The One With Peter. And Whasername...

My full report on the London Marathon is due out any week now... just as soon as I find the energy to lift the medal from around my neck and stand up straight again. Damn this swine flu. Meantime, enjoy this extract from the latest edition of New! magazine (the exclamation mark presumably reflecting the publisher's amazement that anyone bought it) which features celebrities and the macap lives they lead. Here we have Peter (?) and Katie (?) and the reassuring headline that Katie's legs will get thin again. Phew... can't you just hear Morgan Freeman saying this in the movie version in the same calm manner he used at the end of 'Deep Impact' to reassure us that "the oceans will receed"? But more important than that, check out my wee sister Rona in the photo at the bottom, flicking the Vs at the celebs as she sprints past. Superb!

The One With The Finishing Time

STOP PRESS... Marathon completed in 5:56:28 (hours, mins & secs... NOT days)... STOP... Wee sister Rona finishes in awesome 4:52:36... STOP... Body still in one piece, just... STOP... Never, EVER doing anything like this again, EVER!... STOP... then again...?!?

The One The Day Before The Marathon

The One With The Global Position Thingy

In an hour’s time I’m heading to the airport to fly to London on a jet plane. My bags are packed, I’m ready to go and quite frankly I am ever so slightly sh#tting myself. On the plus side though, all my immediate family are going to be there, even my wee-est brother Keithy who’s skipping parole and jumping (bail) on a flight from Texas in order to feed me cut-up Mars bars every 5 miles or so on Sunday.

If you’d like to watch out for me on television, my running number is 41484 and I’ll be the one in the maroon running vest and white shorts. And knees pads. Near the back. Beside the guy in the deep sea diving suit. But you know that already. I’ve tried to find out whether there’s some kind of fancy on-line GPS tracking system you can use to tell whether I go “off the grid” and jump on the tube instead, but it all seems to be connected to Adidas’s text update service through the website below and that’s all far too complicated for me to research further, much less understand.

http://marathon.mhub3.net/

With luck, I’ll get back on-line on Sunday evening with news of the outcome. Either that or I’ll buy an iPhone and post an update from my hospital bed. Meantime, many thanks to Alasdair & Sheena, Ken & Christine, Linda, Kate and Kirsty for their kind sponsorship in the last few days, it’s very much appreciated. Here goes nothin'...

The One With A Flock Of Seagulls

It’s been a tortuous week; mentally, far more than physically. I can only recall two decent nights worth of sleep in the last nine despite all manner of sedative drugs, not to mention extra-fluffy pyjamas. Here's what happened last week...

Saturday 11/04 & Sunday 12/04: Back in the pool both days for more “running”, “walking”, “cycling”, “flapping”, “flailing”, and assorted “near-drownings”. Feel like an idiot walking up and down the pool while pensioners glide by me with effortless front crawls. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the bright orange, blow-up armbands? Or the flowery bathing cap?

Monday 13/04: Like Rocky after getting hammered by Clubber Lang and watching old Mickey die, I return timidly to the gym this evening unsure whether my body can take any of the exertions it needs and uncertain whether my mind has the will to even try. Strap on the knee supports and get back on the bike (literally) for some low impact cycling, followed by some treadmill “power” walking, followed by some cross-training, followed by some ice cream.

Tuesday 14/04: Long, sh#tty day back at work is not helped when my knees become very sore in the afternoon after last night’s exercise. And an even more exhausting night follows watching Liverpool and Chelsea fight out a 4-4 draw. Knackered.

Wednesday 15/04: Back in the pool for more of the same as before. But without the armbands. Or cap.

Thursday 16/04: Back to the gym for more of the same as before. But without the knee supports. Apparently it will help build the strength in my knees quicker if I don’t wear them, says my gym instructor Leann. Or wreck them quicker if I push too hard, says one of the 138 conflicting voices in my head.

Friday 17/04: “Working” from home today because I have another appointment this afternoon with my Manual Lymphatic Drainage Therapist & Clinical Aromatherapist, or “Helen”, as I like to call her. She does her stuff and says very optimistic things about my chances of running this weekend and then makes me a cup of tea. As I drive home, I finally decide that one way or another I will be lining up at the start for the London Marathon on April 26th. All thoughts of a target time of five hours have disappeared and I’m at peace with the fact that if I have to walk the entire 26.2 miles then so be it. It’s not how I envisaged or wanted it to unfold but for all sorts of reasons I need to complete this thing. More importantly, I want to complete this thing. There… it’s decided.

Saturday 17/04: I need to try running this weekend so in an attempt to rediscover some nostalgic mojo, I drive to my old home town of Falkirk to soak up the atmosphere of its big public park where I used to go running and play mini golf when I was young. Power walking around the grass is certainly easier on the feet and legs but I’m too sh#t scared to break into a run. Have an ice cream to calm my anxiety… it never fails to help.

Sunday 18/04: Last weekend I made the mistake of watching a film called ‘Unbreakable’ which I’d taped (‘taped’, how quaint) ages ago. If you’ve never seen it, it was made by the same guy who made that one about the kid who could see dead people and like that one, it also stars Bruce Willis, but this time he’s not a psychiatrist who’s actually – Plot Spoiler Alert - dead.

Anyway, in ‘Unbreakable’, Samuel L Jackson plays a weird character who has some kind of brittle bone syndrome and in one particularly horrific scene, the weight of his unfeasibly large afro hairstyle makes him keel over and fall down a flight of stairs shattering almost every bone in his body. When I watched it, I realised it was exactly what I’ve been envisaging will happen if I ever try running again. With a large afro.

But I can’t put if off any longer so today I went out and started with half an hour of walking in the glorious sunshine. Returned to the house to collect some juice and do some stretching and then stood outside my house for what seemed like hours trying to…

a) remember how to run, and

b) pluck up the courage to start.

When I finally begin, it feels like I’m trying to run without having my feet touch the ground but every contact I make with the concrete sets off one of the 138 screaming voices in my head… “What. The. F#ck. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing. I. Thought. We. Had. Agreed. That. This. Was. All. A. Big. Mis… WARNING. WARNING. Six. Inch. Kerb. Ahead. Pull. Parachute. Cord. Now. Pull. PULL.”

Anyway, I manage a couple of miles in a sort of stop-start, run-walk fashion, which I know doesn’t sound a lot, but it felt very good to me. I RAN.

Favourite iPod moment of the day was Hothouse Flowers singing ‘I Can See Clearly Now’. I loved this band twenty odd years ago (Twenty?!? WTF?) and I’d quite like it if this is the song that’s playing when I cross the finish line next week.

This may be the last time I write here before the marathon next Sunday. If you’re trying to spot me on television, I’ll be the one in the maroon running vest at the back beside the guy in the deep sea diving suit. Either that or I’ll follow the advice of a friend who last week offered the helpful suggestion, “If your knees are f#cked and you’re gonna just walk it, you might as well dress up in a chicken suit.” Thanks pal.

It only remains for me to say a very big thank you to Murray & Helene, Linda & Kenny, ‘Amish & Vanda, John & Anita, Rachel, Kathryn, Mer (all three ladies in wonderful TX), Marc (the cousin), Mark (the published author), Karen, Alison, Steve, Stuart and Val for their kind and generous sponsorship in the last few weeks.

www.justgiving.com/neilsutherland

The One With A Proper Sport

It’s Good Friday, it’s a beautiful calm, mild day with hazy sunshine and I’m due to be playing golf in Gullane at 9am this morning. I’ve hummed and hawed all week as to whether the combination of my twisting (but majestic) golf swing and walking five miles up and down hills will have a negative impact on my knees. But in the end I decide to wear my running tights and knee supports under my trousers and head out to the links to meet good friends Hawaii and Dave.

Three and a half hours later I’ve recorded seventeen pars and one bogey for a seemingly effortless 72. Golf is such a great game… what the f#ck am I doing trying to run a marathon?

The One In The Pool

It’s been seven days since I last ventured out for a run and although my knees feel more stable now when I walk, I’m still too scared to inflict any heavier impact upon them. So early this morning I slipped into my skimpy Speedos and headed to the local swimming pool for what can best be described as "a moistening". Because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s swimming.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I can’t swim. In fact, if you ever find yourself flailing in the shallow end and you’re less than ten feet away from the side of the pool, I will not hesitate to descend the pool steps in a cautious manner taking care not to slip and crack my head open and then reach out my arms to point you in the direction of safety. Any more than ten feet, I’ll throw you a ring.

I just find swimming the most boring (and tiring) activity ever conceived. There’s the water for one thing… it gets everywhere. Luckily though, I hadn’t gone to the swimming pool today to swim; I had gone to “run”… or at the very least, “walk”, up and down the length of the pool for half an hour with a little additional “cycling” throw in for good measure. It didn’t make me feel like I’d made any inroads into all the running I’ve missed in the last week or so but doing something must be better than doing nothing, right?

Incidentally, I noticed from the updated information poster by the side of the pool that “running” and “bombing” are still very much frowned upon in the public swimming arena. However, there was no mention at all of “heavy petting” so I… um... never mind...

The One With The Second Opinion. And The Third.

This morning I went to see an old friend who gives massages. To be fair, she’s actually a Manual Lymphatic Drainage Therapist & Clinical Aromatherapist which means that although I usually go home afterwards feeling like I’ve had a good “going over”, I sure do smell pretty.

As usual when I arrived, she told me to take off my clothes but unusually, she then invited a friend to join us. Struggling to stifle a broad grin, I expected a flurry of camera phones to appear but it turned out her friend was a physiotherapist who’d been told of my knee trauma so they both examined my lower back closely and decided the problem had definitely originated there as a “soft tissue” issue. You see, the back bone is apparently connected to the hip bone and the hip bone’s connected to the *breath* thigh bone and so on and so forth, all the way to the knees and toes, knees and toes.

Anyway, they reckoned I shouldn’t have had the steroids shots yesterday adding more fluid to already fluid-filled knees (also, I don’t think they liked the new breasts) but I suppressed the urge to open my flesh with a scalpel to see what’s really going on and instead managed to lie back quietly for an hour while experienced hands tried to fix me.

The One Where I Was Asked To Cough. Twice.

In an effort to combat the inflammation caused by a build up of fluid and grinding cartilage, an orthopaedic surgeon stuck a needle into my left knee twice this morning to give me two steroid shots. I’m not sure if I’ll ever run again but my new breasts sure look pretty.

The One With The Forrest Gumps

When I wrote the title for this post on Tuesday evening, I was all set to relay the story of how I went shopping for knee supports on Monday. I was going to take a picture of me wearing them or manufacture a ‘hilarious’ image of me strapped into the Forrest Gump leg braces. I was going to joke about how the most horrifying physical challenge for all marathon runners is CROSSING A F#CKING ROAD because not only do you have to execute a ridiculously intricate tippy-toe stepping movement that wouldn’t look out of place in a comedy Riverdance routine as you twist round to see if there are any cars coming, but when you get to the other side you have to constantly chop and adjust your stride pattern like a sh#t-scared showjumping horse approaching the puissance wall as you contemplate mounting the monumental obstacle of the SIX INCH KERB.

But now it’s Friday evening and there’s something wrong with my knees; my left knee in particular which ‘popped’ painfully last night as I was slowing down at the conclusion of a five-mile run. Both knees have since been iced, elevated, compressed, rested and plunged into hot baths and although there’s no obvious swelling, I couldn’t walk today without a constant grinding and crunching seemingly taking place behind the kneecaps on every step.

So now I’m anxious and feeling desperate, especially after just completing the online ‘How Prepared Are You To Do The Marathon In 3 Weeks Time’ assessment questionnaire to discover that I’m officially rated as “sh#tting myself”. Every time I get an email from Just Giving to tell me that another kind and generous person has made a donation to my fundraising effort, I cringe at the prospect of not living up to the responsibility. I feel like I want to write to anyone that hasn’t yet sponsored me to say, ‘save your money, save yourselves, turn around and run… run like the wind’. It actually crossed my mind today to see if I could transfer to the wheelchair race instead.

But I have hope.
I re-read the inspirational words on my wee sister Rona’s fundraising page and have reinforced to myself that not completing 26.2 miles on April 26th is simply not an option.
I have been in touch with various friends and acquaintances that have either had knee problems or are medically trained to give opinions.
I have an outside chance (thank you Carol) at getting an emergency appointment with a renowned sports physiotherapist in Edinburgh next week.
I just need a solution to get me to the finish line in three weeks time.
I will pay any price, financial or otherwise, to make this happen.
I have done too much to give up.

If you read this and have any idea, notion, suggestion or experience that you think might contribute to the solution I need, please let me know with a comment, text, phone call, smoke signal, semaphore flags, Morse code, carrier pigeon, two tin cans and a piece of string… WHATEVER!

Or you could email me at neil_sutherlandAThotmail.com

The One That Wasn't Nearly Enough

My wee brother Keith called me today to inform me that he was on his way out to the all-you-can-eat Sunday brunch at the Four Seasons Hotel in Irving Texas, just north west of Dallas. Oh, and he was also concerned that "the blog has gone cold". To discover the reason for that, we have to go back seven long days… *..cue Scooby Doo squiggly screen..*

Last Sunday when I got home from St. Andrews, I started to feel a bit queasy and the next morning when I got up at 5am to catch a flight to London, I could barely move my aching bones after a night of feverish sleep in sweat-soaked sheets. (I’m going to spare you descriptions of other bodily excretions that took place in a different room of the house.) This condition might have been acceptable if I’d had company but I didn’t so the rest of my week consisted of maximum bathing, minimum shaving, drinking lots of water and Lem-Sip Max Strength, eating a little food, laundering some bed linen, “working” from home, more sleep than I’ve had in what seems like a decade and most alarming of all, absolutely no running whatsoever.

I also developed what I have now officially patented as my ‘worried and concerned face’™ such was the anxiety over not being able to get out the house, far less put on my running shoes. In truth, I did venture out to the gym late on Friday evening but had to stop after half an hour when pixies came floating out of my nose and tried to trip me off the treadmill with a series of mesmerising dance moves and punches to my face. Either that or my legs gave way and I fell over.

And so to my ‘long run’ today. I was supposed to do 16 miles. I reckon I managed 11 at most in the two hours and 6 minutes that I was out. Not nearly enough. By the time Emmylou appeared on my iPod singing ‘Deeper Well’ – “thought I’d died and gone to hell, looking for the water from a deeper well” – I knew exactly how she felt. So if anyone happens to be passing and can hear my shouts from far below in the dark, I’d be obliged if you could throw me a rope. Thank you.

Meantime, let me dwell on more positive things and say a very big thank you to Rona, Douglas, Sue, Bruce, Linda, Evie, Kenny Y, Heather, Elaine and Marshall for their kind and generous sponsorship over the last four weeks.

There’s only four days to go now until World Autism Awareness Day on April 2nd and only four weeks to go until the Flora London Marathon itself. If you’d like to make a donation to this extremely worthwhile cause, and thereby avoid receiving a nagging email from me, you can do so by going to…

www.justgiving.com/neilsutherland

The One In St. Andrews

The weeks seem to be passing quite quickly now. Too quickly perhaps. Because of the length and duration of the long runs at the weekend, the ones during the week seem straightforward in comparison. Too straightforward perhaps? On Tuesday this week, my training plan said “40 minutes, brisk” and for the first time ever I actually felt I completed it at a tempo a notch or two higher than my usual pedestrian (but graceful and biomechanically efficient) pace.

But all I seem to do at the moment is work, run, eat and sleep (and not very soundly at that) and have found myself putting off seeing people until these next five weeks are complete. At which time I can continue to avoid them by rediscovering golf.

However this weekend is different because it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow so I’ve come to St. Andrews to visit my mammy. I did my long run late this afternoon which I’m hoping will mean I get a long, restful sleep tonight but I’ll need to be careful not to leave wet towels and clothes lying all over the floor in case my Mum accuses me of treating the family home like a hotel… I’d hate to have to phone down to my Dad at reception and complain about the maid’s attitude again.

Anyway, the long run was tiring but enjoyable on yet another gorgeous, cloudless day. For anyone familiar with the area, I parked my car beside the Old Course Hotel and ran all the way out to Leuchars, then back to the car to pick up some more Powerade and the most disgusting honey ‘energy gel’ ever concocted, then all the way through St. Andrews past the East Sands to the caravan park on the hill and then back to the car, some 14.5 – 15 miles in total.

Before I left home this morning I charged up my little iPod Shuffle and allowed iTunes a free reign to reload it with whatever it wanted. As usual, it selected a disproportionate number of hits from its (extensive and slightly disturbing) collection of West End musicals… how the hell did the Colonel Hathi’s March – “in da militawy style” – from The Jungle Book get in there? But my favourite iPod moment by far today was REM singing “Fall On Me”. Ages since I’ve heard this. And bring back MTV’s Unplugged.

The One With A Real Half Marathon

It’s the end of week 10 of the 16-week training plan. These next four weekends are going to be hell; a real dark and tough time within the latter part of the plan which will witness the longest training runs and stretch every mental and physical sinew to breaking point; a time to which we marathon runners refer simply as “the four real dark, tough, sinewy-stretchy, pointy-breaky, physical weekends of mental hell”.

Today I should be running 13 miles (followed by 15, 17 and 19 on the next three weekends) so it’s fortuitous, accidental even, that two days ago I came across a poster advertising today’s Meadows Marathon taking place in Edinburgh. Arranged and managed by students of Edinburgh University (so imagine the slick, efficient, organisational skills on show in Bristo Square early on a Sunday morning) the name’s a bit confusing because although it’s being held around The Meadows in Edinburgh, it’s only a half-marathon.

But it’s exactly what I need… a chance to see what it’s like to run with other people while the thronging crowds cheer you heartily all the way round and hot, scantily-clad students smeared in Flora are on hand at every water station to provide resuscitation in all its forms. Alas, not everything turns out to be exactly the same as I’ve fantasised London to be come April. The crowds were thin on the ground for one thing. And I couldn’t believe it wasn’t Flora. But it was certainly an experience running with other people.

I say ‘running with’ but I got the shock of my life when the starting gun went off and almost everyone seemed to shoot off at a sprint leaving me towards the back of the pack, languishing behind four guys carrying large and heavy-looking Loch Ness Monster costumes on their backs.

The ‘race’ consisted of seven and a half laps round The Meadows and right from the start one thing became clear: running ‘laps’ is mind-numbing, delusion-inducing, soul destroying stuff…

Neil (quietly to himself): “Right, there’s that same gnarly-looking tree again. I must’ve passed it a few times now. Only one more lap to go?”
Neil (to himself, but rather more strenuously): “Think again numbnuts, this is only lap 2.”
Neil (out loud): “F##########CCCCCKKKKK!!!!!”

However, one advantage of running seven and a half laps is that at some point you get to see almost every other person running in the race… mainly because they keep lapping you – the winner lapped me three times! But I was heartened by this because while my running style is the very definition of sleek, energy-saving, biomechanical efficiency, most other people looked, if not quite like idiots, then very akin to Phoebe and Rachel. Sure, they’re quick and very fit and probably powering their way to new personal best times but the crooked feet and the flailing ankles and the weird tilting and the stubby little t-rex arms are not going to rack up many style points in my book. Because we all know style points are the most important thing in running marathons, right?

RIGHT?

Anyway, overall I enjoyed the experience and finished the run just a couple of minutes outside my target time of two and a half hours. And I beat the Loch Ness Monster. Only three more real dark, tough, sinewy-stretchy, pointy-breaky, physical weekends of mental hell to go now. Oh, and then the 26 mile one...

The One With The Running Vest

Today my official running vest arrived in the post from the NAS – pretty, isn’t it? – and in an instant, made this whole marathon experience more real than it’s ever been up to this point. Now, finally, I can add vivid colour to the image in my mind of me crossing the finishing line, arms outstretched as I try and dig my nails into the concrete and pull my broken and prostrate body inch by agonising inch towards its final resting place.

Last year’s NAS vest was light blue in colour but I much prefer this one because it’s almost the same as the basketball strip I wore with great success in High School, that being the last time I could run for more than 20 minutes. I’m presuming my official race number will be pinned on underneath the wording but I’m a little concerned that there might not be enough room towards the top to iron on “Lightning Boy Woo! Hoo!”, my official race moniker. We’ll see…

The One With The Top Tip

When training for your first ever marathon, NEVER do your weekly long run on a Monday evening in March after getting home from a shitty day at work and thinking that it looks quite nice outside but forgetting how cold it gets as soon as the sun goes down and timing that exact moment for when you happen to be at the furthest point from your warm home and even warmer bubble bath of scented lavender and ylang ylang.

Got it?

The One With The Running Guilt

Still trying to get this blog up to date... Still trying to catch up on sleep... Still the one I run to, the one that I belong to... jeez, Shania, where'd you come from?

Meantime, if you ever want to leave an encouraging comment here – “run faster fat boy”, or something - I've removed the Krypton Factor-like word verification thingy so it should now be easy to do…

It had been my tentative plan to try and do this weekend’s long run late yesterday afternoon so that I could go to bed afterwards and finally get a decent night’s sleep. But four hours in the office yesterday morning removed all motivation to do anything other than lie on the couch and eat ice cream.

This morning when I woke up, there was a blizzard blowing outside – actual snow and winds, hurricanes even – and it continued for most of the day, so to cut a not-so-very long story even shorter, I didn’t get out today to run the 140 minutes that my training plan seemed to be screaming at me all day… “Only two things come from L’lthgow BOY…”

However, once the roads were clear of snow, I went to the gym for an hour late in the afternoon and found it absolutely packed with anxious people who also hadn’t made it outside for a run today. Sitting at home afterwards without the usual Sunday feelings of aching muscles, creaking bones and desperate, debilitating tiredness left me slightly guilty and uneasy that I’d gone ‘off the reservation’ as far as the training plan was concerned.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t the same blind hysterical panic associated with something serious, such as a new toilet roll being put on with the flappy bit DOWN THE BACK or the milk being poured into a cup BEFORE THE TEA, but all the same, it wasn’t the most pleasant of sensations.

The One With The Dressing Down

Every Friday in the office we get to ‘dress down’; an enjoyable ritual whereby we’re allowed to wear ‘casual’ clothing (i.e. clothing that’s perfectly free to see other people, no questions asked) and in return we throw a few coins into buckets placed strategically at the front door which eventually get donated to the company’s nominated charity.

However staff members undertaking private charity fundraising are allowed to reserve certain Fridays in order to collect the ‘casual’ money for their own particular charity. Four months ago I reserved today for just such an effort which meant that at 7am this morning, I was standing in the reception area of the office rattling my fundraising tin wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a big beaming smile. Oh, and my running shoes. And socks. And a National Autistic Society t-shirt.

My marketing ‘team’ had placed posters around the office over the past few days advertising the event which, in an effort to ensure maximum attendance, excitement and participation, had suggested the shorts I would exhibit this morning would be, to say the least, of the ‘snug’ variety. Alas.. *cough*.. they weren’t. But hey, marketing works (‘I’m Lovin’ It’?) and the people turned up and only a few (men mainly, wtf?) were disappointed with the ‘exhibition’. When I added up the cash from all the buckets and tins at the end of the day, I’d made £502.55, a fantastic result.

Clearly, this is not the occasion to make observations about the strategies people adopt to give money to charity (or not, as the case may be) but standing at the front door for three hours this morning was a fascinating insight into all the intricacies of human behaviour. So let me just say a very big thank you to everyone who made a donation today, especially Jackie, Tom, Ruth, Big Kenny, John and the others who gave hard-earned notes rather than coins. A special thank you too to Morv for the marketing, the tin-rattling, the coffee and the roll and sausage with potato scone (hey.. I’m ‘carb-loading’, okay?) and to Jamie and Eric who turned up to shake theirs also. Tins, that is.

The One With The Gym Review

Last Saturday morning I went to the gym for the first time in about three weeks and when I put my magic key into the machine thingy to ‘check-in’, there were a bunch of messages from my fitness instructor Leann asking me to make an appointment with her ‘asap’. The urgency of her tone made me think at first that perhaps she’d seen me having a fly smoke round the back of the five-a-side pitches and I was now being summoned to her office so she could ask me what the hell someone like me, with all that potential, had been thinking and didn’t I know that when she inevitably had to call my parents to break the news, it would hurt her far more than it would me?

But then I remembered I haven’t had a fly smoke since January 3rd so maybe I wasn’t being reprimanded after all and instead, had picked up a monthly gym accolade… February’s Most ‘Distinctive’ Treadmill Running Style (Seniors). So I made an appointment for this evening and jogged the 2.6 miles to the leisure centre to find out.

Amazingly, it turned out to be neither of these scenarios. Although Leann explained that she just wanted to review the original exercise plan and amend if necessary, I think I detected some relief in her eyes that I was actually still alive and my three week absence was not the result of keeling over at home with an aneurism after stretching to reach the remote control.

So now I have the same exercise routine as before but with all the numbers increased slightly so that I can go faster and stronger for longer… or some such thing. Favourite iPod moment as I ran the 2.6 miles home was Neil Finn singing “She Will Have Her Way”.

The One With The Scottish Rain

After last Sunday’s half marathon, the descriptor for today’s long run – “120 mins comfortable pace” – seems, on paper at least, like a bit of a walk in the park. But when you take it off the paper and put it in the discreet back pocket of your running ‘tights’, alongside the ‘special’ black and red jelly babies (oh, I haven’t told you about the jelly babies yet, have I?), and then go outside to face the elements, it becomes less of a walk in the park and more of a two-hour slog in the pissin’ Scottish rain.

Actually, that’s not quite true. It did rain while I was running for the first time since the ‘Toy Story 2 episode’ but only for about half an hour at the start and only when I was running with the force 10 ‘breeze’ at my back. Thankfully, all during that first half hour, my little green iPod shuffle served up, in what I can only assume was a tribute to Friday night’s gig extravaganza by The Signals, a right plethora of Scottish-based rock and pop gems including, but not limited to, the Kevin McDermott Orchestra, Del Amitri, Danny Wilson, Hipsway and the Allan Hendry Band. Awesome.

I spent most of today’s run on the path alongside the Union Canal, which passes through my town on its way from somewhere in the west, all the way to a noisy, overpriced bar/'bistro' in Edinburgh. I'd calculated that canals rarely run uphill or down so changes in elevation, and the resultant agonising pain in my calves and shins, would be kept to an absolute minimum. What I didn’t count on though was the rough terrain of the path where jaggy stones would stab me through the soles of my shoes and slight muddy patches would become barely leapable Red Sea-like puddles after a rain shower. Not to mention the mad cyclists and the fighting dogs who both almost sent me headlong into the murky waters of the canal at different points. And me without my crèche-boy water wings too. Never again.

However, at least I didn’t suffer last week’s little niggling injury again. The day after the half marathon run, I was in the shower and noticed that my left nipple was… um… ‘crusty’ is probably too strong an adjective but chafing-wise, it was certainly ‘medium to well done’. So this morning to counteract this, I lifted the Vaseline jar off the bedside table and headed into the bathroom to begin the Sunday ritual.

Generous amounts were, as always, applied to the inner thighs and massaged well into the muscles for effortless, frictionless movement. A second dosage, more subtle in quantity, was then added to the tops of the inner thighs, moving up slowly, gently, respectfully to allow the lower buttocks to receive their fair share of the ‘oiling’.

It’s at this point on most Sundays that the rubbing stops and the running begins but this morning I returned to the Vaseline jar for a third scoop. As I manipulated the substance delicately around my chest ensuring maximum nipple-lubing, a funky guitar soundtrack kicked up in the background, wah-wah peddle to the fore and all the way up to 11, and my door bell rang unexpectedly. To my surprise, a beautiful girl stood on the front step wearing denim shorts and steel-capped boots, plaid shirt tied up at the front and hands resting gently on each side where her well-laden toolbelt crossed her magnificent hips.

“Hey baby, I hear you got some plumbin’ needin’ seein’ to,” she whispered in a barely audible whisper.

I don’t remember what I said in reply because the next thing I knew it was four hours later and I could barely walk. Still, I’m sure that means I had a great workout.

Favourite iPod moment of the day was The Silencers singing ‘Scottish Rain’. If The Signals had videoed Friday night’s gig, it would’ve looked a lot like this.

Oh and before I forget, a big thank you to Suzanne, Allison and Soapy for their kind and generous donations to my fundraising efforts during the last seven days.

The One With The Half Marathon

It’s the end of week 7 (of 16) of my training plan and today it says, rather ominously, “Half Marathon (13.1 miles) Slow, plus walk warm-up and cool-down”. I love how they include the distance just in case there’s the tiniest semblance of doubt as to JUST HOW FRICKIN’ FAR that is for a 44 year-old ex-smoker who used to consider crossing the living room to collect the remote control from the other sofa “a fair hike.”

So yesterday I went out in the car and found myself a 13.1 mile route and this morning, on yet another cloudless, beautiful Sunday, I drove to the approximate seven mile mark and stashed some Powerade and a young Thai masseuse for the inevitable “support and supplements” my body would require. Long story short, I managed to complete the half marathon distance but was initially a bit disappointed with the time. Like most things in life though, there are pros and cons to consider when reflection takes place.

Pros
- I completed it.

- I didn't die.
- I felt ten times better after 13.1 miles this week than I did after 11 last week.
- Once I got home, I could walk up the stairs AND back down again for the rest of the day.
- I smashed my non-stop personal best running 95 minutes from the start to the Powerade stop, where I only stopped for a minute to stretch.
- I really only stopped one other time (for 30 seconds to stretch) during the remaining 77 minutes.

Cons
- It took me 2 hours, 52 minutes and 7 seconds to complete. I was hoping for 2 hours 30 minutes.
- Mind you, I was running into a cold, strong wind for at least half the run.
- And there were quite a few hills too.

So all in all, I'm feeling quite happy with the progress especially when I don’t think I’ve ever walked that far before, never mind run. And my favourite musical moment of the day was Simply Red singing 'Stars'... pure class.

All that remains today is for me to thank Shari, Brian, EJ & LB for their kind sponsorship in the last seven days as well as my good pal Andy (how does one say it… ‘obtainer’ of rare, as yet unreleased U2 albums) whose generous donation of Friday night’s poker winnings (still can’t believe I got bombed out with two pairs, Kings and Fours) has pushed the fundraising over the half way mark on the way to my target. Thank you all, it’s very much appreciated.