Israel, Hamas, and the BBC

I feel the need to say something. Not to speak runs the risk of allowing evil to take root.

I share these reflections from the depths of shock and grief over Hamas’s murderous campaign on Saturday 7th October 2023 which has left 1000+ Israeli citizens dead and many others injured and traumatised.

And also anticipating the inevitable Israeli response taking its toll not just on Hamas and its supporters but on Gaza Strip civilians who do not support Hamas and are subject to their rule.

One weeps with those who weep.

There is something quite indefensible, despicable, and distinctly cowardly in using military firepower against defenceless men, women, children, babies, and animals. The massacres at the Supernova Music festival in which 250+ young partygoers were slaughtered, and at Kfar Azar, leaving 100+ grandparents, parents, children, babies, dead, some burned in their homes, and some children and babies beheaded, were barbaric and sickening.

War is evil enough, but even in the depths of war, there are limits. Hamas and its supporters have ignored those limits and revelled in the ‘triumph’ of the attacks, celebrating publicly – even on the streets of London - the massacres, jubilant at the flow of Jewish blood, and the capture and abduction of Israeli citizens. This is unspeakably evil and shameful.

Hamas’s actions, like Al-Qaida’s 9-11 attack, are despicable and cannot be justified, whatever the grievances held, legitimate or not. To convert grievance into hatred and hatred into targeting rockets and bullets against defenceless civilians is beneath contempt.

One weeps with those who weep

If I held any hope that Hamas could rule the Gaza Strip for the sake of its citizens and interact with Israel to forge some kind of peaceful co-existence, this has been shattered and irrevocably torn to shreds. The world now waits to see whether the Israeli military response will succeed in uprooting Hamas, which appears to be the aim.

But, in terms of respect, I feel I must address an institution far closer to home. The BBC. Our BBC.

I am ashamed now to pay the Licence fee.

Hamas is a proscribed terrorist organisation which has carried out a shocking massacre of Israeli life on Israeli soil and the BBC continues to use the word ‘militant’ to describe Hamas instead of ‘terrorist’. The distinction is important. This is not a time to downplay, contextualise, politicise, or dilute the horror of the events of last Saturday. This was a pre-determined, pre-planned, pre-rehearsed attack as part of the overall strategy of the terrorist organisation called Hamas to execute vile terrorism on Israeli soil against unarmed civilians, Jews.

What to pray? What to hope for? I sit in silence before God

I call upon BBC journalists to refuse to cooperate with their editorial chiefs and use the word terrorist where it is the only appropriate and accurate word to describe premeditated military attacks on defenceless citizens.

And that, surely, includes the attack and twin massacres carried out by Hamas on Saturday 7th October in Israel.

What to pray? What to hope for? I sit in silence before God. He hears our inability to find words. The mute longing for grief and suffering not to be prolonged. For human hearts in Gaza, in Israel, to find courage, to grow beyond any ideologies of hatred, to limit the justification of retribution as a way of defining life and the future. And, in time, to displace war in favour of mercy and a deep desire to live in peace with one's neighbours.

Halfway to Cambridge

For the first weekend of September, I attended the British Christian Writer’s Conference at Ridley Hall in Cambridge, since when I’ve been hard at work editing a historical fiction I’m writing that just may see the light of day later in the year or, more realistically, in 2024.

As a member of the Association of Christian Writers (ACW) I also contribute to the ‘morethanwriters’ blog each month.

If you’d like to read that blog titled ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ please follow the link below, where you’ll find that ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ is a phrase that came to me spontaneously in a dusty layby whilst texting a friend who’d passed an important exam.

Since then ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ seems to have taken on a life of its own and, really, is a description of a state of mind.

To discover whether you are ‘Halfway to Cambridge’ please, be my guest, and follow the link!

Halfway to Cambridge (morethanwriters.blogspot.com)

My website/blog www.unlessaseed.com has had an MOT and service and is ready to hit the road once again with some improvements

Hello!

My website/blog www.unlessaseed.com has had an MOT and service and is ready to hit the road once again with some improvements:

1. Subscribing enables you – free of charge of course - to receive regular updates via your email as articles and blogs are posted

2. Navigating from page to page, blog to blog far quicker and slicker

3. Pages: (i) What is a Christian? (ii) Book/Film/Podcast Reviews, (iii) Poetry, and (iv) Everything Else continue as before but with more focus on the ‘unless a seed’ reference (John 12v24) as a message for the here and now.

4. Writing – currently editing/re-writing an historical novel set in 1799, a children’s book set in a land further than far away…and an accumulation of poems.

5. Links – links to other sites that have caught my eye such as daughter Rachel Stevens’ podcast Believingin interviewing a wide range of friends, colleagues, family members about their beliefs…a cocktail of Christians, Muslims, Atheists…with Rachel’s twist of Christian lemon.

But mostly, I hope that you will at least test-drive the blog, enjoy the content, subscribe, and leave comments!

A quick note about Facebook. Links to www.unlessaseed.com blog posts, poems, and so on, will mainly be made, not on my personal FB account, but on my Christian Writer page: Facebook

And lastly…apologies if you’ve received this message from various sources (email/FB/blog) and are feeling nagged. If so, rather than grumble, please make contact and there’s a pint, coffee and cake, or a glass of wine waiting for you as an apology.

Hope to find you at some point here on www.unlessaseed.com

John

Return to Writing

Tuesday 1st August 2023

The long-awaited First of August. Earmarked for at least two months as the ‘Return to Writing Day’

when ‘writing’ really means finishing a children’s book, ‘The Tear Collector’ and a historical novel,

‘Thomas J. Philpott’.

You find me at Coffee #1 with the requisite Flat White and Biscoff cheesecake, gentle foot-tapping music, and the general hubbub of milk frothers, rippling conversation, dull traffic outside, and plates, mugs, and cups colliding. Sunshine is pouring through the glass frontage and the steam, rising up from the coffees of those sitting by the window.

A perfect setting to lose myself in whatever writing is; the internal mystery that impels someone to write. To attempt to say something in words on a page. I hadn’t completely abandoned writing in my sabbatical. Poetry, for example, had not abandoned its own capability of putting its hooks in my distracted self, and drag me out of various reveries to let the words pour out. But the attempt to prepare for A-Level English Literature exams put paid to the level of attention required to push on with the books.

After the exams in June the priority shifted to neglected chores and preparing for a kitchen make-over. I had hoped this phase to be complete by July 31st but it will linger on.

Meanwhile, the writing starts today.

This blog post is just a warm-up.

A perfect setting to lose myself in whatever writing is; the internal mystery that impels someone to write

I’ve left the books for so long now I will need to re-read both for some time to be re-absorbed in their narrative before editing the grammar and considering more wholesale changes…not necessarily in that order.

Let’s see. How long should that take? I’ll give myself to the end of September. Included in that will be gaining some advice about how to approach publishers. The holy grail still seems to me to be when someone else sees something in your writing worth publishing. Worth the financial risk.

Is that too constricting?

I close this post with that question not only hanging in the air.

Rant: very annoying words & phrases

So… Ignoring, dismissing the question and carrying on with own message

Up it Instead of increase it

Amount Baby language instead of length, volume, mass, weight, number…

Bigger/big Baby language instead of larger, fuller, heavier, significant, telling etc

It is what it is Empty of meaning, unnecessary phrase

There is lots No distinction made between one and many, singular and plural

Them When it is 'those' e.g. "them players" No! No! No!

Medal i.e. 'to medal' No! You win a gold medal you don't medal a medal - rediculous

"He played brilliant" You can say 'he played brilliant chess' or 'he played brilliantly'

"I'm good" No! 'I'm well' perhaps. Good is too vague. Good at what? Morally good?

Match up Just 'match' will do, or contest

Ongoing An oldie…unnecessary words e.g. ongoing problem = problem

Top of the programme Just say 'the start'

Optics O dear! Words fail me. Say what you actually mean. Too obscure.

Lean into What? Commit maybe? You can lean or lean on something…forget 'lean into'

Reach out Ask

Referenced Referred to…he didn’t ‘reference Shakespeare’ he ‘referred to Shakespeare’

To 'source' as a verb Find or buy. Source is a noun - a source - not a verb. Resist this.

Heads up Remove this from your sentence and nothing changes

Going forward Ditto

I hear you Usually condescending…you don’t fool the speaker or the audience.

Call out I loathe this. It is judge & jury instead of ‘accuse’.

Journey Geography usurped by emotion

Gifted As in 'he gifted me with a…' No! it's 'gave'. Adverb not a verb: 'gifted drummer'

Issue Problem

Train station ‘Bus station' is used to distinguish it from a railway station which is a ‘station’

Takeout Take away

Acclimate Ugh! It is acclimatise

Drill down Please don't

Signage Just 'sign' or 'signs' putting -age on the end doesn't make you look clever

Paris ’24 – 11th July. It’s not just professional sportsmen and women…

I am a true amateur. The amateur image is a ‘normal’ everyday man or woman holding down a full-time job, maybe children to juggle, shopping to do, holidays to save up for, the dentist to avoid, the deny all hygienists oxygen.

The thought of an ordinary pleb having a back-up system of physios, sports psychologists, weights, ice baths, and so on, just to don your shorts and stumble outdoors…is as unlikely as it is often quite true.

This 65-year-old has just spent an hour being manipulated by an osteopath, tomorrow I have a physio appointment, then a muscular-skeletal doctor’s advice about choosing either surgery or steroid injections following an MRI on my left foot.

As for sports psychology…I would, of course, but I can’t afford it.

All this just to get out and try and run sub-30’ 5K and maybe sub-25’ 5K before the leaves turn yellow and maybe a sub-55’ 10K before roasting chestnuts and thinking about sprouts.

That will leave 6 months to beat the 10K qualifying time of 27 minutes.

Maybe I need to sign up for the Sports Psychologist after all, if only for pre-Olympic-failure-counselling?

The Pendeen Ashes 2013

The mythology surrounding the mustard pot filled with the remains, the ashes, of a 100 piece jigsaw has its genesis in a shopping expedition prior to Xmas 2022.

A jigsaw of an appropriately Christmas-themed collection of sprouts finally had its opening during the early days of the family escape to Pendeen, Cornwall in the first week of July 2023.

Whereupon it was discovered that not only were the pieces all individually unique and shaped randomly without any straight edges…but fiendishly…double-sided. Not in the Christmas spirit one bit!

A decision was made to incinerate the impossible puzzle and consign its ashes to an urn or similar and to be preserved as a prize for the winner of the annual holiday quiz of equivalent.

The ashes now reside in an unused mustard pot but may move to a more secure location in the near future.

Until the Summer of ’24.

Paris ’24 – 4th June 2023

It’s been a while and, no I haven’t been training at altitude, or investigating the legality of oxygenated blood transfusions prior to racing, or pulling enormous tractor tyres, or cricket-square rollers across the Downs, or anything remotely eye-catching.

I’ve just had an MRI scan on a dodgy nerve in my left foot, visits to two physiotherapists (shoulders and back), and an increasing range of hilarious exercises from the physios and an osteopath to keep me super-supple.

That’s the state of play of this 60+-year-old even attempting to return to running, let alone meet the qualifying time for the 10K ready for Paris ’24.

But I’m on the way back – hence the return to the blog.

3 x 5K runs and I’ve lopped 5 minutes off my first time just over a week ago. At this trajectory, I will break the land speed record for a Walrus in a few weeks and be outpacing old Labradors before you can say ‘Allez France!’

 The next step is to run 5 miles, not 5K, then 10K…by the end of June.

 Expect a follow-up report in detail.

English Literature and Cold Turkey…Report One.

My normal routine: get up, kettle on, R4 on, either a tea-bag or looseleaf tea in small pot and, cereal, R4 off, wander into lounge and Ahhhh! That first sip of a cuppa to remove the night and start the day.

 About 11 am, coffee beans ground to dust, cafetiere in operation, and…Relax…with coffee and maybe a slab of Cadbury’s plain. Perfect.

 A normal day consisted of one coffee and maybe 5 cups of tea.

 Until Saturday.

The centre-of-gravity of this story is my attempt to pass A-Level English Literature. In a few weeks’ time I shall be sat amongst impossibly talented 18-year-olds trying to control my thoughts, telling my pen-writing muscles not to cease up, and (for a 65-year-old, the greatest fear) not having to ask to be excused more than twice in the 3 hours of exam hall torture.

 So…preparations – apart from intense revision – include:

1.      Fasting the day before the exam (let the reader surmise the reason why)

2.      A break from tea and coffee…i.e. caffeine, tannin, and all other diuretics

 Sensible?

 So, I Googled the likely side effects, the ‘cold-turkey’ side-effects of giving up tea and coffee:

 The invisible addiction: is it time to give up caffeine? | Coffee | The Guardian

The scientists have spelled out, and I had duly noted, the predictable symptoms of caffeine withdrawal: headache, fatigue, lethargy, difficulty concentrating, decreased motivation, irritability, intense distress, loss of confidence and dysphoria. But beneath that deceptively mild rubric of “difficulty concentrating” hides nothing short of an existential threat to the work of the writer [Edit and exam reviser]. How can you possibly expect to write anything when you can’t concentrate?

Three days in and I can report, darn it, ALL of the above symptoms. I don’t know what dysphoria is but I’m not sure I care…the incessant headache, leg aches, lethargic waves that roll over one, and stranger periods of distress…darn it, it’s all true!

Three days in and I can report, darn it, ALL of the above symptoms

But I’m told this will ease after nine days…so…a week to go of hoping the benefits will outweigh the longing for that first taste of something better in the morning than the dried inside of one’s mouth and sour lips after a night’s sleep, snoring - and sneezing in the hay-fever season.

Meanwhile, it’s back to Othello, Jane Eyre, Post 1900 Poetry, Spies, Skirrid Hill, and Streetcar Named Desire and wading through critics of Patriarchal societies, literature as a Marxist class struggle, and attempting to view the above books through modern, post-modern, and meta-modern lenses.

The moral of this tale? Not enough energy to enter a debate about morals…until it’s over. The abstinence, that is.

Expect Report Two…when I feel human

Paris ‘24 - 29th January 2023

It’s a Sunday. January 29th to be precise and the start of a new week. A week in which I will fail once again to escape this game of physiological snakes and ladders.

My hopes that a return to 10K running have been dashed into a new dismalness and gloom.

A visit to the doc resulted in swift action (thank you NHS) of a telephone consultation with (another) physiotherapist and an X-ray…of my right knee; a new injury I had been attempting to ignore whilst the others had released their uninvited grip.

So…here I sit and stand and stroll with a walking pole, trying not to wince in public with one of those stabbing pains that leaves you helpless and unable to move forward.

Verdict pending, I am reduced to walking…for now.

No running for the past two weeks.

Progress towards Paris ’24 must be faced with a dollop of Gallic Shrug, a smidgen of hope, and a full tank of thankfulness for all the previous running injuries and recoveries, a miracle of healing thrown in, and a generous ladle of faith in God.

We press on.

Knocked down but not knocked out.

Paris 24 - January 8th 2023 Blog 11

Paris ’24 Blog 11

Time has come to get serious…

December was a write off. A nasty anti-runner virus came my way as soon as the ice had melted and wiped this would-be Olympian out. Recovery consisted of 48 hour straight dedication to the sofa and uncountable episodes of Netflix and – oddly (?) ITVX.

Ugh…

Despite the post-viral patheticness, Christmas jolliness took priority and was enjoyed by all. After four straight days of family fun, chat, food and medicinal measures of this and that I was ready.

Ready, that is for a post-convivial conversations further relapse. The sofa beckoned for another day of TV and zero energy.

BUT…Paris ’24 was never forgotten. Another temporary set-back number ? (I’ve lost count now).

January has arrived. Bitingly cold mornings. And chilling rain. The discipline of run/walk/Pilates/stretching and shoulder exercises is upon me once more.

Today’s early morning jog. Only the 5K Harbourside flat-ish run, nevertheless I was encouraged. The first half was sluggish. My aim: 25’ for 5K. Today 28.30’. But the last 2.5K was 26.30’.

Two aims really for January 2023:

• 5K in less than 27’ maybe on Parkruns

• 10K as near to 55’ as possible

And then progressing to make 10K runs the norm with 5Ks as slow and fast runs. I told you I was serious. Don’t laugh.

Yes I know, the body and mind of a 64yr old, well, this 64yr old, may well not always be the same thing, but…the word NEVERTHELESS is sometimes the most important word in the Universe.

Some of you might be thinking ‘why not make Common Sense your watchword Mr Stevens?’ There’s little hope of that. For Christmas, daughter 4 bought me a wonderful small t-pot. The sort where you put the tea leaves in a small cage, then pour the boiling water over the leaves into the pot, leave and pour without tea-leaves entering your cup. That’s great IF you remember to put the leaves in the cage. If not, all is not lost. Simply pour through a tea-strainer.

NEVERTHELESS is sometimes the most important word in the Universe

Excuse me whilst I use my teeth the filter the leaves once more, having forgotten to execute either of these steps. It’s a good thing I haven’t got my finger on the Nuclear Button or you might not have had the joy of reading this post.

Happy New Year! May God bless all your attempts to run faster than me!

Running Blog - November 29th 2022

Fog

Cumberland Basin, Hotwells 7 am

An aborted early morning training attempt, following the Bristol 10K route.

Perhaps the main story isn’t the 64-year-old, inappropriately dressed all in black running in the dark, early morning, pre-dawn dense fog, but the fog itself.

I do like a good fog. None more so than when the pools of light cascading down from the street lighting catches a sort of avant-garde, jazz-like, Parisienne cum Whitechapel murders feel - difficult, isn’t it to quite put your finger on it.

I do like a good fog

Car headlamps and bike flashing lights loom from a distance like blurred candles and somehow the sound of traffic is dulled and, maybe, moving slower. I certainly was.

Sadly, another part of my athletic frame decided it wanted to get home early for a hot shower. Perhaps in years gone by I would have ploughed on to achieve my aim…to make 10Ks my usual training run and 5Ks more of a speed thing. Ha! One thing after another vies to be the preeminent cause of setbacks. This time it was the right hip that put in its protest in triplicate, and I bowed to its demands.

Cumberland Basin, Hotwells…towards Avonmouth

One day soon though, it’ll be a 10K Champagne Day, and we’ll see, scientifically, statistically, and psychologically just how close I am to ‘the line of improvement’ homing-in, as I am, on the qualifying time for Paris ’24.

In the meantime, is it not time for St George to slay a Dragon in Qatar?

Showdown 7pm.

Running Blog - November 11th 2022

Paris ‘24

It’s an odd time to be reporting on one’s own preparations for the Paris Olympics when a certain other sporting event has stolen all the headlines pitching us into a fraught battle of wits between sport, politics, ethics, and entertainment.

I refer, of course to FIFA’s decision to stage the World Cup in Qatar, a nation rather at odds with its guests’ national political climates with respect to human rights in various forms.

I will be watching. If FIFA’s decision-making policies need to be reformed, so be it. In the meantime, let the footballers dance, dribble, and delight us all. Let them have their day under the Qatari sun, win or lose.

When I consulted Strava after the event, it appeared that the Earth had been rotating slower than usual under my feet

And meanwhile, those of us not blessed with the requisite almost telepathic skills required to hypnotise us with the fast-moving beautiful game, will don our running shoes and hit the pavements and footpaths. We have gold medals at the forefront of our minds, not golden boots - even if those gold medals are the ones occasionally awarded via Strava rather than the IOC!

My most recent run, this morning, a 10K more or less following the Bristol 10K route went really well. I was comfortable. Indeed, I have to report a certain unusual feeling: I felt stronger at the end than at the beginning and ran faster towards the end than at the start.

Explanation? When I consulted Strava after the event, it appeared that the Earth had been rotating slower than usual under my feet on the outward half, so, my average pace was, in fact, slower over 10K (60mins) than on my previous attempt on the 1st of the month (58mins). Explanation? I can only blame Gordan Fee who was blasting his way through a lecture on 1 Corinthians in my ear…it was so engaging that I must have slackened my pace? No, I can’t blame Gordan Fee. If he slowed me in the first half, he was also to blame for the rather slicker response during the second half.

No, I shall not over-analyse. Just rest up. And perhaps push a little harder next time.

My intermediate aim is 10K in 55’. By March ’23.

Weather conditions were close to perfect. Cool, 12C (I’m best at 10C or a bit colder really), and the breeze was with and against in equal measure. Beautiful pre-dawn mauve glow in the clouds over the city centre.

Lastly…come on Ingerland. Can you? Can you? Can you avoid Brazil, France, and Argentina, to name but a few long enough and somehow progress further and deeper? I shall seek to meditate on that from my post-run ice-bath sofa

Running Blog - October 25th 2022

The ‘Road to Recovery’ and the ‘Road to Paris ’24’ once again stretch ahead into the distance.

The problem is that despite a return to pain-free running (Hoorah!) and visions of L’Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, berets, and cheese and wine, and the melodic wistful sound of accordions over the horizon, there are a mere 62 weeks remaining before the medals are awarded.

My time from this morning’s run, adjusted for 10,000m, is 56.64’ and the qualifying time for Paris ‘24 is 27.28’.

You can appreciate the task lying ahead.

I should say, to retain neutrality in all things, that the qualifying time for women is 31.25. An easier target but the surgery required…

I should say, to retain neutrality in all things, that the qualifying time for women is 31.25. An easier target but the surgery required…

Some maths:

• The gap between 56.64’ and 27.28’ is 29.36’

• Steady improvement over the remaining 62 weeks = a 28 second reduction each week over each week

• My personal best for 10K is 47’ and some seconds…let’s say 48 minutes…achieved maybe 15 years ago when I was a mere youth with salt and pepper hair. Now it’s all salt.

Twenty-eight seconds a week?

Place your bets.

If any of you are as old as I am you may remember David Bedford breaking the 10K world record one summer’s evening in 1973 with a time of 27.30. It’s strange to think he wouldn’t even qualify for Paris ’24.

Nevertheless, David Bedford shall be my inspiration, andI shall wear red socks to honour the great man. The moustache, however, is beyond me, like many things.

Running Blog - October 4th

 Paris ‘24 - and 100 weeks to go…

September has retired, it’s work done. It has tidied up summer and taken autumn to the ball. And Autumn has arrived bedecked in a full array of colours: red and yellow leaves on trees and bushes fluttering to the ground, slower than the falling Ferrari seeds in a hurry to die. And fallen leaves: a joy simply to walk through or to scuff, kick, pick up and throw, or roll around in whether you are an Alsatian or a child in adult skin.

 I digress, intoxicated as ever by October.

 This is ‘comeback month’. Walking and indoor fitness regimes consigned to the past, I press on.

…intoxicated as ever by October

 Pressing on consists of hiding away in Dorset, donning my trainers, and setting off through the gentle fields, dells, and…endless rolling hills. In reality, first one has to risk life and limb crossing the main road that feeds heavy lorries and fast cars around the tight bends of the village. The road, originally designed for one careful horse could curtail my preparation for Paris ’24 permanently. Step two is bliss, running along an unmade road and footpath stretching gently uphill beside a gently flowing stream. On this first run, just for one minute followed by one minute walking.

 Easy does it. Achilles recovery in mind. At this rate, I’ll reach my peak just before Paris ’24 and will be lethal over 20m.

 Run completed and road crossed without incident, I am filling up nicely with bubbles of joy. Walking has been enjoyable in September watching as summer was displaced by autumn, but to return to running feels pretty good - even if the sheep over the fence carried on munching hugely unimpressed and pheasants thought twice about being fearful of the human missile.

 10K Paris ’24 Countdown: 100 weeks and counting.

Running Blog - 23rd September

September is one of those kindly, transitional, months.

From summer to autumn, from scorching hot sun still, to a chill in the air and early morning dew, from green leaves to fewer leaves, from long to short days, from summer holidays to trudging back to school.

 Thursday 8th September: Queen Elizabeth II dies and King Charles III succeeds her with immediate effect. And on Monday 19th the nation stopped to watch the State Funeral.

It is now Thursday 22nd and the deep impression left by the State funeral hasn’t quite repaired itself. It’s not easy to blog away about running/walking, to be intentionally trivial at such a time. Not easy but the show must go on.

‘Oh, before I sign off; the stair-walking. I should explain. Snowdon before Paris’

 Preparation for Paris ’24 apace. Apace meaning at a slow, slow slug-like pace. At walking pace. At least 5K per day has been the September plan, and often 10K. Also arm lifting 5kg weights (surprisingly heavy), walking up and down the stairs for 20 minutes, soon to be 30’, stretching, and some home-made Pilates.

 September acting again as a transition from ‘crippled with Achilles pain’ through walking to October and a gentle ‘Return to The Jog’.

 Much of the above accompanied by podcasts: Rob Bell, More or Less, The Curious Case of Rutherford and Fry, Bryony Gordon’s MadWorld, and others rather than endless music.

 Oh, before I sign off; the stair-walking. I should explain. Snowdon before Paris.

 Snowdon is approximately equivalent to up and down my stairs four hundred times. Everest is…no I haven’t calculated that. But I’m hoping to reach base camp for Snowdon for a winter assault before Christmas. There will be rucksacks, stops for Mars Bars, tea from a flask, scenic photos, and a flag.

The 400

Running - actually a ‘not running’ blog 28th August

It’s walking boots not trainers for September

• Big decision: Abandon running ‘til October

• Why? Achilles

Welcome to the Stevens’ September Challenge

1. Morning Pilates – home-made version

2. Walk – at least 45’ but at least one 2-hour walk per week

3. Stairs – at least 20 up & downs + 1 x 100 up & down by end of September*

4. Others – an every-other-day smorgasbord

*The equivalent of climbing Mount Snowdon is approx 400 ups and downs - attempt sometime in 2023

October – tentative return to running: build up from 30” run + 1’ walk back to 4 x 5K (November) then 1 x 10K (December)

That’s the plan.

Being Half-American/ Half-Brit I’m torn between ‘Go for it!’ and ‘Believe it when I see it, John’

At least I have three days left in August to delete/edit this post and claim you only imagined reading it if you mention it in the future.

Running Blog - 6th August 2022

It’s one year and eleven months before the opening ceremony of Paris Olympics in July 2024.

Big questions persist over my participation.

Strangely though, despite, or maybe because of my latest setback, I am fortified and have that steely look sometimes – well, expressionless anyway – when I stumble to the bathroom and make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror prior to shaving.

I’ve not only been feasting on the athletic prowess on show in Birmingham at the Commonwealth Games but enjoying feeling I have, at last, joined the athletic ‘community’ who prevail despite multiple injuries, Covid, and other pitfalls in life. It seems to be an athlete these days one must have a good ‘back-story’.

Mine continues; I suspect to be Anno-Domini’ related. I barely recover from one injury and then incur another. This week is a case in point.

Bad back followed by Covid out paid to any running until two weeks ago. My first recovery run was on July 23rd but ended up in A&E as reported in the previous post. Once the bruises subsided, I repeated the same course 6 days later July 29th…this time without falling over.

But I did feel a slight twinge in my left Achilles.

Four runs later and the ankle is in ice. It’s not good. Maybe I shouldn’t have even attempted to run yesterday but it felt better. Upon return though, clearly not.

So it’s ice and Ibuprofen. Am I frustrated? There are no words.

My back story may be enhanced but my running pace remains slightly below the required standard.

There’s still time, isn’t there?

Running Blog 23rd July - ended in A&E

I’m sure you’ve heard the same wise voices as I have, sharing their miserable theories that running is bad for your health and we’d be far better off sitting in an armchair eating olives and attempting 3-across on the Times Crossword?

After this morning’s ‘Recovery Run’ I can feel their supercilious smiles and ‘told you so’ eyes sparkling away. I should explain.

The day started so well. I woke up at 5 to a very still and bright morning. Running kit on. Fitbit watch strapped to my left wrist. Satsuma for afters. Water and towel. Car keys. Ready to go. The drive across the deserted Downs and down through Hotwells to my usual parking slot at Cumberland Basin was uneventful and calm; I was lost in my early morning thoughts.

Setting off in the sunshine, I decided to take the clockwise route around the Harbour perimeter. One or two dog-walkers were up but, otherwise, no-one else was around. From the sky I could hear loud whooshes from a hot-air balloon and all was well.

A mile or so from the start and I am running on a straight path with no obvious obstacles, no steps up or down. Sunglasses are reducing the glare from the dawn sun low on the horizon, then Bang! I tripped over something, maybe a loose paving slab, I don’t know, and I’m falling. In less than the second it took to hit the deck I remember thinking ‘O no this is going to hurt!’ not due to falling but having to break the fall with my left arm which is currently troubled by serious bursitis in the shoulder. The last time I had to extend my left arm to grab a handrail I was on the floor in extreme pain. Maybe therefore I didn’t extend the arm, or couldn’t, but before I knew what was happening, I’d cracked my forehead on the pavement and was rolling around feeling rather sore.

Recovering, and leaking blood from my head wound with drops of blood falling on the path, I tried to stem the flow with my nice blue t-shirt…and, yes, I can confirm red + blue still = purple!

Somewhat shocked I got to my feet and walked and ran past the few others up early with ‘You should see the other guy’ comments ready should anyone ask. But we’re British, and no-one noticed, or, if they did, they didn’t enquire.

An hour or so later and after calling 111, I ended up in Southmead hospital A&E. The NHS nurses were professional, attentive, listened patiently to my ridiculous story, and – thankfully – used a local anaesthetic (thank you!) before cleaning out the various cuts and abrasions and the mess above my left eye and wielding needle and thread.

Will I take to olives and newspaper crosswords? Watch this space.

So far, my prep for Paris 2024 is yet to be as boring and methodical as perhaps I’d prefer - far too much drama.

Running Blog 21st July 2022

When I’m Sixty-Four

It seems starting a running blog at the age of 64 is faintly amusing. In fact starting anything at 64 is likely to produce wry smiles from those of insufficient years to understand that underneath this 64-year-old exterior lies a 17-year-old lad who plays rugby one day, kayaks the next, has a full round of gold plus a hot curry, gets up the following morning, and sets out on a leisurely 10 mile run in the sun, with his shirt off, just to increase his sun-tan.

The exterior reality is, shall we say, different.

Difference number one: be careful how you put your running shoes on. Leaning over and pulling on the laces might put your back out – again. Number two: yes, make sure you’ve done a number two before heading out, especially for a longer run. Number three: remember, nerve damage in toe on left foot limits the run to 10K. Number 4: you’ve just recovered from Covid, before that a bad back after sneezing put it out, and before that a muscle tear in the right calf…so maybe a very slow 5K.

And off I go. An hour later.

I don’t think I look too embarrassing. The shorts, black, are appropriately long without looking trendy and my shirt, black breathable fabric, is modest but not from the 1970s unlike my 17-year-old inner man. I’ve learnt not to pull up my short socks, somehow that would look silly, and does. But I do have outrageous orange shoes and I’m proud of the fact that the link to a more rebellious past isn’t completely broken.

Early morning - quiet

It's 6 a.m. and I’ve driven up to the scorched and tanned Clifton Downs and parked in the shade. It’s 6 a.m. because, despite retirement, my body seems to have a secret alarm that goes off at 5 or 4 but rarely 7 or 8. The advantage to me is that I can run without having to trip over other groups of athletic younger things and their training camp exercises, or battle through the earnest Nordic walking crowd with their ridiculous ski poles, struggling along on level ground (Yes, I know. I can hear you whispering…'with your bad back and feet maybe you should be stop running and start Nordicking?’ Over my dead body...is my presumptuous reply).

Freedom is leaving your poles by the nearest tree

The sun is up. I do my stretches. Careful! Manage to survive those and set off. It’s warm already, and quiet, just the swish of impressively fast bikers on expensive racing bikes and padded lycra. The early morning sun means I’m running into my long shadow and I wonder if the Nordic walkers will overtake me chattering away about health and wisdom, I’m running very slowly.

At the top of the first small rise, I can feel my heart rate and breathing are different to when I’m slouched at home writing a blog. Press on, down to the lookout point where you can peer down on Clifton Suspension bridge to your left and along the Avon to Shire, Pill, and beyond to Avonmouth...and buy ice cream later. I don’t stop. Before long I’m running back up Ladies’ Mile Road, past the Water Tower, and around to the long slightly downhill stretch to the small crossroad where all the camper vans are parked with their two fingers raised at the parking restrictions, and I’m back at the car. It’s a 5K route.

I am so very happy to have finally gone out for a run. I don’t care a hoot that I could have been overtaken by unidexters, frightened slugs, or slowworms. I have completed a 5K in glorious early morning sunshine, my back’s OK, my legs can still operate the accelerator and brake, and I didn’t stop.

Right at the end of my jog, just along from where I parked the car is a tree stump, the council having felled the diseased tree before it took out a whole set of Nordic Walkers or pedigree dog-walkers. From this stump I can now see a small branch sprouting a bunch of very healthy looking green leaves. It makes me think of all those of us whose lives are curtailed and restricted in some ways, even nations that decline and lose territory and identity…but not completely, and seemingly from nothing, from the apparent end, against all the odds, recover and the first shoots of recovery are seen.

In a very small way, that’s how I feel after so many weeks of looking plaintively at my orange trainers lying by the front door, and the shorts and shirts redundant in the drawer, simply to have jogged very slowly round the Downs.

On a larger scale of course, if one knows a few bible passages, is this from Isaiah 11: ‘A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit’ a passage that weaves together history and Messianic prophecy. Just for the moment, though, I’m going to drink in the hope, that this 5K is like a new shoot.

From the stump of Jesse…

Paris 2024 isn’t far off, I better get training.