'm yet to feel the desire to do anything too radical. Tweaks are fine, if we're honest tweaking is what we've been doing all of our lives. Maybe tweaking hasn't been enough and maybe a larger change of course is required. Crisis only seems to refer to drastic measures. So how to make larger tweaks but avert the crisis?

Step 1: Recognition

Step 2: Acceptance, not denial.

Step 3: Come up with a plan!

A Brief History of Time

Ok, so in 2011 I turned forty and, apart from a few months of hard physical training to prove to myself, and others, that forty did not mean I was 'over the hill', the reaching of this milestone was pretty painless and uneventful. No biblical plagues, nothing fell off my body, the skies didn't fall in. So what's the fuss all about being forty??

However, when I hit forty one something clicked. Not physically I might add, I wasn't suddenly stuck down by an accelerated ageing process. I was now a 'forty something', which strangely felt a lot worse than one year more than forty. In fact, despite being closer to forty it now felt like I was more on my way to fifty and hell everyone knows you're as good as dead after that!

Perhaps this sounds a little extreme, but a few years ago my dad started drawing up our family tree and has made great progress tracing the lineage back hundreds of years. It made fascinating reading, until I started to notice something, something disturbing. It caught my eye and I soon started studying the tree more closely flicking from one record to the next and there it was in front of me in black and white. No male in my line has ever lived past  the age of seventy one! My granddad died at sixty five of a heart attack and my own dad has already had heart surgery. The signs were not looking good.

Working with figures day in day out it didn't take my subconscious long to work out that based on this new found knowledge I had just thirty years left in me. At best. It felt like the whistle had just blown at half time of the big game.  Heck, I was past half way and that was the half with fresh legs, the best health.

So, mentally I'm now back in the changing room and its time to review how the first half of the game had panned out. Truth is I'm not too sure, I haven't been paying too much attention, a bit like the fat kid in school you used to stick in goal who would spend all his time leaning against the goal post picking his nose until a ball whistled past his ear followed by the torrent of abuse from his team mates. Trying to assess the situation I can't help but think of the lyrics of the Talking Heads song 'Once In A Lifetime' when it poses a similar quandary:

"And You May Find Yourself In A Beautiful House, With A Beautiful Wife

And You May Ask Yourself - Well...How Did I Get Here?"

To which the answer appears to be "letting the days go by" and I guess that about sums it up. I've never really been one for direction in my life, I've just ambled my way through as if sitting in an old inflatable car tyre meandering down a river letting the current take me where it wishes.

So is this going to be another blog detailing a man's mid-life crisis. I hope not. For starters I'm not convinced about the whole mid-life crisis thing. Propaganda I tell you! Sure there are definite symptoms but crisis? Oddly, I think it doesn't start to make sense until you get there yourself. It's not about desperate attempts to regain your youth. It's about something entirely more daunting.

Growing up you have your whole life ahead of you, the world is indeed your oyster and with that in mind you push it to one-side whilst you get on with important stuff like drinking until you vomit and trying to put your hands in girls bras. What's the hurry, you've got years ahead of you right? That is until twenty years later (not that I am suggesting I spent twenty years drinking until I vomited and putting my hands in girls bras) you find yourself where I now am, and the realisation that you're running out of time and health to do all of those things that you once aspired to.

Whatever happened to the plans to run a marathon, see the world, learn guitar, surf/dive the Great Barrier Reef, canoe the Ardeche, trek the Amazon, blah, blah. What about that sports car your couldn't afford when you were a young man and then couldn't afford when you became a father, then was far too impractical when the family grew, and has now reached classic status and commands a sale price that once again you can't afford. 

As I say, the cliche symptoms are not about regaining your youth, it's about trying to do all those things that you never quite got around to in your youth and now consider you  may not, ever.

I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP!

Perhaps that's not so odd but what you do start to do is to form an opinion on what you DON'T want to be when you grow up...