However, dear reader, I'm doing this in order to save you having to skip through the interminably dull sections currently spread throughout this blog which describe, in laborious detail, the increasingly uninteresting tales of my latest road races.
So, from next week, I'll (make all efforts to) continually update two blogs. One on running - likely to be read solely by Lucy - and another on The Misadventures Of Luca Stewart (age 6 and two quarters).
Until then however, and for the very last time here, comes a little running news. I made a rash decision tonight. On a whim I entered my first half marathon. Which is only two weeks away. And is also known as one of the hardest of its type in the
United Kingdom.
Good call for your first attempt at this distance Gary (wholly unsubtle sarcasm alert).
The event is the Stonehaven Half Marathon, one of the hilliest road races around, rising to a height of 200m even within just the first 4 miles. Even if I do have the stamina (still dubious) I assume my dodgy knee will somehow wilfully remove itself from my leg by half way before shouting imaginary obscenities at me.
Speaking of runs, I had my latest race today, the Portsoy 10K. A rather more painful run than normal, starting only 30 hours after my most boozy night out of the year so far (a late finishing work night out). Still hungover, still dehydrated, and still with beer sloshing around my stomach, I turned up at a rainy Portsoy this morning feeling both unwilling and (essentially) unable to run 10 metres, never mind 10 kilometres.
I made it, however, albeit not without significant stomach cramps and "dry retching". Attractive. However, I managed to hold on and even came within 20 seconds of a personal best time. I'm not drinking again though, ever again.
At least for a week.
The seafaring town of Portsoy was picturesque however, and the boat festival currently being held was an added bonus at race end. I even climbed to the highest point by the water side after the race to remember its natural beauty. As well as, as you can see below, the incessant driving rain and wind:-
This was the only time I smiled all morning.
I promise never to mention running on this blog again. So now back to more important matters - Luca. Only hours after falling asleep following that dreadfully alcoholic Friday night I woke, crawled (literally) out of bed and gingerly made tracks toward Aberdeen (by train of course, my wobble being a clear sign that driving may be unadvised) with the little one. Would this be one of our infamously high tempo weekend days out?
With my throbbing head? Not a chance. I instead took him to see "Man Of Steel" at the cinema. And wished I'd just stayed at home instead. Ignore the reviews, this new Superman movie is a load of old smelly jockstraps. Unevenly paced and filled with an unbelievably excessive amount of computer imagery, it was akin to watching a 2 hour long video game. And about as much fun as that sounds.
Luca, of course, loved it. Contrary little bugger he is.
After the ordeal that was the film ended, Luca's usual chant began. "Da-aa-aad, I'm so hungry". Now all I wanted to do at this point was go home and find a hole to drunkenly die in. However, I relented, and with his favourite cafes miles away we instead trialled an old fashioned city centre eatery. Bad idea.
Now Luca is one of Scotland's most awkward eaters. He has a tendency to decide what he won't like no matter whether he's actually tried it before. His poor Grandparents particularly take the brunt as this wilfully pedantic child will essentially dictate what he's going to eat for his meals. However, when he's alone with his Dad he knows he can't do this - old hard assed disciplinarian Dad won't take his nonsense and he knows it. Alone, I can get him to eat anything.
Until yesterday.........
Assumedly noticing his Fathers rather "delicate" condition, his face screwed up like a bulldog with a lemon in its mouth when the ordered macaroni cheese arrived at our table. "I'm nooot eating that, you know"
15 minutes of arguing, whining and compromising it took me to convince him to get that first bite down. Which he of course enjoyed before wolfing the rest. I love him and hate him equally sometimes.
While in Aberdeen Luca insisted on having his photograph taken beside this brightly coloured motorbike:-
He insists he'll be a movie making motorbike riding policeman when he grows up don'tcha know?
Note the football kit. He also had football training yesterday. 3 goals scored. Are you bankrupt yet Grandad Mike?
The previous weekend brought a trip to Banchory to take Dad out for a Fathers Day lunch. Mum joined us, and I'd booked us a table at the Douglas in order to see Ross too (working his last shift before returning to coffee shop Tease). A nice time (does my buying a lunch pay for everything Dad's ever done for me?), and we even got a photo too:-
The previous day had seen Luca take me out for lunch - or more prevalently, was it Carole? It was much appreciated and enjoyed, but two pub lunches out on two consecutive days was a bit too much for my skinny frame. I just wanted to sleep afterwards. The heavy weekend Pub Lunch is very much a British tradition, but one I simply cannot understand the appeal of.
I'm meandering my way around the English language now. It's late, and I suppose a couple of hours sleep before work may be advisable. Later this week I'll talk a little more about Carole, and of course Harvey. Todays entry has been rather an opus - indeed, are you even still reading? - but the next will be a little more concise. And wife oriented. As I should be also.
**Useless fact of the day - When you wake up around 2am for no reason, there's an 80% chance someone is watching you**
