Now for the hard work

Pic caption: Asics Gel Nimbus. They should just call them Asics Carling.


I've just come down from the ceiling after a week of being over-excited about getting a place in the London Marathon, and it's not unlike waking up on New Year's Day and wondering where a part of your life went, apart from down the toilet.
The marathon hangover is kicking in. The inescapable reality of the situation has arrived, and he doesn't appear to be carrying a party-pack of beers.
Jubilant euphoria was much more fun, he had a whole keg of happiness and no dull friends like eight months of training, running in the rain, pain and general struggle.
So I started my regime with a week of resting up, no point rushing into these things, there is after all, eight whole months. I'll bet the Kenyans don't even dust of their tracksuits until about a month before the race.
I have done a lot of walking this week though, around Clifton sniffing out leads like a proper newshound to find content for Clifton People. Maybe one day I will be good enough to get a job as a proper journalist on a real newspaper...
...anyway, Clifton is bigger than you think, on foot, so I reckon that's got to count for something.
Walking down Whiteladies Road I did think of going into the running shop Moti to look at buying some new running shoes, but I can't help feeling you probably need to run for your county at least before you can go in there.
I'm sure it's not that bad really and I expect they will be very lovely and helpful when I finally get enough money together to buy some new running shoes.
I may have to put off buying a house, a new car, or anything more than a loaf of bread for a while, but I know it will be worth getting a new pair of running shoes.
I've had the same pair of Asics Gel Nimbus trainers, which does sound a bit like a hair product, for the past few years. Admittedly a bit like me they haven't been in full time employment for that whole time, but they are a bit tired now, again, a bit like me perhaps.
They have been brilliant though, the best trainers I have ever had, and I have had a few different pairs down the years. Seriously, if anybody reading this works for Asics and can get me a discount I will gladly sell my soul to the company, they are so amazingly brilliant.
That's the thing about running shoes though, it's quite an individual thing, what works for some people doesn't work for others. One man's Asics may be another man's wooden clogs.
It is a bit expensive, I expect I'll have to shell out more than £100 on my new pair, but it's really worth it not only because of the obvious comfort and support, but the right running shoes will also go a long way to preventing injuries. Problems with knees, hips and all sorts of long term damage can be caused if you don't have the right running shoes.
It's common sense really, you wouldn't go hill walking in flip flops, for example, would you? Everybody in Clifton seems to wear flip flops, everywhere. There's a bit of a uniform for blokes, a polo shirt preferably with some kind of pattern on it, a pair of combat shorts, stupid hair and flip flops. I'm not saying I don't conform, obviously I do, but I'm scared to wear flip flops out the house, I think somebody will tread on my feet or the road in front of me may suddenly turn into hot coals and I'll perish in the furnace. But mainly I don't wear them because on the whole it's just not suitable footwear for outdoors is it? By the way I am 34 going on Victorian these days.
So the general plan is to do a long run this weekend, but not go mad because I do have the half marathon in about ten days, although there is no sign of a race pack as yet, does anybody have theirs?
Then I go on holiday, where the only running I intend to do is with my finger along the edge of a bottle opener.
All of which means I should be hitting the ground running into marathon training at some point towards the end of September, just as the temperature drops, the nights draw in and it rains even more.
I can't wait. I do mean that though, I really can't wait.

Pic caption: Roller blades, a completely pointless purchase.


A whole week of opportunity stretches ahead as I sip on my first coffee of the morning and contemplate my next move in the great chess game of life.
I have decided, against my better judgement, not to go to my Weight Watchers meeting. This is possibly one of the worst things you can do as a member, as that small step leads to the dark side and obese oblivion.
But I will only upset myself if I go. I would rather crack on with being good to myself this week as I've had a funny few days which have involved increased consumption of utter crap.
The life of a freelance hack in the middle of a deep recession isn't exactly as busy or productive as it could be, and I have found myself on occasion with more time on my hands than was good for me.
I also found myself battling some hunger demons and I am afraid to say I've given in to temptation more than once.
There is a weird twilight zone part of the day, about 3.30 to 5pm, when lunch is a distant memory and dinner is still some way off. Energy levels are running low so motivation to do any work is rock bottom, and I just cannot for the life of me see how to get through the next few hours to dinner.
I can't stop thinking about how hungry I am, and that if I only had a little snack to get me through to dinner I could probably do a lot more work as well.
When I have been good, I have at this point reached for the Special K or some other similar low fat cereal. But lately I've been reaching for the French loaf, packet of ham, cheese and bag of Kettle Chips to make a Homer Simpson-style snack, rather than a Weight Watchers inspired low cal morsel.
And then I would also be telling myself that a large portion of pasta for dinner is a good thing because I will be running it off the next day, so I need to draw on the energy.
Well, I did go running last week, but that was three miles round the Downs on Monday morning. Not sure I've burned off the energy consumed on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday just yet.
I think the problem is my attention span, I get bored of something so quickly. My life seems to be littered with the skeletons of half-baked ideas or projects that never really got off the ground.
I recently got rid of a load of stuff at a charity shop after moving, and I realised what a load of useless things I have been hoarding which were bought at the time with the utter conviction that I really needed them.
For example while on holiday four years ago in France I bought a pair of roller blades, thinking that they would be a great new way of keeping fit. I had probably read somewhere that it was a great alternative to running, building fitness and toning muscles without the impact on your knees that running gives you.
I thought that living near the Downs was perfect and I had visions of how I would glide along with the grace and elegance of Torvill and Dean, yes both of them, transforming the Downs in Bristol into a California street scene at sunset.
Anyway, the reality was that I strapped them to my feet not long after getting home, and ventured out into the streets.
I managed to get a decent head of speed going and memories of the roller disco I used to go to at the local leisure centre when I was about ten flooded back. I could really skate back then, about 20 years ago, surely I'd lost none of the old magic?
But after rolling down hill on the pavement, waving my arms around like a duck that's forgotten how to fly, I suddenly panicked as I approached a junction and how no idea how to get round the corner to stay on the pavement, and felt shooting across it without stopping may have been detrimental to any ideas I had of having a long and fulfilling life.
So I had to stop pretty quick and did something I really only thought happened in Benny Hill shows and I grabbed onto a lamppost before I shot past it. By this point some people had been observing my progress and I think having a bit of a chortle, so I gave them a right laugh when having grabbed the lamppost the tank-like momentum I had built up meant I actually swung around it a couple of times, just like in the cartoons, before finally coming to a standstill about six feet from the junction.
I'm sure I clocked a passing driver chuckling as he went past.
I decided I should probably practise somewhere less dangerous, took off the boots and tiptoed through the mean streets of Clifton in my shoeless feet back home.
The roller blades went into a corner from whence they never moved again, until their final journey to the charity shop a few weeks ago. Pointless.
The only other time I threatened to break the dust off of them was a couple of years ago while recuperating from my heart valve replacement operation.
This is an operation which involves sawing open the sternum and breaking a couple of ribs so that the unbelievably talented and very clever surgical team can get at the old ticker.
The resulting injuries to your chest and ribs are pretty much the same as if you were in a car crash. A few weeks into my recovery I thought it would be a good idea to slip on the old roller blades and head up to the Downs, not really considering the consequences of falling over and how it might shatter my already frail chest and rib cage.
Thankfully by this point I had met Amy, who suggested it would probably not be the best idea I'd ever had, and gave me a couple extra pain killers just to make sure I didn't have any more daft ideas.
Similar items have included an Irish boron drum, which I needed to start my travelling troubadour career, a couple of cake and muffin tins for my flirtation with home baking (too much time at home), a yoga mat, two pairs of light dumbbell weights, a gym ball and a boxing ball on a sprung pole, which I got rid of once, then bought again, and both times failed to break into the blubber weight boxing scene. There was also a knackered old record player that I had to buy as I was going to restore it to its former glory, but of course never did and just threw it out.
One of the greatest unfulfilled ideas I ever had though was shortly after finishing university I found myself living back at home in Dorset, unable to find a job despite my hard-earned third class degree in ancient Greek and classical studies (weird that), so I decided to draw on years of experience in treading the boards and start my own youth theatre company. I felt that what the disaffected youth of North Dorset really craved was the chance to meet up in a drafty church hall in the middle of nowhere and be taught the finer points of Stanislavski and Brechtian theatre style, while rehearsing for a radical interpretation of an obscure Christopher Marlowe play, which would be all of them to anybody who hasn't studied A Level English.
Fortunately it didn't even get that far as I thankfully managed to get a job before I could inflict my dire theories on any young innocents - and then promptly forgot any ideas of becoming the next Peter Hall.
But, I am determined that this weight loss and marathon running project does not go the way of the roller blades etc, and that I complete it. I just need to get my head back into it, which I will now it's Monday and I've got plenty to do to keep me busy and stop me thinking about food all the time. Such as finding a job!

King of the hills

Pic caption: Park Street in the centre of Bristol, where I finished my run at the top.


Just recovering from another long run yesterday, with another hill climb at the end of it.
After going 6.7 miles I wanted to push myself a little further and try to increase the mileage as the half marathon is really getting quite close now.
I reasoned that all the chocolate and bread and red meat I've been happily consuming over the past couple of weeks , (and the odd bottle of wine) would actually act as fuel for my body and enable me to go further than before, drawing on all that sugar and energy to keep going.
Well there may have been something in that as I managed to run 7.6 miles yesterday, in a time of 1hr and 43 minutes. That is one mile further than the last run I did, and I was running for 11 more minutes.
But what I'm even more pleased about is the fact that I managed to run up Park Street, which is a really steep hill in the centre of Bristol, at the end of the run. Probably not as steep or long as Bridge Valley Road, but at the end of a 7 mile run it's pretty darn steep. I had to stop once I reached the top, just opposite the museum where the Banksy exhibition is being held, and I did feel like my knees had been smashed with a baseball bat.
But it was that weird sense of futile heroism that kicks in with me which makes me want to keep going and try to do things that are probably a bit beyond me.
I think I have some psychological complex where I think my whole life is a film and that there are millions of people around the world tuning in to see if I get to the top of the hill. Perhaps we could coin it right here and now and call it the Truman Show complex. Maybe I'll write a book about it and make a fortune that way!
But anyway, I knew I had to go for a decent run yesterday having not really done any exercise since my last run on Tuesday last week, but I thought it was important to get over the trauma of that first.
So after a mediocre day in the home office I finished work at 4 and decided to head out for a run.
I went the usual route across the Downs and up the Portway, but instead of cutting back up Bridge Valley Road to head home I kept going, and going, heading for the centre of the city.
I think by the time I had reached six miles plus my running style resembled a hippo wading through treacle, as each step was just off the ground long enough to count as very slow jogging. It definitely wasn't walking - although that would probably have been quicker.
When I got into the Centre, I realised I had to get back up to the Downs where my car was, and the only way to get there was to go up Park Street and Whiteladies Road.
Of course, what I should have done is keep a couple of quid in change on me so I could get a bus, which would have been a much better option.
The sky looked a bit grey and spots of rain were blowing around on the breeze, making it feel distinctly autumnal, and really not like the end of July.
Then I just thought that the quickest way to get home and to avoid any potential downpour (although the rain would have been welcome to cool my overheating body) was simply to keep running, so I did.
That was when the music in my head really kicked in and the imaginary crowds were screaming my name and Oliver Stone was just ahead of me behind the movie camera giving out epic directions. I fancied I could see fireworks exploding from the top of the university's Wills Memorial tower, but that might have just been the pain of the running.
I just kept reminding myself of my inspiration, Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who at 106 or something crazy, managed his third Everest climb by just saying to himself 'plod forever', and it really works.
I thought I was doing pretty well actually, but then I saw some kids on their bikes racing past me as if they were on the flat.
But I kept going and reached the top, feeling utterly, utterly knackered, and rather dehydrated. Again berating myself for not bringing any money out with me to buy a bottle of water, I ducked into the nearest pub and got a pint of tap water. It slipped down like ambrosia from the gods, not custard, and restored my energy levels just enough to enable me to walk the remaining mile or so up to the Downs to get my car.
There is only five weeks to go now before the Bristol half marathon, and I really do want to put in a decent show for that, although I feel I may have neglected my training a little too much to be able to do a decent time, or even get around without stopping.
But if I can add a mile a week between then and now it may be okay. I have decided that one long run a week is probably the way forward to prepare for the half marathon, but I really need to hit the gym to improve my stamina and all round fitness. It will be an important benchmark though in terms of setting out my training from September onwards for the full marathon next year. Which still sounds like an impossible idea.

Sleep Apnoea and how to get over it

Instead of going for a run I made another video diary.
In my head I did it to draw attention to a very serious health issue related to being overweight, which is sleep apnoea.
But looking at it I worry that it's all just a bit weird. Up to you guys to decide I guess.
Click here for video diary

How to lose 11 stone in six months - don't eat

Pic caption: Idris Lewis in his special trousers which come complete with a wife.

This week the Bristol Evening Post ran the almost unbelievable story about a man who lost 11 stone in six months, read it here.

The secret of his success? He stopped eating.

Well, that is definitely one way to approach it. The starvation diet, as practised by prisoners of war, concentration camp victims and the two thirds of the world that lives on a dollar a day.

Idris Lewis, aged 69, of Nailsea in North Somerset managed in six months to do something people like me have been struggling with for about six years, although even I would stop short of 11 stone.

But he had good reason for his extreme approach. The doctor told him he needed to lose the weight before he could have an operation on his heart valve, which he needed to save his life.

I can relate entirely to that of course having had a heart valve replacement operation almost two years ago. That news was enough to make me stop smoking right there and then, so I can see how he got the motivation to live on nothing but mineral water mixed with a protein supplement.

According to the report he was over 26 stone at his heaviest before he started the weight loss, and he is pictured in the now-oversized trousers he used to wear.

Of course there is part of me that is very jealous of his success, but is it really a success or simply a desperate measure to ensure he has the life-saving operation he needs. It can't possibly be seen as a way of life, and definitely not a balanced diet.

As soon as he starts eating anything again he is surely going to put some weight back on. Hopefully not as much as he had done before, especially if he has had a new heart valve fitted, but going from eating nothing, to eating something, even one of those Weight Watchers chocolate biscuit things, has to mean weight gain.

If nothing else it does show that it is possible to lose weight quickly, if you really want to. Whether it's healthy or not is another issue, but if I ever get tired of munching on veg and fish and trying to run for miles and miles, I can always head down the doctor and get him to suggest a course of liquid laxatives. Perhaps.

Essentially I can't make up my mind whether to worship him as a patron saint of people trying to lose weight, or an example of the dangers of extreme dieting. It would be good to see a follow-up a year from now in the Evening Post to see how he is doing and whether the weight loss has been sustainable.

What the hell, pass me the Slim Fast.

10K non-stop Peevo Express

Pic caption: Idea in my head of how it felt running last night.



Had a great run last night, without really meaning to.
Seems like a week off the training actually did me some good as I ran the furthest I've run for years last night.
And thanks to the thumping tunes and euphoric trance on the iPod it was as if I was transported to a new spiritual plane.
I took on one of my favourite routes for the first time in ages, which involved going across the Downs, through Coombe Dingle (which I always think sounds like a lovely village in a kids' TV show), skirting round the edge of Shirehampton, then dropping down to the Portway and back to Bridge Valley Road. For a better idea, here is the route.
Bridge Valley Road is a really steep hill, I mean really steep, which runs down from Clifton on to the Portway. Normally when I get to the foot of it I end my run and decide to walk up the hill back home.
I have always told myself that it was best to walk up the hill rather than try to run because it acts as a good warm down. Obviously I've never had energy to attempt it.
But last night, with the wind at my back, I managed to run, in the loosest sense of the definition, all the way up it. It was all I could do to ensure my feet were off the ground long enough to call it a run.
I didn't stop there though, I managed to plod all the way up the sharp little hill that takes you back up to the Downs and finished by running back to the start at the water tower.
I couldn't believe it. The distance was 6.7 miles, which is about 10.7 km. But my sense of achievement and bursting pride was slightly tempered by the fact that it took me 1hr 32mins, which is only 4 minutes quicker than the 10k I did back in May which I walked a lot of.
Still, I was very pleased to be able to run for an hour and a half non-stop, even if I'm looking at six hours plus for the marathon next year.
But conquering Bridge Valley Road and the Downs in that way was really amazing.
I remember years ago when I first used to do that run with Marc that we'd talk about maybe being able to run up it if we ever got fit enough. Marc managed to run up it, but I never did attempt it. I'd always seen it as the kind of thing you see at the end of a movie, like Rocky, where this final challenge has evaded our hero all the way through the movie. Maybe he has tried to race somebody up it and fell over and broke his back or something.
Then one day, away from the crowds, he has another go and just keeps on going, finding his strength from who knows where, but with every step his goal gets closer and he finally makes it to the top where turns around and looks over the city and jumps in the air with delight.
I don't mean to go on about it but I never thought I would be able to do it.
I had been listening to a Ministry of Sound mix all the way round which was fairly uplifting in itself, but it definitely helped when I got halfway up the hill and was flagging badly. Insomnia by Faithless came on. I was instantly transported back to the early to mid 1990s and started running to the beat just to keep my feet moving and I'm sure I resembled what dad dancing at a rave would look like.
But it was just what I needed to keep going.
I hadn't intended to run the hill, I just felt like I'd give it a go, and kept telling myself I could stop at the next junction, but it got to such a point that I felt I should really keep going just to complete the challenge.
So when I managed with very small plodding steps to get back up to the Downs, I was back on the flat and the sun was shining.
I had timed the run perfectly as it had been raining all day but the sun came out in the evening.
It was just starting its descent by the time I got back up to the Downs and the most amazing trancey euphoric track came on. With the pain of the hills behind me, running on the flat with this great tune and the beautiful sun shining over the best views in Bristol, I couldn't help feeling a little emotional.
It was like being on a beach in Ibiza after a long weekend having lots of fun.
I staggered back to my car and the Downs was full as usual with lots of lithe young people involved in various sporting activities. They probably clocked me as some unfit bloke who was struggling to walk back from the burger van which sits temptingly at one end of the Downs.
I had a weird idea about inventing some kind of electronic mileometer that I could wear on my back to show everybody that I had in fact run nearly seven miles, doncha know, and so win their respect, which I wasn't really bothered about anyway.
Had to spend a good few minutes drinking water and stretching while trying to get my heart rate down from the clouds.
I think the new heart valve I had inserted a couple of years ago is what gave me the extra energy I needed to complete that run, I reckon I have much better capacity for excercise now. A bit like putting a Formula 1 engine in my old Citroen. Almost.
I made it home, had a most welcome Radox bath and treated myself to low-fat sausages and mash. I certainly slept well last night, and not feeling too bad today for it either, but I'm definitely going to let myself recover before attempting that again this week.

on becoming a grumpy old man

Pic caption: A vision of the not too distant future.

The novelty of working in the 'virtual office' is clearly wearing thin as I am becoming more and more annoyed at the fools I have to suffer around me.

And the fact I have to keep buying lunch and coffees at various venues in order to justify sitting in there and using their wi-fi is making this all quite expensive. Perhaps I should send my bills to Orange and get them to reimburse me for every day that some nerk has failed to flick a switch and give me my broadband back.

I made the mistake of ordering an orange juice and lemonade yesterday and for the first time in my life retorted 'how much?!', when the child behind the bar informed me it was £3.10. Then, just like my dad would say, I mumbled 'could've had a pint of lager for that' as if making the point would result in the barman realising how overpriced a simple soft beverage is these days and charge me less. He just looked at me and said: "Yes, you could've".

I think it says more about the number of times I've ever ordered orange juice in a bar than the pricing structure at the particular establishment.

I think I am bit more reactionary these days. I was sat at the junction at the top of Blackboy Hill last night, on my way to meet Marc for a run, when the passenger in a 4x4 going past me started waving frantically. My immediate reaction was to scowl angrily and gesture dramatically that I had done nothing wrong, what the hell was her problem? I then realised it was a friend of mine and she was merely waving to say hello and all she got in return was a load of silent verbal from me. Perhaps I shouldn't always assume the worst.

Today I discovered one of the most annoying things about having to work in public places is the amount of silly young ladies, and boys, almost always students, who are engaged in the most inane and fatuous conversations, punctuated with shrill giggling and noisy exclamations. Whatever happened to furious political debates or plotting the downfall of the capitalist regime over a few pints of very worth lager. Jeremy Kyle and the best websites to nick essays from seem to be the topics these days. How dare they sit there having a good time, being young and beautiful and disturbing my peace by laughing so much? Don't they know the world is is full of pain and misery and people who don't pay you for work you did weeks ago!

Of course I'm just jealous and bitter about not being 20 and taught any more.

Apologies to any students who may read this, no real offence meant, I was almost certainly as much, if not more of a tw&t when I was a student. I just choose to conveniently forget that as I start my descent into early middle age.

Of course my girlfriend likes to remind that far from beginning my slide towards becoming a grumpy old man, I propelled myself headlong and arrived at Grumpsville some time ago.

But what the hell does this have to do with running?

Well, I weighed myself unofficially this morning and appear to be slipping under the 17st mark now and was 16st 12lbs. I'm pleased with that.

This followed a two mile run around Clifton Downs last night with Marc and Sarah, a friend who is only an honorary member of the Fat Bastards' Running Club, on account of not being fat, or quite obviously a bloke, or indeed a bastard.

It was still pretty hot but we managed a lap of the Downs, about 35 mins, and only a couple of stops on the way.

I'm still not feeling totally sorted after the move, the flat is still chaos, although less so, and somehow it affects my mental state as well.

Which is why I rewarded myself with a plate of seafood pasta, with half fat creme fraiche and chopped chives. Which is fine but it was followed by a couple of double chocolate cookies, I couldn't resist.

This morning I had a banana, and two more cookies for breakfast, but have been quite good for lunch with a hot chorizo and new potato salad on a bed of rocket and red onion, at the Prom.

Very nice, if a little heavy on the balsamic vinegar.

Tonight could be tricky though. Think we may be headed towards a take out from Rocco's, the Italian restaurant which does take away, which is just perfect. The excuse it that we still have lots of sorting to do in the flat, so can't really get to the cooker.

But I am planning a five mile run tomorrow, so really I need those pasta carbs.

Resisting the urges

Had a great run tonight, in the rain, very heroic.

Tonight was absolute testament to having somebody to train with. Had I not been meeting Marc down at the harbourside tonight there is no way I would have gone out to run.

I am definitely a fair weather jogger, cyclist or anything else like that.

If it's a beautiful summers evening and you can see the rolling green hills of North Somerset in the distance at a sedate trot, I'm totally in my element.

If like tonight you have to battle through slate gray rain and conditions that don't put the industrial relic of the harbourside in the best light, it is much harder work.

Having said all that, it was only a bit of rain, so I should really stop being a wimp. It's not like I've got to run over a minefield with a 50lb pack on my back and dodge bullets as I go.

Anyway, rain aside, it was a really good run, for me. We did about 25 minutes, and I walked the mile there and back to meet up, so I'm feeling doubly good.

I've also decided (at Marc's suggestion) to work in an extra element to the diary and as well as talk about the stuff I did eat, I am going to mention the stuff I managed to resist, to prove how saintly I am being.

For example today I resisted getting out of bed when the alarm tazared my brain, I resisted getting dressed for most of the day and come to think of it I was very strong at one point in resisting the shower.

But as I had to have lunch on the run today I was especially good in resisting scotch eggs, pork pies, crisps or any of that other wonderfully bad garage food.

I think the SS Bad Habits tanker is slowly starting to turn around.

Food and exercise diary, Tuesday, May 12.

Breakfast: Good start, corn flakes and a banana.
Lunch: One round of chicken and salad sandwich, on BROWN BREAD! Is it actually any better? Had to finish off the tube of Pringles in the cupboard, but no more.
Snack: Some kind of yoghurt biscuit bar which claims on the packet to be about 70 calories per slice, but then they give you two slices in a packet, so you have to eat both of them.
Snack 2: Half a cheese sandwich and a banana after lots of exercise.
Dinner: Chili con carne, home made to my dad's recipe, bloody lovely. Too bloody lovely, went back for more, and a bit more after.
No dessert though.

Exercise: Mowed the lawn, which takes more effort than you might think as we have an ancient push along thing, which is so old that the fact it has no motor and is wireless would probably make it an expensively retro piece of kit.
Went for a 20 minute run around the harbourside, but walked down there to meet Marc, who is helping me train, and that is easily a mile. And walked back as well, slowly up Park Street, another mile to my journey.
Was quite scared and confused while walking past Borders on the Triangle when what seemed like hundreds of women started running at me.
I couldn't believe I had reached the heights of megastardom so soon, it must have been the post-race picture I posted on this blog.
In fact, of course, it was a women's running club, possibly students, they all seemed to be wearing the same vest. I was quite knackered by the time I got home, but feeling good at the same time.

Food and exercise diary, Sunday, May 10

Breakfast: With the run in mind, I had a simple bowl of cardboard flakes and several pints of water.
Lunch: Not surprisingly I was frickin' starving after the run, so gorged on bread and ham, bananas and chocolate, and a handful of Pringles. And a couple of chicken legs.
Dinner: Still hungry after waking from short snooze, so had homemade potato salad, more chicken legs and salad. Hmm. A sneaky muffin to follow.
What the hell I'm supposed to do a with the packets of flaxseed in the goodie bags, I don't know.
I was hoping for a bottle of Lucozade, maybe some chocolate, or at least a medal! Apparently they ran out of medals, unbelievably, so was left with flaxseed, and a t-shirt. Thinking I may plant the flaxseed in the garden and see what happens. Maybe I will grow a flax tree, whatever that might be.

Exercise: Ten glorious kilometres, in one hour 36 mins (ish). I didn't wear the chip on my running shoes as I fully expected not to finish, so not sure of exact time, but that's what it said on the clock on the finish line. Been hobbling like an arthritic 90-year-old for the rest of the day.

Fatboy runs Bristol

What a great day! I managed to haul myself around the Bristol 10k today in one hour and 36mins, which is probably about an hour after the front runners finished but I am really pleased.

I really didn't think I would even finish the event, I was so convinced that I would be bailing out half way round that I arranged to meet my girlfriend at the 5k point so that we could go home and enjoy the rest of our Sunday.

But somehow, despite the heat and the lack of water stops, I decided to keep going and I'm really pleased I did.

My basic plan was to try to run the first ten minutes, and then see what happened after that.

I started quite far back in the field (there were thousands taking part it was great), and I quickly moved to right to the tail end and stragglers.

Soon it was a straight race between me and the power walkers, which was a familiar position to be in.

I was still thinking about the joy of finishing half way round, but once the body shock calmed down I felt pretty good about it. I kept going by keeping my eye on one particularly strident power walker and broke down the running to ten minute chunks, with a few minutes walking in-between.

As I turned at the half way point to come back down the Portway I was pleased to see there were still some people coming up it and so were behind me. There weren't many though, it must be said, and they included a couple of women doing a three legged race.

It was a really hot day as well, I did have images, possibly hallucinations, of headlines in the Evening Post along the lines of 'Man, 34, collapses on the Portway during hottest day ever to run a 10K', above a picture of me spread eagle on the tarmac, but I kept going.

To reach the finishing line was just such a great feeling. The best bit about it was that there was nobody really in front of me or behind, so the whole crowd were clapping and cheering me on all the way home, which did a lot for my ego, and my legs. I spotted the power walker I had been following most of the run with about 100m to go, so found the strength to put a bit of a sprint on and tore past her, oh yeh, I owned her.

It was great to finish, and to think I must have run at least 75 per cent of it, when I seriously thought I wouldn't even get half way round, has really inspired me.

London marathon? How hard can it be? (I do know how hard, just give me my moment).

How fat am I?

So I was watching the London marathon coverage ten days ago, which was full of all the usual inspiring stories, including a bloke who was 23 stones a year ago, and had lost more than half his body weight or something crazy to take part in the run. (One of the reasons why I am now doing the same thing).
But it made me think that these days, you've got be 20 stone plus before anybody takes you seriously as a fatty.
I mean, at 18 stone I thought I was pretty fat, and indeed I am, but next to that guy, and many people I see around Bristol, I'm a mere slip of a lad.
The whole thing has shifted up several gears.
But I can't imagine how I can fit any more lard into my body. I had a heart operation in 2007 which has left me with a rather impressive scar down the middle of my chest where they had to saw through my sternum. Ouch. Anyway, there are times when I worry it's going to split like a zip bursting on a pair trousers.
So how anybody could get up to the likes of 50 stone is beyond me. Although in a weird way I am impressed by anybody who can eat enough to get that big. Judging by my food diary I reckon I won't be far off. It does look like a lot when you write it down.
It's weird but when I told a former colleague I was aiming to lose eight stone, she said that was how much she weighed. That means I can shed the weight of a whole person, a full grown adult, and still have enough to go round.
And so it has begun. I went for my first run on Tuesday, and considering the driving wind and rain, I felt very brave and manly. I ran about a mile, very slowly and stopped a couple of times to walk. But I kept going when I thought I might give up completely, so I'm pleased with that start. Only 25 miles to go.

What this is all about

I've been going on for years about the issue of weight loss and running half marathons and generally screwing up my pudgy little face and saying 'it's not fair, nobody understands what it's like to be fat'.
Well now I'm really going to do something constructive, instructive and entertaining about it.
Never before has obesity been such a newsworthy issue, as never before have there been so many fat people.
So it is time to really get down to it and see how normal people can deal with it without resorting to gastric bands or going on daytime TV to cry about how they can't help being fat.
Make no mistake, I am fat, massively overweight, a lardarse, a chubber, fatboy, oompa lumpa, piggy, whatever.
And there's pretty much only one reason for it, I've eaten too much and done no exercise.
In order to show how obvious this is, I am going to post regular food and exercise diaries to show how the two things are somehow linked.
I am also making video diaries which you can see by clicking on the links on this page.
I have set myself a simple goal, which is to lose eight stone and train to run the London marathon next year, 2010, to raise money for the British Heart Foundation.
Eight stone is a lot to lose, but when you're 5ft 6 and tipping the scales at 18 stone, you can spare it.
I want to document the journey to explore the issue of obesity and body image for men, and how men fit into the whole diet industry.
I also want to use this as a forum to share ideas and experience from anybody going through the same thing.
It's also important to me that I achieve my goals by doing things that everybody can do, making life changes not going on weird diets and starving myself and generally feeling crappy about it.
Making positive changes is what it's all about.
This is no place for self-pity, it's time to take the fat back, and kick its ass.
I hope you will find it interesting and entertaining, or at the very least momentarily distracting.