Sunday
Woke up. It's Sunday, it's the long one.....oh yes, of course, I'm not in training anymore. What the hell do i do now? No long one to dread, plan, look forward to! Christ i have my Sundays back. Well when i say that, i never really lost them anyway. I mean the long one only really took up 2-3 hours. It still left more than enough ME time. I guess there will just be more ME time on Sundays from now on. For ME to do what ME wants.
The weather was gruesome but i awoke in a pretty chipper mood. Toddled off to a meeting, and proceeded to listen to things that genuinely made me look at the beams in the ceiling and wonder if they took a strong rope. Depressing.
Now It's not for me to criticize AA meetings (i did fuck loads of that in my early days), or to blow anonymity and i must be careful with it because it is anonymous and i must treat it with respect. I love it, it helps me more than i can ever help it. It saves lives, it has saved millions of people's lives from a near fatal death of alcoholism. So I'm a big fan. It is superb. It has some superb people and as i said I'm a massive fan. It has developed a load of sister fellowships and is genuinely superb.
But sometimes, you go to a meeting and it is a collection of people moaning, groaning and showing fake concern to someone struggling, only to walk straight past them after the meeting not really giving a fuck. Sometimes It is a long slow tape of people queuing up to wallow in their own self pity and negative thinking without a stop button, Basically it's like sitting through a DVD box set of Foyles War with Radiohead on full blast. Gruesome.
When i went there at 28, nearly 12 years ago. I fucking hated it. Oh god it was the last place on earth i wanted to be. I wanted to rock, to drink, to party, to get out of it, to have fun to be the last man standing. A fighter, a fucker, a legendary drinker of thrills and spills and nurofen plus. I wanted to be special. To be someone.
The fact i was a 16 stone, Middle Manager Sales Executive, a ball of hate and frustration and paranoia, where my idea of social drinking was a night at the Wheatsheaf followed by loads of booze at home, in my dressing gown, with my nuts and fat gut out, drinking, smoking, listening to repeated loops of 'Lucky Man' by the Verve and 'Do it Again' by Steely Dan. Trying to ring people late at night or planning how i was going to be a success. Fuck knows at what but it was all in my power at 3am and seeing double. I was legend in my own living room, a rebel without a clue. I was lost.
So when i finally crashed and burned. (My bird left me - not that underneath my male pride I'm totally co-dependant on females propping me up of course) - i Made a decision to stop drinking and sought help through AA. However there were two problems to this decision. 1 - I hated AA and 2 - I didn't want to stop drinking. Another partial success
How the hell could sitting in dreary Church Halls cure my problems? Bollocks to that i thought. I need professionals.
So it was back to many bouts of heavy drinking. Not the romantic sort glamorised in films, movies or books about legendary hell raisers. I lived in London, one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world. Where fashion, art, clubs and the beautiful all hang out and party. Me? Well i was having my own party largely in the Bedford Arms, Tooting Broadway Snooker Club and my sofa. Blackouts, arrests, verbal warnings all came back. It never got better. The closest i came to female action was licking out a Donner at 4am. It wasn't quite made in Chelsea. More Made in Catford. It was real and gritty.
So, when i finally gave up the ghost and thought 'fuck it, I'll give this AA a go' i was resigned to a life of total glumness. No fun. I'll Never get laid. I'll never go out. I'll Become virtuous.I'll Never swear, I'll always Wear V Neck jumpers and mow the lawn on a Sunday. Kill me now i thought. It's all over at 28. I'm finished.
My first meeting was full of old people, drinking tea, there were biscuits on doilies for fucks sake. All the men wore v neck jumpers with AA pendants hanging down like a poor man's Peter Aliss or Val Doonican and all the women wore twin set and pearls and clearly had been watching far too much Keeping Up Appearances. I thought to myself. 'How the fuck did i end up here'.
After pissing and moaning my way around meetings in London, i was pulled up by an Irish bricklayer at The Oval one morning. He had a nose that was more sideways than the rain, a face that looked like he'd had more fights than Ricky Hatton. He was huge, He was tough and he was 20 years sober. He said to me, 'if you don't like it or think you're an alcoholic then there's the door. Go an try some more controlled drinking and come back when you're ready"
I stopped. He was a low bottom drunk. I wasn't. He was 20 years sober, i wasn't. I knew all my problems were to do with drink. i knew i couldn't ever stop when i wanted to. i knew i blacked out. I knew it would get worse. i knew my family was riddled with it. I didn't have a clue what alcoholism was. i didn't even know i was one. But i listened, shut the fuck up and gave it a try for 3 months.
Turned out to be the best decision i made. Good one Nick
I identified, i knew deep down i was an alcoholic. My friends didn't, even my family as i hid it and wasn't as bad as the father and elder brother. They drank more. I wasn't on the streets, in prison, in rehab, in hospital. I still had a job (just) but really i knew i was bang in trouble. It was all starting to go. I was arrested, blacked out lots, had fights, lost relationships, got warnings at work. Pissed myself. Basically i would sort it out and then 1-2 years later the girlfriend i kidnapped or job i blagged would find out the real me and the chaos began. It would never get better.
So i clung on to AA. Don't get me wrong i still fucking hated it. I judged everyone, timed people's shares, chased people out the room who said they were grateful 7 times and then put 10p in the pot and left early. It would actually hurt me listening to the moaners and groaners or the ultra happy never had a bad day in sobriety mob. They were the scariest, They were robots. They didn't blink. I reckon they are responsible for 60% of the spree killings in this world. Ready to blow at any stage. Suppressing it. It would drive me mad the ones who shared and said, 'i'll finish on this' and then keep going for another 10 minutes. AAAAARRRGGGHHHHHHHH. I was angry.
I didn't want to be brainwashed. I was defiant. But there were enough top examples of men & women who were totally fucked with their drinking, riddled with fear, worry, self esteem, problems, high ego, who were now doing real stuff. Having families, accepting responsibility, writing books, acting, being comedians, starting their own companies, going to college. Following their dreams.
I asked myself, Where has my head got me? The answer? Well here in AA. I had no choice. I had to go on.
And so the journey started. I'm not going to chart the whole 11 years or so. But what i can say i have got laid (more times than i would care to imagine) i have had fun, i have been sober, i haven't turned into the brainwashed religious zealot i feared i would. Yes i do have a collection of over 12 V Neck jumpers and have developed some strange obsessions in my time, buttering meat being the weirdest, though swinging was another (sorry Nan/Mum).
But I am OK, i have a good life. Yes i still suffer with the alcoholic head. Riddled with insecurities, low self esteem, feeling of failure of entitlement. I'm in charge of stationary for gods sake. No i haven't done many of the things deep down I've wanted to do, but i have done some of them. I'm on the right path. I trust in the process and i have changed radically as a person. I can see how much I've changed on the outside though I'm not so sure about the inside. Others will be able to tell better.
Maybe if i would have spent as much time developing a spiritual connection with a higher power as i have done chasing skirt and sculpting the guns i would be operating on the level of the Daliha Lama now.
But all in all I'm happy customer. I am lucky. I am grateful. I have done thousands of meetings and will continue to do so. And that has given me a nose for meetings, sobriety, the nuances of alcoholic character and personality and the belief in 12 steps and tools of AA and how it cuts off the alcoholic head and prevents the drinking.
So that is why i could sniff it out in the meeting this morning and could listen intently and hear the misery coming through. It's OK though. It;s not an entertainment show and people need to share what they share. But i prefer the meetings with gallows humour. When it;s stuffed full of real lunatic alcoholics genuinely trying to change. Not for show. But for real. It;s funny and packed with love, laughter, life, sadness. The lot. It's dynamite and i fucking love it. Not like the fake concern Jeremy Kyle style meeting i survived this morning. Blimey good job i wasn't going to criticise, thank god I've mellowed. Another classic alcoholic trait. Hypocrisy. I'm the biggest of all, i think i should get a T-shirt saying, "Do as i say not as i do")
I love AA. Most people miss it's simple efficiency and genius. It bascially helps to make me more old school. Moan less, get on with life, fight the fear and not take myself too seriously. It;s proper hardcore and the new age rehab trendy 'fellings' and 'boundaries' brigade miss it and tend not too last. prefering the £7k a week of treatement. Sure, good luck but they are basically alcoholics with a name tag and a pension scheme. The real experts are in the rooms for alcoholism.
Not for anything else of course as one of the down sides of AA is alcohoics are superb bulshitters and ego maniacs and won't hold back in offering advice on any range of subjects. I mean on a good day i'm an expert in marriage (never neen married) raising kids (never had kids) Pensions (never saved a penny) and any medical ailment (watched Casualty in the 80's) Never listen to Dr Evans.
But thats part of the charm too. We are full of imperfections and at heart raging lunatics. And the best bit. Nobody knows! Keep it schtum.
The Rest of day? Hard ass gym session, loving cross training and weights at moment, lunch, then wrote blog and idled the rest of the evening way. No long one in sight. I'm going to be honest with you readers, i didn't miss it a bit.
xx
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Day 118 - Saturday 28th April - My Nan is Old school amazing
1 hour cycle (gym) - Cross Train (not dress)
Saturday. The weekend. Day off. What to do? So many options in London. Exercise, gallery, Art, cinema, theatre, yoga, meeting, friends, shopping, restaurant, walk, massage + extras. Oh god the choice is overwhelming. No wonder in the old days it was easier to just go down the pub, drink heavily and talk about doing stuff.
Instead i opted for early morning meeting, coffee with a few chirpy peeps, bit of a giggle, then it was off to buy a new portable digital TV for an OAP and install in her bedroom as my good deed for the day.
Now don't get me wrong i don't mind doing it, but the traffic in the rain ate out 3 valuable ME hours, Saturday's are usually set aside for selfish, self seeking time. Which usually starts off with hardcore exercise and AA in the morning which sets up my head for the day. If i don't do active exercises early doors i usually get a bit moody. So i had to hide the searing resentment against the old girl as the traffic built up.
If she says the 19 inch TV is too big for the bedroom we may have another Tottenham Court Road hostage incident in Hounslow. Luckily it went down well and the Police were let off the siege situation. Phew.
Then it was out to lunch. A lovely long lazy affair with great grub and tons of tomato ketchup. Again, it was enjoyable, but now it was 5pm. How the f*** did that happen. And still i hadn't done my own things. Nightmare. Good job I'm so spontaneous and not regimented or selfish with my own habits.
It made me think, is the image of me I'd like to be (spontaneous, creative, go with flow, thrill seeking, lover of life) Not actually the persona i am? Am i embarrassed to be the persona i am? Am i concerned more with image and being true to myself? I mean it's not cool to like Coldplay and Escape to the Country is it? But i may have to one day face up to the fact that there is a dull suburban middle class boy wrapped up in a failed 80's pop star looking man. Anyway, who cares. It's Saturday, I'll stick to Sticky Toffee Pudding for desert.
Finally by late afternoon i got to do the gym and lose myself in exercise for a couple of hours and sweat my knackers off. I like doing this, feels like a bit of a purge from the week. I even liked it so much i ended up missing the Voice. I hope Sir Tom will forgive me. Never mind, I'll get an update from Brymoor Road later where me Mum and Nan will be watching it, though the old girl will probably be asleep.
Nan update. She is hanging in there, still doing her routine, eating the occasional Kit Kat and Apple Crumble. Her illness is aggressive and fierce, but it still hasn't spread and gripped her yet. She is sleeping more, and getting tired. Unheard of her to miss Emmerdale but she is starting to kip through that now too. But as my incredible mother reports, who has decamped to Llanelli to look after her full time says, she has an iron will and spirit for life, is harp as a button and doesn't complain. Fuck me doesn't complain?!!!
The woman has Oesophagus cancer, is 97, can barely walk much now, has lost most of her independence and has lived on her own since her husband died in 1992 for Christs Sake. And she doesn't complain. Talk about old school. Truly incredible and inspirational.
I wake up with a slight tickly cough and immediately I've got throat cancer and will bore the tits off everyone until they are sick of me whining. Nan, you're far my hardcore than me. I hold my hat.
It got me thinking of the older generation. How society kind of glosses over when they speak and thinks we know more. We are more advanced, more travelled, technologically savvy, sophisticated, worldly than those 'oldies' who have lived a sheltered life'. Not travelling outside their home town, save for a coach trip to Palma Nova in 1987. What on earth can us amazing new generation learn from them?
Well, cook fresh, make time for family and friends, don't complain, moan, walk places, talk to people, save, live within means, be humble, show love, don't feel pity, work, graft, don't sit still, don't over analyze, don't naval gaze and get the fuck on with things. Simple.
How many people are in therapy or in doctors taking anti depressants, obese, sharing feelings, on welfare, looking for quick fix, tablet to make me feel better, short cuts, quick wins financially, loans, credit cards, takeaways, getting fucked up, binging, overspending, material things, status, 'stuff', gadgets. Are we really that advanced.
She is 97 and doesn't moan. I am 39 and if i don't check myself would be Olympic standard moaner. Anything i can learn there?
My moral of the day. I have 2 ears and one mouth for a reason. Listen to learn and learn to listen. The only way to acquire knowledge and wisdom. The shocking revelation today. The great Nick doesn't have all the answers and depressingly is not God. Bugger
xx
Saturday. The weekend. Day off. What to do? So many options in London. Exercise, gallery, Art, cinema, theatre, yoga, meeting, friends, shopping, restaurant, walk, massage + extras. Oh god the choice is overwhelming. No wonder in the old days it was easier to just go down the pub, drink heavily and talk about doing stuff.
Instead i opted for early morning meeting, coffee with a few chirpy peeps, bit of a giggle, then it was off to buy a new portable digital TV for an OAP and install in her bedroom as my good deed for the day.
Now don't get me wrong i don't mind doing it, but the traffic in the rain ate out 3 valuable ME hours, Saturday's are usually set aside for selfish, self seeking time. Which usually starts off with hardcore exercise and AA in the morning which sets up my head for the day. If i don't do active exercises early doors i usually get a bit moody. So i had to hide the searing resentment against the old girl as the traffic built up.
If she says the 19 inch TV is too big for the bedroom we may have another Tottenham Court Road hostage incident in Hounslow. Luckily it went down well and the Police were let off the siege situation. Phew.
Then it was out to lunch. A lovely long lazy affair with great grub and tons of tomato ketchup. Again, it was enjoyable, but now it was 5pm. How the f*** did that happen. And still i hadn't done my own things. Nightmare. Good job I'm so spontaneous and not regimented or selfish with my own habits.
It made me think, is the image of me I'd like to be (spontaneous, creative, go with flow, thrill seeking, lover of life) Not actually the persona i am? Am i embarrassed to be the persona i am? Am i concerned more with image and being true to myself? I mean it's not cool to like Coldplay and Escape to the Country is it? But i may have to one day face up to the fact that there is a dull suburban middle class boy wrapped up in a failed 80's pop star looking man. Anyway, who cares. It's Saturday, I'll stick to Sticky Toffee Pudding for desert.
Finally by late afternoon i got to do the gym and lose myself in exercise for a couple of hours and sweat my knackers off. I like doing this, feels like a bit of a purge from the week. I even liked it so much i ended up missing the Voice. I hope Sir Tom will forgive me. Never mind, I'll get an update from Brymoor Road later where me Mum and Nan will be watching it, though the old girl will probably be asleep.
Nan update. She is hanging in there, still doing her routine, eating the occasional Kit Kat and Apple Crumble. Her illness is aggressive and fierce, but it still hasn't spread and gripped her yet. She is sleeping more, and getting tired. Unheard of her to miss Emmerdale but she is starting to kip through that now too. But as my incredible mother reports, who has decamped to Llanelli to look after her full time says, she has an iron will and spirit for life, is harp as a button and doesn't complain. Fuck me doesn't complain?!!!
The woman has Oesophagus cancer, is 97, can barely walk much now, has lost most of her independence and has lived on her own since her husband died in 1992 for Christs Sake. And she doesn't complain. Talk about old school. Truly incredible and inspirational.
I wake up with a slight tickly cough and immediately I've got throat cancer and will bore the tits off everyone until they are sick of me whining. Nan, you're far my hardcore than me. I hold my hat.
It got me thinking of the older generation. How society kind of glosses over when they speak and thinks we know more. We are more advanced, more travelled, technologically savvy, sophisticated, worldly than those 'oldies' who have lived a sheltered life'. Not travelling outside their home town, save for a coach trip to Palma Nova in 1987. What on earth can us amazing new generation learn from them?
Well, cook fresh, make time for family and friends, don't complain, moan, walk places, talk to people, save, live within means, be humble, show love, don't feel pity, work, graft, don't sit still, don't over analyze, don't naval gaze and get the fuck on with things. Simple.
How many people are in therapy or in doctors taking anti depressants, obese, sharing feelings, on welfare, looking for quick fix, tablet to make me feel better, short cuts, quick wins financially, loans, credit cards, takeaways, getting fucked up, binging, overspending, material things, status, 'stuff', gadgets. Are we really that advanced.
She is 97 and doesn't moan. I am 39 and if i don't check myself would be Olympic standard moaner. Anything i can learn there?
My moral of the day. I have 2 ears and one mouth for a reason. Listen to learn and learn to listen. The only way to acquire knowledge and wisdom. The shocking revelation today. The great Nick doesn't have all the answers and depressingly is not God. Bugger
xx
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Day 117 - Friday 27th April - The weekend!
1 hour cycle (gym) - Cross Training
Is it me today or is anyone else getting bored of my fitness update? 1 hour cycle and cross train at the gym. Who cares? Post marathon blues continue a little and not only has it been a struggle to continue the blog - as i don't have an end product anymore, but i also feel everyone else has given up on it too.
Are you still out there Readers? Shall i continue? What direction do i take? Shal i just stop and eat Haagen Daazs? Err, no, that's not an option, well it is and yes i have been scoffing quite a bit this week, result? Can't get my bastard waistcoat on for work now.
I've been forced to go down the strides and v-neck jumper with shirt and tie underneath route for work. Like a sort of poor mans Pep Guardiola. In fact i was told i looked like a former non league footballer this week. Which in fairness was one of the milder insults I've had. Though I'm still not sure if it was aimed as a compliment. If it was. It's an insult. Fact.
So what I'm saying is that i feel i need a goal. Something to work towards again and will help with a narrative to write the blog every day. I need to think on.
My day was pretty dull so I'm not going to go on. Biggest news of the day is the excel spreadsheet of business card details of 120 people is complete. We will all sleep easy now, i knew you were all wondering how it was going.
Slammed into the gym after work did a reasonably tough session. Went to a rocking good Friday night meeting in Richmond. My home group for those in the know. Tea with the troops after and off home to aimlessly piss around on the computer for several hours avoiding writing the blog until 2am. So pleased I'm focused and driven.
In the news today? Claire Squires Justgiving page reaches £1million following her sad death at the marathon. Incredible story. Clearly sad and tragic and a truly modern phenomenon as the story and donations has really been driven through social media. Facebook, Twitter and Justgiving. It's clearly touched people greatly and i guess donating £20 makes people feel connected or like they are doing something.
She did £500 going into the marathon, which is a bit poor really. But just like Whitney, Michael, Diana, Elvis. Worth considerably more in death than life. That is the real tragedy. But what isn't a tragedy is her life will always mean something and through the charity donations forever make a difference to people's lives. It is The reason most people do fund raising for the marathon for anyway. So in a terrible way it is following the theme and reason of the day. Too soon to see it like that but i would assume a comfort of sorts for the family. Awful story but it says alot about modern society how it has taken off and grown. Interesting.
Other news today? Armed Police were called and Tottenham Court Road was sealed off this afternoon and 2000 office workers evacuated because a guy went mental in an office and threw a load of furniture out of the window and threatened to blow himself up claiming he had explosives strapped to him.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-17869815
We've all been there when the Printer doesn't work. And that fax machine's on the blink. And those fucking letterheads are wrong. Nightmare. Turns out his beef was with the company he worked for. His email address on the business card spreadsheet was wrong. Fucking American word spellcheck
Nightmare!
xx
Is it me today or is anyone else getting bored of my fitness update? 1 hour cycle and cross train at the gym. Who cares? Post marathon blues continue a little and not only has it been a struggle to continue the blog - as i don't have an end product anymore, but i also feel everyone else has given up on it too.
Are you still out there Readers? Shall i continue? What direction do i take? Shal i just stop and eat Haagen Daazs? Err, no, that's not an option, well it is and yes i have been scoffing quite a bit this week, result? Can't get my bastard waistcoat on for work now.
I've been forced to go down the strides and v-neck jumper with shirt and tie underneath route for work. Like a sort of poor mans Pep Guardiola. In fact i was told i looked like a former non league footballer this week. Which in fairness was one of the milder insults I've had. Though I'm still not sure if it was aimed as a compliment. If it was. It's an insult. Fact.
So what I'm saying is that i feel i need a goal. Something to work towards again and will help with a narrative to write the blog every day. I need to think on.
My day was pretty dull so I'm not going to go on. Biggest news of the day is the excel spreadsheet of business card details of 120 people is complete. We will all sleep easy now, i knew you were all wondering how it was going.
Slammed into the gym after work did a reasonably tough session. Went to a rocking good Friday night meeting in Richmond. My home group for those in the know. Tea with the troops after and off home to aimlessly piss around on the computer for several hours avoiding writing the blog until 2am. So pleased I'm focused and driven.
In the news today? Claire Squires Justgiving page reaches £1million following her sad death at the marathon. Incredible story. Clearly sad and tragic and a truly modern phenomenon as the story and donations has really been driven through social media. Facebook, Twitter and Justgiving. It's clearly touched people greatly and i guess donating £20 makes people feel connected or like they are doing something.
She did £500 going into the marathon, which is a bit poor really. But just like Whitney, Michael, Diana, Elvis. Worth considerably more in death than life. That is the real tragedy. But what isn't a tragedy is her life will always mean something and through the charity donations forever make a difference to people's lives. It is The reason most people do fund raising for the marathon for anyway. So in a terrible way it is following the theme and reason of the day. Too soon to see it like that but i would assume a comfort of sorts for the family. Awful story but it says alot about modern society how it has taken off and grown. Interesting.
Other news today? Armed Police were called and Tottenham Court Road was sealed off this afternoon and 2000 office workers evacuated because a guy went mental in an office and threw a load of furniture out of the window and threatened to blow himself up claiming he had explosives strapped to him.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-17869815
We've all been there when the Printer doesn't work. And that fax machine's on the blink. And those fucking letterheads are wrong. Nightmare. Turns out his beef was with the company he worked for. His email address on the business card spreadsheet was wrong. Fucking American word spellcheck
Nightmare!
xx
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Day 116 - Thursday 26th April - Day off
1 hour cycle (Gym) - Cross Train
Hooray! Day off. From work and hopefully my head. No commute today which is a bonus. Instead i get back on the exercise train and after putting it off for 2 days, I'm back in the gym.
Still feeling fatigued and mongy but legs have healed 80% and no longer feel like stale baguettes. I cycled merrily whilst watching Homes Under the Hammer and reading the paper. Exercise by leisure. I did a few cross training exercises but at a pace slower than the M25 at rush hour. It was hard going.
Still, it was good to get back into it. I miss it when I'm not doing it and now that i don't have a goal, an event to work towards my desire to run is non existent. Clearly i need another goal. It helps to get training. To have a focus. I find it hard after a marathon to get motivated again. Strange really as you would have thought it fires you up for greater things, but i have always struggled. This time is no different
I've thought of a few goals, more Marathons. Ironman triathlons, which is brutal and time consuming. Boxing, Tour De France, cross training Gladiator style, natural bodybuilding, climbing, all kinds of stuff really. I'm not sure what the next thing will be, but I'll keep ticking over in the meantime.
Exercise is important to my mental state. If I'm not doing it i feel frustrated and lazy. Not that it is an obsession or exercise addiction, but it makes me feel good and hopefully look good too. I saw pictures of myself at 20 years old on Facebook the other day and fuck me did i look awful. Bloated with a massive round face. I looked like Frank Sidebottom or the moon. Dreadful. I think I'll stick to sobriety and exercise. Helps with body and mind.
Basically the marathon was great. Gave me focus. reason to train. To keep in shape. The day was a buzz. It's great to raise money for charity and give something back. It was good for the soul. Nourishing. Enriching. Wonderful.
But crucially it was a great opportunity to get the body in tip top shape. To get the guns and pipes in order. To become a marathon god so that chatting up that girl in Starbucks becomes that much easier. Deep spiritual nourishing journey? Of course. It's a good job I'm not a self obsessed female addict in constant need of attention and outside affirmation judging his esteem by female interest.
God what an empty vacuous existence that would be, surely there is more to life than that? Art, poetry, music, friends, family, love, charity, community, comedy, writing. Yes all these things are part of life's great journey.
So my day off, i did the gym, did a presentation for another little business I'm trying to start up which went OK, i read a book, prayed, spoke to a few fellow alcoholics, looked around the shops before i rested in a coffee shop.
I Read the arts section of the Guardian, people watched, mulled over the achievement of the past few weeks......looked across the coffee shop, spotted a girl in ultra tight leggings and heels, thought about that empty soulless existence and decided it was time to make a decision Nick. Grow up, use your time and thoughts and energy on creative positive things.............In the old days there would be no choice. But now it's a dilemma. A huge dilemma. Give her my business card or just ask for her mobile number.
Fuck. I need to book another marathon. #oldhabitshardtobreak
Hooray! Day off. From work and hopefully my head. No commute today which is a bonus. Instead i get back on the exercise train and after putting it off for 2 days, I'm back in the gym.
Still feeling fatigued and mongy but legs have healed 80% and no longer feel like stale baguettes. I cycled merrily whilst watching Homes Under the Hammer and reading the paper. Exercise by leisure. I did a few cross training exercises but at a pace slower than the M25 at rush hour. It was hard going.
Still, it was good to get back into it. I miss it when I'm not doing it and now that i don't have a goal, an event to work towards my desire to run is non existent. Clearly i need another goal. It helps to get training. To have a focus. I find it hard after a marathon to get motivated again. Strange really as you would have thought it fires you up for greater things, but i have always struggled. This time is no different
I've thought of a few goals, more Marathons. Ironman triathlons, which is brutal and time consuming. Boxing, Tour De France, cross training Gladiator style, natural bodybuilding, climbing, all kinds of stuff really. I'm not sure what the next thing will be, but I'll keep ticking over in the meantime.
Exercise is important to my mental state. If I'm not doing it i feel frustrated and lazy. Not that it is an obsession or exercise addiction, but it makes me feel good and hopefully look good too. I saw pictures of myself at 20 years old on Facebook the other day and fuck me did i look awful. Bloated with a massive round face. I looked like Frank Sidebottom or the moon. Dreadful. I think I'll stick to sobriety and exercise. Helps with body and mind.
Basically the marathon was great. Gave me focus. reason to train. To keep in shape. The day was a buzz. It's great to raise money for charity and give something back. It was good for the soul. Nourishing. Enriching. Wonderful.
But crucially it was a great opportunity to get the body in tip top shape. To get the guns and pipes in order. To become a marathon god so that chatting up that girl in Starbucks becomes that much easier. Deep spiritual nourishing journey? Of course. It's a good job I'm not a self obsessed female addict in constant need of attention and outside affirmation judging his esteem by female interest.
God what an empty vacuous existence that would be, surely there is more to life than that? Art, poetry, music, friends, family, love, charity, community, comedy, writing. Yes all these things are part of life's great journey.
So my day off, i did the gym, did a presentation for another little business I'm trying to start up which went OK, i read a book, prayed, spoke to a few fellow alcoholics, looked around the shops before i rested in a coffee shop.
I Read the arts section of the Guardian, people watched, mulled over the achievement of the past few weeks......looked across the coffee shop, spotted a girl in ultra tight leggings and heels, thought about that empty soulless existence and decided it was time to make a decision Nick. Grow up, use your time and thoughts and energy on creative positive things.............In the old days there would be no choice. But now it's a dilemma. A huge dilemma. Give her my business card or just ask for her mobile number.
Fuck. I need to book another marathon. #oldhabitshardtobreak
Day 115 - Weds 25th April - Thats it then is it?
Is That it Then?
No mileage today, no desire for mileage today. In fact, if I'm honest no desire for anything today. Other than a day in bed watching Flog It. Woken with bad head. Candida is strong, maybe because of all the terrific amounts of food i stuffed down my neck over past week, plus I'm back on the diet coke and sugar train. Not good. Physically or mentally.
I awoke to a monsoon both outside and in my head. Luckily i didn't have a packed commute on a train into central London or a full day in the office to worry about. Nuts!!
It was gloomy. I prayed, i wrote a gratitude list to show how much i have in my life, i tried to think and say positive actions. i prepared myself as best i could. I was ready. It is possible to change your thinking, to not buy into your natural negativity, to become more optimistic, positive, hopeful. Yes. I can do this. Own the day Nicholas Evans. Bring it on.
Then, i stepped out the door, got soaked by a passing car splashing a puddle on me and immediately thought, 'Fuck it'. 'I fucking hate today, my life, my job, this train station, London, Britain, the whole fucking world.' Fuck this' Good job i did those positive affirmations otherwise i would have been in real trouble.
I got into work and I'm going to share something with you that hurts. That goes against every fibre in my body. That makes me gutted. That shames me into embarrassment........Work helped me. It helped me. Oh god. Work is good. Work is good for me.
There I've said it. Work helped me. I got on with stuff, busied myself, got stuff done. Forgot about me. About my head. About my negativity. Getting on with things helped me drag out of the gloom. It's good to work. It's good for the soul, no matter what you do. If you need to do things and do them it makes you feel good.
That's what happened today.
Yes i looked around at everyone on the commute, not communicating, not smiling, not alive. Packed in tight, shuffling along like the living dead. Eyes glazed, expressionless, reading Kindles, Ipads, Blackberrys, the occasional newspaper and book. Bored. Fucked off. Hating it. Resigned to a fate. On autopilot. Travel, work, travel, home, travel, work , travel, home, weekend, rest, Sunday, travel, work, travel, home etc etc forever and ever until you retire. And i thought to myself, shall i kill myself now?
But why am i so different to all the others? Do they really think that? It is all about attitude and when i got out of my own way today. Got away from my head, then things were OK. I am paid to do a job and today i did it. Shock fucking horror!!! Bad news, i am not that special and different. I don't operate on different rules from the rest of the human race. I don't have to be the same but i still have to get on with it.
So, today, not only am i grateful to have a job but it helped my attitude and head, and i got paid for it. Result!
The attitude was adjusted today, not by running 20 miles, or a spiritual awakening, but by getting on with stuff. Sometimes that's as spiritual as a 6 month yoga retreat in Goa.
Having said that, i don't ever think I'll turn into a workaholic. How else can you fit in gym, yoga, cinema, AA, friends, buggering around online,Cash In the Attic, any other host of self centred pleasure seeking fun and a 10 hour shift. Fuck me, don't even go there about kids, families and responsibilities. Clearly i have a lot of growing up to do!
Having said that i do actually have a day off tomorrow. See above for my itinerary
xx
No mileage today, no desire for mileage today. In fact, if I'm honest no desire for anything today. Other than a day in bed watching Flog It. Woken with bad head. Candida is strong, maybe because of all the terrific amounts of food i stuffed down my neck over past week, plus I'm back on the diet coke and sugar train. Not good. Physically or mentally.
I awoke to a monsoon both outside and in my head. Luckily i didn't have a packed commute on a train into central London or a full day in the office to worry about. Nuts!!
It was gloomy. I prayed, i wrote a gratitude list to show how much i have in my life, i tried to think and say positive actions. i prepared myself as best i could. I was ready. It is possible to change your thinking, to not buy into your natural negativity, to become more optimistic, positive, hopeful. Yes. I can do this. Own the day Nicholas Evans. Bring it on.
Then, i stepped out the door, got soaked by a passing car splashing a puddle on me and immediately thought, 'Fuck it'. 'I fucking hate today, my life, my job, this train station, London, Britain, the whole fucking world.' Fuck this' Good job i did those positive affirmations otherwise i would have been in real trouble.
I got into work and I'm going to share something with you that hurts. That goes against every fibre in my body. That makes me gutted. That shames me into embarrassment........Work helped me. It helped me. Oh god. Work is good. Work is good for me.
There I've said it. Work helped me. I got on with stuff, busied myself, got stuff done. Forgot about me. About my head. About my negativity. Getting on with things helped me drag out of the gloom. It's good to work. It's good for the soul, no matter what you do. If you need to do things and do them it makes you feel good.
That's what happened today.
Yes i looked around at everyone on the commute, not communicating, not smiling, not alive. Packed in tight, shuffling along like the living dead. Eyes glazed, expressionless, reading Kindles, Ipads, Blackberrys, the occasional newspaper and book. Bored. Fucked off. Hating it. Resigned to a fate. On autopilot. Travel, work, travel, home, travel, work , travel, home, weekend, rest, Sunday, travel, work, travel, home etc etc forever and ever until you retire. And i thought to myself, shall i kill myself now?
But why am i so different to all the others? Do they really think that? It is all about attitude and when i got out of my own way today. Got away from my head, then things were OK. I am paid to do a job and today i did it. Shock fucking horror!!! Bad news, i am not that special and different. I don't operate on different rules from the rest of the human race. I don't have to be the same but i still have to get on with it.
So, today, not only am i grateful to have a job but it helped my attitude and head, and i got paid for it. Result!
The attitude was adjusted today, not by running 20 miles, or a spiritual awakening, but by getting on with stuff. Sometimes that's as spiritual as a 6 month yoga retreat in Goa.
Having said that, i don't ever think I'll turn into a workaholic. How else can you fit in gym, yoga, cinema, AA, friends, buggering around online,Cash In the Attic, any other host of self centred pleasure seeking fun and a 10 hour shift. Fuck me, don't even go there about kids, families and responsibilities. Clearly i have a lot of growing up to do!
Having said that i do actually have a day off tomorrow. See above for my itinerary
xx
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Day 114 - Tuesday 24th April - Come Down
The Great Marathon Come Down
OK, it's now officially ended. The buzz has gone. I've used up all my adoration and interest cards. People have moved on. Marathon was 2 days ago. It's history. No-one is interested anymore.
In fact any attempt to bring it up in conversation is met with that kind of vague bored look displayed when married couples show single people pictures of their kids. The words are all the right ones, "really", "lovely" "so sweet", when really the mind is saying, "I hate kids, when will this end, boring".
The only people you are now allowed to acceptably discuss the magic of the day with is fellow runners. They feel the same need to keep hold of that feeling. Normal people simply don't want to hear, "oh you must do it next year, it's amazing" They would rather hear, "I've ordered a new set of business cards"
Marathon runners now take on the status of reformed smokers. You know the ones, uligising the magic of smell, how they are free of the addiction, how much money they are saving, how they can taste food, how great they feel. All the while as a smoker, you're stood there thinking, "Shut the fuck up. You may feel great but you've put on 3 stone you lardy sod".
I must not become a marathon bore. I think if you've done you're first one the glow lasts much longer. You are allowed 5 days before people want to set light to you. On the other hand, 'veterans' like me are allowed a full 24 hours before settling back into life and cracking on. I have reached that stage now.
A pal of mine rang me to ask how i got on. He had done his 1st in 3 hours 31 mins and said he only jogged round. Oh i see, he is one of those fake humble people who say, 'Oh i'm no good at Scrabble and then throw down a quadrauple triple point scorer first." Bastard. With love of course.
Truth is reviewing my training and journey i'm totally happy with what i got. I did exactly as i should do.
If i'm being ultra harsh on myself, i had ambitions to run a 3 hour 30 marathon. I had ambitions to change the way i trained, learn new habits, go out of my comfort zone. Change.
Well, in the end I didn't. I didn't join a running club, do interval training, hill training, make myself much quicker. I did what i had done before really, except i trained more, ate more and at least learnt the lesson from the previous year. In brutal honesty i could have shaved another 10 minutes off by going harder for longer. I stopped for 2 Massive Horse Pisses, changed my sock for a blister on mile 19 and stopped to see my loved ones on mile 25. Total time wasted? 5 minutes? That would have made me do 3 hours 44mins. Train harder and run the day quicker and i could have got down to 3 hours 34 mins. But to break 3 hours 30, for me? That is ultra hard going and i suppose i wasn't prepared to do that this time.
So i'm not going to give myself a hard time. I got what i put in. Respectable time and enjoyable experience. The writing, the day, the last 6 miles. I got the buzz more than the time. I was able to talk about alcoholism, about my father, about my head, my struggles. I was able to help someone in the process of their 1st marathon and i was able to raise some cash for a wicked charity.
On a day when Russell Brand's appearance in front of a Parliament select committee about addiction and drug policy got more publicity than i can ever hope for through my mediums. When my head instantly went into meltdown over terrific envy and jealousy over his position and then self pity and 'less than' over my position. It showed my alcoholic head was still good and well and very much alive.
Marathon training can give you focus, direction and health. The day itself can provide you sparkling memories and a sense of achievement. But what then? I'm still left with my head, my insecurities, my worries, my ego, my self made obstacles. My demons. Marathon doesnt cure those. It may delay them but it won't cure them.
That is where an abstinent 12 step recovery programme comes in. For me it's my medicine. My oxygen and it fuels me to do things like the marathon. A physical factual action i can state i would never do if i was drinking. It is that black and white. Drinking, i'm in the pub talking about doing shit. Sober, i'm out there actually doing it.
After a piss poor day at work and a head that was in full negative, angry, confrontational, fearful mode it made me realise what i really learnt out of the marathon. The drive and energy and detrmination it took me to do it, to mark it out as a symbol of sobriety for me. Well, i clearly need to learn to take that into other areas of my life. Job, career, money, comedy, performance.
If i can do that, well who knows maybe there will be other groovy stuff i can say i've done instead of talking about it. That is my truth bloggers. My internal deep down gut feeling.
So if nothing else, i've learnt something. Oh, and never wear an all in one triathlon suit in the marathon when you are going for a personal best time and need a massive horse piss. It;s like trying to unstrap a girdle houdini style whilst cuffed underwater. Loses you valuable outside affirmation time
xx
OK, it's now officially ended. The buzz has gone. I've used up all my adoration and interest cards. People have moved on. Marathon was 2 days ago. It's history. No-one is interested anymore.
In fact any attempt to bring it up in conversation is met with that kind of vague bored look displayed when married couples show single people pictures of their kids. The words are all the right ones, "really", "lovely" "so sweet", when really the mind is saying, "I hate kids, when will this end, boring".
The only people you are now allowed to acceptably discuss the magic of the day with is fellow runners. They feel the same need to keep hold of that feeling. Normal people simply don't want to hear, "oh you must do it next year, it's amazing" They would rather hear, "I've ordered a new set of business cards"
Marathon runners now take on the status of reformed smokers. You know the ones, uligising the magic of smell, how they are free of the addiction, how much money they are saving, how they can taste food, how great they feel. All the while as a smoker, you're stood there thinking, "Shut the fuck up. You may feel great but you've put on 3 stone you lardy sod".
I must not become a marathon bore. I think if you've done you're first one the glow lasts much longer. You are allowed 5 days before people want to set light to you. On the other hand, 'veterans' like me are allowed a full 24 hours before settling back into life and cracking on. I have reached that stage now.
A pal of mine rang me to ask how i got on. He had done his 1st in 3 hours 31 mins and said he only jogged round. Oh i see, he is one of those fake humble people who say, 'Oh i'm no good at Scrabble and then throw down a quadrauple triple point scorer first." Bastard. With love of course.
Truth is reviewing my training and journey i'm totally happy with what i got. I did exactly as i should do.
If i'm being ultra harsh on myself, i had ambitions to run a 3 hour 30 marathon. I had ambitions to change the way i trained, learn new habits, go out of my comfort zone. Change.
Well, in the end I didn't. I didn't join a running club, do interval training, hill training, make myself much quicker. I did what i had done before really, except i trained more, ate more and at least learnt the lesson from the previous year. In brutal honesty i could have shaved another 10 minutes off by going harder for longer. I stopped for 2 Massive Horse Pisses, changed my sock for a blister on mile 19 and stopped to see my loved ones on mile 25. Total time wasted? 5 minutes? That would have made me do 3 hours 44mins. Train harder and run the day quicker and i could have got down to 3 hours 34 mins. But to break 3 hours 30, for me? That is ultra hard going and i suppose i wasn't prepared to do that this time.
So i'm not going to give myself a hard time. I got what i put in. Respectable time and enjoyable experience. The writing, the day, the last 6 miles. I got the buzz more than the time. I was able to talk about alcoholism, about my father, about my head, my struggles. I was able to help someone in the process of their 1st marathon and i was able to raise some cash for a wicked charity.
On a day when Russell Brand's appearance in front of a Parliament select committee about addiction and drug policy got more publicity than i can ever hope for through my mediums. When my head instantly went into meltdown over terrific envy and jealousy over his position and then self pity and 'less than' over my position. It showed my alcoholic head was still good and well and very much alive.
Marathon training can give you focus, direction and health. The day itself can provide you sparkling memories and a sense of achievement. But what then? I'm still left with my head, my insecurities, my worries, my ego, my self made obstacles. My demons. Marathon doesnt cure those. It may delay them but it won't cure them.
That is where an abstinent 12 step recovery programme comes in. For me it's my medicine. My oxygen and it fuels me to do things like the marathon. A physical factual action i can state i would never do if i was drinking. It is that black and white. Drinking, i'm in the pub talking about doing shit. Sober, i'm out there actually doing it.
After a piss poor day at work and a head that was in full negative, angry, confrontational, fearful mode it made me realise what i really learnt out of the marathon. The drive and energy and detrmination it took me to do it, to mark it out as a symbol of sobriety for me. Well, i clearly need to learn to take that into other areas of my life. Job, career, money, comedy, performance.
If i can do that, well who knows maybe there will be other groovy stuff i can say i've done instead of talking about it. That is my truth bloggers. My internal deep down gut feeling.
So if nothing else, i've learnt something. Oh, and never wear an all in one triathlon suit in the marathon when you are going for a personal best time and need a massive horse piss. It;s like trying to unstrap a girdle houdini style whilst cuffed underwater. Loses you valuable outside affirmation time
xx
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Day 113 - Monday 23rd April - The Day after the 12 weeks Before
Mileage - Are you taking the piss? - 0
The morning after the day before. The legs are stiff, the joints are sore, everything aches. You have bits hurting you never knew existed. You feel exhausted, knackered. Your legs stiffer than Hugh Hefner at a Viagra Rally. To put it in a physiological terms. You're fucked.
But you wake with a glow. Laying in bed Adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Memories from the day still fresh. Your eyes still closed, you smile to yourself, thinking about yesterday, You feel the warm glow of peace, satisfaction, almost happiness. All is well with the world.
And then? Well It's time to get up. You try to swing your legs out of bed. They refuse. You try to get out of bed. You can't. Your body has turned into an Ikea wardrobe overnight. It is immovable. Suddenly you are doing your best Stephen Hawkins impression. You are buggered.
After what felt like 3 hours i finally got up. I'm sure it took the medics less time to winch the 50 stone man out of bed. I got there in the end, showing the same grim determination i displayed from mile 20 yesterday. I made the cardinal error of not booking a day off, so i had to prepare for the office. Still at least i would receive plenty of attention and praise whilst it's still in people's minds.
The second problem was putting on trousers. Bending down felt troublesome. It was like the sack race in sports day but without the sack, or race for that matter. In fact what the hell am i talking about. I'm clearly still delirious.
Then it was out the door to work. This is when i encountered the 3rd problem. Stairs. Clearly the devil's creation today. Walking seemed OK but when i reached stairs it was like walking with broken legs. Going up was hard enough but going down nearly impossible. I'm sure my 97 year old Nan was moving better than me today. I cursed the fact that not all public stairwells were equipped with Stanner Stair Lifts. Where's that in the Mayor of London Manifesto?
Then it was time for problem number 4. Reality. I hit Barnes station, bought my ticket, my tea, bought the paper to see the Marathon on the front page and got on the packed train. No-one applauded me. No-one encouraged me. No-one shouted, screamed, high fives or cheered.
In fact nothing but bored commuters packed in together looking decidedly fucked off at the prospect of another week at work. Reality. Fuck. It's over. There were no seats. I should have worn my medal. Didn't anyone realise I'd run the marathon? Bastards!
It made me think, what if every day was like marathon day? Getting on the train, people screaming encouragement to each other, "you can do that spreadsheet Nick", "Good luck with the letterheads", "Keep going to Waterloo mate". It would be ace. Applauding the barista for making the coffee, cheering the driver for driving, geeing others up in the carriage,It would be ace. Just imagine how utterly brilliant it would be. Every day would be like the Truman show.
Then it was into the office to bask in the glory, email as many people as i could. Put on the limp even more to get noticed. 'Have you done the marathon?' Me? feigning humility, Yes. Shamelessly stringing it out. I can't let that adoration go. You don't want reality to come back. I wonder if The Rolling Stones got over a massive performance with a morning of compiling a business card excel spreadsheet?
You obsessively check the marathon website, look at your split times, go over the race where you could have done better, respond to congratulations from yesterday, post your pics on Facebook, basically seek adoration from any place you can get it. Text, Facebook likes, comments, Twitter, work, coffee shop. Basking in the afterglow of the day. It holds all day long.
I am officially a marathon bore. I can't stop telling people of the atmosphere, of the spirit, of the people. It still sends shivers up my spine even today. And then i read the news about Claire Squires, the 30 year old girl from Leicester who collapsed and died on Mile 25. Terrible, terrible news. Awful tragedy. The 10th fatality since the marathon began in 1981.
It is awful. Who knows what happened. She looked a fit, active normal woman. It could easily be any one of us 35,000 who ran it. I saw loads of people collapsing and being tended too on the course, but you think nothing of it, you just keep going, assuming they are OK, or just exhausted.
It does highlight the respect you need to give 26.2 miles. It is a punishing distance and why all experienced runners repeat the mantra to 'run your own race', no matter how many you have done. The crowds are so vast and supportive and intense, you get caught up, lose your pace, try harder, run quicker, for longer, you push yourself beyond what you are used too. That is when you can overdo it and whilst you manage to be OK when you run, it is when you stop, slow down or deviate from your rhythm you can go all wobbly and pass out. It is always a danger for anyone pushing themselves.
I am not saying that is what happened to that poor girl, but there were lots of casualties i passed. God bless her and her poor family. The fundraising on her page jumped to £250,000 for the Samiratans as so many people were touched by her death they felt compelled to show support or an action of love by donating. Her death will not be in vain and help others, but i suppose that is of scant consolation to her family.
In a strange way, that encapsulates the marathon. It is a mass event to help people process grief and love in an action. The action of running it, to raise money, to raise awareness, to help feel like you are doing something. Grief renders us powerless. There is nothing we can do. Organise arrangements etc, but ultimately we are left alone, with our own thoughts and emotions. The marathon is a way for many people to do something positive for the ones they love or loved. That's what makes it the most unique and emotional event in the world. But still a terrible loss.
So, really to bring this blog to a close. What have i learnt from the experience? Well it seems inappropriate with the loss of that poor girl to be nitpicking the race, the day, my training, my journey. I will deal with that throughout the week. I am alive. I enjoyed it. I raised money for Action on Addiction, i saw people i love, i wrote every day, i got under 4 hours, i enjoyed the experience.
Today is not the day to forensically explore my inner journey, to try and perform some amateur psychology to what it all means. There are many areas to work on. Many lessons i learnt and many positives taken from the experience.
The main positive is in keeping up this blog every day since i got back from Dubai on Jan 1st and started writing it. Seems a lifetime ago now. I have kept up the writing and in many cases enjoyed it more than the training. It has been a great experience.
And what now? Stop? Go back to normal? Quit the writing? Well, no not really. I posted on Facebook a few days ago if people thought i should keep it up every day for 2012. Most came back and said yes. They enjoyed it. Entertaining, funny, touching and searingly honest were some of the things coming back at me. 'Write a book' were others.
So i think i will, if it;s all the same to you readers. I will look at setting up another blog on wordpress or my own website that will make it easier to comment if you feel compelled. I will keep a daily blog for 2012. My 40th year to gauge the whole year and journey and process of becoming 'middle aged'.
Maybe, just maybe that will be the biggest gift that comes from this marathon. Let's see.
Thank you for sponsoring me, thank you for reading this, for following my journey, for supporting me. Basically thank you for being you.
I hope you continue reading, don't worry I'll keep it shorter in the future. But 1st. I'm just going to try and get these trousers off. Blimey it's like the old days when taking off strides after 12 pints seemed like the Krypton factor and IQ test rolled into one. I may have to fall back on my old technique. Fall over and sleep on the floor. The good news about being sober and in recovery is that when i wake up tomorrow i am pretty sure they won't be piss stained. Result!
Until tomorrow jogger bloggers. Me love you long time
xx
The morning after the day before. The legs are stiff, the joints are sore, everything aches. You have bits hurting you never knew existed. You feel exhausted, knackered. Your legs stiffer than Hugh Hefner at a Viagra Rally. To put it in a physiological terms. You're fucked.
But you wake with a glow. Laying in bed Adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Memories from the day still fresh. Your eyes still closed, you smile to yourself, thinking about yesterday, You feel the warm glow of peace, satisfaction, almost happiness. All is well with the world.
And then? Well It's time to get up. You try to swing your legs out of bed. They refuse. You try to get out of bed. You can't. Your body has turned into an Ikea wardrobe overnight. It is immovable. Suddenly you are doing your best Stephen Hawkins impression. You are buggered.
After what felt like 3 hours i finally got up. I'm sure it took the medics less time to winch the 50 stone man out of bed. I got there in the end, showing the same grim determination i displayed from mile 20 yesterday. I made the cardinal error of not booking a day off, so i had to prepare for the office. Still at least i would receive plenty of attention and praise whilst it's still in people's minds.
The second problem was putting on trousers. Bending down felt troublesome. It was like the sack race in sports day but without the sack, or race for that matter. In fact what the hell am i talking about. I'm clearly still delirious.
Then it was out the door to work. This is when i encountered the 3rd problem. Stairs. Clearly the devil's creation today. Walking seemed OK but when i reached stairs it was like walking with broken legs. Going up was hard enough but going down nearly impossible. I'm sure my 97 year old Nan was moving better than me today. I cursed the fact that not all public stairwells were equipped with Stanner Stair Lifts. Where's that in the Mayor of London Manifesto?
Then it was time for problem number 4. Reality. I hit Barnes station, bought my ticket, my tea, bought the paper to see the Marathon on the front page and got on the packed train. No-one applauded me. No-one encouraged me. No-one shouted, screamed, high fives or cheered.
In fact nothing but bored commuters packed in together looking decidedly fucked off at the prospect of another week at work. Reality. Fuck. It's over. There were no seats. I should have worn my medal. Didn't anyone realise I'd run the marathon? Bastards!
It made me think, what if every day was like marathon day? Getting on the train, people screaming encouragement to each other, "you can do that spreadsheet Nick", "Good luck with the letterheads", "Keep going to Waterloo mate". It would be ace. Applauding the barista for making the coffee, cheering the driver for driving, geeing others up in the carriage,It would be ace. Just imagine how utterly brilliant it would be. Every day would be like the Truman show.
Then it was into the office to bask in the glory, email as many people as i could. Put on the limp even more to get noticed. 'Have you done the marathon?' Me? feigning humility, Yes. Shamelessly stringing it out. I can't let that adoration go. You don't want reality to come back. I wonder if The Rolling Stones got over a massive performance with a morning of compiling a business card excel spreadsheet?
You obsessively check the marathon website, look at your split times, go over the race where you could have done better, respond to congratulations from yesterday, post your pics on Facebook, basically seek adoration from any place you can get it. Text, Facebook likes, comments, Twitter, work, coffee shop. Basking in the afterglow of the day. It holds all day long.
I am officially a marathon bore. I can't stop telling people of the atmosphere, of the spirit, of the people. It still sends shivers up my spine even today. And then i read the news about Claire Squires, the 30 year old girl from Leicester who collapsed and died on Mile 25. Terrible, terrible news. Awful tragedy. The 10th fatality since the marathon began in 1981.
It is awful. Who knows what happened. She looked a fit, active normal woman. It could easily be any one of us 35,000 who ran it. I saw loads of people collapsing and being tended too on the course, but you think nothing of it, you just keep going, assuming they are OK, or just exhausted.
It does highlight the respect you need to give 26.2 miles. It is a punishing distance and why all experienced runners repeat the mantra to 'run your own race', no matter how many you have done. The crowds are so vast and supportive and intense, you get caught up, lose your pace, try harder, run quicker, for longer, you push yourself beyond what you are used too. That is when you can overdo it and whilst you manage to be OK when you run, it is when you stop, slow down or deviate from your rhythm you can go all wobbly and pass out. It is always a danger for anyone pushing themselves.
I am not saying that is what happened to that poor girl, but there were lots of casualties i passed. God bless her and her poor family. The fundraising on her page jumped to £250,000 for the Samiratans as so many people were touched by her death they felt compelled to show support or an action of love by donating. Her death will not be in vain and help others, but i suppose that is of scant consolation to her family.
In a strange way, that encapsulates the marathon. It is a mass event to help people process grief and love in an action. The action of running it, to raise money, to raise awareness, to help feel like you are doing something. Grief renders us powerless. There is nothing we can do. Organise arrangements etc, but ultimately we are left alone, with our own thoughts and emotions. The marathon is a way for many people to do something positive for the ones they love or loved. That's what makes it the most unique and emotional event in the world. But still a terrible loss.
So, really to bring this blog to a close. What have i learnt from the experience? Well it seems inappropriate with the loss of that poor girl to be nitpicking the race, the day, my training, my journey. I will deal with that throughout the week. I am alive. I enjoyed it. I raised money for Action on Addiction, i saw people i love, i wrote every day, i got under 4 hours, i enjoyed the experience.
Today is not the day to forensically explore my inner journey, to try and perform some amateur psychology to what it all means. There are many areas to work on. Many lessons i learnt and many positives taken from the experience.
The main positive is in keeping up this blog every day since i got back from Dubai on Jan 1st and started writing it. Seems a lifetime ago now. I have kept up the writing and in many cases enjoyed it more than the training. It has been a great experience.
And what now? Stop? Go back to normal? Quit the writing? Well, no not really. I posted on Facebook a few days ago if people thought i should keep it up every day for 2012. Most came back and said yes. They enjoyed it. Entertaining, funny, touching and searingly honest were some of the things coming back at me. 'Write a book' were others.
So i think i will, if it;s all the same to you readers. I will look at setting up another blog on wordpress or my own website that will make it easier to comment if you feel compelled. I will keep a daily blog for 2012. My 40th year to gauge the whole year and journey and process of becoming 'middle aged'.
Maybe, just maybe that will be the biggest gift that comes from this marathon. Let's see.
Thank you for sponsoring me, thank you for reading this, for following my journey, for supporting me. Basically thank you for being you.
I hope you continue reading, don't worry I'll keep it shorter in the future. But 1st. I'm just going to try and get these trousers off. Blimey it's like the old days when taking off strides after 12 pints seemed like the Krypton factor and IQ test rolled into one. I may have to fall back on my old technique. Fall over and sleep on the floor. The good news about being sober and in recovery is that when i wake up tomorrow i am pretty sure they won't be piss stained. Result!
Until tomorrow jogger bloggers. Me love you long time
xx
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Day 112 - Sunday April 22nd - Marathon Day
Mileage 26.2 miles; Time - 3 hours 49 minutes - Done It!!!
Marathon Day!
So this is it. This is what we've all been building. London Marathon Day 2012. A totally classic on the London Calendar. A great London day. A day of life, love and loss. It's got the whole shebang, including chaffed nipples.
Alarm went off at 6am. 5 hours kip which is pretty decent the night before Marathon, though to be fair it helps to have done 4 of them so i know what to expect.
Woke totally stuffed with a whirling stomach. It was a windy night. In fact it was going to be a windy day. though I will spare you the graphic details.
Breakfasted on Porridge and Carrot Cake. A genuine breakfast of champions. All that was missing was a Special Brew to really complete the set. Drank some tea, smoked a couple of Pre Marathon snouts, just to settle the nerves of course, strapped on the kit (In the end i covered both bases and went for Gayboy tr-suit with Action on Addiction vest with name over the top). A little waist pocket to hold my nutrition. Kendall Mint cake and gum. #old school, 2 pairs of socks. trainers, timing chip and of course heartily Vaselined up everything that could potentially rub.
If I'm honest i took a little too long doing this and concentrated on a particular part of my body. No time for that Nick. You've a marathon to run. Get on with it.
Then it was out, to Barnes station for the train to Waterloo. I felt slightly guilty sitting on the steps in my Marathon Kit with my Big Red Marathon bag (identifies runners), smoking a cigarette. I was suitably looked upon disdainfully by all passers by. Like I'd just assaulted a kitten. I thought that was a bit harsh but polished off a couple in the wait.
Train was packed full of expectant runners and supporters. People slapping down bagels with bananas, lucozade, water, nuts to get last minute energy. i had done all mine, anymore and i swear I'll burst. My guts felt like i had eaten a 3 week old fox anyway. Gurgling.
Met with Kelly, my colleague, she was doing her 1st London, and my Pal Russell, a really quick runner, who was doing his 3rd, but dressed as Angry Bird. The lunatic will still beat me hands down as his quickest marathon is 3 hours, I've got no chance. I reckon he could do it on his hands and still be quicker.
We made our way to Greenwich Park for the start. It was like a pilgrimage of Lycra full of people brandishing their big red bags and all manner of costumes, vests, lycra. The place stunk of deep heat and vaseline. I liked it. People were everywhere. A hum of expectation and excitement was in the air.Everyone 'vasing up', like a mass low budget strip club. Grim.
The feelings you experience at this point are numerous, nervous, apprehensive, you clearly think you havent done enough training, you are excited and it is a feeling like no other. 26.2 miles in front of you. What will it be like? Will i do a good time?. Feels like you're going on a date with a dominatrix. You can't wait for it. It's all you ever wanted but you're scared shit less too.. At least that's what people tell me anyway.
I was on the blue start, the others were on red, so i left them to it and off i went, slung my bag into the trucks, put on an old warm top and took my place in the queue. Trap 4. Blue start. Blackheath green. Packed.
I didn't talk. I didn't chat. I was alone, with my thoughts. Focused. Today's marathon was not going to be a pantomime dame one for me. I wasn't interested in seeing people all round the course. I wasn't interested in engaging the crowd, of being Mr fun. I wanted to just run and enjoy it. I felt heavy, full, windy. Not a feeling i enjoy but i was hoping it would provide me with enough energy in the 2nd half of the race. i wanted so much to power home in the last 6 miles, not like last year when my last 6 miles were slower than a slug on Tramadol.
I visualized the embankment and wall of sound and faces willing you home. I thought of the reference points around the course. My charity waiting en Mass at Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf, My pals on embankment, ,my loved ones at Westminster. The finish line. I wanted to be strong at the end and enjoy it. I knew i hadn't trained hard enough for a 3 hour 30 marathon, so i figured i would take it easy and see if i could do 3 hour 50 mins, and if i got under, well that would be a bonus. But i wasn't going to get hung up on time today.
I looked enviously and a little 'less than' at the seeming pro's. With their GPS watches and race paced timed in their heads. I was a bit more 'off the cuff' with my Argos Timex stopwatch and natural instincts. I'm either old school or a stubborn fool. I can't quite work out which yet.
And then it was 9.45am and we were off. Took 3 minutes to get over the start line, but the Virgin London Marathon 2012 had begun! 111 days of training, of writing, of rehab, of running, of miles and smiles and just a few porkie pies. It was here. It was now.
It was totally jam packed. Typical London roads i suppose. Held up and slowed to a crawl. However refreshingly you didn't get booked for using a bus lane. There was no chance in going off to fast. Which in hindsight was probably a good thing.
The 1st 3 miles chugged along, the best part of it was when we passed the Greenwich Royal Artillery Olympic Test Event and new building. Gunshots popped off, which was great as they sounded just like my farts. The building is awesome with abstract coloured bullet holes protruding from them. It was impressive.
Greenwich was a buzz as it was totally packed. The crowd were awesome. Bands played at different parts. The diversity of music a real joy. The weather was sunny so lots of people turned out. Once again it was a London carnival.
I felt heavy and slow in the first 12 miles. The gut was gurgling, yet at around the 10 mile point and sorry for this readers, i started to release the pressure. My god i would have hated to be behind me. But needs must and it had to be done. There were a few dicey moments when i thought i really had 'done a Radcliffe', but luckily i escaped that hell. But Once this happened i started to run easier and get into a rythymn, Head down, listen to the crowd, take the 'Go on Nick's' and settle in.
And then i hit Tower Bridge. Fuck me. Incredible! It always amazes me. It was Immense. The crowd packed either side, the wall of noise. Urging, willing, shouting. The mood intense. The energy incredible. I ran close to the crowd on the left and gazed at all the faces, feeding off their noise and support. I lost my head, my thinking, i had an almost outer body experience. i started crying. I thought of my Father, of his alcoholic loss and all the alcoholics who lost out on this. Life affirming. Love. I thought of my Mum and Nan at home in Brymoor Road, watching. i thought of nothing but love. It was tingling, and real, and emotional and euphoric. I floated across that bridge.
Turned into Limehouse, the crowd noisy all the way and i reached halfway in 1 hour 54 Min's. Slow, but feeling OK. I was aware that the real marathon starts at 18 miles, so i didn't want to burn out again. I kept steady.
I felt a bit crap up until 18 miles and Canary Wharf. I was running at the same speed as others around me and was struck by how slow they were going. Was i really going as slow as them? At some points i ran in a great rhythm and felt good at others i felt all over the place. I stopped twice for a pee (Not easy in a dopey gay all in one tri suit)
I took water on and lucozade sport, noshed down on Kendall mint cake which to be fair is not easy when you are running, heavy dark chocolate making your mouth gloopy like you've just swallowed some mud. Time to rethink fuelling strategy next time (Will;I;Ever;Learn?)
I went through the incredible Canary Wharf, which was bedlam and always one of my favourites. I hit 19 miles and felt strong and good. I pushed on, and then it was 20 miles and i thought 6 to go. You're feeling good, so i picked up the pace and ran strong. Round the hard Poplar (Miles 20 and 21)and back onto Limehouse. It was time to push for home.
I got to Mile 23 when you go past Tower Bridge again and the real noise starts. This was what i was visualizing and locked into the zone. Head down, feeding off the crowd and overtook loads of people. I saw a couple of people i knew and was really enjoying it. I got a kick out of feeling strong and overtaking people. Maybe i could have run harder earlier, but was 'in the moment' and determined not to 'leave anything on the course'.
The crowd almost demand you home. Pulling you to the line. I really hit the last few miles hard and kicked on. The gas had gone. The bloated gut no more. i was feeling great. Then you see The Eye, Big Ben, House of Parliament. 1 mile from the end. You are nearly there. You can reach out and touch it.
I saw all my loved ones on Parliament square, stopped for hugs and kisses. I could have carried on and saved myself 2 minutes but for me the crowd are as important if not more so than the runners. After all they put up with your moods, boring the shit out of them, your obsession, you're selfishness at the marathon and they turn up to support you. If it wasn;t for them you would be running 26 miles yourself through London. Where's the fun in that? No i respect the crowd. I love the crowd. And i love the ones i love.
Then it really was kick for home, Buckingham Palace, turn into the Mall, crowds fever pitch, the noise deafening and you sprint for the line and you are there, raising your arms posing for the pic even though you look as rough as two badgers arses, you don't care. You have finished. You have completed the London Marathon. In 3 hours 49 minutes.
You have a massive sense of relief. You immediately feel dead from the waist down, you hobble up to have your race chip removed, luckily they cut it off for you to save you bending down, as you may get back up on Tuesday if you're lucky. You're medal is draped over you and you hobble off to pick up your bag. Bodies lie everywhere. All organisers applaud you. You have done it. Finisher!
I met up with My lovely family and hug, kissed, posed for pics, went for cup of tea, stretched and was buzzing. People walked about like they had shit themselves. Hobbling but with a massive grin of satisfaction. Everyone embracing at the end. Again another life affirming part of the day. it is beautiful.
Then it is time to get on the train, go home, bathe, have food, watch the highlights, see if you're on TV, get disappointed you are not. See James Cracknell do less than 3 hours, feel that you could have done better, start planning next year, text and receive lots of texts of congratulations from people. Will this day of ultimate outside affirmation never end. I love it!!!!!
The legs are stiff but feel good. I am happy. My time is my second quickest ever. i did OK. I enjoyed it. I'm not about to pull it apart. I raised over £1500 for the charity. I enjoyed the day. Many say, my god you're amazing - but i got talking to a guy who had completed his 100th marathon in 100 days in less than 3 hours. Fuck me, he's amazing, but talk about shitting on you're parade!
I will deal with what i've learned and my feelings in tomorrows blog but tonight i feel a sense of satisfaction. This one was for alcoholism. For all the lost souls and lives, of all the families affected by it. For all the people i love and love me. For my Nan who is poorly and my Mum who has so much love in her it's incredible.
Today was the best London Day of the year. It is a triumph for spirit and love and life. It's London coming together as one. Even a cynical angry sod like me is melted. It is inspirational. It is classic. It is London Marathon people. And if you think you can't do it. Think again. It hurts. It's painful but where else can you get that feeling i experienced over Tower Bridge?
You can add Brandy, Coke, Crystal Meths and Amazing sex into a mix and it wouldn't come close.
I urge anyone to try it. at least once. I loved it. Thank you all for supporting me and others. For sponsoring, for organising, for running, for supporting, for being there.
Today, wherever you read this. UK or abroad. Cynical or Not. Know me well or not at all. We are all one today. We share this common cause. That cause called life. Big love
Nick Evans
Number 11560
xx
PS - I have decided i will continue this blog every day throughout 2012, i hope you keep reading and don't worry they won't be as long as this
Marathon Day!
So this is it. This is what we've all been building. London Marathon Day 2012. A totally classic on the London Calendar. A great London day. A day of life, love and loss. It's got the whole shebang, including chaffed nipples.
Alarm went off at 6am. 5 hours kip which is pretty decent the night before Marathon, though to be fair it helps to have done 4 of them so i know what to expect.
Woke totally stuffed with a whirling stomach. It was a windy night. In fact it was going to be a windy day. though I will spare you the graphic details.
Breakfasted on Porridge and Carrot Cake. A genuine breakfast of champions. All that was missing was a Special Brew to really complete the set. Drank some tea, smoked a couple of Pre Marathon snouts, just to settle the nerves of course, strapped on the kit (In the end i covered both bases and went for Gayboy tr-suit with Action on Addiction vest with name over the top). A little waist pocket to hold my nutrition. Kendall Mint cake and gum. #old school, 2 pairs of socks. trainers, timing chip and of course heartily Vaselined up everything that could potentially rub.
If I'm honest i took a little too long doing this and concentrated on a particular part of my body. No time for that Nick. You've a marathon to run. Get on with it.
Then it was out, to Barnes station for the train to Waterloo. I felt slightly guilty sitting on the steps in my Marathon Kit with my Big Red Marathon bag (identifies runners), smoking a cigarette. I was suitably looked upon disdainfully by all passers by. Like I'd just assaulted a kitten. I thought that was a bit harsh but polished off a couple in the wait.
Train was packed full of expectant runners and supporters. People slapping down bagels with bananas, lucozade, water, nuts to get last minute energy. i had done all mine, anymore and i swear I'll burst. My guts felt like i had eaten a 3 week old fox anyway. Gurgling.
Met with Kelly, my colleague, she was doing her 1st London, and my Pal Russell, a really quick runner, who was doing his 3rd, but dressed as Angry Bird. The lunatic will still beat me hands down as his quickest marathon is 3 hours, I've got no chance. I reckon he could do it on his hands and still be quicker.
We made our way to Greenwich Park for the start. It was like a pilgrimage of Lycra full of people brandishing their big red bags and all manner of costumes, vests, lycra. The place stunk of deep heat and vaseline. I liked it. People were everywhere. A hum of expectation and excitement was in the air.Everyone 'vasing up', like a mass low budget strip club. Grim.
The feelings you experience at this point are numerous, nervous, apprehensive, you clearly think you havent done enough training, you are excited and it is a feeling like no other. 26.2 miles in front of you. What will it be like? Will i do a good time?. Feels like you're going on a date with a dominatrix. You can't wait for it. It's all you ever wanted but you're scared shit less too.. At least that's what people tell me anyway.
I was on the blue start, the others were on red, so i left them to it and off i went, slung my bag into the trucks, put on an old warm top and took my place in the queue. Trap 4. Blue start. Blackheath green. Packed.
I didn't talk. I didn't chat. I was alone, with my thoughts. Focused. Today's marathon was not going to be a pantomime dame one for me. I wasn't interested in seeing people all round the course. I wasn't interested in engaging the crowd, of being Mr fun. I wanted to just run and enjoy it. I felt heavy, full, windy. Not a feeling i enjoy but i was hoping it would provide me with enough energy in the 2nd half of the race. i wanted so much to power home in the last 6 miles, not like last year when my last 6 miles were slower than a slug on Tramadol.
I visualized the embankment and wall of sound and faces willing you home. I thought of the reference points around the course. My charity waiting en Mass at Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf, My pals on embankment, ,my loved ones at Westminster. The finish line. I wanted to be strong at the end and enjoy it. I knew i hadn't trained hard enough for a 3 hour 30 marathon, so i figured i would take it easy and see if i could do 3 hour 50 mins, and if i got under, well that would be a bonus. But i wasn't going to get hung up on time today.
I looked enviously and a little 'less than' at the seeming pro's. With their GPS watches and race paced timed in their heads. I was a bit more 'off the cuff' with my Argos Timex stopwatch and natural instincts. I'm either old school or a stubborn fool. I can't quite work out which yet.
And then it was 9.45am and we were off. Took 3 minutes to get over the start line, but the Virgin London Marathon 2012 had begun! 111 days of training, of writing, of rehab, of running, of miles and smiles and just a few porkie pies. It was here. It was now.
It was totally jam packed. Typical London roads i suppose. Held up and slowed to a crawl. However refreshingly you didn't get booked for using a bus lane. There was no chance in going off to fast. Which in hindsight was probably a good thing.
The 1st 3 miles chugged along, the best part of it was when we passed the Greenwich Royal Artillery Olympic Test Event and new building. Gunshots popped off, which was great as they sounded just like my farts. The building is awesome with abstract coloured bullet holes protruding from them. It was impressive.
Greenwich was a buzz as it was totally packed. The crowd were awesome. Bands played at different parts. The diversity of music a real joy. The weather was sunny so lots of people turned out. Once again it was a London carnival.
I felt heavy and slow in the first 12 miles. The gut was gurgling, yet at around the 10 mile point and sorry for this readers, i started to release the pressure. My god i would have hated to be behind me. But needs must and it had to be done. There were a few dicey moments when i thought i really had 'done a Radcliffe', but luckily i escaped that hell. But Once this happened i started to run easier and get into a rythymn, Head down, listen to the crowd, take the 'Go on Nick's' and settle in.
And then i hit Tower Bridge. Fuck me. Incredible! It always amazes me. It was Immense. The crowd packed either side, the wall of noise. Urging, willing, shouting. The mood intense. The energy incredible. I ran close to the crowd on the left and gazed at all the faces, feeding off their noise and support. I lost my head, my thinking, i had an almost outer body experience. i started crying. I thought of my Father, of his alcoholic loss and all the alcoholics who lost out on this. Life affirming. Love. I thought of my Mum and Nan at home in Brymoor Road, watching. i thought of nothing but love. It was tingling, and real, and emotional and euphoric. I floated across that bridge.
Turned into Limehouse, the crowd noisy all the way and i reached halfway in 1 hour 54 Min's. Slow, but feeling OK. I was aware that the real marathon starts at 18 miles, so i didn't want to burn out again. I kept steady.
I felt a bit crap up until 18 miles and Canary Wharf. I was running at the same speed as others around me and was struck by how slow they were going. Was i really going as slow as them? At some points i ran in a great rhythm and felt good at others i felt all over the place. I stopped twice for a pee (Not easy in a dopey gay all in one tri suit)
I took water on and lucozade sport, noshed down on Kendall mint cake which to be fair is not easy when you are running, heavy dark chocolate making your mouth gloopy like you've just swallowed some mud. Time to rethink fuelling strategy next time (Will;I;Ever;Learn?)
I went through the incredible Canary Wharf, which was bedlam and always one of my favourites. I hit 19 miles and felt strong and good. I pushed on, and then it was 20 miles and i thought 6 to go. You're feeling good, so i picked up the pace and ran strong. Round the hard Poplar (Miles 20 and 21)and back onto Limehouse. It was time to push for home.
I got to Mile 23 when you go past Tower Bridge again and the real noise starts. This was what i was visualizing and locked into the zone. Head down, feeding off the crowd and overtook loads of people. I saw a couple of people i knew and was really enjoying it. I got a kick out of feeling strong and overtaking people. Maybe i could have run harder earlier, but was 'in the moment' and determined not to 'leave anything on the course'.
The crowd almost demand you home. Pulling you to the line. I really hit the last few miles hard and kicked on. The gas had gone. The bloated gut no more. i was feeling great. Then you see The Eye, Big Ben, House of Parliament. 1 mile from the end. You are nearly there. You can reach out and touch it.
I saw all my loved ones on Parliament square, stopped for hugs and kisses. I could have carried on and saved myself 2 minutes but for me the crowd are as important if not more so than the runners. After all they put up with your moods, boring the shit out of them, your obsession, you're selfishness at the marathon and they turn up to support you. If it wasn;t for them you would be running 26 miles yourself through London. Where's the fun in that? No i respect the crowd. I love the crowd. And i love the ones i love.
Then it really was kick for home, Buckingham Palace, turn into the Mall, crowds fever pitch, the noise deafening and you sprint for the line and you are there, raising your arms posing for the pic even though you look as rough as two badgers arses, you don't care. You have finished. You have completed the London Marathon. In 3 hours 49 minutes.
You have a massive sense of relief. You immediately feel dead from the waist down, you hobble up to have your race chip removed, luckily they cut it off for you to save you bending down, as you may get back up on Tuesday if you're lucky. You're medal is draped over you and you hobble off to pick up your bag. Bodies lie everywhere. All organisers applaud you. You have done it. Finisher!
I met up with My lovely family and hug, kissed, posed for pics, went for cup of tea, stretched and was buzzing. People walked about like they had shit themselves. Hobbling but with a massive grin of satisfaction. Everyone embracing at the end. Again another life affirming part of the day. it is beautiful.
Then it is time to get on the train, go home, bathe, have food, watch the highlights, see if you're on TV, get disappointed you are not. See James Cracknell do less than 3 hours, feel that you could have done better, start planning next year, text and receive lots of texts of congratulations from people. Will this day of ultimate outside affirmation never end. I love it!!!!!
The legs are stiff but feel good. I am happy. My time is my second quickest ever. i did OK. I enjoyed it. I'm not about to pull it apart. I raised over £1500 for the charity. I enjoyed the day. Many say, my god you're amazing - but i got talking to a guy who had completed his 100th marathon in 100 days in less than 3 hours. Fuck me, he's amazing, but talk about shitting on you're parade!
I will deal with what i've learned and my feelings in tomorrows blog but tonight i feel a sense of satisfaction. This one was for alcoholism. For all the lost souls and lives, of all the families affected by it. For all the people i love and love me. For my Nan who is poorly and my Mum who has so much love in her it's incredible.
Today was the best London Day of the year. It is a triumph for spirit and love and life. It's London coming together as one. Even a cynical angry sod like me is melted. It is inspirational. It is classic. It is London Marathon people. And if you think you can't do it. Think again. It hurts. It's painful but where else can you get that feeling i experienced over Tower Bridge?
You can add Brandy, Coke, Crystal Meths and Amazing sex into a mix and it wouldn't come close.
I urge anyone to try it. at least once. I loved it. Thank you all for supporting me and others. For sponsoring, for organising, for running, for supporting, for being there.
Today, wherever you read this. UK or abroad. Cynical or Not. Know me well or not at all. We are all one today. We share this common cause. That cause called life. Big love
Nick Evans
Number 11560
xx
PS - I have decided i will continue this blog every day throughout 2012, i hope you keep reading and don't worry they won't be as long as this
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Day 111 - Saturday 21st April - Carb Loading
Mileage 1 - Weekly Mileage 6 miles
And so the eve of the marathon is upon us. Day 111 of this training blog. The big day is tomorrow. The training is done. All that is left is to try and cram as much carbs into my body as possible. It;s like an orgy at Nigella Lawson's. I'm fucking stuffed.
2 bowls of porridge, toast, tea, banana, banana chips, peanut butter (oh god it's so good), poached eggs on toast, carrot cake, mash, vegetables, 3 litres of water, coconut water, oh and silk cut. It's more than I've eaten all year. Jesus I'm so full. Moving is hard. I cannot even think of running tomorrow. I may have to get a winch crane to carry me round. Or a milk float. Stuffed.
The gay boy triathlon suit is clearly out the window. I'll look like sofa bed if i wear that. I reckon i've put on 4kg's in the past 3 weeks just by eating tons and not running much. Classic schoolboy marathon error. Maybe one day I'll learn.
But it's tomorrow! Wow. All that training. 12 weeks, early starts, winter days, cold nights, dark, rainy training runs, injury, tendonitis, Sunday long runs, boring the shit out of everyone, carbs, carbs, Oh god not another carb. And tomorrow it comes.
For anyone who hasn't run a London marathon before, here's the deal. You get excited. You love it. You get to the start, thousands of people, you're buzzing. Name on your vest, money raised for charity even if you don't care which charity because you got a golden bond spot you just want to run. It's time. You Vaseline your bits, bung your bag onto a truck, down a last minute drink, line up, chatter and then the buzzer goes and your off. Well in 15 minutes it takes to get across the start line, but you're off.
You get the buzz, applaud the crowd, high five everyone, feed off the noise, run really quickly, look at the sites, you love London, you love the world. 6 Miles, Cutty Sark. Amazing. 12 miles Tower Bridge. Incredible. 18 miles Canary Wharf. Insane!!
'Come on Nick', 'Keep going' - The crowd are awesome. You love it. Everything is amazing. You love everything. You love Life. YYYEESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!
And then, 3 hours later. There you are Caked in snot, bogeys hanging out of your nose, sweat dried all over your body so you caked in white salt looking like you've been jizzed on, eyes sunken, mouth open, legs wobbly, you look like an extra from Dawn of the Dead. You're fucked. Nipples bleeding, nits hurting, skids deeper than Jordan's Crack, You haven't just hit the wall, but the fence, the garden, the house, the street, the whole fucking estate. Your are buggered.
And then the crowd shouts, 'Go on Nick' - Fuck off. 'Keep Going' - what the fuck do you think I'm trying to do? ' Don't stop' - No shit Sherlock. You have officially turned into a demon. You now hate the crowd and the marathon and everything. You question why you are doing it, what you are doing here? You hate everything. It;s shit. You just want to stop,
And then it comes. The crowd. The reason you are doing it. The encouragement the Will, the energy you can draw from their energy. You are looking for that one spark that will help you through. That will change you. Give you strength when you don't think you can go on......and then it comes, from the back, from someone you cannot see. The words you were waiting for...................
"......Nearly there. Only another 8 miles to go........" Boom, pass me the gun. Crushing.
So, that ladies and gentlemen in a nutshell is the London Marathon. I have done 4. This will be my 5th. Here are my Stats;
2005 - 4hours 26mins - London Marathon - £2000 St Barts Hospital
2006 - 4 hours 13 mins (In Ironman)
2007 - 3 hours 51 mins - London Marathon - £1500 Notting Hill Housing Trust
2008 - 3 hours 37 mins - London Marathon - £1200 Notting Hill Housing Trust
2010 - 4 hours 11 mins (In Ironman) - £1200 Limbpower
2011 - 4 hours 07 mins - London Marathon - £1340 Action On Addiction
Marathons don't get any easier. You know the pain. You can sense it. But tomorrow I'm not going to lie, i would be pleased with anything under 4 hours. I hope for 3 hours 45 Min's, dream of 3 hours 30 but thing 3hours 50 Min's. It;s easy to say now, but different when you're on mile 21. You just want to finish the bastard.
So there we are. I've just told the flat below to shut the fuck up as they were having a drunken party. They did not want to argue with a moody man in a pair of pants and a bloated gut. Not having it tonight boys, sorry.
Off to bed soon. Up at 6am into Waterloo at 8am and we start at 9.45am. Looking forward to it now. Nervous, apprehensive and a little scared but maybe tomorrow i will get my head down, not behave like a pantomime dame and just enjoy being part of history and be one of the 35,000 doing this thing tomorrow.
Thanks for reading this, thanks for sponsoring me and thanks for being part of the journey. This one is for my father. It is for Action on addiction and he would have struggled to run to Thresher, let alone 26 miles, so I'm running for everyone touched by and suffered from addiction in their life.
Addiction is death, wither by slow living death or physical death. Marathon day is Life.
That's good enough for me
Get on it people and watch me trip up Ramsay
Loves
xx
And so the eve of the marathon is upon us. Day 111 of this training blog. The big day is tomorrow. The training is done. All that is left is to try and cram as much carbs into my body as possible. It;s like an orgy at Nigella Lawson's. I'm fucking stuffed.
2 bowls of porridge, toast, tea, banana, banana chips, peanut butter (oh god it's so good), poached eggs on toast, carrot cake, mash, vegetables, 3 litres of water, coconut water, oh and silk cut. It's more than I've eaten all year. Jesus I'm so full. Moving is hard. I cannot even think of running tomorrow. I may have to get a winch crane to carry me round. Or a milk float. Stuffed.
The gay boy triathlon suit is clearly out the window. I'll look like sofa bed if i wear that. I reckon i've put on 4kg's in the past 3 weeks just by eating tons and not running much. Classic schoolboy marathon error. Maybe one day I'll learn.
But it's tomorrow! Wow. All that training. 12 weeks, early starts, winter days, cold nights, dark, rainy training runs, injury, tendonitis, Sunday long runs, boring the shit out of everyone, carbs, carbs, Oh god not another carb. And tomorrow it comes.
For anyone who hasn't run a London marathon before, here's the deal. You get excited. You love it. You get to the start, thousands of people, you're buzzing. Name on your vest, money raised for charity even if you don't care which charity because you got a golden bond spot you just want to run. It's time. You Vaseline your bits, bung your bag onto a truck, down a last minute drink, line up, chatter and then the buzzer goes and your off. Well in 15 minutes it takes to get across the start line, but you're off.
You get the buzz, applaud the crowd, high five everyone, feed off the noise, run really quickly, look at the sites, you love London, you love the world. 6 Miles, Cutty Sark. Amazing. 12 miles Tower Bridge. Incredible. 18 miles Canary Wharf. Insane!!
'Come on Nick', 'Keep going' - The crowd are awesome. You love it. Everything is amazing. You love everything. You love Life. YYYEESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!
And then, 3 hours later. There you are Caked in snot, bogeys hanging out of your nose, sweat dried all over your body so you caked in white salt looking like you've been jizzed on, eyes sunken, mouth open, legs wobbly, you look like an extra from Dawn of the Dead. You're fucked. Nipples bleeding, nits hurting, skids deeper than Jordan's Crack, You haven't just hit the wall, but the fence, the garden, the house, the street, the whole fucking estate. Your are buggered.
And then the crowd shouts, 'Go on Nick' - Fuck off. 'Keep Going' - what the fuck do you think I'm trying to do? ' Don't stop' - No shit Sherlock. You have officially turned into a demon. You now hate the crowd and the marathon and everything. You question why you are doing it, what you are doing here? You hate everything. It;s shit. You just want to stop,
And then it comes. The crowd. The reason you are doing it. The encouragement the Will, the energy you can draw from their energy. You are looking for that one spark that will help you through. That will change you. Give you strength when you don't think you can go on......and then it comes, from the back, from someone you cannot see. The words you were waiting for...................
"......Nearly there. Only another 8 miles to go........" Boom, pass me the gun. Crushing.
So, that ladies and gentlemen in a nutshell is the London Marathon. I have done 4. This will be my 5th. Here are my Stats;
2005 - 4hours 26mins - London Marathon - £2000 St Barts Hospital
2006 - 4 hours 13 mins (In Ironman)
2007 - 3 hours 51 mins - London Marathon - £1500 Notting Hill Housing Trust
2008 - 3 hours 37 mins - London Marathon - £1200 Notting Hill Housing Trust
2010 - 4 hours 11 mins (In Ironman) - £1200 Limbpower
2011 - 4 hours 07 mins - London Marathon - £1340 Action On Addiction
Marathons don't get any easier. You know the pain. You can sense it. But tomorrow I'm not going to lie, i would be pleased with anything under 4 hours. I hope for 3 hours 45 Min's, dream of 3 hours 30 but thing 3hours 50 Min's. It;s easy to say now, but different when you're on mile 21. You just want to finish the bastard.
So there we are. I've just told the flat below to shut the fuck up as they were having a drunken party. They did not want to argue with a moody man in a pair of pants and a bloated gut. Not having it tonight boys, sorry.
Off to bed soon. Up at 6am into Waterloo at 8am and we start at 9.45am. Looking forward to it now. Nervous, apprehensive and a little scared but maybe tomorrow i will get my head down, not behave like a pantomime dame and just enjoy being part of history and be one of the 35,000 doing this thing tomorrow.
Thanks for reading this, thanks for sponsoring me and thanks for being part of the journey. This one is for my father. It is for Action on addiction and he would have struggled to run to Thresher, let alone 26 miles, so I'm running for everyone touched by and suffered from addiction in their life.
Addiction is death, wither by slow living death or physical death. Marathon day is Life.
That's good enough for me
Get on it people and watch me trip up Ramsay
Loves
xx
Day 110 - Friday 20th April - Knackered!
Mileage 0 - Weekly Mileage 5
Up at 8am, 4 hours kip after Comedy night. Not ideal preperation it's got to be said. Especially as i boated a pack of Hob knobs and Rich Tea biscuits at 3am. Still Comedy Night went well, i am pleased. My attitude was better and there is lots to work on. People enjoyed it and i concentrated more on the people who did come, than the people who didn't. #BepositiveNick.
Then it was into work to do essentially bugger all. Hearts not in it today, i was interested in obsessively checking Facebook and Texts for adoring messages of how amazing i was last night. I got one at 11am. Result. That was enough for this shameful seeker of outside affirmation.
Talking of which, it was time to register for the Marathon. Off Kelly and i went to Custom House. It's her 1st marathon and it brings back so many memories. The Nerves, the expectation, the unknown. The abiding memories size of crowd, the nerves. The scale of the event. Huge.
Luckily i ran with Karl Matthews and Jamie who had done a few London's, so they kept me slow, meaning i enjoyed the first 13 miles, drinking in all the atmosphere, sights and memories. I had enough energy to really enjoy the final 6 too. I loved it. I was hooked.
So much encouragement from the crowds. The huge crowds. Entering into some of the worst parts of London, Passing Pubs that if you entered on a Saturday night you would be stabbed, but now on Marathon Sunday morning they were packed with people with spider tattoos on their face, drinking special brew screaming encouragement at you. Weird.
Passing a blur of faces and cheers, signs of loved ones, people running with pictures of deceased family members or friends they were raising money for. Pipers, drummers, funk bands, techno sets, DJ's, steel bands, all kinds of entertainment adding flavour, colour and atmosphere to the route.
People handing out sweets and food, Overwhelming, Landmarks of London, Greenwich Park, Cutty Sark, Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf, Embankment, The Eye, The Tower of London, Houses of Parliament, the crowds willing you home. The finish. Buckingham Palace. Seeing loved ones in the crowd. Stopping for hugs and tears. You long to see the ones you love. You love more than anything on marathon day.
And then the end. The finish, Tired. Thankful. Elated. Falling into the ones you love. Silver foil blanket wrapped around you. I always wanted to have one of those to say. 'I've done it'. It's amazing. It;s beautuful. It's friendly. It;s full of love. It;s incredible. It;s life.
These are all the things i remember from my 1st London Marathon. But the one abiding memory i have? Mile 18. Isle of Dogs. Narrow road. Hurting. People lining either side. end of the line. Big woman holding a bucket. As a ran past, i looked in. And in the bucket, was a load of......sausages. What the fuck? Sausages!! A load of Cumberland's in a bucket on mile 18. Clearly the woman didn't have the hang of the whole food for easy quick release energy carb thing.
I mean Sausages? they are hard to get down at the best of times. But mile 18? It;s hard enough to swallow you're own spit let alone stomach and offle wrapped in an intestine. What the hell was she thinking? She may have gone the whole hog (no pun intended) and served up Pasties, Buffet bars, Scotch Eggs. Sod it bring out the Roast Taters and Yorkshire Puds. It;s Sunday lunchtime after all.
It totally threw me. I must admit. So i obviously got one down me. I must admit it was like chewing on labia. But i got there in the end, Lets hope i see her again on mile 18 on Sunday.
So we registered, i managed not to waste more than £20 on shit at the expo and it was home to begin the Carb loading. Now i admit i am no athlete. My nutrition is eratic to say the least. However, after a sensible dinner of haddock, mash, vegetable, nuts, fruit, water. I got stuck into the whole of Cadbury's selction of chocolates. I stuffed down Mars, Snickers, Double Deckers, Dairy Milk and my favourite, Wispa. Oh god i love those little bastards. I wish they were as long as a hose pipe. They are not. So you have to buy 46 of them to make them that way. It was a savage carb load session.
I collapsed on the sofa. I was knackered. After russling my way through an AA meeting i fell asleep on the sofa at 10am, woke up 1am, Tea, fag, asleep again on sofa and woke up at 6am. Tea, fag, Bed. Not sure if it's the kind of preperation Paula Radcliffe used when she broke the world record in 2002. It;s probably more the preperation she used in 2004 Athens Olympics when she shit herself. 4 times and stopped. Oh god. Lets hope there is no dirty protest on Sunday. My image would never recover
xx
Up at 8am, 4 hours kip after Comedy night. Not ideal preperation it's got to be said. Especially as i boated a pack of Hob knobs and Rich Tea biscuits at 3am. Still Comedy Night went well, i am pleased. My attitude was better and there is lots to work on. People enjoyed it and i concentrated more on the people who did come, than the people who didn't. #BepositiveNick.
Then it was into work to do essentially bugger all. Hearts not in it today, i was interested in obsessively checking Facebook and Texts for adoring messages of how amazing i was last night. I got one at 11am. Result. That was enough for this shameful seeker of outside affirmation.
Talking of which, it was time to register for the Marathon. Off Kelly and i went to Custom House. It's her 1st marathon and it brings back so many memories. The Nerves, the expectation, the unknown. The abiding memories size of crowd, the nerves. The scale of the event. Huge.
Luckily i ran with Karl Matthews and Jamie who had done a few London's, so they kept me slow, meaning i enjoyed the first 13 miles, drinking in all the atmosphere, sights and memories. I had enough energy to really enjoy the final 6 too. I loved it. I was hooked.
So much encouragement from the crowds. The huge crowds. Entering into some of the worst parts of London, Passing Pubs that if you entered on a Saturday night you would be stabbed, but now on Marathon Sunday morning they were packed with people with spider tattoos on their face, drinking special brew screaming encouragement at you. Weird.
Passing a blur of faces and cheers, signs of loved ones, people running with pictures of deceased family members or friends they were raising money for. Pipers, drummers, funk bands, techno sets, DJ's, steel bands, all kinds of entertainment adding flavour, colour and atmosphere to the route.
People handing out sweets and food, Overwhelming, Landmarks of London, Greenwich Park, Cutty Sark, Tower Bridge, Canary Wharf, Embankment, The Eye, The Tower of London, Houses of Parliament, the crowds willing you home. The finish. Buckingham Palace. Seeing loved ones in the crowd. Stopping for hugs and tears. You long to see the ones you love. You love more than anything on marathon day.
And then the end. The finish, Tired. Thankful. Elated. Falling into the ones you love. Silver foil blanket wrapped around you. I always wanted to have one of those to say. 'I've done it'. It's amazing. It;s beautuful. It's friendly. It;s full of love. It;s incredible. It;s life.
These are all the things i remember from my 1st London Marathon. But the one abiding memory i have? Mile 18. Isle of Dogs. Narrow road. Hurting. People lining either side. end of the line. Big woman holding a bucket. As a ran past, i looked in. And in the bucket, was a load of......sausages. What the fuck? Sausages!! A load of Cumberland's in a bucket on mile 18. Clearly the woman didn't have the hang of the whole food for easy quick release energy carb thing.
I mean Sausages? they are hard to get down at the best of times. But mile 18? It;s hard enough to swallow you're own spit let alone stomach and offle wrapped in an intestine. What the hell was she thinking? She may have gone the whole hog (no pun intended) and served up Pasties, Buffet bars, Scotch Eggs. Sod it bring out the Roast Taters and Yorkshire Puds. It;s Sunday lunchtime after all.
It totally threw me. I must admit. So i obviously got one down me. I must admit it was like chewing on labia. But i got there in the end, Lets hope i see her again on mile 18 on Sunday.
So we registered, i managed not to waste more than £20 on shit at the expo and it was home to begin the Carb loading. Now i admit i am no athlete. My nutrition is eratic to say the least. However, after a sensible dinner of haddock, mash, vegetable, nuts, fruit, water. I got stuck into the whole of Cadbury's selction of chocolates. I stuffed down Mars, Snickers, Double Deckers, Dairy Milk and my favourite, Wispa. Oh god i love those little bastards. I wish they were as long as a hose pipe. They are not. So you have to buy 46 of them to make them that way. It was a savage carb load session.
I collapsed on the sofa. I was knackered. After russling my way through an AA meeting i fell asleep on the sofa at 10am, woke up 1am, Tea, fag, asleep again on sofa and woke up at 6am. Tea, fag, Bed. Not sure if it's the kind of preperation Paula Radcliffe used when she broke the world record in 2002. It;s probably more the preperation she used in 2004 Athens Olympics when she shit herself. 4 times and stopped. Oh god. Lets hope there is no dirty protest on Sunday. My image would never recover
xx
Friday, April 20, 2012
Day 109 - Thursday 19th April - Comedy Night
Mileage 5 (Time 40 Min's) - Weekly Mileage 5 miles
Today is all about Comedy. My monthly Club, Comedy Chops is tonight and I've got a touch of the Radcliffe's. (she pulled out of 2004 Athens Olympics after 'soiling' herself). I'm nervous.
I'm always bloody nervous about my Comedy night. Why? Because i haven't written much material (again) It's the same every month. Will i get enough in? Will the acts be good? Will i break even or make money? Will i be funny? Will i loosen up?
I've been running the night in the Hurlingham since January 2011, every month. We usually get between 40-70 people show up and if I'm being honest it's grown into a nice little night. Plenty of regulars come. People seem to enjoy it. Occasionally it's a tough night when everyone is a little quiet and I'm petrified. But on the whole it;s been a big success. So why the nerves every month?
The formulae seems to work, live music from 8.15pm, 3/4 acts from 9pm, people can eat and watch comedy, i compere and we have a meat raffle. It's a bit like a living room, and it is very middle class 'Gastro' pub, which is a little ironic when deep down i hated pubs like that. In my book Pubs should be about drinking. No distractions. No Jus, reductions, TV, music, entertainment, fun. Just drinking.
So i seem to have developed a middle class, genteel, living room comedy night. But you know what. it works.
It seems to be symptomatic of my mind and attitude. On a bad day i can downplay it and turn it into shit. 'Only a crappy night in a pub, i never write material, people only come because they know me or
the singer. You know the usual positive commentary my mind comes up with.. Thanks Mind'.
I rarely write material and perform it because I'm too scared of falling flat. I have done it a few times and died and other times it's been OK. But generally i just 'wing it' and when it's over i go 'phew' and get a sense of relief until the next month comes about. I think i have wanted to do another one immediately on around 3 occasions when i have got on really well.
So today i questioned this attitude. Why do it if you don't enjoy it? Why think like that? What is going on if you feel like this. Where is the enjoyment? A little like the marathon really - and if I'm honest quite alot i do. Life is apparently to be enjoyed not endured. So whats to do?
I spoke with a couple of people about a change in attitude:
1 - I am the MC, people are there to see the acts, so let the acts shine. It's not about me. (that's a tough one for a self obsessed self centred ego maniac)
2 - Don't take myself so seriously. I am terrified of being laughed at, not with. Of looking an idiot. Of being slow and stupid. Quite ironic position to be in underneath when i am stood in front of 70 people with a microphone trying to be funny.. Fuck me that's insane.
3 - Have fun - Is it possible to enjoy myself and try to have fun? Isn't that the whole premise of comedy?
4 - Relax - as above
5 - Let go of the result - if you do preparation and you're best leave the result go.
6 - Write some fucking material every day and learn it to say it on the night!
So, i decided to try and do this. I remembered i wanted to start a comedy night where it was packed, buzzy, raucous, where as a compere i could ad lib and free flow topical things, things that were immediate. So it was fresh, off the cuff and of course brilliant! I wanted to relax and enjoy it and let it be what it was. Result?
it pissed down. Apocalyptic rain. Trains were fucked, so at 8.59pm there were 20 people. Super fuck. empty seats and my head basically saying, Kill yourself now. Negative was trying to win. Also after speaking to one of the acts who was doing MTV, Chanel 5, Edinburgh show and gigging every night i had a massive attack of the less thans (small pub night etc etc) - So i was going into it in good shape.
Luckily a few more came in, the seats in front filled up and we had 35 people. Rocking! In profit and decent atmosphere. The night proceeded to be fantastic. All the Acts were great. The crowd were lovely. I relaxed. OK, i wasn't amazing but i got through OK and did manage to say a few homemade jokes. Some were good some dreadful. But fuck it, who cares?
I manged to be more alert and 'present'. Not lost in my own mind of terror (Kind of makes it hard to come back to a heckle when you are lost in fear and worry) - We made £50 and my Niece won the Meat Raffle. Sorted.
My mate came and had some time with him. Chatted to a couple of the acts, who basically said they gig every night and are addicted to performing. which means if i want to improve i have to do that. i can't expect to rock up once a month and be amazing. (well i do but that's the trouble)
So basically I've been shown the way. It's up to me now if i want to take it. The lesson of today, relax, have fun, leave the result go, prepare, work hard and enjoy shit!
Lets see if i can take that into Marathon day
Oh yes Marathon, ate clean, drank tons of diet coke, smoked loads of fags (as always when comedy), ran 5 miles, stayed up til 4am, ate packet of Hob Knobs, ate 1/2 packet rich Tea biscuits. 4 hours kip. Pretty sure that's not in the Marathon preparation text book. EEk
XX
Today is all about Comedy. My monthly Club, Comedy Chops is tonight and I've got a touch of the Radcliffe's. (she pulled out of 2004 Athens Olympics after 'soiling' herself). I'm nervous.
I'm always bloody nervous about my Comedy night. Why? Because i haven't written much material (again) It's the same every month. Will i get enough in? Will the acts be good? Will i break even or make money? Will i be funny? Will i loosen up?
I've been running the night in the Hurlingham since January 2011, every month. We usually get between 40-70 people show up and if I'm being honest it's grown into a nice little night. Plenty of regulars come. People seem to enjoy it. Occasionally it's a tough night when everyone is a little quiet and I'm petrified. But on the whole it;s been a big success. So why the nerves every month?
The formulae seems to work, live music from 8.15pm, 3/4 acts from 9pm, people can eat and watch comedy, i compere and we have a meat raffle. It's a bit like a living room, and it is very middle class 'Gastro' pub, which is a little ironic when deep down i hated pubs like that. In my book Pubs should be about drinking. No distractions. No Jus, reductions, TV, music, entertainment, fun. Just drinking.
So i seem to have developed a middle class, genteel, living room comedy night. But you know what. it works.
It seems to be symptomatic of my mind and attitude. On a bad day i can downplay it and turn it into shit. 'Only a crappy night in a pub, i never write material, people only come because they know me or
the singer. You know the usual positive commentary my mind comes up with.. Thanks Mind'.
I rarely write material and perform it because I'm too scared of falling flat. I have done it a few times and died and other times it's been OK. But generally i just 'wing it' and when it's over i go 'phew' and get a sense of relief until the next month comes about. I think i have wanted to do another one immediately on around 3 occasions when i have got on really well.
So today i questioned this attitude. Why do it if you don't enjoy it? Why think like that? What is going on if you feel like this. Where is the enjoyment? A little like the marathon really - and if I'm honest quite alot i do. Life is apparently to be enjoyed not endured. So whats to do?
I spoke with a couple of people about a change in attitude:
1 - I am the MC, people are there to see the acts, so let the acts shine. It's not about me. (that's a tough one for a self obsessed self centred ego maniac)
2 - Don't take myself so seriously. I am terrified of being laughed at, not with. Of looking an idiot. Of being slow and stupid. Quite ironic position to be in underneath when i am stood in front of 70 people with a microphone trying to be funny.. Fuck me that's insane.
3 - Have fun - Is it possible to enjoy myself and try to have fun? Isn't that the whole premise of comedy?
4 - Relax - as above
5 - Let go of the result - if you do preparation and you're best leave the result go.
6 - Write some fucking material every day and learn it to say it on the night!
So, i decided to try and do this. I remembered i wanted to start a comedy night where it was packed, buzzy, raucous, where as a compere i could ad lib and free flow topical things, things that were immediate. So it was fresh, off the cuff and of course brilliant! I wanted to relax and enjoy it and let it be what it was. Result?
it pissed down. Apocalyptic rain. Trains were fucked, so at 8.59pm there were 20 people. Super fuck. empty seats and my head basically saying, Kill yourself now. Negative was trying to win. Also after speaking to one of the acts who was doing MTV, Chanel 5, Edinburgh show and gigging every night i had a massive attack of the less thans (small pub night etc etc) - So i was going into it in good shape.
Luckily a few more came in, the seats in front filled up and we had 35 people. Rocking! In profit and decent atmosphere. The night proceeded to be fantastic. All the Acts were great. The crowd were lovely. I relaxed. OK, i wasn't amazing but i got through OK and did manage to say a few homemade jokes. Some were good some dreadful. But fuck it, who cares?
I manged to be more alert and 'present'. Not lost in my own mind of terror (Kind of makes it hard to come back to a heckle when you are lost in fear and worry) - We made £50 and my Niece won the Meat Raffle. Sorted.
My mate came and had some time with him. Chatted to a couple of the acts, who basically said they gig every night and are addicted to performing. which means if i want to improve i have to do that. i can't expect to rock up once a month and be amazing. (well i do but that's the trouble)
So basically I've been shown the way. It's up to me now if i want to take it. The lesson of today, relax, have fun, leave the result go, prepare, work hard and enjoy shit!
Lets see if i can take that into Marathon day
Oh yes Marathon, ate clean, drank tons of diet coke, smoked loads of fags (as always when comedy), ran 5 miles, stayed up til 4am, ate packet of Hob Knobs, ate 1/2 packet rich Tea biscuits. 4 hours kip. Pretty sure that's not in the Marathon preparation text book. EEk
XX
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Day 108 - Weds 18th April
Mileage 0 (though 40 minute cycle and core exercises) - Weekly Mileage 0
OK it's getting closer. You can almost smell the Vaseline now. 4 days to go. EEk!
I'm pleased to report the Letterhead drama was dealt with. The UN didn't need to be called in. Sky News were stood down. The world still turned. Phew.
As the day progressed i felt better, lighter, more energetic and chirpier. The only down side was that i had to stay at work until 6pm. Jesus. What a fucking cheek. It's a total disgrace. I mean, how dare they make me work for my money. Wrong.
The weather was the big talking point today. Thunderstorms, heavy rain, 60 mile an hour winds and giant Hailstones predicted. Sounds like the inside of my head. Christ.
Giant Hailstones? Blimey, best wear tin hats on the way home. I'm picturing hail the size of cannonballs. That's giant to me. If they are the size of gobstoppers then technically that's not giant. That's big. Having said that I can't wait until it rains gobstoppers, though It's Good job my LSD days are well behind me (Sorry Nan) otherwise I'd be in a world of pain.
The afternoon was spent cross referencing an excel spreadsheet of advisers at our firm with the FSA (or Financial Services Authority) register of accredited advisers. It took a while, but i was literally loving it. I thought of all my heroes. Slash, Bill Hicks, Richard Burton, John Thaw, Jimmy Hendrix, Barry John, Bodie & Doyle. I bet no amount of birds and booze they got through wasn't a patch on my excel spreadsheet. Fuck em.
I thought of all my hopes and dreams when i was a kid. Actor, singer, comedian, Star. I was humble even then. And i thought to myself, 'where the fuck did it go wrong?'
I mean, don't get me wrong, i love Excel spreadsheets. When you nail a tidy one and learn formulas it fucking rocks. I mean Carol Voderman would have been literally creaming herself at my (F1 x Z2:bc5) formulae. But 3 hours on a Wednesday afternoon?
I know my old man drank himself to death in a lonely alcoholic way, but that even looked more appealing than this. I contemplated rope or hosepipe as the answer to this Excel induced gloom, but decided i should finish it off and laugh at the absurdity of it. Better call.
Stationary one minute, Excel spreadsheets the next. I'm a laugh a fucking minute. The rebel without a ring binder. Wild Man of Rymans. King of the Hole Punch! I literally cannot wait to see what's next. Bring it on? Sage accounting? Purchase ledgers? I'm semi hard at the thought already.
In the evening i actually made it to the gym this time. To save the legs i did a light 40 minute cycle whilst watching Chelsea rob a ridiculous victory over Barcelona. it was like watching a Playstation match. Fair play to Chelsea. I'm actually pleased for them, but man it was like watching Jordan and Pippa Middleton in a bitch fight. Having said that, not a bad idea..mmm?
And then i did some exercises crucial for Sunday's big run. Last minute exercise that could make all the difference. Crucial to my whole strategy for Sunday.
I went for the pull ups, chin ups and isolated bicep curl to get the guns ripped and in tip top shape. If I'm gunna go gay Lycra, the pipes need to be chiseled. No point in having tight Lycra and look like simon cowell.
I will gauge on Sunday to see how i feel before deciding on strategy. By that i mean what i wear. I mean lets be honest I'm not a scientifically honed athlete. I may look great but i don't exactly follow a traditional 1gram of Carb for ever 12lb etc. Fuck it i just eat what i thinks right. Now in the past 2 weeks I've been eating loads more than i usually eat and lots of carby stuff. i haven't run much so consequently I've put on around 3kg's and feel heavy and slow. Not the right condition for the gay lycra. I am not going to follow previous Year's mistakes and eat sod all, i will load up, but will have to make a last minute decision on Sunday on strategy. I mean what other chances will i have to muscle the pipes to half a million people of a Sunday afternoon? It's a dilemma
I still love the 'pulling off' end to yesterdays blog. was proud of that one. I can't match that to end today's blog but i still think they are alot better than when i began. (That's not me looking for outside affirmation from you massaging my ego saying yes Nick ,they are, you self absorbed sod. - that's a statement)
So it's all heading in the right direction, whatever the hell that means
Until tomorrow groovsters. Comedy Night. Eek. No material again! Will:i:Ever:learn
xx
OK it's getting closer. You can almost smell the Vaseline now. 4 days to go. EEk!
I'm pleased to report the Letterhead drama was dealt with. The UN didn't need to be called in. Sky News were stood down. The world still turned. Phew.
As the day progressed i felt better, lighter, more energetic and chirpier. The only down side was that i had to stay at work until 6pm. Jesus. What a fucking cheek. It's a total disgrace. I mean, how dare they make me work for my money. Wrong.
The weather was the big talking point today. Thunderstorms, heavy rain, 60 mile an hour winds and giant Hailstones predicted. Sounds like the inside of my head. Christ.
Giant Hailstones? Blimey, best wear tin hats on the way home. I'm picturing hail the size of cannonballs. That's giant to me. If they are the size of gobstoppers then technically that's not giant. That's big. Having said that I can't wait until it rains gobstoppers, though It's Good job my LSD days are well behind me (Sorry Nan) otherwise I'd be in a world of pain.
The afternoon was spent cross referencing an excel spreadsheet of advisers at our firm with the FSA (or Financial Services Authority) register of accredited advisers. It took a while, but i was literally loving it. I thought of all my heroes. Slash, Bill Hicks, Richard Burton, John Thaw, Jimmy Hendrix, Barry John, Bodie & Doyle. I bet no amount of birds and booze they got through wasn't a patch on my excel spreadsheet. Fuck em.
I thought of all my hopes and dreams when i was a kid. Actor, singer, comedian, Star. I was humble even then. And i thought to myself, 'where the fuck did it go wrong?'
I mean, don't get me wrong, i love Excel spreadsheets. When you nail a tidy one and learn formulas it fucking rocks. I mean Carol Voderman would have been literally creaming herself at my (F1 x Z2:bc5) formulae. But 3 hours on a Wednesday afternoon?
I know my old man drank himself to death in a lonely alcoholic way, but that even looked more appealing than this. I contemplated rope or hosepipe as the answer to this Excel induced gloom, but decided i should finish it off and laugh at the absurdity of it. Better call.
Stationary one minute, Excel spreadsheets the next. I'm a laugh a fucking minute. The rebel without a ring binder. Wild Man of Rymans. King of the Hole Punch! I literally cannot wait to see what's next. Bring it on? Sage accounting? Purchase ledgers? I'm semi hard at the thought already.
In the evening i actually made it to the gym this time. To save the legs i did a light 40 minute cycle whilst watching Chelsea rob a ridiculous victory over Barcelona. it was like watching a Playstation match. Fair play to Chelsea. I'm actually pleased for them, but man it was like watching Jordan and Pippa Middleton in a bitch fight. Having said that, not a bad idea..mmm?
And then i did some exercises crucial for Sunday's big run. Last minute exercise that could make all the difference. Crucial to my whole strategy for Sunday.
I went for the pull ups, chin ups and isolated bicep curl to get the guns ripped and in tip top shape. If I'm gunna go gay Lycra, the pipes need to be chiseled. No point in having tight Lycra and look like simon cowell.
I will gauge on Sunday to see how i feel before deciding on strategy. By that i mean what i wear. I mean lets be honest I'm not a scientifically honed athlete. I may look great but i don't exactly follow a traditional 1gram of Carb for ever 12lb etc. Fuck it i just eat what i thinks right. Now in the past 2 weeks I've been eating loads more than i usually eat and lots of carby stuff. i haven't run much so consequently I've put on around 3kg's and feel heavy and slow. Not the right condition for the gay lycra. I am not going to follow previous Year's mistakes and eat sod all, i will load up, but will have to make a last minute decision on Sunday on strategy. I mean what other chances will i have to muscle the pipes to half a million people of a Sunday afternoon? It's a dilemma
I still love the 'pulling off' end to yesterdays blog. was proud of that one. I can't match that to end today's blog but i still think they are alot better than when i began. (That's not me looking for outside affirmation from you massaging my ego saying yes Nick ,they are, you self absorbed sod. - that's a statement)
So it's all heading in the right direction, whatever the hell that means
Until tomorrow groovsters. Comedy Night. Eek. No material again! Will:i:Ever:learn
xx
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Day 107 - Tuesday 17th April
Mileage 0 - Weekly Mileage 0
Nuts. Awake at 7am and immediately knew this sodding Candida, or whatever it is, was back again. Eyes felt tired, ultra dry mouth, ache, fatigued, zero enthusiasm. Bugger it. After feeling so good yesterday too. Nuts.
I won't moan, other than to say i would rather prefer it if i didn't feel this way at all, especially not in marathon week. As I've stated before feeling this way does make life rather like treacle. You just have to plough through things rather than enjoy and get fired up. Oh well, it could be worse. I could be in charge of stationary at a financial services firm. #Grateful!
Today was better at work, the whole stationary crisis was averted. I had a severe word with both myself and God and asked for a change in attitude. It worked to a point and i found that when my attitude lightens, so does other people's towards me. Strange that isn't it? It's all about solutions really - it just takes me longer than others to find them i guess. No biggy.
Left early for a Osteo treatment with the fabulous Maggie, bit of a massage and some lymphatic drainage. I have no idea what that is but it sounded good for me. Usually things like that make me want to sleep and heavily shit. Hopefully not in that order. Anything to do with drainage makes me think it can only help get rid of this poison in me, so I'm well up for it.
I had great intentions afterwards to go to the gym, stretch, do some core work and light running. However the only thing core i was up for was hard. It didn't happen.
I was pretty knackered, so i dragged myself to a meeting, which i managed to set the world yawning record in. Felt like i was sitting through a reading of Simon Cowbell's biography. Is it really that interesting he has botox twice a year, wipes his arse with black loo paper and spends 3k a month on flowers. Jesus, he should wear a tight lycra triathlon suit and be done with it. Can the man get any camper?
So, all in all not a bad day i guess. Less than 5 days to go now. I wonder how the other 35,000 other runners are feeling? No doubt some will be excited, nervous, reticent, apprehensive. How are you feeling?
Weather forecast for the day is not great, showers and rain, which I'm a bit gutted about if I'm honest. Some say those conditions are ideal for runners, but i prefer sunny great weather. For me it's all about the crowd. That's what makes the day special, so how much fun can it be hanging around all day in pissing rain. Good weather equals good atmosphere and huge crowds, and that for me sets the London marathon apart from any other in the world. Where else can be applauded and cheered for 4 hours. It's what i crave every day.
So God, if you're reading this blog, not that you need to read it of course because if you're God, i suppose you just know, but please can you sort the weather out for Sunday? I promise I'll stop pinching chewing gum from Tesco Express, reading mucky books and being rude to taxi drivers. I know I'm not supposed to pray for selfish things. I should be looking to follow your will and way, but if you can do that I'll well love it, oh and whilst you're at it can you land me a top job, a bit of luck and a stunning bird. If that's too much, I'll settle for 2 out 3. Don't want to be greedy.
That's of course if you do exist God, because if you don't I've just wasted 5 minutes not only of my life, but also my readers too. Effectively we will be reading about a slightly camp looking faded 80's pop star chap, asking someone that doesn't exist for something that won't happen. Kind of pointless i guess.
So God, if you do actually exist then please sort it. Unless you're busy of course, Paintballing, Playing 5-a-side or on a Mark Warner Singles break for Omnipetent forces. If you are, i'm sorry to bother you, just leave an 'out of office' sign on your spiritual email/communication system. Either that or tweet everyone you're out of action for a while. I mean @God brings up a number of slightly weird searches. One of which from my old RE teacher. Mr Icke. He claims he is you, but i'm not so sure. I'm pretty open minded but if you do indeed exist and are the one devine higher power who lives everywhere, mostly in people's hearts and heads and soul. I pretty much doubt you would need to wear a turquiose tracksuit from Primark. I mean If God wore a tracksuit it would be old school Adidas with zip at the bottom. Everyone knows God is dope,
Just to let you know God. You get a bad press down here. Lots of people claiming to know you. Some even claiming they are you. Some have found you, some are looking and some reject the notion of you all together. They usually write books on the subject and call themsleves these things called Aethiests. I find that odd, as why do they need to be heard to try and proove something doesnt exist. i mean if they didn''t believe you exist, why would they need to bother trying to argue you don't. They would just leave it. Pointless argument really. Bit like arguing who's drunker?
Anyway, i'll leave you to your windsurfing or Thai massage God. You don't need me bothering you in your leisure time. Just one word of advice, watch out for the Thai Masseurs. Most of them will go straight into 'extras' after the massage. I know you are the holy spirit and everything but don't pay more than a tenner for a hand job. Anything more than that and they are literally 'pulling you off'.
Amen
Early to bed for me, 12.30am (is that early?) for a good long kip and hoping the vim and vigour will be returned tomorrow. I'll need it, I've got letterheads to do tomorrow.
Nicholas Edward Evans
x
Nuts. Awake at 7am and immediately knew this sodding Candida, or whatever it is, was back again. Eyes felt tired, ultra dry mouth, ache, fatigued, zero enthusiasm. Bugger it. After feeling so good yesterday too. Nuts.
I won't moan, other than to say i would rather prefer it if i didn't feel this way at all, especially not in marathon week. As I've stated before feeling this way does make life rather like treacle. You just have to plough through things rather than enjoy and get fired up. Oh well, it could be worse. I could be in charge of stationary at a financial services firm. #Grateful!
Today was better at work, the whole stationary crisis was averted. I had a severe word with both myself and God and asked for a change in attitude. It worked to a point and i found that when my attitude lightens, so does other people's towards me. Strange that isn't it? It's all about solutions really - it just takes me longer than others to find them i guess. No biggy.
Left early for a Osteo treatment with the fabulous Maggie, bit of a massage and some lymphatic drainage. I have no idea what that is but it sounded good for me. Usually things like that make me want to sleep and heavily shit. Hopefully not in that order. Anything to do with drainage makes me think it can only help get rid of this poison in me, so I'm well up for it.
I had great intentions afterwards to go to the gym, stretch, do some core work and light running. However the only thing core i was up for was hard. It didn't happen.
I was pretty knackered, so i dragged myself to a meeting, which i managed to set the world yawning record in. Felt like i was sitting through a reading of Simon Cowbell's biography. Is it really that interesting he has botox twice a year, wipes his arse with black loo paper and spends 3k a month on flowers. Jesus, he should wear a tight lycra triathlon suit and be done with it. Can the man get any camper?
So, all in all not a bad day i guess. Less than 5 days to go now. I wonder how the other 35,000 other runners are feeling? No doubt some will be excited, nervous, reticent, apprehensive. How are you feeling?
Weather forecast for the day is not great, showers and rain, which I'm a bit gutted about if I'm honest. Some say those conditions are ideal for runners, but i prefer sunny great weather. For me it's all about the crowd. That's what makes the day special, so how much fun can it be hanging around all day in pissing rain. Good weather equals good atmosphere and huge crowds, and that for me sets the London marathon apart from any other in the world. Where else can be applauded and cheered for 4 hours. It's what i crave every day.
So God, if you're reading this blog, not that you need to read it of course because if you're God, i suppose you just know, but please can you sort the weather out for Sunday? I promise I'll stop pinching chewing gum from Tesco Express, reading mucky books and being rude to taxi drivers. I know I'm not supposed to pray for selfish things. I should be looking to follow your will and way, but if you can do that I'll well love it, oh and whilst you're at it can you land me a top job, a bit of luck and a stunning bird. If that's too much, I'll settle for 2 out 3. Don't want to be greedy.
That's of course if you do exist God, because if you don't I've just wasted 5 minutes not only of my life, but also my readers too. Effectively we will be reading about a slightly camp looking faded 80's pop star chap, asking someone that doesn't exist for something that won't happen. Kind of pointless i guess.
So God, if you do actually exist then please sort it. Unless you're busy of course, Paintballing, Playing 5-a-side or on a Mark Warner Singles break for Omnipetent forces. If you are, i'm sorry to bother you, just leave an 'out of office' sign on your spiritual email/communication system. Either that or tweet everyone you're out of action for a while. I mean @God brings up a number of slightly weird searches. One of which from my old RE teacher. Mr Icke. He claims he is you, but i'm not so sure. I'm pretty open minded but if you do indeed exist and are the one devine higher power who lives everywhere, mostly in people's hearts and heads and soul. I pretty much doubt you would need to wear a turquiose tracksuit from Primark. I mean If God wore a tracksuit it would be old school Adidas with zip at the bottom. Everyone knows God is dope,
Just to let you know God. You get a bad press down here. Lots of people claiming to know you. Some even claiming they are you. Some have found you, some are looking and some reject the notion of you all together. They usually write books on the subject and call themsleves these things called Aethiests. I find that odd, as why do they need to be heard to try and proove something doesnt exist. i mean if they didn''t believe you exist, why would they need to bother trying to argue you don't. They would just leave it. Pointless argument really. Bit like arguing who's drunker?
Anyway, i'll leave you to your windsurfing or Thai massage God. You don't need me bothering you in your leisure time. Just one word of advice, watch out for the Thai Masseurs. Most of them will go straight into 'extras' after the massage. I know you are the holy spirit and everything but don't pay more than a tenner for a hand job. Anything more than that and they are literally 'pulling you off'.
Amen
Early to bed for me, 12.30am (is that early?) for a good long kip and hoping the vim and vigour will be returned tomorrow. I'll need it, I've got letterheads to do tomorrow.
Nicholas Edward Evans
x
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Day 106 - Monday 16th April
Mileage 0 - weekly mileage 0
Training? Nah? Running? Nah? Cross Training? Bugger off? Taper? Don't mind if i do thank you.
Good news, woke up feeling sprightly. Candida gone (for today) - felt better and sharper. Lets hope it keeps up throughout the week.
Churned out work in the day, and was amused to observe my ridiculous childish ego. It was In a meeting with 2 people. 1 of which talked over me and the other one i felt wasn't interested in what i had to say. Result? Me getting pissed off and sulking inside, whilst mind churning round "fuck this job, I'm not respected, i need something else, i should be heard more, fuck them, fuck this, fuck me, fuck you, fuck it." And that was me on a good day!!!
I obviously didn't let on. Showed little, though i am terrible at hiding my emotions but i tried really hard to suppress it. I observed my insane head and recognised my utter childishness. I wasn't really sure if it was me or the truth. That's the trouble with alcoholism, you never really know if it's my alkie, touchy, low self esteem and high ego prideful and intolerant head talking or if people really are balloon heads. Who knows? And lets be honest, who really cares. People don't do as i please all the time. Shock horror.
I shouldn't get het up really, in the scheme of things it doesn't matter. Thing is i really think the logo should go on the right of the compliment slip. Don't you see? It's fucking crucial. Never in the history of the world has enough notice been taken of stationary. I am a world renowned expert. Trouble is no-one knows it yet. I think i shall tour schools and community groups relentlessly on the importance of logos on compliments slips.
I am actually embarrassed i got pissed off my opinion wasn't sought on such crucial areas. In the past i swear to god i would have gone out and drunk like a crazy man for 2 days over that. Building it into a slight against my soul, my character. 'See everyone thinks I'm shit, fuck em'. And proceed to make every ones lives a misery for a week. Still that's alcoholism folks. And the difference with 11 years of sobriety is not so much my initial thinking and reactions (i still act like a lunatic child in my head) but in my reactions and what i do with it. As they say it's not the big things that catch out, it's the little pointless things that most normal folks wouldn't think twice about.
For me, it opened the flood gates. "I'm better than this. Is this what it's come too. Best go to a meeting. Not in Chelsea though, as every time i bump into someone i know they're off to shoot a fucking movie in LA. And how are you Nick? "Me? Oh I'm upset about some stationary and i wasn't consulted about website changes". #Embarrassing. It would just make me feel worse. So my default setting is to stew, to brood, to jump straight from comparing my insides to people;s outsides and either coming up worse (less than) or going straight to egotistical anger (more than) - 'I'll show them, I'll be a massive sober success" Fuck em. How come they get 2 lead parts. I'm better than them. OK they've been to drama school and worked hard for 10 years. I've never had an acting class in my life. But where's my fucking part? Good job i don't suffer from jealousy, sloth or Divine entitlement.
I think i should head to a Bikram Yoga class to calm down. Oh i can't, that's right. I'm barred. Nuts.
So i went to a meeting, nipped it in the bud. Grassed myself up, walked in feeling like Wolves and came out feeling like Barcelona. I love it. It helps me get sense of perspective, laugh at my insanity and return me to being a 'normal' human being. Phew. Not bad for £2.
Ate clean, drank me fresh vegetable juice. Watched a little tellie and hit the sack at customary early time of 1.45am. It's marathon week, so i guess i should get an early night and lots of sleep. Not as if i have to be up at 7am tomorrow. 5 hours should be plenty Nick. MMMM, Will:I:Ever:Learn?
xx
Training? Nah? Running? Nah? Cross Training? Bugger off? Taper? Don't mind if i do thank you.
Good news, woke up feeling sprightly. Candida gone (for today) - felt better and sharper. Lets hope it keeps up throughout the week.
Churned out work in the day, and was amused to observe my ridiculous childish ego. It was In a meeting with 2 people. 1 of which talked over me and the other one i felt wasn't interested in what i had to say. Result? Me getting pissed off and sulking inside, whilst mind churning round "fuck this job, I'm not respected, i need something else, i should be heard more, fuck them, fuck this, fuck me, fuck you, fuck it." And that was me on a good day!!!
I obviously didn't let on. Showed little, though i am terrible at hiding my emotions but i tried really hard to suppress it. I observed my insane head and recognised my utter childishness. I wasn't really sure if it was me or the truth. That's the trouble with alcoholism, you never really know if it's my alkie, touchy, low self esteem and high ego prideful and intolerant head talking or if people really are balloon heads. Who knows? And lets be honest, who really cares. People don't do as i please all the time. Shock horror.
I shouldn't get het up really, in the scheme of things it doesn't matter. Thing is i really think the logo should go on the right of the compliment slip. Don't you see? It's fucking crucial. Never in the history of the world has enough notice been taken of stationary. I am a world renowned expert. Trouble is no-one knows it yet. I think i shall tour schools and community groups relentlessly on the importance of logos on compliments slips.
I am actually embarrassed i got pissed off my opinion wasn't sought on such crucial areas. In the past i swear to god i would have gone out and drunk like a crazy man for 2 days over that. Building it into a slight against my soul, my character. 'See everyone thinks I'm shit, fuck em'. And proceed to make every ones lives a misery for a week. Still that's alcoholism folks. And the difference with 11 years of sobriety is not so much my initial thinking and reactions (i still act like a lunatic child in my head) but in my reactions and what i do with it. As they say it's not the big things that catch out, it's the little pointless things that most normal folks wouldn't think twice about.
For me, it opened the flood gates. "I'm better than this. Is this what it's come too. Best go to a meeting. Not in Chelsea though, as every time i bump into someone i know they're off to shoot a fucking movie in LA. And how are you Nick? "Me? Oh I'm upset about some stationary and i wasn't consulted about website changes". #Embarrassing. It would just make me feel worse. So my default setting is to stew, to brood, to jump straight from comparing my insides to people;s outsides and either coming up worse (less than) or going straight to egotistical anger (more than) - 'I'll show them, I'll be a massive sober success" Fuck em. How come they get 2 lead parts. I'm better than them. OK they've been to drama school and worked hard for 10 years. I've never had an acting class in my life. But where's my fucking part? Good job i don't suffer from jealousy, sloth or Divine entitlement.
I think i should head to a Bikram Yoga class to calm down. Oh i can't, that's right. I'm barred. Nuts.
So i went to a meeting, nipped it in the bud. Grassed myself up, walked in feeling like Wolves and came out feeling like Barcelona. I love it. It helps me get sense of perspective, laugh at my insanity and return me to being a 'normal' human being. Phew. Not bad for £2.
Ate clean, drank me fresh vegetable juice. Watched a little tellie and hit the sack at customary early time of 1.45am. It's marathon week, so i guess i should get an early night and lots of sleep. Not as if i have to be up at 7am tomorrow. 5 hours should be plenty Nick. MMMM, Will:I:Ever:Learn?
xx
Monday, April 16, 2012
Day 105 - Sunday 15th April - 1 week to go!
Mileage 10; Time 1 hour 21 minutes; Weekly Mileage 28 miles
As i write this blog in my Marks & Spencer underpants, cup of peppermint tea and Silk Cut on the go. Legs aching from a 10 mile run, back aching from i don't know what, gut gurgling from Tikka Masala and head tired from an attack of Ben & Jerrys last night, i think to myself. Hope i feel better than this next week. One week to go until the London Marathon. EEk
I have self induced fatigue through eating sugar and sweets too much. Clearly my system doesnt like it. Will i ever learn. Maybe i should change my name. If Will:I:Am can do it maybe i can too, Will:I;Ever:Learn? Well i have a week to do so.
The Taper is on, so i had scheduled my final 'long one' of 10 miles today. 10 miles is nothing right? I've done that distance and more around 10 - 12 times times in training. Now if you're a proper runner, the taper process (scaling down mileage) is a great process. You have done all your heavy mileage and now is time to rest a bit, eat more carbs, scale down the miles and take it nice and easy.
But to an insane, lazy, alcoholic, procrastinator. When you hear 'Taper' You hear a freedom pass to doing fuck all for 3 weeks apart from eat every bit of shit in my path. Croissants, Hot cross buns, crumpets, sweets, chocolate, ice cream, cereal and more whilst laying around doing bugger all. I'm tapering see. Thats what i heard.
I have never really followed the traditional taper for endurance events. Sometimes i have got it nailed better than other times. For instance my marathon in 2009, when i ran a 3 hours 37 min London, i ate good healthy carbs prepared lovingly by my ultra fit and healthy girfriend at the time. Don't get me wrong i still smoked like a chimney but i was in great shape.
Then on the other scale, my Ironman of 2010, i ate every bit of chocolate the night before and stayed up shagging until 2AM, not highly recommended for a 13 hour event with just 3 hours kip and a soapy tit wank for preperation. I'm pretty sure i havent read that in any endurance manuals. Still did it in 13 hours and 20 minutes though. Stallion.
Then last years marathon, 2011. I felt in the past i had carb loaded too much & went into marathons feeling bloated and sluggish. Like a cross between John Prescott and a fridge. Not the lithe energetic athlete i wanted to feel. So i decided not too eat much in the way of carbs. I didn't train loads and held back on carbs throughout to try and get myself used to it. Big mistake. I burnt out on 20 miles and not only hit the wall, but a fence, garden, house, fort, castle too. I was fucked and came in 4 hour and 7 minutes. Terrible
So, today i dragged myself out for 10 miles, around Richmond park. When i'm in that state my head just wants to stop (and eat Haagen Daazs) & resultingly the run was pretty gruelling and not enjoyable. It was tough. Heavy legged, slow and aching. It's not going to make any difference to marathon day but i wanted to do it for my head sakes. Better to get a bad one out of the way before the day rather than on it.
Clearly my challenge this week is to try and prepare myself physically. Eat well, rest, stretch, get rid of fatigue, stay clear of sugar and caffeiene. The Mileage is done, i'm probably one or even two 20 milers short of the ideal preperation. I have pain in my toes when i run but i am pretty much injury free. I'm in decent shape
I'm not really fired up yet, so i will look at race strategy this week. fuelling and mental attitude. I will try to get myself into a positive state of mind. Where i will enjoy it but focus. To feel good about myself physically and mentally. I have been visualising the day, the crowd, the buzz of London Marathon, as it is a special London day, but sometimes when you're chugging out the miles in Richmond park, empty, wind blowing (internal and external), lots of miles still to come it is mentally challenging. Still. That is Marathon running. It's what you sign up for.
I have continued all the supplements, taking more pills than Pete Doherty. I am drinking freshly squeezed vegetable juices and the devils sperm itself, Spirulina. Lets hope this week, i can get myself eating well and it will all come good in a weeks time. I reckon i will as one thing i have this year beyond all my other times is awareness. I know my faults, my addictions, my habits and my default settings. So my job this week is to stop talking about changing them. But actually do it.
I always forget change is an action not a theory. Keep that one close to my heart this week and there will be no stopping me next week. Bring it on!
Have a great week my lovely readers, 28 miles completed, 105 days and we are down to the last week. God, even writing that has just made me excited and get 'the buzz'. See, this blog does work. if not for you, then certainly for me. I always seem to change my thinking from when i start writing to the end. For that reason alone this blog is worth it.
Have a great week readers and mucho love to all
xx
As i write this blog in my Marks & Spencer underpants, cup of peppermint tea and Silk Cut on the go. Legs aching from a 10 mile run, back aching from i don't know what, gut gurgling from Tikka Masala and head tired from an attack of Ben & Jerrys last night, i think to myself. Hope i feel better than this next week. One week to go until the London Marathon. EEk
I have self induced fatigue through eating sugar and sweets too much. Clearly my system doesnt like it. Will i ever learn. Maybe i should change my name. If Will:I:Am can do it maybe i can too, Will:I;Ever:Learn? Well i have a week to do so.
The Taper is on, so i had scheduled my final 'long one' of 10 miles today. 10 miles is nothing right? I've done that distance and more around 10 - 12 times times in training. Now if you're a proper runner, the taper process (scaling down mileage) is a great process. You have done all your heavy mileage and now is time to rest a bit, eat more carbs, scale down the miles and take it nice and easy.
But to an insane, lazy, alcoholic, procrastinator. When you hear 'Taper' You hear a freedom pass to doing fuck all for 3 weeks apart from eat every bit of shit in my path. Croissants, Hot cross buns, crumpets, sweets, chocolate, ice cream, cereal and more whilst laying around doing bugger all. I'm tapering see. Thats what i heard.
I have never really followed the traditional taper for endurance events. Sometimes i have got it nailed better than other times. For instance my marathon in 2009, when i ran a 3 hours 37 min London, i ate good healthy carbs prepared lovingly by my ultra fit and healthy girfriend at the time. Don't get me wrong i still smoked like a chimney but i was in great shape.
Then on the other scale, my Ironman of 2010, i ate every bit of chocolate the night before and stayed up shagging until 2AM, not highly recommended for a 13 hour event with just 3 hours kip and a soapy tit wank for preperation. I'm pretty sure i havent read that in any endurance manuals. Still did it in 13 hours and 20 minutes though. Stallion.
Then last years marathon, 2011. I felt in the past i had carb loaded too much & went into marathons feeling bloated and sluggish. Like a cross between John Prescott and a fridge. Not the lithe energetic athlete i wanted to feel. So i decided not too eat much in the way of carbs. I didn't train loads and held back on carbs throughout to try and get myself used to it. Big mistake. I burnt out on 20 miles and not only hit the wall, but a fence, garden, house, fort, castle too. I was fucked and came in 4 hour and 7 minutes. Terrible
So, today i dragged myself out for 10 miles, around Richmond park. When i'm in that state my head just wants to stop (and eat Haagen Daazs) & resultingly the run was pretty gruelling and not enjoyable. It was tough. Heavy legged, slow and aching. It's not going to make any difference to marathon day but i wanted to do it for my head sakes. Better to get a bad one out of the way before the day rather than on it.
Clearly my challenge this week is to try and prepare myself physically. Eat well, rest, stretch, get rid of fatigue, stay clear of sugar and caffeiene. The Mileage is done, i'm probably one or even two 20 milers short of the ideal preperation. I have pain in my toes when i run but i am pretty much injury free. I'm in decent shape
I'm not really fired up yet, so i will look at race strategy this week. fuelling and mental attitude. I will try to get myself into a positive state of mind. Where i will enjoy it but focus. To feel good about myself physically and mentally. I have been visualising the day, the crowd, the buzz of London Marathon, as it is a special London day, but sometimes when you're chugging out the miles in Richmond park, empty, wind blowing (internal and external), lots of miles still to come it is mentally challenging. Still. That is Marathon running. It's what you sign up for.
I have continued all the supplements, taking more pills than Pete Doherty. I am drinking freshly squeezed vegetable juices and the devils sperm itself, Spirulina. Lets hope this week, i can get myself eating well and it will all come good in a weeks time. I reckon i will as one thing i have this year beyond all my other times is awareness. I know my faults, my addictions, my habits and my default settings. So my job this week is to stop talking about changing them. But actually do it.
I always forget change is an action not a theory. Keep that one close to my heart this week and there will be no stopping me next week. Bring it on!
Have a great week my lovely readers, 28 miles completed, 105 days and we are down to the last week. God, even writing that has just made me excited and get 'the buzz'. See, this blog does work. if not for you, then certainly for me. I always seem to change my thinking from when i start writing to the end. For that reason alone this blog is worth it.
Have a great week readers and mucho love to all
xx
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Day 104 - Saturday 14th April - 21st Birthday
Mileage 6; Time - 46 minutes ; Weekly Mileage 18
Me Niece's 21st Birthday
So after my Nan's 97th birthday yesterday today is the opposite. My Niece, Nadia Eloise Evans is 21 years old, how the hell did that happen?
Now i don't have children (yet), as I've stated i can barely look after my under pant draw let alone a little person. But i suppose the closest thing I've had to kids in my life is Nadia. I have always felt protective and loved her like she was a daughter. She's A great kid who is probably more grounded and switched on than the rest of us Italian and Welsh lunatics in the family!
Uncles, especially single ones with no responsibilities have the easiest job in the world. Uncle Fun. Uncles get all the glory, without having to do the hard bits. You go to the Cinema, concert, restaurant, park, gallery and at the end of the day packed with Ice Cream, food and fun you hand them back and off you go in your merry way!!! Easy!
I'm not quite sure where the past 21 years went. I remember her being born, which was the last time i saw my Father, which is another link and spiritual connection i think. I was 18 years old. Jesus, i was a boy, it's scary to think at that age my parents already had their 1st child. Holy shit. Panic. No wonder i've always shied away from it.
I remember lots, her as a baby, taking her to Smash Hits party concert, taking her to the cinema and crying to 'Shall we Dance'. (Me not her that was highly embarrassing)
I remember she seemed to be the only person in the world that made as much mess as me in the cinema. It looked like 2 monkeys had been watching the film and had played a game to try and throw as much popcorn and sweets around as possible. She definitely has the Evans gene.
And so to today. 21st birthday. Christ it makes me feel old, and just a little gutted i haven't seemed to grow up in my head. I still feel the same as when she was born. The party was lovely and of course the family, the celebration and everything that went with it was well tidy, but really the show stopper was the cake.
Holy fuck, it came in as the World heavyweight number 1 cake of all time. A massive orgy of silky sponge, white chocolate, fresh cream, chocolate, strawberries. Jesus Christ it was like pornography on a plate. Now for the compulsive over eaters and sugar addict it was a magnificent moment. Not only was such attention to detail in the white chocolate roses, but they even dipped the tips of the strawberry's in sumptuous chocolate, These guys knew what they were doing. No amount of crack cocaine, brandy and specialist adult literature could compete with that. Fuck Damian Hirst. It was Art.
So, after 38 slices i decided enough was enough and stuffed 4 slices into a doggy bag for home. I didn't want to be greedy. It's carb loading for the marathon see.
After such merriment at the party on Friday, Saturday was spent doing pretty much sod all. Ran 6 miles in the gym at pretty rapid pace, did a cross training (nearly said dressing then, oops) session and then buggered about and went to lay on the sofa all night indulging in my new found addiction to The Voice, What a show. Tom Jones, Real music, real band, Quality voices and use of the word 'dope' at 7.15pm on BBC1. Superb.
Kept in touch with Brymoor Road, as my Nan, Mum and brother were watching too. I'm hoping my Nan will adopt the use of the word 'dope' and start dropping that into her sentences. She liked some of the acts, though unfortunately fell asleep for the performance of the night from Jazz Ellington. With a name like that how can he fail in the music business? Like a footballer being called Score Messi. Perfect.
So that's it really, if I'm being honest today's entry is not as good as the past week, i think I've been on fire. But it feels good to bid my beautiful niece a Happy 21st just after my wonderful Nan's 97th and feel the love for your family. Ahhhh
It's Back to normal tomorrow people. Last long run of 10 miles. I almost forgot there is just over 1 week to the marathon, though if i'm honest, I've lost a bit of interest in the training, I'm much preferring the writing! Maybe thats what will come out of the 2012 marathon.
Jog on
xx
Me Niece's 21st Birthday
So after my Nan's 97th birthday yesterday today is the opposite. My Niece, Nadia Eloise Evans is 21 years old, how the hell did that happen?
Now i don't have children (yet), as I've stated i can barely look after my under pant draw let alone a little person. But i suppose the closest thing I've had to kids in my life is Nadia. I have always felt protective and loved her like she was a daughter. She's A great kid who is probably more grounded and switched on than the rest of us Italian and Welsh lunatics in the family!
Uncles, especially single ones with no responsibilities have the easiest job in the world. Uncle Fun. Uncles get all the glory, without having to do the hard bits. You go to the Cinema, concert, restaurant, park, gallery and at the end of the day packed with Ice Cream, food and fun you hand them back and off you go in your merry way!!! Easy!
I'm not quite sure where the past 21 years went. I remember her being born, which was the last time i saw my Father, which is another link and spiritual connection i think. I was 18 years old. Jesus, i was a boy, it's scary to think at that age my parents already had their 1st child. Holy shit. Panic. No wonder i've always shied away from it.
I remember lots, her as a baby, taking her to Smash Hits party concert, taking her to the cinema and crying to 'Shall we Dance'. (Me not her that was highly embarrassing)
I remember she seemed to be the only person in the world that made as much mess as me in the cinema. It looked like 2 monkeys had been watching the film and had played a game to try and throw as much popcorn and sweets around as possible. She definitely has the Evans gene.
And so to today. 21st birthday. Christ it makes me feel old, and just a little gutted i haven't seemed to grow up in my head. I still feel the same as when she was born. The party was lovely and of course the family, the celebration and everything that went with it was well tidy, but really the show stopper was the cake.
Holy fuck, it came in as the World heavyweight number 1 cake of all time. A massive orgy of silky sponge, white chocolate, fresh cream, chocolate, strawberries. Jesus Christ it was like pornography on a plate. Now for the compulsive over eaters and sugar addict it was a magnificent moment. Not only was such attention to detail in the white chocolate roses, but they even dipped the tips of the strawberry's in sumptuous chocolate, These guys knew what they were doing. No amount of crack cocaine, brandy and specialist adult literature could compete with that. Fuck Damian Hirst. It was Art.
So, after 38 slices i decided enough was enough and stuffed 4 slices into a doggy bag for home. I didn't want to be greedy. It's carb loading for the marathon see.
After such merriment at the party on Friday, Saturday was spent doing pretty much sod all. Ran 6 miles in the gym at pretty rapid pace, did a cross training (nearly said dressing then, oops) session and then buggered about and went to lay on the sofa all night indulging in my new found addiction to The Voice, What a show. Tom Jones, Real music, real band, Quality voices and use of the word 'dope' at 7.15pm on BBC1. Superb.
Kept in touch with Brymoor Road, as my Nan, Mum and brother were watching too. I'm hoping my Nan will adopt the use of the word 'dope' and start dropping that into her sentences. She liked some of the acts, though unfortunately fell asleep for the performance of the night from Jazz Ellington. With a name like that how can he fail in the music business? Like a footballer being called Score Messi. Perfect.
So that's it really, if I'm being honest today's entry is not as good as the past week, i think I've been on fire. But it feels good to bid my beautiful niece a Happy 21st just after my wonderful Nan's 97th and feel the love for your family. Ahhhh
It's Back to normal tomorrow people. Last long run of 10 miles. I almost forgot there is just over 1 week to the marathon, though if i'm honest, I've lost a bit of interest in the training, I'm much preferring the writing! Maybe thats what will come out of the 2012 marathon.
Jog on
xx
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Day 103 - Friday 13th April - Me Nan's 97
Mileage 0 - Weekly Miles 12
Friday the 13th. Unlucky for some. Not my Nan. She's 97 today. Yes that's right ninety seven. It's a bit like when the the old vivy printer in Final Score would have to spell the figure when a team won 7 or 8-0 (Seven or eight Nil) Because no-one could believe it. Ninety seven. Exceptional isn't it?
Born 13th April 1915. It was a Tuesday, in the Bryn, Llanelli, Dyfed, South Wales. The country was in 1st World War and David Asquith was Prime Minister followed quickly by David Lloyd George (A welshman, therewarthen on it there). She was one of 10 children, they churned them out back then.
She has lived in Llanelli all her life, is as tough as teak and proper welsh llanelli old school Nan. She is Super Nan. Sharper than the rest of us, doesn't miss a trick and the queen bee of Brynmoor Road.
She has witnessed some incredible changes in the world. It is a different place now. We have things like Argos. She can't quite understand Twitter but is very Grateful 'Freeview' was invented so she can Get Midsomer Murders in the afternoon.
She has cooked fresh nearly every day for her life, always hand washed clothes, swears by Nivea cream and Cod liver oil. Never drank other than the occasional Bristol Cream at Christmas, never smoked, always wore a house coat and lived within her means. I think the whole interest free credit passed her by. She lived by old fashioned values taught to her by her Mammy and Daddy.
She has lived in the same house for 73 years and in that time has cooked 296,567 Sunday Roast dinners, 897,966 Rock Cakes and said 'Therewarthen' 3.4million times. She is a star. Everyone loves her.
She is an avid watcher of the news. And is a mine of information. Forget Twitter or Ask Jeeves, just Ask Nan or Nitter (silent K) and she is a particular fan of Loose Women. She speaks in an ultra broad Welsh accent and gets the occasional thing wrong. For instance she feels sorry for those long distance HIV drivers and thinks anyone with HGV is a 'poor dab'. She likes Michael Portaloo on BBC and now and then loves a Cubicle of Chocolate.
Her house is immaculate and even the parlour (or front room) looks like a showroom, though it is never used. Even the Vicar wasn't allowed. I think the only one allowed in that room would be Terry Griffiths, the home town boy. Otherwise known as 'Terry' to Nan.
Neighbours are talked about in hush tones, like they're listening and her capacity for tenuous links in gossip is incredible, "Mrs Jenkins' carer, Sally, her daughter went to school in Dafen with Kelly's youngest, anyway Michael from Number 24 saw them the other day in Princess Street. They were with Mrs Morgan from Pughs. They were visiting Dai Bach. He's ill. Poor dab."
She always stuffs money in my hand when i visit, she is a total giver and carer. Hard working, humble and loving, but would never say it. She liked to send cards with footballs or trains on the front even when i was into my 30's, and always used to hum and sing when she was going up the stairs. A Habit passed onto her daughter (my Mum). She loves boiled mints and always had a bigger supply than Rowntrees. Always asking the immortal phrase "Do you want a mint in your mouth?" - AS opposed to where Nan?
Her cakes and Victoria Sandwich sponges were legendary. As was her Christmas cake, Bread and Butter Pudding, Ham and Parsley Sauce, Rice Pudding, Welsh Cakes and homemade Chips. Bread and Butter was placed on the table at every meal time. Old school.We always used to put on a stone in 2 weeks when we went to stay in Summer holidays as a kid. She was never happy unless you were eating. Welsh women are feeders
"Want a sandwich?"
"No thanks Nan, I'm OK"
"Rock Cake?"
"No Nan, I'm stuffed after the Roast Dinner at 11am"
"Have a Breakaway"
"No thanks"
"Blue Ribband?"
"No"
"Have a Kit Kat"
"No Nan, I'm full"
"Biscuit?"
"No"
"Rich Tea, that doesn't count?"
"No thanks Nan"
"Digestive?"
"No"
"Fig roll?"
"No"
"Garibaldi?"
"No Nan, i'm stuffed"
"Ok then, if you're sure"..............
,.......................................
"Crisps then"
Ad Infinitum, a relentless attack of food offering. Overeaters and bullimics heaven, or is that hell?
I can still see her dentures in the old Stork Margarine tub by the sink, The kitchen smelling of Nivea cream at bed time. I can picture her old shopping trolley in the conservatory, the old copies of Llanelli Star and Roy of the Rovers, her cleaning in her housecoat and popping into a room you were in and saying 'therewarthen', like a Welsh gap filler. It was a word that meant absolutely nothing but said so much.
In short she is adorable. The day has seen a steady flow of visitors, paying respects and wishes. The Kate and William commemorative plate had to be moved from the mantelpiece to accommodate the cards. 5 lots of flowers delivered and the phone going all day. She is well loved.
I suppose that's what happens when you have been so respectful and lovely to people throughout your life. It is given back. Though i won't tell her i nicked her Barley Sugars last week.
She is old. of course. Her health failing and it must be hard to lose the fierce independence you had. She is a proud woman. Never complains. Never shows pain and has taken to using the phrase, 'chilling out' in the afternoon, which for a Welsh 97 year old nan is superb. I am hoping after Watching The Voice she is going to start using the term 'dope'
I think we miss a lot of people my Nan's age. Forget to listen and spend time, respect. Learn from. She comes from an era where life was simple. No credit. You lived within your means. Family was key. You didn't moan, complain and were grateful for your lot. Grafters and humble, No ego, no bullshit. You didn't talk about emotions but showed love. No fussing but maintaining standards. Immaculate house, clothes (or 'rigout' as she calls it - AKA outfit)
Simple life which in some respects is so alien to the world in which she lives now, where it seems everything but Simple. Ipads, Passwords, Logins, User names, Credit, Hire Purchase, APR, congestion charge, Obesity, additives, microwave fast food, Disability allowance, housing benefit, teenage pregnancy, unemployment, bus lanes, speeding cameras, VAT.
She comes from a time where you worked, spent what you had, cooked fresh and saved for a rainy day. Simple. Now it takes 2 hours, 3 continents and 6 electronic voicemails to call my Bank/electric/phone/energy/cinema/anything. Life is so fucking complicated sometimes. I sometimes think they had it sussed back in the day.
So i look at my Nan and i salute her. I salute anyone born from that era. I salute her attitude, her spirit, her gratitude. I salute her stanner stair lift and how she just loves 'Chops'. I salute everything about her because she's my Nan and i love her, the only thing i don't salute though is she always seems to have more Everton Mints than Humbugs these days in her little mint tin by her reclining chair with Burberry cover. Those little bastards are evil. Come on Nan. I know you're 97 and everything, but sort it out No-one likes an Everton Mint. Humbugs are where it's at. Everton Mints are Britain's Got Talent and Humbugs are the Voice. Everyone knows that.
So Happy Birthday Nan and to all your Nans readers, dead or alive, raise a sweet sherry or a Mint Imperial and salute The Nan. They're ace
xx
Friday the 13th. Unlucky for some. Not my Nan. She's 97 today. Yes that's right ninety seven. It's a bit like when the the old vivy printer in Final Score would have to spell the figure when a team won 7 or 8-0 (Seven or eight Nil) Because no-one could believe it. Ninety seven. Exceptional isn't it?
Born 13th April 1915. It was a Tuesday, in the Bryn, Llanelli, Dyfed, South Wales. The country was in 1st World War and David Asquith was Prime Minister followed quickly by David Lloyd George (A welshman, therewarthen on it there). She was one of 10 children, they churned them out back then.
She has lived in Llanelli all her life, is as tough as teak and proper welsh llanelli old school Nan. She is Super Nan. Sharper than the rest of us, doesn't miss a trick and the queen bee of Brynmoor Road.
She has witnessed some incredible changes in the world. It is a different place now. We have things like Argos. She can't quite understand Twitter but is very Grateful 'Freeview' was invented so she can Get Midsomer Murders in the afternoon.
She has cooked fresh nearly every day for her life, always hand washed clothes, swears by Nivea cream and Cod liver oil. Never drank other than the occasional Bristol Cream at Christmas, never smoked, always wore a house coat and lived within her means. I think the whole interest free credit passed her by. She lived by old fashioned values taught to her by her Mammy and Daddy.
She has lived in the same house for 73 years and in that time has cooked 296,567 Sunday Roast dinners, 897,966 Rock Cakes and said 'Therewarthen' 3.4million times. She is a star. Everyone loves her.
She is an avid watcher of the news. And is a mine of information. Forget Twitter or Ask Jeeves, just Ask Nan or Nitter (silent K) and she is a particular fan of Loose Women. She speaks in an ultra broad Welsh accent and gets the occasional thing wrong. For instance she feels sorry for those long distance HIV drivers and thinks anyone with HGV is a 'poor dab'. She likes Michael Portaloo on BBC and now and then loves a Cubicle of Chocolate.
Her house is immaculate and even the parlour (or front room) looks like a showroom, though it is never used. Even the Vicar wasn't allowed. I think the only one allowed in that room would be Terry Griffiths, the home town boy. Otherwise known as 'Terry' to Nan.
Neighbours are talked about in hush tones, like they're listening and her capacity for tenuous links in gossip is incredible, "Mrs Jenkins' carer, Sally, her daughter went to school in Dafen with Kelly's youngest, anyway Michael from Number 24 saw them the other day in Princess Street. They were with Mrs Morgan from Pughs. They were visiting Dai Bach. He's ill. Poor dab."
She always stuffs money in my hand when i visit, she is a total giver and carer. Hard working, humble and loving, but would never say it. She liked to send cards with footballs or trains on the front even when i was into my 30's, and always used to hum and sing when she was going up the stairs. A Habit passed onto her daughter (my Mum). She loves boiled mints and always had a bigger supply than Rowntrees. Always asking the immortal phrase "Do you want a mint in your mouth?" - AS opposed to where Nan?
Her cakes and Victoria Sandwich sponges were legendary. As was her Christmas cake, Bread and Butter Pudding, Ham and Parsley Sauce, Rice Pudding, Welsh Cakes and homemade Chips. Bread and Butter was placed on the table at every meal time. Old school.We always used to put on a stone in 2 weeks when we went to stay in Summer holidays as a kid. She was never happy unless you were eating. Welsh women are feeders
"Want a sandwich?"
"No thanks Nan, I'm OK"
"Rock Cake?"
"No Nan, I'm stuffed after the Roast Dinner at 11am"
"Have a Breakaway"
"No thanks"
"Blue Ribband?"
"No"
"Have a Kit Kat"
"No Nan, I'm full"
"Biscuit?"
"No"
"Rich Tea, that doesn't count?"
"No thanks Nan"
"Digestive?"
"No"
"Fig roll?"
"No"
"Garibaldi?"
"No Nan, i'm stuffed"
"Ok then, if you're sure"..............
,.......................................
"Crisps then"
Ad Infinitum, a relentless attack of food offering. Overeaters and bullimics heaven, or is that hell?
I can still see her dentures in the old Stork Margarine tub by the sink, The kitchen smelling of Nivea cream at bed time. I can picture her old shopping trolley in the conservatory, the old copies of Llanelli Star and Roy of the Rovers, her cleaning in her housecoat and popping into a room you were in and saying 'therewarthen', like a Welsh gap filler. It was a word that meant absolutely nothing but said so much.
In short she is adorable. The day has seen a steady flow of visitors, paying respects and wishes. The Kate and William commemorative plate had to be moved from the mantelpiece to accommodate the cards. 5 lots of flowers delivered and the phone going all day. She is well loved.
I suppose that's what happens when you have been so respectful and lovely to people throughout your life. It is given back. Though i won't tell her i nicked her Barley Sugars last week.
She is old. of course. Her health failing and it must be hard to lose the fierce independence you had. She is a proud woman. Never complains. Never shows pain and has taken to using the phrase, 'chilling out' in the afternoon, which for a Welsh 97 year old nan is superb. I am hoping after Watching The Voice she is going to start using the term 'dope'
I think we miss a lot of people my Nan's age. Forget to listen and spend time, respect. Learn from. She comes from an era where life was simple. No credit. You lived within your means. Family was key. You didn't moan, complain and were grateful for your lot. Grafters and humble, No ego, no bullshit. You didn't talk about emotions but showed love. No fussing but maintaining standards. Immaculate house, clothes (or 'rigout' as she calls it - AKA outfit)
Simple life which in some respects is so alien to the world in which she lives now, where it seems everything but Simple. Ipads, Passwords, Logins, User names, Credit, Hire Purchase, APR, congestion charge, Obesity, additives, microwave fast food, Disability allowance, housing benefit, teenage pregnancy, unemployment, bus lanes, speeding cameras, VAT.
She comes from a time where you worked, spent what you had, cooked fresh and saved for a rainy day. Simple. Now it takes 2 hours, 3 continents and 6 electronic voicemails to call my Bank/electric/phone/energy/cinema/anything. Life is so fucking complicated sometimes. I sometimes think they had it sussed back in the day.
So i look at my Nan and i salute her. I salute anyone born from that era. I salute her attitude, her spirit, her gratitude. I salute her stanner stair lift and how she just loves 'Chops'. I salute everything about her because she's my Nan and i love her, the only thing i don't salute though is she always seems to have more Everton Mints than Humbugs these days in her little mint tin by her reclining chair with Burberry cover. Those little bastards are evil. Come on Nan. I know you're 97 and everything, but sort it out No-one likes an Everton Mint. Humbugs are where it's at. Everton Mints are Britain's Got Talent and Humbugs are the Voice. Everyone knows that.
So Happy Birthday Nan and to all your Nans readers, dead or alive, raise a sweet sherry or a Mint Imperial and salute The Nan. They're ace
xx
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