What did the Trojans ever do for us ?

Running whilst hungover is not in any training schedule I have seen.

It's not very easy either.
Unfortunately, It appears to be a normal part of Christmas season training. I feel a sense of guilt about not training a couple of times a week, so this must continue, but I also am now swimming against the tide of lunches and seasonal drinks and losing.

I decide that Canute could not hold back the tide, nor shall I try.

Instead I shall explore a variety of hangover cures to find out which goes best with exercise the morning after.

There are three, after extensive (i.e. google search) research which seem viable for me;

1. Take a shot of neat oxygen. I understand from medical friends that this cure is used by many junior doctors after a heavy night out. A little worrying, but if it is good enough for a medical professional then it's good enough for me.

2. Eggs, bananas, fruit juice and glucose together replace a lot of the items your body loses when drinking alcohol. I have tried this route only this morning, and I can confirm that I feel quite a bit brighter only two hours after their consumption. I consumed the items separately this morning, so I shall press on with my research and use my smoothie machine to combine them all in one drink next time. At the very least it will give an unloved kitchen accessory a rare run-out.

3. More alcohol. Specifically a Bloody Mary. Apparently the vodka in it in some way 'tricks' the body into absorbing the good things in the tomato juice. An alcoholic version of the Trojan horse - whilst the liver and kidney draw swords to take on Captain Vodka, the other ingredients slip past and enter the bloodstream quickly making you feel better.
My history teacher at school always said that the past teaches us valuable lessons about the present. If the Greeks sacked Troy using this slight of hand, then I feel that a cheeky Bloody Mary in the morning can only be good for me.

There is a fourth option, of course - don't have a drink in the first place.

Sounds the hardest of the lot to me.

Non-starter.

Right, where does one buy oxygen from ?

Does running make you a Buddhist ?

You may be reading this blog and thinking that I haven't done any running at all. I hardly mention it.

Running, in itself, is a bit dull. I don't mean that in a bad way, but it won't make for very good copy as a blog if I describe every run.

But I noticed something the other day as I was running. It was a beautiful, crisp, winter morning. The sun was blazing down and I was running along a road with a superb view up into the Chiltern Hills.

It was a morning which grabs you, shakes you, and tells you how lucky you are to be alive.

After about 30 minutes jogging I realised that I had spent the time jogging and thinking about nothing.

Nothing at all.

I had cleared my mind completely and just jogged.

I forgot about everything for 30 minutes.

I used to work with a guy who claimed to be a Buddhist. He talked a great deal about meditation and achieving a zen-state by trying to clear your mind of all thoughts.

I think I did that jogging the other morning. I was obviously in state of Zen.

What an interesting thought - I shall ask other joggers whether this is normal for them too.

I saw one woman jogging along the embankment the other day with a cigarette. I probably won't ask her about Zen.

Perhaps I am on the first stage to enlightenment and Nirvana.

Perhaps I can master levitation next ?

If I can, it will make the marathon an awful lot easier.

Kaiser Wilhelm, Santa Claus and my thumbs

Training in December is not easy.
I am being hampered by three adversaries in my ongoing quest for fitness and weight loss.

Firstly Kaiser Wilhelm.

He is to blame for daylight saving. In 1916, Germany and its allies in WW1 decided to change the clocks so that less coal would be burned by the populace and saved instead for the war effort. Daylight saving means any sensible training must take place in the dark during the winter. This is not only depressing, but also a bit dangerous if your eyesight is as poor as mine.

Secondly, Santa Claus is coming to town, as you may have noticed. In fact, I saw my first Christmas Tree in a hotel reception in September. I hesitate to say, "it comes earlier every year" in case I end up sounding like my parents. But September ? Really ?


Christmas brings severe challenges for the weak-willed glutton  - of which I am one. I am trying to lose weight for goodness sake. I went to my first Christmas meal with old school friends and their families the other weekend. The tables were laden, positively bowing, under the weight of Xmas hams, turkey, and assorted seasonal goodies...

And several deserts - including a cake made with two entire boxes of chocolates as a topping. As I note that my December diary has several extensive lunches already slotted in, I fear my waistline, which was showing some signs of receding under the training regime, may not trim down as fast as I would like.

I have also noticed that our house has started to acquire little boxes of After 8's, Chocolate Oranges and Matchmaker's on various surfaces. These items have a direct correlation with the arrival of Christmas, and I almost absent-mindedly find myself dipping into them en route to the kitchen or dining room. Devil's work they are, these nibbles.

Finally, I have had two instances of 'reflex texting' in the last two weeks. This is the instant response to a text from my wife over which only my thumbs have control and my brain does not. It goes something like this, usually around 8pm, when on my train back home from work...

ME : What's for dinner ?
WIFE : Haven't made anything yet been busy with kids
ME : Shall I buy something to cook when I get in
WIFE : It will be too late by the time we eat
ME : I have only had a sandwich today
WIFE : Take out ?
ME : Kebab ?

The last one is the reflex text - I am trying to give them up. But it's so hard. The Government should do leaflets on the NHS.

Way to many weighs

I need to lose a bit of weight whilst doing this training.

Perhaps a stone ? Just a wee bit less impact on my poor old knees.

I've never really followed a diet. I like food too much to consider denying myself any pleasure. But needs must.

I ask the advice of the internet to help me fathom out which is the best weight loss programme for a budding athelete hoping to continue the pleasures of beer and take-aways for at least a short while.

My goodness, there are a lot of diets out there. How do people cope ? It's bewildering.

Eat this, not that, instantly contradicted by another internet 'expert' on nutrition. Some give food different points, some tell you how to cook food, some to starve yourself frankly. All of them charge you though, this they do have in common.

I decide to use common sense, which is free still.

Cut down on cheese, bread and beer.

Sounds easy to me.

I have to suspend common sense for a few days though. I am off to Ireland for a christening.

Guinness will be taken in quantity, I expect.

Possibly potatoes and bread too.

I'll stick to my guns on the cheese though.

Newton's laws still hold true

I went to my gym. It was still where I left it..

I was feeling good. In fact, quite excited.

I had to have the electronic key to operate the machines re-set by the girl in charge (apparently I hadn't been for a while and it locks itself after 6 months...)

The girl asked me if I needed any explanation of how the machines worked.

I said no.

She asked my if I was training for any particular reason. I told her about the marathon and received the usual look up and down accompanied by the slight widening of the eyes.

I decided to have a quiet jog on the treadmill and watch the first half of the football on the in-built TV screen.

All was going well. Very well. I had broken into a light sweat, but no adverse feelings at all.

I then started to get slight pins and needles in my foot. New trainers, I thought, probably a bit too tight.

I decided to step off the treadmill and loosen the lace.

I didn't switch the treadmill off.

I believed I could turn and step off in one smooth movement.

I couldn't.

As if in slow motion, the impetus took my feet from under me and I ended up on the floor behind the treadmill on my backside.

I thought I had gotten away with it.

I thought no one had noticed.

I sprang back to my feet instantly with only damage done to my dignity.

But the girl in charge of the gym for the evening clearly had a health-and-safety-insurance-claim panic and ran across the gym floor saying "My goodness, Mr Mattey are you okay ?" far too loudly for my liking.

I adopted a teenager stance and mumbled I was fine without making any eye contact and wishing her away as fast as possible while she fussed about showing me how the machine worked.

Especially the big red 'STOP' button. She focussed on that one a lot.

I left shortly aftwerwards.

Doctor, doctor, I may have gone mad

Week Two - 23rd October

Since I can't do any exercise until my back is healed, I decide to at least have a medical check to ensure that death is not an inevitable consequence of starting exercise after 20 years off.

The doc and I know each other well. Upon hearing that I planned to run a marathon she gave me the same quizzical look I am beginning to become used to from everyone else.

"Best have some blood tests too then" she says.

Height and weight. No shockers here - still the same height, and weight within broad limits of tolerance (over 14 stone and I would have to have re-considered kebabs as a food option)
Blood pressure - 120/80 - Woo hoo !
Cholesterol - 5.4 - Bad gymnast score, but apprently ok for cholesterol
Liver and kidney function - normal (didn't ask for a recount on that one - but seriously considering legal action against several vinyards for sub-standard products).

Having this medical re-assurance, I then go shopping. As this is a new hobby I decide to overspend on equipment I don't understand and may not need.

Sports Direct have a sale on and I am now substantially poorer but fully armed with over-priced specialist trainers, rather-too-revealing lycra and assorted flourescent clothing. I have belts to hold waterbottles and Ipods simultaneously, and a pair of fluffy Christmas ear-muffs (a late addition to the shopping pile by my youngest daughter).

The back will be fine in a couple of days, I reckon.

Gladiator.

Ready.

Fell at the first hurdle

Week One 16th October -  training starts.

I recall I have a gym membership I am paying for every month.

I'll probably get up there today and ease myself into a light treadmill run and bike ride.
Maybe a nice sauna afterwards, but resist the pint in the bar and instead have a fruit juice.

Filled with a new sense of purpose I get out of bed and immediately fall down my stairs.

I land fairly hard on my back.

Hard enough to wiggle my fingers and toes before attempting to move, just in case.

I had hurt myself. I knew it wasn't a quick fix either. I couldn't even get my socks on through the pain, let alone try any exercise.

I visited my physio a couple of days later -  I hadn't seen him since the previous year when I performed a knee slide across a dance floor with the kids at a friends wedding and popped my knee ligaments.

He advised me that I had 'knocked' three of my ribs forward slightly in the fall and he could manipulate them back, which he did.

I told him I was running  the London Marathon.

He laughed.

Trousers, beer bellies and unnecessarily difficult challenges

About a year ago I thought I needed a challenge. A visit to M&S to try on a pair of trousers seemed innocent enough. But mirrors on three sides of the changing room, and unforgiving flourescent light confirmed my worst fears. The overweight, middle-aged man looking back at me from several unflattering angles was, indeed, me.

Over twenty years of fine dining, not-so-fine dining, inactivity and pubs had taken a toll on what had been a relatively trim figure.

In my twenties, I had run the London Marathon twice. The fit, former version of myself, had managed this with little training and in pretty decent times for an amateur.

Why not a third medal then? I mused. Have them framed and mounted in the downstairs toilet at home. Impress the neighbours.

Having quickly (and easily with the assistance of red wine) convinced myself that marathon running is mostly a mental challenge, and I could additionally pretty quickly shed 3 or 4 stone and return my body to the toned beauty it once was, I enthusiastically launched myself into the web and applied to run it. I also backed up the official entry with a offer to a charity I have long-supported, NSPCC,to run it on their behalf in return for a place.

Then I forgot I had done both....
Leap forward a few weeks to hole 8 on a beautiful Surrey golf course, I decided to check my e-mails whilst waiting for my partner to find his lost ball. There it was - "NSPCC are delighted to offer you a place at the London Marathon 2012."

Success !

I was childishly excited that I had a place.

I played on with my mind racing.

And then began the slow realisation of what I had done.

I was over 40. I was overweight. I have high blood pressure and high cholesterol. I don't do any exercise to speak of (I am told golf doesn't count as exercise).

And 26 miles is a bloody long way on foot.