Take it up or leave it
I’m not gonna change a bit
If it means heartache
Then leave it out for your sake
I tried and I try tried
To take care of my insides
Nobody’s perfect
So leave me if you object

Adam Ant 1982

What a visionary Adam Ant aka Stuart Goddard is/was. This lyric is a perfect response to those who think about others

Don’t you ever, don’t you ever
Lower yourself, forgetting all your standards
Don’t you ever, don’t you ever
Lower yourself, forgetting all your standards

Thanks, Adam aka Prince Charming

We all have standards, I have standards. Standards can be about tolerance. There’s an old cycling peloton saying ‘Give an inch, make a friend’. Are others really prepared to give that inch? Not really. What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine.

So what caused this disturbance in my ‘force’?

Well, I’ve paid to be a social member of Burnham-on-Sea Harriers. I have a few friends who run with the club and I thought it might be cool to reacquaint with them. I’ve ran alone and to be honest I prefer it but the option to run and chat with others occasionally was pretty okay. I messaged the Chair indicating this and waited his reply. I waited and waited and all the while I was running alone. Why should I give this up? Running alone without others whinging about they’ve worn the wrong shoes, it’s too far, it’s too fast, it’s too slow, and all the other crap I hear from running with other people. I run when and where I want and at the time I want. If my bowel plays up I don’t let anyone down.

Back to the Harriers. I waited and waited and waited for the Chair’s reply. None. By now I had decided I was really far happier on my own. Out of curiosity I messaged the Chair. The answer I got was the Run Leaders didn’t want me back. As I say, I wasn’t going to return but I did think this was rather nasty. What had I done to upset them? I didn’t really care. They weren’t worth squabbling with but if running was my business, and frankly it is, would this not be considered ‘restraint of trade’? Can I sue? And then within days the club captain and also a run leader requested a connection with me on Garmin™️. Bloody cheek. Sorry, Bud.

Now the drugs don’t work
They just make you worse
But I know I’ll see your face again

Richard Ashcroft of The Verve wrote this about his father dying of cancer but this can be applied to many medical conditions. Regular readers and close friends will know that I had bowel cancer a few years ago. This has left me with more questions than answers. Why, and why did I survive? Not only do I have a shortened bowel but I have colitis which when it flares up gives me a chronic pain in my lower stomach. Something my employers can’t get their stupid heads around. The only thing I can do is lie still and relax with no prescribed medication. On the rare occasions that I do see a doctor or nurse they tell me ‘Do you know you have high blood pressure?’ Yes I bloody well do because you all tell me but what can I do to lower it? They also say ‘Your heart rate is very low’ so I reply ‘I’m a runner’ so everything is tickety boo.

I recently had a mental health review and the GP recommended I change my meds as I’ve been on Citalopram for around 8 years and their effect might be diminished. So I was to be weaned off that and start a new medication, I think my 4th in 15 years. The period of changing medication is, and can be, quite disconcerting. There is always a 14 day period where the new meds take affect. This is a period where my confidence is at it’s lowest, as is concentration and virtually every mental act. It is a terrible time and I absolutely hate it and avoid as much as I can be the GP knows best!

I’ve been taking anti-depressants for over 15 years but have suffered all my life. A friend of mine told me to stop taking them but it’s not as easy as that. I weaned off Citalopram and felt rubbish on the lower dose. I don’t know where I’d be without it. I live for my family. My friends have taken the last the last train to the coast.

And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died

Don McLean American Pie

Take the National Express when your life’s in a mess
It’ll make you smile
All human life is here
From the feeble old dear to the screaming child
From the student who knows that to have one of those
Would be suicide
To the family man
Manhandling the pram with paternal pride

Divine Comedy

Yeah, my life had been messed up. Plymouth Half Marathon weekend and the train unions decide to strike the very same weekend. When you have no other form of transport it’s a bloody liberty. I have plenty of sympathy for workers striking for positive reasons for taking action but train drivers are well paid, have generous pensions and still want to p*ss off the general public and lose any sympathy they might have. Hit your bosses and not us who are trying to get around. I only have wage rises to keep my head above the water of minimal wage. We may well be reverting to the ‘I’m Alright, Jack’ of the 60s and 70s but have a better strategy. Not quite the Socialist Dream Supreme. Rant over.

So strike action and I needed to find alternative transport to get to Plymouth. National Express coaches has to be my only answer. I’ve suffered with travel sickness all my life so this really was a biggy but I didn’t want to lose my entry, money or chance to run a half I’ve not ran before. I quickly booked tickets and altered my train tickets. The race was still on.

Booking, rebooking and booking again our travel arranges was indeed quite a headache and required daily monitoring. I even felt the need to book the day after the race off work as a holiday just in case we were stranded. Life as a couple relying on public transport in this country is a bloody pain in the ass. The weeks leading up to the race also had other concerns. I had had a mental health review. The GP was concerned as I had been on a particular anti depressant at a high dosage it might not be as affective as it should be. He weaned me off the meds I had been taking and I needed to book an appointment for the new prescription. He said that he would book the appointment but couldn’t. If he couldn’t what chance would I have? I phoned after 9.00am, engaged. When I did eventually get through the receptionist advise I should ring at 9.00am 🤣. Another medical issue. I had suffering with severe stomach cramps or inflamed colitis. This is something I’ve suffered with since my recovery from bowel cancer and this was another source of my already anxiety ridden state. I had booked this race months ago and, with all the cost of a simple half marathon, I wasn’t going to miss this especially as I race infrequently.

Saturday comes quickly and Sue and myself buses it over to Bridgwater to embark on the coach that will deliver us to Plymouth. When we arrive at the coach station a beautiful and luxurious coach is waiting. Too early for us and it’s a local firm. I’m thinking ‘that’ll do me’. We went into a café for a coffee and waited. The coach turned up on time. I looked along the side and every seat was occupied. Gawd, I was used to standing on trains until I can fight my way to a seat but I had booked, we must have seats. We boarded and found seats but not together. The ones who had tickets for Birmingham weren’t allowed to board because we were going south not north and they were without basic geography knowledge, can’t read and are completely stupid.

We stopped at Taunton and Exeter to let off passengers and take new ones on board but the vehicle was always full, hot and no space to swing a pair of running shorts. I never liked coach travel. I was always that kid who was sick on school trips and 50 years later all those forbidding fears were coming back. I was relieved to get off with my dignity intact. It was a beautiful, sunny day in Plymouth and for once the stars were aligned and the world and my mental health was okay. We checked into our hotel and then headed to the Hoe. The views out to sea were beautiful.

Sunday and race day. Start time was an unheard of 8.15AM in the morning. In my all my years of running/racing I’ve started so early. We had booked bed and breakfast and breakfast was served from 8.00am, cheers. To be fair I can’t or dare not eat before running due to my lack of bowel. It was only a 10 minute walk to the start and half marathoners, 10kers and 5kers were already milling around nervously or warming up. I never saw the point in warming up after all I had 10 miles to warm up and then a rubbish 5 km.

I started okay but soon felt very weary. It seemed like Groundhog’s Day and that negativity that I felt in Palma last year. I plugged away like the idiot I am. The course was frustrating, very narrow for a city half and therefore congesting. This was good for me as it stopped from going too fast. At around 4 miles I was heading away from the city and along an out and back section with the River Plym as scenery. These sections are always tough especially as it was uphill. Roughly a 2 mile section so approaching halfway. A scoop around over the bridge and the hideous mid race climb along a dual carriageway with traffic overtaking a mere couple of feet away. The downhill didn’t really start until miles 8 and 9 with a wonderful track through National Trust grounds. The again followed the River Plym back to the city. I was totally spent by mile 12 but there was the climb back up to the Hoe. This was a climb that would frighten Tour De France participants finishing at Mt. Ventoux.

I was very tired on finishing. I hadn’t done the long runs in preparation so I learnt a lesson. Racing etiquette again is questioned. Spectators hold out sweets for runners which is all well and good but runners cut across other runners to grab them and it’s the same at water stations. Give an inch, make a friend. The tee shirt, medal, and goody bag were a great reward. Overall a good race and I enjoyed it and the city.

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical
And all the birds in the trees, well they’d be singing so happily
Oh joyfully, oh playfully watching me

Songwriters: Richard Davies, Roger Hodgson of Supertramp

I’ve spent this weekend suffering serious writer’s block. You see, I always try to name my blogs after songs that have some connection about my writing. Here it goes.

Back last year I entered the Newport 10km which was due to take in October. The event was moved to April 2023, it’s usual date, and also hosts a marathon. It was also a return to Newport only four weeks after the half marathon. Running in Newport is a convenient excuse to meet up with my son, Elliot, and have some beers. It’s a double winner.

Saturday morning and Sue and myself drag ourselves to the train station but when we get there we found that the train had been delayed thirty minutes. When the train finally arrived it was packed, standing room only. Once we reached our first stop, Weston-Super-Mare, many passengers were getting off so Sue dived forward to get seats. Paradise. Standing on trains in the vestibule is very awkward especially with the motion of the carriages. We didn’t seem to to making up any time so when the train pulled into Bristol Temple Meads the driver announced that the train would be speeding up and not stopping until it’s terminus and therefore going straight through Newport. Sue said that I’d better win the race on Sunday. I messaged Elliot to tell him of our plight and he asked where we were staying. Apparently the hotel is situated in the heart of night club land.

Scenes outside our hotel. We agreed to meet up later but Elliot had had a long day from working an early morning shift before meeting us and had fell asleep but this mob were waiting outside our hotel. We wandered to a quieter side of town where men were being frisked before entering pubs and girls wore just enough to cover their modesty. To be honest, we couldn’t hear any outside noise in our room. Reception on our television of BBC1 and Match of the Day was very sketchy. Clearly because Cardiff City and Swansea are rubbish and not in the Premiership or maybe because Gary Lineker has been tweeting again.

Sunday and race day. Whereas Saturday was sunny and warm, Sunday was cool and overcast with the chance of light drizzle. The marathon started at 9.00 and the 10km at 9.45 so plenty of runners and their supporters were milling around nervously. 9.35 and I went to find my allocated pen and Elliot and wandered off to Starbucks for coffee. I had a plan but didn’t! Set off at a comfortable pace but look to overtake the runners in front of the runners in front of me! This might sound crass but the runners in front of me may be tiring and I wanted to attack runners who were pressing forward. It always used to work back when I raced hard but I was 20+ years younger and the old brain is a little foggy. It was/is a good tactic. It keeps you pushing forward and negative splits. Proof, a young girl in my pen got about half a mile in front me but I sped past her with about 1500m to go. Boom.

The race is really flat, in fact the only notable climb is the bridge over the River Usk. The view to the North West is of Caerleon, the Roman centre of the area before Newport, and is very impressive. The early kilometres are quite potholed and caution is needed as to turn an ankle. At around 4 km we passed Newport Stadium, or Spytty Park. The stadium was the original home to Newport County AFC until 2012 when they moved to Rodney Parade. The route curls around to the famous Transporter Bridge where we head back to the University Campus on the riverfront to finish and glory. Sue and Elliot cheered me home and we went for a celebratory beer 🍺and scran at Wetherspoons.

Oh, and the blog title. William Henry Davies was a famous son of Newport. He was a poet and writer who travelled the railroad across the United Kingdom and the United States of America as a hobo. His most popular work was The Autobiography of a Super Tramp. See Supertramp. Logical, eh🤣.

You know I hate to ask
But are ‘friends’ electric?
Only mine’s broke down

And now I’ve no-one to love

Tubeway Army, or Gary Numan, this has to be one of the greatest records ever made. I remember coming home as a disillusioned 16 year old after my cricket county trial at Bristol for Gloucestershire and this was number one on Top Of The Pops. As I mentioned before, Chris Broad, father of Stuart, was singing Ring My Bell by Anita Ward at my county cricket trial. I was into The Clash, The Pistols, Buzzcocks, Skids and American bands like Talking Heads, Blondie, Ramones and Television. I felt a generation apart. I never progressed, unfortunately.

I’ll never know but a combination of wearing St. Peter’s batting gloves and being schooled at a comprehensive were major ‘stumbling blocks’. I cycled from Tewkesbury to Cheltenham and after school to purchase these gloves with hard earned money that I had saved and never wore them again. To be honest in those days of 1979, cricket was still very much in a time of being from the right caste rather than how good you were. Ironic really as now after the racist allegations at Yorkshire CCC the England and Wales Cricket Board are so desperate for integration and equality. I believe George Orwell has a phrase for this from Animal Farm. Bitter, nah, not at all 🤣, it was just a sign of the times.

Friends, are they really electric and do they really break down? Friendships always break down. People come in and out of our lives all the time, everyday. Some leave a lifetime impression, like good school friends that you’ve known forever, and others that have the same hobbies and interests as you. The working world is so strange and alien. It is so very weird to work with others and without the same interests and humour. I’m approaching 60 years of age quickly but work with a much younger age group. Back in the day when banter and ‘piss taking’ was common it is no longer acceptable. ‘Ism’ is never acceptable.

So what are friends now? In these days of social media we all have thousands of friends. People we meet once or work colleagues or friends from school. People we’ve known for years, decades, or others we shared a pint or gin with. I know younger people who collect them on Facebook like I used to collect football bubble gum cards.

Runners need friends. Runners need friends to support them through times of doubt, through times of injury or illness, and to help others when they have doubt, injury or illness. It is well known that exercise provides a positive grounding for mental health. It’s all a shared pain and runner’s psyche is or can be very fragile

I guess the real essence of this particular blog is to reach out. You’re never alone and real friends will support and help you.

I’m glad you’re home
Now did you really miss me?
I guess you did by the look in your eye
(Look in your eye, look in your eye)
Well lay back and relax, while I put away the dishes
(Put away the dishes)
Then you and me can rock a bell.

Ring My Bell a big hit record for Anita Ward in 1979, the year I left school. I wanted to stay and further my education but unfortunately my dear mother had a cerebral stroke which meant my Father needed to care for her and any money from my employment was gratefully received. The lyrics are very much of their time but that was how the 70s rolled. I remember going to Bristol for a county cricket trial with Gloucestershire and Chris Broad, a future England Test Match cricketer and father of Stuart, kept singing this annoyingly. He kept trying to whack my medium/quickish swing bowling over my head and without success but I did disturb his castle. I bowled the arrogant shit 🤣. Bragging rights over as Glos. Head Coach Graham Wiltshire said I wasn’t any good. Dream for a 16 year old was over and I’ve hated the county of my birth ever since. As I remember Tubeway Army and Our Friends Electric was number one in the hit parade. A vastly superior and inspirational record.

Bell. Ringing a bell promotes a massive announcement. During World War 2 it warned of German aircraft approaching, a call for Sunday worship, two people celebrating undying love for each other, and much more. Over the last 10 or so years it has been something that cancer survivors ring after their last treatment. For me it was more like ‘Bugger off. We need the bed and don’t come back’. I was really on my lonesome. Nowhere to turn, no one to turn too.

It was 2015 and Sue, Elliot and me had moved to Burnham on Sea. We had few friends and felt quite alone. Sue had ‘the chat’ with Elliot. My diagnosis was clearly not the best news but I survived. A few operations, many scans, x-rays and general poking about, and a month in hospital and all was well. I left with my bag, not filled with my belongings but poo and set to return a year later for a reversal. When I returned for the colostomy reversal there were no bells, no help, no support, just get out! I can tell you it’s very lonely. I was in Shitsville.

I am still quite young and fit. Why did I get cancer? And why did I survive? Questions that will never be answered. Children and adults who may well have offered more than I could give have been taken by this cruel disease but I am thankful I’m still here for my wife and son and my friends. I believe bell ringing is an United States thing but much better than school shootings or Friends. No bells, no fuss, but keep pressing on, it’s the British way.

We move like caged tigers
Oh, we couldn’t get closer than this
The way we walk
The way we talk
The way we stalk
The way we kiss
We slip through the streets
While everyone sleeps
Getting bigger and sleeker
And wider and brighter
We bite and scratch and scream all night
Let’s go and throw
All the songs we know…

Ever since I can remember, since I was a young boy, I’ve always had cats for pets and living on the A38 wasn’t good for survival. Little One was a cat I had for many years. She was passed onto me when my sister, Jill and her army husband were relocated to Berlin and then to Herentals in Belgium. She was a loyal, loving pet from 1974 until 1989 and my Dad and I were truly saddened when she was put to sleep. I’d never seen my Dad cry before. He lied about his age to join the Royal Navy in 1940. A seventeen year old in World War 2. He had seen things he would never talk about and now this brave man was crying over a cat. It broke my heart and still does as I write this.

Fast forward to 1991 and my partner, soon to be wife Sue, took off one evening and returned with two lovely, fluffy kittens much to my surprise. Googly and Snorkel were two real scamps. Sue knew how I loved cats and these two were a real challenge. They would hide in the dark wooden areas in our lounge and climb up the blown vinyl wallpaper, that was real fun to watch. Christmas was great thrill as a big tree to climb was installed.

Snorkel was quite a homely cat but Googly had ambitions to explore. One night Googly had a accident with a car and his hind quarters were damaged. He was in a terrible condition, very sullen and ill. We took him to the vets surgery and they feared the worst for him. Sue even sent me to the vet’s to have him put out of his misery but when I got there I found he was drinking coffee from the nurse’s mugs and was was quite chipper. Tart!! I had to squeeze his bladder to release urine for a while and he had his tail chopped off but he was worth it. Later he would go. I named missing stranded on a river bank but I rescued him. I didn’t think he was meant to die but of course we all have a shelf life and Googly was using up all his cat lives. I came home from work one lunchtime and he was lying ,cold in the Spring sunshine by the patio door. Snorkel had to be put down a couple of years earlier. She had been quite poorly and it was the first time our son, Elliot, had witnessed a death. He had been to his Grandfather’s funeral but this is obviously different. The first time he felt a heart stop beating. It is awful. One moment a member of your family is lying in your arms, struggling to breathe, the next nothing. It is a tough emotion for anybody.

2008 we ‘fostered’ Bubba, Hoggy and Punchy. Bubba and Punchy were meant for Elliot’s 15th birthday and Hoggy for me as my birthday present. Sue got Hoggy as a surprise and asked me if I wanted my present early. I said no but I doubt Sue could have kept him a secret for 10 days. Bubba was a beautiful kitten. The exact image of her mother. So elegant and graceful but unfortunately too inquisitive and was was knocked down by a car after about a year. Hoggy was a fluff ball. I named him after Matthew Hoggard the Yorkshire and England bowler. I named after him because Hoggard had unruly hair like Hoggy’s fur. Because of Hoggy’s appearance , he was very popular with other homes and they liked to give him treats which was to be his downfall. One evening cycling home from work I discovered that he’d been hit by a car and died. Our neighbours were nearly as upset as us.

Now poor Punchy had lost her brother and sister and was acting a little sad. I had read somewhere that cats needed company. In the past we’ve had cats in pairs or threes so I thought it would make sense to get her a friend. Enter Topsy, or Topper as I liked to call him. Topper tried but Punchy didn’t care for him much. When we moved from Tewkesbury to Burnham on Sea they seemed to get along better. Topper realised if he wanted some food he would get Punchy to go to their feed bowls because they were more likely to be fed together.

Sadly Punchy died a few weeks ago, a day or 2 after we returned from Torremolinos Half. It was almost like she was waiting to see us one last time. Topper was very clingy for the first couple of weeks. Always wanting to sit on our laps. Very unusual as he had never been like that before. Then he started lying in strange places, just as Punchy had at the last. In his last days he would often sit on the arm of our settee and look up to the ceiling meowing. Sue was convinced he could feel Punchy’s presence and was calling for him.

You’re not from Newport
You’ve probably never been there either
I bet you a fiver
You’re not from Newport
You’ve probably never heard of Pillgwenlly
Or been to Lliswerry
You’re not from Newport

Lyrics by Goldie Looking Chain

I’ve been to Lliswerry. The local club organise an eight mile race in January. It’s the flattest and fastest race around and being in January is a great test to how your winter training is going. I had my biggest compliment at that race. At the finish a fellow competitor said to me “Are you a track runner? You certainly run like one” 😏. Tewkesbury Athletics Club would send a car load annually but sadly not anymore. These kind of excursions I find are rare now. Looking at this year’s results all are South Welsh apart from a few from the Forest of Dean. Everybody wants the thrill of a big city race but these local races are the bread and butter for clubs. They also raise money for schools, clubs, organisations that provide for many. Here, the Somerset Series is full of such races and many off road and, from experience, I know the same is in Gloucestershire.

Back at Tewkesbury A.C, myself and and a fellow runner, Roger Bennett, would take off on a road trip. We would travel to Wokingham, Slough, Swansea, anywhere we could get a race and because Gloucestershire, at that time and might still be, was a hot bed of racing talent so to travel around a bit meant a bit of glory. I would read the road racing results in Athletics Weekly for Somerset, Devon and Dorset and even taking into consideration the elevation and terrain  I’m sure I would have been competitive.

Now Newport, Elliot met us at the train station and we went to a pub near our hotel for a drink. Potters was packed, Saturday afternoon with football score flashes from Sky Sports, and a proper boozer which hosts local bands. Music, sport and beer. My holy trinity ❤️.

We went our separate ways to recharge our batteries for an evening in Wetherspoons, and what an evening it proved to be. The Wetherspoons app is a great innovation. Normally on a Saturday night the bar would be 3 deep all shouting their orders but now you just sit a your table and calmly order and pay on your phone. This weekend was certainly chilly and South Wales, and especially the valleys, is usually a couple of degrees cooler but I admit that I’ve never seen so much early 20’s female fake tan flesh as I did that Saturday night. I must be getting old as they made me feel so cold just to see them. Then just around 10.15 a young man burst into the pub and started brawling with another and all of a sudden I was seeing the worst of life in a city or large town. It was like Ghost Town by The Specials. Bands don’t play no more. Years ago cities were built on communities and now they’re being torn apart by stupidity and ignorance. The incident was quelled in minutes by security and the majority returned to enjoying their night out.

Sunday morning and race day. F*ck I don’t know why I do this. I don’t why I put myself through this race nonsense. I’d much rather stay in bed. It’s warm and comfortable and, unlike Strava, you’re not judged because nothing happened. I looked out of the window. It was grey and overcast, just like Eastenders, and it looked cold. I could some runners jogging or warming up. Another 20 minutes in bed would be my warming up! I decided to wear different race shorts. Call me crazy but as a long suffering creakyter I have a huge list of superstitions and this was one I was about to change.

8.30 am and we met up with Elliot to make our way to the start. S*it I hate this milling around at the start, waiting to go. I said my goodbyes and set out on my way. The course was the same as the previous year which meandered along the River Usk and then out through some side roads of Newport. This resembles most city/ large town half marathons and then we run out towards Caerleon and the junior rugby and football teams who are a year older. We were away from the city and some more challenging running. It was quite undulating until we hit the dual carriageway back to Newport. I reached the university campus at 10 miles but the wrong side of the river. Just a park run to go. Just another bullsh&t saying. I could hear and see the finish and just a run up to the bridge, across, and then home. I was feeling surprisingly good and picked up the pace. It is a wonderful feeling overtaking other runners but I felt bad as they had put so much effort into their run and was flailing just at the wrong point but I was peaking just dandy. It must be remembered that a half marathon is still a long way. Home was a Wagon Wheel, a medal, a bottle of water , a beer, a banana and the tee shirt that all us runners can show off to our contemporaries.

I would just like to add that I hate those Nike shoes. They sound like people running in water filled wellington boots.

Recently I’ve had so many races where I felt like I was running in treacle and my health was not as I would have wished. This race was to give me a massive boost and a virtual injection of adrenaline for the Spring.

I quite like the Newport Half Marathon and would run it every year.

In this proud land we grew up strong
We were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail
No fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I’ve changed my face, I’ve changed my name
But no one wants you when you lose

Don’t give up ’cause you have friends
Don’t give up, you’re not beaten yet
Don’t give up, I know you can make it good

Wow. I started this blog a couple of days ago and now it has turned 180 degrees. I was all for ‘jacking it in’ and never to run again but… I was feeling ill and bad after another disappointing race. I wouldn’t care if I never ran again and then I read a retrospective review of Peter Gabriel’s album of So from 1986. One of the tracks was Don’t Give Up, a duet with Kate Bush and the guilt poured like tears. For those too young to remember, So was one of the 80s greatest albums and Peter Gabriel’s finest work. He was founder and lead singer with prog rock band Genesis but for my money after he left, in 1977, his solo output was better than the Phil Collins stadium rock version of the band. Who could possibly forget the best promotion video ever for Sledgehammer, a work of genius.

The chorus line that Kate Bush sings sticks in my mind. It’s the ‘Don’t give up ’cause you have friends’ because I think this is clouded. I run alone now. It hurt at first, all the rejection and that, but I’m cool now. I run with music and when and where I choose. Wow, I must be shit company on a run.

Torremolinos Half and 5 km. Last year the weather was warm but this year for half of our time the weather was disappointing. Holidays are crap when the weather is crap. I went to Bulgaria and to Sunny Beach. That was a joke. Bulgarians were nice but the weather wasn’t and when the weather is bad it so spoils everything but that was July. It took a Thunderbirds like International Rescue operation to get Sue and myself home before I died of pneumonia. Flights to Luton and then a taxi home to Tewkesbury.

Sue and my trip to Torremolinos wasn’t so bad. February is so hit and miss and we were unlucky this year. My flu was hard to shake and Sue had caught it. It’s not a 3 days to come, 3 days to go. More like 3 weeks and more. I had completely lost my running confidence and Sue was reluctant to leave her bed. I had 4 weeks between Torremolinos Half before my next half at Newport and I needed something, anything, to boost what was left of my health, fitness and confidence to get around.

Two weeks later and Sue was still poorly and I was still suffering. I’m not one for giving up so after booking the hotel, train tickets and listening to Peter Gabriel I was going to complete this half come hell or high water. Above all my son lives in Newport so to spend some time with him is more than important. Seeing this article is to me an epiphany, a moment of clarity. Without running, or any sport/activity, I am nothing. I depend on running for my mental wellbeing and to try and keep me level.

Like the leaf clings to the tree
Oh, my darling, cling to me
For we’re like creatures of the wind
And wild is the wind
Wild is the wind

Nina Simone and David Bowie, but not at the same time.

Monday, the day after the Half Marathon, was beautiful. The sky was azure blue and the sun was beating down the heat that coldy/fluey people need to boost their recovery. Full of all those glorious things that promote serotonin to help Sue and I hop, skip and jump into the rest of our time away. The sun starts to go down by mid afternoon and the temperature drops but it is still February and we’re in Spain.

Tuesday everything changes. Wind and rain and cold. I could be back in Burnham. Most of the Almost Athletes have now returned to England and from what I gather have taken the sun with them. I ran the previous day to loosen the legs a little but today I stayed in the gym and ran on the treadmill. Anyone who knows me will know that treadmill running is a last resort so this speaks volumes of how bad the weather was.

Wednesday and the weather was much the same only the raindrops weren’t splashing quite so high. This is day 2 of us barely leaving our hotel, barely leaving our beds. We’re both feeling pretty lousy. I manage to get out and jog 4 miles. I’m having that sort of doubt that Clergy get when they are not sure if they believe in God and all that.

Thursday and the skies break to reveal a little sun and some heat. We sleep in and miss breakfast, again. Breakfast, apparently, is the most important meal of the day. It fuels you after 8 hours sleep and sets you up for the day. Spanish hotels just don’t get a full English breakfast though. Fried eggs are fine but scrambled and omelettes must be made from the same egg that we make our lemon curd. That is egg that hasn’t seen a hen in a while. The bacon is wrong as is the mushrooms and thankfully black pudding and fried slice is left well alone. Continental it is. I must admit I do like croissants, ham and cheese and the coffee is always good.

It’s always good to travel home. When I get to the last day away, I just want to be home. Sleep in my own bed, see our pets. We’ve had no heating at home since before Christmas and the difference was very evident when we got home

The last few days were more like England. Cold, windy and rainy. I was happy to sleep in with the warmth of my bed. Not what I wanted at all. I needed some sun and that Vitamin C. I, we Sue included, felt quite dreadful. Not what we wanted for some winter sunshine. I had ran a poor half marathon but at least I ran it and was glad I did. Touching down at Bristol Airport I immediately felt worse. Strange.

I feel that my running is at a crossroads. Running and racing has been pretty much crap for 4-5 months and I’m seriously thinking of packing it all in. Race and training times and minutes per mile are no motivation. I know what I’ve achieved and am proud of that. I always ran for the love of it but I’m always tired from work and this illness has knocked me about. I have asthma, colitis after cancer and depression and each affects the other. The depression is the worst. I’ve had too many episodes since Christmas and I’d hoped this break would kick start me into spring and better times. Maybe I should carry on running, just to give the black dog some exercise. Sorry, a bit downbeat.

This has been a particularly difficult piece to write. I do hope to be positive and speak of the virtues of running but I feel so flat. Hopefully when fully recovered I will enjoy the time I spend running in the fresh air and breathe in all life’s positives and breathe out all that toxic shit that we take on board.

Unfortunately one of our cats has died since our return and this has left me heart broken.