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

Day 96 - Friday 6th April - Good Friday

Mileage 6; Time - 50 mins; Weekly Mileage 18 miles.
Good Friday. A Public holiday. The day Jesus was crucified. I personally don't follow any particular religion, though i consider myself spiritual of sorts. I believe in a god, not sure what it is but i know I'm not it.

Good Friday does mean something to me. I know people in my family who are deeply religious so i respect the day and the beliefs though I'm not quite sure why people eat hot cross buns to mark the day, isn't that a little like eating a cake made to look like the Twin Towers on September 11th? It's a bit macabre and in bad taste to me, particularly if they are the cheap ones from Lidel that taste like Cat Litter.

Lets face it, most people don't attend church. The people who are religious are in a minority. The vast amount of this country follow the religion of spending, eating, money, job, booze, drugs and Ipad. Whilst Jesus maybe the most iconic figure ever, more people post the words of Steve Jobs lectures than the Bible. How can this be? Well for me it's marketing.

If you think about it, Jesus looks way cooler than Steve Jobs did, long hair, beard, thin. A bit like a biblical Jim Morrison. Jesus nailed that Rock star look long before God made amplifiers. And Steve Job, specy & nerdy

Jesus didn't sell much other than a bit of woodwork. He was humble. Good. He thought he didn't need to sell anything, He was The son of God after all. Jesus Christ. Steve Jobs? He sold an idea. a cool gadget, a philosophy, a need. He made the world little followers of a cool gadget thing. He made the world think they need one, then the second, then the third and so on.

In short the Ipad is packaged so much better than religion. It's probably even got a Jesus App. I bet he doesn't get the royalties off that.Apple products are endorsed by people such as Obama, George Clooney and Angelina Jolie. Jesus is endorsed by Cliff Richard, my old RE teacher Ms Brown and that bloke on Oxford Street who marches up and down with a loud haler quoting the bible. Kind of puts you off?

The trouble with Jesus is that he has been packaged into being just too Songs of Praise. This is a shame, as Jesus was hardcore. That is forgotten. He didn't moan about being nailed to a cross when most kids these days moan about having to eat broccoli. Lazy little cunts.

And whilst I'm at it, since when did Steve Jobs perform any miracles? Other than wearing the same outfit for 20 years? Say what you like about God, but he certainly does a good sunset, and rise, and of course everything in between. He just needs to have a bit of slicker advertising and marketing, seeing that's what sells these days. Miracles? Nah fuck it, unless they are put in a 20 second clip on You Tube not interested. God clearly has to modernise to reach full impact, or then again maybe he'll wipe us all out (Japanese Tsunami anyone?) and start again as he's got just too pissed off by how out of control we are with capitalism? Basically what I'm saying is that I'm on board with God. I have more faith in God than an Ipod.

So, why am a talking about God, Jesus, Easter, Death and of course in the end rebirth. Well don't worry i'm not going to turn all born again Christian on you, as some people are so anti god and religion they will stop reading now. But this is not a religious blog, nor do i know enough about it. No today's blog is because as many of you may know, 3 years to roughly the day since my father died. 3 years ago he was found dead alone in his warden controlled flat in Fulham. (death) and also 11 years on Easter Sunday when i first walked into AA and said 'i have a problem with booze. I think I'm an alcoholic'. (rebirth)

It seems a little tright and simple. A little on the yucky side, but those are the facts. I can't ignore them. It has just seemed to turn out that way and as they seem to have fallen on these incredible religious and spiritual days, they are kind of really hard to ignore.

Three years ago after Easter, I was sat in my office (portacabin) at London Scottish FC, when I received a call from my Cousin, who I hadn’t spoken to, or seen since I was a kid. My father had 3 sisters and it was his eldest Sister’s son. He told me the news that my father had been found dead, in a flat in London and he couldn’t do anything, the welsh family were all old and infirm ed and could I sort out the details. I hadn’t seen my Father properly since I was 13. He had been lost to alcoholism since 1987. He had caused destruction and had relegated from normal life, too a life a life of hostels, doss houses, streets, park benches. We never knew where he was. He was a full blown alcoholic.

i'm honest it felt good to do it.

I was stunned at first of course, shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. Got used to not having a father. I remember weirdly Kenny Logan was in the office and he gave me a hug. Then I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend at the time. Elizabeth, who was amazing and a rock. Then I received a call from someone in AA who talked about themselves for a few minutes before asking me 1 – is it a good time to talk and 2- how am i? Talk about self obsession. They soon received the send off.

Then I started making the calls to the coroner. Try to find out the facts and piece together his life. Basically he lived in a warden controlled flat. On welfare for years. He had apparently been in and out of hospital for years with liver failure and host of other alcohol related problems. He had a hemorrhage in his sleep and was found dead after Easter, he had been laying dead, in his flat for a few days. Last seen before Easter, so i figured a man as egotistical and grandiose as him, born on Christmas Day 1946, probably died on or around Good Friday. Only he could do that!

The coroner was lovely stating that it would have been quick and he wouldn't have suffered. But they were holding the body and had to make funeral arrangements. Jesus, I'd never prepared myself for that.

Anyway, i went to where he lived and spoke to the warden who put some pieces of the jigsaw together and it was then, that the real details of the alcoholics life were brought to life. He lived in flat 3 of an old peoples block for 3 years, looking disheveled and tramp like most of the time. Leaving early to go and drink with his pals on Shepperd's Bush Green and coming back late at night. He said he didn't have kids (3 of us) and had effectively blocked out his past. (I don't blame him or am angry or hurt, it's just the pain of alcoholism - imagine normal people saying how can you do that? Too painful for him i guess so much easier to say you didn't have any)

So, i got the keys to his flat. I needed to see where he died. How he lived and get any details, papers and articles. The warden warned it wasn't nice. That he had been dead in bed for days. I was with my Mum and Elizabeth. I wanted to go alone, but they insisted.

Nothing prepared us for that flat. A small place. We opened the door and the stench of death was overwhelming. The heating was on full blast, it was a mild Easter and it was just a horrible smell. Disgusting. On the left was the kitchen. Bare, no cutlery, plates or anything. Just an ironing board with a book on it. A Rebus book from Ealing hospital library and rather ironically a book on health. In the fridge was an old fish and chip dinner out of date by 5 weeks.

Then the living room. Bare. 1 chair. A guitar, Free newspapers. Hospital papers and that was it. Empty. soulless.

Then bathroom. Filthy. Covered in blood on walls and toilet. Like he had been throwing up blood for years. A horrid state,

And finally the worse room. The bedroom. A room on looking that was an utter synopsis of the end of the road for an alcoholic. Fuck Tracey Ermin's Bed installation. If i was to do one entitled alcoholism. i would reproduce the room. It was horrifying, upsetting, shocking, sad. I was used to it through experience of alcoholics, but it hadn't prepared Elizabeth or My Mum for it. They were visibly upset and shaken.

The stench was horrid. There was blood on the empty bed where he had died. There were clothes and knee deep rubbish all around the room. Empty bottles of vodka, cider and High strength lager strewn around. Blood spattered paperwork next to the bed. an umbrella open on bed. Just shit and devastation. Fuck me. It was just grizzly death place.

I had to look around for his wallet. So i found his trousers on floor. And this to me sums up alcoholism for those of you who don't understand it is a mental illness with a massive ego and self esteem divorced from reality. He had a pair of chinos (shit stained) with a dressing gown cord as a belt and in the pocket of these trousers which signified someone who had given up, were 2 combs. 2 combs! Clearly he still thought he 'had it' even at the end. That is the delusion of alcoholism, and always makes me smile when i think about it. Alcoholism is tragic funny. You have to see the humour to feel the sadness.

His wallet was a Freedom Travel pass and i found a cash card, money (fuck me can i have 25 years of child support payments please?) a picture of him, which we didn't recognise, yet did at same time. The arrogant menacing look and the nose broken and face ravaged with booze) and i found a piece of paper with 2 names and numbers. 1 a woman he was with for a while but who left him to go to New Zealand, her number and the other, my name 'Nicki (as he called me) Evans (son) and my number. I think that got me the most. Clearly it was numbers to contact in case someone found him.  Like he knew his fate, Prepared for it. He carried me around with him throughout. Makes me cry. As i passed his flat so many times, i lived 2 miles away and i never knew he was there.

I took in the scene. Said a prayer. Talked to him. We took some paperwork and left. We were all stunned. Went for a coffee and sat in stunned silence and shock and sadness. Elizabeth never knew or heard about him, but she was so sad to see someone end up like that. If someone who doesn't know alcoholism or know the person at all, felt a connection and sadness on seeing that - then it can have a profound effect on people's attitudes to alcoholism. My Mum was so upset as she married this charismatic man, full of life and fun and stature. She had 3 children with him, she went through years of horrific alcoholism with him, yet for her to see his final years like this was massively upsetting for her. Tragic. It left a print in time on all of our minds.

And for me? I don't know. He was my father. My hero. I looked up to him, Sought his approval. i was his son. I was upset of course, But i guess 10 years in AA, helping lots of newcomers or low bottom drunks, going to hostels etc - made me sort of used to what i had seen. I was also there to do a job, get my father buried with dignity and organise the details. I was shocked but i think i had better preparation than E and Ma. Having said that, it still shook the fuck out of me. Though if I'm being honest i had buried emotions years ago. and i still suffer from it. A little on the emotionless side. And i was struggling with this conflict. I saw the sadness for all alcoholics and i felt the personal pain of losing my father like this.

So those were the circumstances. A few things that stuck in my mind. The warden said my Dad was funny and joking that he discovered Charlotte Church. I emailed her management team and they had never heard of Mike Evans. I'm not sure she frequented Shepherds Bush Green much, though i admire his Grandiosity.

The other was my brother Rob, organising the funeral dorectors and getting a discount deal. Great businessman, his Dad, a born bullshitting salesman would have been proud.

I want to put what i said at his funeral. 8 of us there. Mortlake Crematorium. No-one there post 1987. Another example of how alcoholism robs you of life. A vivid example. It was a long slow suicide. A living death. A textbook case of alcoholism.

Here are the words i wrote and said at the funeral as we got him cremated to the sound of Welsh Male Voice Choir singing Abide with Me, and also fantastically the Theme Tune to Minder. (idea Mark my eldest brother) The last time we were together as a family. A happy nostalgic memory before the alcoholism took over. Here are the words i shall end this blog with. And if anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease read on. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of AA read on. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then read on. He is an inspiration for me. The reason i do marathons and want sobriety and want to do great things. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Don't know what it is to be man. But in this time i felt a man Here it is;. I knew what to do. I felt God. I felt compelled. I felt at peace. Here are the words from the funeral. Thank you for reading ;

David Michael Evans – 1944 – 2009 – My Father. Dad

My memories of my father are slightly faded. I last saw him when his Grandaughter, Nadia Eloise was born 18 years ago in 1991, I was 18 myself. I think that is why i have felt so warm and protective of Nadia. He was dressed all in green, though I don’’t think you could call him the green goddess. I saw him for 20 minutes.

Before that, I last saw him when I was 13 years old. Just a boy, all Miami Vice pastel colours and acne.

It seems strange talking about my father – when all my memories I have of him are as a boy. The builders bum, the endless mutterings, the dodgy DIY, the stash of adult mags, the Farah's, the B&H, the Ford Granada's, the beard, the accent, the size of him, the nose, the eyes, the stare.

He was a big man, both in size and character. He was funny – but I used to draw the line at his corned beef hash and marrow fat peas.

He reminded me of a cross between a Welsh Regan and Carter from the Sweeney, all cheap nylon suits and Celtic charisama.

But He was my Dad and I loved him so. When we lost him to the booze, I remember being so sad and asking why?

Me, Rob and Mark (my brothers) went to visit him in the Salvation Army to plead with him to sort himself out, to stop drinking, to be our Dad again. He couldn’t and didn’t – he was ill. I remember feeling so sorry for him and so sad that it was tragic – and now years later that is the overriding feeling I have now. Sad and tragic –

Then my thoughts of my father were as a boy – But Now I am a man, and I still feel that hurt today. To see his last few years and how he lived makes me sad. All that talent, all that love. Such a shame

He missed so much in that last 20 years. His son’s growing up, his granddaughters Nadia and Jade. His Sisters, 3 Welsh grand slams, my 1^st comedy gig, my London marathons and all the little life events that make it so special to share with the ones you loved.

In many ways he was a stranger, a distant Dad over the past 20 years. But he was my dad, our Dad. And in his sad death he becomes alive in us all – his family and friends.

Death is so sad. A loss, however it can do good things – and that can happen out of Dad’s death. It has reconnected us with him, with our past, it has put him back with the ones who loved him. Today we are here, together to honour, to remember, to pay our respects even when you didn’t know you had any to give.

He was ill, he was lost, he was alone and now he isn’t. He is here – with us, with his family and friends and will soon be with his father and mother -he is going home, to Llanelli, to Wales to be at peace.

So Dad, it has come full circle, all the things that we didn’t get the chance to say then – we can say now. I forgive you, We forgive you, I love you, We love you - you are my Dad and you will always be so in my heart, in my head and in my life. Stay with us Dad this time and never let go – you are missed even if you never thought you were – We never stopped loving you.

The pain is over  for you. It is time to let go. To find peace – we are reunited and I hope and pray that we all pause for 1 moment to think of a good memory of David Michael Evans (or whoever you miss or have lost and loved) , a funny moment that will make you smile………

I love you Dad. Goodbye – May God love you forever

RIP David Michael Evans

Day 95 - Thursday 5th April

Mileage 5 - Time 40 minutes; Weekly Mileage 12

Woke up with a spring in my step. Why? Could it be the fact it's a long weekend ahead? Could it mean I'm off down to Wales soon to see my Nan and family for 'The Only Way is Llanelli'? Could it be because i am back running and eating healthily? Well, maybe, but in truth i think it's because i did 2 of my best blog posts yesterday and feel proud and pleased with my writing.

Not because it's amazingly superb, more because i was true to myself and put some effort into it. Certainly makes me feel that maybe i have a little more going for me than Work and sleep. It gave me an inner positivity.

I also got some groovy posts about the blog from people. Thank you for that if it was one of you, and thank you for reading this if it wasn't one of you. I appreciate both. Good to know that people laugh, cringe, cry, hate and love it in equal measures. Good to provoke a response.

And so Easter approaches. Always an emotional time for me, as i always try to set the world Easter egg eating record. I'm going for 345 double Decker eggs this time. Only a fiver from Aldi.

Not really, Easter is a big time for everyone right? A celebration of rebirth. New life. A Christian Religious celebration. For me it is especially pertinent. My father died 3 years ago on Good Friday. A sad alcoholic death. (Not that he was arrogant or special and different but he was born on Christmas Day and died on Good Friday) and on Easter Sunday 2001 i walked into my 1st AA meeting realising i had a real problem with alcohol. So for me it is a mix of emotions.

After decent day at work, buying Choc eggs for the girls, i went to the gym for a short swift run on treadmill (save my feet n legs) and churned out 5 miles in swift time (for me) Then onto a meeting, so today I'm keeping it well simple and I'm happy.

Roll on Easter, it shall be an interesting time

xx

Day 94 - Weds 4th April

Mileage 7; Time 55 minutes; Weekly Mileage 7 miles

Finally felt OK enough to get out and notch up 7 miles, steady and felt great to get out and run. Now the taper is on, meaning mileage will come down, though it's not as if I've been overdoing it, but plan is to eat well, do shorter, quicker runs and bring the overall mileage down. No point in being spangled come marathon day.

Oh god have i turned into a marathon bore. I have been training for 12 weeks, averaging 40 miles a week, though i had 4 weeks off for injury. I have clocked up 500 miles. The equivalent of London to Orkney Isles. I have spent roughly 60 hours training, the equivalent of 120 episodes of Emmerdale and just as interesting sometimes. It's an investment in time and energy, though not a patch on all the time I've invested in ahem, nonspiritual pursuits in the past.

I've written every day for 94 days, 3 months, 12 weeks and posted approximately 100 links on Facebook and twitter with links to this blog. Result? Well 14 official followers on Google Plus, on average 4 likes per post and an occasional comment or two on Facebook. I'm not going to lie, i haven't actually taken the world by storm. Maybe I'll hit 20 followers by the end of the Marathon?

I know that people read it now and again. I also know that there is so much competition for information on Facebook, blogs and other areas, people's time is short. So to follow this blog every day is a bit of an ask.

My insecurity and need for outside affirmation wants to be fed constantly. Was it any good. Are you reading it? Do you like it? Those questions are never far away from my mind after a post. But that's OK. It's not that important.

My ego wants to be followed by 1000's of people, getting feedback like, oh i so identify with you, you're so great at writing, here's a cheque on an advance for a book can you write one, you know that kind of feedback. I'm realistic

I know you're supposed to do links, and encrypt keywords etc within a blog, be sophisticated in technological marketing etc to make an audience, build a following. But truth is I'm just not that good at it, and it requires so much effort. Oh fuck, i forgot I'm a marketing Manager. Ooops! Says it all really. Best keep that quiet or I'll be on the bins by end of the week.

So, what am i saying here? Well just that I'm settling on the fact i am not a marathon bore, I've tried to vary the posts. It;s not about the amount of followers, it's the quality and you my friends reading this are sen-fucking-sational. You are the true hardcore. The real quality ones. You are magnificent and I'd like you to put a little smile on your lips, wherever you are. Whether you be on the bus, in your pants, in Singapore or tied up naked with a tangerine in your mouth, and pat yourself on the back. (well all of you apart from those of you tied up or if you don't have any hands)

No matter who we are or where we are, we are all living our lives. All damaged or happy, all stressed or relaxed, all going through our own stuff. Some of us are married, happily, unhappily, have kids or not. Single, alone or with friends. Some of us are social some loners, some work hard and are focused and some of us are not. Basically we are all the same and all totally different at the same time, but sometimes we all need someone to say. 'You're ok'. Your a good person. You're doing well. We're all proud of you. Keep it up.We're in it together.

On marathon day you put your name on your vest and you get unconditional encouragement all the way round the course from half a million strangers. It is overwhelming. I used to look at it on TV with total cynicism and hatred. scorning the flowery music and the crying runners and think what a load of shit, it's only a fucking run!

But having done it, i understand it. I get it. The love and support is superb. It's a coming together of humanity. The hardest looking blokes covered in tattoos massed outside roughhouse pubs in Rotherithe drinking Super T and looking like they would spit you out for breakfast, look you in the eye and scream encouragement. It's fucking ace. Class and barriers don't exist. Social demographics are melted. It's the total opposite of the riots. London is like one big AA meeting. There is love and support for fellow mankind and it's a beautiful thing.

So what I'm saying tonight, because Easter approaches and not because I'm religious, more because Good Friday is the 3rd anniversary of my Father's death and Easter Sunday 11 years ago is when i first realised i had alcoholism and if i continued i would end up dying like my father did a lonely alcoholic after a 27 year suicide. Alone. In pain. Alcoholic. For me it's an emotional time and Easter signifies life.

So, for me Marathon is life. It;s a sign of my sobriety, One of the only things i actually do instead of saying I'm going to do. It's a physical fact. And it's full of love and compassion and all the things that are in very short supply in all our busy lives. Certainly mine, especially at work in the city.It's my favourite London day of the year. If alcoholism signifies lonely death, sobriety signifies life and love. My struggle is the pull between the two.

Don't get me wrong, there are points in the marathon that are fucking horrible. You're

What is equally beautiful is writing this blog. I love it. I love doing it and i love it i have kept it up and talked about my head, my life, my worries. I have bared my soul and the fact that some people read it and comment is a bonus.

The reason i write it? Because  as you may have noticed the tone and narrative and subject of it has changed since the first sentence of this post. It has helped change my mind, my mood and got me thinking. For that alone it is worth doing.

So thanks for reading it. It's like a little electronic marathon day as we come together from all parts of the world. Makes me happy, well tonight anyway, maybe tomorrow I'll go back to being a miserable bastard!

Now, please go an find me a publisher and get that cheque in the post!

Big love people

xx

Day 93 - Tuesday 3rd April

Mileage 0

Tired and feeling unwell again today. Candida or whatever it is, is on me. Eyes dark, dog tired, dry mouth, very low energy and constantly craving sugar. Hard to concentrate, focus and I'm totally bloated with excruciatingly bad wind. Sorry to say it, but it really is a terrible problem when you work in an office with 100 people. I think i shall move my desk into the fire escape. I should be quarantined. Yuk

Consequently today was a 'nothing day'. Did what i needed to do at work and left before rush hour. All i wanted to do was get back, shut the door and sleep. No training today. Can't face running or training today. It's basically a bad hangover, which is a bit frustrating seeing as i didn't have the pleasure of getting totally fucked last night, ending up in Bromley, at a party at 6am with 2 ladies of the night and a midget., mind you that never happened when i was drinking i just got lairy, punched outm kicked out, blacked out and arrested.

I suppose I'm going to have to go and see some kind of expert to get it cleared up, either that or start drinking again. Maybe that will have a double negative and cure this poison in me. Though to be fair Dr Evans has been somewhat wide of the mark with some self diagnosis in the past. I thought i had a double hernia once, turned out to be a mosquito bite in the groin. The there was lymphatic cancer, which on GP's advice was a heavy cold. I think therefore i should leave medical prognosis's to the professionals.

Talking of doctor's i  was watching Supersize v Superskinny, which is effectively medically controlled cruelty. For anyone who hasn't seen it, They get a Germanic looking Doctor, I think it's Dr Cripin, all blond hair and teeth, who looks like the bloke who was lead singer of ABC. He is the presenter, and he effectively scares people shit less about Obesity all over the world.

Premise is they get a load of massive fatties and a load of massively undernourished puny thinnies, most of which have an eating disorder, put them in a house together for 36 hours and they are forced to eat each other's diets. Prooves to be a bit of a struggle for both. To see the thinnies get through colossal portions of burgers, pizzas, chips, crumble etc and the fatties used to feeding all day have to have 1 tiny meal a day is painful stuff.

Anyway, they also highlight the problems with obesity worldwide and how over eating or food/sugar is as harmful as heroin or any other drug. More people die from obesity, and related disorders than anything else, booze and drugs combined. Plus the strain (no pun intended) it puts on health care, welfare is enormous (again no pun) - so consequently it is a massive (pun) problem for today's society.

To see last night's was interesting as it took in an Over Eaters anonymous meeting and showed over eating or eating disorder as a form of addiction, which I'm on board with.

The food companies are like drug dealers, injecting sugar into cereals etc to get kids hooked when they are young, and the amount of shit they put in all the foods, salt, lard, fat, sugar, additives, are all designed to appeal to the taste buds and get people hooked. They are cunts. And do you think the government idea of putting a warning sign on a packet of digestives will put off a chronically obese person hopelessly addicted to food and sugary shit. will it fuck. what a ludicrous idea. The government are total fucking morons. Especially as Clegg, Cameron and Osbourne look like the love a Malt Loaf or two.

Anyway i digress, what amused me last night, is that GP's in America and now a little over here, are diagnosing these poor people as Not only Morbidly Obese (hate that term as if i was that fat i would be fucking morbid, no need to name me that too you rude bastards. Stick with clinical Obese. You don't get people Morbidly Depressed do you?  No it's clinical depression. Sounds much more credible then) .

As if that's not bad enough, they are also diagnosing them with Binge Eating Syndrome. No shit? Stating the obvious. If you're touching 30 stone and not your toes, there clearly is a problem with eating. Do you need a syndrome attached to that to know that's the case. Apparently it's that people cannot process emotions and feelings so will constantly eat and binge to mask the feelings.. I'm a binge eater, i can go along with that, but the medical profession have been so inappropriate and insensitive here in naming it that.

Most people who are obese, or most women, and quite alot of men (including myself) Get down and depressed when you have put on weight. When you are really big that makes you shy away, be super sensitive and low self esteem. I should know, although i wasn't massively obese i was nudging 16 stone and had big man tits and flab, and as a kid i was chubby with man tits and i was soooo embarrassed. It is harsh and i feel so sorry for anyone who suffers no matter what their condition. Now there is nothing wrong with being big. Nothing wrong with being chubby, or real, whatever makes you happy, but there is a line when people become dangerously obese. Can i just call it Fat please? Old school.

So with all this in mind. With the need to be sensitive about people's weight, about their self esteem because of their size, they go and diagnose this as Binge Eating Syndrome, otherwise known as B.E.D. Bed!!! The very thing that signifies giving up. What do you do when you eat the entire bakery section of Asda? Go to bed. Sleep, feel miserable, hide away. Then when you get the craving again. eat more, in bed., Just give up doc hey. Thanks doc, you've made me feel great. Just book that winch to get me out of bed through the window to hospital and make a channel 4 documentary called '50 stone B.E.D'. Bed. It's the thing you're sent to when you're naughty and 5. It;s what you take to when you're depressed. It's illness. It's fucking ridiculous calling obese people that. Clinical Over eating, anything other than bed. Come on medical profession!


Anyway, i believe in people, i believe in change and i respect anyone trying to change themselves for the better, no matter if they fall alot or don't succeed I'm just so emotional and love to see people try. It gives me hope.

And please do not thing I'm fattest, as I'm not. I know i may comment alot about it, but i try to be funny and joke about it. Why because underneath this lithe and lean marathon runner lies a morbidly obese man, as given half the chance i would be doing exactly the same as those people. I just love to eat. Show me a family pack of cakes, clubs, kit Kat's, breakaways, blue ribbons, fig rolls, Garibaldi's. Jafa cakes, Tunnocks Tea cakes, ad infintum and I'll show you an empty packet and a load of crumbs.

scoff scoff bloggers

xx

Day 92 - Monday 2nd April

Mileage 0 -  (7 mile cycle in the Gym though) Weekly Mileage 0

Today, instead of talking about the Monday blues. About how full of fear i felt. About how uninspired at work i felt. How unsatisfied with my lot. How my glass is half empty. How the old devils in my head are loud and clear. How ungrateful i am.

Instead of writing about how utterly fucked off i am at my inability to stick at things, work at them and get good at them. Comedy (dabbled but not continued) Joke writing (stopped after a month) Guitar (3 lessons) Personal Training (1 client) - This blog is the only thing i've kept at consistently for over 3 months.

Instead of writing how demoralised and unhappy i am at my sloth and fear, and how it keeps me down there. Hard to read isn't this? Full of depressive self abusive, hard on one self, self obsessed negativity. No answer, No lightness. No release. Self Pity. If it was like this all the time you wouldn't return or read on would you? Well do so, it's about to change......

Well readers, welcome to my world, Hard to read. God you want to try living in it full time. It's my head on a bad day. It is loud, it's full on, it's negative. It's like listening to Chris Moyles breakfast Show playing Radiohead on a loop 24 hours a day. There's No end to it. Understand why i used to drink now?

So............. instead of talking about all that is wrong, as i listed above I'm going to talk about the solution instead. I rang my AA sponsor and had a good long talk, i went to an AA meeting and shared loud and long to get the shit in my head out. It worked exactly the same way as the pub and alcohol used to. Shit day? Feel Bad? Well off to the pub, few beers let off steam and then get on the piss. Good day? off to the pub. Pressure build up in head.Off to the Pub. In short, my problem? Me and my head.

Instead these days, i do the call, get the message, get to a meeting have a share up to relieve the pressure and i feel better. Normal. Better for me and it makes the Police's and everyone elses life easier.

So what effects this change? Well tonight readers I'm going to have to own up and say the word that is guaranteed to switch people off. "Whats that?" i hear you say, if you haven't actually killed yourself yet. Well, that word. 3 letters, Many meanings.  God.

"Oh god' they cry. Well, no I'm not going to preach. I want to talk about it. To understand it. Hell, i need to get a bit more of it in my life.

I used to hate God. My thoughts on it were Songs of Praise, Aled Jones and sensible knitwear. All those fucking do gooders, prancing around with tambourines and pissing around at harvest festival time. They didn't blink, they didn't have fun and they were weak. That pretty much summed up my attitude to people with faith. I was open minded back then you see.

My Grandfather, Idwyll Isaac Evans, was a Fire and Brimstone Welsh Lay Preacher. He was a fabulous speaker, dreadful bully and awful driver. Kind of put me off the church as my exposure to it was in Llanelli, where it was attended by old people in beige or grey, in Sunday Best, smelling of cabbage, talking about baking cakes and compost. The organ hummed quietly, there was that awful hush in peoples voices and the whole thing just felt wrong to me.

They love a bit of misery in Llanelli. So consequently funerals were packed as were other religious celebrations, although they looked to be doing anything other than celebrating. Moralistic, old fashioned, judgmental bastards. And that was just the choir. It didn't leave a good impression on me.

And thus my attitude continued like this throughout my childhood, into adulthood. Clearly when i was drinking and getting pissed i had little or no spiritual or religious empathy or interest. In my old open minded, liberal mindset, that was for 'pussies'. I was stuck.

And so to my relationship with the big fella over the last 10 years. Clearly when i went to AA and was asked to believe in a God. A power greater than myself. This was a huge problem for me, as my image was in the traditional God of Wales. Mrs Organ Morgan and Sunday best in twin set and pearls. I wasn't prepared to believe in that. I was 28. I wanted to rock. OK, my life was a mess, i was paranoid, overweight, couldn't stop drinking, emotionally weak and completely fucked. But God? No, fuck no. Please. Don't do that? All i want to do is stop drinking. How about the God of Vodka?

But when someone pointed out God could mean, Great Out Doors, Good orderly Direction or Group of Drunks. As i have quoted before, someone told me "The Only Thing you Need to Know about God, Nick, Is that You're Not Fucking it" - that became a little easier. I was prepared to believe in something. AA helped me stay sober. i couldn't on my own, so that was good enough for me. Bigger than me. Not down to me. And i liked that.

And that is pretty much how it has stayed throughout the last 10 years. I handed my alcohol over every day and so far i havent drunk, but the rest of it, well i figured god wouldn't need to bother and i can handle finance, romance and everything in between. Result? Well I'm not exactly swinging from the chandeliers am i?



Well, the answer to all of those are probably No. I don't feel god. I still have reservations. I am still reluctant to completely 'trust in god'. I do the actions but i don't FEEL them within me. If id really do will i effectively turn into Cliff Richard and start wearing my jumper over my shoulders?

I've been praying like a bastard, but i can't help get the feeling I've been going through prayers like a newsreader reading the autocue without actually feeling them. When life is going OK and my head is quiet it's not so much of a problem. When my head is loud and negative, and that girl hasn't texted, my bank balance is low, I've had a crap day, when the comedy club goes badly, when i feel stuck. When i feel lonely and low. Well, basically it's like Vietnam in the head. Apparently according to wise ones, that is the gap that God can fill. Faith in that instead of people, places or things. Apparently it gives you an inner strength and confidence. Something i severely lack and have filled up with booze, women, food, sex, running and many other things over the years.

Faith that there is a plan. That things will work out. That it won't all turn to shit. That it's just my perception, my head. That it's not necessarily the truth. That I'm not as much of a twat as my inner voice tries to tell me. When that is in place, i feel fuck loads better. Lighter, more hopeful.

I get the fact that i can't just lay on the sofa watching Cash in the Attic waiting for God to deliver me splendid things. Much as i want to. But there is that fabulous phrase 'God will give you the shovel but  you've got to do the digging'. Ahhh, i get it now.

And then it gets me thinking about why i am so turned off by religion. Because for me, if that process works. If it makes me feel better than that's great and i appreciate it. However, other people may be able to figure that out themselves. The self sufficient. Or people may use other forms of mediation, work, family, friends, life, challenges to get that comfort, faith and direction. Some people Just know how to. Some people do use faith and religion and a skin tight faith in God, or Allah or Buddha or whatever God you want to attain that.

Difference between a personal spiritual faith and some religious ones is that i would never preach to you that you should do as i do. That i have the upper hand in belief. That my God is bigger and better than your god, like some sort of 13 year old trying to win an argument. That i am enlightened and you are in the dark.

That's what i see from a lot of organised religion and if I'm being honest it's not for me. That is not to put down any other people who do follow it. Good luck to everyone and people have their own paths.

But if my religion is better than yours i find it odd. Because if God really did exist, do you think he would have an ego? Saying that he was better than you? I don't think so, so why do so many organised religions fall into that trap. I guess for that reason, as they say in Dragons Den, 'I'm Out'.

Blimey folks I'm not sure where that came from. Congratulations if you've read all the way. I promise tomorrows blog will be short and funny. It will be Danny Devito. But i needed to get that off my chest.

Now, surely it's time for bed? I so wish i put as much time into praying as i have to masturbating. Blimey, if i had, by now i would be a cross between Florence Nightingale and Princess Diana. Come to mention it, those two were a couple of lookers. Where's the Kleenex? Please God take away such immoral thoughts........................

Until tomorrow joggers

xx

Day 91 - Sunday 1st April - Last Long Un

Mileage 20 miles; Time 2 hours 54mins; weekly mileage 40

April Fools Day. 3 weeks until marathon. My April Fools? Undoubtedly my Barnet today. It's developed a mind of it's own. Seems to be heading towards the jedwood/Beavis and Butthead area. That has to be an April Fools?

So to today. Three weeks left so i avoided the Kingston Breakfast run in favour of another 20 miler. I think i need another long one under my belt as I'm i haven't done enough of the real painful ones to prepare me. Time will tell, though that has been my downfall in the past.

The other downfall I've had in the past, not eating enough pre race, or binging on sugary shit the day before leaving me utterly fucked race day and running out of energy on mile 20. Either that or staying up way too late shagging. No chance of that this time.

I didn't eat though, as I've been ill all week and massive bloated stomach trouble so i thought i would try and survive on an oat cake and see how far i can last.

After my customary deliberation, shall i run early or later? meeting 1st or not? On and on i pontificated. Granted the designated pre training run diet of silk cut, tea, water, banana and oat cake is not in any of the marathon text books but it apparently is in mine. I decided to go out early.

It was sunny, weather cool. There were no excuses. On went the lycra, headband and i remembered to Vaseline up my nipples, toes and bollocks. I'm sure you're thrilled to know that. I decided for the 1st time to take my Ipod and listen to music. A new departure for me.

I liked it immediately as i listened to Queens of Stone Age, The Doors, Everlast and many more banging tunes. I really got into it and remembered why running to music is so cool as the adrenaline flowed through me quicker than a Vindaloo on senecol. I ate up the miles along the towpath, up to Richmond park (7 miles) and around the park i felt strong and powerful and in a great rhythm. I was loving it, smiling, feeling the buzz and visualising the marathon. Jimi Hendrix belted out and i kicked strong. It got a little tougher on around mile 12, but i felt OK and chugged along out of the park (14 miles) and back down to Richmond and the towpath back to Barnes. That's where it got tough (15 miles)

Basically i ran out of energy. I didn't take any fuel with me, and i hit the wall early. I'd gone off too quick too soon and not eaten enough. I entered into a world of pain. My pace slowed to that of a Mexican waiter. Crawling along. Stephen Hawkwind could have beaten me. I was fucked. Worse still i was 5 miles from home.

I crawled along the Towpath, Kew Bridge took ages to get to. Has someone moved it in the last hour? My mind was saying stop. Stop and walk. Give up. My stride got shorter than Simon Cowell's trousers. I was in trouble. And then it happened. The ultimate test of humility. The ego deflation only marathon running can do. I was passed by a 70 year old. Easily.

She sailed past, with her hubbie following her on a bike with nutrition and i was left for dead by a woman nearly double my age. Granted she looked like a proper marathon runner. But even so i was crushed. I looked around to see if there were any other pensioners on mobility scooters or walking frames about to pass. Luckily the coast was clear.

I was so knackered, almost starting to hallucinate, that i didn't care anymore. All i was thinking about was finishing. I finally did so on 2 hours 54 mins. Slower than last week and the polar opposite. Last week i felt shit for 12 miles and strong for last few. Today was the opposite. The running equivalent of premature ejaculation. I shot my bolt far too early.

Same as last years marathon, so in many ways it's good I've got this out of my system before the day, as i cannot do this again, because the thought of another 6 miles on top of how terrible i felt was a horrible feeling. World of Pain.

I did it though. Celebrated with a double meeting, some grub and my first fresh juice in ages. carrot, broccoli and spirulina. Which is sodding rank. I'd rather drink my own piss than that stuff. Fuck me, give me a tequila any day. Yuk

So there we have it. A quiet April Fools. Healthy and ran 28 miles this weekend. I'm better, I've got the mileage, I've made mistakes so it's all geared up for a good 'run in' for the marathon as i taper down now, from Ginsters slices, to scotch eggs, to savoury eggs and then finally to mini eggs. It;s a crucial process.

Tired now so I'm off to bed. Enjoy the video i posted and if you fancy helping me out, I'd well appreciate a bit of sponsorship. Link at top of the page

big love people have a tidy week

xxx