family – Page 11 – Never Give Up PT

It’s Allus Parky In This Bloody Field

I can sense the anticipation from the home crowd as the number 6 receives the football just inside the opposition half. He always looks to thread a pass through to his striker or take it past a defender or two and get closer to goal and have a shot himself. But this is decent opposition and he is snuffed out this time. He’ll have another moment of magic before full time. I’ve been to enough games to know what he can do.

Football is a sport like no other. It brings out an emotion in people that I wouldn’t usually see in their every day life. My latest game I went to see had the referee being taunted by the away fans. I’m sure that these fans were educated folk who were hard working citizens throughout the week, but then on this day as the whistle blew to start the game, they were football fans. Shouting stuff at somebody for a couple of hours becomes acceptable.

I’m sure you’re wondering the importance of this game. What significance did it have in the run up to the Premiere League title? Was it City and Liverpool at the Etihad Stadium? The Merseyside derby? No, it was the Scarborough under 8’s match played at home in a field in Filey. The little number 6 wizard happens to be my son.

“he’s our number 6 and he’s full of tricks la la la!”

I love football. I’ve been brought up on it. I’m a passionate Liverpool supporter and I’m a passionate supporter of my son when he plays. But I can honestly say that standing in the cold listening to swearing, abusive language and wannabe Klopps sharing their tactical know how is not my idea of pleasure. Its hard enough every Sunday morning watching my son, I don’t want to pay £100 for a Premier League ticket for the privalage.

But the dilemma is that my kids love football too! Jonas, my eldest, is obsessed but there might be hope for Finlay. He seems to enjoy other sports and seems to show an interest in different activities away from sport too. I would travel to wherever it takes me with my kids to give them the opportunities to progress in their interests, but it’s going to get a little bit more challenging in the years to come.

It’s not just the fact that I find freezing my arse off in a field on a Sunday morning, plus the two training evenings, a bit tedious each week. But if Finlay wants to follow in his brother’s footsteps at football that’s double the training plus a different venue to travel to on the Sunday.

Just before the pandemic my wife handed in her notice at her job to start her new business. Exciting times. We took out a loan for my wife to get a car as she had recently passed her test. This would open up new opportunities for us and our kid’s extra curricular opportunities as we could both take them to their chosen activities. But unfortunately, as my wife had put in her notice at work weeks before the first lockdown she was not entitled to any financial support. And as the gym’s had to close, we knew that the money we had could not be spent on a second car.

A second car has always seemed as a bit of a luxury to us. Due to the extra costs and the environmental impact we were getting a second car totally out of necessity. And with fuel costs going through the roof I cringe going to the petrol station as it is. But buses on a Sunday morning to some random village outside of Scarborough aren’t very regular, so we were prepared to bite the bullet.

As always we will find a way for our boys to be able to do what they want. But I’m still encouraging them to discover new things. I can’t imagine parents screaming at the guitar teacher like how they do at football with the ref. “Oi, teacher, that’s a D major, mate. You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Or an angry dad with a hand gesture to the gymnastics instructor and certainly not barking orders to the Kickboxing champ teaching little Ocean how to Roundhouse.

Football is a different breed. My respectable dentist could easily be the dad throwing coins onto the pitch and heckling the man in black at next week’s under 8’s match. Who knows?!

I really wouldn’t want to be here, even it meant seeing Salah score a worldy.

So for the foreseeable, possibly at two different football pitches each week, I could easily be nodding to the parents next to me saying, “It’s allus parky in this bloody field”. And if my boys manage a top bins or two, deep down I’ll be more than happy to do it.

A Husband…

Spa Date

As a business owner with half of his business online, the idea of a phone detox for most of the day is unsettling. Whether it be on holidays or Christmas day a quick phone check is never too far away.

Today, however, if anybody needed to contact me they would have to find me laid on a hot stone in a herbal sauna room at Alpamare. My wife and I had booked a spa day.

We have concluded that evenings out without child care is impossible so instead we must take out some times from our booking schedules from the daytime to give to ourselves. Sometimes, as the weeks roll on, it is easy to forget about us and our marriage as our jobs as Shay the PT, Lou the massage therapist and our mummy and daddy jobs take over. We love our jobs and we love our kids, but we still need to allow ourselves occasions where we become Shay and Lou. Individuals. Partners. Man and wife. So three hours in a spa was very welcome.

But a few hours spa session isn’t just necessary for busy parents. And nor does it have to be a spa session. Bowling, the cinema, a restaurant meal or simply going for a walk can all be good respite from the daily grind.

It can all come under the umbrella of wellness and it can be done alone too, just as long as you do it.

I often encourage my trainees to reward themselves, celebrate their wins and acknowledge their achievements. Now, although I am a PT and this can be interpreted as achievements in a gym setting, the broader picture is what we are achieving in all aspects of life. One part of life is rarely successful if the rest is stressful, unmanageable or damaging.

I couldn’t be a good coach if my home life was crap and I couldn’t be the best husband or dad if I hated my job. And if I am suffering in these most important aspects of my life, then my motivation to succeed in the gym would suffer. If this suffers, my health and wellbeing suffers. And there goes the vicious cycle, because if I am not at my most physical and mental best then it is my family and work that will go into decline.

So there’s a lot to be said for wearing a towel robe and having a foot scrub whilst listening to rainforest music.

Rewards are sometimes confused with food choices. Some professionals subscribe to the notion that a good active week means that we can reward ourselves with a biscuit. I disagree. I’m not a dog. I don’t perform a trick and beg for a biscuit. If I want a biscuit I’ll have a bloody biscuit. Food rewards make for a poor relationship with food. Food treats cause anxiety.

Our funds won’t stretch to weekly spa dates and as much as we try to create gaps in our daytime schedule if we are lucky enough to be extra busy then we take the opportunities to be at work. We are both in careers that don’t offer security from week to week or pay sick and holiday pay, so if work is available we take it. Therefore our times together are precious.

And once the kids get home from school and I’m back in the gym, those rainforest sounds will seem like a long time ago!

Young People And Resistance Training

My kids are beginning to ask about the work that I do. My eldest, who is 8, goes to football practice at the same sports centre as where I do the majority of my personal training so he often sees the inside of a gym and is very inquisitive about what each piece of equipment does. His first love is football, but ever since he did gymnastics from 4 years old I could see his love for all sports and movement.

There is a big debate about what age a child should be introduced to resistance training and, although many people say that a child as young as 8 is too young and can stump growth due to damaged growth plates, more recent research strongly suggests that it is the perfect age.

So, my view is this…

If you are going to train incorrectly then you shouldn’t begin resistance training at all until you know what to do. And that’s at any age. You will almost certainly cause more harm than good.

An 8 year old can do very light resistance training if they are being taught correctly. Studies show that it can strengthen a child’s bones, joints and muscle, improve movement as they grow and are able to avoid injury or recover from injury quicker. It is also a great discipline that improves self esteem.

Jonas trying out the chest press machine

Resistance training can do everything for a child that it can for an adult, but for a young developing body it has a great advantage over an older body that has stopped growing. The idea that it can have a detrimental effect to a child’s body was amplified in reports by the American Academy of Pediatrics almost 40 years ago and their concerns shouldn’t be discounted even now.

However, due to a much greater knowledge of resistance training and hundreds of papers later, it is understood that it can be done safety. And it is a calculated risk that I’m willing to take with my kids. After all, they’ll be guided by a qualified PT. Not many kids will have that luxury. Indeed, due to not having PT parents and the reports on young people performing resistance training being largely negative as I were growing up, it is something that never even entered my mind to want to do.

My idea of a gym back in the 80’s were of a backstreet garage and grunting men. Maybe that isn’t wholly accurate, but nevertheless, gyms have most definitely changed since then. The gym I train at, which calls itself a Sports Center and homes the town’s football team Scarborough Athletic FC, caters for the young and old with a variety of sports to play. For a young athlete, it is a kid’s dream. I can’t deny my kids a little taster of it’s gym equipment.

With no added weight to the machine, Jonas attempts a seated row

My eldest has an appetite for being in the gym and learning about what and why certain movements are performed. Many activities are often body weight only, such as squats, press up or a plank. We don’t need to load the bar just yet! But just getting the taste for it right now is a positive step in him becoming an active and strong (both mentally and physically) young man.

And I’m hoping that when both of my boys are strong athletic men they’ll be able to push their dear old dad to the shops.

Foraging In The Happy Place

I’ll admit it right from the off. I’m no Ray Mears.

However, I do like a spot of foraging with my family. Showing my kids how to develop a healthy relationship with food has to be one of the most rewarding of parenting jobs. And turning to nature is the best place to begin.

Mindful eating doesn’t have to start at the dinner table, or indeed in the kitchen. Hunting for food should be one of the most natural things we can do. Mindful eating can start by searching, feeling and smelling for our food.

We are Homo Sapiens. We are meant to hunt. I am convinced that a reason our society is at a critical stage with depression and obesity is that everything we are as humans is slowly getting stripped away. And men, the once titled hunter gatherer, has a much higher suicide rate than females in the western world.

What sense of achievement or satisfaction does a man get from bringing home a KFC bucket to his children? His skills, bravery, creativity and masculinity stripped away from him because humans were too clever for their own good. They invented the convenience of fast food shops and supermarkets. They no longer needed to hunt.

Now I’m not saying that progression and development of societies aren’t useful. But for all of our knowledge, technology and convenience we should still remain grounded in remembering what we are and what makes us tick.

My family and I are lucky enough to live by the sea. Its a 5 minute walk to the cliff edge and the wildlife is fantastic. During lockdown it became our happy place and it soon became a venue for foraging. Today, we were hunting for nettles.

Marigold at the ready to pick the nettles

Once washed and blanched, nettles make great tasting soups, pesto and hummus. Not exactly high on our boy’s list of favourite foods, but we’ve been foraging for a while now and still haven’t come across pizza or fish fingers, so we’ll keep working on their range of favourite meals.

What our kids did discover today though, even if their reactions will look more like a bush tucker trial when it comes to feeding them it, is where the food comes from. They found it and picked it from the land. Their attitude to food, I hope, will be a positive one. One that can find food from the cliff edge as easily as finding the freezer section at Sainsbury’s.

The UK media talk about the possibility of taxing junk food to put consumers off of buying it. But this will only hit the poorest in our society. What we need to do is educate our children if we are to break the cycle regarding our attitude to food.

Our two hours foraging today was, the kids agreed, their highlight of the weekend. That makes me very happy. In a society where competing against the Xbox for the kid’s attention, I’ll settle for that right now.

Everybody Needs Good Neighbours

There are a few stand out memories of when I was a child with my mum. And now that she has gone, those memories become even more special.

Watching Liverpool against Arsenal in the old first division on TV with my dad and my mum entered the room and shouted “Come on Arsenal!” remains high up there. Arsenal’s Michael Thomas scored straight after my mum called for Arsenal. It was a last minute winner for them in the last game of the season to clinch the title away from Liverpool.

League titles for Liverpool have been hard to come by since then, so I’ll never forget that!

We went abroad on holiday as a family a few times which seemed very luxurious for us at the time, but it was a week in Skipsea, Primrose Valley or Morecambe that I remember the most about my mum on holiday. 10 people cramming into a caravan for a game of cards late at night while the kids watched on fuelled by sweet seaside rock no doubt. Good times.

And then there were the times that I was ill and didn’t go to school. I remember my mum bringing me a chunky veg soup and watching Neighbors on TV with me. Neighbours was on twice a day and it’s first daily showing was at lunchtime. I don’t think I’ll be the only kid who remembers watching Neighbours with their parents. Whether it was on a lunchtime or it’s teatime showing, families would all want to know the gossip on Ramsey Street.

Imagine my disappointment then, of hearing that Neighbours was getting cancelled. After 37 years on our screens it had finally met its end. And listening to a phone in on the radio I realized that there were lots of other people who had watched it with their parents too. It was a part of growing up! In fact I was surprised to discover that many of these people talking about their memories of watching Neighbours with their parents were actually now watching it with their own kids! I had stopped watching it in the early 90’s. I probably ditched it for the edgier Heartbreak High.

So I find it odd that I find myself writing about a TV programme that I haven’t even watched in 30 years and I’m obviously emotional by this news!

But it isn’t because I will never know what happens to Karl Kennedy or find out if Scott and Charlene lived happily ever after.

It is the thought of something comforting and familiar that sparked a happy memory… disappearing. I live just half an hour drive from Primrose Valley and Morecambe is still there. Liverpool and Arsenal will continue to battle it out in top flight football. It continues to exist and bring memories.

But slurping on a bowl of chunky veg soup with Neighbours on TV with my mum next to me won’t happen again and the comfort of the settings, the characters and the theme tune will become even more distant than ever before.

Isn’t it funny what memories we keep?

The Greatest Teacher, Failure Is.

Am I going to start getting hate mail if I admitted to you that I have never seen a Star Wars movie? Add James Bond, Lord Of The Rings, Game Of Thrones and Harry Potter and you have the full set of movies or series that the rest of the world seem to have watched that I haven’t. I fear a perma ban imminent.

My kids, however, love Star Wars. But not enough to have an attention span to watch a full movie. Hence my ability to boast such a statistic.

My youngest loves Baby Yoda. He has a Baby Yoda teddy. I know that he is a character in Star Wars but I’m not sure where Baby Yoda came from. Anyway, Yoda seems pretty cool.

And I know from the amount of books and annuals that my boys have that Yoda has a few wise words to give. My favourite happens to be ‘The Greatest Teacher, Failure Is’.

Failure can teach us so much about ourselves. How we react from it can mould our personalities. I might be the only dad on the touchline who wants his kid’s team to lose sometimes. They are by far the most superior team in the under 8’s league so I know how my eldest reacts through victory, but I like to see his response to defeat. He will realise as he grows up that there are far more disappointments in life than there are successes. So having the emotional grounding to deal with that will help him embrace the victories.

You can only become a good winner if you are first a good loser.

Competition was always something that I excelled in as a kid, at least in a sporting context. I was very average at my academic work and my motivation at school was a case of doing what I had to until the bell rang. In the football field however, I’d give my all. And it was the same in every sport. These days I only run for a bus or if I am chased by a zombie. I tend to miss a lot of buses and I’m concerned about my ability to survive a zombie holocaust if it would ever happen. Yet at school I was a champion runner. I wanted to win, but even then, I realized that failure was a part of the game. It hurt, but it made me better at my sport. Any sport.

Due to sciatica affecting my performances and my recovery I stopped playing many sports. Contact sport were out of the question. I was a keen kickboxer in my early twenties but kicking became painful as the sharp shooting pain ran down my leg. My opponents never hurt me but my injuries did.

Before my passion for sports disappeared altogether and the pull of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll totally gripped me I had to make a decision. How could I still feel a part of a sport and experience success and failure? I took up darts, snooker and chess but they could all be played whilst eating a pizza and drinking beer.

I was introduced to the gym by a friend at a vital time in my life. For me, the gym is my sport now. It cured my injuries as I learned the correct form. And I could have my buzz of failure and success again. There are so many failures involved with a fitness regime. Much much more that there are successes. In fact, blink and you might miss the success. In the gym I climb a hill just to discover a bigger hill. And I like that. Sport doesn’t have to mean me competing against an opponent, it can mean competing against myself.

Today I will compete against my yesterday’s self. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose. Either way, I will have been taught something.

Perhaps I should watch Star Wars just for Yoda. He seems like a real dude. But that Vader bloke? He needs to take a leaf out of my book, quit the ciggies and get to the gym.

Saturday Night

As the Black Eyed Peas once sang ‘Tonight is gonna be a good, good night.’ Over the years I’m sure I will have belted that song out as I got ready to go out to the bars and clubs on Saturday night.

These days, though, I’m happy if I get a few black eyed peas in my curry. Saturday nights with kids and with absolutely no desire to replicate my nights in a club before searching for a taxi at four in the morning means that fun and an appreciation for our relax time comes in a different way.

Tonight is a ‘curry off’ in our house. My wife and I usually make this a quarterly event. We each make a curry and side dishes, sit down with a glass of fizz and compliment each other’s cooking whilst secretly thinking that theirs is the best dish. (My wife is the chef in the house, but my vindaloo is unbeatable).

Once we have finished our meal we will crash on our sitting room sofas. This week has been half term, we’ve continued juggling our work and the kid’s extra curricular stuff and, although there’s an early start tomorrow for my eldest’s football match, crashing on the sofa with a couple of beers after good food and great company means that I am totally unapologetic about it. My week, for the most part, is done.

Once the kids are in bed my only gripe will be how Noel’s Crinkly Bottom was so much better than Ant & Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway. I have other worries too. Those who frequently read my blogs might have gathered that I am an over-thinker. But I can’t fix wars or the world’s issues tonight. I have to concern myself with my own family. And tonight is a curry off, crap TV and, if I can convince my wife, a horror movie. That’s my Saturday night.

We enjoy cooking together. It doesn’t always happen due to work commitments but even if I know that I am cooking for the both of us I am able to explore recipes and learn something new. Mindful eating is an important part of a balanced lifestyle but that has to start by mindful cooking. The textures, the smells, the tastes and the colours always excite me when I am cooking. Not only is the process quite therapeutic, but knowing what I am putting inside of my body is rather empowering.

Now, in no way can I do this at every meal time! Sometimes a couple of crumpets and a protein shake is about as much as I can manage if time is limited. But when I can get that time to cook, especially together with my wife, it is precious.

And when we get around to making our curries this evening, it might not seem as exciting as a night out in Leeds type of party, an Ant and Dec Takeaway party or as Blobby Blobby as a Mr Blobby party. But it will be OUR house party. Crinkly bottoms and all.

So tonight IS gonna be a good, good night. I can feel it.

The Great British Sausage Off

Comparing my sausages on a Sunday morning and putting a timer on my phone to take a picture of them is not what I imagined doing this Sunday. But my wife is in the bath and my kids are perfecting their Fortnite dances in the living room so I thought I’d make them a breakfast. Out came the sausages.

Meat or vegetarian? Will my kids know the difference?!

For those who have followed my previous posts you might remember that my wife did the whole Vegan-uary thing in January. She totally embraced and enjoyed it. And although I didn’t commit to this, due to living and eating together for most meals, my meals became animal free too.

I eat meat. I like eggs, butter and my one true addiction…cheese. Eggs are a versatile, quick and easy protein source and butter is dolloped onto my crumpets far too often. But I could probably take them out of my diet fairly easily. And I can go days now without eating meat thanks to my wife. But cheese?

We will only have a ‘full english’ breakfast once a month. There are a number of reasons for this. We usually have early activities to do with the kids at the weekend so we opt for quicker meals. Also I can rarely eat as early as the kids wake up times so I will prepare their breakfast way before my wife and I are ready to eat.

But today my eldest has no football match to go to and it has been a casual Sunday morning. A Steve Wright love songs on radio 2 sort of morning. As I lay in bed my thoughts turned to sausages.

My kids are needing a little bit more convincing when it comes to meat free alternatives, but the breakfast I’m cooking this morning will be with Linda McCarney’s vegetarian sausages. I’ve had them before and I’m confident that they will like them…as long as I don’t tell them!

Are we preconditioned to eat meat? Does society sway our young minds to choose meat? At school my kids have options for meat or meat free, but unless they’re happy to eat a jacket potato every day the meat free options are limited. There’s still a stigma to vegetarian meals and certainly to vegan meals that they are boring. Maybe some schools and, for us adults who go to restaurants, this might be the case. The animal free section of the menu might be a little uninspiring.

I’ll be sure to update you on how my vegetarian sausages did with the kids but for now I must sign off as they’ll never eat them if they burn in the oven. A charcoaled sausage in whatever form it arrives onto your plate is never going to be a success.

Today I Am A Monster

Today I am a demonic monster. That is the image that I put into my blog and on social media. Therefore it must be true.

Yet it isn’t, is it? Because behind the keyboard and with a click of a button I can tell you what I am and it is believed. Social media allows us all to be whatever we want to be. But social media isn’t real life.

If I wanted to super reduce my calories for a few weeks, suck my belly in, take a posed picture of myself and filter it I would look ripped. An instant six pack.

But I don’t want to dupe my followers or trainees. I don’t want to give people the wrong idea of what having a healthy body looks like.

I get dozens of images of posed pictures of trainers on my feed asking me to ‘sign up’ or ‘try this’ because of the algorithms on social media. It assumes that it is giving me the content most relevant to me. I’ve been in the industry too long and I’ve witnessed every trick in the book.

There might be 99% of people that their post will reach that smells the bullshit, but the 1% who buy the magic diet pill will make them a lot of money.

On social media I see people chuffed to bits sharing their bouquet of flowers on valentine’s, but are miserable as sin with their partners for the rest of the year.

I see family photos of a family and their angelic kids. A lovely moment captured yes, but we never see the kids kicking and screaming at each other and their parents losing their minds five minutes after their lovely photo. And it happens. I’ve just described my family and I know we’re not the only ones.

But it leaves the observer confused, frustrated and depressed.

Why can’t I look like them?

Why don’t I get flowers like that?

Why won’t my children behave as well as those kids?

But all we have seen is a snippet, a moment deemed suitable to share to the world. Add a bit of filter and we can all look like the idyllic movie star or The Waltons.

Social media is not real.

I am not a stage ready bodybuilder but I can be. I haven’t got hair but I can have. I am not the perfect father but I can show you my perfect father moments. I’m not the perfect husband but I can show you the flowers I bought my wife.

I am not a monster and nor am I perfect, but if I wanted you to believe that I was either one, then I am a filtered picture away from you believing that I was.