Day 97 - Saturday 7th April

Mileage 0 - Weekly Mileage 18; (40 min cycle and cross training in gym)

No running today, legs felt a little heavy and i thought a slight rest would do me better than a short run, so i hit the gym, did a leisure cycle whilst reading the paper and watching Saturday Kitchen. There is something genuinely wonderful about exercising in the gym whilst watching James Martin making a massively calorific Easter Chocolate Pavlova. Certainly the big girl on the bike next to me was drooling. Not sure if that was due to interval training or when he spooned the Chocolate cream onto the Pavlova.

Did a cross train circuit, working on the legs, core and of course, crucially for any marathon running man planning on wearing a sleeveless vest for the marathon. The guns or to give them their correct name biceps. A common feature of most gym sessions for guys is working on the show pony muscle groups, chest and arms. Sod the fitness and legs, it's all about how you look. There was a guy in the gym who was trying to lift heavy weights, grunting and basically swinging his arms and body around like a fucking monkey. it was like a nature programme example on male pride. I could almost hear David Attenboro doing a running commentary on him.

I do it rather differently these days. Training my legs and body in short circuits, i also do tons of pull ups and use natural body weight. It has Made me much stronger but time will tell if it helps on the marathon.

I have talked alot about the marathon, about the mental side of it. About the philospohy, about what it does for the soul. About Nutrition, rest, stretching, miles in the legs, the long runs, working on speed, endurance, cardiovascular fitness. All of these are important elements. Preparation is key.

But one component that is hugely important for any self confessed self obsessed vain ego maniac is how you will look in the official marathon photos on mile 6, 13, 18 and finish line.

Don't get me wrong, after mile 20 you really don't care if you look like a cross between Frankenstein and Aretha Franklin. You are knackered. Image goes out of the window. You are covered in spit, sweat, salt and lucozade. Your hair is matted, nipples maybe bleeding, skid marks are deeper than Jordan's cleavage. The look on your face wincing is similar to the one Elvis had when he died on the toilet. You basically look constipated and that you are trying to shit out a small animal. You are not looking your best. Image is out of the window.

But mile 6, 12 and 18? Christ you need to look the part for the pics. Don't want to show the grand kids when you're older, 'That was Grandaddy in the 2012 marathon' and the Grand kids saying 'But Grandad, you look like you should be selling the big issue on The Biggest Loser'.

Now for a vain bastard like me who sets massive importance (too much) in how i look. it's crucial. What to wear on marathon day is one of the biggest preparation issues. Regulation charity running vest with shorts or ultra tight fitting triathlon suit that shows of the guns impressively but looks like i should be in The Pet Shop Boys?

I got my Action on Addiction vest through the post, it has the charity and my name printed on the front - all i need for marathon day, but is it going to show my guns off? No. That is a dilemma. The triathlon suit will undoubtedly get me some stick from some of the male side of the crowd 'ponce' 'gayboy' or 'twat' are just some of the encouraging things shouted at me in training when i have worn it. Usually from men who are chronically obese and have bigger tits than Jordan. Ironic.

But to be fair, I've put hours into the gym to get a muscly body, especially as i used to have a body i was ashamed of and hid away under baggy clothes.I have gone the other way entirely and it gets me some comments from women. Like 'oooohhhhhhhh' 'check him out' and 'nice'. Though I'm still yet to have any phone numbers or knickers thrown at me. Maybe i should do it as Tom Jones.

The standard issue running wear is Non egotistical. It Says what it does on the tin. But it Covers up the guns and is basically then all about the running and time. The tri suit? Well undoubtedly camper than a row of tents but Creates a reaction and feeds my need for outside affirmation approval and to be noticed, and boy there is no better place to be noticed than for 4 hours throughout London by 500,000 people. I'm torn between the two. As i said dilemma!

Today I'm off to Wales for Easter, to see my Nan and Mum. She is out of hospital and eating Kit Kat's, so things are on the up. It will be a nice break, as long as i can relent from the onslaught of chocolate biscuits.

I was proud of my blog yesterday and it certainly provoked quite a strong reaction from people. Some of which who had experience of alcoholism, and some from people who hadn't. Great. The reason i wrote it so graphically was to show it as an example of alcoholism and what it does. if nothing else it helped me and if it helps to raise awareness then even better. Also it may help people to comment, share and express themselves. There is alot of pain in the world and it helps to share it, express it and feel connected to people.

I hadn't even really got into it properly.  There is a limited amount you can write in a blog.

There were many things i remember from that time.

Speaking to the warden and piecing his life in the last few years. Hostel to hostel. Hospital to hospital. Health failing, Slowly dying. Alcohol counselling appointments made and missed. All of these from the papers i found in his flat.

Statements of his last few cash withdrawals. The personal effects from the funeral director that was on him. A cheap watch and and a couple of artifacts.

And what did i choose to take from his flat? There really wasn't anything much to want to keep as a memento. His acoustic guitar, couple of books, some paperwork and the freedom pass wallet. He had £1300 in the bank (accumulated from benefits as he was hospitalised for weeks before and couldn't spend anything) Which ended up paying for the funeral.

And the funeral? Well Mortlake Crematorium. 8 people. Me, My Mum, Girlfriend Elizabeth, My sponsor Andy, Brother Robin and his old friend Patrick who remembered my Dad from being a kid, Mike Thomas a guy he worked with in the 60's an old family friend and my Niece Nadia. All of us represented some kind of his life or a link to him. But a small turn out, as i said his life ceased in 1987. There was no-one after that. Where were his drinking buddies now? Probably in the same place.

The funeral director said something telling. He said my Dad was lucky we did this for him. He said most alcoholics are buried alone without anyone. An anonymous death. It felt right with who was there.

My brother Rob buckled and got very upset as he hero worshipped his Dad and when he left, he was so hurt and buried it and effectively ruled him dead. I think it hit him hard. Mike Thomas spoke about their time together in the 60's and what kind of man he was back then (in my opinion he did about 6 minutes too long, it was like listening to an overlong share in AA)

Then i headlined , sorry, i spoke last, and i nailed it. Granted it was a willing audience, but it was best gig yet, i even got a couple of laughs. Dad would have been proud. Of course, i put up in the blog what i said yesterday, so no need to repeat but it was about forgiveness and love and to send him off to be cremated with peace, love and dignity. We did that and especially genius to the them tune from Minder. That was an inspirational idea from my eldest brother Mark. Genius.

And then it was over. Breakfast together afterwards and on with our days. I got the ashes a couple of days later, which was odd the thought of him in the urn, in my car, in my house. Felt peculiar.  i even stopped tossing off for a few days. Guilty. I wanted them to be gone asap, so i organised a small ceremony in Wales for his family, His sisters, nephews and friends i hadn't seen in years. We organised it in the church where his mother and father were buried and where my Grandfather (his dad) Idwell Isaac Evans was Vicar for many years.

There were 14 of us there for that, in the Graveyard, an old friend, Sue spoke about him from the 60's, how everyone wanted to remember him. we stood in a circle, i spoke some words and then we spread the ashes on his parents grave, said a prayer and then went to a llanelli style pub for a Sunday lunch carvery. A classic Welsh send off. Brains Bitter was only £1.50 a pint so my Dad really would have approved. Tidy.

The interesting point about bringing him back 'home' to Wales, was how everyone remembered Mike Evans from when he was a young man, before he left Wales at the age of 27 in 1972 (i was 6 months old) with my Mum to set up home in Berkshire and work in London. They all saw him as the golden boy. A man of brilliance, charm, charisma, presence, humour. How he was going to make it big. How he could do anything. It was great to hear stories about him like that. he was my Father. (Ok bit of self obsessed thinking, god i wonder if people think of me like that?)

They were shocked to see his demise when he returned to Llanelli as a full blown alcoholic in 1987 when he was kicked out and left our lives. That was the start of his descent into hopeless alcoholism. They remembered that time too, him stealing money, drinking. He eventually ran out of people and returned to London in 1988 and stayed in the black hole of hostels and life of full blown drunk until his death in 2009. 21 year suicide.

I spoke with his Eldest sister, Joan. Auntie Joan, who i hadn';t seen since i was a kid. I visited her and we talked about him. She said how he would phone every Christmas, crying that he couldn't see his kids, and then laughing 5 minutes later. Classic alcoholism, he had told people he didn't have kids. Self pity anyone?

He would occasionally turn up in Llanelli looking like a tramp, get fed, cleaned up, new clothes and head back to London. He would threaten to come and visit and then not show up. He didn't like small talk on the phone, he was a clever man, but he was totally lost to alcoholism.

It was healing and invaluable for me to hear from all these people about him. It helped me create a whole picture and break down his life, piece together a timeline (oh god maybe the new Facebook has got it right after all) and it helped me get to know him better. It felt good. Closer. Like he was no longer a stranger. it gave him a humanity, when the flat and his last few years were anything but.

What it also gave me was a strong feeling about the various stages of alcoholism. His life seemed to be a textbook case of the disease. More so than anything else. Fuck leaving Las Vegas, his life was  true dedication to alcoholism.

From being young man with big dreams. Bullshit and bravado showing massive promise. Job, marriage 3 kids early.  Jacked in job after 20 years as they were all 'wankers'. Resentments. Welsh strong wife to prop him up. Secret drinking, lose house, violence. Police, court orders, turning up at school drunk. Violence.

Kicked out of home, go back to Wales full blown drunk, kicked out of llanelli, London, Park bench, street drunk, hostels, hospitals, health fade, liver failure, hospitalisation, let home, drunk, die, alone, funeral, 8 people, estranged kids. Alcoholism.

So that folks just about sums it up. I have covered the whole process and that is the closer. Easter weekend is about death, re-birth. Life. It is a celebration of life and for me, although it is a harrowing account of the process and death of an alcoholic. It is life affirming as it brought family closer together, it re-introduced people estranged for years. It gave an alcoholic peace and dignity and stopped the pain of living, it became full of love and healing. That to me signifies life, not death and for that i am happy.

I have enjoyed writing about it. It fires me up. Makes me passionate about alcoholism. I keep thinking of how can i make a difference. How can i use it as a positive life experience for people? Write a book about it? Write a biography of him "Loneliness of the Long Distance Alcoholic". Or write a play, do a comedy show for Edinburgh about it? Do talks? What to do? I'd like to do something as it feels right. I guess i need a little direction. A little guidance. Any suggestions readers?

It's at times like this, even at 39 years old, sometimes, just sometimes I'd like a Dad. To talk to, to discuss things with and most crucially right now, this week to borrow £8k off for an unexpected tax bill. Ooof. Now where is that number for Ladbrokes? May put a fiver on some activist jumping into the Thames and disrupting the Boat Race. I mean, as if..............

Nicholas Edward Evans

xx