It’s coming up to three years since I started blogging. December 13th 2001 was my actual first one. Perhaps my ability to write in a professional way or using my words in a more creative manner hasn’t improved much, that isn’t really up to me to judge. But it wasn’t ever really my intention to showcase my writing skills. There are many skilled bloggers and writers whose work I read that are expertly done.
I simply wanted to write something of a journal. Something that, occasionally, someone would read and identify with. Maybe give a piece of advice, either for the reader or my future self and make someone laugh or think.
My favourite place to write was in the gym. In-between sets I’d write another paragraph or two. The gym has always been my thinking space. But for the past year I haven’t had that space due to my move to Portugal. With the upheaval of buying a house and setting up a new business, my moments of sitting on a workbench and finding the headspace hasn’t been easy. And anyway, I don’t have a gym at the moment.
I always knew that this would be my biggest challenge. Despite my unhappiness of living in a place where I didn’t want to be, there was a part of my life that would be left with a heavy heart.
The sea at Cornelian bay was always a pleasure to look out to. Good for the soul. The gym of course, with my trainees and friends who I would see almost daily in there. It was like a community. I also helped out with coaching at schools and holiday clubs which gave me a great sense of achievement at making a kids day a bit better. And then there’s family of course.
I don’t have one bit of regret in regards to my move to Portugal, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t miss things from my previous life either.
This month was my birthday. My dad had planned a trip from England to visit for a couple of days. This would be the first time I saw him in just over a year. We talked, laughed and ate too much in the restaurants. The boys loved his visit. They were so excited. Unfortunately, despite November being a very sunny month so far, he seemed to bring the British weather with him! So it rained a lot.
I’m still working to get my gym space in order so that I can train and write my blogs in-between sets, but it hasn’t quite happened just yet. It’s all a process. I keep reminding myself of how far we’ve come to create what we have already. It’s all a process and I need to be patient. But in the meantime, I’ll leave you with a few pics from the past week during my dad’s visit.
I’ve recently watched a comedy/drama programme called Breeders. It was created by Martin Freeman who also plays the stressed out father in the show. In one episode he says to his 13 year old son “As a parent you make over a hundred decisions a day and you just hope that you get them right.”
Of all the decisions I’ve had to make in my life, those on the behalf of my kids have been easily the most challenging.
Since becoming a father I have changed. I see the world very differently now and, in many ways, I try to see it from their perspective. It is them who have to live in this world now. True I’m not old or ‘passed it’, but I also think that I’ve had my day. If I died tomorrow I’d be happy. I’ve seen enough. I could be greedy and want to see more, but look at what I’ve achieved already.
I survived school. I had loving parents. I went on caravan holidays and ate those mini choc chip cookies in my pajamas with about 8 other family members squished into the van. I felt that funny crush feeling when the ‘girl of my dreams’ walked past me in the school corridor. I also felt that crushed feeling when she never acknowledged me when I said hello.
I fell in love, out of love and all the different emotions in between. I’ve met good people along the way, some not so good. I’ve had some great jobs, eventually finding my vocation. I married my soulmate. Fathered two beautiful boys. I learned a new language. Moved to a different country.
I’ll carry on making memories, but my point is that if it was all to end tomorrow I would doff my cap to the Grim Reaper and bow out gracefully. The Grim Reaper doesn’t scare me, you see, he’s never been too far away. And anyway he’s a pussycat really. He can only take my shell. My energy will be around forever. My energy (or spirit if you’re spiritual) might even turn up to my old crush’s house to write sinister messages on her bathroom mirror!
But now it is my boys turn. They’ll make their own memories and a fair few of them will probably resemble mine, just like yours will. And as a parent I feel that it is my responsibility to prepare them the best I can. That means making decisions and hoping that I can get them right. Most of the time anyway.
I’m currently having to use my eight year old’s aftershave. He enjoys gelling his hair and dressing smart so a couple of years ago we decided to get him a set of aftershaves, a comb and little mirror. Nothing too lavish or expensive. But we recognized that he was very different from his older brother, who much prefers the ‘just got out of bed’ look.
Finlay wafting his aftershave at me
I don’t have any aftershave at the moment. I could buy some quite easily from the supermarket who do a nice selection. But along with socks and undies, I don’t feel like buying my own aftershave is my responsibility. It is that of the gift giver on my birthday and Christmas. I currently have holes in my socks with my undies swiftly catching up and I am creeping into my eight year olds bedroom to nick a bit of old spice. This will be the situation until November when I’m hoping a gift giver will replenish my underwear stock and Eau de Toilette on my birthday.
My point is that, now, I don’t ask for much. I need my kids to be happy and grow up feeling loved. That’s it. Twenty years ago I wouldn’t leave the house without spraying half a bottle of something expensive on me and it would have been a disaster if I had to get dressed in the gym changing rooms wearing holy socks and undies. But priorities change.
My kids will see many wonderful things, but I won’t pretend to them that life is a fairytale either. As they grow older they will see the ugly sides to life too. Maybe that was the purpose of us moving to a different country. Within three months of finishing at their school in England, they were in a school in the Portuguese countryside where nobody spoke English (apart from the English teacher). My wife and I pretty much pushed them into the water and said ‘There you go, swim!’
I want them to have chances in life and to help create opportunities for them, but I don’t want to make it too easy for them.
I’ve always felt parent guilt. You know, that feeling that in some way you are letting your kids down. Was I around enough for them as babies? Did I teach them well enough when we had to home school? Is taking them away from their only home that they know in England the right thing to do?
Taking Jonas out of his football team was one of the most difficult things. He was proud to play for his home town. Bloody good he was too! And the guilt continues in that I haven’t pushed for him to play for his new home town yet. Jonas is the timid one out of my two boys. Only last Monday he sobbed at the school gates on his first day back after the summer holidays because he didn’t want to go in. And there’s been a few occasions where he has not wanted to join in activities during the summer due to his anxieties of leaving us. So I’m not sure a new football team is right for him just yet. I want him to get a year or two of school under his belt first.
Jonas. The thinker.
But does my decision help me sleep at night? No. Parent guilt taps me on the shoulder as I’m just dozing off and says ‘Oi, you smelly, tatty socked sorry excuse of a dad. Let him play football or he’ll resent you forever!’
But I’ll prove parent guilt wrong in what he says, because from November I’ll have no tatty socks and I’ll smell like Paco Rabane!
Above is the Facebook link to mine and my family’s journey in creating our home and business in Portugal. If you haven’t already, take a look and join the group if you are interested to see further developments. There will be a big update over the weekend as we try to get the living areas ‘movable inable’.
Furniture building. We smiled for the camera, but the rest of the time we were cursing the instruction manuals.
Early on in my Personal Training career I decided to stop certain weight loss claims to grab a potential client’s attention.
Things like ‘lose a guaranteed 5 pounds a week on my new weight loss plan!’ seemed tacky and tabloid. It’s also misleading.
I also felt that the magic pills and fad diet ads that cluttered my social media feed were damaging to our health and fitness goals. But if they make money from you, they will sell it. They will claim any benefit they can in order for you to buy that product. The regulations on such claims are virtually none existent.
Social media allows us as individuals and the companies that are selling a service, to say whatever we like. Ok. We might be fact checked or receive a three day ban for going against certain guidelines, but how many people are we able to reach before it is flagged as inappropriate or false information?
And giving out falsehoods can be profitable if your face fits. A TOWIE turned influencer can successfully promote the latest diet fad. An extra from Home Alone can encourage an attack on the US Capitol. Heck! Even Katie Hopkins and Billie Piper’s ex can get the British voting public to leave the EU and destroy the economy. All by using buzzwords, soundbites and propaganda.
It has happened long before social media of course. The written press has lied to not only sell questionable products, but fund German fascist regimes ( 1933,The Mail, Lord Rothermere) and criminalise the victims of a football stadium disaster (1988, Rupert Murdoch, The Sun).
And here’s a story that proves the lack of investigative journalism in the UK for the sake of a headline. A story was put out about an England football fan who was so worried about the risk of England failing in the 2006 World Cup that he had paid £100 to insure himself against emotional trauma. The story continued that, if he could provide medical evidence that he had suffered trauma, he would receive a payout of £1 million by a particular online insurance company.
UK tabloids ran with this story, of course, but it didn’t stop there. The Guardian newspaper and the Telegraph too! It even made TV and radio news from no other than ITV, Sky and the BBC. Yes! The BBC! So it must be true, right.
No.
With a quick Google check it was discovered that this guy had been involved in insurance stories before using the same company. One involving insurance on his mortgage and, remarkably, he was the same England football fan who had insured his mental well-being at the previous World Cup in Japan in 2002.
As it turned out, this guy was a marketing director who specialised in promoting web based companies. He had successfully promoted the online insurance company whilst proving that the media, including the UK’s national broadcaster, were lazy in their attempts to bring us factual news.
The health and fitness industry relies heavily on the media running these kinds of remarkable stories in order to get the word out that their product really works!
‘Gemma lost 6 stone by drinking apple cider vinegar!’
‘Bryan gained a six pack by eating fish and chips every day!’
‘Gaynor looks drop dead gorgeous in figure hugging dress after this six week nutrition plan!’
And even I’m a part of that. I appreciate you reading my articles, I really do, but don’t just take my word for it! If there’s something that resonates with you in a health and fitness blog then do a bit of research and find out if it is right for you. Are there any other experts out there that are backing up what I’m saying?
The bottom line is that you have to do your own research when it comes to stuff that you read and hear. You’ll get to know credible sources. You’ll be more confident getting your information from certain people or publications. Ask people that you trust in your own life. Once you have gathered the evidence then you can make more informed choices. And if it is anything to do with your health and wellbeing, then being armed with informed choices is super important to you.
Here in the UK it is tennis season. The time where people who have never held a tennis racket before put on their white cap and head off to their local council tennis courts.
Many of them are surprisingly well kept. As a kid there were many courts on East End Park and they were generally in good working order. A few torn nets and a bit of broken glass in places but it made for an interesting game. And they were in much better condition than where we all played football, seeing as we would use the old discarded glue bags and the dog turd as goal posts.
It might have helped that the tennis courts were close to the caretaker’s house, so any vandalism would have been heard by him. I say ‘him’, but we never saw anybody coming from the caretaker’s house. A big house that resembled the one out of the amativille movie. I would quicken up my walk as I walked past.
I was one of these people who would pick up a racket for a couple of weeks during July. It is, of course, the Wimbledon tennis tournament. I would be sure to be wearing my long white shorts and t-shirt in an attempt to look like my favourite player, Andre Agassi. He was the first player to wear long shorts while his opponents were still in very tight 1980’s short shorts. I wanted room for my tennis balls to move about, so I thought baggy shorts were sensible. Agassi had a bit of a rock n roll attitude about him on court too. I had a rock n roll attitude, but I was crap at tennis.
One thing you can be sure of in England is that as soon as Wimbledon starts, the rain starts. It remains warm and muggy in the evening but the weather likes to postpone tennis matches for a couple of weeks with its incessant rain. Problematic for an outdoor tournament played on grass.
And to think, just last week I put the tent up in the garden for the boys to sleep out and it was cracking the flags for a full week. Hopefully the sunshine will come back but if we want to be entertained by Cliff Richard singing in the stands then the rain is bound to stick around for a couple of weeks yet.
So where does this leave me? A sports lover for sure but I’ve not watched a tennis match since Tiger Tim got a semi.
My only option then is cricket, where England and Australia play a game for about a year for a tiny trophy.
Yes, I’m missing the football season, which is odd seeing as I spent the beginning of this year wanting the season to end. There wasn’t much to cheer about being a Liverpool fan. A right back moving into midfield was as exciting as it got for me.
And you can bet that Wimbledon will take over the whole of the BBC. So when the continuity announcer tells us that EastEnders will be shown at a later date, I’ll be screaming ‘You cannot be serious!’ at the TV screen.
I walked up to my 8 year old son’s wardrobe with dread. I knew, as soon as I opened the double doors just very slightly a heap of clothes, football shirts, teddies and toys would spill out. As much as we ask him to tidy his bedroom we know that anything on the floor will get thrown into the wardrobe if he can’t find a home for it. We also tackle the cupboard often too. For some reason I’m the nominated football shirt sorter. My wife is the school uniform organizer. There are so many different football shirts so I feel like I’ve got the raw deal here . I put them in their correct place either folded for footy practice the next day by his bed, in his wardrobe or in his younger brothers drawer if they are small shirts. And if they have the shirts to match then the same procedure has to happen for them. The socks too.
But I can’t put all of the blame on our son’s lack of tidying up skills. Also inside of this wardrobe is loads of old clothes that no longer fit the boys. The tractor t-shirt that they both wore as babies, mittens, dungarees, shorts from their first summer holidays, coats from a few winters ago. I remember their first ever snowman that they built in those. I think that this wardrobe would be much more organized if mum and dad could just let go.
We’ve got so much better at not hoarding so much stuff. We’re both sentimental so selling or throwing our kids clothes can be tough but we do have periods in the year where we have clear outs. Certain coats, mittens and dungarees always remain though. They have special memories that we just can’t let go it seems. A tatty old Baby Jake book will always be remembered for the late nights getting our eldest to sleep as a baby. I knew the book by heart. How could we throw that?!
Funnily enough I’m not sentimental about the big, life changing stuff. I’m from Leeds and I moved away about 14 years ago. Apart from fleeting visits to see family occasionally I have no desire to go back. I have not once considered going back to the Corn Exchange for old times sake or standing at the steps of College of Technology all teary eyed. Stepping back in time seems daunting. But for some reason, the feather that my son picked up when he was one and a half remains at the bottom of the takeaway drawer in the kitchen. My mind pictures the moment every time I see it.
I have always wanted to reinvent myself in some way. Standing still or looking back doesn’t sit well with me. If I’m not happy with something I move on. I won’t dwell on the things that make me anxious. I didn’t like my birth name so I changed it. I don’t like where I live or work then I change it. And for the ultimate challenge if I don’t like my body, I change it. Selling up and moving on has come easily to my wife and I. In our 15 years together Scarborough has become our 5th town or city and we’re living in our 6th house. And that’s not necessarily because we disliked where we lived but because we found a new challenge elsewhere.
I have gone from a senior in a day center, restaurant manager, confectionery business owner, market stall holder, support worker, Personal Trainer and now Online Coach in the time that my wife and I have known each other and I know that she has played a huge part in those successes. She has her own success story. As for the failures we take them on the chin and move on.
I proposed to my wife in the Boboli Gardens in Florence. During that trip we created a travel journal and collected receipts, napkins and photos to put in it. Of course, we still have that. Looking back through that feels like a life time ago. I felt young and free spirited. Now, I often feel old with the occasional glimmer of free spirit! But that glimmer comes from my job as a husband, a dad and to my work and while I have those then that glimmer will always be there.
And if it’s an old tractor T-shirt in the wardrobe or a feather in the takeaway drawer that has to remind me, then they are worth keeping.
My gym time is limited to just going in to train my clients during the Easter holidays and I’m enjoying the wind down from training myself. Luckily with two lively boys though I knew that I would remain active. So I might not be pushing, pulling and lifting my way to fitness but I’m sure feeling like I’ve had a good workout each day! Now into the second week of the holidays and my step count must be off the scale. And there’s a good reason for that.
Along with touring the numerous play parks, playing football in the garden and walking around every 2p machine that Scarborough’s South bay has to offer, at the beginning of the holiday I was informed that the trams to take us down do the beach weren’t working. If you’ve ever visited Scarborough you will know that there are either steep hills or steps to go up and down the cliff or there are the trams. And seeing as all the trams have been taken away for maintenance I now have buns of steel.
The beauty of where we live is that we’re out of the tourist hot spot of South Bay enough to appreciate the quieter side of Scarborough but close enough to dip our toe into the packed beach and amusements to feel like a day tripper over the holidays. My favourite bays are by far the hidden gem of Cornelian Bay where we live and the calmer Cayton Bay, but the kids are attracted to the fun and games that South Bay has to offer and I must admit when the 2p’s start falling I get a little carried away myself!
I’ll look back fondly at the Easter holidays, but I’ll also breath a sigh of relief when I pack the boys off to school too. I need to go back to work full time for the rest!
But if the boys are like me they will look back at the amusements, the donkey rides and ice cream on the beach as fondly as I remember my childhood holidays at Scarborough. My days at Skipsea, Hornsea, Primrose Valley and Morcombe stay with me much more than the holidays abroad as a kid. The sun, food, culture and intrigue at being in a different country was always a wonderful experience, but having parents, grandparents, cousins, aunties and uncles all squeezing into a caravan to play cards on the coast of England was magical. I can still hear the laughter. And now with some of those family members no longer with us, those memories become even more special.
Our plan is to transfer our business ideas to France one day, but the more memories we can create here in England the better. I know that many memories can be created along the beaches of La Rochelle but I’m not sure it is famous for its fish and chips, joke shops, candy floss or saucy postcards. Perhaps if our business fails in France we could try selling Kiss Me Quick hats to the locals.
The cliffs at Scarborough are tough to get up and down but as a tight Yorkshire man even if the trams were working I’d be telling the family that we’re walking just to save a couple of quid! But also I don’t really want to pass on the opportunity to get the heart rate up a little and have a decent walk. As I always tell my clients, if you can’t get to the gym make sure that you manage a decent walk in the fresh air. Just make sure that if you ever walk down to the beach at Scarborough you can get back up again!
Never Give Up PT 