Did They Know It Was Christmas? What has happened since Band Aid?

In 2014 it will be 30 years since those iconic news reports from Micheal Buerk were relayed into our homes from a famine-struck Ethiopia, which inspired Bob Geldof and others to release Do They Know It’s Christmas, and later led to Live Aid.

I’m thinking of this of course because it’s currently playing on a radio somewhere and it made me think about that time, and what has changed since.

For a start I can’t believe it’s 30 years ago, but for me it is so imbued with everything I remember about Christmas as a kid. I was nine years old when it came out, and my sister bought me the seven inch single, which still resides up in the loft somewhere.

I think that age between eight and ten is the zenith in the arc of Christmas meaning. It is the time when you are most aware of what seems like the endless consumerist possibilities that Christmas holds, while still being young enough to believe in the magic of it. That Christmas I believe I also got the 1984/85 season Southampton replica kit, which I wore 24/7, including shin pads, until going back to school.

I think the other thing Band Aid did, apart from raise lots of money for chariddee, was open our eyes to the world, and heralded a new age of global awareness. I admit I was only a kid at the time, but all I knew about Africa was what Mrs Reed taught us in primary school, which was a faintly rose-tinted colonial view of the continent, which featured drawing colourful pictures of abundant jungles, lions and funny looking tribes that bore little relation to reality. Nothing like the images of vast swathes of arid and unforgiving desert, offering no shelter to the millions of starving men women and children suffering in the heat, too weak even to bat the flies away from their faces.

On a subconscious level, as I was only nine, I’m sure it had a profound effect on me that led to becoming a journalist myself years later. Although there wasn’t much opportunity to shine a light on that kind of Biblical suffering while faithfully taking notes at Wincanton town council meetings.

The whole thing around Band Aid and Live Aid that followed is that for about six months everybody was acutely aware of what was happening in Africa, in the very place where humanity took its first steps where the very future of its people was in jeopardy, and doubtless for that time many lives were saved.

But in the 30 years since then human tragedies on an equal and at times far larger scale (Congo, Darfur, Rwanda, Zimbabwe etc) are ongoing yet nobody’s hiring out Wembley stadium and trying to effect the kind of change we saw in 1984/5. Okay, there was Live8, but, it’s almost as if since our eyes have been open wide to dire state of some parts of the world, they’ve actually glazed over because there really is only so much we as individuals can do.

And so it’s up to our great elected leaders to sort things out, rather than impassioned rock stars, and that’s a bit of a worry. Although, I have to say, while I’m no fan generally of what this current coalition stands for, fair play to Cameron for continuing to put money into overseas aid. After all, you could argue, had we not roamed half the world looking for countries to conquer and squeeze dry of all resources, places like Africa might not be in quite so much trouble now. I think we probably owe them a fair bit, especially at this time of year.

Now, there's a cheery message for Christmas!

Week 1 and five pounds down

Okay fat fans, the scores on the doors after one week are looking pretty good as I weighed in on Friday morning five pounds lighter than a week ago.

However, as a veteran around this particular block I’m well aware that the first week on this journey is often the easiest, and the mere fact of cutting calories and going to the gym a couple of times has a huge impact, when starting from a very low base point of activity. Next week is unlikely to be quite so dramatic I suspect, particularly after this weekend’s Jamie Oliver-inspired massive pie:

Steak, Guinness and cheese pie, from Jamie at Home 

And this is the biggest part of the challenge I think; living like an abstemious monk from Monday to Friday, and then falling into a vat of pie, red wine and indulgence at the weekend. So the five pounds that was shed so diligently is then layered back on by Monday morning. Now, that would be fine if I was oscillating between ten and ten and a half stone, dancing around the room in my skinny-arsed 26” waist jeans. But at this stage I just need to keep the good habits up seven days a week in order to make progress, otherwise all that will happen is that I keep going back to the start like a needle jumping on a scratched record. And nobody wants to sound like a broken record do they? (For anybody reading this who doesn’t understand that reference, this is a record.)

That makes me think that maybe the start of December, the run-in to the biggest overindulgence of the year, is not the best time to start trying to lose weight and get, but it shouldn’t take the brains of a trussed up turkey to realise this. In fact in some ways I think it is the best time, because I can at least get used to the idea before the cold harsh reality of January hits home, and the harrowing bleakness of a English mid-winter sets in.

What is interesting is looking at the stats of my progress through the magic of the interweb and the app My Fitness Pal, which helps me stay in control of calorie consumption. It not only tells me how many calories I’m taking in, but how many I burn during exercise, and what levels of carbs, fat, sodium, sugar etc that’s going into my system. Following my faithful entries this weekend including the pie, it looks like I’ve almost doubled the entire week’s calorie allowance

I’ve also been entering my weight on a regular basis and the past 12 months my chart looks not unlike a Manhattan skyline, with all its ups and downs:

The ups and downs of dieting

The stats are good and enables me to see exactly what’s happening and the make-up of my diet, but it’s also confirmation in black and white that the next three weeks are going to be a challenge for the waist line with two work parties, one for the St Paul’s Players and at least two invites to friends before we even make the trip to Amy’s family to tuck into the traditional huge turkey dinner. Frankly January comes as something of a relief, although I’m looking forward to all of those things of course. It is, after all, the season to be jolly. Cheers, I’m off for a run.

Getting Fit For 40 - Day 3

So far so good - three days in and I've already lost three pounds!
Whoop! Smashing it, #easy.

Getting Fit For 40

So, it was with a slight shudder that I realised I’m going to turn 40 in less than 18 months. And I don’t mean that I feel my life is over and ‘what the hell happened to my youth’ and all that whiney crap, (although, seriously, what the hell happened to my youth?).

In fact with each passing decade I’ve felt more and more comfortable in my skin and glad I’m getting further away from the embarrassingly nieve, self-centred and arrogant angry young man that stomped around this beautiful city (Bristol) with my pen and reporter’s notebook in hand, brandishing it with all the righteousness of a broadsword wielding Crusader during the sack of Jerusalem. I'm looking forward to my forties, there's a lot that should be happening which will be amazing, and after all, it is the new 30 in any case.

My point is, the skin. While I’m more comfortable in it, there seems to be more of it than there ever has been, all stretched and man-booby, in a way that is not attractive, which goes without saying, but also in a way that is just not healthy or indeed sustainable.

On March 10, 2015, I’ll hopefully be marking my fortieth birthday in some debauched, drunken and possibly depraved manner, as is the tradition, in order to usher in a new and exciting point in my life. Later that same year I will, (wedding Gods willing) also be getting married to the most wonderful, beautiful, warm hearted, intelligent, forgiving and patient woman I’ve ever met, and I know how lucky that makes me. She also laughs at most of my jokes, which surely makes her a keeper.

So I want to hit my fifth decade running, both figuratively and in an actual sense, by being fitter and healthier and giving myself the best chance of appearing like the good looking bastard I always hoped I would be in my wedding photos. Okay, I know, we’re not working miracles here...

But this isn’t just some vanity project. Although who doesn’t want to look their best on their wedding day? This is about understanding how to achieve that thing that seems to be so elusive to me, which is about having a healthy balanced diet, getting regular exercise and not having to worry about whether or not I’ll reach 40.

Why am I doing this?

Last year my dad gave us all a scare by having a heart attack in the middle of the night, thankfully all was well and the good people at TauntonMusgrove Park Hospital did a great job in keeping him alive. However lately it’s been making me think, and specifically it’s been making me think about the time in my very early 20s when I was living a fairly typically excessive student lifestyle, burning the candle at both ends if you like, and melting it in the middle probably. My doctor told me that if I kept living my life like that for the next ten years, I probably wouldn’t make it to 40, due in part to my heart condition which I didn’t really take very seriously at 20, being that at 20, I felt pretty much invincible.

Of course I grew up and out of all that but as the big ‘Four Oh’ now approaches I can’t help but think that my health needs again to be my top priority, because despite my on-off relationship with fitness and running, including the year-long full-on sordid affair with the London Marathon back in 2009/2010, it turns out I’m not in fact invincible. It also turns out that running one marathon doesn’t mean you can then eat crap for the next three years and expect the well-toned snake hips not to turn into a big fat whale’s arse - (I never had snake hips of course, I was just reaching for some easy animal analogy).

Okay, where is this going, why should I care? Two good questions.

What I’m doing here now is trying to focus everything on getting fit for 40, not because it makes an easy alliterative blog title, although that helps, but because it’s a crucial age, a crucial year in my life and the fact is it’s going to take more than a year to turn this bloated tanker around.

Here are the stats as of November 25, 2013:

Age: 38

Weight: 17st 6lbs

Height: 5ft 6ins

Waist: 38ins

Chest: 48ins

Collar: 18ins

BMI: 38.21

Life expectancy: 73 

There are some bad numbers there, and there are some really bad numbers. It’s not pretty, and nor are all the attending health issues that go with it.

So, I’m starting a journey, today, to change those numbers and my life, although I admit there’s not much I can do about my height unfortunately. And without sounding too much like a hopeless X Factor contestant, I’ve decided to share this journey because I want to know how to achieve a normal, healthy state of being, without having to go on a cabbage soup diet, or run ten miles everyday, or any other extreme measures which are not only unsustainable but utterly miserable.

I enjoy my food, that much is clear, but I mean I enjoy good food and wine...and beer. I don’t want to give up the simple pleasures of life for a Spartan existence that may well see me return to a 28 inch waist and look ten years younger, but at what cost? We live in a society where we all work long hours and during the week me and the missus-to-be see little of each other beyond getting some kind of dinner on the table, watching a bit of Corrie on catch up and falling asleep in front of the news. So I don’t want to give up those times at the weekend when we can enjoy a good meal and maybe two or three bottles of wine. Or even maybe four...

It’s also clear that there are a lot of people, especially men, who probably feel the same and I want to hear from them and build a community of shared experience. Men are still woefully ignored by the diet industry, in my opinion, and only have fitness mags that seem to be written for and by elastic-waisted twentysomethings. Instead of titles like Mens Health, we need things like Fat and Balding Bloke’s Health, with features on how to enjoy a few pints of Doom Bar at the weekend without having to pay for it during the rest of the week and easy recipes for food that tastes real without worrying about calories. Shed building, Ford Focus maintainence, how to let out your Levis around the waist, etc. Please save us from diets, but instead work out a good balanced lifestyle.

The challenge ahead

I’ve just been looking up my ideal healthy weight for a man of my height, and according to the NHS Choices website, a healthy weight is between nine and 11 stone. I don’t think I’d have the muscle strength necessary to get out of bed at nine stone. So I’m going to aim for ten stone, which give or take a few lamb baltis is about eight stone from where I am now, which seems like a lot. And it is.

I think I can do it, in time for turning 40, but what’s really important is what happens after that. Professional sportsmen (with whom I have little in common it’s true) will say that winning world championship, the Premier league, Wimbledon etc is one thing, but retaining the title year after year is a much bigger challenge. And that is the true nature of this challenge before me. It’s not to lose eight stone and run another marathon, but to lose weight and to keep it lost on a permanent basis as that is the title that eludes me.

A bit less of this....

...and a bit more of this.

Having said I don’t want to rely on a diet of cabbage soup and run ten miles a day, I know that over the next couple of years I need to take action to get fit and that is going to mean a lot of running, walking and cycling, and abstaining from all that wonderful stuff that I’ve paid such a heavy price for. Time to get off my arse!

And of course no challenge would be complete without trying to raise money for relevant charities and for me that is the British Heart Foundation and Cancer Research UK.

I have set myself a goal of raising £2,000 for these two vital charities over the next two years, by taking on a number of different physical challenges in order to lose about eight stone in weight and to Get Fit For 40.

Obesity, and all its attending health problems, is a major cause of heart disease and cancer, and as I underwent a heart valve replacement in 2007, and have known too many people lose their lives to cancer, it feels right that anything I can do to help should benefit these two leading charities.

With the scale of the challenge ahead of me I feel two years is about right and in that time I plan to complete the following:

2014:

May - Edinburgh Half Marathon

June/July - Three Peaks Challenge

August - Action 100 Bristol to London Bike Ride

September - Bristol Half Marathon

2015:

March - Bath Half Marathon

June/July - Ridgeway route walk 87 miles

August - Action 100 Bristol to London Bike Ride

September - Bristol Half Marathon

That is the plan right now, but that may change with things like life and weddings having their impact and I will keep this updated if there are changes. I’ve not put in for any planned activity for 2013, as there’s so little time left so I’m just going to focus on getting down the gym and avoiding too many Christmas sweets. Although a Christmas Cracker 10K may not be too far out of reach.

I know very well the pressures on all of us financially, but if you can give anything to this cause I would be hugely grateful, and of course every penny goes straight to the charities, so even if you think I’m a complete arse, your hard-earned will be going where it should. 

Also if you got to the end of this blog post, then especially well done to you!

To find out how to donate, go to my VIRGIN MONEY GIVING PAGE.

Right then, I’m off for a brisk stroll to stock up on celery and diet pills!

Too much noise

Today I sat at my desk and thought, quite seriously that my head might explode.

It was like I could feel the pressure building up inside my skull, like an over-pumped balloon, with no means of letting it out, other than perhaps to run around the room screaming my head off like some kind of crazy bastard.

I was going to say it's hard to explain, but if that was the case I might as well stop writing as the whole intention of the post is to go some way to explaining it. People say things they don't mean a lot, at least I do, I think.

What I really meant was, it sounds kind of melodramatic, but that's really not the intention, it's more observational than 'woe is me' kind of stuff.

Just lately it feels like all the noise of the world is building to an unbearable pitch at a decibel level beyond anything a fleet of jet engines could get close to, and it's all building inside my head and feels like it's about to go bang!

Everyday I walk into my office and into a maelstrom of white noise and media cacophony, and I don't mean necessarily the people in the office, but the activity we generate inside, like one of those cartoons when Bugs Bunny opens the door on a room where the noise bursts out and then slams it shut again for silence.

It's similar to what I imagine it is like being inside the Hadron Collider when millions of electrons and particles are racing round at screaming speeds, only the noise is generated by a million pointless news stories racing round the internet and broadcast news and eventually landing wet with ink on the inside of a dozen newspapers.

We live in a world where the slightest indiscretion, off the record comment, misunderstanding or harmless and insignificant observation dropped into the mediaverse in the small hours of the morning, begins to spread and build and grow and expand, stretch and distort beyond anything resembling reason by lunchtime. By drivetime it's the topic of the day, by six it's headline top story, ten it's a full blown scandal and then it's someone's job to prove how the country is going to implode under the weight of the crisis by the weekend.

And all the time, the same tiny kernel of truth is passed around so many times, embellished, interpreted, analysed and laundered through the media machine so that there is really nothing left.

Whether it's the front page claiming killer spiders are invading the UK, based on the word of somebody who thought it might be true, or the endless ‘gates’ from Pleb to Sachs, and every one gets further and further from the original Watergate and lessens in impact and public interest as a result.

Sally Bercow having a drink, Roy Hodgson’s team talk, the Kardashians giving birth, wearing bikinis, having new hair, old hair, Beyonce’s lack of hair, hairgate, Kanyegate, Simon Cowell’s girlfriend wondering how many millions it will take to bring up their baby, while, I’m afraid to say, two thirds of the world live and die on a dollar a day, millions of kids still growing up with Aids in Africa, the Middle East imploding in a war that stretches back a thousand years and men and women who do not look like they’ve walked out of a salon, wondering just how the hell to find the merest scrap of motivation to carry on with the daily fight for existence.

And yet, and yet, and yet, the noise inside my head isn’t, as Obi Wan memorably said the sound of a million voices suddenly crying out in terror, but the utterly ridiculous banality of hearing about Harry Style’s new tattoo, somebody from a girl band eating some food in a place which sells food, with somebody she knows and somebody from TOWIE or Made In Chelsea, as far from the realms of talent, intellect and credibility as it is possible to get without actually going back to the big bang, who has apparently taken her inspiration for her hair style from Marge Simpson. #margegate presumably.
But I'm sure I'll get over it and the pressure in my head will recede once I find my Halloween-themed onesie to wear to the office next week. A maze.

A perfect 10 for a Bank Holiday weekend in Bristol

Easily the best Bank Holiday I can remember for a long time, not only because of all the amazing sunshine which transformed the whole country, but for all the wonderful things Bristol offers.
The weekend kicked off nicely with a boozy Friday night at the newly-refurbished Anchor Pub, which is now part of the Mezze chain. Unfortunately we arrived just too late to make good on the promise of free flowing champagne, (and for some reason the two girls in impossible heels seemed to get served ahead of me) but nevertheless enjoyed getting used to the new-look pub and the several pints of Gem while chatting to an ageing hipppy call Cosmic Sam. I’m not even joking. His name was really Cosmic, something or other.
What was once a neglected relic with carpets and decor from 1973 has in the a matter of weeks been transformed into a modern, contemporary, Mediterranean-influenced gastro type pub, that I’ve been waiting to arrive since I moved here two years ago.
Saturday was full of chores and carbloading for Sunday, when Amy and I took on the Bristol 10K. We’ve both been looking forward to it, and after my decision to pull out of the Edinburgh Marathon, I could really enjoy the occasion and revel in the atmosphere. Amy did  a great job of setting the pace and we finished in a steady 1hr 20mins.

Approaching the finish at the Bristol 10K

It was quite a contrast to the last time we took part, about four or five years ago, when it was a much smaller field of runners and we were much less prepared and in the end was barely able to keep up with a woman dressed as a sugar plumb fairy, with the figure to match, and a few power walkers. I think they were even starting to pick up the cones and reopen the roads as we plodded along. But this year we smashed our previous time by almost 20 minutes, and had a great time being part of this amazing spectacle.
After finishing the run we hit the Burger Joint on Whiteladies Road for a well-deserved pint and mahoosive gourmet burger, which I’d been thinking about most of the way round.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a weird blur as I kept falling asleep on the sofa, in the bath and found myself almost in bed at about 6pm. It was all we could do to muster and get back round the pub for a few more pints in celebration of our achievements.
So today, with the sun shining, my little Schwin Fastback push bike was looking like a very tempting prospect, as news of Team Sky in Italy’s Giro came on the radio. Having just had the bike overhauled at Mike’s Bikes in Portishead, (which is definitely worth a plug as they did such a great job) I decided it was time to road test it properly.
Being lucky enough to live on the cycle network I headed towards Bristol on the Avon River Trail, went through the city and out to Bath, then back again, clocking up about 45 miles in the process.

Of course, everybody else in the world had the same idea and it was very busy, which is great of course as it gives people a chance to get out and enjoy the countryside, like I was. I just wish I could have had it all to myself. I’m waiting for the sunburn to kick in now as it was really properly hot on the road. Despite taking two drinking bottles I had to stop at an ice cream van on the harbourside in Bristol for what turned out to be the best can of Coke and Magnum ice cream I’ve ever had. Much needed at that point.

The view of Bristol's floating harbour and the Balmoral this evening

I also discovered why they have signs on the road there warning cyclists not to ride along the dockside at the floating harbour because of the danger of getting wheels caught in the old tram lines. I discovered this after getting my wheel caught in one of the old tram lines and falling haplessly off my bike, right in front of one of those signs. Must have made someone’s day.
So now back to work, at least it’s only three weeks until the next bank holiday, which I’m sure will be as sunny and amazing. This is England in the springtime after all.

Edinburgh no more...Cardiff here we come

It’s been a tricky few weeks, not in any real sense of course, I’ve been going to work, coming home, and repeating over and over. Compared to the lives of two thirds of the world it’s been absolute unbridled bliss and luxury.
However, in my own little corner of the world, I have been struggling over what to do regarding the Edinburgh Marathon, looming large on the horizon.
Basically, for reasons I can’t quite understand, the momentum in training I’d built up during the harshest winter for years, which saw me losing more than two stone and getting up to 15 miles in distance, has fallen more flat than George Osborne’s plan for economic recovery.

How I would probably end up during the marathon

The last few training runs where I’ve attempted to step up to 17, 19 and 20 miles have all ended badly, hobbling home, and consoling myself with a bag of chocolate Buttons and a bottle of wine. I don’t know what’s more tragic, my pathetic whining and failure in training, or the fact I’m morphing into some kind of male Bridget Jones.
So, anyway, I’ve made a decision based on what I think is the best option in terms of what I feel I can actually achieve, at the same time as honouring my commitment to Cancer Research UK and St Peter’s Hospice.
Having already run a marathon in 2010, I know that I’m not ready to go the distance on May 26 in Edinburgh, and I don’t think it is going to do any good to try to run it and knacker myself halfway through because of a lack of training, and end up hating the idea of running for another three years.
The whole point of applying for the marathon in the first place was to give myself the motivation to get off my backside and start running again to get fit and healthy. Not to break myself on the Royal Mile.
So instead of the Edinburgh Marathon I have decided that I am going to keep training through the summer and run the Cardiff Half Marathon on October 6.
I am still determined to raised £1,000 for Cancer Research and St Peter’s Hospice, and to uphold the memories of all those who initially motivated me to do that. It also means that all of you who have sponsored me so far, and I thank you all for your amazing support, can rest assured your donation will still count towards me pushing myself to the limit and running until I chunder.
In the parlance of management speak, I am realigning my long-term objectives, having seen what success looks like, and going forward will be drilling down to a more realistic achievement scenario.
So, it’s Edinburgh no more, but Cardiff and a summer of training around Bristol, here we come.

Hats off to London 2013

Great response today from the Virgin London Marathon following last week's events in Boston, as thousands fell silent in honour of those killed and injured in the bombings.
Although not there myself today, I did my usual thing of watching on from the comfort of the sofa and enjoyed watching the committed loons of the UK battling it out mile after mile.
Thinking now very much about my own challenge coming up at the Edinburgh Marathon on May 26, as it is now starting to feel very close. Mainly because it is.
I have to say, training has taken a dive of late as motivation has been hard to come by for some reason. I think to a certain extent I may have trained so hard in the early months of the year that I simply ran out of steam.
Have attempted a couple of long runs over the past couple of weekends and just blown up after a few miles, so today I was determined to finish a decent length run to try and bring back the confidence that seemed to be in such abundance just a few weeks ago. It's as much about what's going on in the head as the legs I think, and I've been letting the size of challenge overwhelm me I think.
Today Amy and I went out and took on a 10K run, which although a long way short of a marathon, was a decent target to aim for. Pleased to say we hit eight miles and it was a far more enjoyable experience in the sunshine and comparative warmth compared to January and February. Was also great to have Amy running next to me, although she was a little surprised to discover we'd run eight miles when we were only supposed to be doing 6.6.
So, we're collapsed on the sofa enjoying a Sunday night curry and feeling quite pleased with a good run under our belts today, and hoping that it will now act as a launchpad to push on to the full marathon in a few weeks.

Boston Marathon 2013 - Don't let the bastards win

For anybody who has ever run a marathon, a half marathon, 10K or just jogs for fun, and for those who turn out to watch and cheer and support those who do, this is an attack on every one of them.
The Boston Marathon is a truly international event, 96 countries represented among 27,000 people and over 200 runners from the UK alone.
These are just people like all of us, with hopes and aspirations for the day, been in training for months, maybe years, pinning their courage to their chests and fulfilling a dream.
The bombs went off at the finish line just four hours in, when the majority of club runners and so-called 'fun runners' would have been heading for the line, in fact the main bulk of pack following the elite finishers.
People who have been fundraising for weeks, hosting coffee morning, quiz nights and karaoke nights to help hit their targets for people with cancer, heart disease, mental health issues, children's charities, overseas aid charities, local hospices and probably the local church spire appeal.
People who have found more courage to carry out a single act of alturism than any of the cowards who planted bombs and set them to go off to cause the maximum amount of pain and death.
Fuckers.
So, in recent days and weeks I've been moping about whingeing that I'm not fit enough to run the marathon I'm training for, or that I can't find the motivation to get myself out and go running, and thinking that maybe I should downgrade to a half marathon in Edinburgh on May 26.
But following today's tragedy, and that of the young runner who died taking part in the Brighton Marathon at the weekend, it would seem the only fitting tribute anybody can pay is to keep going and put aside any trivial niggles to make sure we honour their memories. And don't let the bastards win.

Tactical puke pushes Peevers to peerless performance

Training back on track today after a shabby couple of weeks which included a hangover so bad last weekend I could barely walk, let alone run.
So today I was looking forward to taking on a 12 to 13 mile run, in the thankfully warmer spring sunshine.
Despite waking up in Dorset this morning to scenes of snow falling across the green and pleasant, by the time we got back to Bristol the conditions were much better.
However I had once again underestimated the depth of a hangover that was lurking round like an ASBO mugger in a dark alley.
Reason I’d woken up in Dorset was because we’d spent the weekend on my parents’ estate in the country, which was quite lovely. As was the best part of two bottles of red wine I’d drained while enjoying dinner with the folks.
As a result I was feeling quite rough as I headed down the tow path along the Avon from Pill and with barely ten minutes on the watch I was ready to jack it in and go home. This was mainly because of the feverish sweats I’d developed and the sense of nausea. The thing I really needed to do was chunder and hope that would reset the system. So, that’s exactly what I did.
Thinking about the times I’d been at a party and started to feel a bit queasy, I remembered that a tactical puke was just the thing to get me sorted and back to the booze. I never thought it would be something I would deploy in this far more healthy scenario.
Anyway, it worked as I went from being on the verge of returning home and collapsing in front of the telly, to pushing on and completing a 13 mile run in 2hrs 43mins. At that pace it’s going to be a long day in Edinburgh on May 26, but I’m glad to get half marathon distance under my belt at this stage.
Just ten weeks to go now, but I do feel I’ve come a long in way in the past ten weeks so at this stage I’m quite confident of achieving the aim of running my second marathon. Think I might stay off the wine for a while though.

Running on fumes

John Lee Hooker, a blues legend of the old school, once sang One Bourbon, One Scotch and One Beer. Which could have been the theme tune my evening on Saturday if you added wine and tequila and multiplied it all by several times.
All of which meant that on Sunday, my 38th birthday, for the first time since Christmas this year, I failed to go out on a long run in the afternoon. I have wittered on several times on this blog about how I’ve been able to sink a bucket load of booze on a Saturday night and go out running on Sunday, to the extent that I even claimed to be able to run better as a result.
Well, not this weekend, the booze got real. It was as much as I could do to walk down the shop to buy a bag load of necessary junk food and a giant bottle of Lucozade to help me come round, without fainting with the effort. In first few seconds after opening my eyes on Sunday morning I had very little recollection of the previous evening’s events and thought I’d got away with it.
Luckily Amy was there to enlighten me and inform me of how I got home, as I had no recollection, and then on arrival at home threw off my coat before then walking over it and tripping on it. Then crawling to the toilet, where the customised porcelain edition of the iPhone was put to use, before I crawled up the stairs to bed. It’s not unreasonable to think that at 38 I’d know better by now, but sadly getting a year older doesn’t come with an automatic software update. Not yet at least.
Anyway, it was all good fun. However, on Monday morning I tentatively stepped on to the bathroom scales, which was a stupid idea, as it turns out less than two days of mildly excessive behaviour resulted in me putting on SEVEN POUNDS! A whole HALF A STONE! It took weeks to shift that and now the bugger’s back again within one 24 hour period.
So tonight I was pleased to get out in the deep freeze of this ongoing winter and managed to get a six mile run under my belt, running to what felt like every corner of Banbury to make up the miles. I was pleased considering the self-abuse at the weekend, and despite the fact that at times I thought I could feel the whiskey sweating out of me. Very much running on fumes, the fumes of Mr Jameson and I suspect one or two of his friends.

Running in the dark - stupid idea

Sometimes when I'm on the treadmill at the gym I consider closing my eyes so I can drift off and think of something more Zen to break up the tedium.
It's a stupid idea of course, as within a few seconds I would of course be spinning out of control more quickly than a Lib Dem press officer.
However it's not nearly as stupid, it turns out, as running along a narrow pavement alongside a busy A road in the dark. That is stupid.
So, I'm in Banbury tonight, for work, and I was keen to rack up a five mile run. Each morning I'd driven into the historic Oxfordshire town I'd noticed that the road coming out of Banbury has a pavement and would be ideal for a nice long run. What I didn't figure was that what looked like a great idea in the morning sunshine, was not such a great idea in the evening gloom and pitch dark.
So it was, as I ran out of Banbury tonight, I literally ran out of Banbury and found myself plodding along in the dark. Now, you'd think that would be the cue to turn around and head back to what passes as civilization. But oh no, I wanted to prove just how stupid I really can be by stumbling on for another mile or so. I thought that the light provided by the headlamps of the constant stream of cars would help to light my way, but then it dawned on me that running through rush hour traffic and all the Co2 that goes with it really wouldn't be beneficial and for all the good it did me I may as well have sat in the pub garden smoking a packet of fags.
I also realised that my black shorts, black running top and black cap would do little alert drivers to my presence on the roadside.
I turned back in the end because I'd reached 2.5 miles, so knew I could hit my five mile target, so it was for running reasons rather than health and safety. Although, I appreciate that having several broken bones as a result of getting hit by a car would do little to aid my ability to run.
But on the upside, I managed to get to five miles in just about an hour, and my Nike running app confirms what my RunKeeper reckons about my average speed, which is now 12mins 30 secs a mile, which is getting ever closer to the ten minute mile I'm aiming for.
So despite my unintended foray into extreme jogging, I'm pleased to be back in the hotel, with an array of tosh TV to choose from as I munch through my chicken and bacon sandwich, having avoided getting knocked down in the name of running.

Booze-fuelled running

I realise it's not the kind of message that somebody training for a marathon should be putting out there, but it is a fact that I've had my two best training runs following nights of copious boozing, which I wouldn't have thought possible.
However today, I managed to smash my ten mile goal a week earlier than scheduled, following a fairly heavy night on the sauce with my brother, who knows how to enjoy a drink or two.
Heading out with the attitude that a ten mile run would be kill or cure, I found myself getting into my stride quite nicely and after the first hour was purring along with thoughts of the Portishead cycle path ahead of me.
And so despite the descending dark and ghosts of railway lines long forgotten about which seem to go nowhere, I managed to crank up another hour on the road and according to my increasingly dodgy RunKeeper distance tracker, I racked up 10.65 miles. So I'm not 100 per cent sure about the distance but I reckon running for 2hrs and 6mins should cover about ten miles and I'm claiming it.
The last best run I did was when I hit five miles back in January following another heavy night on the booze. Imagine what I could do if I'd just gone to bed early with a cup of cocoa.
Feels like good progress though, definitely felt a longer run and managed to cover more ground and also this weekend my weigh in revealed I've lost 27 lbs, just 1lb off two stone, which feels great and bodes well for marathon training.

Ooooh, new shoes

Today I have defied my doctor’s orders, although I suspect more of a recommendation, guideline, suggestion really, that I shouldn’t run as I have a brand shining spanking new pair of Asics Nimbus in my possession and couldn’t resist wearing them in on the treadmill in the gym for half an hour.

My new Asics, terrible colours, amazing shoes

Despite my previous shameless attempts at luring the Asics marketing team into providing me with a new pair for free, nothing of the kind has occurred and it was down to the nice people at Up and Running in Bristol.

Had some great service there down the years with the added bonus of being able to chat to Bristol’s own running legend Nick Rose.

Today was no exception and I’m only flagging this up because I don’t think good service gets enough credit, not because I got any free stuff or anything like that.

Having ordered the Nimbi (is that plural?) a couple of weeks back I went in today to pick them up and the chap (should have got his name) who served me was genuinely interested in what I was doing in terms of running. I said about the training and it turns out he ran the Edinburgh Marathon last year so we had a good old chat about that, which was really nice. I do love talking about running with other people like that. It’s slightly paradoxical in a sense as running is more often than not a solo activity (certainly when you’re as slow as me and everyone has left you behind), but talking about it with other runners is great for bringing people together.

I have been in other running shops in Bristol in the Clifton area and have been made to feel as welcome as a horse dealer at a Tesco meat counter. Or, more simply, about as welcome as a fat bloke in a hallowed temple of running worshippers and fitness geeks. I hate those kind of amateur runners who look at you with that disdain as if you couldn’t possibly achieve the great feats of physicality they have just because they've done a few half marathons down the years and some orienteering probably - how to ruin running, make it like work. If Mo Farah gave me that kind of look I would accept it, he’s amazing, they are not. Although Mo Farah would probably have more respect for people. (Really not going to that shop again)

Anyway, couldn’t be further from the case at Up and Running, and for that they have pretty much guaranteed my custom for as long as I can keep running, for what it’s worth.

With my quite luminous new running shoes in hand, I hit the treadmill at the gym for 30 minutes, which was the first run since last Sunday as I have been good and doing as the doctor said and not run all week. The toe seems to be healing well thanks to the antibiotics, which is good as it was pretty hideous and painful a week ago, much as the pic illustrates:

It's horrible, I know, but much better now!

I wasn’t going to show that but couldn’t resist for some reason.

So, feel confident about my injury status and with my shiny new shoes I’m looking forward to a good long run tomorrow. I’m also really going to need to get some miles under the belt as I only lost 1 pound this week due to some indulgences this week, and we’re having our Valentine’s meal tonight, courtesy of M&S’s marvellous deal, which means wine is going to be drunk, and I might be too!

My left foot turns out to be my Achilles' heel

Keeping things in perspective as ever, utter and unimaginable disaster has struck my plans for marathon domination, in the shape of an infected toe.
My left foot, it seems, is my Achilles' heel, as it were. I have taken a picture of the offending toe and intended to post it on this blog to illustrate the sheer horror of the situation, but realised even the internet is not an appropriate place to plaster this particular obscene image.
The problem is that I may have an in-growing toenail on my left foot. It has been looking quite angry and infected for the past couple of weeks and I’d hoped that after a bit of Dettol and the odd squeeze to bring down the swelling it might sort of heal itself.
However it reached a peak of pain over the weekend so off to the doctor I went today and have been told, that until it clears up, NO RUNNING! ARRRGHGHGHGRHRHG!
I nearly cried out like a petulant teenager who’s Playstation has been confiscated when I was told this evening that I would have to shelve my training.
I’m now relying on some strong antibiotics and steroid cream to do their magic or else apparently it may require minor surgery to cut out the nail. Which would presumably put me out for another week or so.
This all left me feeling quite bereft and sorry for myself as I limped out of the surgery clutching my meds, which apparently may or may not include diarrhoea as one of the side effects. That’ll go down well as I am spending the next three days working in the office of our biggest and most corporate client. Oh god.
So that’s it for this week I think. I’ll have to hang up my running shoes for a few days and hope to god that I’ll be able to get back into the regime next week.
It makes the progress so far even more important because if I hadn’t exceeded expectations it would be difficult to get back into my stride. I’m also worried about piling on all that weight again, but I’m going to at least keep walking on a regular basis to keep the cardio-vascular activity up. He didn’t say I couldn’t walk after all.
Realistically I could be looking at the rest of February on the bench. It’s looking like March could be a big month to get over this set back and really ramp up the mileage. As I turn 38 next month, I face a mighty challenge to keep up the progress and make sure I’m still on track to run my second marathon in May.

Wet Wet Wet!

Remember those days at school when you were forced to run across the fields and through muddy bogs in the name of physical education and betterment?
Well, I actually never had the pleasure of taking part in cross country because of my then much weaker heart. No, I had the golden ticket to stay in the changing rooms pedaling on one of the fancy new exercise bikes that had been brought in the year before,
Me and Martin Palmer, the only two kids in the school with genuine bona fide reasons not to do cross country. It even trumped the excuses that the girls tried to come up with related to 'womens problems', which at 13 was still baffling to me.
Anyway, my old PE teachers Mr Smith and Mr Burton, may be pleased to know that I am finally suffering the pain and agony of a two hour cross country run, through hell and high water, but sort of enjoying it.
Today was particularly challenging. Been raining for most of the last 24 hours and the footpath we normally take down by the river resembled, well, more of a river in fact than a path. So we spent the first hour leaping from one side of the path to other trying to avoid the sinking mud that would have swallowed us up. But pretty soon gave in to the inevitable and quite enjoyed getting down and dirty in the rain, so to speak.
And for once we weren't harassed or put to shame by dozens of other runners or cyclists fighting for space on the path.
After going out for an Indian last night I was particularly keen to run off the extra calories and set my sights on a two hour run, which would be longer and further than anything before.
Last Sunday's run was 1hr 40 and I did two 40 min runs in the week, so really wanted to push it a bit today.
Running on balti and pilau power, I'm glad to say the horrendous conditions didn't put me off too much and I managed to eek out two hours on the road, which totted up to 9.14 miles.
Even more importantly my average mins per mile are coming down as well, from 14.38 two weeks ago to 13.28 today, so honing in on that elusive 11 minute a mile pace I want to achieve before getting to Edinburgh  in May.
I'm getting considerably lighter as well, with five lbs lost this week, taking the total to 23 lbs, which is bound to be helping my pace. I couldn't imagine what running with an extra 23 lbs on my back would be like now, but I think I might try it just to see what the difference really feels like. But still, quite a lot to go in terms of weight so must stick to the porridge and chicken diet. Not in the same bowl you understand. That would be weird.
Overall very pleased with progress so far, on track to hit my next goal which is to be able to run 10 miles by the end of February.
However my biggest concern is the lack of sponsorship so far. It's difficult asking for money in the post-Christmas/recessionary period, but I really want to hit that target as much as the running, because of so many people affected by cancer that I've known and loved down the years. So, if you're somebody who has managed to get to the bottom of this blog post, please encourage people to donate and help make all this worth it to people who really need help today.
Thanks, I would really appreciate it: How to donate

Smashing the Pill 10K

Knees are creaking tonight after smashing all previous training distances and going more than seven miles this afternoon.
I have established my very own Pill 10K route, which is in fact more than 11K, and takes in views of the M5 motorway bridge as well as the more picturesque River Avon along the towpath.
With the half pizza from last night providing the slow-release carbohydrate necessary for a long run, as well as the couple of glasses or red wine to help my heart keep beating, I was pleased to rack up the mileage today.
Thinking a lot about why I’m doing this marathon after very sad news this week of a former colleague who died far too young because of cancer, which makes today’s progress even more important.
If I’m lucky I’ll never have to go through that myself, so really the very least I can do is get off my flabby backside and raise some vital funds to help fight this disease.
And once again I find myself slightly baffled at my good progress.
I did have a bit of a crappy start to the week in terms of training with a run on Tuesday night that was just horrible. I could barely move my legs, which may have been a hangover from the five miler on Sunday, and had to keep stopping every few minutes.
It may not have helped that I was in Banbury and didn’t really know where I was going. I also felt very self-conscious about the new day-glo waterproof running top I had on. I say new, Amy bought it for me a year ago. I couldn’t zip it up at the time, because of the belly, so threw it to the bottom of a bag and forgot about it for a year or so. It has now re-emerged and I can, just about, pull up the zip over the slightly-decreasing paunch. It must be said that the definition of 'extra large' when it comes to sportswear manufacturers, is stretched further than the lycra-spun top itself over my gut.
So, wobbling like a luminous Telly Tubby along the paths next to the dual carriageways of Banbury, I wasn’t at my running happiest. Struggling to get past some group of hooded youths I wished I was wearing anything other than the day-glo top turning me into a very slow-moving target. I cranked up the music to block out their derision, if it came.
I just managed half an hour in all, about two miles, but felt so miserable I couldn’t even bring myself to blog about it.
Thursday was again a bit creaky but much better, back on home turf and managed a couple of laps of the small half of The Downs, about three miles in all, which wasn’t the best ever run but kept the momentum going.
An evening of rest on Friday, maybe one or two glasses of wine and a whiskey and soda to relax, and today came out fighting once again.
In total 7.14 miles in 1hr 40mins. Unthinkable when I started this training plan just a month ago.

I can’t cure cancer, but I can run and raise £1000

This week the very tragic reality of why I’m running the Edinburgh Marathon came home to me, sadly again.
Cathy Ellis, the former news editor of the Western Daily Press and Western Gazette, died of cancer. Far too young and, you can’t help feeling, unnecessarily.
I wasn’t a close friend of Cathy’s but I have known her for a long time as she was the chief reporter when I started my newspaper career on the Western Gazette, in 1999.
She was only a couple of years older than me, and we both moved to Bristol within a couple of years working on different papers but sharing the same open plan newsroom which was once the centre of the Bristol media world. Or so we thought.

Julie Harding

Cathy Ellis

Cathy is one of a number of people I’ve known and worked with down the years who have fought and lost that battle with cancer. Notably Julie Harding, the talented and indefatigable former chief reporter of the Bristol Evening Post, who sadly died last year after a long illness. An illness she refused to make her stop doing the job she loved.
In my personal life there are many people who should be walking, talking, laughing and loving here today who we’ve had to say goodbye to before their time. My grandparents Rose and Wal, our friend Emma Pitcher. And there are many others who are living with the ravages of the disease, somehow finding the courage to make it through every day.
Happily we also know people who have come through it and are able to get their lives back in one piece.

All this is why I am running the Edinburgh Marathon and raising £1,000 for Cancer Research and the Bristol-based St Peter’s Hospice, both of whom deserve our support.

My place in the marathon is not a gold bond place, with the condition of raising the money, I have chosen these charities because I feel personally moved to try to do something, well, useful, in terms of trying to fight cancer.
Obviously I’m not a doctor, a research scientist or the kind of person with the endless compassion to work in a hospice. But I can run, and I can raise money to help those people do the job that could one day lead to the kind of breakthrough that we all hope for.
I know £1,000 won't in itself cure cancer or fund a new piece of equipment, but it will pay for pain-relieving drugs, or a little more time for research, and it's something we can all do, so easily.
Sadly it’s too late for Cathy, Julie, Emma, Rose and Wal and all those others we’ve known and loved.
But I implore you, please help me to raise the £1,000 I’m aiming for, by giving what you can, and give future generations a chance of surviving this most tragic of diseases.
If you can help, please go to my Virgin Money Giving page. All the money goes to the charity by using Virgin Money Giving.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you can help.

Ye gods, how have I offended thee?

I’m not a particularly religious man but I couldn’t help feeling that I done something to offend the weather gods on my run tonight, as thunder, lightning and hail rained down on me in what seemed a concerted effort to make me turn back and give up on the whole idea.

Think the weather gods were trying to tell me something

Added to this was the uphill challenged of getting out on a run at all given the amount of cider, whiskey and wine consumed last night in what can only be described as a belated Wassail/Burns Night mash-up, which involved lots of food, some poetry and a lot of boozing.

I needed to at least run off the excess but somehow managed to stun and amaze myself by running more than 5.5 miles, non-stop, in the pouring rain and thunder. The hail was quite something, stinging my legs and turning the road and pavement white in a matter of what seemed like seconds. Thankfully I was wearing my baseball cap and the visor shielded my face against the pummelling. Which was fortunate as with a face like mine the last thing I need is for it to be made any worse by getting a face full of hail cutting it up.

It took 1hr 22mins, so no records broken, but I couldn’t believe that after the night I’d had last night, and the fact that just a month ago I couldn’t run half a mile without blowing up and almost throwing up, I managed to keep going for 5.6 miles.

This means I’ve smashed the first goal in my training plan, which was to be able to run five miles by the end of January. I wasn’t really sure I could do it when I set that target, but it feels like this week I’ve regained all the ability I lost after basically giving up running three-years-ago, and the muscle memory has kicked in and remembered how to keep going. Otherwise I’m at a complete loss to be able to explain how I’ve been able make such good progress this past week or so.

I’ve also lost a total of 17lbs in weight since the end of December so that is clearly having a huge impact as well as near abstinence from boozing. An abstinence that was quite spectacularly smashed last night.

So, next target, to be able to run ten miles by the end of February. And by the way weather gods, thunder lightning and hail, is that all you got? Bring it on.

Best run yet – three miles without stopping

Real breakthrough tonight as I managed not only to go out and run on compacted ice for three miles, but managed to do it without stopping once.

In terms of my running ability this is nothing short of a quantum leap forward which has made me almost deliriously happy, which I do appreciate is not a state many people who know me would recognise.

Conditions more suited to bobsleigh than jogging

 The freezing temperatures didn’t put off that many committed runners (a hardy bunch whose number I feel I can now count myself among) as plenty of people were up on the Downs or trudging round the streets of Clifton, gleaming with the street lights’ orange glow bouncing off them.

It probably wasn’t actually a very good idea and I did spot a rapid response ambulance car parked up close to the water tower, presumably in anticipation of some idiot, much like myself, attempting to run on what was now compacted snow with an underlay of ice and a topping of early evening frost.

I almost wondered whether they might not pull up alongside me and explain to me just how much tax payers money I could soon be needlessly costing the NHS with several broken bones to mend.

However, I have a feeling it was almost because of the conditions that I had such a good run. It was clearly important to take it easy and as such I managed to get a good steady pace going and after about a mile or so everything just felt like it was working like clockwork. A very slow clock granted, but even so, ticking along nicely I was.

Bit cold out

 Now, three miles round the Downs is obviously not a full marathon, but tonight was the first time I could just hit the road and keep going at my own pace and if it wasn’t for the fact that I am aiming to hit five miles this weekend, I honestly feel I could have just kept purring along for another couple of miles..

I was almost convulsing with the euphoria that had washed over me as I just kept going, step after step, to the extent that I punched the air and leapt up a bit after finishing, as if I'd grabbed gold at the Olympics. 

It must be the first time I’ve been able to do that probably since the London Marathon in 2010. And in some ways the run tonight was just as important as that, because it confirmed to me that the training is working, the weight loss is helping and I’m getting fitter every week.  Get in!

And I managed to run at a faster pace than I walked last night, so that’s another little victory to chalk up tonight.