Andrew

B.Y.O.P. (Andrew)

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Mrs TwinBikerun has an annual health check with BUPA arranged by her work. 

“Does your work see the results?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Then why do they arrange it? Don’t they want to know if you’re going to drop dead at your desk?”

“I think they assume I’ll tell them if anything is wrong.”

“And would you?”

“Well, HR would not be my first call…”

During the assessment, Mrs TwinBikeRun asked about heart palpitations.

“How long do they last?” the Doctor asked her. 

“Just a few seconds. I take a deep breath and everything is okay after that.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” said the Doctor, “we would only be concerned if they lasted more than five minutes.”

Five minutes?!?!? So, if my heart decides to recreate a drum and bass track for four and minutes and fifty nine seconds, I shouldn’t be worried. But if the cardiac rave lasts one more second then call an ambulance.

“That doesn’t seem right,” I said to Mrs TwinBikeRun, after she was home. 

“It’s what the Doctor said,” she said. 

“Aye,” I said, “but remember what happened two weeks ago.”

Two weeks ago we had to spend three days in hospital with TwinBikeChild after we spotted blood in her poop. It turned out to be harmless but, when checked at hospital, she had the same signs as e-coli and had to be treated as if she had it, even though the Doctors knew from initial tests that it was unlikely that she did. However, the only way to confirm it wasn’t e-coli was a test that required a 48 hour period to run it. 

“That was different,” TwinBikeWife said.

“How,” I asked. 

“That was incompetence.”

TwinBikeWife had first phoned NHS24 for an initial diagnosis. The person she spoke to was very helpful and when she asked if, when they went to hospital, she should bring a sample of the poop, he’d encouraged her to do so. Which is how she ended up with a clean Strawberry jam jar of poop in her handbag.

“What’s that,” asked the Doctor in A&E, when Norsewife brought out the jam jar.

“It’s not for your toast,” she said, “it’s a sample of what TwinBikeChild did.”

The Doctor looked at it the same way that a chef would look at steak and ice-cream. Technically there is no reason the two things cannot be put together but, in reality, dear God, why would you do it? A strawberry jam jar of poop?

“It’s okay,” the Doctor said, “we’ll take our own sample the next time she goes to the toilet. Its good you called NHS24 but we’ll do our own thing.”

And by “own thing” the Doctor clearly meant “the correct thing not involving a BYOP (bring your own poop)”.

This wasn’t the first time we’d been in hospital this year with TwinBikeChild. We had to come in a few months earlier when she developed red spots across her back. NHS24 recommended she was checked to make sure it wasn’t meningitis, even though she passed the initial tests. 

As suspected, it wasn’t meningitis, it turned out to be scarlet fever, a condition treated with anti-biotics and which saw TwinBikeChild almost back to normal the next day. However, unlile the poop jar, which we could not pass onto anyone else, TwinBikeChild passed her Scarlet fever to me. And then she passed two other throat infections within the space of two months. She was starting nursery and she was picking up every bug and making sure to share them with us. I spent weeks unable to eat more than a yoghurt as it was too sore to swallow. If I’d been racing this year I would have lost weeks of training as I had to spend a few months building my strength up before getting back into any kind of routine. 

Good health is not something we can guarantee when setting out on a training programme. The best we can do is to remember basic hygiene and hope for the best. 

And to get your wife to carry the poop jar in her handbag. 

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Book Review: 26.2 Miles to Happiness (Review)

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Paul Tonkinson’s ‘26.2 Miles to Happiness: A Comedian’s Tale of Running, Red Wine and Redemption’ is an alliteration in search of a story. 

Running, Red Wine and Redemption may all start with an ‘R’ and read well together as a tagline for a book but the book itself is not about red wine or redemption. It’s about running. And as a book about running it does a good job of explaining why the comedian Paul Tonkinson loves running marathons. But it’s not a tale of redemption. He sets out to run a sub-3 hour marathon, he writes about running a sub-3 hour marathon. There is no redemption, unless the redemption is the time he tried to do it and narrowly missed out. But that’s not redemption, it’s just a second attempt. He was just trying again. 

As for the red wine. He mentions having a drink at Christmas and that he likes a nice bottle of wine but for the attempt at a sub 3 hour marathon he decided not to drink. He also decides not to eat biscuits but the book doesn’t mention that in its alliterative title because ‘B’ doesn’t fit in with his ‘R’s’ theme.

Anyways, the book is pretty good, an interesting and quick read about the dedication required to run faster and Paul Tonkinson does a good job in sharing his enthusiasm for running. 

But it’s not a book about redemption and it’s not a book about red wine.

‘

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First Time at Murrayfield (Andrew)

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I’ve never watched a game of rugby. Nor have I seen senior naked netball. I don’t need to see either to know it’s not for me. I can use my imagination and my imagination says “no!”.

So, for 48 years I’ve not watched a game of rugby. Or read about it. Or thought about it. I don’t know the rules, I can’t name a player, I don’t even know it’s on, when it’s on unless I’m in Edinburgh and there’s a thousand fans on the train trying to get through. Rugby has passed me by, until now.

Last month I received an invite for corporate hospitality at Murrayfield to watch Scotland v England in the Six Nations (a competition involving six nations, aptly named) and the Calcutta Cup (a competition involving two nations, neither Indian, and not well named at all).

I said “yes” as I thought that maybe this would be my chance to find out why so many people enjoyed watching rugby by watching one of the oldest battles of them all, England humping Scotland.

Except, it turns out that Scotland have been more successful in recent years and, unlike football, they were regularly beating the English at Murrayfield.

“But not Italy” said Mrs TwinBikeRun, checking Google, “Scotland has just lost to them in Italy. You can maybe mention that to show you know something about rugby?”

So, armed with the knowledge that Scotland had just lost to Italy, but having forgotten to check the score, I set off on Saturday for my first trip to Murrayfield and:

Getting there

There’s usually a big queue at Queen Street station to get the train to Edinburgh, Instead, I jumped on the train at Central and went the long 90 minute trip through Lanarkshire to get to Edinburgh instead. Ha, take that everyone queuing for the 47 minute train. I didn’t queue and spent twice as long getting there to avoid the queue.

Yes, I know there’s a train every 15 minutes at Queen Street. And, yes, I know it was very unlikely I would have to queue more than 45 minutes and for three trains to leave before I could sit down. But I beat the queue by walking straight onto a train! A train that takes twice as long, admittedly. But I didn’t have to queue, so who’s the winner? Me!

Having got to Edinburgh, it’s only a short walk to Haymarket before a trip round Murrayfield and the first problem. Murrayfield has several entrances and, depending on which one, you should change your approach to the stadium as otherwise it’s a long, long loop around the ground to get in. I went to the wrong one so I got to race Phileas Fogg around the world to get to the other side of the stadium. Check where you are going before you go.

In the stadium

Finding my seat was straightforward but I was surprised to be in front of several fans with England tops. Was I in the wrong place? Should I start sining God Save The King to fit in? No. It turns out that all fans sit beside each other. There’s no ‘away end’ for the other fans. Which was fun, when Scotland went into an early lead, and I could hear the despair behind me. It did mean there was a lack of atmosphere as the English fans never sang together as they were all spread out.

During the game

I had no idea what was going on. Luckily the person who invited me was happy to answer all my daft questions: “Who’s that? What’s happening? Why did they stop? Why did he kick the ball out? Are we the team in blue?”

Rugby was a far more tactical sport than I expect with possession and control being more important than individual skill. Without the explanations I would have been lost as to why one team was better than the other and who had the advantage at any one time.

After the game

We won. But the atmosphere, at least to me, never seemed to rise beyond polite applause and a couple of renditions of Flower of Scotland at a volume which can only be described as ‘polite Morningside’ and ‘don’t wake the neighbours’.

There was no swearing. No hate. No casting aspersions about the opposition’s parentage, religion or affiliation with the right honourable company of freemasons. It was dull (but family friendly unless you’re family is friendly with a west coast bigot).

Overall

It was… alright… ish. I enjoyed the game, could see why others enjoyed it, but, like naked netball, it was not for me.

Andrew, Race Report

Kirkintilloch 12.5K 2026 (Andrew)

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Bang!

And another runner drove into the back of my car.

I knew he was running because, after we’d pulled over, parked up, and he got out, he was was wearing trackie bottoms and a pair of trainers.

“Running today?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Don’t go too fast!” I didn’t add.

I was only a few hundred metres from the start line when a car in front of me indicated it was turning left into a side road, I slowed down and the car behind me didn’t .

Bang!

Luckily, it was just a minor knock and while he had a crack in his front bumper I only had a couple of small scratches, and I wasn’t even sure if they were new or had been there before and I’d just not noticed.

I can understand why his eyes were not on the road. There’s not a lot of parking near the start and he was probably checking the side roads to see if he could spot somewhere to park. He should have been looking straight ahead!

But no damage done, at least not to my car, so I took his number and carried onto register and race.

This years race was a cold and sharp but thankfully dry. The race always represents a good early year test with some rolling hills at the start and end. However, since work on a housing development meant a change to the route two years ago, it’s not quite as hilly as it used to be.

There was a water station around the halfway point with cups big enough to take an extra large scoop of cinema popcorn. But, strangely, just a mouthful of water. Was the amount of water of in inverse to the size of the cup? Or was the cup so big that the water become small in comparison? There was actually two litres of H20 in those cups, it just seemed like a drop.

As always the race is well organised by Kirkintilloch Olympians and it has a good selection of biscuits at the end.

Thankfully, no one hit me on the way home.

Andrew

The Long Run (Andrew)

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“I’m going for a long run.” I said to Mrs TwinBikeRun and immediately I felt like a right pillock. 

 A “long run”. What the blimey is a “long run” and why would Mrs TwinBikeRun care. She’s only interested in knowing when I might be back. 

“I’m going out, I’ll back in an hour,” would be a better thing to say because how long is a long run? It’s meaningless. For me, a long run means I’ll be more than an hour. For Elise Kipchoge, a long run means 20 miles and he’ll be back in 20 minutes. For Jasmin Paris, ultramarathoner, it means three days, fifteen mountains, and a new world record. A long run means something different depending on the runner.

For anyone else, a long run is meaningless. If you don’t run, then a long run is just ‘a run’. Not long, or short, just something that someone else does.

So why do we have it? What’s the point a long run? 

I think we have a long run so that we have something to boast about when we’re training. No one boasts about a Tuesday night regular run or a Friday morning jog to work. But, on Monday, you might say when asked what you did for the weekend: “I went for a long run!”

Not that anyone is impressed. You can tell if they’re impressed if they say “how’s your legs?”. If they ask that then you know they’re not impressed, they’re just polite!

We rarely say “I’m going for a short run”. Instead it’s just a run. We don’t want people to know it’s short. We don’t do short. We don’t do easy. We either run or we run long, that’s it. 

But is that the right way to think? I’m training for the Edinburgh marathon and every week I need to have a run which is longer than others. An extended run. A run with additional miles. A run that I am absolutely not calling a long run. Instead I call it my run. And every other run in the week is my short run. In my head this run is normal and everything else is easy, Now I have one run a week and three short runs. Easy. 

By thinking about my long run as just a run, I’m trying to make the marathon appear shorter, at least in my head, because it won’t be a long run either, it’ll just be a run.

Sadly, while my mind is helping, my calves have yet to catch up and still complain my when I finish my long run run. 

“I’m going for a long lie down”I say to Mrs TwinBikeRun.

“Do you mean a lie down?” She asks.

“No! Everyone knows what a long lie down means!”

Andrew

Review: Coffee First, Then The World (Andrew)

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Coffee First, Then The World is the story of Scottish cyclist, Jenny Graham’s attempt to become the fastest woman to cycle around the world unaided. The “unaided” point is important because she makes clear in the book that wanted to do this fully unsupported, even down to making the people who would ride with her ride behind her so she wouldn’t benefit from any slipstream they might produce.

The book offers an interesting perspective on more usual adventure books as by usual adventure books I mean male adventure books. The challenges for a lone female cyclist, camping wild and meeting strangers along the road, are very different from a six foot bloke built like a tank after months of cycling. Even an offer of help comes with a healthy dose of suspicion as to why a man may be helping a woman in the middle of nowhere.

Jenny Graham comes across as very optimistic, positive and driven and is always thankful for the opportunity she has had to make this attempt happen.

Overall, an enjoyable and inspiring read.

Andrew, Race Report

Nigel Barge 10K 2026 (Andrew)

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In 2016 I wrote a comprehensive report on the Nigel Barge 10k covering both its history and the course. It’s one of Glasgow’s oldest races, up there with ‘Running from a Man with a Knife on Sauchiehall Street’ and ‘Sprinting Away if Someone Says Are You Looking At Me?’.

This year was unusual. It was dry in the run up to the race and it was forecast to be dry during it too. Maybe, perhaps, this would be the first time we would run it without getting wet? And, for the first two miles, we were dry. And then we ran through Dawsholm Park and there was huge perpetual puddle of mud and brown water squatting across the path. I suspect it doesn’t dry out until Summer. So, wet feet again.

The route was unchanged from previous years: two circuits of Glasgow University’s vet school and Dawsholm recycling centre and Dawsholm park. It’s not scenic but it is very well organised and attracts a sell out each year.

This year, after a couple of weeks of colds and coughs, I was expecting a harder run – and I was right. But not because of the colds and coughs. My chest felt okay and I felt reasonably strong throughout. However my left calf cramped and clenched as soon as I started running and didn’t relax until I was at 9km. The run became uncomfortable and each step felt like I was dragging my leg round the course.

Saying that, I was only 50 seconds slower than last year, when I thought I was running fine, so any slowness was more in my head than in my legs.

After the race there is a cracking buffet, which is not well known. Despite finishing half way up the field, Iain TwinBikeRun and I were the first people to get to the buffet. Maybe winners don’t eat cake?