Photo 1: Approaching Beecher's Brook.
Photo 2: Oh Yes! No fallers here.
Photo 3: Why am I doing this again?
So I did the Theo’s 10k today which represents the third of the events I’m entered into and means that I’ve now run 15 miles out of the 100 I’ve promised to do. It went okay. I guess. I mean, the first lap went okay. I actually felt pretty good up until the 5k mark. I think, actually, the 5k might be my ideal distance because after I’d passed that point (once round the two lakes at Rother Valley Country Park) I started to feel pretty ropey. By the end of the twice round the ponds bit, I was barely running at all. I certainly didn’t manage the enthusiastic sprint finish I mustered for the Dronfield 10k and I have to admit, the one thought which was perpetually recurring as I ran those last few yards was “So why am I doing this again? This is not fun. This is just stupid.”
It’s been a bad couple of weeks really. I haven’t managed to train all this week because I caught some horrible flu-like virus off the kids. I’ve had all the most horrible symptoms: hacking cough, shivering, aching legs and joints, tiredness and a splitting headache. I managed a 7 mile run a week last Friday and felt pretty much like death warmed up the whole way round. That was another “So why am I doing this again?” moment. After that I thought the wisest course would be to try and rest up before the event today – on the premise that this would either make me run a fantastic race because I was so supremely rested (this is what I thought was going to happen on the first lap of the lakes) or I’d just feel crap because I hadn’t trained properly for the event (second lap).
The horrible flu-like virus resulted in a really bad case of nappy rash for my youngest son, so in a moment of extreme madness, probably whilst suffering from the hallucinogenic effects of a high temperature, I convinced myself that NOW – this precise time - this week, when we’re all really ill – would be a good time to start potty training! What can you say to that? I am a moron. Anyway – despite our collective illnesses – my youngest son (who is, incidentally 3 ½ now, so should really have been wearing pants long ago but we’ve just been too lazy to get onto it) took to wearing big boys’ undercrackers surprisingly well. The week was marred by just two incidents (apart from the illness). (1) Whilst delivering some letters in Bakewell my son was seized by a sudden and urgent need to wee. Small children just can’t wait, especially when they’re only just in pants, so we stopped at what I thought was an unobtrusive spot and I let him have a quick wee against a wall. Relieved, he hopped back into his buggy and we carried on delivering our letters. A short while later, on our return journey, we passed the same wall only to discover a hostile pensioner self-righteously cleaning the self-same wall where my son had just proudly marked his territory. He was cleaning the tiny puddle up with a PRESSURE WASHER. Part of me was abashed. I hate confrontation and I didn’t want to have a row in the street about the fact that I had just let my son pee up against this bloke’s wall. Part of me was amazed. I mean, a PRESSURE WASHER? Oh for God’s sake... It was only a small boy’s tiny little bit of wee. Part of me wanted to shout “GET A LIFE” at the miserable old bugger. Discretion being the better part of valour and all, I beat a hasty retreat and pretended I knew nothing whatsoever about the matter. I got away with nothing more than a few angry glances shot in our direction, but I fully expect an article to appear in the paper about the “Moral decline in mothers”. Bakewell is just that kind of place. After all, last week there was a full half page article about a rat which has had the temerity to take up residence in the Bath Gardens. How dare it? The person (the aptly named Mr Strange) reporting the incident has clearly stated that the rat’s days are numbered. He knows where it lives (under the steps of the Conservative club apparently. Even more appropriate – even the rats are Tories here, it seems). Any newspaper which dedicates half a page of news space to a rat is clearly really short on news. (If they had done this in Sheffield – I mean dedicated paragraphs of newspaper space to “Rat News” - the Sheffield Star would be a very fat paper indeed). The toddler urinating on a wall feature is surely the stuff of front page news? Although they might ask me to write my own article about it – but more about that later.
The second “incident” occurred in the car park of a soft play centre I took my two children to on the first day of the Easter holidays. Shortly after leaving the play centre my youngest once more announced he needed a wee. Sadly, it was just a little too late because within seconds of the announcement, a huge stream erupted through his trousers leading him to walk like John Wayne across the car park to our car and a convenient place to change into dry pants and trousers. This is where the trouble began. Upon removing his trousers I found that he’d also started... well... to have a poo in his trousers as well. My friend lent me her little girl’s potty (apparently, you should always carry a potty with you just for this reason... And from now on, the lesson is learned... I always will) and my youngest son sat quite happily in the car park having a poo with a largeish audience of fellow toddlers and builders who happened to be working nearby in the area standing by admiringly and shouting the odd piece of encouragement or advice. My son didn’t find this remotely embarrassing (he left that to me). There was a bit of a mess to clean up in the end (I owe my friend some baby wipes which I also forgot – I’m such an amateur at all this. All I had were some tissues with John Wayne leanings as well – i.e. rough, tough and takes no crap off anyone) but it wasn’t too bad I suppose. On the whole, it wasn’t as bad as the grumpy pensioner incident, although it did lead to me having to drive home, all the way through Matlock Bath, with a turd in a bag on the seat next to me. But never mind. Apart from that – the potty training has gone surprisingly well, really. All things considered, especially.
Some other things have gone well this week too. It’s not all doom and gloom. This week, I have received some responses to an email which I sent a while ago to a few local papers about the fundraising I am doing for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity. Someone from the Sheffield Star emailed me to ask me for my telephone number so that they could phone me and talk to me about what I am doing –and then never phoned (Okay – the news isn’t that promising). Someone else from the Peak Advertiser (local paper, but different one to the one featuring “Rat News”) emailed me with: “Thank you for your email, if you would like to send something we will put it in for you.” i.e. Oh write it yourself, we can’t be bothered. I duly wrote something and sent it in. I don’t think it’s been printed yet but we don’t always get the paper delivered. It’s a bit hit and miss – so it could be in and I’ve just missed it – or there could be too much news concerning rats and pissing toddlers this week to have space for it. I just don’t know.
However, there have been other factors, apart from illness, which have made for a difficult week. This Saturday was the Grand National – arguably the biggest date in the horse-racing calendar and the busiest day of William Hill’s year. I worked a steady 13 ½ hour shift which included a generous 20 minutes for lunch. Lunch was laid on free but consisted of sandwiches which had obviously been made by those girls off The Apprentice who skimped on the fillings to save money and generate more profit. So bread sandwiches, basically. It went okay. I mean it was busy and we had the inevitable technical problems and by 3pm I was having problems speaking coherently, but it went okay. There were two things which actually made it (very surprisingly – because I, along with nearly everybody else who is employed in the gambling industry, apart from those who stand to make a lot of money out of it, was utterly dreading it) a very enjoyable experience. (1) On the way into work I nipped into Sainsbury’s to buy a coffee and saw from the front cover of Q magazine that Green Day are about to release a new album. Hurray! What’s not to be happy about that? (2) I actually met the man from William Hill who facilitated William Hill’s agreement in their matching the money I raise up to a sum of £3k. Because it was such a big day for the call centre, there were lots of the guys in suits around, visiting from London and seeing how we were all getting on I suppose, and he was one of them. I was just so delighted to meet him. He is, genuinely, after the wonderful thing he has arranged for my fundraising, my hero. Nearly as big a hero to me as Tre Cool. Obviously, nobody is going to be able to live up to Mr Cool himself – but he comes pretty close. Meeting him was definitely, the high point of my day – even better than 4.21pm when that race finally went off after two false starts.
So, in answer to the question I asked myself at the beginning of this entry – “Why am I doing all this again?” Well, because people like my hero from William Hill believe in me enough to invest in what I’m doing with real money for the Weston Park Hospital. And, despite the problems, the illnesses, the crap times (yes, this race, despite the fact that it was entirely on the flat, actually took me longer to complete than the Dronfield 10K – a good proportion of which was uphill) and despite the fact that I am still, quite clearly, in spite of all the training I’ve done and time I’ve invested myself into this – still utterly rubbish at running – I am going to do this. Believe in me too – and the best way to manifest your utter belief that I will be suffering through the Sheffield half marathon in three weeks’ time (three weeks!!! Agghghghgh) is to sponsor me at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire All of the funds raised from this insane attempt to have a life beyond the bowel movements of small children will go directly to the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity to help sufferers of the disease in our region and fund research into treatments into the disease.
It’s been a bad couple of weeks really. I haven’t managed to train all this week because I caught some horrible flu-like virus off the kids. I’ve had all the most horrible symptoms: hacking cough, shivering, aching legs and joints, tiredness and a splitting headache. I managed a 7 mile run a week last Friday and felt pretty much like death warmed up the whole way round. That was another “So why am I doing this again?” moment. After that I thought the wisest course would be to try and rest up before the event today – on the premise that this would either make me run a fantastic race because I was so supremely rested (this is what I thought was going to happen on the first lap of the lakes) or I’d just feel crap because I hadn’t trained properly for the event (second lap).
The horrible flu-like virus resulted in a really bad case of nappy rash for my youngest son, so in a moment of extreme madness, probably whilst suffering from the hallucinogenic effects of a high temperature, I convinced myself that NOW – this precise time - this week, when we’re all really ill – would be a good time to start potty training! What can you say to that? I am a moron. Anyway – despite our collective illnesses – my youngest son (who is, incidentally 3 ½ now, so should really have been wearing pants long ago but we’ve just been too lazy to get onto it) took to wearing big boys’ undercrackers surprisingly well. The week was marred by just two incidents (apart from the illness). (1) Whilst delivering some letters in Bakewell my son was seized by a sudden and urgent need to wee. Small children just can’t wait, especially when they’re only just in pants, so we stopped at what I thought was an unobtrusive spot and I let him have a quick wee against a wall. Relieved, he hopped back into his buggy and we carried on delivering our letters. A short while later, on our return journey, we passed the same wall only to discover a hostile pensioner self-righteously cleaning the self-same wall where my son had just proudly marked his territory. He was cleaning the tiny puddle up with a PRESSURE WASHER. Part of me was abashed. I hate confrontation and I didn’t want to have a row in the street about the fact that I had just let my son pee up against this bloke’s wall. Part of me was amazed. I mean, a PRESSURE WASHER? Oh for God’s sake... It was only a small boy’s tiny little bit of wee. Part of me wanted to shout “GET A LIFE” at the miserable old bugger. Discretion being the better part of valour and all, I beat a hasty retreat and pretended I knew nothing whatsoever about the matter. I got away with nothing more than a few angry glances shot in our direction, but I fully expect an article to appear in the paper about the “Moral decline in mothers”. Bakewell is just that kind of place. After all, last week there was a full half page article about a rat which has had the temerity to take up residence in the Bath Gardens. How dare it? The person (the aptly named Mr Strange) reporting the incident has clearly stated that the rat’s days are numbered. He knows where it lives (under the steps of the Conservative club apparently. Even more appropriate – even the rats are Tories here, it seems). Any newspaper which dedicates half a page of news space to a rat is clearly really short on news. (If they had done this in Sheffield – I mean dedicated paragraphs of newspaper space to “Rat News” - the Sheffield Star would be a very fat paper indeed). The toddler urinating on a wall feature is surely the stuff of front page news? Although they might ask me to write my own article about it – but more about that later.
The second “incident” occurred in the car park of a soft play centre I took my two children to on the first day of the Easter holidays. Shortly after leaving the play centre my youngest once more announced he needed a wee. Sadly, it was just a little too late because within seconds of the announcement, a huge stream erupted through his trousers leading him to walk like John Wayne across the car park to our car and a convenient place to change into dry pants and trousers. This is where the trouble began. Upon removing his trousers I found that he’d also started... well... to have a poo in his trousers as well. My friend lent me her little girl’s potty (apparently, you should always carry a potty with you just for this reason... And from now on, the lesson is learned... I always will) and my youngest son sat quite happily in the car park having a poo with a largeish audience of fellow toddlers and builders who happened to be working nearby in the area standing by admiringly and shouting the odd piece of encouragement or advice. My son didn’t find this remotely embarrassing (he left that to me). There was a bit of a mess to clean up in the end (I owe my friend some baby wipes which I also forgot – I’m such an amateur at all this. All I had were some tissues with John Wayne leanings as well – i.e. rough, tough and takes no crap off anyone) but it wasn’t too bad I suppose. On the whole, it wasn’t as bad as the grumpy pensioner incident, although it did lead to me having to drive home, all the way through Matlock Bath, with a turd in a bag on the seat next to me. But never mind. Apart from that – the potty training has gone surprisingly well, really. All things considered, especially.
Some other things have gone well this week too. It’s not all doom and gloom. This week, I have received some responses to an email which I sent a while ago to a few local papers about the fundraising I am doing for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity. Someone from the Sheffield Star emailed me to ask me for my telephone number so that they could phone me and talk to me about what I am doing –and then never phoned (Okay – the news isn’t that promising). Someone else from the Peak Advertiser (local paper, but different one to the one featuring “Rat News”) emailed me with: “Thank you for your email, if you would like to send something we will put it in for you.” i.e. Oh write it yourself, we can’t be bothered. I duly wrote something and sent it in. I don’t think it’s been printed yet but we don’t always get the paper delivered. It’s a bit hit and miss – so it could be in and I’ve just missed it – or there could be too much news concerning rats and pissing toddlers this week to have space for it. I just don’t know.
However, there have been other factors, apart from illness, which have made for a difficult week. This Saturday was the Grand National – arguably the biggest date in the horse-racing calendar and the busiest day of William Hill’s year. I worked a steady 13 ½ hour shift which included a generous 20 minutes for lunch. Lunch was laid on free but consisted of sandwiches which had obviously been made by those girls off The Apprentice who skimped on the fillings to save money and generate more profit. So bread sandwiches, basically. It went okay. I mean it was busy and we had the inevitable technical problems and by 3pm I was having problems speaking coherently, but it went okay. There were two things which actually made it (very surprisingly – because I, along with nearly everybody else who is employed in the gambling industry, apart from those who stand to make a lot of money out of it, was utterly dreading it) a very enjoyable experience. (1) On the way into work I nipped into Sainsbury’s to buy a coffee and saw from the front cover of Q magazine that Green Day are about to release a new album. Hurray! What’s not to be happy about that? (2) I actually met the man from William Hill who facilitated William Hill’s agreement in their matching the money I raise up to a sum of £3k. Because it was such a big day for the call centre, there were lots of the guys in suits around, visiting from London and seeing how we were all getting on I suppose, and he was one of them. I was just so delighted to meet him. He is, genuinely, after the wonderful thing he has arranged for my fundraising, my hero. Nearly as big a hero to me as Tre Cool. Obviously, nobody is going to be able to live up to Mr Cool himself – but he comes pretty close. Meeting him was definitely, the high point of my day – even better than 4.21pm when that race finally went off after two false starts.
So, in answer to the question I asked myself at the beginning of this entry – “Why am I doing all this again?” Well, because people like my hero from William Hill believe in me enough to invest in what I’m doing with real money for the Weston Park Hospital. And, despite the problems, the illnesses, the crap times (yes, this race, despite the fact that it was entirely on the flat, actually took me longer to complete than the Dronfield 10K – a good proportion of which was uphill) and despite the fact that I am still, quite clearly, in spite of all the training I’ve done and time I’ve invested myself into this – still utterly rubbish at running – I am going to do this. Believe in me too – and the best way to manifest your utter belief that I will be suffering through the Sheffield half marathon in three weeks’ time (three weeks!!! Agghghghgh) is to sponsor me at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire All of the funds raised from this insane attempt to have a life beyond the bowel movements of small children will go directly to the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity to help sufferers of the disease in our region and fund research into treatments into the disease.
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