So it has come to this.
I am actively mulling over joining a weight loss club.
But would it be an astute move or an admission of defeat?
So it has come to this.
I am actively mulling over joining a weight loss club.
But would it be an astute move or an admission of defeat?
I went for a run today. And it was lovely. It was only 5k but each split that sucked the breath from my body and cascaded beads of sweat down my back and brow seemed glorious.
Because for the first time in months the strides of my legs jarring rubber to stone as my feet hit the pavement underneath were virtually pain free.
What’s more, each kilometer was sub six minutes meaning that it was up their with my previous expectation on time. Given that I’ve done next to no real training for weeks that makes me more than a little chuffed.
Hard to believe it’s already April.
That means we are a quarter of the way through the year already and I am still as fat as a pig.
But, in the wrods of Inspector Cloueau, I have a plan.
This weekend I kick start my training towards the Amsterdam Marathon buoyed by the prospect of maybe doing a little good.
I have adopted St Columba’s Hospice charity for my fundraising efforts as a thank you for the help they afforded my dad when he was dying from cancer.
I’m still working out the logistics, but running and cycling will be up there along with a little more weight loss.
Today I remain over the moon at having hit my £1000 target for Scottish Mountain Rescue with the help of so many people.
Now I’ve raised the bar again – this time aiming to raise £1500 – or as much as people are willing to give.
And it’s off to a flyer already.
My friend Martine McNee has fired straight in with a donation of £20 – which became £25 after she had the foresight to tick the Gift Aid box.
And I’ve had pledges already for another £70 from friends promising to chip in.
If you can and feel like helping out, you can donate here too which would be just brilliant.
Regardless, have a great weekend, and wish me luck with the exercise ahead.
I’m pretty sure when Iain and myself sat down for a coffee in Edinburgh’s West End little over a year ago we were both sincere in our aspirations for Two Fat Laddies, but a little playful too.
We knew that humour was a key by-product of what we were about to do. Laughter, we hoped, would help see us through. People taking the piss out of us, well, it was something we were braced for.
What we didn’t expect, or at least, what I failed to anticipate, was just how serious it would become. How all consuming it would be. How our moods, successes and indeed failures would affect us.
I have never been Big Eck’s biggest fan.
Or to qualify that, and to put aside our First Minister’s political message, I have never been the biggest fan of some of his physical foibles.
That dismissive mid-sentence ur-hurr laugh he does when he, uh-hurr, thinks he’s being cleverer than whichever mere mortal has been dispatched to interview him is intensely irritating.
And that overtly antagonistic staccato head jab thing he does when. He. Is. In. Full. Feral. Attack. Mode. In. The. Chamber…well, that just makes him look thuggish.
But when I saw this today I felt a twang of sympathy for him.
It may seem strange given the emphasis on losing weight in the first 12-months of Two Fat Laddies, but this year I’ve grown more conscious about what I eat.
Losing weight was simpler – cut down on booze, take-aways and greasy foods. Eat more fruit and veg. Eat less but more often. Always have something within an hour after exercise. And, where possible, never eat after 6pm.
Advice from various sources all of which I was glad to accept and, to varying degrees, still observe.
But eating for a training regime – particular a marathon – is a whole different science altogether. It’s less about what you shouldn’t eat as to what you must.
And it’s how I discovered bagels. Specifically, New York Bakery Company bagels.
Queen Margaret University proved good friends to Iain and myself last year.
The team were there from the start with a kind word, bags of enthusiasm and real interest in how we were doing along with all kinds of advice that books, internet searches and groups simply wouldn’t have delivered.
We hadn’t been back for our final numbers, much as we haven’t yet returned to the Royal Mile. The plan had been we’d both hit the target and we’d go together. Since neither of us reached the five stone goal, it seemed pointless.
Nonetheless I found myself at QMU for other reasons and word soon reached Dr Sandra Drummond. She couldn’t resist, tracked me down and had me on the scales in the top floor examination room before you could say I’ve got numbers to fill in.
And you know what, I’m glad. It was unfinished business and I would always have been secretly curious to know how I’d fared.
My decision to attempt my first ever marathon this year is largely down to a work colleague who is quite simply an inspiration.
Leading by example, she’ll be out treading the streets at all hours, readying for her own challenges ahead including runs in Scotland and Dublin.
When I first floated the idea of trying my first, she was full of advice and encouragement, links to websites and a kind word.
In fact it was down to her that I thought yup, I can do this, and signed up.
During my brief break in training though injury, she has again been there with great advice and pep talks on how to get over it.
She is, in every way, brilliant.
Men in tights are, in general, unlikely to be deemed a good thing. The professional ballet dancer a notable exception perhaps, but even then it’s something of a stretch.
Robin Hood and his Merry Men might have tried to make a fight of it, yet was Lincoln Green really all that flattering? No, I think not.
So it came as a bit of a shock to my system when I decided to buy a pair. 
For wearing. Outside. In public.
Now what people wear is their business, of that I have no doubt.
I just didn’t expect that I’d be donning a pair of leg hugging black numbers aged 38 in the greater metropolis of West Lothian.
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