It’s quite alarming how quickly you lose your fitness. Well, it is at my age.
It’s not a long, lingering goodbye. There’s none of that, ‘This is not goodbye, just au revoir’ nonsense.
“Right, mate. That’s it. I’m off. See ya. Bye.”
And it’s gone.
Over the hills and far away. And you’re too knackered to run after it.
I was quite fit in the early weeks of lockdown. Two miles every morning. Then pop my shades on so the Government drones didn’t recognise me and a mile in the afternoon as well.
Then Alex and I decided we wouldn’t do a walk this year.
My motivation took a dip.
And then I started writing my novel.
The fat lady belted out the Lost Fitness Blues…
I’ve no doubt there are plenty of people out there who do five miles in the morning and 5,000 words in the afternoon. Huh. The sort of people who like porridge made with salt and water.
For me, writing and walking are mutually exclusive. I can get up at 6:00 and walk a couple of miles or I can write 1,000 words. This summer I chose the latter. And I’m paying the price.
Fifteen months ago Alex and I walked 125 miles round County Kerry. I walked up the near-vertical Lack Road and through Windy Gap. Limped the 15 miles from Kenmare to Killarney on the last day. And I got out of bed that morning and thought, ‘I’m in pain. A lot of pain. But it’s only 15 miles.’
Pain? That was before I put my boot on. The boot that still contained a 50/50 mixture of Irish bog and cow £$%&.
So here I am, the beginning of September and I’m in the Last Chance Saloon. I’ve got four days.
Alex is back from St Andrew. Three weeks – can you believe – to help his girlfriend ‘move into her new flat.’ There must have been a lot of boxes…
But he’s here and – assuming the Heavens dinnae open – we’ve four more walks before he goes back to Edinburgh.
Four more walks of two miles. That’s my whack at the moment. Write all morning, Two miles in the afternoon. My fitness isn’t impressed. ‘I might come back. But you’re going to have to do a lot more than that.’
But what happens when my will power is 200 miles up the Great North Road?
He posed that very question. “You’re going to keep doing this when I’ve gone back, aren’t you, Dad?”
“When it’s cold and dark and the cliff top’s frozen and muddy?”
“Duh, Dad. it can’t be frozen and muddy at the same time.”
Quite so. He has an irritating habit of correcting me. And saying ‘that’s bollocks’ in response to some of my well-crafted monologues.
But it’s a small price to pay. Ask me to name one thing, one pleasure, that being a dad has given me and it’s walking with Alex. So let’s make the most of it.
And here we are. A mile or so from the car and it’s a beautiful day. The sun’s shining and we’ve both got our shorts and sunglasses on.
Correction. It’s September. The sun was shining. And what’s that I feel? A spot of rain. If I want to look stupid I wear a hat. But wearing sunglasses when it’s raining comes a close second. But I can’t take them off because they’re my prescription sunglasses. If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to see the edge of the cliff.
So a 20 minute trudge back to the car. Shades in the rain. We did our best to look cool…
I’m delighted to say that my first novel – Salt in the Wounds – will be published on September 29th. You can order it from Amazon by clicking this link.