Coronavirus has helped me accept that it’s fine to be like everyone else
I’ve been thinking a lot about over-indulging while we’ve been in lockdown – and I know I’m not the only one.
The other day, a friend sent a list of Coronavirus phrases trending on What’sApp, including “Covid-10” – meaning the extra 10lbs some of us have put on through comfort eating and drinking since March 23.
In the UK, alcohol sales jumped by 22 per cent in March, while the tendency to binge and put on weight – also known as “fattening the curve” – was likewise observed in countries that went into lockdown before us.
“First of all, you’ll eat,” Melandri warned. “Not just because it will be one of the few last things that you can still do… You’ll eat again. You will not sleep well… You will put on weight. You’ll look for online fitness training…You will eat again.”
If you’re 50 or older, you may already be over the worst…
I WAS NEVER much good at maths but, there are a lot of numbers running through my head at the minute.
For example, I’ve just entered the last year of the famed 45-54 marketing category – the one after which advertisers lose interest in flogging stuff to you, because you can in no way be considered sexy any more.
Rather than worrying about being a year closer to falling off my perch, however, I’m actually looking forward to being forgotten – give or take the odd poke from Viking River Cruises or Stannah Stairlifts.
I’m also approaching a more personally important statistic because, if I hang around for about another 18 months, I’ll have passed the ages at which my Dad and my Mum died.
And, although their passing has caused me all manner of pain over the years, I’m now strangely euphoric that I’m about to be out on my own here.
Outliving them seems a success of a kind, as if we were in some sort of race and suddenly… I’m in the lead
God knows, it’s not like me to be so cheerful about anything – especially getting older.
But according to new research on how age affects happiness I may, quite literally, have turned a corner. Or at least a curve…
I’m talking about the recent study by former Bank of England economist David Blanchflower, who has pinpointed the age at which we are most unhappy as 47 years and two months.
I’ve been drinking again, and had no option but to send myself on a punishment run
THE TONY ADAMS Memorial Eight Mile Race is not like other running events.
For a start, the Arsenal and England footballer it’s named after isn’t dead.
Also unlike other races, ‘The Adams’ doesn’t take place at a fixed time every year – but erupts across the athletic calendar on several random days, often in clusters, like zits on a sixteen-year-old’s chin.
And there is only ever one participant: me.
That’s because The Tony Adams Memorial Eight Miler takes place whenever I fall off the wagon and feel the need to punish myself.
It’s cold and dark, but if you can get outside and run… get outside and run!
Life’s not all that easy at the moment, here in the frozen North.
It’s not cold, cold. In fact, it’s not even frozen. But there was a thick frost on the roofs of the cars outside when we struggled up this morning.
It was still dark, and I was so tired that one massive yawn threatened to dislocate my jaw as I switched on the kettle for the day’s first invigorating cuppa.
I looked out onto the blackness of the garden, lamplight picking out the frost, and thought my first uncomfortable thoughts of the day – nothing too serious, just the sort of mental scabs I often pick at.
And then I thought: I don’t want a sad day today. I want a run.