write.as/jonbeckett

When I went out for the regular training run last night, I knew there was some tightness in my chest, but dismissed it as a virus of some kind – all sorts have been doing the rounds at work, so it would be no suprise if I had caught something or other.

And then I woke this morning finding it difficult to breathe in properly.

I emailed work, and informed them I was taking a day off. Of course then while setting “out of office” on my work phone I spotted an email from a client, and had to fight every instinct to get changed, jump on my bike, and cycle in.

The world can wait for once. I've been warned more than once by friends that always putting everybody else first all the time is a recipe for disaster. The torrential rain throughout the day may also have influenced my decision.

Here's the thing – sitting quietly at home and doing nothing is REALLY difficult. I will admit I didn't actually do “nothing” – I filled the washing machine about five times, and tidied up around the house throughout much of the afternoon. For the rest of the time though – as little as possible.

I'm not good at “as little as possible”.

On Saturday night we visited Oxford – the city I think of as my real home – to see Bill Bryson present a show at the New Theatre in George Street. I had no pre-conceptions going in, other than it might follow the format of so many other “an audience with” type productions – and I was more or less right.

If you've not read any of Bill Bryson's books, I urge you to do so – from “The Lightning Bolt Kid”, about growing up in rural Des Moines, Idaho, to “Notes from a Small Island”, about living in England, to “I'm a Stranger Here Myself”, about his return to live in the US with his family after twenty years in England. He has written many, many books, and they are without exception brilliant.

The evening in the theatre flew by – wrapped in stories about Bill's various adventures, and delivered in a self deprecating humor, mischievousness, and irreverence that has become his trademark. The anecdote about Russell Crowe writing him a fan letter that turned into a drink in London, and then lead to an acting masterclass at Durham University where Bill had been invited to act as Chancellor was one of those stories that could never be made up – because you see Durham University doesn't have a drama course at all – and Russell Crowe still doesn't know that.

During the interval, halfway through the theatre show, I looked around the audience, and a scene stuck in my mind. On the edge of the first tier of seats above us, a young man – perhaps twenty years old – was standing, leaning on the wall, engrossed in his mobile phone. Standing directly in front of him was the most strikingly beautiful girl I have seen in quite some time – I'm guessing his girlfriend. She looked a little lost, gazing at him, and occasionally across the audience below – while he continued to obsess over whatever was on his phone. When will the millennials wake up and realise that life exists outside of their phones? It was both the best and worst illustration of the problem the mobile internet has caused that I've ever seen.

This morning (Sunday) we headed off around London on the M25 towards St. Albans, and a rugby “Sevens” tournament for Miss 14 and 15. My other half has somehow been enlisted as the club medic, given the training she has received through work (she's the lady that decides to call ambulances at the infant school, along with 1001 other duties).

Nobody could have guessed that we would end up calling for two ambulances.

Our girls were fine – our youngest scored a cracking try – running the length of the pitch, and our middle girl threw herself into perhaps the most spectacular tackle I have seen – taking down the opposition's biggest player in a do-or-die last-girl-standing defence of the try-line. Unfortunately at least two families we know through the team ended up in accident and emergency at nearby hospitals.

After getting home from rugby, emptying the car, cooking dinner, and clearing the decks, I went out for another training run with our eldest daughter. Another set of intervals around the back-streets of the town. Given the bad run earlier in the week, I was somewhat apprehensive, but in the end everything worked out fine. We went slowly, I distracted her throughout, and she completed the intervals with a smile on her face. She's starting to suffer from shin-splints, but I'm guessing that will sort itself out over the coming weeks – she's getting fitter and faster, and putting more strain on her legs.

Looking at the clock, it's somehow now 11pm on Sunday evening. The weekend has gone. I'm wondering about grabbing a bowl of cereals before bed – give my body some fuel to help re-build me ready to go again in the morning.

After getting in from work last night (and eating home-made pizza), I finally made it out with Miss 19 for a training run – the one that was supposed to have happened the night before. It didn't really go to plan – she had her first “bad run” – but the important thing was that she got out there and did something at least. It all counts, I suppose.

Today the roof of the world seems to be falling on us – rain has been drumming off the flat roof all night, and all morning so far. My other half is still sitting in bed with a book – I'm up and about, getting chores done, and procrastinating with this post. The kids had a friend stay for a sleepover last night – they were all up at ridiculous o'clock.

(ten minutes pass while I re-load the washing machine, hang clothes in the air dryer, and make a coffee)

I weighed myself a little over a week ago (for the first time in years), and then again a couple of days ago – to see if all the running, and not eating so much rubbish was having an effect. Somehow I lost 5 pounds in a week. This is obviously an anomaly, because nobody loses weight that fast, but at least it proves something to the kids. I probably have about 20 pounds to lose until I'm anywhere near where I should be.

In other news, I've been informed that we're off to see Bill Bryson tonight. He's doing some sort of “audience with” thing in Oxford – I'm guessing to help sell his latest book (that I spotted in a book shop last weekend). I nearly bought a copy, before reminding myself about the leaning tower of unread books on my bedside table.

Anyway. Better get on I suppose. Thanks for reading if you did :)

Ever since the children were little, we have tried to eat dinner at the table as a family. I suppose it started as an excuse to talk to the children, and to get them to talk – to tell stories about what we had done during the day. When I say “we”, I of course mean “everybody except me”, because nobody ever asks what I have done. I complained about it once – and my other half stopped the children:

“Why don't you ask Dad what he did today?”

“What did you do today Dad?”

I had their undivided attention, and launched into a really interesting overview of a workflow I was building to integrate two business systems. My other half waited for me to finish, and then said this:

“And that's why we don't ask Dad what he did today.”

They all laughed.

Anyway. I sat down for dinner this evening and Miss 19 sat opposite, looking like thunder.

“Are we going running tonight then?”, I asked, in the most uplifting tone I could summon.

No answer.

“It's training night!”

“I'm too tired.”

I very nearly lost my shit instantly. Thankfully Miss 14 interrupted.

“I'll come running with you Dad!”

It's very difficult to talk Miss 14 out of things – she is perhaps the most optimistic, persuasive, instantly likeable people pleaser I have ever known. And that's how we ended up getting ready to go running together an hour after dinner.

SHE RAN TWO MILES!

We ran a loop into town, along the high street, and back towards home. Normally the training consists of intervals of several minutes running with a minute walk inbetween, but I wondered how far my younger daughter could run, given that I had never been out with her before. It's worth noting that she goes to a special school – a sports academy, so does some form of sport every day.

I worried throughout the two miles that I would be causing some sort of lasting damage to her legs, so repeatedly slowed her to a gentle jog – asking again and again if she was ok – if she was tired.

“I'm fine”

Towards the end I think the people-pleaser side of her nature had kicked in, and she was actually knackered, but I didn't say anything. While running we talked about all sorts of things (or at least, the all sorts of things that run through the mind of a 14 year old girl – mainly about her friend who's online accounts had been hacked earlier in the evening after she told a stranger her passwords).

We both agreed that perhaps it might be best if she doesn't tell her big sister how far she ran.

Talking of big sisters, apparently I'm heading back out tomorrow night with Miss 19 to do intervals training. I wonder if my legs will remember all about this running lark, or if they'll start complaining bitterly?

While out running this evening, we passed one of the leaders from the club session earlier in the week, I presume out with her regular mid-week running friends. She waved and cheered as we passed each other – the smile on Miss 14's face was priceless.

I have never let the absence of anything interesting or exciting going on in my life stop me from writing at length about it, and I'm not about to start now. Or maybe I am, because I have no clue what I might write about – just a nagging feeling that I should write something, because that's what I do.

We went to the running club tonight – our second session of “Couch to 5K” shenanigans, where the interval time was increased from four minutes running to six minutes running. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm doing it to support my daughter – even though there's a tremendous temptation to sneak off and do a 5K, if only to have some half-decent numbers appear in the running app I installed on my phone.

Anyway. It's getting late. Time to go fall down internet rabbit holes for an hour instead of falling asleep.

Maybe something exciting will happen tomorrow.

I had a decision to make this morning – either walk to work again, or repair the punctures on my bicycle. Given that the walk takes perhaps three quarters of an hour, and that it was spitting with rain, I fished my bicycle tools from their hiding place in the junk room, and dragged my rather sad and dejected looking bicycle from the shed.

After a few minutes in the rain I found the puncture, prepared a patch to stick over it, and opened the tube of glue that has been sitting in the puncture repair kit since it was bought perhaps two or three years ago – and discovered the glue had mysteriously evaporated.

I walked back into the kitchen, hands caked in oil and dirt from the bike, and looked at the clock. I could still walk to work, but would be late. Dammit.

Fifteen minutes later – while nearing town – a mental process of sorts kicked in, and instead of turning left and continuing on towards work, I turned towards the cycle shop that wouldn't be open for another half an hour, but is fortuitously situated just round the corner from a cafe. I emailed work – letting them know I would be an hour or so late.

And that's how I ended up buying a tube of glue this morning. Quite possibly the smallest transaction I've ever been involved in at the cycle shop.

After trudging home through now persistent rain, I fixed the puncture, and re-assembled my bike. It's worth noting that getting a bicycle tyre and inner-tube back onto a wheel is one of the darkest arts known to man. It's also worth noting that while performing this dark art, I noticed that the still-inflated rear tyre of my bike was almost bald – with patches of canvas exposed around its circumference.

Guess who will be returning to the bicycle shop in the coming weeks for new tyres that he can ill afford?

I went out running with my eldest daughter again this evening – another ten sets of two minutes running, one minute walking. Our next run will be on Tuesday night at the running club in town – heading out onto the streets with the unlikely band of “Couch to 5K” runners. I still feel a bit like a fraud, given that I can probably run 5K now at quite a clip – I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not doing it for me.

I haven't told my daughter that she ran considerably faster tonight. As predicted, being thirty years younger means she's getting better remarkably quickly. It will be interesting to see how her will power is when the run lengths increase.

What else has been going on today?

I wasted a couple of hours playing Minecraft this afternoon. After getting the chores done around the house I vanished into the pretend world, and completely lost track of time. Falling into lava by accident and burning to death served as a wake-up call of sorts. I haven't logged back in since.

(When you die in Minecraft, everything falls out of your pockets – so anything your character had about their person can be retrieved. Unfortunately if you fall in lava, everything burns. Ergo – I lost quite a number of imaginary things that are of no consequence to the real world, so I don't know why I'm even telling you).

How on earth is it 10pm on Sunday night already ? Where did the weekend go ? I'm tempted to stay up all night playing retro games – I installed a number of emulators for long-forgotten systems on my old laptop the other night. I got them working, but didn't get around to playing any games.

I think perhaps before I do that I'll go make a coffee. Coffee always seems like the best way to start any damn fool activity late at night.

I overslept this morning. Spectacularly. Well – spectacularly for me. I didn't scrape myself out of bed until 9am, and then my head reminded me that I drank three glasses of wine while watching “It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia” late last night. It's taken me until now (an hour and a half later) to come round. I really can't drink any more.

I'm not quite sure how I missed “It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia” – I remember seeing adverts for it years ago, but it wasn't until listening to Marc Maron's podcast yesterday where he interviewed Danny DeVito that the seed was sown to watch it.

I'm sitting in Starbucks, if you were wondering about the title of this post. Miss 14 is at football practice – at the big park down by the river. I walked into town with her, on the agreement she can come and find me when she finishes. I've holed myself up at a table at the far end – away from the hubbub of trophy mums and label clad youngsters. There's an impossibly pretty blonde mum sitting just across from me with her little girl. She's intimidatingly beautiful – and making me self conscious about my scruffy combats, hoodie, and nerdy t-shirt.

At least I had a shave today.

Whenever I find myself killing time in public spaces, my mind wanders off to Walter Mitty adventures – imagining unlikely scenes unfolding between the people nearby. Obviously I'm going to elope with that blonde lady – you know – the one I would find it impossible to talk to without stumbling over words, and laughing at entire sentences I didn't even say.

After walking nearly 5K to and from work today (thanks Mr Farmer for puncturing my bike tyres with your hedgerow annihilation device), I ate dinner, washed up, and then immediately got changed into my bargain basement running kit to head out with Miss 19.

We have been tasked with running “intervals” every other day inbetween the weekly meet-ups at the running club in town. This week we have to do ten sets of two minutes running, and one minute walking.

Here's the funny thing – Miss 19 really, really didn't want to go out this evening. Somehow I arm-twisted her into it, even though it was spitting with rain outside, and pretty damn cold. The complaints came thick and fast – “I've got a stitch”, “my legs hurt”, “I can't do this”...

Here's the even funnier thing – ten minutes later, her entire mood had turned around. She realised she COULD do it, and was DOING it. She ran every interval, didn't cheat at all, and ended the evening with a huge smile on her face.

I'm SO proud of her.

I've been here before. When life gets in the way, I think about shutting the blog down. I've followed through on it in the past, only to return a few weeks or months later. Thoughts of ending the almost seventeen year unbroken run of idiocy have been resurfacing again recently – I have confided in one or two close friends, and they pretty much laughed in my face.

“You do this every few months – sometimes every month – you do realise that, right?”

They are probably right.

I just know that these inward looking, recursive posts are becoming ever so sightly insane. There is more to life than this damn blog – there are books to be read, movies to be watched, and friends to catch up with – and yet there is only so much time in the day. I can't do it all. There's also the thought of writing something real – something proper – something that might become a short story, or a book.

Maybe I just need to slow down – not pressure myself into posting something or other nearly every day – and yet I look around and see so many I know plastering their life all over Twitter, Instagram, Wordpress, Tumblr, and wherever else. I wonder how they do it – how they find time.

I need to find more time. I've searched my pockets already, and it's still a mystery.

In other news, my head torch arrived in the post today. Now I can go running and do Dalek impersonations at the same time. I wonder if the rest of the running group will be weirded out by the tall guy shouting “EXTERMINATE” at strangers ?