“Will you get stuck Dad?” – Tom aged 11.
Re Re Re start
How many restarts does the average person go through? And have I managed to hit that number yet? Because it feels like it.
I honestly don’t even know what happened, well by honestly I mean I’m lying as I damn well know what happened. A little bit anyway. But not my fault honestly, and by honestly I mean absolutely my fault.
I’m actually quite lazy, Gold standard, Olympic level lazy. If there was a lazy Olympic event I’d be bring the gold home every time as well as the national and world championships. I also procrastinate at Olympic level too, and dream. A lot. Often. All the time.
Which tends to mean I get sod all done, apart from when I read a book – then watch this special little bunny go, page after page after page, full on marathon reading, the type of reading where you turn the last page over and stare incomprehensibly at the back cover for a while trying to work out why there are no more words. You also realise that the coffee you just took a big swig of is stone cold and bitter.
I can also sit staring out of a window or at a wall that I should be stripping the wallpaper off, and drift effortlessly into an elaborately constructed cinematic fantasy world complete with lens flares and perfect lighting.
I can also listen to the same song on repeat for hours, and hours. Not getting bored at all, perfectly happy until I realise it’s 1.30 in the morning.
YouTube is kryptonite to anything I’m trying to do. If there is something I should be doing, and I make the fundamental error of just having a look to see if Kurt J Mac has posted another far lands or bust episode to play in the background, then that job/thing is doomed. three hours later I will have learn’t a hell of a lot about string theory and reclaiming precious metals whilst knowing forever more how to rebuild a big block chevy, but I will have done nothing.
I really have to concentrate when I’m trying to do the laundry, try my best not to get diverted, doesn’t always work, but the new washing machine has a timer that is based in this time dimension and a very annoying beepdebeeep which keeps repeating when the wash cycle is finished and its ready for a new load. Best Bloody Washing Machine EVER, thanks Miele boffins you’re awesome.
So running then. Or not running. June 28 2017 was the last post – just had to go and check, I don’t remember that at all. I’ve no idea what happened between august and November, but it probably involved rain and not being arsed to run because I’d made a fundamental error of not having a piece of paper with a training plan on it. And running is hard and tiring, did i mention the rain.
I know what happened in November!, the shops started selling Mince Pies!, mmmmm mince pies. The luxury butter pastry versions are just amazing, QUOTE:
Each pie is packed with a fruit rich Courvoisier(r) VS Cognac Mince meat, which contains Amarena glace cherries, Vostizza currants, Sultanas which have ripened under Mediterranean sunshine, almonds and walnuts. We mix 29% butter into our pastry to ensure you get the perfect flavour to the luxury golden baked shortcrust. Our Mincemeat is prepared to a traditional mixing method with the Finest* selected fruit and nuts enriched with French Brandy and Port. We don’t stop there to bring you flavour as we add a careful balance of Spices such as coriander, cassia, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, caraway and cloves. This drives a depth in flavour which you our customers have enjoyed year on year.
Oh hell yeah do I enjoy them, so much so that I went into something of a slump when the festive season ended and the space in the supermarket occupied by mince pies was finally empty. Then I remembered my deep affinity for bakewell tarts. Now these are not the traditional Bakewell Pudding, that I also revere, but instead a sweet sticky concoction of sugar butter pastry, jam and icing with a glace cherry on top. Oh my do I like these. They come in a box of six, Perfect amount for an evening in front of the TV on the couch, watching shite.
That’s how I got happy and fatter. I got happy from all the sugar and fatter from all the sugar.
Can you guess where this is going?
I can assure you I didn’t.
Well you probably have and idea as I’ve probably blurted out the punchline in the article title, but present me can’t control the stupidity of future me. Past Me totally denies anything to do with anything, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and all that.
My wife Emma has MS – and her blog goes a way to understanding my life, and she is way much better at explaining anything, so go there read all about the Wahls Diet and the story of how and why, as Emma tells it from the most important angle – hers. https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/82408286/posts/1274
My story runs alongside, I listened and supported the idea to try eating the Wahls Diet, It could do no harm, but may do some good, try anything kind of spirit. Then I looked at the book, and what you can and cannot eat. Well my entire food world was on the naughty list. That wasn’t going to work for me. I had mince pies to eat, and that is a serious undertaking. So I agreed to cook for the boys and myself when Emma was eating something weird.
That was the moment, the genesis moment, the big bang of my life change. I didn’t know it but I had unwittingly put into motion events that would lead to seismic changes. It turned out that Emma would eat a lot of weird stuff, everyday, for weeks! with one exception and that was bacon and egg for breakfast – YUM! love bacon and Egg! but bacon and egg takes time to make and a lot longer than pouring a bowl of cereal whilst downing a coffee. I had boys to get up and packed luches to make and a school run to get started on time, busy busy busy. Getting up earlier was a no no, I need sleep, I crave sleep I seek the peace of oblivion that sleep brings. The bed is warm and comfortable, and warm so warm.
But the smell of those eggs and bacon was the first wedge to be hammered into the stone. The second is simpler to understand if you have any grasp of thermodynamics, I gained a lot of weight, won’t say how much but there was a 14 involved and it wasn’t after an decimal point. Turns out that those mince pies and bakewell tarts are the best way of delivering Fat and sugar into my system at high speed. And I wasn’t running or walking or engaging in any physical activity which is where the laws of thermodynamics took over and asked for balance to be restored to the universe. So I got fat.
The Third wedge is a slow burner. I’ve been aware for a long time that my diet is a little bit weighted to a pasta/potato/sugar/cereal based diet, and that it wasn’t probably the best. But then I needed a lot of energy, so I thought, because I was running around after little ones, and because once in a blue moon I went for a run or hike on Dartmoor. I was still tired though. So effin tired. Vast amounts of caffeine couldn’t shift the tired.
My food intake started to be moulded by convenience, and the boys being bloody fussy, it rapidly descended into oven chips and nugget heaven. Everything came out of boxes slammed into the oven and cooked in no more than 15 minutes, any longer than that and we’d be eating at midnight it seemed. grated cheese on top of everything and tomato sauce. Now as much as a fan of findus crispy pancakes as I am, I’m also not stupid, I also know my own body, and I knew I was getting sick.
The Fourth wedge was my boys. The two eldest take part in the school running club and compete in the school cross country, and have always been good runners, fast over open ground and impressive to watch. However, there previous form started to fade, they slipped down, other slower runners started to run better and faster.
It was all spiralling out of control. I went up into the roof and sat here at my desk. Drank a coffee and downloaded a training schedule, then I printed it out, then marked it up so it read in Kilometres not miles (after years of Navigation using OS maps I now use Km for walking/running distance) then I went back down and sorted out my running gear and made a tiny little pile.
A few weeks later I put the pile back in the drawer as I was sick of tripping over it.
But the bacon smelt soooooo good. And Emma and me were finding it hard to co-ordinate food shopping, I didn’t want to eat what the boys eat and I sure as hell is hot wasn’t going to eat what Emma was eating. Only Emma was getting fitter, and losing weight in a good way, and starting to run again, and then really starting to run again. I was still fat. There is only so long that you can live on chip sandwiches and eggy cheesy pasta.
The final wedge cracked the stone.
I Have seen the dawn break a few times.
I am eating what Emma Eats. No more sugar, no more potato, no more cereal, no more pasta.
I am losing weight and getting fitter.
I have so much energy during a run, I don’t gasp for air anymore or feel like chucking my guts up.
I wake in the morning, full on wide awake non bleary eyed awake.
My running gear is in a pile, in the corner, but it is setup ready for the next run. I don’t trip over it.
I upload my runs to Strava – why? I’ve no idea.
I entered the Dartmoor Marathon
I ate an Avocado!
I ate avocado with eggs and bacon and it tasted amazing. The next day I cooked it again and this time for Emma and myself. So I ate avocado twice. Voluntarily. That’s the punch line.
Which is not much of a punchline unless you are of my inner circle. Then you would know that fruit does not get fed to Rob as he hates it, even more the idea of fruit being put on a main course, fruit being for puddings and afters, no debates about that. Which is why I’m a tad surprised at myself, Emma is a little more than surprised.
The boys are amazed, and will now have there diet changed. Will do this over the summer holidays so as not to inflict the effects of sugar withdrawal on the teachers.
Re Re Restarts sometimes are for the greater good.