No Pain, No Gain!

It's only 12 days now until my first race of the year, the Bath Half Marathon on Sunday 6th March. My race number and instruction booklet arrived in the post a few days ago.

I was a bit worried when I first caught sight of my number, as I thought the 'F' stood for female, and I had somehow been mistaken for a woman. How could this be? Perhaps one of the organisers had got hold of that photograph of me on a beach in Wales back in 1979 and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

I was on the verge on instructing Max Clifford to issue a statement:

"It was just an innocent bit of fun on the part of my client on a family holiday while he was still at school. We all did things when we were growing up that we perhaps regret later. In any event, nowadays it is much more acceptable for men to explore their feminine side, so it really isn't an issue. And don't forget that back in the late 1970s / early 80s there was still good money to be made in the daisy chain industry, and big hair was very popular with the England football team."

However, as I read through the instruction booklet, it soon became clear that the 'F' in fact denotes the starting 'pen' I have been allocated to and that Max had consequently lost a potential client. Unsurprisingly on the basis of my performance in the same race last year, pen F is the one at the back of the field! Oh well, at least it will reduce the number of people able to overtake me during the 13.1 miles.

Actually my training has been going pretty well. I am lighter and faster than at the same time last year with no sign of the pain between my left hip and knee that made the final part of the Bath half 2010 the slowest and most painful three miles I have ever experienced. I am still a long way off being able to challenge the 2:09 I recorded in Fleet in 2006, but it's early in the year and I have always seen Bath as more of an enjoyable weekend away and a part of my Project Five O build up than a realistic chance to record a PB.

Nevertheless my leg muscles have felt increasingly tight over the past couple of weeks, and that can only mean one thing. A visit to the physio for a sports massage. I've had a number of these over the past few years. They really are essential to prevent tight and knotty muscles developing into full blown injuries.  My latest physio is Stan from the Czech Republic and he is excellent. I paid him a visit this afternoon.

For most people the word massage conjures up an image of dimmed lights, scented candles and whale music accompanying the firm but gentle application of perfumed oils by an attractive female made to seem even more alluring by her slightly austere attire. A sports massage is no such thing, especially when it is administered by Stan.

The initial massage of each part of the leg is very pleasant, consisting of a rigorous but light manipulation to warm up the tissues. What follows is far less enjoyable as very firm pressure is applied along the entire length of each muscle to stretch and squeeze out any twisted and knotty fibres. The pain slowly builds as the pressure moves along the muscle, reaching a sharp crescendo and then fading a little towards the end. I reckon there were over twenty such sequences this afternoon. I have found that the best way through the experience is to keep breathing regularly and deeply, in a similar way to when I'm in the dentist chair. I actually think a sports massage is more painful than dental treatment, but curiously I would much rather visit Stan than my dentist Dr Boraghi, very nice man though he is. I think that's because dental treatment just feels so very intrusive. By the way, if you've clicked on the link, Dr Boraghi is the Rafa Benitez lookalike, not the Dr Evil impersonator.

The pain was all worth it, though, for the extra looseness and flexibility that I could feel in my legs as I made my way home after the treatment. They feel renewed, ready for the even longer runs to come. I do have strict instructions from Stan that I need to stretch my hamstring much more extensively as it was far tighter than it should be, and apparently still is even after the massage.

Now I'm back home I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine and dig out the scented candles and whale music CD. It's time to relax.

Snowed under!

It was noticeably colder than it has been recently when I set out for a three mile "recovery" run this morning - the recovery being from the 10 miler I completed on Sunday, and which left me feeling more like 70 than 49 and four fifths. It was the furthest I've run for a long time and boy did my legs let me know it. Still, in my overall plan for the year, that's 10 more useful miles in the old pins.

However, this morning's temperature was nothing compared to those prevailing through much of last December, when I took this photo of the back garden. For days on end, like most of the UK, we felt completely snowed under up here in St Albans, which brings me in a roundabout and highly contrived kind of way to the purpose of today's short blog entry. Work-wise I am almost as snowed under as the back garden was back in December and I will be probably until the end of the month. I shouldn't really be writing this now as I need to have the section of the Open University course I'm working on finished by the end of today. However, sometimes a change really is as good as a rest, and while I have been writing this I've finally come up with the wording for a tricky paragraph that I have been trying to write all afternoon. And women reckon that men can't multi-task! Huh!

Nevertheless, due to my current workload I may struggle to post very much on here between now and when I run the Bath half marathon on 6th March. Thereafter it should be service as normal again, and there will certainly be plenty for me to ramble on about on here once Spring has sprung. In the meantime I promise to do my very best to pop up with a few bits and pieces whenever I can, so please do keep dropping in from time to time to catch up with me.

I have thoroughly enjoyed writing the blog so far and have been happy to discover that some of the people reading it have found it entertaining too. As well as my running and various exciting events lined up throughout the year, I have up my sleeve a number of other ideas to write about, including a few more plunderings of the photographic archive.

I hope you will be able to stay with me for the ride.

Wayward Deliveries

I'm a big fan of internet shopping. I don't mind an occasional visit to the shops as long as they're not too busy and I have a specific item or items to buy. Smash and grab is the approach for me. However, I make the vast majority of my purchases online. What could be easier? Browse from the comfort of my swivel chair, tap in my card details, sit back and wait for the goods to arrive. The process has become even easier since I started my current job, in which I work from home more often than not.  Consequently I am nearly always at home when the goods arrive. Simples, as a meerkat might say.

It's not just at home that I'm able to shop online either. This very morning I was able to visit Amazon.com for some window (or should it be screen) shopping as I enjoyed a green tea at Paddington Station whilst waiting for the 8:15 train to Cardiff Central. The wonders of wifi. If I wasn't writing this blog post now on the train on the way home, I might well be browsing the latest buy one get one free offerings at Tesco.com. Well maybe not, but you get the idea. I'm not so much 'shop until you drop' as 'click and take your pick'.

What's more, I've never really experienced any problems with internet shopping. The one time an Amazon order did fail to arrive, I got onto their excellent customer services and the item was reshipped straight away. Other than that internet shopping has always worked very well for me. Until this week that is. Twice. However, before you start to think that my love affair with cyberspace might be about to go the same way as Katie and Peter's, I need to make it clear that the blame for my most recent couple of orders ending up in the wrong place rests squarely with me.

Mishap number one - with my Mum's birthday coming up on Friday I chose a couple of books from Amazon, took advantage of their gift wrap service and thought I'd chosen to have them delivered straight to the birthday girl in Bromley. I was rather taken aback, therefore, when the postman handed me a parcel yesterday containing the smartly presented items. It seems I had failed to select the correct recipients from my list of addressees. All was not lost though, as I was able to visit the post office, pay a second lot of postage and redirect the parcel to arrive at its intended destination with hopefully a day or two still to spare.

Mishap number two was similar and a kind of mirror image of mishap number one. This was an order from Marks and Spencer for Juliet's birthday on 21st February. With this week shaping up to be more out than in for me I decided to pay the small premium required to specify an exact delivery day. Tuesday was to be the day, and I waited at home patiently throughout the whole delivery window (7:00 am until 9:00 pm). I suppose I should have suspected that all was not well after my first visit to the courier's website, which informed me the package had been loaded onto the van at New Cross at 8:44 am. Not exactly local is it? Anyway, when 9:00 pm had come and gone with no sign of the delivery, I accessed the tracking system again to discover it had been "left in a secure location at the front of the property" at 12:44 pm.

"That can't be right," I fumed "There is no secure location in the front garden, and anyway they would have put a card through the door to let me know of its whereabouts, surely! They must have delivered it to the wrong address! Idiots!'

Nevertheless I got out the torch and looked behind the lavender pots and the wheely bins, but of the expensive birthday present there was no sign.

"Right I'm getting straight on to them to demand they send it out again" I stormed, noting down the order number from the confirmation email. "Oh no! Hang on a minute! The email gives our old house in Bromley as the delivery address. It must be the first order I've made since we moved and I haven't updated my details. Who's the idiot now?"

Hopefully the situation will be redeemed. Mrs Brown, the lady who bough our old house, has been very kind in redirecting the last remnants of stray post to arrive at our former abode, and I'm sure she will respond to the letter I've sent her about arranging a time to collect the package.

So, two birthday presents, each ending up in the locality intended for the other. That wouldn't have happened if I'd shopped the traditional way, would it?

Oh, and just in case you're wondering what took me to Cardiff today, I was visiting a school to do a reccee for two days filming the Open University hope to do there at the end of March. I've been to  Wales on a number of occasions but I've never visited the capital before. There wasn't any time for sightseeing but I did manage to sneak in a photograph of the magnificent Millennium Stadium on my way back to the station. As well as popping into Gap for a quick bit of old-fashioned shopping!

Making a spectacle of myself!

A new pair of glasses arrived for me in the post this morning.

New specs, same old cheesy grin.

They're a replacement for my reading and close up pair, which I have struggled along with for some time now due to the little dent in the middle of the left lens which results in an annoying and ever present fuzzy spot at the periphery of my vision. Most off-putting.

And yes, the new specs are purple! Put it down to my own version of a mid-life crisis if you like, but I can't afford a Harley Davidson so instead I'm experimenting with a little more colour in my eyewear range to distract from the losing battle going on higher up on my head, namely original hair colour vs grey.  I conceded defeat in the receding hairline tussle a long time ago, and unlike Austin Healy have no plans to follow Graham Gooch and Shane Warne into the Advanced Hair Studio.

As they're only my reading glasses, the general public will be protected from this bold new look for now unless anybody starts up organised tours to watch me working at my desk or reading in bed. That's unlikely I would have thought. However, if as a result of this home trial I come to like the new look, then you never know, perhaps I will be equally daring when the time comes to replace my main glasses. Elton John and Dame Edna could have a serious rival on their hands.

I like wearing glasses. I am very short sighted and have been wearing them since I was 11 years old. It's only recently that I've needed a separate pair for reading. Over the years I have become comfortable with the way glasses make me look. In fact I think I look better (and younger) with specs on than without. I did wear contact lenses for a few years, and still do for running, but nowadays I'm quite happy to remain bespectacled. My initial reaction to having to wear glasses as an 11 year old was less positive, however. In fact a year before my short-sightedness was officially spotted, the thought of wearing glasses had caused me such anxiety that I hoodwinked the nurse who carried out the eye test at school. That year we went in pairs to be tested. One would read off the chart while the other held the cardboard thingy over your right eye and then your left. My partner that day was my best friend from just down the road, Mark Edmonds. Here we are at around about that time in our new tracksuits just about to set off for the park.

The Eye Test co-conspirators 

As I squinted at the chart it soon became clear to me that I wasn't going to make it very far down, so I whispered to Mark as quietly as I could that I would appreciate a bit of help with the task. Being a good friend, he duly obliged, obviously not yet old enough or wise enough to realise that helping me pass the test via illegal means was not in my best longer term interests. It was only a temporary reprieve, though, as the following year I had to go it alone, causing the nurse to express alarm that my eyesight could have deteriorated so much in just one year. I kept quiet, and just hung my head to avoid catching her eye.

If I remember correctly the test was of the traditional smaller and smaller letters type, although it was such a long time ago I really can't be completely sure. Assuming it was, then perhaps it might have looked like this: