Amsterdam - Week 3

The week in numbers (so far)...

Miles ran: 3.1
Times I've been to the gym: 
Alcohol drunk: Too much, way too much
Cakes eaten: So, so many cakes
Diets started: 1

Weight: 12stone 6lb

I am hungover.

Last night I did drink Black Russian's and Tiger Eyes and Pinacolada's and Lynchburg Lemonades and Gigolos and something red and another one that was blue and one that was kind of graduated colours and one that smelt a bit like marzipan.

Anyway, I worked my way through the entire cocktail menu. I had at least one of each cocktail listed and what did I discover? Well, I can tell you that a Fantasia Kiss is very sweet and tasty, a Lynchburg lemonade can be hit and miss depending on who makes it and a Moscow mule is probably pleasant enough when made properly but when made by a 16 year old Turkish lad who basically pours a massive shot of vodka in a glass and tops it up with Tuborg lager, it ain't winning any awards.

I spend the day sleeping and finishing listening to Adam Buxton's book, it's a bit sad at the end when his dad dies and he's reflecting on his relationship with him and he talks about how kids inevitably get irritated by their parents as they all get older and grow apart and live separate lives and then rarely see each other, not you obviously mum, love ya.

But it touched a nerve and it's something that as my kids get older takes up a lot of thought space in my head, probably way more than it should. I can be a bit of a soppy, emotional fella if truth be told but I bury it deep down, very, very, deep down. But the thought that one day very soon will come a time that they'll start moving out really depresses me, not seeing them every day is a horrible realisation to accept. That's all a bit sad and morose isn't it, sorry about that but I do think about this a lot.

I see a lot of me and Gail in the kids, obviously, as that's how it kind of works. They are all so different and yet very similar and take on all the good and bad bits of me and Gail, the work ethic of Gail, the moodiness of me, the caring and compassion of Gail, the stubbornness of me, the academic achievements of Gail, all the other shitty bits of me.

The musical taste of me ! I remembered one good thing they got from me and Sam can drink 12 pints which he definitely got from me.

Lily keeps threatening to move, I've told her she can go within 20-25 minutes running distance at most and she has categorically guarenteed she will do this, it's in print now Lily so you have to agree. I love being around my children, I come across a lot of people that don't seem to like their own kids which I've always found odd. my oldest is Lily, we talk a lot about her travelling, her obsession with Lewis Capaldi, university and her life plans. Sam, well he's a totally different character and he's like my very own personalised twitter feed with upto date reports on football and politics, he's a full on woke leftie and I couldn't be prouder of him. Then there's Poppy and her insane questions that always start with "Dad, what would you do if......." Today's when we were in the swimming pool was "Dad, what would you do if you turned round in the pool and heard me shout and when you turned round I was on a two inch boat in the pool and I was tiny and I was waving at you from the tiny boat and then you realised everyone in the pool were all tiny and all on tiny boats apart from you and you were your normal size and then what would you do, what would you do Dad?"

This was one of her more sensible questions.

I'm starting to think Poppy is insane.

Insane, lovely, funny and most definitively insane.

Anyway, that sad bit and self reflection was all Adam Buxton's fault. And yes I know mobile phones exist but seeing people in the flesh is how you connect, not over WhatsApp or through some stupid blog that some idiotic blokes writing whilst he's lying naked in the bath eating a large family sized bar of aero.

Back to the sillyness now.

I'm back on the cocktails today and again it's all a bit hit and miss, a young fella makes me what is possibly the worst pinacolada that has ever been made. It's a shit load of vodka topped up with warm milk and a straw stuck in it. He didn't even stir it, let alone shake it.

It's so bad that even I can't drink it.

Okay, that's not actually strictly true. I got two and drank one but I absolutely drew the line at drinking the second one.  

Well 'all' of the second one, I had to try half to make sure it was as bad as the first. It was worse.

As I've said many times, I'm not a heathen.

Alright, for god's sake. I am a heathen. I drank them both.

It's very hot today, the temp hits 45 degrees and I spend a lot of time in the pool. At one point they start to do the 'sexy, sexy' hotel dance and this is my cue to move away from the edge. I start to swim away following Lily and then cross paths with a German fella, my left arm goes up at the same time as his right arm and our arms enter the water together, we touch hands and somehow our fingers interlock and for a split second we hold hands and look at each other, it is of course love at first sight and I tell Gail it's all over for us and I'm marrying my new German hand holding lover.

Actually I laugh and let out a slight girly scream, he does a big booming laugh and says something in German, probably "du hast Hände so weich und klein wie ein junges Mädchen" and he's not wrong the little German flirt.

It's the last day of the holiday.

To save time I'll shorten the day.

Eat, sleep, swim, drink, podcast, sleep, drink, swim eat, podcast, swim, sleep, drink, drink, podcast, drink, swim, podcast, shower, drink, eat, coach, podcast, airport, eat, drink, fly, podcast, drink, eat, land, home, bed.

What a day.

I should write a book.

I'm doing parkrun.

I shouldn't do it but I am.

I haven't ran for a month, my leg feels absolutely no better and no worse. I'm so sick of not running and feeling fat and unfit that I just need to do something.

My usual t shirts are a little snug so I go for one of the larger ones, I walk down to parkrun and get to the start line. This is just a test run, I can stop and go home of I have to, just an easy 8:00/8:30 mile pace and get round in one piece.

I do the first mile in 7:25, sometime around 1.1 miles my legs remind my brain they can't do this, my lungs remind my brain they can't do this.

The second mile is 7:49 and I feel wrecked, I contemplate walking the hills but fear I'll be heckled and rightfully so.

Mile 3 and my god I'm knackered, some bloke tries to entice me into a sprint finish. I turn and shout at him to shove his head up his own arse and tell him that this isn't my usual pace and actually just 3 months ago I ran a marathon at this pace so I don't need to race him because I'm obviously way faster than him and have nothing to prove.

I say all this in my own head naturally and I watch him disappear towards the finish line.

I finish and walk home via co-op to get some Greek yoghurt for my diet because I'm still fat.

As the day goes on my leg gets a bit more painful and bending it is pretty painful once again.  

I'm pissed off again and eat some chocolate.

It tastes nice but doesn't make me any happier.

I also spend most of the day tracking Graham on his ultra, as I'm injured I can live vicariously through my coaching/running/life partner and my god he bloody nailed it. 100km in 15 hours and 41 minutes is insane and an 11th place finish overall.

In the words of Salt 'n' Peppa.

What a man, what a man, what a man

What a mighty good man

What a man, what a man, what a man

What a mighty good man 

What a man, what a man, what a man

What a mighty good man 

What a man, what a man, what a man

What a mighty good man

I wanna take a minute or two & give much respect due

To the man that's made a difference in my world

And although most men are ho's he flows on the down low

'Cuz I never heard about him with another girl

But I don't sweat it because it's just pathetic

To let it, get me involved in that he said, she said crowd

And say what you will about G but he absolutely does flow on the down low and he certainly ain't no ho.

Want to read all about my London adventure in 2023.

It's mostly about Ben, my sausage dog nemesis and wine.

LONDON CALLING

Well you've read the last two so may as well carry on.

Manchester, so much to answer for.  Yeah Ben gets a mention or two

MANCHESTER  - THE SECOND COMING

All previous blogs are available to read HERE