Burger balls

*Spoiler alert – I talk about snot, wee, poo and willy trouble so this is best not read whilst enjoying a meal*

It’s been a little while since you last heard from me and as a result I’ve been literally inundated with a question about whether I’m still running. Well, yes I am and the quick explanation for having been so quiet is that I have a baby. The long explanation is broadly similar, but involves me discussing dirty nappies and explaining why only a glass of wine and putting my feet up appeals by the time I finally get her to sleep on a night.

I’d offer to bring you up to speed, except that speed looks as remarkably lethargic, pain-staking and in need of serious hydration as when I last blogged. At least I’m assuming that’s how it looks from the outside because that’s certainly how it feels!

Gary Neville, the pubescent-voiced ex-Man Utd footballer-turned-commentator who everyone has raved about this season, said in December when asked about what lies ahead that “these are what I like to call ‘the winter months’.”

If you’re like me then you’ll be open-mouthed in disbelief at just how insightful that highly paid expert analysis is. He was, no doubt (?), inferring that the cold British weather has an effect on the game of football - and footballers themselves - because it’s certainly taken its toll on my running/jogging/staggering exploits too. In my case however the effect has been on my personal hygiene – an area that I’m trusting (and hoping) you wouldn’t have given any thought to.

The chances are that, even when I haven’t had the sniffles these past few months, within 10 seconds of stepping out into freezing cold drizzle I soon would. And that presents a dilemma. Whereas footballers choose to press one finger against a nostril whilst blowing out the contents of the other one (generally waiting until the cameras are on them) in the real world we’re taught to be a little more dignified.

Except have you ever tried blowing your nose whilst running? I’ve done the legwork (ba-dum!) and discovered it simply isn’t possible. Reaching in and getting a tissue out of your pocket, though tricky, makes you temporarily choose between running with a one-handed motion, or more embarrassing yet, with neither if you’re having to rummage about. Then trying to blow your nose whilst exhaling and out of breath becomes as difficult and frustrating as circling your foot on the floor in one way and your hand on your tummy the other. (Bet you try it!)

So as unappetising as it is I had no choice but to try the footballers’ solution. Only afterwards, with evidence of my cold splattered across my running top, did I realise why they only do it when they’ve slowed down to walking pace.

Which leaves no alternative but to ‘hock’ and spit. Again, it’s only experience that teaches you to first think about the wind direction before doing so and avoid re-designing your outfit for the worse. What concerns me most however is that whereas in the isolation of the local countryside I’m free to break as many of these social taboos as I like, when it comes to race day not only am I going to be self-conscious in full view of thousands of spectators, but how bad would it be to accidentally spit on another competitor? Though at least you’d have the incentive of running faster because someone would no doubt be chasing after you….

And I’m afraid these unsavoury considerations don’t stop there. Paula Radcliffe got chastised for it but what happens when there’s other urgent matters to attend to? My whole preparation for a long run is governed by what I’ve consumed to ensure I’ve eaten and drunk the right amount, and left long enough for it to digest before going out. But when you’re busting you’re busting and again I’m not sure the Great North Run will provide many isolated trees to stop behind. On one occasion I downed a pint of water 5mins before leaving the house and got only 100 yards down my street before regretting it. A combination of waiting until the dehydration process kicked in together with other aches and pains taking my mind off it made for the most unpleasant half an hour I’ve had since being in the crowd when UB40 came on stage at Live 8.

Worse yet those who follow my progress on the Runkeeper app (to the right of this page) will have seen the noticeably shorter run I did at the end of last month when, having thrown in a few interval training sprints, I got to the mile point and realised I was in desperate need of a poo. I hoped it was just a fart but couldn’t risk it in case I was wrong and created some horrible Hansel and Gretel anecdote. So having turned round I was left in the unenviable position of either running home in extreme discomfort (and the style of an Olympic fast-walker – must be how they refine their technique) but reducing the length of time before that was resolved or walking home but having to wait twice as long.

(The expression on the man 20 seconds into this will help make things clear)

Even more embarrassing (you thought and hoped this wouldn’t be possible I know) is the readjustment process required when my expensive specialist running gear is rubbing me up the wrong way. Thank God I’ve still got time to iron out these problems before the big day because several times (when I hope I’ve literally been nowhere to be seen) I’ve run for a good 10 seconds in a frantic waddle action with both hands trying to pull down the hemline of the asphyxiating elastic in my underwear that’s threatened to squeeze the life out of my manhood. Or trying to ease the pain being inflicted by the excruciating chaffing caused by my lycra running shorts. I will quickly stress on the embarrassment front that I do wear something over the lycra, I’m not quite yet a walking episode of Modern Family.

But fear not reader for I’m here to go through all these moments of personal anguish, discomfort and red raw agony in the hope that if you ever choose to do similar you’ll learn from my mistakes. Or maybe decide it’s not worth the bother.

I realise today’s topics have been a little crude and graphic so hope I haven’t offended anyone. Writing this is a little glimpse into the world of being an author, all of whom must wonder what their readers’ reactions will be. I’m not ashamed to admit being a fan of Sex And The City in which the lead character Carrie, a newspaper columnist, precedes the title of her weekly column in each episode with an inner monologue that ends “…which got me wondering…”

Well I’m glad to say that the title of today’s blog wasn’t the result of any such inner turmoil and better yet not the name of a condition I’m suffering from as a result of the aforementioned chaffing. It was however a suggestion made to me at a recent dinner party at which I was able to share some of these troubles from the past few months, and so see first hand what the reaction might be.

And the reaction was that half the guests appeared to lose their appetite, hence why I took the trouble to recommend you finish what you were eating before reading.

MM

Room 101

There’s one TV show more than any other I’d like to appear on, and it made a return tonight. Better yet Frank Skinner has picked up the reins from Paul Merton and before him Nick Hancock. Two comic giants (in stature, but not a good way) who loved their own ‘wit’ so much they’ve hopefully both fallen into the abyss of the show they presented. I am, of course, talking about Room 101.

If nothing else it’s return should hopefully put an end to them making any more of those Grumpy Old Men shows (tip – if you want me to watch your show don’t sell it to me with Rick Wakeman looking even more miserable than usual) which as far as I can tell served the same purpose i.e. a chance to sound off at those everyday things that tick you off.

The only trouble I’d have would be deciding which of my long list I’d prioritise. Each has its merits though I’m sure you’ll disagree with some of them. And so here would be my contenders:

H from Steps (Are we still meant to believe H stands for ‘hyper’?!)

Writing greetings cards (None worse than a colleague’s card passed around requiring a witty entry, especially when it’s already been passed round most of the office and every conceivable way of saying happy birthday/congratulations/sorry you’re leaving has been written already)

Nickelback (No explanation needed)

T4 presenters (All nauseating, perhaps none moreso than Alex Zane)

The word ‘lush’ (Generally said by women who think that pouting at a camera will improve their appearance. I don’t care where it came from, if you’re post-puberty it sounds the equivalent of your parents saying groovy)

Tractors (Leaving trails of shit everywhere at a very slow pace)

Text speak (Fine in a text but otherwise makes you look like an illiterate tw@)

Window cleaners (For scaring the crap out of me when they suddenly appear at my window and making me so self-conscious I have to hide in my own house)

The Lighthouse Family (*Shudder*)

Supermarket till operators (Making you ask for carrier bags and then sneering when you tell them you need more than the derisory amount they’ve given you for your week’s shopping. You have too much power.)

The phrase “you smashed it!” (Like the phrase “Have a nice day”, sounds authentic coming from an American but over-used and ridiculous on The X Factor thanks to airheads Cheryl Cole and now Tulisa)

Northern Rail (Went from several unfortunate years of being a daily passenger to living next door to a track they constantly work on, apparently requiring a round-the-clock alarm)

Middle Lane drivers (It’s an overtaking lane! If there’s nothing on the left pull in!)

Facebook (Or specifically people who like their own status or write something vague hoping someone will ask, “what’s up hun?” If you tell the world every time you’re “feeling sad :-(” it’s probably because you’re the type of person who thinks the world needs to know))

UB40 (White man reggae – say no more)

Obnoxious drivers (Who pull out of junctions forcing you to slow down. And lazy fat bastards that park in disabled bays with no badge. And BMW drivers (Obnoxious without exception. I test drove one before buying my current one – the salesman refused to tell me the price of the car until I complained!)

Jamie Oliver (I shop at Sainsbury’s in spite of, not because of that overly-cockney prick)

Nicholas Cage (Does he only accept parts requiring a whiny voice?)

Automated phone systems (Why is there never an option to just speak to someone to point you in the right direction?)

ITV (I’ll take it back if you can name me a decent comedy they’ve ever made)

Good Enough by Dodgy (We’ve all heard it more than enough by now haven’t we?)

Singers (Specifically those that sing whilst looking straight at you, leading you to feel you have to react to them by smiling inanely throughout. Seeing them doing it to others is just as awkward)

Horse people (generally middle-aged toff housewives who spend their bored lives irritating other road users by either driving their husband’s land rover they can barely see out of or grinding traffic to a halt as they take their scarily large-eyed pets for a walk down a main road)

Or at least that would have been the contents of my list until I started training. Like the latest niggling injury that’s kept me sidelined for the past week, there are nuisances out there that runners suffer week in week out. That being the case my list would now be:

Wind

Hills

Dog turd

Drivers that don’t give you a wide berth

That Benny Hill runner who overtook me

....and Horse people

The explanations for each are self-explanatory and, as innocent as each might seem by itself, have collectively given me plenty of cause for wanting them banished to Room 101.

Chances are I’ve offended each person reading this with at least one of those items I’ve listed and so I apologise in advance. My saving grace would be that they limit you to accepting just 3 items, no doubt for moaners like me who could rattle on all night given half the chance!

On second thoughts I hope they don’t cancel Grumpy Old Men. It looks far more likely that I’m better suited to it.

MM

Parenthood

I’d like to start 2012’s blog by thanking the (to remain anonymous) person that sent word that my silence was making me “conspicuous by my absence”. I like to think that suggests some James Bond-like mission that has kept me out of contact for a few weeks. Or a coma-inducing festive social calendar that still has me scratching my head as to my recent drunken whereabouts.

The answer is sadly / happily quite the opposite. Now I realise most of my followers know what’s happened, but I’ve got to think of my future international subscribers and inexplicable current ones (who, according to Google, mainly live in Russia) that don’t. And besides I think there’s still some room for explanation.

A week after you last heard from me I was blessed with the arrival of a healthy baby girl. After all the ups and downs, food cravings and mood swings the 9 ½ month wait was over. It hadn’t been easy for Emma either.

So clearly my priorities have been elsewhere whilst I get to grips with becoming a parent. And how am I finding it so far? Well it feels like I’m doing it single-handedly. Not by myself, but literally. Ned Flanders might have found a career in selling left-handed utensils but what about those poor souls like (I presume all) new-born parents who have to manage with just the one hand whilst the other is left holding/comforting/jiggling/swaying the baby? Next time you open a tin first try doing it with just the one hand and you’ll soon discover what I mean.

It’s been the biggest shock to the system you can imagine (or will know about if you’ve been there) but wasn’t unexpected given the amount of time we’ve had to talk and read about it. I’d say prepare for it except the truth is you can’t. Unless of course you get your kicks by cutting your sleep by half (on a good day) and splitting it into random parts of the day while trying to go about everyday tasks. To date I’ve managed to pour orange juice onto my coffee and nearly burn the house down by trying to sterilise something in the microwave without adding any water. Don’t try this at home!

New parents would be better prepared if they had a much better understanding of it all from an early age. In the same way I’ve discussed how I would previously have downplayed what’s involved in running 13 miles I’ve also had the same dismissive macho attitude to parenting drummed into me. “If men did give birth love we’d be back at work that afternoon.” No you bloody wouldn’t is the short answer. If teenage pregnancy really is the problem that the Daily Mail would have us believe then I’d suggest that all kids are taken on a school field trip to a screaming labour ward rather than measuring the speed of a river or visiting a factory to see how coke is bottled like my own.

The last 3 ½ weeks have been a real eye-opener as to how being a housewife/husband really can be the most difficult job to do. I’ve only had a taster so far but already the simplest of tasks get put to one side day after day whilst I grasp any brief window of opportunity to seemingly prioritise alternating between doing the washing up and hoovering. Replying to a text is generally done in instalments that can take hours. (And I’d typed up to this point days ago!)

So you might guess how it’s affected my training. Today was the 4^th time I’d been out in that time because it’s suddenly become such a sporadic opportunity. And frankly when those moments come I’d much rather be taking a nap. Admittedly only now with good cause.

At the same time though I realise I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve got a partner who can share the burden and take the strain for a couple of hours every now and again. God knows how single parents cope – their training schedule is constant 24/7.

Occasionally I drive past women in neighbouring villages who are out running with their pram or pushchair in front of them and at first I assumed they formed part of the same runners’ sect that like to be weighed down with a heavy rucksack or chase a dog on a lead. I can see now it’s out of necessity not insanity. You can even push a custom-built twin carrier around!

But for now I’m not quite in the Harold Bishop world of embarrassing exercise routines so will continue to scoff until the time comes that my sole trick of getting my daughter to sleep by walking up and down stairs turns into strapping her to my chest and taking her running with me.

Another 9 ½ month countdown starts now. For that’s when D Day arrives (not Darren Day…I hope) and, however awake I am, I run the half marathon. There’ll no doubt be similar challenges ahead to those that parenthood brings. A sense of wanting the process to be over as quickly as possible. Many days of discomfort and funny walks as my body gets into shape. Nearly passing out as the finish line approaches (thankfully I avoided it – just).

But ultimately something hugely rewarding and, with good fortune, something I manage to do again one day.

MM

Geek chic

I discussed the burden of glasses in my last entry and it's fair to say it stems from joining a community who's most prominent members at the time were Dennis Taylor and Deirdre Barlow. They were hardly synonymous with fashion but nevertheless not far removed from the style of glasses around in the early 90's. My first pair wouldn't have looked out of place attached to some string hung around an OAP’s neck. Worse yet my 2nd pair were the forerunners for Harry Potter's, only too narrow for my admittedly massive head so had to be tilted up to a 45 degree angle to avoid leaving ridges in the side of my head that people mistook for white marks where the sun hadn't tanned me.

The trend for cool kids to imitate those brave celebrities who increasingly chose to look like a poindexter never quite took off. Or at least that was the case where I grew up. Anyone who copied the first that I knew about, Chris Evans, was met a reaction similar to Jim Royle’s "Aye, and he's still got ginger bollocks!" I once turned up to a Christmas party in an expensive new designer cord jacket and - together with my rebelliously long hair at the time - got laughed at (rather than admired) for the similarities to Jarvis Cocker.

The term geek chic came annoyingly after my adolesence but I like to think I'd have qualified. Half my life seems to be spent working on spreadsheets. From organising the house bills to making a note of present ideas throughout the year to make Christmas easier, if there's a way to monitor and improve a process you can guarantee I can show you how on Excel!

I did say at the start of all this I'd try to inform as well as entertain. And since I'm struggling to do the latter I thought I'd have a crack at the other!

The ability to measure how my training is progressing has made the task infinitely easier and so I’d encourage anyone going for even the occasional run to download an app for their phone. They vary in terms of reliability and nuances, but should as a minimum keep track of how far you’ve been and for how long. Most will link to their own website to allow you to monitor how your training has progressed and many will have some kind of community you can participate in to answer common questions or make it feel like you’re not in it alone!

I started with a free one called mapmyrun. As I’ve mentioned before I'm not sure what the difference is between this and mapmyfitness since most apps of this nature ask what type (cycling etc) of activity you're doing. The website seemed fairly straightforward and I liked finding several runs around my village (as small as mine) entered by other users, so was obviously popular. But ultimately I was frustrated at not being able to monitor how fast I was running, which looking at the message boards seemed a common request over a long period but hadn’t been incorporated. So I looked at the alternatives.

I'd downloaded the nike+ app a while back when it was temporarily free (usually £1.49). I'd never really looked at it but if like me you assume you get what you pay for I was surprised to see that this received fairly average feedback. That coupled with an initial look at the lay-out had me looking for another. I was, after all, looking for a clear improvement by consensus, all too aware how brittle my motivation was and therefore how likely I’d use a crap app as an excuse not to train!

My first tip of this (and any app) is to look at what the reviewers compare it to in it's criticism. One person mentioned 'Runmeter' which did indeed get universal approval. In particular the ability to run 'against yourself' seemed brilliant. However it was £2.99 and, like runner's nipple and as a Yorkshireman, it went against the grain.

I remembered a couple of friends having posted their runs onto facebook and quickly saw they'd both used the same one, a free app called Runkeeper. Like most of the others it seemed to suffer some criticism for its potential to have problems with its GPS tracking (providing the various data) but on the basis that 1. Most of those who criticised it pointed to how brilliantly it had previously performed and 2. I assume most people are like me and will generally only leave feedback if they'd a negative experience thus skewing the results, I downloaded it and explored further. Immediately I saw a function I'd not seen on the others. I'm following a training plan which mixes up the duration and severity of exercise you do each week, so the ability to enter my own simple workout of 'Run 2 mins, Walk 2 mins, Repeat x 4' and amend it each week was perfect. It also very easily asks what music you'd like to listen to (e.g. shuffle, specific mix) from the same interface which again made it simple.

A few months on and I can’t really fault it. I registered a problem I was having viewing my results online, which a few others also had, and a month later they updated the app to fix it. There’s a ‘Street team’ feature which as well as allowing you to view runs others had done locally means you can keep updated on how others are doing who you know use the app.

A common complaint across most apps is that the GPS is faulty and in my experience this is helped by turning the app on a few minutes (rather than shortly before) you go for a run to allow it to get a good ‘trace’ on you.

You can get a feel for how it works by clicking on the Runkeeper link on the right of this page. Above all my main tip would be to download an app and use it the next time you go out for a walk, even if it’s just a shopping trip. You never know you might end up analysing how far you’ve walked so much that you decide to take your new-found interest one step further.

Don’t worry though, I’m not imploring you to become a glasses-wearing nerd like me, just a runner.

MM

Glasses

Glasses wearers get a rough deal. Every time I walk into the warmth of a pub in winter from the bitter cold outside it's like a recreation of the scene in An American Werewolf In London where everyone turns around in surprise to see two Americans walking into the Yorkshire pub (for local people!), only this time thinking what a prat I look with steamed up lenses. I've tried temporarily taking them off until they've adjusted to the new temperature and formed tiny circular look-outs but that doesn't work either. Blind as a bat I find myself having to choose between either ignoring what could be friendly smiles from regulars that I might well know, or smiling inanely at everyone in the hope I haven't offended anyone.

Being short-sighted I'm amazed at the number of people over the years to whom I've had to explain that it doesn't mean I can see perfectly up to a point before a sudden deterioration. It is in fact fairly similar to (my ability at) running - all's fine for a very short distance before a gradual worsening that ultimately leads to a blur. I don't run a total of 3.5 miles because that's as far as my ability stretches but because that's the point at which my tolerance has finally ebbed away, having started to worsen not far from my front door.

I've still been religiously following the beginners training schedule but last week got to the point at which I'd normally turn round and realised I still felt good (compared to usual, not compared to being sat on the sofa) so carried on a bit further. "I can manage 4 miles!" I thought, then getting to the 2 mile mark at which point I should have turned round only to tell myself "Sod 4 miles, I can make it round this long circuit I hoped to do one day!"

It all seems so predictable now, but suffice to say a mile on from my first moment of inspiration I was in considerably more pain only now even further from home. All of a sudden running a first stint of 2.5 miles had gone from impressive to a dawning realisation that I still had that far left to run home. "I wonder if Emma would be happy to come and pick me up?"

That's the thing about an exercise/sport/recurring hell that is so individual, so completely dependant on you. You need a bit of intuition, of getting to know your body and your limitations. I'm not advocating hippy love and exploring yourself but of getting a better understanding of yourself. Much like my Mum who has somehow over the years come to know which foods "don't agree with her". Nor it seems do some shopkeepers given that one of them called the Police in to resolve a complaint she had last week.....

Having somehow survived the rest of that run I'm then left with the dilemna. Do I go back to the old distances on the schedule or, having shown I can do it once, should I do it again? Don't want to look like a southern jessie after all.

So on the face of it I've had a really good week. Having first added 1.5 miles to my previous best I then reluctantly did the same run again but in a better time before yesterday running a bit further to get me over the 5 mile barrier.

There is a reason for this seemingly sudden improvement. It's not come from any exercising I've done or steroid abuse (now there's a thought for a future blog) but because when I first had those ambitious thoughts my 'id' took over. I won't pretend to know any more about psychology than what I pick up watching Frasier but quite simply your 'id' is the part of your psyche that is most instinctive and impulsive. The bit that takes over when you wave your balls around. That makes you choose a 7 iron because 5 years ago you a hit a 7 iron 200 yards and damn it that means you're macho enough to do it again.

I suspect if you look it up in the dictionary id will be defined as an abbreviation, meaning idiotic. Because that's the psyche of someone who runs further than they really ought but who hasn't yet realised how much more pain is involved when they still have to run 2.5 times further.

MM

P.S. A couple of weeks I got challenged to fit a chosen made-up word into my blog in return for sharing my blog on their facebook / twitter status. I hopefully managed to do it without you all noticing but just to say I thought it was a great idea. If any of you have any requests (ignoring the father-in-law's repeated requests for me to "fuck off") then please let me know. All I ask in return is that you help me increase my loyal fanbase!