So, as someone who doesn’t have the luxury of working from home on Monday, I’ll be trying to get an early night, wake up at midnight, and then hopefully bag another hour or so of sleep after Mexico knock us out.

God knows what kind of condition I’ll be in by tomorrow afternoon.

I was walking across my estate on my way to finally get my head and face shaved when I noticed a young boy staring at me intently. Before I knew it, he was walking alongside me, his gaze still firmly fixed on me.

After keeping pace with me for half the estate, he finally spoke as we walked past a Lime bike lying discarded on the floor.

“Excuse me, sir.”

I immediately looked around to see who he was addressing.

“Can you unlock this Lime bike for me? It’s only £1.”

I politely said, “No,” and carried on my way, while also having a quick look around for hidden cameras.

What kind of trickery is this!?

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Planning the route was simple: a bus to Whitechapel station, a Windrush line train to Sydenham, and then another bus that would drop me off about three minutes away. Arrival time: 8:04am.

Sounds simple, right?

It went completely tits up when I was waiting for the bus at Sydenham station and watched it go from “2 minutes” to “due” and then disappear entirely from the Countdown display board. The next bus was due in 16 minutes; that one counted down to five minutes and then stayed at that number for at least ten minutes before eventually arriving.

When I disembarked, I followed Google Maps, which insisted that to get to the Parkrun I should walk through someone’s back garden and climb over their fence.

Thankfully, I spotted a couple of runners and followed them, and they led me to the venue via the correct (and probably more legal) route. I arrived at 8:58am, so there was no time at all for my usual warm-up run or stretching.

There are toilets at the community café, and the café is where people normally head afterwards. They only accept cash.

The Route

The route is a two-lap course run entirely on grass around two large fields, with maybe 200m on a trail path at the end. As someone who does not do particularly well on grass, and coupled with my lack of warm-up, I decided to add an additional minute to my target time on my watch. 24 minutes was the new aim.

I spent the first kilometre desperately trying to avoid the holes lurking underneath the grass. By the time I came back around on lap two, I was too tired to care whether I snapped an ankle or not.

Overall

I finished in 23:48. I’m pretty sure that if I had arrived much earlier and done a proper warm-up, then sub-23:30 was certainly on the cards.

The volunteers and organisers were warm and very welcoming, and if it were a road event I’d almost certainly be back—but it isn’t, so I won’t.

It is well worth a visit, but I’d recommend going by car and taking advantage of the free car park.

On the bus back to the station, things somehow got worse. The bus stopped at the traffic lights at Bell Green Cross junction for THIRTY MINUTES because the driver refused to enter the box junction—even though you are allowed to as long as you are turning right. There were at least ten buses behind him, and each driver pleaded with him to move, but he was adamant that he wasn’t allowed to do it.

In the end, a few drivers went across and stopped oncoming traffic so he could move. He hesitated, and then another driver leaned into his window and shouted, “FUCKING MOVE!”

When he finally did, he stopped at the next bus stop and changed drivers.

He brought the local network to a standstill and will no doubt receive some choice words from his colleagues when he gets back to the depot.

Image by Joshua Choate from Pixabay

The post The 50th Parkrun That Nearly Didn’t Happen first appeared on Dean Saliba Dot Com.

I decided to walk home after a long and hard week of work. Normally, I would make the walk with a couple of cans of Tyskie beer, but because I am back on the wagon until the World Road Running Championships in September, I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to pass all the off-licences on my normal route home.

The urge was so strong that I decided to walk my normal running route home. This route takes me along East Smithfield, The Highway, Narrow Street, and then onto the canal, which takes me home – and I only have to go past one shop.

The huge sense of achievement that rushed through me was something I wasn’t expecting, but I’ll take it.

Katie Hopkins was thrown out of one of my local pubs, the Dundee Arms, recently. I’m not exactly sure what she did for the landlord to ask her to leave during the England–Croatia match, but she certainly deserved it for stepping into that pub. It’s full of pretentious prats and lefties.

I was walking to my girlfriend’s flat when I saw a man sitting on the doorstep of his flat, enjoying a coffee and a cigarette. An intoxicated man then tried to barge past him and go inside because he thought it was a bar.

As I carried on my way, he started a fight with a Lime bike.

Image by Henryk Niestrój from Pixabay

The post How I Walked Home Without Stopping at the Off-Licence first appeared on Dean Saliba Dot Com.

You will have heard the term, “You’re not as young as you used to be,” and boy, was I feeling that when my alarm rudely woke me up at 4am this morning.

Staying up past 11pm to watch the mighty England trounce Croatia meant that I only got about four hours of sleep. Not ideal when Thursday is one of the busiest days at work and I had an agency worker to show around.

But if they can win like that on Tuesday against Ghana, then I’ll do it all over again!

I think I irritated everybody at work because I was yawning my head off every five minutes.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the hot weather. Maybe I’m just shit (or maybe a mixture of all three), but I really struggled to complete my training run today.

On paper, the session didn’t look too difficult—and I’ve certainly done harder sessions in harsher conditions—but I just could not hit the required pace. During the interval session (8 mins at RP, 3 mins easy pace x3), I had to stop every couple of minutes, and the easy sections were 100% walking breaks.

With about 13 weeks left to go, I’m hoping this is merely a blip caused by the lack of sleep and a busy day at work.

Hopefully, the people who witnessed me shaking my head and swearing as I stomped along the canal towpath were not too alarmed.

Image by ErikaWittlieb from Pixabay

The post The Price of Supporting England first appeared on Dean Saliba Dot Com.

I had signed up for the SEAA Cross Country Masters Championships. I made my way across London to a hilly, muddy field in Greenford, expecting to meet seven other hardy runners from Victoria Park Harriers. When I arrived… I was alone.

I wandered over to the officials’ tent and found the least helpful official imaginable. He just said, “Go find your team manager,” and turned away. Five minutes before the race started, I kept wandering around, scanning the crowd for anyone in a VPH vest.

So I didn’t get to race.

All the negative emotions hit me unison: anger, sadness, and disappointment. I stormed through the door of an off-licence, probably scaring the shit out of the guy behind the counter who thought he was getting robbed, all I want this time is a can of Tyskie to drown my sorrows.

Earlier, I had skipped Parkrun in the morning and the Maltese Culture Movement’s Christmas Fate, just a mile from my house, because they clashed with the race. I could have puffed my way around Mile End Parkrun and then devoured pastizzi while sipping Cisk beer instead of wandering Greenford like a lost, muddy idiot.

Maybe it is time that I learn my lesson and only enter races where my bib number is either sent to me or I can collect it from a registration tent on the day of the race. This is the 6th time in as many years that I’ve missed out because of this ridiculous and archaic system.

Image by Tibor Janosi Mozes from Pixabay

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By the time I rocked up at Mile End Parkrun, the rain had stopped, the skies were doing their best to apologise, and things looked pretty promising. That is, until the announcement came at 8:20am: Parkrun is cancelled due to the weather. The weather that had already stopped. Cue 100 confused runners frantically finding out nearest Parkruns. I bet Uber did a booming trade this morning.

I looked around. One puddle. Just one. And it’s always there anyway – it’s practically a local landmark. Maybe they saw another downpour coming on the forecast and didn’t want to leave the volunteers soggy and miserable. Honestly, the nerve of those selfless heroes not wanting to get pneumonia on their day off just so we could chase a 5K PB.

Now, a few months ago, I would’ve sulked, gone home, and eaten half of the junk sold in my local Sainsbury’s out of sheer disappointment. But not today. Instead, I channelled my inner Forrest Gump and did a solo 5K anyway – and got caught in a second downpour right as I finished.

After towel-drying the British way (badly), I headed to Boots to weigh myself for the first time since April. Last time I stood on some scales, I was 211lbs. This time? 188lbs. Deduct 3.5lbs for clothes (Boots doesn’t have a “naked mode,” sadly), and we’re talking 184.5lbs.

That’s 26.5lbs down. Operation Bye-Bye Fatso is off to a roaring start.

The post Operation Bye-Bye Fatso: Rain Delays and Scale Slays first appeared on Dean Saliba Dot Com.

I decided to ignore him and just keep walking. I had my headphones in, but instinct kicked in and I turned the volume down — and I’m glad I did, because a few seconds later I heard him running after me.

I pulled out my earbuds, and he launched straight into it: asking for money for a hostel. Now, I’m not trying to be cynical, but considering I’d just seen him stumble out of the 24-hour fruit machine arcade like a man who’d lost his soul to a 10p spin, I had my doubts.

I told him I didn’t have any money on me, which was true — I don’t tend to carry cash, especially not at 5am. He didn’t believe me, of course. He kept insisting I must have something. So I hit him with:

“Why do you think I’m walking to work at 5am instead of getting a bus?”

I then gave the very British “sorry” (for what, I’m not sure) and walked off — only to be treated to a stream of abuse behind me, including being loudly branded a “fucking dickhead.”

Yes, of course. I’m the dickhead. I’m dragging myself to work in the middle of the night, you’re begging for money to either gamble it away or stick it in your arm — but sure, I’m the problem here. Makes perfect sense.

Image by Talip Özer from Pixabay

The post The Early Bird Gets the Verbal Abuse first appeared on Dean Saliba Dot Com.

Now, I happen to know (thanks to some late-night Googling and too many wildlife documentaries) that mange is fatal unless treated. So, like any modern Good Samaritan, I turned to ChatGPT to find local charities or organisations that might be able to help.

The first step? Get a clear photo of the poor sod. I tried snapping one through the window, but it clocked me peering out and promptly shuffled round the side of the shed. Classic fox: elusive and photogenic only when they want to be.

I decided to leave it alone for a few minutes, and when I checked again, it had made itself a little bed out of dead leaves and grass. Cosy, if you’re into the whole ‘woodland crypt keeper’ vibe.

I crept into the garden, channeling all the stealth of a ninja in slippers, hoping to get a better shot. But the fox spotted me again and shuffled further down the side of the shed — now lurking at the back like it was planning something.

By this point I started to realise it was probably looking for somewhere to die. As much as I’m all for offering a peaceful final resting place, I wasn’t keen on the idea of my 3-year-old stumbling across a mange-riddled, potentially feral fox in our garden. So, I made a bit of noise to try and shoo it away.

That worked — kind of. It bolted out from behind the shed and smacked straight into the fence. It then tried five or six times to leap over it, but each attempt fell short, like a drunk at an athletics meet. After a short pause (to either plan its next move or reevaluate its life choices), it spotted a giant pot plant, used it as a launch pad, and finally cleared the fence in one majestic, scrappy leap.

Hopefully someone else finds it and can actually help the poor thing — preferably someone with a proper camera and a bit more stealth than me.

Image by Jon Pauling from Pixabay

The post Sir Scratch-a-Lot and the Great Escape first appeared on Dean Saliba Dot Com.

About three years ago, I started a new job that’s both physically and mentally demanding. Over time, the company has reduced staff and shifted more and more work onto my plate. Most days, I’m left so exhausted I can barely do anything except slump in front of the TV and wait for bedtime.

I’ve also been trying to spend more quality time with my daughter – usually three or four hours in the evening, until we both fall asleep on the sofa.

Somewhere in between, I still try to find the time and energy to indulge in my hobby of running. But that hasn’t gone well over the past couple of years, thanks to work and some weight gain.

So why am I back now?

Because I want to make a change. I want more from life than working my bollocks off for minimum wage, only to pass out in front of the telly by 8 p.m. I also don’t want to lose my blogs – they’ve always been something I enjoy, and I’d like to get back to writing about the things I care about.

My job, as my stable source of income, has to come first. And realistically, at my age, I’m not likely to find a new role in a different industry. So it looks like I’m sticking with the estate operative life until I retire – or win the lottery (note to self: I should probably start buying tickets if I want a shot at that).

So now, I’m trying to come up with a way to juggle:

• Work
• Daddy/daughter time
• Running
• Working out
• Writing

I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to make it work yet.

And no – I didn’t forget about having a social life. Truth is, I don’t have any friends. As someone who suffers from Social Anxiety Disorder, I won’t miss going out to bars or pubs where people might actually try to talk to me.

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

The post Trying to Make It All Fit first appeared on Dean Saliba Dot Com.

I’ll keep an eye on it. It only hurt when I was coming downhill, and I feel fortunate that I haven’t injured this part of my body in the 9 years I’ve been running.

Later in the afternoon, I traveled a short distance to Hackney Marshes to watch Camden & Islington United take on Indian Gymkhana in a Middlesex County Football League Premier Division encounter.

However, I couldn’t tell you what the score was because the game I ended up watching didn’t feature either side. They were playing in the colors I expected, but after about 20 minutes, I realized it wasn’t the right game.

There was only one other match happening nearby, so I wandered over—but that wasn’t the one either.

Maybe the Futbology app had the wrong time?

Either way, I’m counting it as a ground off the list, since I did watch someone play.

That makes two grounds off the list so far this season. With another couple to tick off next weekend (Parsloe Park and Mile End Stadium), I’m actually enjoying this new hobby so far.

Image by Sabine Lange from Pixabay

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