Importance of a Health Reset - Samui Delivers again

You wait over 3 years for a blog, then another comes along two days later. Typical. Just like London buses. In fact, hold on. What am I on about? It's nothing like London buses. Buses come in 5's or 6's because everywhere in London is shut or at a standstill - stuck behind Uber drivers staring gormlessly

at their screens trying to figure out which is left or right.

In fact, what a stupid turn of phrase. I've gone right off beam. I've lost it. Sorry. I've probably lost you before I've even got you. What must you think of me? Three years out of this writing lark has clearly robbed me of my creative powers. I used to be so good. Promise. If you're new to this blog - I was shit hot. Honest.

Now? I can't even get my metaphors right. Let alone spell them. Plus only 126 people read my blog yesterday. My last blog in 2017 - 'the day I shat myself in the London marathon',  got 2,500 views. Yep. Two and a half thousand of you read that masterpiece.

AND I got endless emails and comments from people crying with laughter. Several people messaged me saying, 'I literally had tears running down my cheeks reading it'. I replied 'Funny that as I literally had shit running down mine'. I didn't hear from them again.

Instead, this time round, one hundred and twenty fucking six. I mean if you were one of them, thanks. But no disrespect, Uber drivers probably get more views. I need to up my game. The Nick Evans isn't happy about 126 measly reads.. He's used to being in the upper echelon of blogland. He's the big blog Daddy. The blog daddy. Daddy blog. Bloggy. Blaggy. Doggy. Dodgy. Ah fuck it. Someone quite high up in blog world.

TNE's shouldn't be scratching around the bottom of the blog pond with other losers desperate for 'likes' and views. Bet they didn't have to resort to sending links to people on what's App groups they don't even use anymore like TNE did. Not that those cunts read it. They probably got yet another notification that is irrelevant to their life from @TNE and thought, 'fuck that, delete. He's chasing likes"

Fuck. Don't they know who I think I am?!!!! Here's me. A respectable business owner. A lifestyle guru. A self styled legend in his own Speedos having to resort to 'chasing views'. In my 30's I was chasing skirt, Now it's views. My life is over. Kill me now. On hundred and twenty fucking six!!! Blog Pond Vermin.

Anyway. Back to the blog. As the title may have said. I'm on holiday, in Thailand. Koh Samui. I've been here 8 days now, 9 by the time I publish this (publish as in save it, edit, then click 'live' - not publish as in get a publisher to edit, bind all my blog topics together into a publication and publish as a fresh, new, dynamic & funny self help book. Of course they wouldn't do that. Why? because nobody gives a shit about blogs with one hundred and twenty six fucking views!!!! That's why. Publishers would rather publish some lavatory paper with a skidmark from an Uber driver than my pisshole blog with one and twenty six views. In fact perhaps I should change the title of the blog from 'Inside Job' to 'Totally irrelevant one hundred and twenty fucking six job.'

God, steady TNE. Sorry readers. I'm getting a little het up there. I mean I need to kickstart my recovery head into play here. Be grateful for the readers you have got. Not the ones you haven't. You're probably thinking. 'That wanker is slating me as one of the 126. Who the fuck does he think he is?!

Sorry. You're right. My bad, I need to be more grateful and nurture my readership. Groom them like a Radio 1 DJ. Bring them along for the ride. And I need to be more gentle on myself too. It's early days. Only my second blog in 3 years. 126 is a decent start. With some blinding digital marketing advice, snazzy hash tags, A great editor, someone writing some better content and giving it to someone else to do, the views will be up in no time. What have I got to worry about? Relax! You're on holiday!

And that's the point of this week. De stress. Relax. Switch off. Chill. I swear to God guys. I haven't had more than 2/3 days off in 3 years. I have been like a tightly coiled spring for ages. Never having set up a business before you go at 100 mph all the time and get involved in literally everything. Until 8 days ago when I got on a plane and came to Thailand for a 10 day break.

Now I know what you're thinking (or maybe). Thailand. A white, middle aged 47 year old man coming to Thailand. King of the happy ending. Nudge nudge, wink wink. But honestly this is the place I've been coming to for 15 years and I don't, nor ever have, got involved in that nonsense. I actually come here to get away from it in London! I need a rest!

I come to Samui because I know it. It's got a great recovery community. It is known as a detox and fasting Island. People usually come here who are burnt out, looking for a quick health fix, or weight loss or whatever it is they want to get away from.

I did my first 7 day fast in 2006, which gave me tremendous energy afterwards and a good flush out. I've done it off and on over the past few years. It's like rehab for your health. Usually I have done it at a health spa which has yoga, meditation and all that shit. (I have been known over the years to indulge in such spiritual practises I just don't make a song and dance about it), and AA meetings.

Even without fasting, I have used Samui as a health reboot. Sun, heat, humidity, kosher massage, fresh clean food, running, a little exercise, meetings, reading, sleeping, resting and rebooting. Sometimes you drop a couple of kilos too (in weight not Narcos), which for someone who has always struggled with sugar, over-eating, weight and body image stuff is always helpful.

This year, no fast, no spa (it's shut) and I have stayed at the 4 star hotel next-door. I've stayed here a few times and it's always quiet, which I love. It's away from the main tourist bit, in a quiet stretch of lamai and it suits me. I needed to thaw out. I was burnt out. Launching Evolution and leading the charge almost continually over 2 years took it's toll mentally, physically and spiritually. I needed to recharge.

I'd also got into a pretty unhealthy routine. The ironic thing about being a trainer, instructor, coach, business owner, CEO, boss, motivator, entrepreneur is that the last person you tend to have time to look after is yourself. Now, I am pretty open that I have had terrific addiction issues around lots of things. Putting down the drugs and drink at 28, meant it triggered a whole load of other secondary addictions including sugar, binge eating, over-eating, under eating, exercise, sex, women, DVD boxsets, holidays, Ironman triathlons, getting a 6 pack and biceps (fed my sex/women addiction) and i have found living a balanced, healthy lifestyle, diet difficult. For most of my 30's i survived on 40 silk cut, 12 cans of diet coke, a 6 mile run and tins of tuna save for the occasional binge. I was lean as fuck but not the healthiest!

I come from Welsh DNA of looking at food and putting on weight. Add in the fact I have no off button and love getting into bad habits, I found myself over the last 12 months, of working so many hours then finding solace in comfort eating as a way to reward my 16 hour day and also switch off and not think about the stress. I told myself, 'It's fine you teach 2-4 classes a day you need to eat those calories. You'll burn it off. Bollocks. I was consuming about 2,500 in the day (Usually from around 3 hot chocs at the Robin Cafe, that shit is like crack cocaine) then when home at night slapping down around another 3-4,000. That's 6,500 a day. I may need that if i do an Ironman, but not daily. And my legs and body had got so tired i can barely take part in a class. So the training went, my routine went, the sleep was sparse, the stress high and calorie consumption through the roof. All whilst training people and being the leader of a fitness movement. I began to feel like a fraud. And this is very common.

I've only been doing fitness just under 3 years and owning a gym for 2. I swapped from 20 years in commerce at the blink of an eye, after stopping smoking. I'm not the most uber qualified scientifically proficient PT, cycling coach, teacher, runner, fitness dude on the planet. I struggle too and this break was a real opportunity for me to reclaim my health.

Now I'm not obsessed with weight, but I hit 86 kilos before I left. I was doing all my Ironman's at around 75KG and feel at my best around the 78KG mark. I felt lethargic. Slow. My clothes were too tight (when I actually wore real ones as I've been in Lycra and hoody for 2 years which hides literally everything) and I didn't like things jiggling or feeling the way i did. Yet i found it hard with so much going on to change it. Hence why i came to Samui. It really is a reset kind of place for me and i'm very grateful for it.

Pretty much sums me up on Samui. I'm not perfect but i'm working on it!!

Except this time I had an unusual experience I've never had before. After checking in late last Weds night. I got up on Thursday morning and dozed by the pool. I went to my room, stayed in my room. got up again on Friday. Did the same. Sunbathed and dozed by the pool.

Now i'm jet lagged to fuck. Chronically fatigued after teaching 15 classes a week for 2 years, no break. Mentally knackered after 2 years of stress. I mean I can't even tell you the accumulation mentally of having to make 6 decisions at a time and spinning the plates of so many things for so long. Burn out!

So I'm out of it. I'm not really there. I just mong about which is absolutely what I need and wanted to do. It's now Saturday. And it dawns on me. I haven't actually seen another soul at the hotel. I've seen staff. There's the pool and open plan restaurant and little beach bar, reception. I go to my room at night and by day I pad about. But nobody. Am I dreaming? So I ask the grossly overweight ladyboy receptionist who permanently sweats. I'm not sure sweats so much because;

A - It's 85% humidity and 30 degrees
B - She can't decide if she wants to be more he than she, or
C - It's a good 5 hours until dinner

Anyway, I ask the question. "Is there any other guests in the hotel?" She answers, "No sir, just you. We have guests tomorrow (Sunday)"

And then it hits me. I have been alone here since Weds and only just noticed. And then for the rest of Saturday and Saturday night I become massively aware. The silence is deafening. it verges between cool and slightly creepy.

It's like a Thai version of the Shining. I keep expecting Twins on tricylces and massive waves of blood to cascade along the corridors. I've been to a film in a Cinema at Fulham Vue on a Monday afternoon at 4pm on my own with nobody else in there. But never a hotel.

I have to admit I love it. Total peace. Total zone out. I came here to rest. To try to switch off. To get healthy and get myself ready to tackle the next iteration of Evolution as we open a new studio in Feb 2020. Being the only one in the hotel, other than me and the sweaty overweight Lady boy receptionist called Zangahia - or as I called her Pat. Was heaven. Until Sunday.

And then they moved in. The loud Russian families. The non stop talking and chatting of the older women. Nonversation (the art if non stop talking about utter shit) is even worse in Russian. Thank god the young ones just concentrated on being sullen and silent, whilst the men just sat silently at the bar. I can't complain I had the run of the place for a few day so I retreat into my books and music and find peaceful places.

I read an amazing book on surviving the holocaust called Choice. It was both emotional and inspiring. It made me cry twice. What a treat. I try to read a book on management and culture but find my head just to full to retain information.

I find myself crying at the hands of 'liong' an old tiny Thai masseuse  woman with the strongest hands in the world. Fuck me, no amount of failed co-dpendant relationships and endurance events can describe pain like 'liong' inflicted. The words 'fucking horsecocks' are still reverberating around Lamia. Loudly.

I find myself getting dragged into small business matters I can leave alone. I meddle, somewhat  needlessly at times from afar. Directing proceedings from a sun-lounger. I watch out for mistakes and send messages when I shouldn't. It's one thing demanding standards to be high and it's another to micro manage. I find it hard to let go to be perfectly honest. I'm sure everyone who has started something has experience of this.

I try to run and my legs are so painful from 2 years of continual spinning my quads feel like I've run 4 Ironman's. I rest. I sleep. I eat very little. I swim. I read. I sweat. I plug into wi-fi. I keep my phone on. I keep hooked up. I relax but I don't switch off.

Until day 8. I thaw out. I relax. I leave my phone in the room. I go old school. Me, the beach. a walk. a book. chill. Heaven. I switch off. Fuck it, nothing is that important. Ironically when I get back to the room there are several messages about something that in the end was sorted.

But the point is. It took me ages to switch off fully. To unwind. 3 AA meetings. Plenty of rest. Some exercise. Very tight eating (no junk, processed or shit - apart from the DC and gum of course) and some work. It's fine. I expect It and I own a business so it's par for the course.

I did think/hope I was going to do some creative thinking about the future of the business. About culture. About classes, about this and that. But you know what, fuck it. I will do when I'm back.

I'm not even worried about the 126 views of the blog now. This holiday has been like this blog. Starts manically and hectic in the head then calms down. A little like what happens to me in an AA meeting.

This week I have reclaimed me after burying myself deep into Evolution for 2 years. Now I'm going to go back and do the same but try to be a little more relaxed, a little more work on the business not in it and be a little smarter about how I drive myself into stress. Because if one thing I have learnt in the last 10 days. I will not achieve anything by being knackered, tired, stressed, flabby, burnt out, short tempered and negative.

When rested, reading inspirational literature, attending meetings, eating clean, feeling lean, being right on the button I feel like the TNE that can lead Evo into a glorious future. With 1000's of views and not care f I get them or not.

If I don't look after me then I won't look after anyone else and then there won't be an Evo.

Elvis used to have a saying he used with his team. 'Taking care of Business. TCB'. If I don't take TCB for TNE I won't have EVO and EVO is the best, most proudest, most wonderful thing I have ever done in my life.

It is an amalgamation of all the good things I have done. It is because of recovery. It is because of the dead end jobs and mid range Ironman's. The self doubt, the insecurity. The wondering what to do with my life. The 50 failed gigs at stand up comedy, the sobriety, the body dysmorphia driving me further into training to get lean and qualifying as a trainer. It's about all these reasons - never thinking I'm good enough. In my own family, in commerce, in endurance sports and in being a PT. Comparing and despairing next to fitness giants or experts with millions of following and books and brands.

I thought to be a motivational expert or a leader you had to have achieved extra-ordinary things. You had to be ultra qualified. You had to know your shit.

But I'm not. I'm not a gold medallist. Or a high performance athlete. I haven't been to The Olympics or got 22million followers on Instagram. I'm not a former SAS officer who talks about mindset and leadership. I havent rowed the Atlantic. I'm not a business leader with a multi-million pound brand behind them. I'm not a level 4 qualified Master trainer, or an elite cycling coach, or a sports psychologist. I did 3 Ironman's, 6 marathons but not in an especially quick time.

All of these reasons above I thought and still do as barriers against my success. As reasons why i can't succeed. As to why i dont know enough to be a motivator. Do be a successs.

And then I thought those reasons above are exactly why I can and do. Because I represent 80% of the population who do struggle to get up and moving, who do struggle with training, and eating right and their weight and the self image and their confidence and their life. I am you. I am Mr Normal. It's precisely because i havent done the above and think i am NOT good enough is the reason of the scucess. It's because I identify. If i can. Literally anyone can. Seriously.

I have done so many Q&A's at companies with people who have done amazing things. Won gold medals at the Olympics, rowed across ocean's. Climbed mountains. Suffered incredible hardship. And they are amazing. But my job was to marry sport into business. And the main thing i learnt was people get inspired by identification. By thinking if you can do it so can i and that is what i realized this week.

That is my thing. That is my purpose. That is my meaning and that is what EVO is. Because if i can do it anyone can do it and if nothing else i take away from this week that is probably the most important thing for me (and that I'm down to 80KG - I'm not THAT spiritually fit and deep I'm as cosmetically obsessed with how i look as the next person. Fuck me, you think I'm that healthy yet. Dream on I'll be on this journey against my head until the day i die!)

Thank you Samui for a fab break, for all the lovely people in the fellowship on the Island, for the loud Russian nonversationlists, for the iron elbow old Thai masseurs and for all 126 of you who have read this blog

Finally, a special thanks to Lizzie, Jodie, Emma, Emmanuel and Tina for stepping in and stepping up at Evo to allow me to go away. Me love you long time - i may do it more often!

TNE
xx

STOP PRESS! TNE is Back - And here's why - he owns a gym and is responsible and everything

Hello You.

Welcome to my blog. Fuck me, it's been an eternity since I last wrote it. If you're new, welcome. If you used to read it back in the day, welcome! TNE is back baby! (TNE stands for The Nick Evans, a piss take on my ego, as people who are so full of their own self importance refer to themselves in the third person and some put a 'The' in front of their name to create an even bigger sense of ego and wankerness. Plus of course, as a recovering alcoholic my main barrier in life is my own ego - hence the title 'Don't you know who i think i am) - hence TNE is largely a send up of myself.

I think I last wrote a piece around 3 years ago. Walking Fucking Football I believe. I mean don't get me wrong, I've lazily rehashed a couple of old favourites. 'Day I shat myself at The London Marathon' (winner) and the piece I wrote about my Father's death and alcoholism (emotional) But largely I've been busy creating a new business, brand and fitness/health movement - Evolution Fitness Studio in SW London. It's fucking ACE!

It opened in January 2018 and i've been frantically working on it since. Well a year before really. It's basically taken over my life. In fact it is my life. I love it!

I've never been a business owner. I've never had a public facing business that attracts about 250 people a week. I've never employed people, never had investors, never had a 12 year lease, or followers, or a business plan or legal requirements, or customers, clients and social media followers & obligations. I've never really had responsibility like this. In fact, fuck it, I've never had any real responsibility.

I mean don't get me wrong. I've had the responsibility of wiping my own arse and feeding myself, being a family member, leaving home at 18 and standing on my own two feet, getting jobs of pretty decent standing in Premier league Football and Professional sport, turning up, having responsibility as a Commercial Director, or in remaining sober etc.

But real responsibility of getting married, having kids, building a life, owning a house, mortgage? Laying down roots. Being a responsible adult? Fuck that, I skilfully dodged that bullet until 3 years ago. Nobody would ever have known though (well apart from all my Ex girlfriends of course and pretty much anyone who knows me well. And those who don't. Apart from that)

I mean I had long term relationships (2 years), a series of good jobs, dressed well, talked well, had an amazing quiff and tan, turned up on time and acted like an adult and masqueraded like an adult. But deep down i always kept £10k in my bank account in case it all got a bit tight and i thought 'fuck this I'm off to Goa'. I spunked most of the money i earned instead of buying - as a mortgage seemed like a bind & scary and normal & a commitment. I had loads of relationships where i could have married. Trouble is I would have been 4 or 5 times divorced by now. Again commitment. Responsiblity. Get me the fuck away!

I think because I was the youngest of 3 boys, the baby, I didn't have to do much plus my father and hero eldest brother were both alcoholics who effectively left the family home and rejected me. Plus i saw my parents get married have kids, house, car, dog really young and my dad was miserable and it just looked like horror. So I got the fear of 'responsibility' before I'd really begun in life.

Hence why I dedicated my life to the pursuit of instant gratification and hedonistic pleasure. First it was drugs, then it was alcohol. When they stopped working and i sobered up through the help of AA (which i still attend regularly and is my lifeline and scaffolding for life), and i got into exercise and lost allot of weight. It became women and sexual pleasure (still working on that one) - combining it with a relentless drive to recovery and sobriety whilst indulging in many addictions outside of alcohol and drugs.

I've had a lot of fun, enjoyed every moment of this magnificent pursuit of pleasure and had the finance to do so, as i only really had myself to look after (and some days i could barely do that) - save for periods where my chronic low self esteem and unmanageability made me skint and in lowly paid jobs for ages. Thinking that's all I'm good for.  But then other periods where i was doing well and earning so naturally i just wasted it. On paper it looked like i had a career plan, but really i was just blagging it.

"Live for now, the future will take of itself", I used to tell myself. Really it was all bravado, as underneath I was full of fear and not facing up to things, avoiding real intimacy and responsibility was easier. I was the best lover but the worst boyfriend/potential husband. One of those. Yes, i know it's lame and embarrassing and lacking in substance. I know that now of course - i didn't then. Life is a fine learning curve.

I always had that nagging doubt at the back of my head, sometimes it screamed out loud, 'you're better than this. What is my meaning? What am i meant to do with my life? I tried comedy, ironman triathlons, fitness, marathons, launching my own app (lost £30k), being a corporate beast (never fitted in or felt good enough) - But i always, always avoided responsibility. I never felt fulfilled personally, spiritually or professionally.

My niece, 20 years my junior got married and had two wonderful children, overtaking me. All my old school friends got married, had kids, some even divorced, some sadly passed away. Yet there i remained. Resolutely single. A trail of women in love with me left behind me. But emotionally unavailable. Come and fall in love but don't get too close. No responsibility please!!! My personal life remained messy. My professional life unfulfilled. No plan. No idea.

That was until of course 2016, when a whole series of events, which I won't go into here, otherwise this blog piece, which is already a little like war and peace, will be far too long (it already is but i kind of like that as I'm not trying to sell anything or conform to the modern digital marketing tool of keep it short, punchy, create a hook and give the reader a link to drive traffic - yawn - i like to think people who read all of it are hardcore and old school as they can concentrate and read something for longer than 30 seconds - but i do admit i need a good editor)

Anyway, loads of shit happened to give me responsibility. I was made redundant 3 times in 2 years. I was out of options, i Stopped smoking, after 26 years miraculously via an amazing hypnotherapist who identified smoking as a barrier to life i was using to hold back, and the next day i went 'fuck it I'm going to give fitness a try'. A spin n teacher at a studio i was going to left, i was given 12 classes a week, i threw myself into it, classes became packed. 3 months later it shut down overnight, i raised cash from regulars and 8 months later i opened it as my own brand new Spin and fitness studio and Evolution was born.

My baby/ My life. My responsibility. I ddidnt plan for it. I didn't manifest it. It just kind of happened snd i followed it. The smoking stopping was where it all changed. I stopped running away from life and instead i embraced it and responsibility came my way. Meaning. Purpose.

Jordan Peterson said the meaning of life is responsibility. I know what he means now. I dont have any children but i have 300 people a week at Evolution. i have a team. A community. A bond. A vision. I have a purpose.

So THAT is why I haven't been writing for 3 years. It's been the hardest, most incredible 3 years of my life. 3-6 years ago I was buggering around and writing for fun and doing videos largely complaining about my life and trying to find my role in life. Well, it found me. That i believe is a higher power.

Evolution has taken over my life. It is a success story and growing. So much has changed. So much has happened and it doesnt feel like my doing. It just feels im going with what feels right and enjoying the ride.

And so here I am, on my blog again. My blog. Not Evolution's but mine. Freedom from the Evolution blog. Not having to edit business speak or think of a topic or words i can't say because it's inappropriate for the business. This is my blog and I'll say what i fucking like and for however long and it doesn't matter if 1 person or 1000 read it. I'm writing it for me. Because here's the deal - i enjoy it. It's one of my main passions outside indoor cycling and wearing slightly too tight clothes for my age. I love writing. I love being honest. I love sharing what's in my head on a page and writing like I speak, so you connect, you believe, you can almost hear me saying it. It feels good. It gives me meaning and purpose.

That's the kind of writer I am and I fucking love it and it's so good to be back. I hope it isn't another 3 years before the next post

(Don't worry it will only be a day as I'm away on holiday in Thailand for 10 days for my first break in 2-3 years hence why i have the time to write. I will submit a holiday blog tomorrow - watch out!!)

In the meantime, so good to be back and I hope you enjoyed my ramble

Love you big

TNE
xx

The Day I shat myself in the 2013 London Marathon

Hi guys

To celebrate London Marathon day I thought i'd share my blog from a couple of years ago about the day I did 'a Radcliffe'. It's funny, brutally honest and real. Sunday April 21st 2013. This is my account of the day from morning to night. Some parts are touching, some parts grim, some parts you may find boring & some full of vim. Strapped in? Comfortable? To paraphrase the great Dylan Thomas, To begin at the beginning...

The Alarm went off at 6am. I woke to the most beautiful bright sunshine. Not a cloud in the sky. Everything was set for a truly iconic day. It was here. It was now. It was sunny. It was London Marathon day, Hooorayyyyy!!!

I had registered on Friday at the huge Expo at the rather annoying located Custom House. You get the buzz when you register. Lots of messages on the vast Adidas wall to do with Boston and personal messages of why people are running in memory of loved ones. That is when the sheer scale of the day really hits you and you get a special sense of emotion, excitement and adrenaline. This is what it's all about.

There are also stands and stalls selling everything from running products to massages. It's like a huge airport departure lounge except with fit women in Lycra. For me it's awful as i am the worlds most gullible impulsive spender. I'm not happy unless I've done £200 on something I may only use once. It gives me a proper thrill (I am an addict after all)

I came away from the Expo with a new bag, running compression socks, shorts, hat, rock tape and sweatbands. I had to pull myself away from the compression shorts with in built ice pack for £85. God that was hard to do, however I left in good spirits & £200 lighter. I was An officially registered starter. Number 33,480.

I was excited for the big day. I prepared properly. Cut out the diet coke, reduced my smoking from ultra heavy to heavy, ate clean, did yoga, stretched, slept and rested like never before. I felt good.

On Saturday night I feasted on salmon, veg and sweet potato.

Now having done loads of them you would have thought I knew exactly what to do. Except I'm  insane and I behaved like a total rooky. Mistake number 1. I ate lots of things I hadn't eaten before and wasn't used to digesting. Flapjacks. Those little fuckers are like crack cocaine and boy did i tuck in. Before I knew it, this little over eater had done 6 of the sodding bastards and felt stuffed. No matter, i consoled myself with the fact they would give me lots of energy on the big day and slept like a log.

And so to Sunday. I woke early to bright blue skies & immediately tucked into some porridge. Then mistake number 2. I finished off the flapjacks. Oh god those bastards were so good. I couldn't leave home for 90 minutes though. 3 goes on the khazi until i was satisfied i had completed the traditional marathon runners morning Constitution. I won't go further but it is a much under rated part of preparations. A full carb loading stomach means the propensity for stomach problems is rife. Little did I know this was to prove my undoing hours later.

Mistake number 3. I wrote a clever dick ironic funny post on Facebook . "Please God let everyone who is running & watching have a safe day, to enjoy it and feel at one with each other. Oh and please god don't let me shit myself and ruin my self obsessed carefully crafted image". Oh how I invited trouble. Will I ever learn?

Then it was off to Greenwich Park for the start. I hopped on the tube and was immediately impressed with the London code of not saying anything to anyone on public transport. Even though there were other runners, we all ignored each other like it was a commute to work. Not a lot of Marathon spirit on my tube. I tried to strike up a conversation, but that was met with short shrift so i settled into listening to hardcore drum and bass to get myself hyped up. Mistake number 4. Never listen to pumped up music for a marathon. That should be for an explosive event. Instead i now realise i should have gone long and slow in my music. Something like REO Speedwagon. Instead the hardcore got me dancing around the train like I was on E and i couldn't wait to run. Needless energy expended.

Mistake number 5. I popped a couple of Ibuprofen and Lemsip Max to iron out my annoying cold and painful back. I'd taken some on my long run a couple of weeks ago and it was fine, but you should never mix medication.

I refrained from my usual routine of cramming in several cigarettes on the 10 min walk from station to start line. Once in the park it is a sea of mass hysteria and excitement. People rubbing, prodding, changing, warming up. It is a great sight. I changed and was ready to go. I changed next to a guy called Steve. He took a little longer than me but it pretty much summed up what the day was all about. Although I'd be gutted if he beat me.

Then you throw your bag into the truck, have several pees, jump over the barrier towards the front of the mass group (35,000 people) and wait for the countdown. This is when it hits home how big the race is. It's huge. An Incredible amount of people. We all put on our black ribbons in honour of those who were killed or injured in Boston and had a 30 second silence in their honour followed by 30 seconds applause. It was poignant and emotional. A moment I was proud to be part of. Solidarity to you Boston.

It was now 10am and the Virgina London Marathon 2013 officially started. Well the elite did. Mo and the boys went off first and my group took about 5 minutes to get over the start line.. We were off!! Let the fun (and pain) begin!

The start is always a nervy occasion. There are so many runners it's hard to get any kind of pace. I had left my watch at home so I decided to run 'on feel'. I had my previous best of 3 hours 37 in the back of mind. Someone had bet me £400 for my Charity if I could do it. I'd been injured for most of the winter, was under cooked in training but I felt good. I felt strong. I felt euphoric and I really enjoyed the first few miles. Taking in the scenes, the crowds, the sound systems. It really was a celebration of life. The crowds turned out in force, almost in defiance of what happened in Boston and it was the busiest I'd seen in my 9 years of doing it.

I kept a steady pace. Not too quick. Saw some friends on mile 2, fed off the crowd. Keeping my head down, doing the occasional High Five with a little kid on the side. Really the marathon doesn't start until Mile 13. The first half is all about pacing yourself and enjoying it whilst you can. Keeping energy in reserve.

I got through Greenwich on mile 6, Cutty Sark and the crowds were just enormous. Even through Rotherithe and Surrey Quays. The noise was so intense. Then you get to Tower Bridge on Mile 12 and you float across. I saw my family and had a quick hug and then it was eyes down to half way in 1 hr 54. I decided to slightly quicken my pace a little just to see if I could get ahead of the game. This is where it started to go wrong and so the story turns.

I had been getting a stomach ache from mile 10. Thinking it was a bit of wind, I carried on but it kept getting worse. Worried I may 'do a Radcliffe' I refrained from trying to shift it - the consequences were dire and I couldn't trust myself. I'd just have to live with it.

On mile 15 I found my energy draining, getting the sweats and stomach worsening. 'Oh god I'm in trouble now'. Here's where I made Mistake Number 6. I took an energy gel and ibuprofen to get through it. In hindsight, not a great move.

**WARNING. THIS FOLLOWING BIT IS GRIM. YOU MAY WANT TO LOOK AWAY **

By mile 18 at Canary Wharf  I was in big trouble. I needed a toilet. I was definately going to shit myself. Gurgling, cramping and pain shooting through me. I felt sick. I was ill.

"Oh fuck me no. Not here. Not in front of 30,000 people. Not with 8 miles to go." I thought about my Facebook update - Please God don't let me shit myself. Well here it was Nick. You were about to. Who's laughing now. With your self serving supercilious updates. Fuck you Facebook!

I looked around, people were lining the course. No toilets, no quiet places, no pubs or restaurants as the crowds were 20 deep. Oh god no, I'm going to be Googled as 'the bloke who shit himself at Canary Wharf'. I could see it now. I'd be trending on social media by midnight. #shitboy.

The carefully crafted self obsessed image. All the hopes of being taken seriously as a writer, comedian, compere, comedy club host, businessman, actor, David Beckham look-a-like. All dashed, I'd be forever pointed at wherever i went as that bloke that squatted in front of crowds, families and kids and shit a river.

Oh god, please no. "I can't do it in front of people" I thought. They've come to watch their families running, not my arse with torrents of brown laser".

I was in a world of pain, just about carrying on through Canary Wharf until Mile 19 then A miracle, A mirage. 10 portaloos!!!. Oh my God. It was like a mirage of green in a desert - I staggered up to them mouthing gratitude under my sickly breath.

Opening the first door I was confronted by a scene from turd hell. It was like a shit grenade had gone off. I immediately recoiled in horror, slammed the door shut and tried trap 2. Exactly the same. "Oh fuck what if they're all like that?" Trap 3, 4 and 5 were rendered 'impassable', I was running out of options here and panic was rising. Then I saw a girl come out of Trap 6, "nice one, i thought, A girl is bound to only use a clean one". My theory was proved correct and in I went, Thank God. AHHHHHHH.

To give you an idea, I was averaging 8 minutes 40 a mile for the 1st 18 miles. I took 23 minutes for Mile 19. 14 minutes of that mile was spent in the portaloo. A World of pain.

I came out and started running, thinking, "well that's not so bad I'll still try and beat 4 hours, that's cleared the decks". I ran on for 1/2 mile until the stomach gurgle came back, the energy went and I felt sick. Oh god 6 miles to go and I'm in bits. I started cramping again.

The urge to shit my pants was so strong, but i held on. I did a world record clench. Then followed a slow run for the next few miles until i was forced to stop and walk on mile 22 for a few yards until I was forced to stop, I leaned over the barriers and began retching. I was in big trouble here.

I started running again, along limehouse onto the embankment. By now the crowds were fever pitch and huge but there was a sheet of glass between me and them. I couldn't engage. I couldn't take it in. I couldn't feed off them. I had nothing left. I was spent. Thoughts of quitting seemed so good, but then I couldn't face anyone then. No i had to continue. Another slow jog until mile 23 when another sanctuary in the Blackfriars Underpass. More portaloos. Oh fuck me YES! Thank you Lord of Portaloos.

Same scenario as before, but this time I wasn't so fussy. I would have shat in a sewage tank the state I was in. Another 10 minute pit stop and then out, chugging away. I saw people I knew but i wasn't really aware or able to communicate, heavily cramping and dehydrating i passed the London eye, (I was going slower than it) and saw the Houses of Parliament. Only a mile to go. Oh please help me make it. Please don't let me finish up the mall with turd down my legs. I'll never get on tellie then.

I turned into Parliament Square and the runner in front of me buckled and collapsed to the floor. Legs gone. Eyes rolling, he was delirious. I knew the feeling. For a moment I thought of joining him, but i stopped with another bloke to check he was alright, we gave him a gel, squirted some water on his face and then i have no idea why i said this or where it came from, but i heard the words come out of my mouth to the other guy 'lets carry him. We have to get him to the finish'.

We hooked his arms around us, flanking him either side, carrying his weight and trotted on. Fuck me the crowd went wild. All runners passing us saying 'well done' patting us on our backs. "good on you mate", "That's the spirit of the marathon"

"Oh fuck me yes. Of course. This is it", I thought. "This is the reason I've done it. This will pull this horrible marathon out of the bag. Forget about selfish personal bests. Forget about individualism and selfishness. This is human spirit. We have to get Josh across the line. It's going to be the enduring image of the marathon. It will be huge. Front page photo. Tellie. Interview with Johnathon Edwards.

The true meaning of humanity was right here, right now and then he started passing out. No!!!!

Nightmare. I talked to him, kept him awake, telling him it was OK, willed the crowd to shout for him but his legs stopped working. We were 600 yards short of the finish on Birdcage Walk. Less than half a mile to go. We could actually see Buckingham Palace.

"Fuck, don't wilt here Josh. You're our fucking saviour. Hang in there pal". I said. The other guy said 'no more', his legs had gone too. I considered for a moment carrying him on my shoulders, single handed. That would definitely make tellie and the media. I reckon I would get a few interviews and speaking tours out of it. Together we are Stronger would be my Mantra. I would be the spokesman for humanity and togetherness. Me, with a stomach bug, sick, dehydrated carrying a half conscious man over my head across the finishing line. That's a front page right there.

And then Josh started to fit. Fuck it was all over. The dream had ended. We got the paramedics, they sorted him out, wrapped him up, got him conscious. He was OK but his race was over. Mine had 500 yards to go and i was disappointingly forced to finish at a crawl anonymously, with no fanfare, no sick man on my back. No interview with Colin Jackson, no media photograph. Just me, my ill body and dodgy guts. Barely able to stand. Josh was so fucking selfish, he ruined my future.

I staggered across the line, with no TV, no Publicity, no attention. Just another finisher,  apparently had my medal hung around my neck, collapsed into the portaloo's (Heaven, they were sparkling fresh) My London Marathon was over and I didn't publicly shit myself.Thank God.

I collected my bags, got changed, staggered to the meeting point to see my family, collapsed into them and couldn't speak for ages. I was spent. Totally gone. No pictures, no videos, no joy. No euphoria. Just need to get home to a toilet.

I was ill for the rest of the night (and next day) and if I'm honest embarrassed by my time. I expected a lot quicker but on reflection it was probably one of my greatest achievements to actually finish. When you are Ill like that the place to do it is on your sofa in front of 'Loose Women' and 'Flog it'. Not with 8 miles to run on a marathon course in baking sun in front of Half a million people. It was harsh. Never again.

I made some stupid mistakes. I'm a right twat sometimes but never did i think i was going to get that reaction. In hindsight i wouldn't have taken anything, kept it simple and gone old school. Still never mind. It's over now. I raised £1500 for Action on Addiction, my superb charity who were there supporting. I enjoyed half of the occasion, I got called David Beckham 16 times on the way round and I helped another human being for 700 yards. Not all bad.

If only Josh hadn't whited out it could all have been so different. Instead 125 people will read this blog instead of 125,000. Oh well at least it's good for my ego. God knows best. I did learn though that deep down i am a good person and did practice what i preach in helping another human, but what is really fascinating is really deep down, so deep you wouldn't see, is an inherent selfishness and sense of delusion that is quite staggering. Only an alcoholic can think of speaker tours and TV under the guise of helping out a stricken runner. My selfishness makes me smile.  Weirdly I can only see it when sober and that Ladies and gentlemen is why I ran it for Action on Addiction.

#TogetherWeAreStronger (that would have been world wide trending on my speaker tour Twitter page if only Josh hadn't fucking well passed out - he was so Selfish!)

Peace and Love

Nicholas Edward Evans

xx

David Michael Evans - Xmas Day 1944 - Good Friday 2009 - A Life and Death of Alcholism

I always post this same blog on Good Friday. I wrote it years ago, but it's always relevant this time of year. Easter is hugely symbolic to me. I consider myself more spiritual than religious but this time of year has extra emotional significance for me and my family. 
  
My Father, David Michael Evans died of alcoholism on Good Friday 2009. My Grandparents were married on Easter Saturday, my Grandmother the family matriach was born on the 13th April, my neice on the 14th and I had my moment of clarity and went to my first AA meeting on Easter Sunday 2001, setting in motion the journey to sobriety and recovery 18 years ago. Bingo!

If Easter is about death and rebirth, it's ridiculously symbolic David Michael dying of alcoholism on Good Friday and Nicholas Edward getting sober on Easter Sunday! I'm honestly not making this shit up!

I write this as a sober recovering alcoholic of 18 years. I write this as a passionate supporter and advocate of recovery. I write this as an adult child of an alcoholic. I write this to promote the education of alcoholism/addiction as a serious killer illness and family disease. It is mis-understood, largely ignored and completely under-rated. Whilst people die or spend years in misery (and I include family and friends of the alcoholic/addict too) the medical, political, treatment, social media world largely miss the true nature of the malady and problem and fail to find a solution because they have no idea what's wrong. I hope in some small way this following piece lays bare what the illness is, what it can do and the alternatives to it.

Today is the 10th anniversary of my father's death. He died a lonely, alcoholic death in a warden controlled flat in Parsons Green on Good Friday 2009. He was alone, 64, unfound for 6 days. His was a sad, alcoholic tale of life and death.

His alcoholic death affected a whole family, town and generation. Although tragic it inspired my Mother to go to Alanon and find recovery after a 40 year battle with alcoholism. It  galvanised a cause in me to campaign for my own and other people's recovery from alcoholism as a terrible, powerful destructive disease and it has helped many people through reading this story or hearing about his demise. He has acted as a powerful example of what untreated alcoholism does.

Only a man of his ego could be born on Christmas Day and die on Good Friday! He was an arrogant bastard with a great sense of humour. Only a man of my ego could find a sober rebirth on Easter Sunday 2001. You couldn't make it up. I have taken on this family arrogance baton into sobriety. Like father like son.

I loved my father, he was my hero. A large, funny, charismatic man. But he was afflicted by the disease of alcoholism and after he left the family home in 1985 when I was 13, he effectively lived a solitary life of a drunk until he died alone, in 2009. A 24 year slow and lonely suicide. Suicide by instalments. 

I share this because it is interesting on many levels. I am not owning the story to be sadder than others. Many people have tragedy and sadness in their families/past. I am not using it to puff up my ego and make a point. (at least I hope i'm not)  I simply wanted to put the story of alcoholism down and how it affects a family and how in death life can begin.

It is a story of life and death, alcoholism and recovery. Sadness and light. It is a story about how David Michael Evans' life can inspire. Perhaps not in the way he thought or wanted. But in the way it was. I hope some may find solace, connection, identification or hope through reading it and have a couple of chuckles along the way. After all what is life without laughter?

I hadn't seen my father since I was 18, and then it was only for 30 minutes when my Niece was born in 1990. He had left my life when I was 13, due to his heavy alcoholism. He lived a life of a street drunk, popping up now and again. The odd phone call here, a card there. He was alive but not alive. The living dead type life that active alcoholism brings.

You get used to the drama and chaos an alcoholic causes in a house but you just get on with it. The drama becomes the norm and that's all someone growing up in alcoholic/addict house is used to. You don't blink at arguments, police, court orders, domestic violence, fear, guilt, worry and violence. In fact normality seems rather dull in comparison.

The effect on a child growing up in this environment is profound. You don't think it of course as you just live your life, but for me it has resulted in a double life, people pleasing, dishonesty, feeling sorry for myself, feeling superior to others, incredible anger, frustration, impatience, lack of self esteem and a series of failed relationships and commitment issues. Part of me never grew up. Of course, I'm not laying the blame for my life  at my father's door. My own alcoholism did a great job of that, but now that I'm 43 I can see how some of the patterns of my upbringing has affected my life as an adult. Part nature and part nurture. That can be true of many people.

When I got the call in 2009 I was shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. You get used to not having a father. I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend. I was asked by my cousin if I wanted to take care of affairs, seeing as he had been out of our lives for so long. I didn't hesitate. Of course I did. He was my father after all and it was my duty.

I made calls to the coroner trying to find out the facts of his death and piece together his life. You have to take the role of a sleuth, trying to piece together the alcoholics final few years.

I found out 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 1944, 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 he suffered for 24 years.

I went to where he lived and spoke to the warden who put some pieces of the jigsaw together, it was then the real details of the alcoholics demise were brought to life.

He lived in 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 Sheperd'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)

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 girlfriend (a normal person who hadn't ever been exposed to alcoholism or addiction)

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. In humane.

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

And finally the worst room. The bedroom. 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.

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. Cheap ones. When you reach that stage of alcoholism Smirnoff and other 'luxury' brands are long gone. Blood spattered paperwork was next to the bed. Shit and devastation everywhere. It was truly horrifying. But I guess the norm to him.

I had to look for his wallet, to try and get some details. I found his trousers on the 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 typical alcoholic's at the end of the line. A slim plastic two piece Freedom pass pocket, folded in two. In it was a Freedom Travel pass, a cash card, money (fuck me can i have 25 years of child support payments please?) a recent picture of him,  (odd seeing as I hadn't seen him in years, yet he looked so familiar. The arrogant menacing look, the broken nose and face ravaged with booze)

I also found a piece of paper with 2 names and numbers. One was Cathy, a woman he saw for a few years, but she left him to go to New Zealand (You have to go that far to get away form the hardcore alcoholic) and the other, my name 'Nicky (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. It makes me cry every time.

I took in the scene. Said a prayer. Talked to him. We took some paperwork and left. We were all stunned. We went for a coffee and sat in stunned silence, shock and sadness. My girlfriend never knew or met 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.

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 8 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 my Mum or girlfriend. I felt the connection of it being my father of course, but I also saw alcoholism, the rapacious creditor claiming another life.

Those were the circumstances. A few things 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 directors and getting a discount deal. Great businessman, his Dad, a born bullshitting salesman would have been proud.

At the funeral there were 8 of us. Mortlake Crematorium. Nobody attending was from 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. The difference between active alcoholism and sobriety can be seen in funerals. My father pursued it to the gates of insanity and death. He had 8 people at the funeral. My friend Malcolm who dies last year 22 years sober had 300. The difference is stark.

It doesn't mean they are loved any less. It doesn't mean their lives are less worthy. It doesn't mean they are lesser people. It just means alcoholism will rob you of everything until it gets what it wants in the end. Your life.

I shall end this blog with the words I spoke at the funeral as we got him cremated to the Theme Tune to Minder. The last time we were together as a family. A happy nostalgic memory before the alcoholism took over.

If anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease well what do you think the above is?. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of recovery now you know. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then you've just read why. He is an inspiration for me. One of the reasons I do sobriety. The reason sometimes I'm so evangelical about the power of the disease. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. I don't want others to have to endure 30 years of pain. I don't want families to hide it, claim it doesn't exist. I don't want the ignorance to continue. It is real and it affects many people. It is the least understood and most ignorant disease there is.

I get messages, emails and requests from people all the time. Asking for help with their son, their partner or themselves. And you know what's most shocking? Rarely do they want to go to Alanon or AA. 'God it's not that bad is it?!!" Is the general thought.

Well, yes it is and in my experience and fundamental belief. Alcoholism and addiction is a family disease and the only true recovery from it as a family is through a 12 step fellowship. All the others are just window dressing or containing the disease. Almost like a Heroin addict taking methadone. It's just replacing. So if you have it, or are effected by a family member then for fucks sake please do not delay any further, leave your head to one side, quit the debating society and just go to a meeting. PLEASE! It may save your life. If you're willing and ready of course. If not and you think you can soldier on your own. Well, good luck but the disease wll take everything from you in stages one by one. Just see the decline of my father over many years. It's patient and cunning and baffling and the reason these 12 step fellowships exist.

Hospitals, treatment centres, therapists cant help you. They are full of shit if they claim to cure it. The only effective long terms treatment is 12 step. It even costs nothing and is fun. Fuck me it's so simple and clear most people don't want it!! We'd much rather pay £1000 a session with a professional than go to one of those dreadful meetings with those losers! Trust me, the opposite is true and the only thing keeping you out is pride, denial and ignorance. Give it a try. I implore and beg of you. Rant over!

Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Sometimes I don't know what it is to be man. Sometimes my own alcoholic ego runs away with itself or I struggle with my purpose, my journey, my soul. But in this time i felt a man. It felt right. And this year, in my 16th year of sobriety I'm starting to feel that more and more.

Death is part of life. Sad, devastating and painful. Grief has many forms and lasts as long as it wants. But it can also bring life & action. Bring people together. Rebirth and give lessons to future generations. That's how I see David Michael Evan's death. I also saw how my own disease railroaded my grief and allowed old feelings of self pity to make it last longer than usual and consume attention. I have to be very careful and brutal on myself to allow normal human feelings of grief and sadness but also the sick ones of self pity too. One must always be vigilant not to fall into maudlin defects. I see it in others but you're not allowed to call people out on social media or other forms because 'they're in grief' - I know the difference between genuine heart renching sadness and grief and selfish maudlin self pity or guilt. One must cut a severe distinction and I am lucky to have AA and a 12 step programme to give me that perspective. I'm sure Dad would have said 'fuck off you wankers' though. Fair play.

Recovery doesn't have to be sad or serious. My Dad was an insane rip roaring drunk with a massive personality. You can have this sober. You can have anything you want sober. Alcohol or drugs doesn't have to define your life and stopping drinking doesn't mean a life of dull and boredom.

You meet a lot of recovery experts around. In AA, in treatment, on Facebook. Some talk a load of shit, claiming to know answers, preaching at what we should do, leading a fake spiritual arrogant and sanctimonious life. I say fuck it. Fuck them, fuck what you are supposed to do. Be real, be human and be true to yourself. Just don't drink, don't die and don't be a c**t. Seems like a pretty simple set of spiritual codes to live by?

I often wonder what a low bottom drunk like my Dad would think of a lot of recovery models and shit being spouted sometimes so I tell myself to keep it real, keep it honest but keep it humble.

A sense if humour and a sense of fun is important. Stay clear of the experts telling us what to do. Stay clear of the doubters or negative criticism. Just read the end of his life, tell yourself is that what you want. If the answer is no then there is a solution and I went to it on Easter Sunday 2001. It works it really does and if you are a family member affected by someone with addiction/alcoholism there is also a solution for you too. Alanon helped change my mother's life it could help you too.

David Michael Evans 1944 -2009

Stop Smoking and Start life - how the hell did that happen?

I'm 44 years old, 15 years sober, 5 days smoke free and life has just begun. How the hell did that happen? And what does it mean?

Don't worry, I'm not going to turn into one of those sanctimonious reformed smoker/drinker health freak type wankers and preach the importance of kale.

I just can't quite work out what happened and why I feel so utterly different from the last time I wrote my blog. It's like day and night. I had no idea how much I was in the darkness until now.

What happened? Well on Weds I became smoke free for the 1st time since I was 18. I became so utterly sick of being sick. Unable to breath properly, pain in my chest, coughing up junk, permanent chest problems and a virus for ages. Finally I had enough and asked someone to help me stop.

I didn't think they could of course and deep down I suspected I would smoke again afterwards. I wanted to stop for health reasons but wanted to continue for life reasons. How could I live without it????
What I really wanted is to be healthy and smoke? Apparently it doesn't work that way. Bastards!!

So I went to a hypnotherapist (a bloody good one) who specialises in helping people stop smoking. He was in recovery too and I really liked and we got on well. He had a great sense of humour. I felt good with him.

In short, we did the whole process, he put me under and during it, released the attachment to smoking and unleash my true self and not put off life anymore. (He did loads of great stuff but I cant go into that all now)

Essentially at the end it was about 'Being the Best I've Ever been in 2017" - the fags were crushed, I was a non smoker, just like 17 years old before I smoked. The breathing exercises were recommended and off I went as a non smoker thinking 'This is a bit odd'.

What was interesting during the hypnosis was the strong destructive will (inner voice) trying to bastardise what he was saying. Helpful terms like 'you'll smoke after this, don't listen, you need a fag to drink tea" - True Gremlins and blockages to my health. It was strong within me but after a while I went beyond them.

I'm under no illusion I am up against my own lower self which wants me unhappy, unhealthy, addicted to smokes, drinking and all kinds if unhelpful shit. It wants me dead or at the very least unhappy and miserable. I have to accept it exists and move beyond that destructive force with the assistance of everything I've picked up in recovery in the last 15 years and other things I've learnt (especially on Weds)

This week I have been smoke free for the first time in 26 years. I feel Upbeat, optimistic, happy. I have felt free and like my eyes are open for the first time. I know what a pink cloud looks like in AA when people stop drinking and suddenly everything is 'amazing'. So i'm taking it one day at a time. But isn't everything Amazing!

It is as if I have a 'new pair of glasses'. I live in the same place, wear the same slightly too tight jeans and my cowboy boots need resoling. I probably place too much emphasis on the female form and I am still a recovering alcoholic needing regular attendance at AA. I still have other habits and attachments to help me through the day. I am not cured. I am not healed. I am not preaching.

But I AM healthy. I am present. I am excited by the future and I am in with a decent shout of doing what i'm meant to do in this life. I am Passionate in helping others get out of their darkness into the light. Why? Because I've been there for so long and didn't know how to get out of it, even though I kept saying I wanted to. In the end just for now I have and you know what. It's pretty bloody cool out here. Not half as bad as I thought it would be.

Keep at it if you're struggling. If you're one of the happy ones who feels good a lot of the time. Why did I wait so long? It's hard to hear people upbeat when you're miserable but as long as you don't look or speak down to people when you're feeling good I think it can be allowed. We must be authentic no matter what.

After all the human experience is about the good times as-well as the bad right? I don't have more money, I haven't landed anything amazing, my material life hasn't changed - but I feel so much richer and fulfilled and comfortable with myself this week.

The smoking stopped and I feel I've woken up to life and I'm still not sure how it happened though I get the feeling the higher power was throwing some subtle shapes behind the scenes to make it happen. Crafty sod!

Either way I'm very grateful and now about to turn into one of those wankers I hated when I first came to AA. All happy and shit. Yuk, Pass the sick bucket! TNE is feeling good! That will be ultimate irony, if I really do become one of those wankers and enjoy it. You know what, that doesn't sound such a bad gig after-all. Bring it on!!!

You are all magnificent bastards

Love you very much

TNE
xx

Message me if you want help in the giving up department or anything else. itsevo@hotmail.com

Let me tell you about Low Self Esteem

I want to talk about low self esteem. Some of you will identify. Others will not. It's cool either way. But I have it. So here it is.

Not the minor little niggle of low self esteem mind, but the huge juggernaut that tramples on good things and effects life. It's particularly bad today.

Sure, we all get days when we feel down, or doubt ourselves or suffer a confidence dip. That's perfectly normal. It's part of the human experience. But for low self-esteemers like myself, who suffer from it like it's a mental illness, it can really screw things up.

I'm always wary of posting this kind of thing, but then again that's a side effect of low self esteem. Being overly concerned how people view you and wanting to be liked, loved and praised all the time. it's called people pleasing.

This is not meant as a pity party. Nor am I trying to claim I have it worse than others. I am not trying to palm off low self esteem as worse than depression or other mental health issues nor am I trying to isolate low self esteem on it's own as the route of all problems. It can join forces with other extended family members like pride, fear, anxiety and high ego to become a super cluster fuck of negative forces. I know what wallowing in self pity looks like and it's difficult to listen and be around before you just want to say, "Oh for fucks sake."

Firstly what actually is low self esteem?

"Believing that there is something innately wrong with themselves, these low self esteem sufferers experience self-esteem attacks (often called panic attacks) when they do something they deem to have been stupid, something they think others have noticed, and something that confirms their own feelings of inadequacy"

But How do you know if you have low self esteem? What are the Characteristics of Genuinely Low Self Esteem. Here is a list from a Doctor who writes about low self esteem. I have some. Perhaps we all do?

1. Social withdrawal - Not really. But I do isolate at times. Even in crowds or I do what I need to do then slope off to be on my own. Why can't I be more sociable and feel comfortable with that?
2. Anxiety and emotional turmoil - not anxiety but mild emotional turmoil. At some points usually around romance or romance.  
3. Lack of social skills and self confidence. Depression and/or bouts of sadness - self confidence is fragile and can be gained from external forces. What happens when they disappear or turn on you? Fooked then!
4. Less social conformity - not really though I've always railed against conventional life.
5. Eating disorders - yup. On and off for around 6 years.
6. Inability to accept compliments - yup. Although I love the attention the compliments stopped working yeas ago.
7. An Inability to see yourself 'squarely' - to be fair to yourself - yup
8. Accentuating the negative - yup
9. Exaggerated concern over what you imagine other people think - yup
10. Self neglect - fuck yes
11. Treating yourself badly but NOT other people - I'm afraid so.
12. Worrying whether you have treated others badly - sometimes yes sometimes no.
13. Reluctance to take on challenges - not physical ones, but I wont do them as well as I can. Self sabotage.
14. Reluctance to put yourself first or anywhere. - yup, though it's a weird one mixed with alcoholism as the self centred behaviour is polar opposite.
15. Reluctance to trust your own opinion - yup
16. Expecting little out of life for yourself. - in some cases yes. Settling for second best

When it gets really bad, at times you think of yourself as the biggest piece of shit in the universe. Then of course you are lost in pure ego and pride and self pity. It is misshapen and the ego has taken over. You're not that important nor the centre of the universe but your mind is telling you that. That's maxing out on it. Then of course you're going to want to smash yourself to pieces. Self neglect or sabotage seems natural. It's heart-breaking to see and difficult to get out of this pattern if you're in it.

Low self esteem doesn't have to be so destructive and loud all the time though. it can be just a daily 'thing'. You become so used to self hatred it just becomes a fabric of your inner dialogue. Only sometimes does it get too loud & disable you. The rest of the time it's just low level noise in the background subtly controlling your thoughts and behaviour.

• Go for that job? "You'll never get it. You're not qualified" It will tell you.
• She's a nice girl and likes you. Perhaps you can have a relationship - "I'll only hurt her by sleeping around. Besides she's too nice and that's boring."
• You need to put some work in to your CV and business"Have another cigarette and cup of tea and put off doing that thing"
• Why don't you write a book? "Fuck that. That means you have to be disciplined and work hard. Watch porn instead"

The list goes on ad infinitum.

The reason I have done Ironman triathlons is to try and make myself feel like a real man and strong deep down. Nether which I've felt since I was young.

The reason I have womanised throughout the past 12 years in sobriety and acted in sex addiction was to make myself feel better about myself and boost my esteem.

The reason I tried to turn myself into the best lover in the world (ego) was to make myself feel better about me. It worked for a while. Not really so much now.

I have put myself in positions sexually to feel powerful and amazing. I've also put myself in painful positions that have fed my chronic low esteem and self hatred to show evidence it is real. Ever failed to get it up when the pressure's on? When you've staked your entire human esteem and ego on being a legendary swordsman and that happens. You are truly fucked.  That's a world of pain right there as male pride combines with self hatred to give you a battering. Even worse when she goes off to a lover more hung than you to get what she needs. That's a triple world of pain. Ouch.

The reason I tried to get a 6 pack and muscles was to make myself feel good and worthy and strong. It worked for a bit but I still felt weak and like a little boy inside sometimes.

I often say. I am 6ft 2 but frequently feel 5ft 7 inside. I just don't match up. Which is puzzling. Low self esteem

I've had it since I was young. I covered it up of course. But I never felt I matched up to my Dad and eldest brother from youth. I always felt less than them. Trouble is I was a legend in my Mum's eyes and the family's as the youngest of 3 boys. The baby. So I got used to attention. I felt I was entitled. When I didn't get it, the less than feelings became strong. It was conflicting and confusing. Still is.

At school I wanted to be number 1 but covered up feeling number 1000. But other days above everyone. Then the drinking and drugs started and made it all worse.

In sobriety I've learnt many things including this low self esteem. I've been happy at times, usually because of outside influences but underneath I knew a nagging truth. As if the low esteem was whispering. "You know you're a piece of shit. This is temporary sticking plaster. I'm patient. I'll get you in the end. Your fixes will only last so long."

Well, It feels as if they have come home to roost. The outside fix isn't working as-well as it did at 5 or 10 years sober.

I'm 44 years old. 15 years sober. Out of work, trying to figure out what to do with my life. No huge savings. No massive house with a mortgage. No kids. No wife. No book. No real 10 year plan how to reinvent my life. I'm 15 years sober and the fixes aren't working as they once did. I'm at a cross roads and I am finding it difficult to alter these. Deep down I don't want to and not even sure I can. But the alternative is this aching low self esteem devouring everything in it's path.

How long will I let it run me? How can it be stopped? Although I stress it's not like it every day. Just struck me today how much it has affected my life.

Yes I know. Cognitive behavioural Therapy can help. Reprogramming your brain. How you talk to yourself. What you eat, sleep, looking after the mental and physical health is important as is a way to talk about it, so one can make a change.

I can also as they say do esteemable things. This can work. I do plenty of service and help others, but as earlier, a common characteristic is sorting out others before yourself. Deep down i'm not a huge fan of myself and have spent all my life running away from myself or trying to 'fix' me.

I started The Inside Job, 5 years ago on this very subject. I didn't realise it would take me this long to realise. The pain now is trying to turn it round when my lower self and deep instinct is to stay as I am.

Scared to let go of the familiar. Can't live with it can't live without it. Its a painful place, but it will pass and re-doubling efforts and facing up to some stark painful facts about oneself is the first step on the journey of being comfortable with The Inside Job.

Who's with me on the journey?

TNE

x

How to Help Your Mental Health...Share Your Truth...

I was kicking around for a blog topic today when I met a girl in a spin class. Without knowing it, she kindly gave me the topic.

I woke up with the black dog on me. Fear and Negative thoughts prominent. Even going to my early morning meeting didn't shift it.

But one thing stood out. Someone shared about when they were going through a bad time, yet they pretended they were fine and kept it in. It wasn't until the pain got too much they opened up and shared their inner truth which helped change momentum. Obviously you have to put action in and do certain things after to help change mood/direction. But it was the initial splurge of the inner demons and the raw inner truth that helped him. I really connected with that. It's what I passionately believe in.

We live in a world where image is everything. Lives are displayed via filtered images on social media. The pressure for many to be fit, happy, successful or motivated is relentless. Some can't cope with this intolerable social pressure. We see so many mental health issues, young girls with social pressure to be thin, eating disorders, debt, depression, alcohol and drug dependency. Yet many find it hard to speak out. Where do you go with these issues? Are we really further advanced than before?

And what about the low level unhappiness? Not the headline mental health disorders but people who just become more grumpy, road rage, turn to bad food, fractured relationships, unhappy jobs. Slowly it unravels and creates a huge impact on our lives and those around us.

Me? I'm a sharer. I'm lucky. I go to a 12 step fellowship where I can share my truth daily. I am blessed with the gift (and curse) to express exactly how I feel whether it be sad, unhappy, angry, hard on my self, less than or more than. Whatever it is, I share it. Yes I have to seek a solution and action to change it but utimately I cannot keep it in. That was the shit I drank on. All the pressure and negative thinking being stored up with nowhere to go until the pressure got too much and I had to drink like a maniac. These days the pressure still builds but I let it out appropriately.(Mostly)

Yes exercise, good food, constructive action such as meditation and prayer is good for our soul and mental health. But sometimes a good old expletive laden rant or tear up is just so freeing.! Let it out folks it can save your life. Seriously.

In an age when it's fashionable to use scientific or 'therapy based' terms, a good old fashioned rant up can purge the soul and allow space for other stuff to come in. It really works.

I've seen people who cannot share their deep truth develop serious illness. I believe it rots the inner self when you cannot let it out. It can lead to serious things but also subtle things like passive aggressive behaviour. Either way it's difficult to be around or connect with a person clearly lost in the turmoil of self or their life.

We all have it. Life is like that. Things like work, money, finance, romance, status, family, health and happiness can all creep up and overwhelm us. A crap boss, a bad relationship or fear of the future can all have an effect.

Have you ever asked someone of they're Ok and hear 'I'm fine'. End of conversation. Just as their jaw is twitching. Supressed anger and worry flowing out of them, but of course, they're fine!!!

Fuck that. Let the inner truth out!!!! Let rip people it will help!!

Anyway, I left the meeting and went to a spin class. A brutal 80 minute sweat fest which I loved. It felt great to be back after weeks of illness (I still struggled to breath but fuck it I felt good)

I saw a girl I know and after class she had a pained expression on her face.

'What's up?' I asked
"I hated that" She winced
"Why my lovely?"
"I'm tired and stressed and I just hated it"
"Did you have a grump and strop in the middle of it? I enquired"
"Yes, I just wanted to cry and leave."
"I just swear at the instructor when I feel like that. They know me now and if i'm having a bad day it comes out in a massive strop. What's going on?"
"I'm busy, I have to study and work and do loads of exams. I have stuff to do now."
"Are you sleeping?"
"NO"
"Are you eating well?"
"No"
"What is work like?"
"My boss is a wanker, I have to 12 hour days and I have exams in 2 weeks. I'm so worried."
"Best to let it out girl. Give it to me."
"What?"
"Your raw inner truth. Give it to me straight. No filter. Fucking share it."
"I hate my boss, I hate my fucking job at the moment. I don't know why I have to do these stupid fucking poxy exams just to keep my job. It's fucking stupid. I hated the class. It was too hard and I usually love it. I even hated cycling here. It's usually the thing I love and I hate it. I feel terrible.
"Good girl. More."
"I hated the cycling over here. It's the wind.
"Oh that fucking wind. I bet it was in your face all the time wasn't it?
"Yes"
"And the fucking traffic. Bastards in your way."
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Because I feel like that sometimes. It's Ok it's just everything piling up on you."
"It is"
"let's do a game"
What?"
"Do a chant together?"
"How"
"well say with me a sentence"
"OK"
"fucking cunts. Fucking fuck fuck fuckity wankers, fucking twats."
"again"
so we said it three times. We looked at each other, burst out laughing and it was burst. The pressure bubble had burst.

"Go home. Call someone you trust and love. Ask them to give you the floor for 5 minutes and just rant. It's not how you really feel just empty the bile. Cook something and give yourself an hour", I said.

"OK I will, thanks Nick"

And with that I gave her a huge TNE hug and she left. Looking lighter, happier, easier and better than the demoralised, pained, contracted girl I saw after class.

She had unloaded. I understood. it comes out in many ways. But it was good for her to share before getting on her bike. Imagine her head on the way home without sharing? Messy.

So that is my topic. Yes there is much work beyond that. Sharing doesn't change all those situations but you never know, it may end up saving your life. I guarantee one thing though, you will look back and laugh at yourself if you do that. Not doing it will mean you continue to be locked in self and in a bad mood. I should know I've experienced it enough times.

A problem shared is a problem halved. Funny you won't hear that in a £10k a week treatment centre but it's true. Just not fashionable.

If you're sitting on a burning resentment, a deep secret easting you away, you're worried, frustrated or have mounting life pressure. Do me a favour find someone you trust and unload. Spare them the 2 hour version. Vent and move on. If it persists keep doing it with an appropriate person (me, therapist, coach, counsellor, sponsor, 12 step meeting, friend, support group) and it will lift. Of that I promise.

Hang tight crew and have a groovy weekend

Love you all

TNE

xx