Tag Archives: nutrition

Andrew

31 Days of… Lunch – Day Twenty Seven (Andrew)

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For the last three years I’ve used January to try and learn something new. Three years ago it was to try 31 days of exercise, two years ago it was 31 days of stretching, last year it was 31 days of learning to play the piano and this year it’s 31 days of… lunch.

During COVID, after weeks at home, I finally snapped and bought… a toastie machine.

It had been years since I’d had a toastie and, day after day, the feeling grew that it would be reassuring and comforting to eat a toastie again. Not sure why I associate toastie sandwiches with comfort. I think it’s the satisfaction of having all the ingredients in a sealed toast pocket. It’s like a present for a sandwich. You don’t know what you’re going to get until you bite into it and open it.

But there are dangers. The toastie is not an electric blanket of a sandwich. It’s more like a hot water bottle filled with boiling hot liquid that could burn if pierced. The toastie can superheat the wrong ingredients, like tomatoes. The water in tomatoes, when sealed in the pocket, reaches boiling point and will scar your mouth when you eat into it. It’s important when eating a toastie, to choose wisely.

So, no tomatoes, no relishes or chutneys and, no soft cheeses. A brie can dissolve into liquid lava when heated by a toastie. Instead, a toastie needs chunky, solid ingredients. The kind of ingredients that offer the reassurance of concrete (though hopefully not the taster).

So, for today’s lunch, as I was at home for a GP appointment:

“Hello,” I phoned, “Can I make an appointment to see my GP”

“Yes,” said the receptionist, “and what will I tell him it’s about.”

“My ear” I said.

“Telephone appointment okay then?” She said.

“What do you think would be best for a question about hearing?”

“Ah, in person then.”

As I was at home, I got out the toastie machine and had a reassuring and comforting toastie.

Bread: White toastie

Ingredient: cheese

Taste: Like lockdown

Andrew

31 Days of… Lunch – Day Twenty Six (Andrew)

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For the last three years I’ve used January to try and learn something new. Three years ago it was to try 31 days of exercise, two years ago it was 31 days of stretching, last year it was 31 days of learning to play the piano and this year it’s 31 days of… lunch.

For several years, every Christmas, someone sends me a box containing four jars of chutney.

I don’t like chutney.

I never eat chutney.

I have never indicated in any way that I would like to receive chutney.

Yet, every year, when I open my Christmas presents, there it is. A gift box of chutney.

It’s got to the point now where I just accept it. I can’t turn round and say “I don’t like chutney”. I just say “thank you”, and then put the chutney in the cupboard until I either remember to have it (rarely) or I find it again once it’s best before date has passed and I can put it in the bin.

I could put it straight in the bin but that doesn’t feel right. That would be wasting food. Instead, I let it lie until it’s inedible and then I put it in the bin. Because that’s not wasting food? There is the possibility I might eat it. I don’t but it still remain possible.

For this challenge though I have tried this year’s chutney, first a tomato one and now an apple and cider. And both were…. alrightish. I don’t think they added much to the sandwich. The tomato one was a pale imitation of having an actual tomato and the apple one was like adding jam to a sandwich. Not unpleasant but I would no more add Lemon Curd to a cheese roll than ice cream to a lasagna.

However, as the point of the month is to learn more about lunch, I add chutney again to my lunch. But that’s where I will stop. I’m definitely not adding Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey to my dinner!

Bread: M&S soft white roll (still using since Friday)

Ingredient: Edam, sliced ham, apple & cider chutney

Taste: Like Christmas

Andrew

31 Days of… Lunch – Day Twenty Five (Andrew)

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For the last three years I’ve used January to try and learn something new. Three years ago it was to try 31 days of exercise, two years ago it was 31 days of stretching, last year it was 31 days of learning to play the piano and this year it’s 31 days of… lunch.

Last week, when I was ill, I missed a late Christmas lunch at a restaurant in town, which was annoying. I had chosen the venue and had been looking forward to going.

Today, we went to it for lunch, since I missed out.

“The food is fantastic,” said Mrs TwinBikeRun, “and the portions were just the right size.”

So, we ordered, and an entire supermarket aisle of food arrived.

Mrs TwinBikeRun pork ribs looked like they came from an entire family of ribs. My chicken had the the entire hutch. Even TwinBikeChild’s kids menu vegetable spring rolls had deep fried an entire farm worth of vegetables.

“Oh,” said Mrs TwinBikeRun, “when I was here we had the lunch menu.”

Today, Saturday, they don’t have a lunch menu. It’s just for business lunches, Monday to Friday.

We asked the waitress. “Is the lunch menu smaller portions?”

“Yes,” she said, “and to be honest, I think it’s a lot more manageable, but better to have too much than too little, right?”

Today, I had too much. And once you have too much you don’t really see ingredients or meals anymore, you just think “that was too much!”.

So, today, for lunch, I had “too much”

Bread: Too much

Ingredient: Too much

Taste: Too much

Andrew

31 Days of… Lunch – Day Twenty Four (Andrew)

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For the last three years I’ve used January to try and learn something new. Three years ago it was to try 31 days of exercise, two years ago it was 31 days of stretching, last year it was 31 days of learning to play the piano and this year it’s 31 days of… lunch.

“Is it windy in Glasgow?” I’m asked.

“Biggest howler since Jack Butland own goal last night,” I said.

It’s a red weather warning day as storm Eowyn batters its away across Ireland and the central belt of Scotland.

Everything is shut so last night I popped out and stocked up with lunch and dinner.

“What would be good hunkering down food,” I asked myself. The answer: I thought there would be nothing better than ‘stodge’ and what could be more stodgy than a sausage roll… in a roll.

When I worked a summer job at the local golf club the greenskeepers I worked with had a simple roll rule: if you can stick it in a roll, it’s a snack, and not a meal. Three course lunch? Not lunch, if on a roll. That way they could a snack at 1030 consisting of pie, beans and chips… on a roll and then lunch at 1230 of pie, beans and chips, not on a roll. Anything you could think of was fair game to be a snack as long as it was buttered and covered in a floury bap.

From them, I discovered the joy of getting a sausage roll and eating it in a roll. You might ask “Why would you do that? The sausage roll already had pastry, it’s designed to be eaten by hand. It already has a protective pastry sheath.”

But I think it’s still greasy and the roll gives you an extra layer to absorb all the grease and, more importantly, the ketchup, without getting your hands greasy.

It’s a roll on a roll and that’s been my rule for sausage rolls ever since.

Bread: M&S soft white roll.

Ingredient: A sausage roll

Taste: Like shelter.

Andrew

31 Days of… Lunch – Day Twenty Three (Andrew)

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For the last three years I’ve used January to try and learn something new. Three years ago it was to try 31 days of exercise, two years ago it was 31 days of stretching, last year it was 31 days of learning to play the piano and this year it’s 31 days of… lunch.

I was invited to join a Q&A seminar with the Scottish Tory leadership team at lunch. I’ve been to a few of these with other parties but this was this first time I’d ever met a Tory MSP.

At each session, I like to ask the same question:

“Politician’s always criticise other parties, can you tell me what policies or actions you admire of the SNP/Labour/Tory [delete as appropriate]”

I asked an SNP cabinet minister and he praised the Conservatives then approach to many foreign policy issues. I asked Ian Murray, now the Scottish Secretary, and he praised many of the domestic reforms introduced by the SNP. I asked Russell Finlay, Craig Hoy and Murdo Fraser today and they, well…

I like this question because it tells me a lot about the person answering it. Can they put aside their standard responses and give a considered reply? Can they show genuine praise of people they normally oppose? Do they have empathy for them? And can they answer the question, as I’m not asking for criticism, I want a straight answer.

And from the Torys, I got two minutes of waffle and then a joke about Hamza Yusuf.

What a bunch of plonkers.

And I didn’t even get a decent sandwich. Instead, I got tiny wraps filled with a bit of tomato and ham. Less a sandwich and more a tiny napkin that looks like it’s been used to wipe up a messy table.

Bread: Wrap.

Ingredient: Scraps

Taste: Disappointing, all round.

Andrew

31 Days of… Lunch – Day Twenty Two (Andrew)

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For the last three years I’ve used January to try and learn something new. Three years ago it was to try 31 days of exercise, two years ago it was 31 days of stretching, last year it was 31 days of learning to play the piano and this year it’s 31 days of… lunch.

When does lunch become dinner? Yesterday I discussed the timing of lunch and how for some people it can be midday and for others it might be 2pm but what I hadn’t considered is what happens when it becomes 7pm, and it’s dark and it is definitely not lunch anymore, it’s evening.

That’s what happened today. Lunch didn’t start until after I finished work. I bought lunch at midday, I meant to eat it before 1pm but, due to being waylaid, I couldn’t get to it until 7pm.

First, I already knew I what need to eat quickly. I had a meeting from 1pm to 3pm and then 3pm to 5pm, and the meetings were not the type of meetings I could bring a sandwich and munch away. I would be doing a lot of talking and no one wants to listen to someone chewing. Unless it’s on YouTube and you’re a weirdo and you don’t call it chewing you call it ASMR.

This was not an ASMR meeting.

So, I had to get to the meeting and then speak to a receptionist to hand in some signed documents and then I had a 10 minutes window to eat my sandwich when… I met someone I knew and they started talking, and talking, and I couldn’t eat my sandwich then either because that would be weird too.

“It’s great to see you. How long’s it been? Two years. Fantastic, now tell me about your family while I stare at you while eating a baguette.”

So, no sandwich, 4 hours of meetings, walk back to the office, collect car, go home, play with daughter, and then, and only then did I get to eat lunch. For my dinner.

So, was that lunch or was it tea?

Bread: Baguette, with 5 minutes in the over to crisp it up and to melt the cheese.

Ingredient: Mozzarella, tomatoes and param ham

Taste: delayed gratification

Andrew, Uncategorized

T2 Trainingspotting (Andrew)

There’s a scene in the original Trainspotting where Ewan McGregor’s character, Renton, goes through cold turkey to quit heroin.

He locks himself in his bedroom, boards up the door and vomits, shakes and hallucinates a … well… there’s a reason the film was rated an 18.

And I have to say, after a week of drinking, slurping, sucking and sniffing every drug known to man – and I’m talking the real hard stuff: Lemsip, Sinex, Strepsils, cough mixture (chest and throat) and the class A narcotic known as Night Nurse – I think I’m going to have to follow Renton and lock myself away too if I’m going to quit my new vices.

But the problem is that I don’t want to quit. The drugs are just too good!

It started simply. I just want to get better to start training for Celtman. At first I sucked a Strepsil to help my throat, then I moved onto cough mixture before, just minutes later I was downing a bottle of Night Nurse and desperately searching the kitchen cupboard for the vitamin C tablets I knew were in there but hadn’t seen since the day I bought them.

I was a junkie – and it was all triathlon’s fault.

Now I know how Lance Armstrong started.

First, it was the aspirin. Then it was a flu shot. Next thing you know you’re strapped to a blood bag in the back of a bus parked on the side of hill in France and you really wanted to do was to get back on your bike and train!

It’s a slippery slope!

And the worst thing about it is that drugs are better than actual drugs: I can’t imagine cocaine is half as thrilling as getting a double blast of Sinex up each nostril. How could it be? Does it have that nostril punch of liquid snow and summer mint? Does it have that addictive rush of brain freeze and back of the mouth bitterness?

And as for Night Nurse – how can heroin compare with that moresih mix of what looks like radioactive snot? If you want knocked out, then knock back a cup of Night Nurse before bed. It’s a coma in a bottle.

The Verve sang that ‘The Drugs Don’t Work’ but if they’d ever tried Night Nurse then they wouldn’t have sung anything at all because they’d have been up all night* having some of that ol’ Night Nurse!

(*well, 20 minutes, that Night Nurse is potent stuff for knocking you out).

So, as my cough  has changed from a chest cough to a throat cough to a phlegmy cough and back to a chest cough I have changed from the clean cut Andrew Todd of just a week and half ago into a full blown junkie.

And I’ve still not got rid of my cough.

So, until I do, I keep telling myself I can quit anytime. I can stop any day.

But not today.

(Or tomorrow)

Andrew

Sick note (Andrew)

Hello. My name is Andrew Todd and I’m a hypochondriac.

Some people have a cough. I don’t. I have lung cancer.

Some people have a twitch. I don’t. I have sclerosis sclerosis sclerosis scleroris, also called multiple scleroris. 

Some people have nothing at all.  I don’t. I always have something. I’ve even had Motaba, the fictional disease from the film Outbreak, because I’m a hypochondriac, and I don’t let fiction stop me catching a made up disease from a movie monkey.

This week I had scurvy. I admit it shared many of the symptoms of a heavy cold but I’m 100% convinced it was scurvy as I’d forgotten to buy apples at the weekend and didn’t have any fruit last week. No fruit = scurvy. Everyone knows that.

To be on the safe side I stoppped any exercise for a few days. Next week is officially week 1 of Celtman training so I didn’t want to risk anything this week by trying to train when I was clearly about to die, which I was, because hypochondria messes with your mind.

Not just in the obvious ways. The thinking you’re ill when you’re not type ways.

Hypochondria also makes me jealous of those who are genuinely ill – at least they know what they have. I don’t. Not until I’ve checked NHS Direct, WebMD and the ‘TellItToMeStraightDocAmIDying?’ internet forum where GPBobaFett357 confirms that “Yes, a thick head, a sore throat and a hacking cough is definitely a sign of scurvy – particularly if you’ve not eater an apple in the last 24 hours“.

It’s ridiculous. I even feel jealous of the genuinely ill because at least they know they can be cured.

There’s no cure for hypochondria. Even if there was, I’d just catch something else. Like the Black Death, which I’ve also had. It’s also remarkably similar to the common cold (and scurvy). If only Dark Age doctors had prescribed two paracetamol, a cup of Lemsip and a Netflix subscription, they could have avoided a global pandemic. It worked for me, it would have worked for them.

I think it’s the same for all have a go athletes. We’re so worried about getting ill that every headache becomes a brain tumour, every tremor a sign of Parkinsons. I know this response is neither rational nor sane, I know that. But, while everyone is aware, on some level, of their body clock counting down the days, my body clock is bloody Big Ben.  Every hour on the hour: “DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!“.

DOOM! That brown mole is… the start of skin cancer! DOOM! That white spot is… a leprous pox! DOOM! That red itch… is viral meningitis!

I should see a doctor. But I don’t trust doctors. How can you trust someone who gave dyslexics such a hard word to spell? Or stutterers and stammerers such hard words to say?

Doctors don’t even know any medicine anymore. Last time I went to my doctor, all he did was check Google. To book a holiday. Do you know how much that hurt? To be ignored by a man who has sworn the hippocratic oath but was more interested in snapping up an all inclusive hotel in Magaluf. Especially when I told him I was absolutely certain I had cerebral palsy. Again.

Hypochondria’s not even a cool mental illness. We don’t get to wear a black bin bag and get off with her-from-The-Hunger-Games like Bradley Cooper in Silver Linings Playbook. Ironically, for an illness that’s all about being ill, we don’t even consider it a proper illness. Hypochondria’s other name is ‘Man Up Syndrome’.

“I think I might have bird flu because a seagull shat on my head.”

“Man up!”

“I think I might have brain parasites because I fell asleep watching Star Trek 2: The Wrath Of Khan and they crawl in your ear while you sleep you know.”

“Man up!”

“I think I might have scurvy because I don’t like bananas.”

“MAN UP!”

But I can’t help it. I can’t choose my mental illness. I can’t pick nymphomania, kleptomania,  Wrestlemania or Romania (research note to self – double check these last two are proper manias).

If I had a choice I’d choose nice mental illnesses. Something like Foreign Accent Syndrome – “I am lookin’ for ze Madonna wiv ze big boobies!” or the Cotard Delusion, also called the Zombie Delusion – “I’m a zombie and I want BRAINS!” – or, my favourite, Tourette’s Syndrome, which is 50% genuine mental illness and 50% opportunistic heckling.

“You’re a window licking finger sniffer!”

“What did you say?!”

“It was my Tourette’s.”

 “Oh God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay, you pishrag bollockmonger!”  (Hee! Hee! That one was mine!).

And the strange thing about hypochondria is how predictable it is. There are tens of thousands of illnesses yet hypochondria acts like there’s just three. The big three. Cancer. Cardiac Arrest. Athlete’s foot. Imagine going to a garage that acted like every emergency was the worst possible thing that could happen to you.

“Hi, I’ve think I’ve got a flat tyre – can you take a look at it?”

 “No need. I can see the problem from here.”

“Oh, is it the tyre,  it looks lower than the other three?”

“No. It’s definitely exhaust pipe AIDS.”

 “Are you sure? The exhaust pipe isn’t connected to the wheels.”

 “Sorry mate, and your tyres have athletes foot. If I were you I would just curl up in a ball and cry yourself to sleep just like you do every single night.”

“Oh, imaginary mechanic, you know me so well!”

It’s the lack of variety in hypochondria that makes me watch every medical drama on telly. Many hypochondriacs avoid all medical information because it makes them more anxious. “Got that! Got that! Got that too! Oh God, I’m going to die!” But, when my Big Ben strikes DOOM I don’t want what everyone else had, I want to be unique, I want to be the world’s first hypochondriac hipster.

DOOM!

“Is this brown mole skin cancer? No, it’s malignant hyperpigmentation – it’s the next big thing!”

DOOM!

“This white spot? Leprosy? Do I look like Jesus? Yes, I know I’m wearing sandals, I am a hipster, but that spot is clearly Denghe Fever which I caught after watching a Discovery Channel programme about rafting in the Congo.”

If hypochondria is all in my head, then I want my head to be bloody brilliant at it. And that’s the difficulty isn’t it? Hypochondria is something that no one can see. People think I must be making it up. It’s a mental illness and we’re not good with mental illness. We don’t even have mental illness in the Paralympics – and they’ve got blind people playing basketball: how mental is that?!

I have this theory. In the hierarchy of illnesses you get one point for a losing a limb, two points for a coma and three points from any disease that would actually get people to respond to an office wide email for a charity challenge. The mentally ill get minus one point. Hypochondria minus two.

We don’t get sympathy. All the mentally ill get is a straight jacket and a padded cell because, – you know – it really help the mentally ill to have their arms strapped together so they can’t protect their delicate brains when they ricochet off the walls in an all-white padded bouncy castle/loony bin. Yes, we protect the mentally ill by making it impossible for them to protect their brains. I told you, Doctors are pricks.

Well, I say fuck that. It’s time for me to “Man up!”. Yes, “MAN UP!”

My hypochondria’s an illness: as destructive as cancer, as strong as AIDS, as difficult to cure as athletes foot. I’ve don’t need to be ashamed. I have a big boy sickness. A proper disease. Just like Spanish flu, syphilis, scarlet fever and, my current illness, the all consuming rage virus from 21 Days Later. Which I’ve also had, because, as I told you, I don’t let fiction stop me catching a made up disease from a movie monkey.

Say it loud. Say it proud: “My name is Andrew Todd and I am a hypochondriac!”

And it was definitely scurvy I has this week and not just a cold!

Iain, Uncategorized

Race Nutrition (Iain)

“Are you eating a Subway sandwich?” Asks a man to me.

“Yes,” I reply, as I bite into a delicious foot-long Spicy Italian.

“And your doing the Iron Man race?”

“Yes. Its going well! I’m halfway through the bike leg,” I take a drink of Coke and unwrap a chocolate Twix.

The man looks at me and then cycles off. I think he’s jealous of my mid-bike-leg Iron Man picnic.

Many folk more qualified in nutrition than me can tell you what to eat during a race. They will break it down to the exact level of carbs, protein and salt.

I say: “Eat what you like!”

If you normally have a sausage roll and bit of cake during your long bike rides then bring a sausage roll and cake to an Iron man. Your body is used to it so why have something else?

I had a full lunch on my bike leg of the Iron Man and felt great afterwards. The only time I’ve ever felt ill during a race was when I eat just gels and powders.

During one race I stopped and had a burger, beer and a desert. It was great!

The race itself was terrible. It was called the Rat Race and it took place in Edinburgh comprised  of bike/run/kayaking sections as well as puzzles.

For example one section was a treasure hunt on Arthur’s Seat. I had to find three flags. If I didn’t find them I’d get a 10 minute penalty per flag. I took one look at the massive area I had to search in and left for the next section. The 30 minute penalty was less than the actual time it would take to complete the task.

I then calculated that if I finished the race without doing any of it the penalties I would still have less than the expected winning time. So, I stopped and had lunch at a pub. Afterwards I went to the finish and took my penalties. I was disqualified as the organiser said it wasn’t in the spirit of the competition! I disagreed. I’d out thought the race and surely that’s worth a win.

I’ve never done an adventure race since but it did leave me with a desire for a proper lunch during long races.