The Fat Bloke Diaries
THE FAT BLOKE MONTHLY
January 2010
It was the coldest of times; it was the snowiest
of times. It was the age of childish foolishness, it was the age of stay-
And I was supposed to restart my running training in
it.
Let me immediately ‘manage your expectations’ on this one. I don’t know how it
was where you live but in my part of South Yorkshire it’s been the worst winter in
over 30 years (or best, depending on your mental age). We had about 60 centimetres
of snow – that’s over two foot in old money, and those feet that it came over were
mine.
I was never going to go running in that although, to my slight credit, I did
get out for some long and difficult walks in it with my Beloved. Thawing out at home
with a hot chocolate, a whisky and a loved one is a rare pleasure. It’s one of the
best things about winter, especially when the snow is like that old joke about King
Wenceslas’ favourite pizza (deep pan, crisp and even). It was white and fluffy. Beautiful.
And snow fell on snow.
But then came a slight thaw. The snow melted (a little). Night
fell. The melted snow refroze. And that’s when the trouble started.
I don’t do balance.
Maybe it’s a result of those ear operations when I was a kid, I don’t know. But I
do know that I’ve been known to fall over just when standing still (although to be
fair their’s usually been some lovely liquid involved). I’m the kind of guy who would
make Todd Carty and Bobby Davro favourites for the Dancing On Ice final. Dancing?
I can’t even walk on ice. So getting to the top of the Hill of Doom – a very steep
incline that must be climbed for me to get to my office – was always going to be
tricky. People of normal balancing abilities struggled. You can guess what happened
to me. I made it part of the way up the hill and then simply got stuck. I stood in
the middle of the road with nowhere safe to put a foot. Fortunately there was nobody
stupid enough to try driving down it, that danger wasn’t present, but the danger
of me being stranded there until the Big Thaw was very real. Wherever I tried to
move, my feet just couldn’t get purchase. Even in my hiking boots they simply slid
over the surface.
I’d like to say that I was like I swan, all motion at the bottom
but calm and serene higher up my body, but I can’t lie – and you’d never believe
me anyway. The truth is I was flapping and swaying just to keep still. It wasn’t
pretty, but at least I maintained some kind of balance, as long as I stayed where
I was. And then even that option was taken away from me, as I slowly began to slide
down the hill.
There was nothing for it; I had to make a move. I sprinted for a nearby
fence, in the hopes that if I could reach that, then I could assess the situation
from a position of relative security. I went for it and, like Frank Sinatra in Von
Ryan’s Express, I so very nearly made it. But not quite.
I did the full ‘Scooby-
The cuts and grazes have
healed now, but the lumps and bruises on my hip are still there, huge but fading,
after two full weeks. At their worst they were the colour of Joseph’s coat. I’m told
that Barnsley General Hospital had its busiest Casualty room ever on that day. I
count myself lucky not to have added to their number. Maybe I would have if I’d been
able to get there.
I’m just glad that I had chosen not to go running.
But even with
the floor outside being extremely run-
Christmas had actually brought
a new addition to my fatbuster arsenal. My Beloved’s sister had bought us the latest
update for the Wii Fit. More workouts and more games to get me warm and sweaty without
realising that I ‘ doing some good. My favourite by some distance is the Fly Like
a Chicken game. Basically it involves flapping your ‘wings’ frantically and trying
to land a virtual chicken (who looks uncannily like me with feathers – hopefully
yours will look different) onto virtual islands in a virtual sea. I must have lost
at least half a real stone rolling around with laughter at this one. It would probably
have been for the best if I’d closed the curtains before ‘taking off’ though. Heaven
only knows what my neighbours must have thought as they passed my house, but I’m
glad that I remembered to close them before I started the running-
Eventually though
the snow dispersed, leaving the harsh chill winds that are much more expected at
this time of year. This weather is a perfect excuse for not running, one which I
used frequently. I’m not running today. It’s too
a) cold
b) wet
c) dark
d) all of
the above.
Towards the end of the month my Beloved got thoroughly sick of hearing
this. So one night, before I could trot out my usual stable of false justifications
for staying in with a book and a bottle she handed me a bag. A present. A lovely
gift. A lightweight, waterproof, reflective running jacket.
Thanks love.
Now I had
no excuse
I’ve never heard my legs scream before. Some might say it was the howling
wind in the bare trees, but I know different. My quads were still whimpering two
days later, but large helpings of chocolate and beer silenced them.
I can’t say that
it was easy of fun, but I love the fact that I came home and told her I’d only run
two miles.
Did you pick up on that? ‘Only’ two miles.
It’s not all that long ago
I’d have said that distance was beyond me. Now I’ve managed it as the first run of
the year, a baseline on which to improve.
January has also seen me take my Beloved
on a trip to two European capitals. We travelled down to London to see the incredible
Cirque du Soleil. The Beloved leaned over to me during one particularly intricate
feat of balance and contortion (the Cirque acrobats were doing this, not us) and
she whispered, ‘Their Wii Fit yoga must be a lot more difficult than ours’.
While
we were Down South we also took advantage of the excellent Eurostar service for a
day trip to Paris. Sadly, my Beloved declined my invitation to join the ‘Mile Low
Club’, but we did get a serious workout when we arrived in France…
Sheffield – the
city where I was born and raised – is famous locally for being built on seven hills.
We like to believe that the Romans nicked the idea from us. So I’ve always thought
that my leg muscles have been pretty good, what with the constant upping and downing.
But hills are one thing, steps are quite another. Even London’s underground system
(sponsored by Stairmaster) has nothing on our brief trip to Paris. The stairs at
the train station, the Metro stations and, mostly, the full day climbing up and down
the countless steps of the Louvre museum (where we amazingly managed to completely
miss the Mona Lisa) took its toll. We were both sore of leg when we finally hit our
beds
And I suspect, as winter finally begins to loosen its icy grip and the roads
become safe for longer runs once again, that’s going to be a condition that I’ll
have to get used to.
© 2010 Shaun Finnie