The gym.

Good news. I got the results back from the doctor about my chest x-ray. There seem to be no problems with it. Big relief, that. I'm quite happy now.

Actually, I'm even happier than that. I've got a bit of a hormone buzz going on, though it's abating. I'm not sure which hormone it is. It's the one you get from exercise. I've not long got back from the gym, or fitness club or whatever it's called. And I'm hooked.

This is going to sound a bit trivial to a lot of people, or it would if a lot of people read it, but at the risk of sounding like a bit of an O'Hara I'm going to go on anyway. I've never been the keep-fit type. I always figured my 'job' of playing gigs, with the isometric exertion it entails, was keeping me fit-ish anyway. So I never really felt overly unfit. But I'm obviously not in the right kind and quality of shape to be doing any meaningful distance using my legs, as I've described on here before and I've been quite violently reminded of today.

Louise got me in on a one day pass thing, and I was immediately surprised at the size of the place. It's just a little bigger than I thought, which is daft because I was there at the start, trying to get people to join the club about 10 years ago, with 9-fingered Gary. (I sometimes wonder where he is now. Well, I wondered just then. I can't actually remember the last time it crossed my mind.)

The pool and sauna and steam room caught my interest, if only because the pool itself is not as small as I imagined, so you can have a perfectly worthwhile swim in it. I thought it would be one of those puddles you get in places where you don't really expect a pool to be, like a hotel or a fish and chip shop. And the steam room - I'd never actually been in one before. When I was in Doha about 15 years ago there was an old style sauna in the hotel, one of those ones where, just as you're on the verge of passing out, some evil bastard pops in and pours water on the coals and all the oxygen gets sucked out of the room and you're left breathing neat boiling water and the only thing that stops you from really passing out is the unachievable desire to punch whoever just did that up the throat. All you can do, though, is to flop like a knackered slinky down to the door, try fruitlessly to pull it open for a while till some other masochist helpfully enters, allowing you to pin-wheel loosely out into full view of everyone in and around the pool, gravely shake your head, gesture back towards the door in the manner of someone with roughage issues leaving an airplane toilet in front of a large queue, and flounce back to your locker, in tears.

Of course, you're advised to, in the absence of a dip-pool, take an excruciatingly cold shower, trying not to scream, and pat yourself dry, so as not to do something or other to your pores, before you get dressed and go and do something far less deranged. Which I did, and it was by far the most surprising experience in my life thus far.

At the 'club', though, you're presented with a much less vicious option. You can just get back in the pool. It's not the warmest pool in the world, but you're far less likely to blow your heart up or endure a brief but debilitating hallucination as a result of teleporting, naked, from Death Valley to the North Pole in under a second. It's actually very pleasant, and you feel a bit like James Bond, without the pain.

Before that, though, I did a bit of running on a treadmill. There's about 20 of them there and, apart from a woman who looked about 5 stone in weight but sounded like a horse going mental in a wardrobe, I was the only one running. I didn't feel completely safe as there were a few people hanging around slightly suspiciously, with little to occupy their minds other than some tv footage of Leona Lewis stroking her own face, in close up, and the imminent spectacle of me pressing the wrong button at 10 miles an hour and impaling myself on a volume control.

To start off, I selected some program or other that was supposed to be somewhat realistic in that it threw random inclines and changes in speed at me, like what you'd get if you were running around outside. I quickly aborted this, though, because I quickly began feeling a bit panicky about being at the mercy of something that, for all I knew, wanted not to help me but to hurt me. Just before I hit the off button the machine had started to incline bafflingly sharply, which I took to show that my suspicions had been correct. What kind of marathon has segments where you have to run up a really tall ladder?

Anyway, once I got it doing what I wanted it to do, I then set about trying to figure out the controls and readouts and stuff. They were so simple a four year old child could have sussed them instantly, but I didn't have a four year old child with me and couldn't make head or tail of them. 

Eventually it transpired that I was running in kilometres per hour rather than miles, which was a bit crushing, and that I was burning a bunch of calories. As no-one has any idea what a calorie is I didn't really pay much attention to this, which I'm hoping isn't deeply unwise. I'll probably wake up one day in January, connected to a drip, with some doctor telling me how lucky I am to be alive, considering I've only got 12 calories left in me.

I was having trouble converting kilometres to miles, what with a spaced-out assumption that, as 2.54 centimetres make an inch, therefore 2.54 kilometres make a mile, and so starting getting most discouraged. After a while I remembered it's something like one k to .6 of a mile and immediately felt much better. So I ran for 20 minutes and covered 3 km, which is close enough to 2 miles for me, making my average the magic 10-minute mile.

Of course, my exhilaration over this was tempered by the threat of sudden-onset decrepitude and feeling like I was breathing through a strange new hole in the top of my chest, but it's a start. Again. It won't take long for the pain to diminish and strike less early. All is cool.

So I'm definitely joining the gym. Anywhere that has a pool, steam room, sauna, treadmill etc for a pound a day can't really be sniffed at, especially in my case as I absolutely need it and I absolutely can't afford anything more.

Now tonight I'm playing in a place near Eastbourne. Brilliant. If I don't get stopped by the police for driving a car that sounds like a cross between Brian Blessed stubbing his toe in a huge tin stadium and God farting, I'll be overjoyed.

My knee, continued

So anyway, the upshot of it is that I'm now pretty concerned about my left knee. If it keeps doing this I'm going to find it pretty hard to train usefully - once a week isn't going to cut it. I'm going to try one of those bandage type things and see if that makes a difference. No idea where you get one though.

Another reason why I want to train harder is this: it makes me want to smoke less. As in the actual desire for a cigarette diminishes after I've been out on a run. Partly this is common sense in that the two don't go together and it's logical and rational to ease off on the thing that makes breathing more difficult at 7 or 8 miles an hour. More pleasingly, though, the buzz I get after a strenuous run, and all running is strenuous at the moment, takes the cigarette's place. I don't get the craving so much.

Add the rational to the physical and hey presto, I don't smoke. I want to give up now more than ever, and I need something to take its place. It's the perfect solution. So all I've got to do is keep it up. Easy peasy.

I think I might go out for a run tonight. I'm worried I might put myself out of action again, but I can't hang around and wait for it to get better - how would I know anyway?

My knee

I can't say I've been particularly fervid recently, when it comes to this blog. Various things cropped up and made it all a little harder than really-bloody-easy to actually do any training, which led to not actually doing any training, which in turn led to me feeling a little bit guilty and and clenched therefore not knowing what to write. 

I can only type the word 'soon' so many times before it becomes unattractive and offensive.

My daughter came to stay for a while, which made it hard for me to train (don't ask why, please), then Louise and I went to Greece for a week, which made it impossible. Then I had the absolute definition of man-flu for a week - hard to train, again. Basically, nearly a month had passed.

So last Wednesday I went out for a run with Suzy, who's a bit of a dab hand at using her feet, and did pretty well. Ran for about 3 miles, perhaps a bit less, with very few breathers, and belted the last bit home as if I was in Stockholm and after 26 miles I was still Roger Bannister. This last bit nearly killed me, but after a hot then freezing shower I felt brilliant and would have gone back out again, if you see what I mean.

Then my knee seized up. Really seized up. By the time I went to bed I could barely bend it, and Thursday night I woke up and found I was actually crying with the pain. I ended up on diazepam, codeine and ibuprofen for 72 hours - it finally felt a bit better on Saturday night. 

This has happened before and I blame it on the fall I had when I was a kid. I dropped 40-odd feet from a tree (not literally, of course - what would a 12 year old be doing up a tree with a load of feet?) - breaking a couple of bones in my back on the way down thanks to a sturdier branch than the one I'd been holding onto, then hitting the ground in such a way that I broke all sorts of other bones and tore all sorts of tendons and stuff, notably my left leg. Even more notably and more specifically my left knee. 

TBC

Two miles.

I ran round Dunorlan lake four times yesterday. It being .55 miles in circumference and the fact that I walked a little bit of it (which I'm relieved is the correct thing to do at this stage in training) makes it about 2 miles of running. And I was having trouble.

Several times I thought I was just going to fall over and become useless, even in the first 1/2 mile. It really was a tough run. Only 2 miles, too. Quite depressing. It's not like I thought, after doing the 4 miles the other night, that from now on it just going to get easier, but I didn't think it was going to get twice as hard 2 days later.

Poppy, the dog, seemed bewildered at first, what with all the running and no sticks, and then overcame this and spent the rest of the time fannying about in the lake and annoying the ducks. One little corner of the water was covered in leaves and every time we went past it she appeared to think it was another bit of ground and tried to walk on it. The fourth time she evidently had wised up to this mirage and adopted a new technique to deal with it.

Taking it at speed obviously wasn't a good idea but she's a dog, and a really stupid one, to be honest. She disappeared below the water for a second and came up looking even more bewildered than before, this time 15 feet out into the lake. Normally I would have laughed and pointed but I was trying to get in the zone, for crying out loud. I ended up having to pull her out by the scruff and fruitlessly berating her for a few seconds, knowing if we did another circuit of the lake and came back past this spot she'd do something equally as stupid anyway.

I then carried on jogging, squirted some Lucozade directly into my eye because I wasn't concentrating and presently decided to give up, as much for Poppy's sake as my own. I did my stretches, feeling conspicuously rubbish at them, and struggled back up the hill to the car.

On the way back I spotted the joggers with prams group up by the steps being led through some stretches of their own and thought about interfering and asking the group leader to brush me up how exactly they should be done. Pretty swiftly I binned that idea due to looking like I was on the run from the police and having a dog you could wash a car with at my side. I swear she waits till she's certain maximum damage will be done before she does the really big shake and upsets everyone around her. So I carried on disconsolately, all the while just wanting to lie down.

For some reason I'd had a shower before I left an hour earlier so, as I had to have another one to get rid of the smell of sweat from something I'd drunk about 3 months previously (it's all coming out now..), I spent the next 15 minutes trying to dry myself with the corners of various wet towels that were lying around the place, then moaned to myself for the rest of the day about how this is all going to end in disaster.

I feel a bit better about it today but still the doubts linger. I know it's only been a week since I started, but it's all a bit discouraging. I'm told it will get better - have to believe that - but I worry how long it'll take.

Maybe I'm being daft. Maybe I'm trying to rush it, which would be a first for me when it comes to anything energetic other than arguing about ghosts, gods and Colin Fry. Just take (every other) day at a time.

Aside from all that, had a really great gig last night down the Grey Lady. Apart from vocally we were on pretty top form, and the audience had a good night. So yesterday wasn't all bad, I guess.

Four miles.

That's how far I ran tonight. The woman who we used to live upstairs from came round and we jogged up to Tesco and back.

This isn't strictly true. Halfway back she trod on something unfortunate and fell, spraining her ankle nastily. Got Louise to come out and take her back. Quite a nasty fall, actually, and I feel quite sorry for her. She'll not be using that leg much for the next week or so. Harumph, on her behalf.

Nonetheless, yes - 4 miles. Little bits of walking for about 30 seconds or so 3 times. Little bit of stretching up at Tesco, just where all the chavs could see us looking all poncey. Altogether, taking the hiatuses (should that be hiati?) into account, this was done in 35 minutes, or thereabouts. which means an average of 8.5 miles an hour, and I'm quite pleased with that.

I'm not getting too carried away, though. When I got back I looked like I'd been stood on my head for a week as 80% of my blood was in my face. Also, I'd started to hallucinate that, amongst other, odder things, I could speak french fluently and my middle name was Charles. I did my stretches, felt a little better then had a shower. It was easily the best shower I've had all year. Well, alone anyway.

Now I feel very tired and my legs are complaining, along with the bit of my sternum that before had the pinsharp nag in it which now feels a tad more extensive and deep.

So tomorrow I shall be resting. It's weird - I feel completely whacked out and it's obvious why but I still want to go for a run at the earliest opportunity. There really is something else about it, something I don't get from any other activity. Maybe it's simply a sense of achievement and it'll wear off once it gets easier and therefore less of one. Perhaps, but I hope not. I feel like I've won a little bet with myself and the world and it's a nice feeling.

But I'll have to wait till Wednesday. People who know a lot more about this lark than I do have made it very clear that this is the best course of action.

4 miles, though, eh? This time next month I'll either be running the same distance in less time and still bouncing at the end of it or I'll be in hospital. Now though, outrageously, it's time for bed.

Treadmills.

Should I get one? I dunno. Seems like a really good idea, looking at it from one angle - then from another it seems like a potential big waste of money. Naturally, as with every other aspect of this marathon thing, there's all sorts of advice out there, and most of it conflicting.

If money was no object then I wouldn't even be asking this question, of course. I would then be asking 46 other questions including; how fast should the top speed be; do I need one that inclines at the press of a button; or connects to the internet (yes, apparently some do, though I haven't seen any that come with a webcam yet); or talks to me in a lady's voice or a bloke's; or is endorsed by Roger Black (who I thought was a rower until a couple of days ago and so couldn't understand why he had his name on all these running accessories); or that has a dvd slot and a screen so I can watch inspirational films while I'm struggling to breathe and focus and stuff?

I'm guessing I want one that has a motor, but there's plenty out there that don't and, if they exist, surely that means they serve a purpose and maybe that purpose is similar to mine. So is the motor just there for lazy people? That can't be right. After all the motor drives the ribbon around and if you're lazy and you don't run you'll fall off. So I'll get one with a motor. If I get one at all.

The one with the monitor on it for watching films and things naturally appeals to me. If there was some way I could set it so that the screen only worked while the running bit was actually being used then I'd have to train if I wanted to watch stuff. Or go back upstairs and sit on the sofa. I'm assuming, though, that there are plenty of training dvds out there - or there maybe some 'point-of-view' videos proper athletes have made by strapping a camera to their head and running around various locations around the world. I bet there's one of the London marathon.

Probably don't want to be going there yet though. The idea of abruptly collapsing three miles into a virtual marathon.. well, you'd feel a bit pathetic, wouldn't you? At least if that happened in a proper marathon you wouldn't suddenly carom backwards into the spare room wall or break your jaw on a little cup holder or dvd controls.

There's one on the internet I found that made quite a virtue of it's 'mp3/ipod connection'. You mean like a shelf to put it on? It's probably 30 quid dearer for having somewhere set aside for your ipod. On the face of it this seems a bit rubbish, but I haven't really thought about it. I'll probably see the wisdom of it when I buy a cheaper version and immediately drop my mp3 player in front of me and stamp it to pieces.

Also, how noisy are they? Any that I've tried out sound like a knackered old lift in the sort of ripe smelling car park you find in southern seaside towns when they start up but, once properly turning over, don't seem too loud at all. Critically, however, I've not actually got on one while it was running for fear of making a spectacle of myself in the shop. "Oh, that's miles an hour, you say? Sorry about all the excercise bikes. No, I'll be fine, thanks."

I could procrastinate for ages. I'm really good at that. But it's quite a big thing - lots of angles involved. Aside from those already mentioned there's the whole "Yeah, but it's not the same as running on pavements!" argument. True, I'm not as likely to get run over or noticed by and laughed at by people I know - and as long as the heater's on I'm probably not going to get frostbite or some other gloomily debilitating condition. But of course there's evidently a lot to favour getting out and running in the cold, fresh air.

Actually, inside my garage - which is where it would have to go - is about as close to cold, fresh air as you can get without actually being outside, but without the benefits of actually being outside. But then again... Oh, I don't know. It's costly, possibly noisy, certainly a little bit lazy and a little bit ersatz, but also very handy and convenient. I wouldn't be able to say to myself that I'll give it a miss tonight cos of the weather, for a start.

Plus, it's a really big toy! And I love toys. Going out and blowing 500 quid on something that may end being entirely useless for my purposes is sometimes exactly what needs to be done. So I think that's what I'll do.

Anyway, in the absence of a nice, handy, multimedia running machine in my garage I have committed to going for a run with Nicky (I think that's how it's spelt.. might have to edit later) at 6.30 round Dunorlan lake tonight. Will have the dog with me and Louise is going to come up on her bike. Now I'm starting to get a bit stressed about whether I should eat something first. Maybe some raw eggs? Someone once told me that 4 raw eggs must be a good idea because they saw Rocky eating them from a glass in the film and look what happened to him! I said "Yeah, he got the living &*%^ kicked out of him and ended the film even less able to speak sensibly than before."

They countered "For crying out loud, it's only a film." which I was going to say must surely bring into question their earlier assertion about the eggs but instead just made me suddenly depressed and irritated so I started talking to someone else.

Perhaps I'll have a little bit of toast and cheese and marmite. God knows if that's a good thing to eat just before a strenuous (for me) 3 or 4 mile run, but I think that's all we've got.

Lastly, talking of food, the lady with the blog about food and running that I was talking about responded to my email. Actually, I don't think I've mentioned sending her an email but anyway. I've asked her if I can link to her website so I'll wait to hear back from her. Sure it shouldn't be a problem.

Now I'm off for toast and stuff.

Cumin, I've been expecting you.

As I did say I'd report back about the meal, I will.

It was delicious. Although I knobbed up the amounts because the recipe is for 4 and I had to make it for 1 - and I have no ability when it comes to adapting stuff like that - thus lending it a peculiar one-off quality that even I would find hard to recreate, it was still delicious.

It's possible someone once said that the mark of a great recipe is its stoicism in the face of complete mishandling and hopeless application. If they did then I hope I never get trapped in a lift with them, the wordy git/s.

I've got that pin sharp pain in my chest again. Not sure why because apart from faffing around in the kitchen rustling up a distant facsimile of the recipe mentioned above (and described in more detail below) I haven't done anything. Pretty soon I'll have decided on at least four possible causes, all of them fatal, and my days will be numbered. Then it will go away and I'll forget all about it.

Tomorrow I'm going to go up to the lake and try it out, perimeter-wise. Right now I'm going to watch Jonathan Ross. He's a hoot, he is.

Sponsor me, would you?

Be the first, and make it big. :o)