Staying Straight Edge ...

now what?

2008-04-20T17:39:00.007Z

I've often found the events that have moved me the most are the things, when sat in front of a keyboard, I have the least to say about.

Perhaps it's because I realise the futility of trying to express so many feelings with my somewhat limited vocabulary, or perhaps it's because I don't want to somehow do an injustice to the occasion, but not for the first time I find myself somewhat wordless regarding my little run last week.

I guess for so many people, running a marathon is a personal thing. I passed (and was passed by) many people with photos of loved ones on the back - 'for mum', 'for dad', 'for whoever'. There's clearly something about that special event that brings out the non-running runner in people. Full of determined amateur and first-timers, a story of hope could be found in every pair of trainers.

My teeshirt would have said, somewhat predictably, 'For Me', because it was ... for me (excuse my arrogance). A full stop at the end of another chapter of dogged self-improvement. An achievement that I never thought about, let alone thought possible, before I entered those hallowed doors of AA.

This isn't the first time I've penned this, nor will it be the last but I say again ... Recovery is a weird thing. It takes you to places you never dreamed of. Some frightening, some beautiful, some challenging, but most of the time, always incredible.

After spending four days on the best natural high, last Friday I landed with a bump again ...

One question overhung like no other. 'What next?'

My reason for existing had just been taken away and I realised that unless I set myself another target pretty damn quick, I would end up staying still. And I hate staying still.

So, early indications are that I need to try to find out what my problem is in my legs/muscles/back and should I come up with a fix for that, to keep on running. My next marathon is penciled in for September in the New Forest. This time, no blogs, no drama, no sponsorship, no fretting. Now I know I can do it, I should just do it, as Nike would have me say.

Then ... well, 2009 .. I fancy the New York marathon and I've just found out that next years London Marathon is on my birthday. It would be a shame to miss that.

So that's it then. No more blogs about running for you. (muffled cheers)... I did it. I went from my first run outside in March 2007 to a Marathon in April 2008. I'm proud of that.

What's next? My latest obsession is creating music again ... not proper music ... but godawful banging psy-trance music, like I used to 'compose' when I was younger. It's good to be able to go back to that time without the drugs-induced flashbacks, neausia and mild shaking from 'europhic recall'. I found in my earlier years of recovery, that type of music became too much for me to listen to. Anyway, that's probably another entry in it's own right. For now, I've found something else to occupy the space where thinking used to occur - and it's great to have a creative outlet again, no matter what that is.

Whatever it is that I do next, it'll probably become a minor obsession, another mental battle against myself, full of self-defeating thoughts and fears and all that comes with it. Until such a point where I am happy with my progress - a happiness that will then last for a few days.

Repeat until death.

Next!

-----------------------

To finish off my blogging series on the bloody marathon, I would like to thank ...

Ryan Spencer: Ultra-marathon runner who took me under his wing. Organised 'long runs' for me and supported me in lots of ways. A good friend now and someone who I hope to be running with a lot more. Never gave up on me.

Kirsty Green: Watford jogger who dragged me around when I was at my lowest. Her emails of support gave me the final push to run this year when I was going to give up.

Simon Collyer: For his alternative therapy work. My body was as good as it could have been on the day and I know he helped

'Q' - my Personal Trainer - Another pain giver. This guy really goes the extra distance for me. Really, really nice bloke.

Lory Laskey - Sports Therapist: For all the great advice, and especially for the 2.5 hours massage the day before the race.

Phil Edwards - Psysio (ex- Watford F.C.): Introduced me to new levels of pain, but helped to patch me up enough to get around on the day.

Everyone who sponsored me: We've raised over £3,000 for Spinal Research.

John Scott: For supporting me through the training and offering sponsorship from the company.

... and everyone who txted, emailed or came to see me ... i was overwhelmed with messages !

and finally ...

Claire: For putting up with 4 months of moaning and fretting - you're the best.x

not beaten by the stick

2008-04-14T20:26:00.004Z

So.

On Friday I went to the Marathon 'expo', which is where you get your timing chip and sign your life away before walking around the exhibition and seeing the variety of 'stuff' on display. The experience was uplifting, lots to see, lots to feel. But, as I know already, it would be marred by the pain in my legs and back, reminding me that it was going to be a hellish run.

After a period of milling, I spotted a sign that said, 'back pain? injury? muscular problems?' etc ... I fitted that description perfectly and walked over.

I ended up speaking to a Finnish chap who asked me what the problem was. I described bad back pain either side of my spine and a sciatic pain that I'd tried just about everything.

In a heartbeat, he said ... 'tight hamstrings pulling on the back muscles - sit down'. So I did. And he produced a stick. Well, not 'a' stick, he produced 'The Stick'.

I perched on the end of a chair, bum on the edge and he held one end in each hand and started to roll it under my right hamstring, from the top of my arse to underside of my knee.

I shuddered and lept up from the chair ...

"Jesus ... i've only just started, bearly touched it. You have the tightest ... ", he started. He looked thoughtful and looked away.

"Yes ...", he continued, "..."

"... the tightest hamstrings I've come across since being in the UK".

He clearly meant it.

And with that we started the painful work of rolling out the muscles ... he pressed his knee down on top on my leg and pull hard on the Stick and he rolled ... this was deeeeeep, tear-inducing 'massage' but my god, it felt good ... in the pleasure/pain kind of way.

With one leg finished, he told me to walk around.

I did.

OMG!

"Dude, do the other leg for me and I'll buy one right now"

I didn't ask the price. The relief I felt within moments was priceless.

...

Two days later, I completed the London Marathon in 4:34.

It wasn't fast, it wasn't pretty, but it was one hell of day and I'll never forget it.

The day itself warrants an entry of its own.

As do the countless thanks I owe to those I am in debt to for getting me here.

Amazing. Amazing. Amazing.

I'm still tearful.

...

So, just tight hamstrings after all that moaning?

I doubt it.

At the moment, it hurts to walk up or down stairs from the marathon, but once that is settled and I get some proper rest, I'll have more of an idea what is going on and what i'm left with. But one thing I do know, is the relief that bloody stick provided me with was enough for me to get through those 26.2 miles.

I just wish I found it months ago.

Next time ... next time ... armed with my stick, that 4 hour marathon is mine.

New York sounds pretty interesting ...

a bad back at the back

2008-04-10T18:32:00.006Z

A decision has been made.

I'm going to 'run'.

'Run', however, may not be the operative word but 'I'm going to jog/walk' doesn't quite sound right. But that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Although, in my eyes, my best will not be good enough, I'm going to do it anyway and jog/walk/crawl 26.2 miles and remember that it's for charity and not for my ego. Something I lost sight of in the tantrums of my ongoing injury.

I am in a lot of pain, yes. And probably I shouldn't actually go out on Sunday. But, well, in the scheme of things, it's 5 hours of uncomfortableness in return for the honour of saying that I took part in one of the worlds greatest sporting events. From where I came from, that is a bloody miracle.

So ... that's it. I'm going to compete in The London Marathon 2008. And that's more than that bloody dropout Paula Radcliffe can say.

If that means running a time of 5 or 6 hours, so be it. I will be in the good company of other people who are doing the best they can.

Pain is temporary.
Quitting is forever.

50/50

2008-04-06T18:22:00.009Z

The good news is that I've raised nearly £1,500 pounds - which the company is going to double. £3,000 is a lot of money.

Now the bad news.

I've got just six days to go until The London Marathon and I've just returned from one of the worst runs I've ever had. A meagre 7.5 miles full of back pain, leg pulls, stopping, swearing and frustration.

I've got no idea if I'll make the starting line. Recently, I've managed 22 mile training runs, 20 milers, 2 x 17 milers - one of which was last weekend ... but today, well, I couldn't manage 10.

It's the way it is with this recurrent injury. We've tried everything, but I think the only thing that's going to put it right, is no running for 3 months and core stability work.

So ... as it stands I might still pull out. If next Sunday I am as bad as I am today, I won't run. I'd rather defer to next year.

It's quite possibly the most frustrating thing I've faced.

We'll see I guess ... I'd say it's 50/50 at the moment ...

... any takers ?

cured?

2008-03-06T19:08:00.005Z

'A' wrote:

Hey I wonder too...you know as well as I that no addict is ever "cured." People with long sobriety lengths go out all the time. Even sober I am always aware of the fact that my alcoholism is active somewhere in my life--I don't mean this in a challenging way at all. I would just really like to hear your take on how you are treating your addiction these days. I know you are for the most part away from the rooms...that's cool if it suits you. But as to your mindset...do you feel "cured" or are you sublimating in terms of work or marathon running? Do you really feel addiction is something you will never have to deal with again and if so, why? I'm thinking of a friend of mine who came back to A.A. when he was ten years sober. He'd gotten sober in the rooms then drifted out. He stayed sober but kept effing up his life in other ways...now he is 19 yrs. sober and has those other issues at bay.

-----------

Hey 'A' ... thought I'd give this a post of it's own, as you raise some questions I've been thinking about myself and it's something to talk about rather than running. Even though I will mention running.

A few times.

First of all, I'm not sure what 'cured' it ... is 5 years without a drink 'cured'? I dunno. I swing wildly on this - the Big Book talks about, in fact it's whole purpose is to 'recover from alcoholism' and therefore, by the Big Book definition, we are 'recovered' - once we get 'a power in our lives greater than ourselves' that relives us of the mental obsession to drink.

Although this is not a popular view in AA, I do believe I am cured, or rather, I have 'recovered' from the mental obsession to take a drink. However, on the flipside, I don't believe I can drink like a 'normal' person again and should I 'pick up', it would only be a matter of months before I was in a terrible mess again - therefore, you could argue that I am not cured.

So I guess the answer is 'yes, I believe I am cured of the obsession that makes me want to drink but if I do take a drink I would be 'uncured''

That's about the best I can do.

Regarding living with the 'addict' on a daily basis, I've been in meetings where I hear 'with all this running and keep fit, you are just swapping one addiction for another'. This normally comes from some fat bastard who drinks 12 cups of coffee a day, interrupts the flow of the meeting twice whilst he shuffles out for a cigarette and breaks into a sweat on the way back to his chair to open another packet of biscuits.

If I'm gonna be an incurable addict, I'll simple choose the healthy addictions. We do have options. There are plenty of things to get addicted to, that won't bleed your bank balance, your social skills, your drivers license and your will to live.

Take scuba diving. I went from 'never dived before' to Rescue Diver in a year and a half. Which isn't that quick if I were a UK diver, but every dive I ever did was on a liveaboard boat in the Red Sea and I clocked over 110 dives in those warm waters.

And now running. 18 months ago, I could run 2.5k. I ran outside for the first time 12 months ago. Not content with a 10k, a half marathon or just 'keeping fit', it's no surprise that I've entered one of the toughest challenges an amature runner can enter.

I guess I could say the same about work. Despite all the personal troubles, failing, depression and slides, the obsessive addict inside me would never let go of problems at work until I fixed them and that same obsession earned me my directors position.

All these things - keeping fit, 'extreme sports', work - could be described by some as 'addictions' ... I wonder what I will do when this marathon is over. I predict a massive high followed by a crushing low. Until the Next Big Thing.

"I'm thinking of a friend of mine who came back to A.A. when he was ten years sober. He'd gotten sober in the rooms then drifted out. He stayed sober but kept effing up his life in other ways"

I'm sure I can 'eff up' my life in lots of ways. Relationships are good for that. Generally speaking, the more relationships I have, the more intertwined with other people I am, the more painful things can become.

I am a lot more careful today. I have a great partner and we have a good understanding. She is very patient with me. She knows how to leave me alone and how to be close. She rarely drinks - that is very important to me. She doesn't smother me and yet I always feel her close by. Relationships are probably the most dangerous thing in the world in terms of 'effing things up' and being able to keep a 'sober' head on. I am far from perfect on this, but I am doing OK.

I am still a hugely selfish and self obsessed guy. In a way, I have to be. I 'treat my alcoholism' by doing what I want to do, when I want to do it. I keep my routine, I use fitness 'highs' as a release and I go to places I want to go to and stay out of situations that I don't want to be in. Saying 'No' comes pretty naturally now. I feel under no social pressure to do anything that I do want to do anymore. I am what and who I am and if that doesn't fit into your model of what 'being social' is about, then that's fine - I outta here anyway.

I try, wherever possible, to keep things simple in my life today - I've had plenty of opportunities to make it more complicated but I've been about long enough to have an early warning system built in nowadays - when I hear that alarm bell ringing, most of the time I take notice.

I absolutely love getting older. The combination of the natural slowing down of the thinking and yearning, the losing of the need to 'keep up' with 'the kids' and the wisdom that sobriety and maturity brings means that each year gets better for me. God, I wouldn't want to go through my 20's again for love nor money.

I do realise that I am just in a fairly good space right now - I've organised things 'just so' ... a good job/position, solid relationship, I'm happy where I live (I have my own space) and I have a challenging focus (marathon).

*but*

I realise that one day soon, I'm going to wake up and everything will have moved.

The company might fold, the girlfriend might leave, the house might burn down, the doctors might give me 5 weeks to live.

Life doesn't stay still. Shit happens. And shit moves very, very fast in my world sometimes. I've been to many places, to hell and to heaven in the last five years and find myself a million miles away from where I was only 18 months ago, let alone 5 years.

What I have to deal with in the next five years, I cannot say. I am hugely aware that I still am no closer to real commitment - kids, marriage or such like ... i'm still playing the kid, focused on big-boy trivial pursuits, video games and keeping safe from feeling too many real emotions.

My addict behaviour will be with me always. And I'm glad. It makes me run 26 miles, it makes me see Jimmy Eat World 3 times in as many weeks, it makes me scuba dive for three weeks on the trot, it won't let me rest until I've cracked a problem at work, it won't let me take a sick day for 5 years ... it is who I am.

Rather than making a demon of your addict, make a friend of it.

Feed it good things. Watch it grow and help you grow. Learn to love it. After all, if we 'cannot be cured', why not embrace it?

Every shadow has a light side. Even the most crippling depression is there to bring about change for the better.

Your addict can help you in many ways ... without mine, I would be practically normal.

And who, amongst us, wants to be bloody normal?

a grand don't come for free

2008-03-06T18:35:00.004Z

Just a quick midweek blog to say a huge "Thanks" to everyone who has sponsored me so far. I busted through the thousand pound mark today ...

Although I haven't been able to run this week, I've been doing some crosstraining, stretching and I had a good (but bloody painful) session with my physiotherapist today, who doesn't seem overly concerned about my latest injury - he says the actual back itself is getting better - it's 'just' muscles tightening etc ... so i'm hoping to be out for a 20 miles slow run on Sunday ... keep those positive thoughts coming my way - they seem to be working.

Thanks again for the money, it's good to know that we've raised enough for my entry place - and the charity, Spinal Research, have said if the worst comes to the worst and I'm injured on the day that they will give me a place next year.

Not that any of us want to go through all this again, right ?

www.justgiving.com/spencersteel

6 weeks to go ...

2008-03-02T19:37:00.002Z

Just trying to keep a weekly update, regardless.

As I write this, I'm very sad again as something has gone horrible wrong in the back/upper legs area ... it's too tedious to go over, I'm boring everyone to tears, I know. .. but just as things were back on track and I completed a 17 mile run last weekend, I find myself yet again, with my head in my hands and facing the fact that I will have to pull out of this marathon.

But the weekend has had highs. I took someone up to Bristol to see Jimmy Eat World, where we stayed in a lovely hotel (only marred by drunken girls shouting in the corridors at 1:30am - more karma repaid) and took a visit to the zoo today. Were it not for the pain pill sickness and the heavy clouds brewing around my mood, it would have been a fantastic weekend. The lead singer of Jimmy Eat World even gave me a vocal acknowledge on the microphone! Ah, heroes ...

... but back here in my room on a Sunday night, I feel the those storm clouds growing stronger. A 20 miles training run looms heavy and as it stands I cannot even stay on my feet for longer than 30 mins without having to sit down ...

God knows.

five year. (stretch)

2008-02-24T15:47:00.005Z

Five years of sobriety today.

Nothing special to report - no celebrations, no balloons, just a small voice within that is content and happy.

Here endeth the apprenticeship.

No more 'my name is Spencer and I'm an alcoholic!' - just a bloke getting on in life, who, incidentally, doesn't drink - thanks all the same.

Gone is the poster-boy for sobriety, standing on a soap-box, shouting at the top of his lungs. Welcome a quieter, more reserved soul, whos ego blew up and shrunk back down to size, slowly, slowly.

Things are so much quieter now. So much more peaceful. The last years has ebbed past, at pace, unlike other years that have had a lot of surface movement on top but the waters underneath sludged to their destination.

I am lucky. I am blessed with support, in my personal and professional life. My 5 year anniversary was even mentioned in our company newsletter, edited slightly to make it look like a Straightedge decision, rather than an alcoholic surrender. Still, many remembered with text messages in my inbox today. Sweet.

I ran a 17 mile training run today. A friend who is helping me train ran with me* - he was really helpful and took my mind off the pain. Half way around, I remember what today was and I told him where I had come from. I think he was surprised. Telling the story, I felt surprised. It felt surreal - in five short/long years, I'd gone from 17 stone, angry depressive, to 12.5 stone marathon trainer. Night and day. But you know the story by now. We all know the story.

Am I proud? I don't know. Am I proud I got myself in such a mess that I needed a program of total abstinence? No. Am I proud that I've not drunk for 5 years? Not especially. But I love being sober. I love the life I lead, when I look at it closely. It could have been so different, so, so different. I am proud of my life.

The blog is reaching an end. It's job has already been achieved and perhaps there was a part of me that thought perhaps today would be a Last Post. But, there is still drama in my life, still this marathon to get through, still this girl to marry, those kids to have, the affair, the divorce, the custody battle, the critical illness, the death.

Here endeth the apprenticeship.

Welcome to the real world.

--------------------------

*My running partner today is a friend called 'Ryan Spencer' and he's a bit of a hero of mine. If you can get your head around it, watch this video of Ryan running the Grand Union Canal run. It's 145 miles long and must be completed under 45 hours, without allowing you to stop for more than 40 minutes at a time. Video here.

back down

2008-02-07T18:11:00.002Z

Ah, there you are.

It's been a while, I know.

I've been hiding and grimacing and wincing and hurting and praying and ...

I put my back out again last Tuesday. Since then I haven't been able to train. You can imagine what that's doing to me. Every waking moment since has been spent trying to work a way around it. I'm not good to be around.

It was my own stupid fault ... after running a personal best at the Watford Half Marathon (1:47), I was feeling on top of the world again but an over-enthusiastic sprint session on the treadmill 48 hours later bought me back down to earth again.

Since then, I've been on painkillers three times a day, heat packs, psysiotherapy and I had an MRI scan. And I cried for the first time in a long time. On a train. In front of some work colleagues.

That MRI scan is scary thing. It reminds you of your own mortality. Being slid into that rather expensive tube for 30 minutes, you have time to stop and think. There's lots I could write about this, but I'm sure you've had your own moments.

One thing I have noticed, is how much my training and this marathon has become my A.A. ... it has been my release, my friendship (my running club), my self-improvement, my goal. Take the training away and the possibility of not running the marathon and I felt utterly alone. So alone that I even contemplated a few meetings. Perhaps I will soon. But who wants to hear about the running in meetings? Who wants to hear about it here? Not even me, but this is where I am right now and as how Dave is fond of pointing out 'it's all recovery, dude'

Something perhaps a little more recovery related is that it will by my 5th year of sobreity on 24th of Feb. More on that soon, but that's starting to sink in.

But, before then, I've got some miles to grind out. Tomorrow, I intend to slow-jog 15 miles. I haven't run for 11 days. The next 6 weeks are critical.

Sorry for the lack of updates and the quality of my posts. It's just a time to grit teeth and get through, somehow. Words are irrelvant.

More soon.

i won't take this lying down

2008-01-21T17:30:00.000Z

One thousand, one hundred and nine pounds is a lot of money.

One thousand, one hundred and nine pounds can buy you a lot of things. Like a two week dive-trip to, oh, I dunno, somewhere nice and sharky.

One thousand, one hundred and nine pounds can buy you a hugefuckoff TV and surround sound system, with a HD DVD player and all that ... stuff.

For the more compassionate amongst you, I'm fairly sure that one thousand, one hundred and nine pounds will buy quite a few goats and wells.

One thousand, one hundred and nine pounds also buys a mattress. And for an extra sixty eight English pounds you also get a pillow.

Not a bed, you understand. No ...

Just a mattress.

And today, my friends, as I ebb and flow through the valley of life, I find myself in previously unchartered territory where I hand over an empty credit card to a nice man called Keith, look him deep in the eye and say ...

'Keith? Keith. I want you to do something for me, Keith. Because I am in daily pain and making myself and those around me miserable. Because, today, I love myself and value my health. Because I want to better myself, run a marathon and prove to myself and the world that I can do the previous unachievable. Because of these things, Keith - and a hundred other reasons, I want you to do this for me.

I want you, Keith, to take this little black piece of plastic here and swipe it through your portable 'chip'n'pin' device there Keith and let me, Spencer Steel, purchase a four foot by six foot lump of bouncy fucking foam for the sum of one fucking thousand, one fucking hundred and nine fucking pounds. And do you know what Keith? DO YOU KNOW FUCKING WHAT, KEITH? I'm think I'm gonna take that fucking sixty eight fucking pound pillow too.

Bag 'em up Keith. Bag 'em the fuck up.'

Thankfully for one thousand, one hundred and nine pounds you get a mattress that was designed by NASA. Perhaps if they spent more time developing rockets instead of mattresses we might be able to get off this bloody rock called Earth and start again somewhere else a bit, er, better - but it would appear that those wacky space guys want us all to be nice and comfortable when we land on Alpha Whatever and have plumped to design the soft furnishing first.

So I have a space mattress, made out of a material called 'Tempur'. Well, I don't actually own it, because it's not here yet. But I've paid for it. It's being made by some Space Monkey who weave it out of moondust or something. I wasn't really paying attention to be honest. I was thinking more about the price. You know how it is.

I was thinking, that as it's guaranteed for fifteen years, by my rough calculations, I should be spending a least five years straight lying on it. Five years is one thousand eight hundred and twenty six days. So it's about one pound fifty for twenty four hours use. Which isn't bad. At that rate, it's a bit like a Youth Hostel in a cold eastern European country, but without people skinning up and talking about how you have to visit Marrakesh.

Yes, folks. Because I have matured to such an extent that my back is now more important to me than a sharking adventure or a forty two inch plasma uberscreen, I am now in debt to the powers at VISA for a mattress by NASA. 'VISANASA' is a anagram of 'A Vain Ass'. Thought it was worth mentioning.

The back isn't great. Training is suffering. My friends are suffering as they listen to my suffering. But I'm not out the race yet (I do like it when a colloquialism can be taken as a literal)... and I'm trying ... I keep training, keep going to expensive and painful doctors, keep buying tablets, creams, pills and mattresses. I keep doing what I can ... it ain't over 'till it's over, as they say.

So, come one and all, pray dig deep to sponsor me and my somewhat brilliantly ironic chosen choice of charity 'spinal research', to show your appreciation of my valiant efforts whilst sparing a thought for those that can't actually get out of their bed without help ... Space mattress or no Space mattress.

www.justgiving.com/spencersteel

Please also spend a moment to enjoy the title of this blog once again. I wasted here, I truly am.

the iPhone is lynched

2008-01-08T17:32:00.000Z

perfect ...

back to the grind

2008-01-07T21:00:00.000Z

Happy New Year to you all. I hope 2008 brings you [insert personal wish or goal here].

For me, 2008 is Year Of The Marathon. I appreciate there are another nine months of 2008 that are not involved in this adventure, but I'm not thinking that far ahead. For me, 2008 is a short year, ending on April 14th. The rest is fluff.

It would appear that my Higher Power does not think that the training is tough enough for me and has decided to afflict me with ever increasingly bad back problem. Although training was going well enough, recently my back problems have actually stopped me in my tracks. My trip to Malta was the final straw - sleeping on a very soft mattress and, er, jumping up and down a lot, coupled with overstretching myself on 5 mile run (running fast 7 minute miles) meant I spent the rest of the week in back pain unlike I've experienced so far ... lots of strong painkillers and moments of desperation followed.

Thankfully, just getting back to my solid mattress has helped and yesterday I managed to knock out a run on a treadmill just before visiting my physio who is actually a medieval torturer who found that working in the physiotherapy industry was a legitimate way for his to inflict serious pain on other people and still get paid.

For those are a still hanging in there to this tedious blog, he confirmed that my lumber spine was inflamed and did what any caring professional would do ... rammed his elbow in all along the sides. I swore. A lot.

After finishing off with a similiar trick but focussing underneath the 'glutes' to massage the 'piriformis' (everyone needs to experience this at least one, just so you know the true meaning of the phrase "you fucking c*nt!"), I was happy to hand over another £40 and get the hell out of his office dungeon hybrid.

My capture left instructions not to run today (Sunday) and not to road-run or two weeks (or treadmill). Apparently, it's not the road that causing it, but it won't heal if I pound it. This makes sense, but now my challenge is to find a way to train on soft surfaces (grass) after work, when most parks are pitch black. Hmmm.

It's odd how one challenge can become all consuming. Every day, every night, I think about where I am in my training (behind!) and if I will be able to run this event. You watch what you eat. You plan your weeks, your lunchtimes, your very thinking around it ... and it's only January 6th ...

How times have changed, a few years ago I would be writing about my mental challenges. How I would be wanting to get so much better mentally than I was, constantly being tripped up by another bout of depression or another waves of new feelings. Not that they don't come along now and again, but how much happier I am now is untrue. Despite these physical setbacks, I know deep-down that none of it *really* matters as I am blessed with a relatively sound state of mind and a peaceful heart.

Each year on my road of recovery, I find myself in a better place overall, whatever I have out there. It's the little things - sleeping soundly, not being at the mercy of others so much, feeling I have a place on this earth. These are the things that make my life worth living. oh, and having no desire what-so-ever to drink or use drugs.

I've still got a couple of things to work on. I still fall into panic-mode when a loved one is around alcohol (which happens about twice a year!) and I know I can still be very controlling, sometimes angry, sometimes bloody moody and I still struggle trying to be a people person naturally. But at least I'm aware of my shortcomings today.

So, the next couple of weeks will be tough for me. Not being able to jog out of my front-door for a few hours without thinking about it. But when I'm down about it, I shall remember how it could of been and from where I've come.

new year, same old

2008-01-06T12:14:00.000Z

I was lucky enough to spend New Years eve in Malta with someone.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with a holiday-a-logue, but in a nutshell, Malta is an interesting place, with a lot of history having been invaded by just about everyone at some point. There are lot of cathedrals, medieval towns and such like. Needless to say, the people are also very religious.

My New Years Eve was spent on top of a huge fortified wall overlooking the port and sea in the capital of Malta, as they welcomed in 2008 and at the same time the islands transformation to the Euro currency.

As we stood huddle in our coats, being pushed around by the blustery sea winds, you could not help to notice a couple of things.

There was hardly anyone out and there were no drunk people.

As we walked back through the streets after, we saw a couple of bars with some happy people inside but mostly the streets were mostly empty save for an occasional well-wisher on his way somewhere.

Reading the Maltese 'The Times' the following day, the headlines stated that the celebrations were peaceful and successful and a lot of people preferred to stay in with their families to avoid the wind. This was on a night that not only was it New Year but an extra reason to 'party' with the advent of the new currency.

A few days later we return home and found out that our countries papers (and not just the red-tops) lead into the new year with horror stories on the night before.

I'm not going to launch into a 'what is the country coming to' but I've been lucky enough to travel around a little bit over the last few years, France, Egypt, Sicily, Malta and nowhere do I see the problem that the UK seems to have with alcohol.

I note that the last three on my list of destinations are all nations still very much answerable to their 'God'. A God that they believe watches them and judges them for their actions. I've blogged about his before, so won't go on too much ... but ... well ... it saddens me. In many, we are a nation with a youth (youth being anyone below 30) that has no conception of anything higher than themselves other than those they see in 'Chat' or 'Match of the Day'.

I'm not naive enough to expect a return to religion for the UK, but surely once the shackles of conformed religion have come off, then there must follow a personal sense of restraint and a development of ones own 'commandments'.

Oh God, I didn't quite mean to get his involved in a debate with myself ... perhaps you could help me out on this one ... for I am no speaker on sociology or theology but what I do know, is that when I return to a nation of people who've forgotten how to smile in their never ended quest to get more for themselves, it leaves me feeling that one day I would like to leave this country.

And that is very sad ...

christmas message

2007-12-24T19:06:00.001Z

Here is someone who has already summed up everything I could possible want to say this year. Watch the (home-made) video below, then download the new, full MP3 version free here. Hurry - for one week only.

Happy Christmas everyone.

I'd like to dedicate this video to Micky ...

t'was the night before the night before christmas

2007-12-23T13:34:00.001Z

More about me, then.

So, where are we. A little behind on updates.

Last weekend the company and I went off to Sicily for three days. For me, it was one of the best company christmas trips I've been on, as I'm feeling more confident in my ability to 'be me' and not so tied to the feelings of regret of not being able to get blind drunk and stay up late with the others. There did come a point where I just 'had to get away' at 1:00am in a nightclub, but it had been a long day and I can't expect miracles.

Besides, the next morning when everyone was suffering with hangovers and dreading the long day hanging around after being kicked out of the room, followed by a long journey home, I got up first thing and ran 13 miles in the sunshine with the sea on one side and mountains on the other, before enjoying the rest of the day shopping in the pretty town on Palermo.

This week has been spent, as you would expect, juggling present buying, work duties, training schedules and making a DVD of our trip away for everyone to see at our company 'end of year' address.

On the last full working day of the year, we have a buffet, drinks, a 'secret santa' (I got whisky!) and other feel-good shenanigans. This year I showed the DVD I made, which received a room full of laughs and a standing ovation - thanks guys! Finally all this was followed by our MD's address to the everyone.

He gives a talk for an hour about the year past, our successes and failures and the year ahead. Then for the last half hour, it's bottles of champagne for the top performers. Having been at the company for nearly 12 years, there was no real surprises, but I love to watch people who have worked hard get their recognition.

Then the oddest thing happened. Right at the end, the MD started talking about me. He started on a thread about my DVD and how multi-talented I can be when I turn my hand to anything and then started talking about my other achievements. From that point I honestly can't remember anything because I am so terrible at taking compliments, that I just went inside myself and hid and held my breath.

And he went on and on and on. And just as I thought I could take no more, I heard him say that he was the only Director of the company but he was making me the Company Secretary - the only other official board member and share holder of the company.

I honestly was breathless, speechless. I had no idea this was coming. It was a total shock.

Another round of applause and lots of hand-shaking and congratulations.

As I walked down to the bar, following everyone else, I just thought to of the lyrics and the sentiment to 'Once In A Lifetime' by Talking Heads.

'well, how did I get here?'

It just seems so fitting...I have no idea. I have no idea how a bloke who left school with no qualifications, who was on the dole, sold pills to fund a living, was more interesting in drink than people, who was so self-destructive with a history of depression and self-harm ... me ... has ended up ... here.

There's a little voice in my head that still says I'm a fake and will be found out. The voice that wants to trash my efforts and achievements. But I guess that sometimes, when everyone else is looking at you and saying 'you deserve it', you gotta tell that voice to shut up.

So, again, to tie this up with some sort of recovery based thread, I want to thank A.A. for giving me a path and program to try to live by, as without it, I would probably be without a job, or perhaps, a life by now.

I'm off to Malta on Boxing Day. A week away to find some more spring-like sunshine, to run along coastlines, to unwind and to reflect on my achievements, rather than my failures.

If I don't speak to you before, have a wonderful (and for some of you, sober) Christmas.

All my love ...

S.S.x

--------------

Congratulation to my good, good friend Jen, who gave birth to her first child, Laila, on Friday morning. Recovery is an amazing thing, huh Jen? Remember our first meeting in a cold church room nearly five years ago ... my, how we've grown ... *big, big hugs*

--------------

commitmentphobe

2007-12-02T22:43:00.000Z

I just handed in my commitment at the Sunday night meeting of AA I attend. I was the treasurer.

The meeting used to be massive. At its peak, you couldn't get a chair. Tonight, including myself, there was six. The conclusion was at the end, that there was every chance that the meeting would now close for good. Five people looked to me to change my mind. I didn't.

My excuses? There a million luke-warm excuses I could give. But I shared the truth with them. The truth is, I'm just far too selfish.

My selfishness sees me ditch out of most commitments in the end. Those inside and outside the room.

'Do you know, that if I wasn't such a commitmentphobe, I'd probably ask you to marry me', I told someone at the weekend. It was a half-truth.

'Selfishness, self-centeredness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles.', as it says in Chapter 5 of the book Alcoholics Anonymous. This blog itself is a testimony to that - can there be anything for selfish, more self-centered than writing continuous about yourself year after year?

Whilst alcohol and drugs may not be a problem for me anymore, selfishness dogs me more than ever. My inherent inability to truly empathise and be there for anyone else apart for myself (unless there is something in for me) has ultimately cut me off from most intimate relationships, family and God himself.

Long term readers might remember a time where I was studying to become a counsellor. Why did I give up? Perhaps I was scared to go too deep in my own personal therapy, or perhaps, as I suspect, it was simply because I don't actually care *that* much about anyone else. It's not in my nature to be compassionate. Sure, I can be open, honest, insightful, etc, etc ... but only if it's about me. Let me take you to dinner and give you huge, huge insights into how I see things. Maybe you'll get a word in edgeways between courses, but beware, unless your experiences somehow reflect mine, then there is little chance they will be validated. I'll just be passing the time until I can speak again.

Besides, the only reason I wanted to be a counsellor was so I could tell you about it and so you would think what a lovely, sensitive chap I was. Or so I could tell you how many people I'd helped. As Darth Vader would have said if he saw me flying an X-Wing towards an exhaust chute on the Death Star, 'The ego is strong in this one' - he would have instinctively known that I wasn't doing it for the good of any rebellion, just simply that I wanted my picture on bubblegum cards.

And then there's running. My latest fad. One of the many reason I cited in giving up my commitment was that Sunday was a big training day. Notable that I should choose running as a sport. Not football or rugby - not a team effort. Me. Alone. iPod up, world shut out. My job? No team, alone in a cupboard.

I guess I just don't do groups. I know I rarely do AA groups any more, which is fabulously ironic, as it was the very same group that got me well enough to be able to selfishly ditch my commitment back onto the table without fear of guilt.

It's all about me. Always has been. Always will be.

head and heart

2007-11-25T13:29:00.000Z

Why am I so hard on myself?

As I ran 10.5 miles this morning, (90 mins), and I was scolding myself virtually all the way around. Telling myself how poorly I was doing, that it shouldn't hurt this much, that I'd never be able to do The London Marathon.

I seemed to forget that I was running up huge long hills for ten-and-a-half-miles at a a pace of 8:38 per mile - two days after putting out my back again at work. I forget where I came from.

Re-reading my 'waste of time' post below, I feel twinges of guilt. And I hear the counter-arguments come back to me, in my own head. But it seems, no matter what I do, how hard I try, how much success I achieve, the default voice in the head is 'not good enough'. It's always been that way. The critical difference is that today, I don't believe it as much. I carry on regardless, rather than buying into it. Mostly.

But it's actually bloody annoying. I spend from Friday night to Sunday morning obsessing and planning my 'long run' and then when I get out and am doing it, I'm scolding myself or worrying about it for most of the run.

Exactly the same applies to relationships. When i'm 'out there and doing it' - in exactly the same way as my running - the voice in my head is telling me with every step, that 'I'm bound to fail. I'm not good enough'. And of course, we all know what happens if you tell the universe you are going to fail for long enough ...

But in the same way I haul my ass out of bed on a Sunday morning to train for this marathon, I've recently been hauling my heart out of its reclusive comfort zone to confront what it fears the most ... to love and to be loved.

And so after a Sunday morning training of the body that followed a Saturday night training of the heart, in the afterglow of the workout the 'not good enough' voice is silenced temporary. And another voice, rarely heard, steps in. I check my running times of my PC and the SMS on my phone. I smile. The voice says 'Keep running, emoboy. Setbacks are merely learning experiences, not failures. Keep moving forward. Keep training. You will achieve all your dreams both on and off the track. You deserve happiness. I'm proud of you.'

waste of time

2007-11-19T20:12:00.000Z

I was in the shower after a run on Sunday, thinking.

I was thinking what a waste of time.

Not running, but the utter waste of time my life has been. Wasting time. That's all I did. Killing time, wasting time.

Apparently, 'we will not regret the past, not wish to shut the door on it'. Well, I do regret the past and I wish I could shut the door on it.

Because, until recently, my life was a total and utter waste of time.

And in such a short space of my recovery, I have done so much. Things I never thought possible.

So many regrets flood in. Memories of just killing time. Drinking to kill time. Drugging to pass the hours.

Fuck, I should have been where I am now twelve years ago. And I don't just mean the 'hobbies'. I mean financially, socially .. all of it. After nearly five years, the fog is almost clear - and I can see for miles, ahead and sadly, behind. And I can see very clearly that I could have really been something by now, if only ... if only ...

And so now I'm playing catch-up. Desperately trying to make up for all that time wasting.

Don't get me wrong, there's a part of me that's relieved and very grateful that I 'got it' at all and that I'm lucky enough to still have enough time left to make amends to .... myself ... but, despite any goals that I set or achieve from hereon in, I think there will always be a painful regret, a sorrow, deep in my heart of all those minutes I killed.

All that waste of time.

taking the micky

2007-11-16T08:18:00.000Z

Some of you may know Micky. He posts here and on other 'sober blogs' quite prolifically. However, as he tend to cut'n'paste bulk-post his never-ending fundamentalist Christian tirades, I tend to delete them. Yes, Micky, I know I'm going to hell, but frankly it seems like a fair trade if it means I don't have to read your rants on a daily basis. Besides, they can be more than a little unsettling for the casual passer-by who just wants to hear some real-life experiences on getting well.

Micky's also not a fan of punctuation or new paragraphs. Reading his lengthier posts is like being screamed at by Jack Nicholson on crystal-meth, whilst you yourself are on some of the bad brown Woodstock acid. Nightmareish.

Deleting posts doesn't sit well with me. I hate censorship, but anyone who runs a sober-blog that get Micky-ised appreciates what I'm saying and I've had readers email me off-line asking questions and urging me to take down the rants, for fear of putting off others.

Well, another spate of Micky-isms has arrive in the last few days - I do *try* to read them all before banishing them back to the World of Mental from whence they came, but occasionally there comes a post that's so far out there that it would be a shame to delete it.

If you've ever wanted to know what the ties up the founder of AA, the Satanist Aleister Crowley, 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory', Ozzy Ozbourne, prohibition in the 40's, Nazi Germany and the CIA, then let Micky take you around a day in his head.

It makes the De Vinci Code seem plausible.

ALEISTER CROWLEY: PROGENITOR OF AA

There you go Micky. Enjoy your 15 minutes, you nutter.

half way there ...

2007-11-11T20:00:00.000Z

More tedious running stories. But bear with it, I'll keep it short.

I ran a half-marathon down Grand Union Canal today. I did it in 1:55 ... which I was happy with. No real problems other than it's a bloody long way ...

But here is THE news.

I've been entered in The London Marathon on April 13th 2008.

Needless to say I'm utterly daunted by this prospect, but I'm up for the challenge. Somehow I've also got to raise £1,400 for Spinal Research along the way, but I'm confident I can manage that - especially as my company has already pledged to match me pound for pound. More on that later.

So, sadly, you're going to have to put up with a lot more tedious blogs related to running/training ... but hey! it's all recovery, right?

And let's face it ... five years ago, I could barely run a bath ... (thanks GM)

life after AA

2007-11-10T18:40:00.000Z

I wonder if there's anyone else reading this that used to attend AA but doesn't anymore ... I ask, because I'm really aware that I'm doing virtually no AA at all nowadays.

I go to one meeting a week. Actually, I'm supposed to go to at least one meeting a week, as I am the treasurer, but even despite collecting the money for them, I'm turning up only about 50% of the time.

So ... where does this leave me? Pretty happy to be honest - that's the thing. But I do wonder if I'm not too far from the shore. Ask me to recite the 12 Steps from memory and I'd struggle to do it. Ask me to sponsor someone and I wouldn't know where to start.

I turn up, sit down, rarely stay focused, tell everyone that there is life after the rooms and that you won't have to be tied to five meetings a week (which pisses some people off) and then zoom off in a cloud of loud music.

Do I care? Not really. My life has never been better.

Should I care?

Discuss.

running away with myself

2007-11-04T17:05:00.000Z

After a week and a half of suffering the first proper 'cold' I've had in about eight years, I have flung myself back into a training program to shake out the Lemsip flavoured cobwebs and fix myself with a legal endorphin high flowing through my body.

I still have such an addictive personality. My obsessions for [whatever] still becomes all encompassing when it's turned on.

My plan was, after a week and two days of not running, to go out on Friday after work - no matter how groggy I still felt. All day in the office, I felt that burning to go. It reminded me of the same feeling I had when I knew I was going to use or have a big night out. An almost uncontrollable urge to get out there 'now' and make it happen. Clocks crawl.

...and I watched it crawl all day until the release of 4:00pm (we are cut loose early on a Friday). I was kitted up by 4:02 and out onto the streets for a 'gentle' 10k as soon as I say Goodbye. The relief was almost instantaneous. Hit, hit, hit.

I returned home contented on Friday night and like all good people in recovery should be, was asleep by 10:00pm. It was just the just the first of three stages of my 'back on track' weekend.

The second stage started on Saturday midday, as I was put through my paces by my personal trainer who introduced me to a new vibrating machine that opened up a whole new world of pain for me. Thanks Q, I owe you one. I've been seeing him for a short while now and his remit is to help my power and strength for running. Again, my obsession means I will go to any lengths ...

After my workout, the same obsessive thinking takes me on trip to my local running shop to stock up on energy gels and contemplate spending more money I don't have on kit I don't need. I resist, but not after a long debate with myself.

Sunday was my 'big run' day. The 'make or break' run that would determine my entrance for a half-marathon next weekend down the Grand Union Canal - which I've kept fairly low key this time!

I desperately needed to put in some distance. The obsession to get this done hadn't left me all week and come Saturday night it was really on me. I had organised my kit, and using my fantastic Garmin 305 GPS running computer, I had drawn out a 10.5 mile run on Google Earth and transferred it to my device, ready for the morning.

I didn't sleep well. Like a kid who hasn't' done his homework on a Sunday night, the anxiety was on me and in my dreams. Fear for failure. Fear of oversleeping. Jesus, this was only a training run ... but I am used to it. It's how I live. If I want to do something well, this is how my mind makes sure I get it done. Hardly ideal, but after many years, I'm almost used to it.

I rose at 9:00 and was on the road at 9:30. God bless my running computer, as by being able to drawn out a route before hand, I was able to explore fields and farms I would never had dared venture into. The GPS device kept me on track. Even when I was blocked from entering one path as I stumbled into a Foot and Mouth roadblock.

There's nothing like it. The autumnal sunshine in the crisp air, running across farm fields with no one in sight, the blood pumping through the veins. To me, this is my drug of choice ... that feeling of having been out for well over an hour and the body is working like a machine, feeling invincible, feeling like I could run forever. The payoff, the appetite of the obsession quietened for a while.

11 miles later and I'm back at home. My pace, not great - my body, quite tired but my cardio in good shape. And it's only 11:15am and I'm set for the day, some 1500 calories lighter. The all-over glow, that buzz that races through my body knowing that I've done good and can feel pleased that I'm disciplined/obsessed enough to ... well, to put myself through this.

I'm not a natural runner. I won't be the best, or anywhere near it. But I'm proud of myself. At 30, I was 16.5 stone. I hadn't even ran outside until March and here I am, planning my weekend around my running in an effort to complete another half-marathon.

Recovery is an odd thing. It takes to me to places I never thought I go. Like running through beautiful Hertfordshire countryside on a early Sunday morning, when not so long again I would be dry retching into a basin. But I notice, no matter what I do, whatever I turn my attention to, whether than be AA meetings, scuba, running, work, computers, girls ... that the old addict mental obsession is never far behind. Once the switch is turned on, nothing will stand in my way.

Same obsession, different drug.

stampede

2007-11-01T17:16:00.000Z

"The good news is, you get your feelings back"
"The bad news is, you get your feelings back"

It's an AA cliché, but a good one.

When you have to sit with the consequences of all your actions, with little space to run and hide, you should tread carefully.

Sadly, I rarely tread carefully. I tread as softly as a herd of stampeding rhinos

In the rush to get where I am going, people get trampled underfoot.

And when the herd slows, I will turn around and look back across the plain. It will be clear to see the destruction my heavy footprints leave.

Which is why, for now at least, I'll carry on stampeding until I'm out of breath.

Best get out of the way.

tap, tap, tap, tap

2007-10-29T21:52:00.000Z

Another suitcase unpacked, another set of keys.

Another room, another bed, another ceiling to stare at.

Living with a lie is a hard thing today. I used to be able to do it for years. Numbing out against the lie that tap, tap, taps at the window of my heart. Using (whatever) to shut out that relentless fucking tap, tap, tapping. The tapping that keeps me wide eyed at three at the morning.

Damn, I hate hurting others. But I love myself enough to not sit still and listen to the lie that tap, tap, taps at my window of my heart for too long.

'To thine own self, be true.'

Another room, another bed, another ceiling to start at.

The tapping has stopped.

All is quiet.

rock on young saviour, don't give up your hopes

2007-10-27T09:55:00.000Z

I'll be back very soon.

I've been caught up in some static but (somewhat sadly) that is coming to an end. Shortly I'll be starting yet another bloody chapter in the ridiculous story that is my life.

In the meantime, what better way to open a new chapter with a new album from the band that continue to provide the soundtrack to that aforementioned life ...

"There's still some living left when your prime comes and goes."