Call the Midlife (23 page)

‘Ah, now that’s a bike.’

D’oh!

I chose not to take the conversation any further. I’d paid for the VFR anyway.

‘What you might want to consider for everyday use, though, is a brand-new BMW F800. They’re the nuts. A real mile muncher. I’ve got the 1200 version, state of the art, telephone, sat-nav – the lot.’

Mmm, so what I really needed then was the Honda for weekends, the BMW for schlepping back and forth to London and the Kawasaki Ninja to drool over through the kitchen window, which
looks straight into my garage. Perfect – three reasons to buy three bikes.

I really needed to sort out that licence.

But then, no, surely this couldn’t be true.

‘Hi, it’s me.’ It was The Hitman, His real name Hiten. He’s Indian and has been my assistant forever. ‘Er, why do you keep saying you don’t have a motorcycle licence on the radio?’

‘Well, because I don’t.’

‘But you do, you’ve had one for years: Category A – which means you are qualified to ride any motorbike without restriction, any motorcycle on the planet. You are Mr Super Bike if you want to be. It’s a test you must have taken years ago. Anyway I’ve checked with the DVLC and they’ve confirmed that is one hundred per cent definitely the case.’

Was that those angels I could hear again in my head?

I have forgotten many things in my life, like going to Japan to make a TV show, for example, but taking and passing my motorcycle test? Surely even I would be able to remember that.

But Hitman was insistent.

‘You’re also qualified to tow a trailer, drive a bus with not more than a certain number of non-paying passengers, and loads of other things. Apparently, Hits said, it was all to do with when I passed my test. Back in the good old days, passing the one basic driving test meant you could drive most vehicles ever invented.

After this hugely welcome news, it quickly began to sink in that all I had to do was get a bike delivered, get it insured and, after a few sessions around the local roads, I could be on the way to London five minutes later.

Hence Hammond’s recommendation of a (nearly new – 4,000 miles) BMW F800 GT rolling off the back of the local franchise dealer’s truck forty-eight hours later.

A nice man by the name of Paul had sorted me out and I was good to go. Not that I went anywhere for a few days: it had been below zero for over a week. The heart was willing but my nuts were not. Me, two wheels and the M25 would have to wait. For now.

As news of my new two-wheeled purchase leaked out, the general response was, ‘Please sell it immediately, you’re going to kill yourself.’

Except for Tash, who said, ‘I think it’s a great idea.’

Hopefully for the right reasons.

Thursday, 22 January

95 DAYS TO GO

Started my run from home wearing my running watch for the first time. A game changer.

Distance, time and pace. It enabled me to make up runs, turning left or right, knowing how far I’ve gone and when to turn back for home. A revelation.

Duration: 2.5 hours.

Distance: 12.6 miles.

Friday, 23 January

94 DAYS TO GO

No run. Went for a walk instead. Followed by an hour of sauna sessions in between radio show and
One Show
. Legs felt great.

Distance: 5 miles.

Tuesday, 27 January

10-DAY DEBRIEF

Amazing what you can do with a wee bit of discipline. Really never thought I would be here in life. Regardless of what might happen come race day, I’m thoroughly enjoying the regimen of training for a marathon.

I’ve taken to using a mid-run checklist based on what I was taught learning to fly. It’s called the FREDAT check and involves scans of the instruments to ensure nothing is obviously about to go wrong. Here’s how I adapted it:

These ‘onboard’ checks help me to assess what part of me needs a rest and when. Legs tired – give it more arms. Breathing too heavy – ease off. Mind wandering –relax, try to come back to the moment. No use my body being in the park if my head’s still at work.

Also for the first time in my life food has become an important commodity as opposed to an indulgence or treat. For the most part I’m now only eating what I know is good for me and what’s going to help me on my next run. Lots of porridge in the mornings. No bread, no crisps, lots of chicken and tuna. Have also fallen back in love with milk. An ice-cold pint from a glass is the first thing I have when I get back in from a run.

I’m sleeping better, with hardly any nightmares recently. Sharper at work. All good. Very little bad. Body’s still in bits, but you can’t have everything.

Saturday, 7 February

79 DAYS TO GO

Noah’s birthday weekend, even though it’s not actually his birthday for another three days. He’s asked to go to a soft play area with some of his mates. It’s a mums thing. I’ve agreed to take them all for pizza later. I run down to the lake where I do 5 miles of gentle jogging interspersed with half-sprints every 500 yards or so. It’s almost fun, but not quite. Then again, if anyone had told me two months ago that it would even come close to fun, I wouldn’t have believed them.

Walk home from the lake.

Distance: 7 miles.

Sunday, 8 February

78 DAYS TO GO

Another rest day from running but I throw in my first gym day. Cross-training highly recommended. Twenty minutes of gentle bike, light weights – upper body, sit-ups. Important not to let the rest of your muscles get left behind. Hugely important to keep body shape in proportion.

Monday, 9 February

77 DAYS TO GO

First three-stage run. Lots of firsts, keeping it interesting. Jog down to lake, step up pace for a bit, and again a bit more. Walk back home.

Duration: 90 minutes.

Distance: 6 miles.

Tuesday, 10 February (Noah’s sixth birthday)

76 DAYS TO GO

Read Mo Farah’s training schedule. Do you know he does a marathon every Sunday come rain or shine, no matter where he is in the world, fifty-two weeks of the year? But that’s not the big thing. Each week’s marathon is part of a 135-mile-a-week regime and is followed every Monday by a recovery run of 10 miles in the morning and a
further
6 miles in the afternoon.

Inspired by this . . .

Wednesday, 11 February

75 DAYS TO GO

Tempo run (I’ve started using the fancy terms now, not that I am completely sure exactly what they mean) in the morning. Distance: 6.5 miles, which includes (via my fancy watch) not one, not two,
but
three
new records (it does all this for you even if you don’t ask).

Easy run.

Afternoon: another 3 miles.

Weird but hilarious. My legs are aching so much from the morning I find it really difficult to run for the first mile in the afternoon, but then everything starts to click back into place and come on song.

Are the constant miles paying off? Careful, Evans, you know what they say: ‘Pride comes before a fall.’ You of all people should know that.

Friday, 13 February

73 DAYS TO GO

Run to Primrose Hill in London from Radio 2 to look at a house. Always fantasized about becoming a Primrose Hill Billy. Lived everywhere around there but Primrose Hill itself. Camden, Belsize Park, Hampstead.

The house is gorgeous, way out of my price range, but I put in an offer regardless. As a very wise mate of mine always says, ‘Just get in the deal’. The finer details (i.e. money) can be ironed out later.

During the run back through Regent’s Park, very light jog, saw a woman with an absolutely beautiful action. Mid to late thirties, so graceful, balanced, symmetrical. Stunning. Can’t stop looking at the way people run, all shapes and sizes, each with their own unique style.

Distance: 5 miles.

Saturday, 14 February

72 DAYS TO GO

Tash and I don’t do Valentine’s. Although we have booked a table for dinner at Tom Kerridge’s pub, the Hand & Flowers in Marlow; it sports two Michelin stars and is one of the greatest food experiences on the planet. We are not, however, going to be one of the millions of Valentine’s Day tables for two, we’ve booked to go with
Ben and Charlie, a couple we met via Noah’s school, plus a guest star last-minute addition to our party, the weather lady Carol Kirkwood. Random, but hey, I work with her every day, she’s such a positive force and no one who doesn’t want to should be on their own on Valentine’s. Those are the rules.

Also woke up this a.m. to the stark reality that tomorrow is ten weeks to go to the London Marathon. This has always been the most significant milestone for me. This is where the serious countdown begins. Everything I’ve done before has been trial and error and extemporization. From now on, everything will have to be super-structured and set in stone, or at least as much as it can be. I’ll have a mini blow-out tonight and then I’ll knock the booze on the head completely, except for a couple of birthday lunches I’ve committed to between now and race day.

Having said that, we’re also booked to go to the South of France for two weeks at Easter. Mmm, not ideal. I suppose this means I will need to try to complete my big pre-race run of 22 miles at marathon pace before we embark. Oh dear, looking at the calendar, that’s in just five weeks and six days from now. Gulp.

Chiropractor’s first this morning and then a run from there, central Ascot to Noah’s school to pick him up from Saturday-morning football.

Duration: 75 minutes.

Distance: 6 miles.

Monday, 16 February

70 DAYS TO GO

When I first attempted to run round the lake I made a deal with myself that I had to do the full distance before I allowed myself to get back in the car and drive home.

Today I’ve made a similar deal with myself, except instead of just over four miles, this time my target is 15 miles. Whatever happens I will not return home until I’ve completed 15 miles some way, somehow. Crawling is always an option.

And so off I shuffle, turning right out of my house, no phone, no nothing except the clothes I’m wearing and my running shoes.

My running watch is fantastic, the most important thing currently in my life after the roof over my family’s heads. I love the fact it allows me to go out and make up a fifteen-mile spontaneous run.

After an hour on the road I’ve covered my standard 5 miles but can’t even think about turning for home yet, as that would leave me 5 miles short. So I start throwing in extra loops or back doubles, a mile here, a mile there. My watch will sort it all out.

Just over 10 miles and I begin to struggle. My lungs are completely fine, I could stop and not even be out of breath, it’s amazing how they adapt to a different frequency of breathing. Worth taking up running just to know what that feels like. But my legs are really not happy; once the mileage reaches double digits they begin to feel heavy.

To make it home, the last 3 miles include three or four walking breaks for a good minute or so. Still, not bad for a beginner. I’ve completed 15 miles plus an extra mile for the cool-down walk home afterwards. My watch flashed up two new records:

One: new quickest 10k.

Two: longest run yet.

Duration: 3 hours 1 minute 37 seconds.

Not quite sure of what any of that means right now.

Just glad it’s over.

Tuesday, 17 February

69 DAYS TO GO

From what I learnt yesterday and with now less than ten weeks to go to the marathon, I begin to accept that a sub-five-hour time is probably not realistic. I decide that perhaps a more achievable but equally fulfilling goal might be to attempt to complete the marathon without stopping regardless of what time it is. I really was quite broken during the last 3 miles of yesterday’s run, yet in the
marathon I would still have another 11 miles to go.

Recovery run: 45 minutes.

Distance: 3.5 miles.

Wednesday, 18 February

68 DAYS TO GO

Big day. I have decided to buy some proper running gear. It’s time to get used to what I’m going to be wearing on race day. I run from Radio 2 to Kensington High Street, which I thought was about 5 miles away. It’s not, it’s less than 3. NOWHERE IS AS FAR AWAY AS YOU THINK IT IS! There’s a running shop there – in fact, there are more sports shops on Kensington High Street than any other high street in Britain. I haven’t checked, I’m just guessing, as there are no fewer than six within two hundred yards of each other. There’s also an inordinate number of banks and travel agents, for some reason.

I purchase some running leggings, some shorts, a top and a jacket. That’s it, I have now voluntarily joined the MAMIL crowd. My name is Chris, I am a Middle Aged Man In Lycra. I promised myself this would never happen. D’oh!

But what a difference my new super-light outfit makes. Especially the leggings, they immediately lend more support to my legs and my knees – they’re fairly singing out with joy! I now also look (a bit) like a ‘proper’ runner. I bounce back to Radio 2 through Hyde Park and down Oxford Street. I am Tigger.

Duration: 1 hour 20 minutes.

Distance: 6 miles.

Thursday, 19 February

67 DAYS TO GO

Tash and the kids have come to see me in London. We hang out together all day and end up in a brilliant Chinese restaurant. It’s called Feng Shang Princess and is an actual floating Chinese barge
on the Regent’s Park Canal just by the entrance to London Zoo. I highly recommend it.

It’s also one of the first places I was taken by record companies when I was a young producer, during the days when they still had budgets for boozy lunches to schmooze young innocents into playing their artists’ products on the radio. In fact it was this very restaurant where Kenny Everett found himself on the receiving end of one of the most original and memorable plugs of all time.