Inspiration

Many times temptation allows you to flop on the sofa, feet up, beer in hand and searching for some munchies.  Getting up and about, away from the 'box can be such a chore.

Whilst sitting there munching on your Pringles, thinking about opening, and moving on to, that bottle of red in the cupboard, there are people all around dedicated to their cause.

They may be running, getting ready for a marathon.  Walking their dog in the endless rain, day in, day out. They could be sprinters, cyclists, gymnasts, walkers, swimmers.  All of them getting up early, turning around after work and putting in their 'stint'. Maybe working and breathing 24/7 in their quest for their goals.

Compare this with the other end of the spectrum.  The 'I can't get motivated. I can't lose weight. Why should I be bothered' brigade.

Underneath, both these types are exactly the same. Human, no different.  Some are driven, some are not. So what?

Here's my point.  A single experience I had recently.

I'm sitting watching shoals of swimmers racing, to get their PB's, at the local swimming club event.  Healthy kids, young and old, pushing themselves, having a focus.  Healthy kids from all over the country.  Our future. Not hanging around corners, vandalising, wrecking havoc just doing something good. 

But it wasn't this that inspired me.  No. What inspired me was the ten year old boy who swam against his peers in the 50m freestyle heat.  He came third out of four boys.  He then went on to do other heats. So what was the big deal?

The big deal was that this ten year old showed something special. Something that got my undivided attention. This ten year old is a double amputee.  Yet, he swam against abled boys and even beat one head on.

That's what inspired me.  That's a boy who is dedicated.  That's a boy that has got off his backside and said: "You know what? I'm no different from the next boy, I'm not going to make excuses. I'm getting on with it."

I wonder what he would think of those individuals that insist they need gastric bands fitted?

Medical reasons, I'm not at all convinced! What they need to do is be honest with themselves and watch this young boy and other kids like him. If that doesn't inspire them then they might as well give up completely.

I'm sure his parents are really proud, and so they should be!

Thanks also goes to Gloucester City Swimming Club for their hard work in this field.

Please note the image is a library picture, for illustration only, not of the boy concerned.

It's Just a Plastic Bit

So the saga continues. Why are such simple tasks so unnecessarily big issues?

All I want is a bit,  a plastic bit. A bit that will fix my leak. A bit that will eventually cost me no more than four quid. So why should it be such an ordeal?

Is it because I don't look like a 'Trader'? Should I have visited the shop decked in my cargo trousers and sweatshirt? No. They would know I'm not a real plumber, of course; everyone seems to know each other here. I wonder whether there's such a thing as Freemasons for plumbers? I wonder this thought as I glance around, all of them sipping the their machine tea and talking fittings and pipes?

I don't know what it's really called, it's just a plastic bit. I don't even know how to fit it yet,  but I'll figure it out. I just want it....p..l..e..e..a..s..e!!!!!

Well, three visits and two broken promises later.

I could'nt really care that the Cearphilly branch had sent one without the seal, and now one without the clip. I couldn't give a hoot that they can't even make one good one out of two because they can't find the one they already sent you. I just want my plastic bit! That's all.

Away I trot, again, eagerly anticipating a call tomorrow, from Neal, that my Bit, MkIII, will be here.  Will he check this time that it is a complete bit?

 
So, if I was a plumber in the middle of a job, how would I feel? Nothing to do with not being a trader, just about poor service.

Now you know, then, why tradesmen cost so much these days. Its not really the call out fee, it's to compensate for inefficient suppliers.

PS: Deadline for MkIII has now gone and passed. Off we go again, I guess...will I ever see it?

Who knows? Good job it's not raining much!!!

Craig Finnikin Win (Coventry July 2012)

What was supposed to be another downpour over England,  the sun settled down for another rare appearance allowing some enjoyment of outdoor sport.

This time,  a quick trip to Brandon and the home of Brisca Stock Car Racing,  a place frequented regularly as a kid and getting its second outing of the year.

Times have changed somewhat since the 80's; more H&S, and the grass has gone from the middle: a place where I thought maybe a new pitch for Coventry City could be had.  Well, I was only 12!

So Coventry City get the Ricoh Arena (or is it City of Coventry Stadium now?) and Brandon sees only one entry/exit on to the track, no barrels any more and sadly no Stuart Smith,  who sadly passed away two Christmas' ago.  The scoreboard still doesn't work and remarkably it looks like the same ice cream vans can be spotted on each bend. The pits still a million miles away from F1, especially after all the recent rain.

After watching the novelty which is Mini Stox (kids racing Minis) the almighty roar,  which is V8 grunt, sparked up - a sound which still gives goosebumps.  The names are still there, of course, but now I know I'm getting old sighting second generation families; Finnikins, Nodens, Wainmans, Scrivens, (Harrisons & Smiths - absent from last night) all following in their fathers footsteps,  but in the mix can still be seen the stalwart which is John Lund, still going and obviously still living the thrill of the sport.

The night didn't disappoint. Four and half hours of unaldulterated small oval racing. Great racing and awesome finishes, a credit to the drivers involved. If you've never gone, then you must.  No prima donnas here just all round great entertainment,  loads of noise, dust and action.

Mid way through I did venture down to the pits and dreamt of remortgaging to buy my  'race winner'. Twenty grand is all it would have taken and I could have been the next World Champion.

Maybe next month then. Just need to find some sponsors me thinks.

Of course the night went to Craig Finnikin  who, not only won the race that you can see in the video clip but, went on to a memorable and impressive final bend win for the British Championship.

Will I be going again?  Damn right I will. 

Coventry holds meetings on the first Saturday of each month (April - November).

Coventry Stadium

Give it a try - you won't be disappointed, only don't dress up in your Sunday best!

More info at Brisca F1 

One Moment of Sunshine

Huffing and puffing was the order of the day when, all of a sudden, there was a welcome break in proceedings. Yes, a moment of calm and brightness, more commonly known as The Sun!

Racing home from work, checking constantly that it wasn't going away, in anticipation of finally managing to get a ride in before it changed again. This time last year I had managed to cycle every weekend and, after the clocks had changed, at least once in the week as well. This year? Well, I think I can count on one hand how many rides have been accomplished.

What the hell has happened to this weather? Has God really filled his bath too full allowing the constant cascading of liquid to descend on us? Who has upset all the Angels that they cannot stop crying? Global warming..I think not. What ever is causing this, it's certainly narking everyone off but at least you can use your hose pipe now!

Anyway, where was I? A quick change into the Lycra, a pump up of the tyres, crank the music up on the iPhone and we're away. A quick sprint and hill climb....back in an hour.

Well, that's what I thought. The hill I climbed so easily last year seemed to have got steeper and higher. The brakes seemed to be binding, surely? And where the hell did all these pot holes come from?

Onwards and upwards I went, pretending to be fit, trying to look cool when other riders passed on the other side, but feeling my heart banging on my rib cage as I quickly ran out gears.

Eventually, I rode the crest of the hill to face incline number two. An undulating, deceiving little blighter which, after burning the quads on the previous incline, felt like an anchor had been chucked out behind me. Frantic slurping of the SIS juice was made in a vain attempt to rehydrate when Mr Volvo decided to try and turn me into a sideways ejector seat - at least he was safe behind his two million air bags and five tonne of steel bracing!

The sun shone more, wow what a novelty. It really was staying out to play for the whole evening.

I was at the summit, over seeing the beautiful English countryside, feeling pleased to be there. Now, I didn't want to go in, I wanted to cycle all night. I was, after all, Andy Schleck...

...until I realised I had come the wrong way. A 13% descent with a vertical climb out of the village. By now I was blowing, legs burning, sweat running into my eyes, burning like tear gas. Please, I don't want to meet any cars on this climb. There's only room for one of us and I'm snaking like a lizard, no way will I have the energy or will power to un-clip from my pedals - doomed to fall over like a domino.

There! Finally back on the main road, not meeting Mr Volvo again. What a relief.

The Odo clicks 37mph, the breeze cooling, if not chilling, my arms as I bomb down back to civilisation, the miles clicking faster, me feeling fitter now because I'm free wheeling.

I look to the right. A young mountain biker sits at the roundabout, oblivious as to what I had gone through. The passion for losing timber and fitness.

Back home, the family are also oblivious, feet up. One on the computer, one head in the telly and one in a magazine.

"Good ride, Babe?" she asks, head still in the magazine.

"Great thanks. Do you want to see the stats on my App?", feeling so proud of myself.

Just a nonchalant response came my way: "Ssh, I'm nearly at the end of this article. And hurry up and have a shower, there's no way your parking your backside on the sofa!".

In other words, 'whateva', I really don't give a damn - you're on your own pal. Does she not appreciate what I have just achieved?

Next time, I guess I'll do it with the lads - at least we can waffle about it all night over a beer.