Full Circle
29 December 2006
When I look back on Christmas 2006 I’ll remember one thing - Phlegm. The cold is still here and what started off as an inconvenieny (albeit painful) cough and cold has now manifested itself in an annoying snotfest which doesn’t look like shifting ’til well into the New Year.
Looking back at the the beginning of 2006 on these very pages sees me in a similar position to my current state (albeit without the Mountain load of tissues by my side). The need to get fit, lose weight and a adopt a healthier lifestyle is as much a goal now as it was a year ago.
At the beginning of 2006 I adopted and documented my progress with ‘The Manual’, Mens Health Magazine’s biblical epic dedicated to the aforementioned goals.
Now I’m stuck, The Manual was binned many months ago after I stuck to it’s regime for approximately 3 months during which I lost 2 1/2 stone and 50 quid a month in Gym Membership. This year my requirements have changed, I don’t have the time, inclination nor the feel the need to hemmorage money to Virgin Active Gym or any derivative (unlesss I can come up with an alternative that I don’t begrudge chucking money at) and I haven’t yet found a suitable New Year equivalent to ‘The Manual’ other than a Runners World Menu that doesn’t fill me with motivation.
So, it’s my intention to go out before the Years End and scour the Magazine racks for a replacement to ‘The Manual’, something that I can follow as intently and religiously as it’s predecessor. At an average of £3.50 a pop I’m hoping that I don’t have to shell out too much before I find the right one.
Eating isn’t gonna be a problem, Len’s been on the Slimming World diet for the last 2 months during which she’s lost nearly 2 stone, all I have to do is follow her diet and cut out the drink which I had no problem in doing last year although driving to skittles every week with Al and Beesy full of the joys of seize cent soixante quatre was a chore - Oh how I wished I was the one slurring and swearing in the passenger seat instead of drinking slimline tonic!
Sherry Cask
24 December 2006
Five and a Half Days of Snot, Phlegm and Bogey’s is enough for anyone yet still I’m attempting to shift a cold/cough that crept up on me at the beginning of the week.
In an effort to shift the I’ve tried the following…
Lemsip (4 a day)
Tesco Super Duper Cold ‘n Flu Tablets (8 a day)
ASDA Super Duper Cold ‘n Flu Tablets (as above)
Lockets (The Mouth Burning Xtra Strength Variety)
Mentholyptus (The Sugar Free Vomit Inducing Variety)
Paracetamol
Nurofen
Warm Milk with Isle of Jura
None of the aforementioned have shifted the noose that seems to be tightening its’ grip on me as Christmas Day draws nearer.
The only respite I’ve experienced came yesterday when an impromptu visit to my Parents brought with it my Dad’s insistance that I try his newly acquired Stockholm Malt Whisky whcih had been ‘…lovingly matured in a Sherry Cask for 12 years’.
Hesitantly I agreed to his demands and cradled the glass in my hands slowly feeling the warmth of the liquid reaching through my body. After the first glass the intense pain across my forhead and my blocked sinus’ disappeared. After the Second glass the razor blades in my throat were a distant memory and for the first time in nearly a week I felt the familiar glow if normality pursing through my Body and for a quarter of an hour I was lucid, hyperactive and jolly and not the bloke who’d been at deaths door for the last few days.
Unfortunately similarly to Rutger Hauer’s character in Blade Runner the star that burns twice as birght burns twice as fast and within 20 minutes of finishing the 2nd glass I withdrew into my sickly shell and began moaning again.
I await the end of the Holday Period to broach the subject with my local Quack (ironically named Doctor Lush) to see if he is willing to prescribe the aforementioned medication on the NHS.
Dick Hoyt…
19 December 2006
Taken From Sports Illustrated…
Eighty-five times Dick Hoyt has pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in Marathons.
Eight times he’s not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a Wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and Pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars–all in the same day.
Dick’s also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back Mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. On a bike. Makes Taking your son bowling look a little lame, right? And what has Rick done for his father? Not much–except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester , Mass. , 43 years ago, when Rick Was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him Brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
“He’ll be a vegetable the rest of his life;'’ Dick says doctors told him And his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. “Put him in an Institution.'’
But the Hoyts weren’t buying it. They noticed the way Rick’s eyes Followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the Engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was Anything to help the boy communicate.
“No way,” Dick says he was told. “There’s nothing going on in his brain.”
“Tell him a joke,” Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a Lot was going on in his brain.
Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his Head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? “Go Bruins!'’.
And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the School organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, “Dad, I want To do that.”
Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described ‘porker’ who never ran More than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he Tried.
“Then it was me who was handicapped,'’ Dick says. “I was sore For two weeks.”
That day changed Rick’s life. “Dad,” he typed, “when we were running, It felt like I wasn’t disabled anymore!” And that sentence changed Dick’s life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly Shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
“No way,” Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren’t quite a Single runner, and they weren’t quite a wheelchair competitor.
For a few Years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then They found a way to get into the race Officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the Qualifying time for Boston the following year.
Then somebody said, “Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?” How’s a guy who never learned to swim and hadn’t ridden a bike since he Was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick Tried. Now they’ve done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii.
It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud Getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don’t you Think? Hey, Dick, why not see how you’d do on your own?
“No way,” he says. Dick does it purely for “the awesome feeling” he gets seeing Rick with A cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best Time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992 - only 35 minutes off the world Record, which, in case you don’t keep track of these things, happens to Be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the Time.
“No question about it,” Rick types, “My dad is the Father of the Century.”
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a Mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries Was 95% clogged.
“If you hadn’t been in such great shape,” One doctor told him, “you probably would’ve died 15 years ago.”
So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other’s life. Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass. always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend including Fathers Day. That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.
“The thing I’d most like,” Rick types, “is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once.”
Cobblers ‘n Hip Hop
09 December 2006
Rome has a population of approximately five million people.
These five million inhabitants own 8 million cars and 2 million motorcycles (not each obviously). The aforementioned figures explain why the Italian word for ‘Kamikaze’ is ‘Scooter’ and/or ‘Fiat’.
After 2 minutes with Salvatore our limo driver who picked us up from the Airport in a blacked out Mercedez that Xzibit would’ve salivated over I was surprised to note that his eyes were open and he wasn’t using the force to navigate his way through Rome’s cobbled side streets, his fellow countrymen were obviously using the latter method. 45 minutes of white knuckle anarchy saw us at the Hotel Rimini, our accommodation for the duration of our 4 day visit.
Heads spinning, we stumbled out of Salvatore’s Pimped out ride, checked into the Hotel Rimini and flopped onto our beds. A quick shower and change and we walked out onto Rome’s historic streets in search of a bite to eat.
Walking in Rome is an art in itself, the rugged pavements and cobbled streets whilst being an extraordinary credit to early Roman workers it’s plainly obvious that a spirit level didn’t play a significant role in the whole construction process. In fact the phrase ‘cobbled together’ might be an early indication that Roman road building isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when it comes to having a level surface to walk on – within the space of 5 minutes I’d had more trips than a Hogwarts Mushroom Farmer.
Still, we got used to the uneven surface and thankfully after ambling around the City for an hour came across a small restaurant who’s Head Waiter’s calm and affluent manner belied the beast beneath. Once inside we were treated to his skills as one of Rome’s most prominent and upcoming Hip Hop DJ’s – Busta Ryhmes was clearly his favourite artist of all time and a break in the relaxing pan piped music that emanated from the hidden speakers saw his suprised clientele listening to American Hip Hop, his voice clearly audible as he sang along with the aforementioned Busta and Mariah Carey…
‘Baby if you give it to me, I’ll give it to you, I know what you want, You know I got it’
Our response to his warbling was simple and effective…
‘Bruschetta to start with, Ricotta and Spinach Cannelloni, Spaghetti Carbonara and a bottle of House Red Please’.
Ron Manager
02 December 2006
Picture the Scene…
It’s 9pm and the raggedy Jungle Drums of ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here’ have beaten prompting me to reach for the laptop and Len to reach for her ‘I’m a Celeb Pie Chart’ and Horlicks.
After 2 months in the West Bromwich Albion Job the newly appointed Manager has yet to convince the fans that his mercurial feats at Forest Green Rovers were worth handing him the Baggies Hot Seat. Away at Aston Villa in the Quarter Finals of the League Cup could be the opportune moment to secure his employment status - nothing pleases apathetic Brummies than a cup run AND a win over their rivals.
He starts as usual with his conservative starting line-up with fan (and almost every soddin’ player) favourite Jonathan Greening on the right hand side of midfield. 45 minutes into the game it’s a drab, goalless affair and throwing caution to the wind the Baggies Manager decides to shake it up a bit.
Bringing on Newly acquired £1.7 million signing Brian Hughes in place of the underperforming Greening and telling him that ‘He could make the difference here’ is a bold move and initially proves to upset the footballing Gods as Angel scores 3 minutes into the second half.
Showing tactical nous that belies this 36 year olds tender (yeah right!) years he changes his attack to utilise both flanks and places both wingers further up the pitch.
On 78 minutes after a jinking run Hughes crosses for Hartson to nod in the equaliser and the commentary states that ‘…it’s all West Brom now’.
2 minutes into the 3 of injury time with the game heading for extra time Hughes receives the ball with his back to goal and turns Gareth Barry inside out so many times that his shorts disappear up his backside, Olaf Mellberg is beaten with an adept shuffle so deftly executed that within the next few days Hughes will receive a contract offer from the World Poker Tour. Bearing down on goal with the defence left in tatters Hughes calmly sidefoots the ball into the net passed a flayling goalkeeper.
Meanwhile in the suburbs of Gloucester, Dean Gaffney is silently scrabbling around in a darkened cave looking for cardboard stars, a bloke on his PC (who is old enough to know better) is vociferously proclaiming his tactical genius and his wife is cleaning up Horlicks off the floor.
I got paddled 4 – 0 by Chelsea in the Semi’s.
