Just finished the 30 minute jog as per my training plan for day 2.
It was okay, and I'm quite pleased with the fact that I managed to keep going for 30 minutes without stopping and I didn't really feel too bad afterwards.
It made me feel good about the prospect of building on what fitness I already have, which must be a little bit more than I thought. I mean, I did run half of a half marathon.
About half way through I got that feeling you get after a while when you feel you can run forever.
It lasts for approximately three and a half minutes during which time I feel free as a bird, my legs are working like little pistons and I can breathe in the whole world. Coupled with the sounds of Brit Pop's finest I'm transported back to somewhere into the mid 1990s when my cares and waistline were both far less than they are now.
Bring on the fartlek!
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Monday, 28 September 2009
In training
Week 1, day 1 of my 24 week training plan done and dusted.
Jogging for ten minutes, followed by running for ten minutes.
Oh yes, I saw that one off, got that well and truly beaten, no problemo.
I wonder if the rest off my gruelling regime will be as straight forward? I doubt it. As first steps go, this is the first pinkie landing on the Rift Valley heading north.
It was a bit weird though trying to jog and then run, as I've never made a distinction between the two before.
So for my jog I slowed right down, which is harder than it sounds. I kept wanting to speed up as even stationary vehicles seemed to go past me.
Then I kicked into my 'run', which was not much faster than my jog, but my feet hit the ground a lot harder, so it seemed harder work.
It was okay to tell the truth, I wasn't exactly running as fast as I could, but definitely stepped it up a gear.
I managed not to gorge myself too much today either. Had a sensible breakfast, a sensisble lunch, a bit of a larey dinner and a cheeky little fruit yoghurt. So my diet is getting back to healthy, just about.
Had a bit of a setback today as I went for a Weight Watchers weigh in for the first time in a month.
I've put on five and a half pounds and currently weigh 16st 5lbs. But considering I've been on holiday and had a bit of an up and down sort of month, it could have been a lot worse. I've certainly been able to pile on a stone in the past so five pounds is no big drama. With another five training sessions to squeeze in this week I should be lose that by next Monday in any case.
There is such a long way to go of course, but as I was trotting round the Downs with the most gorgeous sunset setting the sky behind ablaze in violent oranges and pinks, I was reminded of something my friend Marc said at the weekend.
A former marathon runner himself, he said that the marathon is the six months training between now and April 25. The run on the day through London is the lap of honour. This is where the marathon starts, not at the gun in Greenwich, but on the Downs by the Water Tower, trying not to get annoyed at all the other runners whizzing past as I huff and puff for 20 minutes in the fading light (probably not alone in that up there).
I thought that was quite a profound thing to say, and the most amazing thing about it was that we were only drinking a cup of tea.
Jogging for ten minutes, followed by running for ten minutes.
Oh yes, I saw that one off, got that well and truly beaten, no problemo.
I wonder if the rest off my gruelling regime will be as straight forward? I doubt it. As first steps go, this is the first pinkie landing on the Rift Valley heading north.
It was a bit weird though trying to jog and then run, as I've never made a distinction between the two before.
So for my jog I slowed right down, which is harder than it sounds. I kept wanting to speed up as even stationary vehicles seemed to go past me.
Then I kicked into my 'run', which was not much faster than my jog, but my feet hit the ground a lot harder, so it seemed harder work.
It was okay to tell the truth, I wasn't exactly running as fast as I could, but definitely stepped it up a gear.
I managed not to gorge myself too much today either. Had a sensible breakfast, a sensisble lunch, a bit of a larey dinner and a cheeky little fruit yoghurt. So my diet is getting back to healthy, just about.
Had a bit of a setback today as I went for a Weight Watchers weigh in for the first time in a month.
I've put on five and a half pounds and currently weigh 16st 5lbs. But considering I've been on holiday and had a bit of an up and down sort of month, it could have been a lot worse. I've certainly been able to pile on a stone in the past so five pounds is no big drama. With another five training sessions to squeeze in this week I should be lose that by next Monday in any case.
There is such a long way to go of course, but as I was trotting round the Downs with the most gorgeous sunset setting the sky behind ablaze in violent oranges and pinks, I was reminded of something my friend Marc said at the weekend.
A former marathon runner himself, he said that the marathon is the six months training between now and April 25. The run on the day through London is the lap of honour. This is where the marathon starts, not at the gun in Greenwich, but on the Downs by the Water Tower, trying not to get annoyed at all the other runners whizzing past as I huff and puff for 20 minutes in the fading light (probably not alone in that up there).
I thought that was quite a profound thing to say, and the most amazing thing about it was that we were only drinking a cup of tea.
It's a marathon, not a sprint!
Pic caption: The view from the top of a small mountain we accidentally climbed on holiday in Italy.
So this is where it starts.
I've downloaded the training plan from the official London Marathon website, and I've spent all weekend looking at it, and it looks as hard this morning as it did when I first looked at it three days ago.
For the first time the enormity of what I'm taking on has really hit me I think.
What I mean is, there's loads of training to do. The plan has me running, jogging and fartleking six times a week.
It's obviously much more than I have been used to in terms of training for a half marathon, and I know it's going to be tough, but somehow seeing it in black and white on the page, makes it all the more daunting.
It's also a bit weird to think that if I just follow the instructions, I will become a marathon runner at the end of it.
But following the instructions is the hard bit, I guess.
A few things slightly concern me, apart from the amount of training involved, such as the way it keeps saying jog for ten minutes, run for ten minutes, then jog again. As if they are two different things! I've only ever done running, always at the same pace, probably somewhere between what they consider a jog and a run.
I tried it out at the gym on Friday, which by the way I nearly got lost in it's been that long, by altering the speed on the treadmill.
I managed to switch from a very leisurely 5.5km, my jogging speed, to 7km for running, which at the end of ten minutes was quite hard work. I can't imagine doing a two hour 'run', like what it says.
I think I may have overreached myself by opting for the intermediate level training plan.
The website gives you three options for their 24 week plans, basic, intermediate and advanced.
Having recently completed half a half marathon, and having run regularlyish this year, I felt confident that the intermediate level would be about right. Don't want to plonk myself in the absolute beginners class. But looking at it again, it may be more realistic to do the 'easy' plan, which I'm sure will be challenging enough.
As I say I went back into the gym on Friday for the first time in a while and it was okay actually, did about half an hour and found I sort of enjoyed it.
Starting the training at the beginning again takes some of the pressure off in a way, I can just do ten minutes here and there on the machines, a few ab curls and press ups and that's me sorted.
I didn't do very much training in Italy the week before on holiday, as you can imagine.
I felt like it was the last chance to have a good blowout before the abstinence starts. There's something quite decadent about popping into a restaurant for lunch and knocking down a bottle of wine for the hell of it, before getting ready for the evening's imbibing.
It was a lovely holiday from that point of view. And we didn't just sit around drinking all day every day. We took what we thought was going to be a romantic walk along the coastal path up to some beautiful fishing villages along the coastline of the Cinque Terre. But the path was closed because of rain, weirdly, so we decided to take an alternative route which took us inland and across a couple of hills.
Except these hills were more like small mountains and we spent hours scaling them as we had accidentally stumbled into a fairly serious hiking route.
We were dressed for a short stroll along the coastal path, not quite in flip-flops but just a flimsy pair of Adidas, and Amy with her handbag, when all these very serious looking walkers kitted out with Nordic walking sticks, stout walking boots, rucksacks with the kind of kit the A-Team would be jealous of and determined looks on their faces kept passing us.
About an hour and a half into the walk we realised we were way in over our heads when we had to walk over the hill, which was over 400 metres high, across the face of the steep terraced vinyards.
The path at times was little more than a foot wide and dropped away to our left down hundreds of metres of steep terrace leading down to some less than soft looking rocks.
I was scared, Amy was scared, but we both fronted it out, I couldn't let her know the fear going through me and tried to treat it like a stroll down to the shops. It wasn't until we got back down to the safety of a pizzeria that we confessed how scared we were.
It was a hell of a walk, over four hours and revealed some amazing views. But I think it would have been a more comfortable experience if I wasn't slipping and sliding all over the place in my sneakers.
It definitely worked off some of that pasta and wine though.
And it was good to enjoy it as I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to go on holiday again now, life for the self-employed doesn't really offer up great perks like six weeks holiday a year.
Mind you, it seems like the whole process of going on holiday is more trouble than it's worth.
I have to admit that we left our preparation to the last minute, as usual, although I did at least get my passport renewed in time.
But about a day before we were due to fly out I popped into Cribbs Causeway to get a few things, like sun cream, and I swear I must forget how much of an absolute con that stuff is because I'm amazed every time how expensive it is.
All I bought was a couple of bottles and some stuff for the face, and it was over £40! How?!? I did ask if there was anything in it apart from sun cream, like liquid gold. Apparently not. I suspect it wasn't the first time she'd been asked that.
Then I went to M&S because I felt I should probably get a nice new pair of shorts for my hols, just so I could look even more like a tourist than I was already going to.
I went into the vast hangar of a store and asked the first helpful-looking assistant I saw if she could point me in the direction of shorts and that sort of thing.
She looked at me, removed her spectacles, furrowed her brow and said "Shorts?", in a tone that suggested I'd asked for a sample of moon rock. "I don't think we have any shorts at this time of year."
At this time of year? Why the hell not? It was pretty sunny outside and I was in fact wearing a pair of shorts at the time. Why can't you buy what you want, when you need it in this country? Why does stock have to be so rigidly seasonal? It was only a pair of shorts I was after, but you'd think I was trying to buy fresh asparagus.
But despite all that nonsense, and EasyJet's best attempts at destroying Amy's suitcase by presumably letting it drop out the back of the plane onto the runway while the plane was still in the air, we did have a great holiday, and Italy was fantastic as usual.
Got back home and suddenly autumn is floating in the air and we are heading into that long and tedious run up to you know what.
So, no time to lose, I'm off to start my training plan.
So this is where it starts.
I've downloaded the training plan from the official London Marathon website, and I've spent all weekend looking at it, and it looks as hard this morning as it did when I first looked at it three days ago.
For the first time the enormity of what I'm taking on has really hit me I think.
What I mean is, there's loads of training to do. The plan has me running, jogging and fartleking six times a week.
It's obviously much more than I have been used to in terms of training for a half marathon, and I know it's going to be tough, but somehow seeing it in black and white on the page, makes it all the more daunting.
It's also a bit weird to think that if I just follow the instructions, I will become a marathon runner at the end of it.
But following the instructions is the hard bit, I guess.
A few things slightly concern me, apart from the amount of training involved, such as the way it keeps saying jog for ten minutes, run for ten minutes, then jog again. As if they are two different things! I've only ever done running, always at the same pace, probably somewhere between what they consider a jog and a run.
I tried it out at the gym on Friday, which by the way I nearly got lost in it's been that long, by altering the speed on the treadmill.
I managed to switch from a very leisurely 5.5km, my jogging speed, to 7km for running, which at the end of ten minutes was quite hard work. I can't imagine doing a two hour 'run', like what it says.
I think I may have overreached myself by opting for the intermediate level training plan.
The website gives you three options for their 24 week plans, basic, intermediate and advanced.
Having recently completed half a half marathon, and having run regularlyish this year, I felt confident that the intermediate level would be about right. Don't want to plonk myself in the absolute beginners class. But looking at it again, it may be more realistic to do the 'easy' plan, which I'm sure will be challenging enough.
As I say I went back into the gym on Friday for the first time in a while and it was okay actually, did about half an hour and found I sort of enjoyed it.
Starting the training at the beginning again takes some of the pressure off in a way, I can just do ten minutes here and there on the machines, a few ab curls and press ups and that's me sorted.
I didn't do very much training in Italy the week before on holiday, as you can imagine.
I felt like it was the last chance to have a good blowout before the abstinence starts. There's something quite decadent about popping into a restaurant for lunch and knocking down a bottle of wine for the hell of it, before getting ready for the evening's imbibing.
It was a lovely holiday from that point of view. And we didn't just sit around drinking all day every day. We took what we thought was going to be a romantic walk along the coastal path up to some beautiful fishing villages along the coastline of the Cinque Terre. But the path was closed because of rain, weirdly, so we decided to take an alternative route which took us inland and across a couple of hills.
Except these hills were more like small mountains and we spent hours scaling them as we had accidentally stumbled into a fairly serious hiking route.
We were dressed for a short stroll along the coastal path, not quite in flip-flops but just a flimsy pair of Adidas, and Amy with her handbag, when all these very serious looking walkers kitted out with Nordic walking sticks, stout walking boots, rucksacks with the kind of kit the A-Team would be jealous of and determined looks on their faces kept passing us.
About an hour and a half into the walk we realised we were way in over our heads when we had to walk over the hill, which was over 400 metres high, across the face of the steep terraced vinyards.
The path at times was little more than a foot wide and dropped away to our left down hundreds of metres of steep terrace leading down to some less than soft looking rocks.
I was scared, Amy was scared, but we both fronted it out, I couldn't let her know the fear going through me and tried to treat it like a stroll down to the shops. It wasn't until we got back down to the safety of a pizzeria that we confessed how scared we were.
It was a hell of a walk, over four hours and revealed some amazing views. But I think it would have been a more comfortable experience if I wasn't slipping and sliding all over the place in my sneakers.
It definitely worked off some of that pasta and wine though.
And it was good to enjoy it as I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to go on holiday again now, life for the self-employed doesn't really offer up great perks like six weeks holiday a year.
Mind you, it seems like the whole process of going on holiday is more trouble than it's worth.
I have to admit that we left our preparation to the last minute, as usual, although I did at least get my passport renewed in time.
But about a day before we were due to fly out I popped into Cribbs Causeway to get a few things, like sun cream, and I swear I must forget how much of an absolute con that stuff is because I'm amazed every time how expensive it is.
All I bought was a couple of bottles and some stuff for the face, and it was over £40! How?!? I did ask if there was anything in it apart from sun cream, like liquid gold. Apparently not. I suspect it wasn't the first time she'd been asked that.
Then I went to M&S because I felt I should probably get a nice new pair of shorts for my hols, just so I could look even more like a tourist than I was already going to.
I went into the vast hangar of a store and asked the first helpful-looking assistant I saw if she could point me in the direction of shorts and that sort of thing.
She looked at me, removed her spectacles, furrowed her brow and said "Shorts?", in a tone that suggested I'd asked for a sample of moon rock. "I don't think we have any shorts at this time of year."
At this time of year? Why the hell not? It was pretty sunny outside and I was in fact wearing a pair of shorts at the time. Why can't you buy what you want, when you need it in this country? Why does stock have to be so rigidly seasonal? It was only a pair of shorts I was after, but you'd think I was trying to buy fresh asparagus.
But despite all that nonsense, and EasyJet's best attempts at destroying Amy's suitcase by presumably letting it drop out the back of the plane onto the runway while the plane was still in the air, we did have a great holiday, and Italy was fantastic as usual.
Got back home and suddenly autumn is floating in the air and we are heading into that long and tedious run up to you know what.
So, no time to lose, I'm off to start my training plan.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Calling All Fat Bastards - come and join me
The time for talking has past. The time for action is here.
Today I am launching my one-man campaign to raise fitness and fight obesity among the men of Bristol, by calling for people to join me in forming the all-new Fat Bastards' Running Club.
I've just read that back and realised what a load of nonsense it sounds, but it's all true.
I am now seven months away from lining up with tens of thousands of other loonies at the start of the London Marathon, and I've got a lot of work to do.
The idea of the campaign is to enlist the help of some other people who may be in a similar physical shape and have the same goal to want to get fit and lose weight, because I just don't think I can do it on my own.
The best training I have ever done in the past has been with other people as you really encourage each other and push further than you thought possible.
So the Fat Bastards' Running Club is launching a major recruiting drive for new members.
This is a running club with a difference. There are some minimum requirements that you will have to meet, or at least put up with.
For example, my current running speed is about 4mph, which is about the same speed as a brisk walk.
So if you can't handle running that slowly, it's not the club for you.
You don't have to be a 'fat bastard' necessarily, but the whole point of the club is that it is for people who don't get up in the morning and shave their legs to give them an extra half a second running between Bristol and Bath on their morning jaunt.
It is for overweight, unfit men who struggle to find the motivation to get fit on their own. Women are of course welcome too, on the same terms.
Unless you have a good case to argue, you also have to be over 30-years-old, as it's only when you start to cut a swath through your 30s that you realise how badly you've looked after yourself during your 20s.
It's for people like me, who find running really bloody hard work, but want to do it to achieve the ultimate goal of losing weigh and getting fit.
If you have a goal, perhaps it is the London Marathon, maybe the Bath or Bristol half marathons, or just to run regularly to lose weight, you can join this club and be among friends.
Obviously the idea is that over time you will graduate from the club and become a fit and healthy member of society again and will no longer wear the Fat Bastards' Running Club t-shirt that I'm planning to get printed, all sized XXL of course.
If, like me, you feel intimidated when you go to the gym, or couldn't possibly keep up with the running clubs or military fitness clubs you see on the Downs, this is the club for you.
It is going to be run on a very informal basis, no membership fee, no club colours, just a bunch of blokes (and women) trying to get fit helping each other run around the Downs. Just think how much more enjoyable the pub will be afterwards.
It's the best time to commit to something like this as well, because if you're a fat bastard you know the winter just means an extended period of grazing and putting on even more weight.
So, this is proper serious, if you live in Bristol, or even if you don't but can come and join us, let me know and I will, through this blog and Facebook, organise dates and locations for those first tentative runs.
Email me at simonpeevers@hotmail.co.uk or leave a comment on this blog and let me know if you're up for it.
Come on people! Witness the fatness!
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Internet shminternet
Technology seems to be conspiring against me today, so much so that I can't actually do very much work.
It's astonishing how reliant I am on minor things like my broadband and various websites working properly.
It reminds of how crippled we felt when the fuel protesters came within a drop of unleaded of bringing the country to its knees.
The day didn't start well as for some reason my broadband at home isn't working today, so I find myself holed up in the Blue Lagoon on Glouester Road, making use of their wi-fi.
To be fair it's quite a nice relaxed place to shift the office to for the morning, but that's not really the point.
Even though the wi-fi is free, I did feel obliged to buy a coffee, and then the special breakfast.
Which brings me onto my next point. It really is time to shape up and stop getting back into bad old ways.
I'm feeling a bit like an oil tanker at the moment, for more than one reason.
I'm finding it hard to switch back into 'healthy Simon' mode, after being 'don't give a damn Simon' mode for a while.
I think when I thought I wouldn't get a place for the London Marathon a little bit of me decided to take the whole fitness regime a little less seriously, sub consciously of course.
But now I have got a place, I should be out at the gym or going for a run every day.
Instead my food consumption yesterday included half a big size Cadbury's Whole Nut bar (the other half went the night before), a healthyish lunch of salad and chicken, covered in olive oil and mayo, followed by a bacon and cheese panini about 5.30, two rounds of ham sandwiches during the football (weren't England great!) and a whole packet of Sainsbury's luxury Belgian chocolate and hazlenut cookies.
It's a bit like smoking, I know how bad it is, but I just can't seem to stop myself at the moment. Although I did conquer the fags and I'm never going back to those.
I have that pang of guilt coming out of the shop with a bag of sweets or something equally bad for me, which must be the same sense of shame a recovering alcoholic feels being spotted coming out of Threshers with a bottle under his arm.
I felt particularly down yesterday as I saw a photo of myself from the weekend at my brother's wedding.
The pics by his mate Mike Thomas were fantastic, he's a great photographer and to me eyes everybody looks cool, glam and beautiful, especially my girlfriend.
But I looked at it and thought, 'who's that fat bastard next to her? Oh, it's me'.
It inspires conflicting emotions, at the same time I feel like pigging out to make myself feel better, and starve myself to make myself feel better. But because it's much quicker and easier to polish off a box of cookies, that is the urge that wins out.
It's not an excuse but it has been a busy few weeks, I've had two big projects to get done before buggering off to Italy at the weekend.
I've been working all day, late into the night, and over the weekends, which tend to be booked up with stuff like weddings and half marathons.
So I have been exhausted and hungry and the fact is I haven't had to work full time for nearly six months so I'm probably not used to that either.
It's great to have lots of work, but of course it's all done sat on my backside, and the urge to go and exercise has been severly beaten by those bully boys Tired and Hungry.
But now I am looking forward to a week in Italy, having finished the work I was doing, and maybe I can come back fully refreshed, full of enthusiasm to take on the biggest physical and mental challenge I have ever faced.
I reckon I might need some help though and I'm considering a recruitment drive for the Fat Bastard Running Club, to see if there's anybody else in my position, and shape, who'd like to train with me to keep each other going.
Let me know if there is anybody out there who fancies joining me.
It's astonishing how reliant I am on minor things like my broadband and various websites working properly.
It reminds of how crippled we felt when the fuel protesters came within a drop of unleaded of bringing the country to its knees.
The day didn't start well as for some reason my broadband at home isn't working today, so I find myself holed up in the Blue Lagoon on Glouester Road, making use of their wi-fi.
To be fair it's quite a nice relaxed place to shift the office to for the morning, but that's not really the point.
Even though the wi-fi is free, I did feel obliged to buy a coffee, and then the special breakfast.
Which brings me onto my next point. It really is time to shape up and stop getting back into bad old ways.
I'm feeling a bit like an oil tanker at the moment, for more than one reason.
I'm finding it hard to switch back into 'healthy Simon' mode, after being 'don't give a damn Simon' mode for a while.
I think when I thought I wouldn't get a place for the London Marathon a little bit of me decided to take the whole fitness regime a little less seriously, sub consciously of course.
But now I have got a place, I should be out at the gym or going for a run every day.
Instead my food consumption yesterday included half a big size Cadbury's Whole Nut bar (the other half went the night before), a healthyish lunch of salad and chicken, covered in olive oil and mayo, followed by a bacon and cheese panini about 5.30, two rounds of ham sandwiches during the football (weren't England great!) and a whole packet of Sainsbury's luxury Belgian chocolate and hazlenut cookies.
It's a bit like smoking, I know how bad it is, but I just can't seem to stop myself at the moment. Although I did conquer the fags and I'm never going back to those.
I have that pang of guilt coming out of the shop with a bag of sweets or something equally bad for me, which must be the same sense of shame a recovering alcoholic feels being spotted coming out of Threshers with a bottle under his arm.
I felt particularly down yesterday as I saw a photo of myself from the weekend at my brother's wedding.
The pics by his mate Mike Thomas were fantastic, he's a great photographer and to me eyes everybody looks cool, glam and beautiful, especially my girlfriend.
But I looked at it and thought, 'who's that fat bastard next to her? Oh, it's me'.
It inspires conflicting emotions, at the same time I feel like pigging out to make myself feel better, and starve myself to make myself feel better. But because it's much quicker and easier to polish off a box of cookies, that is the urge that wins out.
It's not an excuse but it has been a busy few weeks, I've had two big projects to get done before buggering off to Italy at the weekend.
I've been working all day, late into the night, and over the weekends, which tend to be booked up with stuff like weddings and half marathons.
So I have been exhausted and hungry and the fact is I haven't had to work full time for nearly six months so I'm probably not used to that either.
It's great to have lots of work, but of course it's all done sat on my backside, and the urge to go and exercise has been severly beaten by those bully boys Tired and Hungry.
But now I am looking forward to a week in Italy, having finished the work I was doing, and maybe I can come back fully refreshed, full of enthusiasm to take on the biggest physical and mental challenge I have ever faced.
I reckon I might need some help though and I'm considering a recruitment drive for the Fat Bastard Running Club, to see if there's anybody else in my position, and shape, who'd like to train with me to keep each other going.
Let me know if there is anybody out there who fancies joining me.
Sunday, 6 September 2009
Bristol Half Marathon, 2009. Pants.
Here's a tip for all you half marathon runners out there. Don't duck out of the start to go to the loo as I did today, as you will find the entire 20,000 other runners have legged it away and left you on your own, plum last, with a lot of ground to cover.
It couldn't have been much of a worse start if I'd broken both my kneecaps and decided to run blindfolded.
I started with the pink numbers, which was the last section in the second wave of runners. For the first time in Bristol they split the start into two waves, the first presumably with proper runners, and the second half an hour later with the rest of us. I was a bit late joining them so I was already quite close to the back, but as we shuffled down to the start two things started to bother me. The first was that all the runners around me looked much fitter than me, which I know isn't hard but this was supposed to be the section for all honorary members of the Fat Bastard's Running Club. Clearly they had taken the whole thing much more seriously than me. The second thing was that I really needed the loo, having drunk several pints of water the night before and this morning. (I somehow also managed to drink nothing but soda and lime all day at my brother's wedding the day before)
I just nipped into a portaloo, and when I came back out, everybody had run off down the road, power walkers included, which meant there was not a single runner around me. I crossed the start line totally on my own, to the slightly ironic cheering of the crowd. It was nice to have all those people cheering for me, and I virtually sprinted away as I felt I had to put a bit of effort into it.
So in the end I started in the unofficial third wave, except it was less of a wave and more of trickle, or possibly even a drip.
Things didn't get much better after that. Just before the first mile was up I started to feel sick, and indeed tired.
I reflected that the bag of Minstrels for breakfast was probably not as good an idea as I first thought.
My legs were already giving way and I had to stop for fear of being sick. After a bit of a coughing fit I felt a bit better and started up again.
The first mile is always the worst anyway and for the next half hour or so I managed to get up a bit of momentum and slowly started passing some of the tail-enders, power walkers that is.
My proudest moment was passing the 'cardiac rehab walkers', which was a group of men who had clearly recently had heart surgery and were getting back to fitness. I know what they have been through as that was me a couple of years ago, but I didn't even attempt anything as admirable as that in my cardiac rehab. I felt a little pang as I went past them, I thought it might have been a stitch but I think it was shame for being so useless compared to them.
The stark reality of the situation soon hit me though, I simply was not fit enough to take on 13.1 miles.
My preparation had been woeful. After the 10K run in May I did really kick on and made some good progress but the past month to six weeks everything had come to a bit of a halt.
I hadn't given myself the best chance as I have been working pretty hard for the past couple of weeks which is good for the business, but not found the time or energy to train.
And I spent all yesterday at a wedding in Birmingham which was also great to be at, but I was back late and this morning when I woke up I just felt knackered.
Had I not started at the very back as well, maybe I would have been carried by the other runners, not literally of course, that would have been asking a bit much.
It took me just about an hour to get to the four mile mark, and at four miles an hour it would have taken me more than three hours to finish, if I'd even managed to keep going at that blistering pace.
And in fact the average walking speed, according to Google, is 3.5 miles an hour. I kept trying to run in bursts of ten to 15 minutes, which I managed for a while but that came down to five or three minutes.
My motivation wasn't helped very much by the amount of bloody cyclists who kept whizzing past. I thought it was a bit out of order myself. I had my tunes on quite loud, and I didn't expect to have to keep looking round my shoulder for somebody speeding up on their bike. Especially the guy who whipped past me gabbling into his phone.
I think I even shouted out, 'it's easy on a bike!', and finished the sentence in my head, 'you tosser'.
And people kept crossing the road in front of me, not that I blame them, but one bloke came so close holding his child, that it felt like he was showing his toddler what failure looked like so he could learn a lesson from it.
Then there is the sympathy clapping. I admire anybody who stands and watches 20,000 or so people running through Bristol and by the time I was coming round the corner they must have been there for bloody hours.
But I almost felt like I wished they would just let me go past and just not mention it, because I was so far behind that they must have thought I had some condition or physical ailment, and was being really brave.
I don't mean it really, any support is very gratefully received. But secretly I'm sure some of the marshals were clapping because they knew I must have been the last in the pack and they could start to pack up and get down the pub.
But I think the final straw was having to compete with the bin lorry that roared up behind me on the Portway to collect the thousands of plastic bottles left strewn across the road by runners.
He kept a respectful distance for a while, but must have got bored and went past me but we were roughly the same speed. I did think about jumping on the back.
I managed to get round the turn at Sylvan Way and ran and walked a bit down the Portway, feeling wrecked by this point.
At seven miles, just before the junction with Bridge Valley Road, I met my girlfriend and I decided I'd had enough by that point.
It was about 10K and that is the distance I have managed to do before reasonably comfortably, but it's amazing how quickly you lose fitness and I just had nothing left.
So instead of running another six miles or so, we hiked up Bridge Valley Road and headed home.
I didn't feel it was worth pushing myself, because I knew I wasn't able to do it. I know I've lost two stone in the last few months, but I'm still five or six stone overweight, and I could really feel that today.
I do have mixed feelings because I know I could have got in shape for it and at least finished it. I have done seven half marathons over the past eight years, and I've always made it over the finish line.
But at the same time this was very much the start of my training regime for the London Marathon next year.
Normally when I run a half marathon it is the culmination of months of training, and an end in itself, but the aim now is April next year.
It has really helped me to focus on what I need to do to get in shape for next year, which is clearly quite a lot.
It's a bit like when England are in the World Cup, they usually start badly, but come good in the end, only to crash out near the end. Obviously I'm not aiming to crash out near the end, so it's not that similar, but I know what I mean.
The good things to take out of today are that I didn't injure myself, and that at least I managed 10K and didn't turn round and go home after the first mile, which was a serious consideration for a moment while I was at the side of the road coughing my guts up. Nice.
But as I said, if anything it has made me more determined than ever to get properly fit for April next year.
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