Inspiration

Why do we do what we do? If we don't get paid for doing something then we must be doing it for love, guilt or some other, perhaps more sinister, reasons. For example, I don't particularly like just going out for a walk, but Natasha does. So we do, and invariably I enjoy most aspects of it. On the other hand I feel totality when I am running freely in the mountains, lost in thought. I also try to be a bit careful in what I eat despite my love for food. 

But, conversely, why do we decide not do things? Expense? Unhealthy? Illegal?! Or simply perhaps a lack of drive. I have always maintained that I am a lazy person, always ready to take a short cut. For example I will happily make one nearly impossible journey from the car to the kitchen, overladen with shopping bags, rather than two way easier ones. Why make life easy for yourself when with a bit of effort you can make it nigh impossible?!  How often have we not gone out running because essentially we just don't want to?

Anyway, my point is that sometimes you have to combine the reasons why you chose to do something with the very reason why you chose not to. My good friend Bryan, a Geordie for his sins, has run off and on for most of his time on this planet. He's certainly not in the best shape of his life. Because of family responsibilities, transport challenges and essentially being skint, much does not get ticked on the proverbial 'to do' list. But for reasons best known to himself, some months back Bryan decided to get off his lard arse and train for the Amsterdam marathon.  Now, I gave up marathon running at the young age of 18, having completed the Bristol and London marathon. Never again, and I have never budged. But last week Bryan completed the Amsterdam in 4hrs (+ 29 frustrating seconds). Blimey! Good old Bryan! The word I have missed out in my opening paragraph is 'inspiration'. All of us are at some point inspired by an action or a person because of what has been done. Because of a single, simple action by one determined friend, I have now decided to train and run the Victoria marathon in Oct 2011. Never say never, but I'm nervous already.

My mate Marmite

I'm a Marmite kid. I just love the black, salty mass. Fresh bread, a coating of hard butter. A layering of Marmite. What more could a man ask for? Their advertising campaign was, for a long time (is it still?) based on 'Love it or hate it'. Fantastic. Still true today. To watch a naive Canadian tuck in to a spot of the Black Nectar still provides much amusement - their face screws up and expletives usually follow. Fine by me.


But recently I asked my good friend Hugh, who himself likes a thin layering of Marmite, to send out the last of our household belongings from the UK he has been harbouring for the last four years. Last week three boxes duly arrived (their journey and retrieval is a story in itself I might one day relate) containing millions of polystyrene balls, a few treasures and low and behold, a crate full of Marmite. But how much is too much? Is that possible? As a kid, my mum bought a huge tin of it which we used to fill up the old glass jars. Amusingly, the Marmite jars are the same shape as they have always been thanks to the public backlash when they tried to introduce a cheaper straight jar (looked to much like the inferior Oz version, Vegemite). This tin, I remember, was just caked with dried Marmite and to this day I have been on the search for some similar bulk buy.

Let me introduce Ziggy. She owns a way-out Print Shack in Chesterfield, UK. 'You say it, I'll print it' she says. Test her at your peril. Now Hugh and Ziggy are good friends, but she is a bad influence on Hugh who is gullible (a rather amusing accusation leveled at him one day). Anyway, suffice to say that, thanks to the generosity and madness of them both I am now the proud owner of the equivalent of one massive tin of Marmite. 6kg of it. Thats one thick spread. Heaven. Or is it Hell? Thanks guys.

Sporting legacies

On first sub zero run this morning, I reflected on a recent conversation regarding the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics, for which I volunteered on the anti doping team as a chaperone for a month and loved it. Here I was, once again pounding the pathways, doing something I loved. Indeed, I have spent today basking in memories whilst unpacking old pictures of my teenage running. Blimey I was thinner and way fitter back then! But no-one can take away the purist pleasure of my running history, though I have never done anything remotely remarkable. I believe that I have consistently underachieved in running, but enjoyed even the most painful of events or training runs. Sounds perverse, but its true. Running for me provides a release from something I know not. I'm free - I'm the person I want to be. The Who's 'Roger Daltry belting out 'I sing my song to the wide open spaces....' often fills my mind when covering the trails, especially in the mountains.

Back in December and January, I defended the Olympics from the staunchest of critics. There is no other event on this planet which allows athletes of all disciplines to compete, socialise and live under the same roof. There is a aura which surrounds the Olympics, be they summer or winter. There is no other. The cost? Too much. The politics? Too controlling. The International Olympic Committee? Dinosaurs. But I'll still defend the movement. I harped on about the legacy Vancouver was creating, for communities, athletes and spectators. Inspiration. "I'll be there in 2014..." whispers an inspired 16 year old to themself. It's moving. It's an event like no other. But I'm now strangely deflated. Anti doping is only active due to the cheats. No cheats, no doping control. Simple. It's all about keeping sport clean. I had lots to say, lots of opinions about the anti doping team I worked on - which is to be expected. But the legacy? A quick story.

On my return I immediately signed up as a chaperon for the Canadian Centre for Excellence in Sports. They control anti doping across the board in all sports here in Canada. No one even returned my phone calls or emails. I eventually spoke to someone, months later. They took my details. It was now June. In September I received an email copy from a colleague who is a CCES accredited chaperone, asking for all to contact the centre if they wished to be on the call out list. Why had I not got one? Unswayed, I rang. No, they had not got my details. Would I like to provide them?

Some legacy the Olympics left behind. Another bureaucratic set up, a barrier for involvement in sport. Sport needs to be embedded into the grassroots - no runners like me, no mass involvement in sport. No future. CCES need to get their act together. Meanwhile I'll continue my running in the fields.

The Thursday Buzz

Life is bitter sweet. I keep bees as I love nature. And I love honey. Bees are so natural. But oh so vulnerable. I bought second hand gear which had supposedly been disease free, but I suspect they were not. So the Americans invaded by their millions. ? American Foul Brood. Nothing to do with moody Americans, but devastating to bees. Started with four hives, now down to one weak one. I hate to think how much each of my 16 jars of honey has cost, but the cost is way higher than the money value. I was heartbroken to burn bees and their hard work. Next year I will come back with new gear and with experience under my belt.


The Bed & Breakfast suite is working, so at least something is happening.
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