unironedman

You figure out after a while that running is mostly in your head. You set goals, and when the little voice tries to stop you, you tell it to shut up. For me, it’s not so much a pain cave as it is a pain patio with a slightly uncomfortable chair…
The Prophet Gary

I have shamelessly swiped this quote from here. It’s no secret (at unironedman, anyway) that I am a fan of Gary’s ‘i like margarine’ blog. I have never met the author, and it’s highly unlikely our paths will ever cross. I was hoping to get an email one day from a Netflix producer who would pitch the idea of meeting your ‘blog buddies’. Someone with a strange predilection for running blogs that don’t have much running in them, or have many followers. Someone with a vast budget for bizarre and very niche programmes. Someone who would basically rock up at your door and say ‘hey! do you fancy doing this documentary where we fly you all over the world and you get to meet your fellow bloggers and go for a run?’

In fairness, it’s exactly the sort of shit I’d watch some night when I’ve finished everything else on Netflix.

But I suspect I could live several lifetimes and this would never happen, so Gary and Mo and all that ice cream and those pimento cheese sandwiches… they only exist on my laptop, sadly. But Gary’s blog is so evocative and beautifully crafted that I sometimes feel like I am shuffling along those desert paths in his shadow (obviously in his shadow… I’m Irish and not built for the heat. I’d need all the help I could get).

Fear not, all you other fellow bloggers! Your posts also bring me great joy, and the initial ten part documentary will see me visiting other parts of the United States, the United Kingdom and hopefully, I’ll get an extensive tour of Donegal 🙂

Back in the real world, there are real things that need doing. I finished up my mentoring phase of the emergency call-taking position, and have made the difficult but I believe, for me, the right decision not to continue with the job. This second phase encompassed about 156 hours on the floor taking live calls, and it also gave me a taste of the monthly cycle of alternating shifts. Kudos to the staff who do the job. It’s not for me. There is quite a high turnover there, and most of the call-takers are in their twenties or thirties. A lot of stress. (And anecdotally, from my admittedly quick experience, probably a tricky place to stay fit and healthy. There seemed to be a lot of junk food on offer. Fuelling a body on cigarettes and Red Bull does not a heathy person make. But that wasn’t the reason, to be fair). The very best wishes to the rest of my fellow trainees.

So the hunt for a new career continues. I turned 57 last month. What could possibly go wrong? Where’s that Netflix guy when you need him?

Running, I hear you say. Has there been any? In short, no. Those fancy new shoes I was given for my birthday remain safely ensconced in their brand new box, the tissue snuggling the sneakers like newborn chicks in the nest, the soles unsullied by the rain-dirty tracks and trails of my local park.

That niggly groin is still, well, niggly, so I have decided to give it one more week before I get out again. Even then, that may be too soon. I’ll go easy. A nice amble around the park should be fine. Gym twice a week for now, just to keep the top half in vague shape. Once running is a runner (really? ed) then I can reintroduce leg day.

The shed project continues, albeit at a slow pace, dictated by time and hours of daylight at the weekend. The old roof has been stripped entirely, so there is tangible progress. The first skip has been filled and removed. There will be need for several more.

Last week, we went to the cinema, en famille, to see Gladiator II. The first outing from Ridley Scott was marvellous, and set a high bar. Fun fact: the main actor in the new film, Paul Mescal, hails from Maynooth, which is five miles up the road from us here at Leixlip (the real capital of North Kildare). Of the four of us in the family, I think I’m the only one who didn’t study at Maynooth college at some point. Of course, as a Leixlip man, I am bound to say that the only good thing to ever come out of the town was the Royal Canal, but as Gary does occasionally read this blog and also hails from Maynooth, I had best temper my language. Apologies all ’round. Not least to Paul, if you’re reading…

Anyway, it was enjoyable. Is it as good as the first? No. Here’s an excellent if rather septic review which pulls fewer punches than the chief protagonist in the film. So lower your expectations a little if you haven’t already seen it. Just enjoy the cinematic experience of a big budget film in all its glory. And try and overlook the fact that you have essentially seen this film before, albeit with Russell Crowe. After all, this trick worked for George Lucas, so I don’t see why Mr Scott can’t give it a whirl.

As an aside of no great import, one of the many things that carried over from the first film is the way the actors, and in particular, our hero from Maynooth, speak. It’s always an issue in films set in days of yore; how should the actors say their lines? We have to accept that nobody is speaking Latin here, or Greek, or indeed any other old European language. English is the order of the day. But in an attempt to avoid placing the actors in any particular location, there has developed a way of speaking that has been stripped of all dialect or regional variation. It’s a strange beast. A linguistic chimera. It is many things, and nothing. Russell Crowe didn’t invent it, I am sure, but he certainly made it the must-have fashion accessory for any wannabe sword-slinger. Paul Mescal has taken up the cudgel. It’s rather odd. I think I prefer the way The Lord of the Rings handled it. Think of Pippin and Merry with their Scottish and West Country accents – two ends of the island of Britain. Gandalf with his grand RADA overtones. The orcs were, of course, Cockney scallywags from the East End a’ Lahn-dan. Gimli kept his soft Welsh brogue, and Sean Bean, who played Boromir, had plenty of Yorkshire in his delivery, which is no surprise, given he’s from Sheffield. But then again, how would a gladiator from Rome have spoken, assuming he was supposed to be conversing in Latin, but now appears to be fluent in a language that would not develop for another 500 years? Indeed. Therein lies the problem.

(For what it’s worth, this is how most of us fondly remember Mr Mescal. Not swinging swords in Roman epics, but rather eating sausages with his family… check it out!)

Anyway, it’s a fun film. Just needed another half an hour for character development, a better script, and a more intriguing plot line…

I trust you all survived Storm Darragh. Don’t worry if you missed it. Another one will be along shortly.

And on the off-chance I don’t see you all before the big day, have a fabtastic Christmas and I hope Santy is good to you. The gym last night signed off with this, so it seems a shame not to share…