Personal Olympics...

I must admit that in the run up to the Olympics I wasn't that enthused. You can guarantee turning me off completely when you wheel out the patriotic card; that forced, gung-ho, get behind London 2012 hype that was (and still is) everywhere. The Diamond Jubilee was the warm up act to the Olympics and they seem to have segued from one into the other with no pause for breath.

I'm sure that if you live in London and you're lucky enough to have a few tickets to a couple of Olympic events, it's a different story. I'm sure that if you've never had that uneasy feeling when people start chanting and waving union flags, you're wondering what the hell I'm complaining about. I'm sure that if you don't have that queasy reaction to all the sponsorship rules about what can and cannot be worn and eaten, you're at a loss to explain what I'm yapping on about.

So I'll stop yapping on and cut to the chase (long story short); contrary to every expectation I had of myself, I have spent the last few days in a highly emotional state, yelling at the TV, gesticulating wildly to thin air and sobbing like a baby at the highs and lows of these Olympics:

All the hairs stood up on my neck as a crowd gathered around a large public screen in Cardiff and cheered Bradley Wiggins on to win the Men's Time Trial.
My sadness at watching Rebecca Adlington put on an unnecessary brave face after winning a bronze in the Women's 800m Freestyle.
My elation at catching quite by accident our lads win the Men's Four on Saturday morning.
The deserved win for Jessica Ennis in the Women's Heptathalon as I punched the air and yelped.
My elation and pride as the the tears rolled down my face watching Mo Farah take the Men's 10,000m
And finally (my favorite image so far), the fuzzy warm glow I felt watching Katherine Copeland and Sophie Hosking win the Women's Lightweight Double Sculls.

Surely, the look on Katherine Copeland's shocked face sums up what's great about these games. It's not about sponsorship or patriotism or being there in London waving a flag; it's about the personal stories that lie behind the results.

The joy and the heartache that is so often evidently on display is very moving at times. This demands that you engage with these athletes and these Olympics on a personal level. And that is something I'm more than happy to do.

1 Year Ago:

Coming to my senses...

Run 06/08/2012 17:11
Distance	5:01 km	Time	26:51
Pace	5:23 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Sunny.

Run 03/07/2012 17:25
Distance	5:01 km	Time	29:17
Pace	5:51 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Raining.

The Olympic torch...

With 8,000 people involved in carrying it a distance of 8,000 miles, the Olympic torch begins its 70 day journey in the UK at Lands End on the morning of May 19th. 212 of the bearers will be children aged 12 and the oldest torch bearer is 99 year old Diana Gould.

Details released today show the torch's route across the UK; the aim being to bring the torch within 10 miles of 95% of the population. Luckily for me it passes within 200 metres of my front door at a little after 06:30 on the morning of Saturday May 26th.

I'd best set the alarm...

Today's run at 17:52
Distance	4.06 km	Time	22:21
Pace	5:30 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Sunny.

Zut alors...!

I don't get French; it's like a foreign language to me. I studied it for two years whilst in school before admitting defeat. I couldn't pronounce its nasal twangs and I didn't understand its grammar. I still can't and don't.

Cardiff, this weekend is awash with the bouquet of Bordeaux and awhiff with the fume of Gitanes. The soundtrack is the babble of expressive chatter in a gallic tongue. As I ran this morning, I couldn't help but notice an air of sophistication in the Bay, with groups of French fans enjoying the early morning Cardiff sunshine. I swear I saw Maurice Chevalier and Édith Piaf by the Norwegian Church.

Judging by the barriers I saw outside outside St David's Hotel and the hoards of blue clad men looking like the cast of Asterix the Gaul, I'd say that the French rugby team are encamped there for this weekend's Six Nations match against Wales. By the time many of you read this, the match will be over and Wales will be Grand Slam winners of the Six Nations, or not.

There is, in my mind, a difference to rugby games involving the French. I'm not talking about the behaviour of the players on the pitch but the behaviour of the fans during the weekend around the game. They are more like tournaments than matches. There is a relaxed loucheness that is unattainable in the routs with our Celtic cousins and a gentrification that is only aspirational in the clashes with our Anglo Saxon opposites.

I'll leave you with this: Your Mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

Today's run at 08:24
Distance	4.01 km	Time	23:19
Pace	5:49 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Bright.

Triple Crown...

What a wonderful, heart in the mouth, happy, exciting, intense, controversial, stressful, thrilling, relentless, unpredictable, pressured, frantic, ferocious, frenetic, heart stopping, Triple Crown winning, success of a match that was for Wales.

An enjoyable afternoon watching Wales win over England in the pub with friends.

Today's run at 15:26
Distance	3.99 km	Time	21:41
Pace	5:26 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Clear and sunny.

Madonna Louise Ciccone...

I've never been a huge fan of Madge. Yes, I've got her greatest hits albums; yes, I saw her Confessions Tour here in Cardiff and yes, I've recently dedicated myself to Kabbalah and adopted a little boy from Malawi.

Last night Madonna took to the stage for the Super Bowl XLVI halftime show. The show opened with a Roman theme complete with several legions of dancers and (via Vogue, Music, Give Me All Your Luvvin', Open Your Heart, Express Yourself and Like a Prayer) ended with a sort of Gospel/Wicked Witch of the West theme.

There was much anticipation in the build up and much excitement during her 13 minute performance. Twitter went crazy with 12,233 tweets per second; her fans tweeting in wild excitement and her detractors raining scorn on her parade. There were tweets crowning her the empress of pop music and others bitching about her lip synching.

Me? I didn't watch it last night but, rather, caught it on You Tube tonight. All I'd say is, for a 53 year old, twice married, mother of four, she's doing OK.

Today's run at 18:00
Distance	4.00 km	Time	22:13
Pace	5:33 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Overcast.

All-in wrestling...

When I was a kid you could tune into shots of large men in brightly coloured lycra on the telly every Saturday afternoon: Big Daddy, Giant Haystacks, Mick McManus, Jackie Pallo and Kendo Nagasaki were household names in the UK throughout 70s. British wrestling was enjoying its moment in the sun. By the late 80s British wrestling had fallen out of popularity; stories about staged moves plagued the sport, viewing figures began to fall and eventually the sport's main arena in the UK, World of Sport, got pulled. British wrestling had failed to keep pace with the times; it had become irrelevant to all but its most committed fans.

I've been involved in some wrestling today. Firstly, with a new fridge freezer I had delivered this morning. It's a bit of a beast at 2m tall; I'm thinking of getting buried in it come the day my time is up. This afternoon I spent nearly two hours trying to adjust the doors so that they hinged on the left rather than the right. Despite assurances in the manual that this was a simple and easy to perform manoeuvre, I was bleeding, sweating and swearing after only 30 minutes. The tone and content of the manual make this adjustment sound like something my 74 year old mother could do with one hand; nothing could be further from the truth.

My second bout of wrestling was with the news that the Church of England has declined to allow its churches to be used for civil ceremonies, despite a new law allowing that, which comes into force on Monday. As a single gay man, this has little relevance to my life right now. When I was in a long term relationship, I was not big fan of civil ceremonies to prove my status. But hey, horses for courses; there are those to whom it does matter and I support them.

The legal office of the Church of England does not consider it discriminatory and has responded, stating:

A gentlemen's outfitter is not required to supply women's clothes. A children's book shop is not required to stock books that are intended for adults. And a Church that provides a facility to marry is not required to provide a facility to same-sex couples for registering civil partnerships.

I guess there will be those who will try to challenge this because it matters to them. However, I think that the number of people to whom this matters diminishes by the day. The church has repeatedly failed to move with the times and, through its actions, becomes more irrelevant to our lives with every year that passes.

As an atheist, I happen to believe that the deceitful manual to my new fridge freezer, with its sunny and optimistic tone toward door adjustment, is closer to the truth and than the bible. I think that British wrestling from the 1970s, with its staged moves and bright lycra, is more relevant to my life than the Church of England (or, for that matter, the Catholic Church).

As attitudes toward homosexuality change (and undoubtedly they have done and continue to), many of the official bodies that claim to speak for Christianity become more obsolete by their old fashioned attitudes and unchristian behaviours. The day is fast approaching when the church, through its failure to keep pace with the times, will become irrelevant to all but its most committed fans.

And while we're waiting for that day to come, why not enjoy some vintage wrestling with Giant Haystacks and Big Daddy

Today's run at 16:11
Distance	4.29 km	Time	21:34
Pace	5:01 min/km	Cadence	80 spm

A strange day...

After watching Wales narrowly lose to France in this morning's Rugby World Cup semi final, everything felt a bit flat. Undoubtedly, we deserved to win and would have done, had it not been for the harsh decision to send Sam Warburton off early in the first half, thereby reducing the Welsh team to 14 players. I watched the match like an eight year old watches Dr Who: from behind the sofa - too afraid to look at the screen directly.

Cardiff had been so full of hope and anticipation in the lead up to the match. Every other person seemed to be wearing red. There was such an optimistic belief that Wales would make it to the Rugby World Cup final; such a wonderful atmosphere throughout the city. And during the game, it was like Christmas morning; there wasn't a car on the streets.

Afterwards, as everyone tried to reconcile their former belief that we would succeed with the now undeniable knowledge that we had not made it, those red shirts worn by every other person seemed to lose some of their vibrancy. In the centre of Cardiff the fans still spilled out of the bars onto the streets singing the national anthem interspersed with Delilah but all in a minor key.

I went for a quiet swim and later met a friend in town. It all felt a little flat and disappointing. Such a shame, as Wales had played some brilliant rugby both today and throughout the tournament. Play us out Tom...

Papering the house...

Giving tickets away to fill a theatre is often referred to as papering the house. It's a ploy often used on press nights because there's a much better atmosphere from a full house than from one that is half empty.

At lunchtime today I went for a quick run around the bay, followed by a speedy scarper into town with my friend Jaime to see the Wales v Argentina match. It was more like watching a training session than an international rugby fixture; very restrained but entertaIning none the less and, to be honest, half the enjoyement is to be had from being there at the stadium soaking up the atmosphere.

Jaime and I remarked on how empty it was there. I can't help thinking, wouldn't it be better if they gave away tickets to under subscribed matches (such as today's) at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff rather than leave the place half empty? I really don't understand why they can't distribute some freebies to fill the place? Or am I missing something...?
                        

To sleep: perchance to dream...

It sounded like a good idea a couple of weeks ago when I stuck my hand in the air to volunteer to work tonight. As the culmination of a high profile project in work we have an IT release tonight. It has to be during the night because that's when fewest people are affected. Now that this night shift is imminent, I'm not so sure about my earlier keenness...

I left work mid afternoon today. I should've gone straight to bed and tried to sleep in preparation but I sort of knew that wouldn't happen. Instead I rode about on my bike for a bit. I went into town and picked up my monthly prescription and then I had a little nose about the shops before meandering home.

It was a muggy afternoon; not very pleasant, especially for running. I thought a run might be a good idea as it might tire me out a bit so I could get my head down. I was sweating before I got out the front door. However, my legs felt light and I was full of bounce. I thought about the Diamond League Men's 5000m I'd seen on TV from Birmingham last night: Mo Farah did it in a little over 13 minutes - that's nearly double the speed at which I run! I can't even conceive of moving my legs that quickly over 500m, never mind 5000m.

I know that he's running on a level track and doesn't have to negotiate slopes and steps and potholes in the roads and pavements but still... It's the difference I find astounding: double my pace! I finished my 5000m run tonight looking a lot less composed than Mo Farah did last night after his run and in an unimpressive 26 minutes. My hopes of a place on Team GB in 2012 are dwindling fast!

And even that little run has not tired me out. Nor the muggy atmosphere which has persisted into the evening. There is little point in lying down and trying to catch 40 winks. I feel as bright as a button at the moment but it's a sure bet I'm going to be fighting to stay awake come the wee, small hours. I shall console myself with the delicious prospect of no work until Wednesday, once I finish my second shift in 24 hrs at 8ish tomorrow morning.