Tag Archives: run keeper

Explore your nether regions

I wanted to write something snappy and witty but instead opted for the drudgery of mediocre boredom – shit, did I just say that ?  Well, one more week in the South of France and then we depart for Mallorca.  Not a moment too soon if you ask me, 6 months in France is enough for anyone.  John Thaw may have managed a ‘Year in Provence’ but he was a highly paid TV actor. The reality is it is all too fashionably anal for me.

Last weekend I managed to disappoint myself.  A parkrun with the aim of setting a new PB but missing it by 10 seconds.  That is harsh, I can remember a couple of occasions when my concentration slipped.  When that happens, you slow down.  I reckon I would have had it if I kept my concentration – maybe next time?

Also gave the mountain bike some love this last week.  Overdue some head bearings, pedal bearings, bottom bracket, front brake pads and new handlebar grips – they were all pretty worn out.  I also fitted a damn fine second-hand back tyre that I sponged off of The Yates who was upgrading so I am on a flying machine again.  I am going to try to squeeze a 44T on the front again though – that 42 just doesn’t unleash my legs.

3 months until the Great North 10k – and I am fully intending to set a new record there.  For those of you with Runkeeper, you will be able to track me again in real-time as I race against those Gurkhas one more time.  My last run, I managed to catch and pass two of them even though they had a 3 minute head start – I was impressed with that even if you weren’t.

But for now I have nothing more to say.


Gunk my old friend – we will meet again.

Two Months Off

Before I do anything else, I want you to click on the link below and watch the news story – you will need sound too.


What an amazing guy – maybe one day I will do something as amazing as that, although I better hurry up –  I ‘aint getting any younger.

So work has finished for the next two months, that’s not too shabby!  I start the holiday season with a quick trip to England before jetting off to Egypt  for 3 weeks.  Tricky this one, I am making a back up plan of escape from the country in case of all out civil war.  I reckon I need a code word for my Uncle so that he can steal a plane, fly it to Egypt and extract me, all under the cover of darkness of course – similar to the German kid that landed a plane in Red Square way back in 1987.  Wouldn’t that be exciting!!  As he is turning the plane at the end of the runway with the door open, I can run along side, throw in my bags, jump in and close the door while shouting ‘go go go ‘.  Then while buckling myself in, in true Roger Murtaugh style I can mumble ‘ I’m too old for this shit’.

Much to the missus’s disgust, I have eaten a couple of kilo’s of chocolate since I got back, all washed down with a couple of bottles of Belgian beer or the odd glass of red wine.  The upshot of that is, since getting here last Friday, I have dropped half a kilo in weight – ah, the irony of weight loss !  There are many women out there what wish a diet of beer, wine and chocolate was for them.

This saturday will be a new chapter in the history of personal endurance.  Myself and Rupert (AKA Poopie Pants) are heading back to the Coventry Park Run.  I will be aiming for a new PB and will accept nothing less.  Rupert, I am sure, will not be far behind.  The real ace in the pack is that I managed to talk both ‘better halves’ into it too.  I even tried to get Older Sister (due to seniority she has been promoted from Big Sis, to Older Sister out of respect) to attend but injury will keep her away – I guess you get more delicate as you get older, the closer to 50 means the longer for injuries to heal, then of course, there is the fact that you are generally more fragile anyway.

I expect some backlash from that – much the same as I got when I told you about the mystery shoe thief that broke into the house and took one pair of ladies shoes and nothing else. I would like to say I have learned my lessons but that is highly unlikely, especially when I am gifted fresh ammunition on a daily basis.

For those of you with RunKeeper, you can now track me live and see where I am (handy if you want to rob me) how fast I am going and most importantly if I lay dead somewhere – you can find me.  I had to pay for that upgrade so I would appreciate if someone would use it.  You will also be able to track me in Egypt should I need to covertly escape – please keep that to yourself though, I wouldn’t want the authorities to track me too.  It could also come in handy should I get lost.  Yesterday I was in the forest deep in thought while running.  As I came out of the thought, a bit like an out of body experience, I looked at the track ahead of me and thought – ‘where the fuck am I ?’.  For a brief moment, I had no clue where I was, or even which country I was in.  To make it worse, I was approaching a cross roads in the track and needed to make a decision quickly.  It’s funny how life changes as you get older – now I get a kick out of not knowing where I am, when I was younger it was all about not knowing where I was going.

Tomorrow morning I head for the serenity of the RR Sport – my trusted steed for my next mini road trip.  I say mini because Belgium to England really isn’t so bad – more of a 6 hour sprint, punctuated with a train ride under water.

On return from Egypt I intend to be a fully qualified scuba instructor

In the arse end of nowhere

I had a new Italian teacher last night, so that makes a total of two in two lessons.  Not that I am scaring them off but I have since figured out that it is one teacher for language, another teacher for hand gestures.

That aside, I also figured something else out today.  This morning over breakfast, I treated myself to a little Amy Winehouse from her time on Jools Holland.  Way back in 2004, she was quite sweet and innocent, tattoo free and a fuller figure – her voice, purely magical.  A couple of songs later and the year was 2006,  the tattoos started to appear, the weight dropping, that glazed unfocused stare and of course in the background the worthless shite of a boyfriend.

Then over lunch, I happened across a BeeGees in concert movie so I stuck that on and we got to talking about the two brothers that had died.  It then hit me – you can tell how old you are by how many dead artists you have in your music library. I bet everyone has a bit of Lou Reed right? Jimmi Hendrix, Beatles, Nirvana, Joplin, Marley,Presley,Bolan, Beastie Boys, Barry White,  they very quickly add up. I would like to tell you now just how many dead artists are in my library but fear of knowing the true figure stops me counting.

Of course, it got me thinking about Winehouse. Being a hard arse, I have little sympathy for her way of life but I do fully appreciate the staggering loss of talent when she departed. I also remember when Cobain decided to take his head off with a shot gun, I never understood why. I am sure that will remain eternally unanswered but then one night many years ago while in bed in Abbey Street I was listening to Radio 1, before it got shite.  Back in the day (at 44, I am old enough to use that phrase, not like some of the spotty teens on the streets)   the evening was filled with Bob Harris (deceased) Nicky Campbell and of course the late and very very great John Peel.  Peel was hosting a show on Cobain and finished off with words along the line of feeling like he could have helped, invited him into his house to be looked after and helped through their problems – and I can’t help but think Peel was right, better still, there are many of us that would have volunteered our services to help to keep such talent alive.

But enough of that crap

Lets talk about my friend Rupert – or ‘Poopie Pants’ as he is known in Portugal.  During a recent stay in England, I talked Poopie into doing the Park Run with me on saturday morning (thank you Horley for the tip off).  For those of you unfamiliar with the Park Run, it is a weekly event ran by volunteers across the UK and 7 other countries (including S.A. Lexa) where you can run a 5k track, be timed and have your times analysed and compared by world record times, age, sex etc.   While out on a run on the prior wednesday evening, I was accompanied by the aforementioned Poopie and as we got talking I suggested he do the Parkrun with me on Saturday.  He actually agreed, I was agast and he was regretful almost instantly.  Building up to the saturday, he started to look grumpy about doing it but I kept pushing him until at 9am on an autumnal Saturday morning, the flag was dropped and we were off.  My previous 3 runs had all been personal bests and I knew I would be pushing it if I were to to another.

I never of course, I posted my slowest time ever of 23:53 but was very impressed to see Poopie coming in around 1:15 seconds behind me as a first attempt.  Now I have to admit at the time it was a bit of an eye opener.  I run a lot and I was aware that I need to pick up my pace but seeing this fucker post a time like this with a complete lack of training gave me a kick in the nuts that I needed. I did take some comfort in the fact that despite all of his moaning and groaning about not being a competitive person before the event, he did actually really enjoy it.

Since then, I can see his Runkeeper times are very respectable and I have no doubt that Poopie will be busting his nuts to get a better time than me next time we go, so I am upping the ante and have pegged a 7km course here in Genoa to ‘train’ on for my next 5k.  First time out tonight was under 35 minutes with mild poo cramps toward the end but expect that time to tumble as I naturally get quicker and time my toilet drops to perfection

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