Paris Olympics 2024 – 43 days to the 10,000m final

My aim is to run the 10,000m world record time, 26.11 set by Ugandan Joshua Cheptogei in 2020 but over 5K by August 2nd, the day of the 10,000m final in the Paris Olympics.

Recent times:
April 19th 27.47
May 18th 27.35
June 15th 27.11

This morning Harbourside 5K…26:30

And I can tell you, that hurt!

Chuffed and puffed…but can I knock off 20 seconds to dip under Joshua Cheptogei’s 10K world record for a 5K by August 2nd the day of the 10,000m final in Paris???

Paris ’24 10,000m update

Bonjour! Signs of progress!

Over the past year, this blog post has not been littered with positive news. If you’ve read a few you’ll know that this 66-year-old athlete (?) periodically introduces you to yet more Anglo-Saxon and Latin-sounding injuries: Morton’s Neuroma, Plantar Fasciitis, Achilles tendonitis, a torn calf-muscle, and anno dominitis.

But to break the fug, the gloom, and the despondency, finally, there’s some sunnier news.

I’m going to give some credit to my osteopath who has altered the way I exercise before running and a good running club friend who has insisted I should stretch after running. If, just prior to a Parkrun, you come across a fella waggling each joint in different planes and lunging as if there’s no tomorrow…it could be me. Plus a warm-up run of a few hundred metres, ideally, before pressing my Fitbit 4 watch to start recording the run.

Two recent runs to report:

6th June, Cumberland Basin

It’s not much after 6 am and we’re off on a bright but chilly morning with a slight northerly breeze along the familiar Harbourside 5K route, past the rowing club, and on up to the cranes turning into the city centre, back to the harbour wall, returning to Hotwells, over the small bridge and turning Fitbit ‘Off’ just before reaching the car.

Result: 27.49 for 5.08km - approximately 27.22 for 5K

My aim is to run the 10,000m world record time, 26.11 set by Ugandan Joshua Cheptogei in 2020 but over 5000m

15th June, Severn Bridge Parkrun

Windscreen wipers working hard on the drive up the M5 and across the Severn Bridge tell their own story, and blustery winds charging up the Severn from the south are ready to make 200+ runners run at a 10-degree angle. The diagonal rain comes and goes. It’s all the way up the impressive motorway bridge and back down. I find it hard to gauge pace, and to decide whether I have enough puff to push on faster for the finish.

Result: 27:11 for 5.00km Fitbit watch - official time, however, was 28:06 - evidently it takes a while to cross the start line!

My aim is to run the 10,000m world record time, 26.11 set by Ugandan Joshua Cheptogei in 2020 but over 5000m by August 2nd, the day of the 10,000m final in the Paris Olympics.

Place your bets!

A weekend diary ramble, London

It’s Saturday, 1st of June. There’s no excuse for the British summer not to take to the stage now. It was so promising at 7.10 standing in the cool air and warm sun on the platform at Sea Mills waiting for the two-carriage train on the first leg to Paddington.

Temple Meads is bustling but quiet. Few are managing speech, preferring to sup at their black Americanos like babies on the teat and consult their mobiles for news that maybe could wait.

I’m no better. I look once, no twice, to check my reserved window seat number on the Paddington train. The London-bound herd has to migrate to Platform 11 and the immense beast arrives, loads its passengers, and is gone, slithering snake-like round the bends exiting the station after the briefest of hesitations.

I have my window seat and a table from which to watch the oncoming clouds and the disappearance of summer.

Fussing with available networks I navigate to a poem on Word written in 2020 when I was feeling rough, maybe with Covid. Reading it again, and fleeting fragments begin to coalesce. It’s called 20kg to highlight how administrative errors by computers are just as racist as humans.

Did I mention clouds? How dull the countryside looks compared to when it’s bathed in the summer sun.

The hubbub of conversation fills the carriage. I hear random words: pig, dry-cleaning, rugby, steak, Treacle (someone’s nickname!)…

I am in a curious bubble cut off from the world cocooned in tiredness – it was a long day yesterday and, with five hours sleep, I feel as if I’m in a tunnel of impenetrable cotton wool.

Reading. Last stop before London. No seats left around the table. I’m waking up, I think. Maybe it’s writing this that’s keeping me conscious. Poor daughter 1, who’s meeting me and will be full of words to pour out, may have to suffer Pa, whose capacity to listen is greatly diminished and needs the nap that he cannot have.

Here’s that poem:

20kg

No words flowing in my veins

No lift of consciousness

To see things small and great

Knowing they are one of the same.

I am unwell.

Corona alarm bells are ringing

Medical professionals pass me

From one number to the next

From one Covid screen to the next

On-line I yield my NI number, my NHS number, my mobile number,

My DOB, my postcode and

Although, when ill, humour is suppressed,

I laugh as the United Kingdom’s database

Cannot identify me!

Have I slid between a crack in the binary?

Could there be an unknown portal between 0 and 1 and 1 and 0?

That algorithm, that App, that whirring computer,

That overheated, CO2 polluting, electricity sapping,

Power-consuming mega, giga, terra server

Cannot identify me!

It required a human to pull strings,

An agent with a pulse

A simple kind woman on a telephone

To put Kasparov ahead of Blue once more

To identify a fellow human, a citizen, a real

Flesh and blood tax-payer, Portsmouth supporter,

Whisky-loving, cigar-smoking, God-arrested, retired Chemistry teacher

And father of five.

Did a whiff of Windrush just slide by?

Of being denied

Though the truth, standing at 38 degrees and not quite well

Had walked upon Jerusalem for six decades and more?

I had smelt the it.

The officials who, unlike the woman, denied rights

Denied existence, denied certain proof, denied humanity

And, hiding behind endless forms

Couldn’t identify…

…Jocelyn John and many others

Jocelyn John with her 20kg bag allowance uprooted and deported

On Christmas Day

Jocelyn John who, unlike me, didn’t find a woman to defeat Goliath

But who fell between the 0s and the 1s

With more documents than needed to build a bridge to Grenada

Was sent away, deported, unidentified, an innocent branded a criminal

On Christmas Day.

It took 10 minutes to find me

The lost, unidentifiable, me

For those moments I was no-one

Applying for a Covid test, feeling unwell

But otherwise fine.

Birth certificate? Check.

But for Jocelyn five years passed,

Three million contested minutes later

An official apology emerged

A repatriation, a restoration, a righting of wrongs,

And JJ’s name is back where it always belonged - in the computer.

Jocelyn John. UK citizen. British.

Bring out the fatted calf.

Put rings on her fingers and

Buy her a new pair of dancing shoes

Let us eat and be merry

For that which was lost has been found.

End of diary entry #1.

Diary entry #2

Monday. On carriage A seat 16 from Paddington heading home. Reserved. Window seat. Facing forwards. Table. Quiet coach. Perfect. A rather peaceful-looking golden-haired dog across the aisle from me. I hope he/she understands the word Quiet.

Two days on tubes, buses, shags pony have taken me to Surbiton, down by the river and the first of numerous flat whites. Thence to The Telegraph open plan offices with sleek black laptops forlornly looking for their operators on a Saturday morning. It’s like a beehive with the queen bee in the easily accessible centre – the Editors’ oval holy of holies.

Across to a street market for an eclectic and international choice of hot food. Jerk chicken consumed; we head back to number one’s flat to zonk out watching a film.

Pre-church flat white on Sunday with number three, then St John’s, or ‘Saint’ as it’s known colloquially. There is an emphasis an immediate ethos - a ‘cool’ and contemporary vibe. Great music, good sermon on the equal need we have as humans for communion with God and community with each other. Can’t knock it. A far far cry from the stiff and formal CofE of my upbringing, ancient stone floors, musty, green-edged hymn books and the all-important black prayer book that only the regulars knew how to navigate…and much silence. Switch that to noisy, rock concert, and emotion and you’ll understand the difference. Could be summed up as the gap between religion and relationship but the truth is that both can easily become a tradition that binds its adherents into a self-perpetuating pattern, empty of meaning. So…ignoring the style…one needs to dig deeper to see if it’s a case of style over substance or substance exhibited in a more exuberant style. For example, the previous Sunday, a lady preached who had been miraculously healed from paralysis, a wheelchair to walking miracle following prayer. If accounts like that don’t stir the blood and justify the feet dancing and hands waving what will!

After church, we move on to lunch at a bar/restaurant offering food from Tel Aviv, Sicily, and Lebanon. Bit later we’re in a lift hurtling into the sky and landing up in a rooftop bar looking down on the Gurkin. 40 floors in just few seconds. St Paul’s looks like a squat little house far below.

…the previous Sunday, a lady preached who had been miraculously healed from paralysis…

Of course, in between all these places are serious and humorous conversations, and ‘impossible to hear’ moments on noisy tubes, people watching, eye-catching buildings, tall and modern, and historically recognisable districts. At one point, for example, we’re near Spitalfields, which figures strongly in the novel I’m trying to write, located in the summer of 1796.

I’ve frequented numerous bathrooms; all clean, with an array of soap dispensers, hand driers, and flushing techniques. One has to be mentally agile these days. I’ve ascended and descended I don’t know how many escalators, stairs, and ramps and passed by the 2012 Olympic stadium, now home to the Hammers, as if it’s normal to do so.

And now, all is done. Just the return journey with the still silent dog to my left and the dull green countryside on a dry, cool, and cloudy day. Saturday and Sunday, by contrast, were very sunny and warm.

You’ll have noticed I have restricted this diary entry mainly to activities and places – an external rather than an internal account. The distinction between private and public, facts and feelings, is interpreted differently by different individuals but the footballers’ refrain ‘what’s said in the dressing room remains in the dressing room’ isn’t a bad adage.

Over and out.

Paris Olympics ‘24 - May 18th

I am very glad to report - enfin - an improvement…aiming for 26:11 by August 2nd, the date of the 10,000m final at the Paris Olympics. 26:11 is the world record for the 10,000m…I’m aiming to equal of break that record…over half the distance 😊

Paris Olympics ’24 – 17th May 2024

It’s now 90 days to go before the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games 2024 in Paris, and an update is called for.

The 10K Final is scheduled for Friday, August 2nd 2024 at 9.20pm

My 5K aim is to run at or under 26 mins11 seconds. This is the time Ugandan Joshua Cheptegei ran for the 10K world record.

26 mins 11s ?

Tomorrow I will attempt the Chepstow Severn Bridge Parkrun to close the gap between my Parkrun pb this year of over 28 minutes and 26:11.

Until tomorrow’s result…au revoir mes amis

Paris ’24 – 17th April 2024

With just 100 days to go before the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games 2024 in Paris, it must be time for another blog post.

The 10K Final is scheduled for Friday, August 2nd 2024 at 9.20pm

Why mention this?

As I am running 5Ks at just over the 10K qualifying time of 27:28 I have a new aim…to run a 10K on August 2nd, the same day as those gazelles of the athletic world, go home, shower and then watch to see the elite storm home in less than 63 seconds per 400m laps.

if one aims at nothing, one is sure to succeed

Also, the 10K world record stands at 26:11 care of Uganda’s Joshua Cheptegei…that shall now be my aim for running Parkrun 5Ks. Not easy, my pb is about a minute slower than Joshua Cheptegei’s 10K record!

But if one aims at nothing, one is sure to succeed.

Today’s 5K on Bristol Downs, a gentle jog after cramp 6:17 per km, just over 30 mins for 5K, so there’s a way to go.

But with my new Brooke’s trainers and a following wind…who knows?

My aim - 26:11 for 5K

Paris ’24 – 23rd November 2023

Announcing a probable withdrawal from Paris ’24 Olympics.

The qualifying time for the 10K remains at 27:28.

The option to switch genders and aim for the 31:25 mark for women is…erm…a step toooo far.

My knee and hip injuries have seemingly settled down but surgery looms for the toe in the ‘run up’ to Paris and so what was impossible has now become medically impossible.

One’s aim now has to be adjusted, naturally, to the next Olympics - Los Angeles ‘28.

That stirs the half-American in me. Paris of course has a certain je ne sais quoi compared with the madness of west coast America and socially liberal Cal-i-forn-i-a. Genetically I may be closer to LA than Paris, but culturally? Nope.

Yesterday’s very gentle dawn return to 5K jogging around the Harbourside 5K took 33 minutes so the challenge is simple – I need to somehow induce my legs to twitch backwards and forwards at twice the rate, actually a tad more rapidly than twice as fast.

 Here goes.

Israel, Hamas, and the BBC

I feel the need to say something. Not to speak runs the risk of allowing evil to take root.

I share these reflections from the depths of shock and grief over Hamas’s murderous campaign on Saturday 7th October 2023 which has left 1000+ Israeli citizens dead and many others injured and traumatised.

And also anticipating the inevitable Israeli response taking its toll not just on Hamas and its supporters but on Gaza Strip civilians who do not support Hamas and are subject to their rule.

One weeps with those who weep.

There is something quite indefensible, despicable, and distinctly cowardly in using military firepower against defenceless men, women, children, babies, and animals. The massacres at the Supernova Music festival in which 250+ young partygoers were slaughtered, and at Kfar Azar, leaving 100+ grandparents, parents, children, babies, dead, some burned in their homes, and some children and babies beheaded, were barbaric and sickening.

War is evil enough, but even in the depths of war, there are limits. Hamas and its supporters have ignored those limits and revelled in the ‘triumph’ of the attacks, celebrating publicly – even on the streets of London - the massacres, jubilant at the flow of Jewish blood, and the capture and abduction of Israeli citizens. This is unspeakably evil and shameful.

Hamas’s actions, like Al-Qaida’s 9-11 attack, are despicable and cannot be justified, whatever the grievances held, legitimate or not. To convert grievance into hatred and hatred into targeting rockets and bullets against defenceless civilians is beneath contempt.

One weeps with those who weep

If I held any hope that Hamas could rule the Gaza Strip for the sake of its citizens and interact with Israel to forge some kind of peaceful co-existence, this has been shattered and irrevocably torn to shreds. The world now waits to see whether the Israeli military response will succeed in uprooting Hamas, which appears to be the aim.

But, in terms of respect, I feel I must address an institution far closer to home. The BBC. Our BBC.

I am ashamed now to pay the Licence fee.

Hamas is a proscribed terrorist organisation which has carried out a shocking massacre of Israeli life on Israeli soil and the BBC continues to use the word ‘militant’ to describe Hamas instead of ‘terrorist’. The distinction is important. This is not a time to downplay, contextualise, politicise, or dilute the horror of the events of last Saturday. This was a pre-determined, pre-planned, pre-rehearsed attack as part of the overall strategy of the terrorist organisation called Hamas to execute vile terrorism on Israeli soil against unarmed civilians, Jews.

What to pray? What to hope for? I sit in silence before God

I call upon BBC journalists to refuse to cooperate with their editorial chiefs and use the word terrorist where it is the only appropriate and accurate word to describe premeditated military attacks on defenceless citizens.

And that, surely, includes the attack and twin massacres carried out by Hamas on Saturday 7th October in Israel.

What to pray? What to hope for? I sit in silence before God. He hears our inability to find words. The mute longing for grief and suffering not to be prolonged. For human hearts in Gaza, in Israel, to find courage, to grow beyond any ideologies of hatred, to limit the justification of retribution as a way of defining life and the future. And, in time, to displace war in favour of mercy and a deep desire to live in peace with one's neighbours.

Halfway to Cambridge

For the first weekend of September, I attended the British Christian Writer’s Conference at Ridley Hall in Cambridge, since when I’ve been hard at work editing a historical fiction I’m writing that just may see the light of day later in the year or, more realistically, in 2024.

As a member of the Association of Christian Writers (ACW) I also contribute to the ‘morethanwriters’ blog each month.

If you’d like to read that blog titled ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ please follow the link below, where you’ll find that ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ is a phrase that came to me spontaneously in a dusty layby whilst texting a friend who’d passed an important exam.

Since then ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ seems to have taken on a life of its own and, really, is a description of a state of mind.

To discover whether you are ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ please, be my guest, and follow the link!

Halfway to Cambridge (morethanwriters.blogspot.com)

My website/blog www.unlessaseed.com has had an MOT and service and is ready to hit the road once again with some improvements

Hello!

My website/blog www.unlessaseed.com has had an MOT and service and is ready to hit the road once again with some improvements:

1. Subscribing enables you – free of charge of course - to receive regular updates via your email as articles and blogs are posted

2. Navigating from page to page, blog to blog far quicker and slicker

3. Pages: (i) What is a Christian? (ii) Book/Film/Podcast Reviews, (iii) Poetry, and (iv) Everything Else continue as before but with more focus on the ‘unless a seed’ reference (John 12v24) as a message for the here and now.

4. Writing – currently editing/re-writing an historical novel set in 1799, a children’s book set in a land further than far away…and an accumulation of poems.

5. Links – links to other sites that have caught my eye such as daughter Rachel Stevens’ podcast Believingin interviewing a wide range of friends, colleagues, family members about their beliefs…a cocktail of Christians, Muslims, Atheists…with Rachel’s twist of Christian lemon.

But mostly, I hope that you will at least test-drive the blog, enjoy the content, subscribe, and leave comments!

A quick note about Facebook. Links to www.unlessaseed.com blog posts, poems, and so on, will mainly be made, not on my personal FB account, but on my Christian Writer page: Facebook

And lastly…apologies if you’ve received this message from various sources (email/FB/blog) and are feeling nagged. If so, rather than grumble, please make contact and there’s a pint, coffee and cake, or a glass of wine waiting for you as an apology.

Hope to find you at some point here on www.unlessaseed.com

John

Return to Writing

Tuesday 1st August 2023

The long-awaited First of August. Earmarked for at least two months as the ‘Return to Writing Day’

when ‘writing’ really means finishing a children’s book, ‘The Tear Collector’ and a historical novel,

‘Thomas J. Philpott’.

You find me at Coffee #1 with the requisite Flat White and Biscoff cheesecake, gentle foot-tapping music, and the general hubbub of milk frothers, rippling conversation, dull traffic outside, and plates, mugs, and cups colliding. Sunshine is pouring through the glass frontage and the steam, rising up from the coffees of those sitting by the window.

A perfect setting to lose myself in whatever writing is; the internal mystery that impels someone to write. To attempt to say something in words on a page. I hadn’t completely abandoned writing in my sabbatical. Poetry, for example, had not abandoned its own capability of putting its hooks in my distracted self, and drag me out of various reveries to let the words pour out. But the attempt to prepare for A-Level English Literature exams put paid to the level of attention required to push on with the books.

After the exams in June the priority shifted to neglected chores and preparing for a kitchen make-over. I had hoped this phase to be complete by July 31st but it will linger on.

Meanwhile, the writing starts today.

This blog post is just a warm-up.

A perfect setting to lose myself in whatever writing is; the internal mystery that impels someone to write

I’ve left the books for so long now I will need to re-read both for some time to be re-absorbed in their narrative before editing the grammar and considering more wholesale changes…not necessarily in that order.

Let’s see. How long should that take? I’ll give myself to the end of September. Included in that will be gaining some advice about how to approach publishers. The holy grail still seems to me to be when someone else sees something in your writing worth publishing. Worth the financial risk.

Is that too constricting?

I close this post with that question not only hanging in the air.

Rant: very annoying words & phrases

So… Ignoring, dismissing the question and carrying on with own message

Up it Instead of increase it

Amount Baby language instead of length, volume, mass, weight, number…

Bigger/big Baby language instead of larger, fuller, heavier, significant, telling etc

It is what it is Empty of meaning, unnecessary phrase

There is lots No distinction made between one and many, singular and plural

Them When it is 'those' e.g. "them players" No! No! No!

Medal i.e. 'to medal' No! You win a gold medal you don't medal a medal - rediculous

"He played brilliant" You can say 'he played brilliant chess' or 'he played brilliantly'

"I'm good" No! 'I'm well' perhaps. Good is too vague. Good at what? Morally good?

Match up Just 'match' will do, or contest

Ongoing An oldie…unnecessary words e.g. ongoing problem = problem

Top of the programme Just say 'the start'

Optics O dear! Words fail me. Say what you actually mean. Too obscure.

Lean into What? Commit maybe? You can lean or lean on something…forget 'lean into'

Reach out Ask

Referenced Referred to…he didn’t ‘reference Shakespeare’ he ‘referred to Shakespeare’

To 'source' as a verb Find or buy. Source is a noun - a source - not a verb. Resist this.

Heads up Remove this from your sentence and nothing changes

Going forward Ditto

I hear you Usually condescending…you don’t fool the speaker or the audience.

Call out I loathe this. It is judge & jury instead of ‘accuse’.

Journey Geography usurped by emotion

Gifted As in 'he gifted me with a…' No! it's 'gave'. Adverb not a verb: 'gifted drummer'

Issue Problem

Train station ‘Bus station' is used to distinguish it from a railway station which is a ‘station’

Takeout Take away

Acclimate Ugh! It is acclimatise

Drill down Please don't

Signage Just 'sign' or 'signs' putting -age on the end doesn't make you look clever

Paris ’24 – 11th July. It’s not just professional sportsmen and women…

I am a true amateur. The amateur image is a ‘normal’ everyday man or woman holding down a full-time job, maybe children to juggle, shopping to do, holidays to save up for, the dentist to avoid, the deny all hygienists oxygen.

The thought of an ordinary pleb having a back-up system of physios, sports psychologists, weights, ice baths, and so on, just to don your shorts and stumble outdoors…is as unlikely as it is often quite true.

This 65-year-old has just spent an hour being manipulated by an osteopath, tomorrow I have a physio appointment, then a muscular-skeletal doctor’s advice about choosing either surgery or steroid injections following an MRI on my left foot.

As for sports psychology…I would, of course, but I can’t afford it.

All this just to get out and try and run sub-30’ 5K and maybe sub-25’ 5K before the leaves turn yellow and maybe a sub-55’ 10K before roasting chestnuts and thinking about sprouts.

That will leave 6 months to beat the 10K qualifying time of 27 minutes.

Maybe I need to sign up for the Sports Psychologist after all, if only for pre-Olympic-failure-counselling?

The Pendeen Ashes 2013

The mythology surrounding the mustard pot filled with the remains, the ashes, of a 100 piece jigsaw has its genesis in a shopping expedition prior to Xmas 2022.

A jigsaw of an appropriately Christmas-themed collection of sprouts finally had its opening during the early days of the family escape to Pendeen, Cornwall in the first week of July 2023.

Whereupon it was discovered that not only were the pieces all individually unique and shaped randomly without any straight edges…but fiendishly…double-sided. Not in the Christmas spirit one bit!

A decision was made to incinerate the impossible puzzle and consign its ashes to an urn or similar and to be preserved as a prize for the winner of the annual holiday quiz of equivalent.

The ashes now reside in an unused mustard pot but may move to a more secure location in the near future.

Until the Summer of ’24.

Paris ’24 – 4th June 2023

It’s been a while and, no I haven’t been training at altitude, or investigating the legality of oxygenated blood transfusions prior to racing, or pulling enormous tractor tyres, or cricket-square rollers across the Downs, or anything remotely eye-catching.

I’ve just had an MRI scan on a dodgy nerve in my left foot, visits to two physiotherapists (shoulders and back), and an increasing range of hilarious exercises from the physios and an osteopath to keep me super-supple.

That’s the state of play of this 60+-year-old even attempting to return to running, let alone meet the qualifying time for the 10K ready for Paris ’24.

But I’m on the way back – hence the return to the blog.

3 x 5K runs and I’ve lopped 5 minutes off my first time just over a week ago. At this trajectory, I will break the land speed record for a Walrus in a few weeks and be outpacing old Labradors before you can say ‘Allez France!’

 The next step is to run 5 miles, not 5K, then 10K…by the end of June.

 Expect a follow-up report in detail.

English Literature and Cold Turkey…Report One.

My normal routine: get up, kettle on, R4 on, either a tea-bag or looseleaf tea in small pot and, cereal, R4 off, wander into lounge and Ahhhh! That first sip of a cuppa to remove the night and start the day.

 About 11 am, coffee beans ground to dust, cafetiere in operation, and…Relax…with coffee and maybe a slab of Cadbury’s plain. Perfect.

 A normal day consisted of one coffee and maybe 5 cups of tea.

 Until Saturday.

The centre-of-gravity of this story is my attempt to pass A-Level English Literature. In a few weeks’ time I shall be sat amongst impossibly talented 18-year-olds trying to control my thoughts, telling my pen-writing muscles not to cease up, and (for a 65-year-old, the greatest fear) not having to ask to be excused more than twice in the 3 hours of exam hall torture.

 So…preparations – apart from intense revision – include:

1.      Fasting the day before the exam (let the reader surmise the reason why)

2.      A break from tea and coffee…i.e. caffeine, tannin, and all other diuretics

 Sensible?

 So, I Googled the likely side effects, the ‘cold-turkey’ side-effects of giving up tea and coffee:

 The invisible addiction: is it time to give up caffeine? | Coffee | The Guardian

The scientists have spelled out, and I had duly noted, the predictable symptoms of caffeine withdrawal: headache, fatigue, lethargy, difficulty concentrating, decreased motivation, irritability, intense distress, loss of confidence and dysphoria. But beneath that deceptively mild rubric of “difficulty concentrating” hides nothing short of an existential threat to the work of the writer [Edit and exam reviser]. How can you possibly expect to write anything when you can’t concentrate?

Three days in and I can report, darn it, ALL of the above symptoms. I don’t know what dysphoria is but I’m not sure I care…the incessant headache, leg aches, lethargic waves that roll over one, and stranger periods of distress…darn it, it’s all true!

Three days in and I can report, darn it, ALL of the above symptoms

But I’m told this will ease after nine days…so…a week to go of hoping the benefits will outweigh the longing for that first taste of something better in the morning than the dried inside of one’s mouth and sour lips after a night’s sleep, snoring - and sneezing in the hay-fever season.

Meanwhile, it’s back to Othello, Jane Eyre, Post 1900 Poetry, Spies, Skirrid Hill, and Streetcar Named Desire and wading through critics of Patriarchal societies, literature as a Marxist class struggle, and attempting to view the above books through modern, post-modern, and meta-modern lenses.

The moral of this tale? Not enough energy to enter a debate about morals…until it’s over. The abstinence, that is.

Expect Report Two…when I feel human

Paris ‘24 - 29th January 2023

It’s a Sunday. January 29th to be precise and the start of a new week. A week in which I will fail once again to escape this game of physiological snakes and ladders.

My hopes that a return to 10K running have been dashed into a new dismalness and gloom.

A visit to the doc resulted in swift action (thank you NHS) of a telephone consultation with (another) physiotherapist and an X-ray…of my right knee; a new injury I had been attempting to ignore whilst the others had released their uninvited grip.

So…here I sit and stand and stroll with a walking pole, trying not to wince in public with one of those stabbing pains that leaves you helpless and unable to move forward.

Verdict pending, I am reduced to walking…for now.

No running for the past two weeks.

Progress towards Paris ’24 must be faced with a dollop of Gallic Shrug, a smidgen of hope, and a full tank of thankfulness for all the previous running injuries and recoveries, a miracle of healing thrown in, and a generous ladle of faith in God.

We press on.

Knocked down but not knocked out.

Paris 24 - January 8th 2023 Blog 11

Paris ’24 Blog 11

Time has come to get serious…

December was a write off. A nasty anti-runner virus came my way as soon as the ice had melted and wiped this would-be Olympian out. Recovery consisted of 48 hour straight dedication to the sofa and uncountable episodes of Netflix and – oddly (?) ITVX.

Ugh…

Despite the post-viral patheticness, Christmas jolliness took priority and was enjoyed by all. After four straight days of family fun, chat, food and medicinal measures of this and that I was ready.

Ready, that is for a post-convivial conversations further relapse. The sofa beckoned for another day of TV and zero energy.

BUT…Paris ’24 was never forgotten. Another temporary set-back number ? (I’ve lost count now).

January has arrived. Bitingly cold mornings. And chilling rain. The discipline of run/walk/Pilates/stretching and shoulder exercises is upon me once more.

Today’s early morning jog. Only the 5K Harbourside flat-ish run, nevertheless I was encouraged. The first half was sluggish. My aim: 25’ for 5K. Today 28.30’. But the last 2.5K was 26.30’.

Two aims really for January 2023:

• 5K in less than 27’ maybe on Parkruns

• 10K as near to 55’ as possible

And then progressing to make 10K runs the norm with 5Ks as slow and fast runs. I told you I was serious. Don’t laugh.

Yes I know, the body and mind of a 64yr old, well, this 64yr old, may well not always be the same thing, but…the word NEVERTHELESS is sometimes the most important word in the Universe.

Some of you might be thinking ‘why not make Common Sense your watchword Mr Stevens?’ There’s little hope of that. For Christmas, daughter 4 bought me a wonderful small t-pot. The sort where you put the tea leaves in a small cage, then pour the boiling water over the leaves into the pot, leave and pour without tea-leaves entering your cup. That’s great IF you remember to put the leaves in the cage. If not, all is not lost. Simply pour through a tea-strainer.

NEVERTHELESS is sometimes the most important word in the Universe

Excuse me whilst I use my teeth the filter the leaves once more, having forgotten to execute either of these steps. It’s a good thing I haven’t got my finger on the Nuclear Button or you might not have had the joy of reading this post.

Happy New Year! May God bless all your attempts to run faster than me!

Running Blog - November 29th 2022

Fog

Cumberland Basin, Hotwells 7 am

An aborted early morning training attempt, following the Bristol 10K route.

Perhaps the main story isn’t the 64-year-old, inappropriately dressed all in black running in the dark, early morning, pre-dawn dense fog, but the fog itself.

I do like a good fog. None more so than when the pools of light cascading down from the street lighting catches a sort of avant-garde, jazz-like, Parisienne cum Whitechapel murders feel - difficult, isn’t it to quite put your finger on it.

I do like a good fog

Car headlamps and bike flashing lights loom from a distance like blurred candles and somehow the sound of traffic is dulled and, maybe, moving slower. I certainly was.

Sadly, another part of my athletic frame decided it wanted to get home early for a hot shower. Perhaps in years gone by I would have ploughed on to achieve my aim…to make 10Ks my usual training run and 5Ks more of a speed thing. Ha! One thing after another vies to be the preeminent cause of setbacks. This time it was the right hip that put in its protest in triplicate, and I bowed to its demands.

Cumberland Basin, Hotwells…towards Avonmouth

One day soon though, it’ll be a 10K Champagne Day, and we’ll see, scientifically, statistically, and psychologically just how close I am to ‘the line of improvement’ homing-in, as I am, on the qualifying time for Paris ’24.

In the meantime, is it not time for St George to slay a Dragon in Qatar?

Showdown 7pm.

Running Blog - November 11th 2022

Paris ‘24

It’s an odd time to be reporting on one’s own preparations for the Paris Olympics when a certain other sporting event has stolen all the headlines pitching us into a fraught battle of wits between sport, politics, ethics, and entertainment.

I refer, of course to FIFA’s decision to stage the World Cup in Qatar, a nation rather at odds with its guests’ national political climates with respect to human rights in various forms.

I will be watching. If FIFA’s decision-making policies need to be reformed, so be it. In the meantime, let the footballers dance, dribble, and delight us all. Let them have their day under the Qatari sun, win or lose.

When I consulted Strava after the event, it appeared that the Earth had been rotating slower than usual under my feet

And meanwhile, those of us not blessed with the requisite almost telepathic skills required to hypnotise us with the fast-moving beautiful game, will don our running shoes and hit the pavements and footpaths. We have gold medals at the forefront of our minds, not golden boots - even if those gold medals are the ones occasionally awarded via Strava rather than the IOC!

My most recent run, this morning, a 10K more or less following the Bristol 10K route went really well. I was comfortable. Indeed, I have to report a certain unusual feeling: I felt stronger at the end than at the beginning and ran faster towards the end than at the start.

Explanation? When I consulted Strava after the event, it appeared that the Earth had been rotating slower than usual under my feet on the outward half, so, my average pace was, in fact, slower over 10K (60mins) than on my previous attempt on the 1st of the month (58mins). Explanation? I can only blame Gordan Fee who was blasting his way through a lecture on 1 Corinthians in my ear…it was so engaging that I must have slackened my pace? No, I can’t blame Gordan Fee. If he slowed me in the first half, he was also to blame for the rather slicker response during the second half.

No, I shall not over-analyse. Just rest up. And perhaps push a little harder next time.

My intermediate aim is 10K in 55’. By March ’23.

Weather conditions were close to perfect. Cool, 12C (I’m best at 10C or a bit colder really), and the breeze was with and against in equal measure. Beautiful pre-dawn mauve glow in the clouds over the city centre.

Lastly…come on Ingerland. Can you? Can you? Can you avoid Brazil, France, and Argentina, to name but a few long enough and somehow progress further and deeper? I shall seek to meditate on that from my post-run ice-bath sofa