I’m A Runner, Not A Walker’s

I don’t want to be Mr Potato Head any more

A crisp-headed man runs
Original image: StockSnap/Pixabay

I’m thinking seriously about ending one of the longest and most satisfying relationships of my life.

It’s one that’s gone on for longer than my marriage and for more time than I knew my Dad, or my Mum.

But I think it’s finally time that I stopped eating crisps.

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I’m Trying To Keep Making Healthy Choices… But One Of My Balls Has To Drop Soon

These days, you have to be a bit of a freak to be healthy all the time

A cavewoman dreams of snacking
Original image: sgrunden/Pixabay

I’M A BAD person.

I’ve just gone and made myself a morning coffee, with caffeine in it. Plus three sugars, and some Cadbury’s drinking chocolate on the top so it mimicked a café cappuccino.

I even got out my sad little electric whisk and frothed up the milk. What a loser!

I’m disappointed with myself, you see, because I’m not supposed to be drinking caffeine. The doctor told me.

And, until this morning I’d largely given up coffee, and excised Diet Cokes ruthlessly from my life.

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I’m Not A Health ‘Freak’, We’re Supposed To Be Fit At 50

For years I feared that I was weird and narcissistic for exercising regularly, but science says humans just aren’t designed to take it easy

An older man runs in a wood
Image: Dominic Winkel/pixabay

THIS WEEK, like the majority of the world, I’m getting back to the same old, same old.

Like nearly everyone else, I’m working again. Like lots of us, I’m trying for a Dry – or at least a Moist January.

Yesterday, I made a point of getting outside and exercising, throwing my leg over the bike for the first proper ride of 2020.  

But perhaps less positively, every morning this week, I’ve disappeared anxiously down a rabbit warren of health-related stories on the BBC website.

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All This Ageing Well Is Killing Us

Staying fit at 50 is bloody painful – but it’s better than the alternative

Injured knee dreams of running

THE MISSUS AND I both woke up this morning crippled – in our different ways.
 
For me, it was a screaming knee, banjaxed from a three-mile run yesterday.
 
For her, it was throbbing feet: mangled by dancing in heels at a banging Gary Numan gig.  
She was also – as befits her instinctive embrace of the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle – hungover from drinking too much wine before, during and after the show.
 
Meanwhile, despite a blameless, booze-less, low-salt, night in, I was appalled to have a shocking headache of my own – the result of cutting out caffeine too drastically.
 
And then it occurred to me: trying to stay young was killing us both…

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