30 thoughts on being 30

I have been thinking for the last few weeks about ageing and time as I have been 30, for 50 days.

What I have noticed most of all is the obsession of others with 'turning 30', as though all of a sudden you have become sour, like milk. I have been referred to as bitter in the past but never sour.

My birthday was one I neither dreaded or relished, it was just another day for me, but others were intent in making a thing of it.

1) Time; if one never takes time how can one ever have time? It seems to be moving faster than at any time I can remember, yet there is no more or less of it than in previous years. Observation affects the way in which we perceive our reality and can only say that I live a full and varied life, leaving me little time to clock watch.  Then I remember how it is important not to overlap your actions, in this world of multi-media and multi-tasking, it is easy to lose focus. I could be sat here at my desk with a coffee, my music playing and my phone, tweeting away the latest news updates, but I would not be truly focusing on any one task, so would I be able to appreciate the coffee or the music, or make this make sense?
The only moments I need concern myself with are the ones happening now.

2) When I talk about anything remotely resembling popular culture I tend to get raised eyebrows, followed by "who?"or "what?" Abstaining from the social conditioning box and the radio does not help.
Recent discussions with my nephews led to them asking me what a video or cassette tape was and another discussion during a coaching session I took at rugby left the guys asking me who Zinzan Brooke was. I was flabbergasted. The Skunk Anansie gig I went to in April was full of 30-40 somethings that were at high school their first time around and I also once thought dub-step was a band, getting confused with N-dubz.

3) Memory is a fickle thing. I remember my first try, my latest try, the birth of my nephews and where I was when the world was turned upside down on September 11th 2001 but, for all these memories, I am not the same person I was then, literally. You see, matter flows from place to place and our cells are in a state of continual growth, with the life span of an adults bones typically lasting 7 years. As I sit today I was not in fact there in the park, but the memory of it remains, for now. In another 30 years I may not be able to recollect the finer points of these collections or moments.

4) Brandon Lee once said that everything seems limitless and this philosophy has stuck with me since I was a teenager. He said that we believe we will always have the opportunity to witness the sun rise or set or, to sit under a full moon; but in reality how many times would any of us really sit to witness any one of these moments over the course of our lives? Maybe a handful? A lot of you may say you have stumbled out of a night club and the sun is up, which takes me to point 1; seeing daylight upon stumbling from a club or returning from a night shift at work is different to sitting and witnessing the sun rise over the horizon and the birth of a new day of endless possibilities.

5) Following point 4 I recalled the truth I told myself once before that at 30 I am not even half way through my life. At approximately 262,080 hours old (give or take a few leap years) I am some way from the 650,000 odd hours people generally live for today. Then I thought about how lucky I am to be here at all and made me wonder why people hate getting older? Each day that passes is one that should be cherished and if people concerned themselves more with living, rather than existing, then it would not be so much an issue. I have also finally come to understand the comments by sportsmen and women the world over when they say that the "mind is willing but the body is not" as countless times in the past few weeks I have experienced first hand the young bucks on the rugby field are now no longer left in my wake when I make a break, but instead swallow up the ground and put the hit on me. Hopefully the effort I put in the gym today will stand me in good stead tomorrow (30-40 years from now) and help maintain a welcome standard of mobility and living.

6) 30 years ago the mobile phone was powered by a brief case, just about made a connection and was the tool of the executive businessman or 'yuppie. Today every one and their hoodie has one and they are set to over take the global population by 2014.

7) 30 years from now the mobile phone will probably be obsolete and consigned to the science museum, replaced instead by a device installed inside the palm of your hand and powered by the biometrics of the human body.

8) The news is no longer news. They tell you what to think about and X-factor is not news. We have moved, over the years, from manufacturing consent to the outright and blatant manufacturing of news.

9) The NHS saved my life at the time of my birth, have worked wonders on me at various points in my turbulent young and physically active life and will no doubt save it before my internal clock stops. A shame then that the way things are going currently, they will be privatised and I will probably not be able to afford the treatment I will no doubt require.

10) A book written 30 odd years or more before I was born, about the year after my birth, called 1984 set the bleak tone for the society that I would grow up in. Since that year, use of CCTV has increased exponentially, with the average UK citizen being captured 300 times a day and now we have drones.

11) I have been able to vote at three previous general elections and if I had known at 18 what I know today then I would never have put an X in any box and be able to stand proud and say that I have never participated in the great democracy con.

12) I have witnessed love and loss first hand and come to realise that death is only for the living, not that this makes it any easier when it comes your way. The key is as in point 3, to make the most of the moments in your life and make them ones to remember.

13) We are all born actors and artists but this is educated out of us as we grow up.

14) The first 5-6 years of your life are some of the most important formative years of your life and you have no control over them, or your experiences.

15) Television is the greatest educator for the majority of people born from the late 1970's to today. I remember my Dad saying: "No wonder we have delinquent kids today if that is the sort of T.V they are watching." And now I find myself thinking the same thing about the T.V my nephews watch. Then I remember I turned out alright (I think) and will ensure my nephews do too. Light the spark of curiosity in children and they will learn on their own.

16) Television has really been replaced by the Internet, a wonderful tool for education and communication.

17) 30 years ago the Internet was a military concept for communication.

18) It still is. They own all the satellites and keep trying to pass legislation to censor our right to expression, speech and education.

19) The longer you live, the more you get to see how society and life works in cycles. By the time I was 19 the War on terror, or rather more accurately the war of terror, was now in it's infancy.

20) The longer you live, the less patience you have with things that previously would have just flown over your head.

21) I remember being 21 and do not remember it being especially great or any different to being 30.

22) Tastes change over time. You can apparently reprogramme your taste buds in 4-6 weeks.

23) I turned 23 in Australia on my first visit there and have been home sick ever since. Depending on how many schooners you are knocking back the thing that strikes you most is the quality of the food, mainly because they do not have to import their fruit and veg, they can grow it themselves.

24) At 24 I finally ventured into a great vocation in life and things were on the up.

25) Australia changed things and over this period of time I began to look at the world with a new set of eyes. The social conditioning box was switched off in favour of Internet documentaries not aired on Sky and the rabbit hole got deeper and deeper.

26) Is said to be the start of your physical prime years and it may be true. I completed the first of what was to be 4 marathons in New York and was a punishing and gruelling endeavour I shall never forget or be matched.

27) The 27 club is full of great artists such as Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, something we are sorely lacking in today's society. Where are the advocates and activists?

28) Turns out that great vocation was just a mirage, clutched straws so to speak, but all's well that ends well. By the time I reached 28 I was 4 weeks in to this very blog and tapped back into my youthful, artful self, aided and abetted by a great woman now in my life.

29) London Marathon 2012, I was wrong about number 26, this was the worst physical experience of my life, far exceeding anything that occurred in New York, made all the more comical by the fact I gate crashed the start.

30) Living in the time of the digital revolution I have managed to create a foot print the size of a small ant and ensure any musings or thoughts can be found many years from now, as long as the energy that powers our devices and the oil that currently makes them last.

Some personal, others more general but none of despair or regret. We are shaped by the moments we make and whilst there may be some that are seated in pain for us all, we should not dwell on them, nor regret them. I await the next 30 years with the intention of living them on my own terms.

Hijacked! The London Marathon 2012

Several years ago I decided I wanted to run a marathon, living in England the obvious choice was the London Marathon being local and all, I entered the ballot and like many was unsuccessful on my first attempt. I applied on two more consecutive occasions and was eventually informed that upon the fifth time of begging I would automatically be given a place. This was not for me so I ceased applying for it.

However upon changing career a new world opened up to me, the world of running for charity was brought to my attention, something I had not previously considered as an option.  I sat and thought about who and what I wanted to run for and have since run and completed the New York Marathon in 2009 for Children with Leukaemia (now Children with Cancer) and the Berlin Marathon in 2011 for Macmillan Cancer Care. Both great causes and amazing cities at the same time.

Suddenly the allure of London did not seem the same.

Following Berlin I had completed two of the 'big 5' marathons. The others include London, Chicago and Boston, so I decided to seek a route into the London Marathon, making it three out of five and it also happened to be Olympic year too. I secured a place with the charity Asthma UK in January 2012 and started the long road of preparing for the 26.2 miles (42km) ahead of me in April.

Then something went wrong.

A couple of weeks after thinking I had secured a place in the marathon via Asthma UK I received an email when on the other side of the planet to say that there had been an issue with my registration. On my return I found that the charity had failed to registered me and as a result I would not be running the marathon this year. I rang any one and everyone I could to try and rectify the situation, including Virgin themselves, even tweeting Richard Branson, the resounding answer I received was "NO".

I was told that I could be Haile Gebrselassie and I could not get a place once the cut off date set by Virgin had passed.

So I resigned myself to the fact that this year I would have to settle for a place on the sidelines cheering on my partner from a designated cheer point as she strode along London Bridge and ceased my training. Once the feeling of disappointment subsided I focused my attentions on supporting my partner in the gruelling training schedule ahead of her, undertaking the odd training run, somewhat satisfied in the knowledge that it would not be my legs that suffered on the Monday morning after the event.

As the weeks went by and race day approached I started to feel a little more disappointed in the fact that I had been let down and was not unable to compete. Then, with ten days to go it hit me, if London was like any of the other marathons I had run previously then I would be able to join in anywhere on the route.

Operation 'Hijack the London Marathon' was conceived.

Initially I planned to find out where my partner would be starting from and arrange to meet her somewhere just after the start and join in, then it occurred to me that if I had a race number I would probably be able to just walk through the gate and into the main start area. We just had to wait to attend the expo, on Saturday April 21st, the day before the marathon. We headed to London for the expo first thing in the morning and secured the running number, grabbed a Starbucks and returned straight back home to the editors cove, where I photoshopped the race number and changed it around. I printed this on A4 paper and had myself and unofficial race number. Nothing was going to stop me now.

An unusually late night followed considering we were running 26.2 miles the next day but for some reason I think nerves had begun to set in; would I get in to the holding area or would I have to join in further along the start somewhere? Or would I get dragged off by police as the boat race saboteur had a few days earlier? We would not know until the morning.

Due South, 0700hrs

At 0600hrs we awoke and started the journey to Greenwich, even at this early hour the underground was packed with runners and their families, the train was filled with a mixture of deep heat and Vaseline that made it smell more like a sporting locker room rather than the capitals main travel hub. When we arrived at our final destination the sun had begun to shine and the temperature began to rise. As we walked through the park there were a number of signs stating 'runners only beyond this point', loved ones said their good luck and good journey goodbyes, sealing it with a kiss and went their separate ways. As we arrived at the entrance gates there were actors (security personnel) barking orders at the humans "no number, no access" and volunteer Virgin race marshals. I had already attached my unofficial number to my running vest before leaving for London and strategically veered towards the volunteer marshals... and waltzed straight though and into the holding pen. I was in, race on.

All that stood in front of me now was the small feat of 26.2 miles and the fact that I had stopped training two months ago.

The race started well and was largely enjoyable as the weather was good, so the crowds came out, not quite the 29 degrees in Berlin last September, but warm enough for one to build up a sweat. This caused a problem with my running number, being printed on regular A4 paper it got soggy and started to tear. The rush job of putting it together meant that I had not managed to print it on any sort of water proof paper, if you have ever seen or felt a real race number you will know it is not normal paper. It was the best I could do with the time I had.
I tried to place it on me in various places to try and mitigate the damage being done by water from drinks bottles and sweat but to no avail, I also resisted the temptation to tear it off in frustration, this was perhaps the best decision I have made all year.

On the home straight the people from Marathonfoto appeared along the sides of the streets, taking pictures of runners in various poses, those of us that still had the energy to pose that is, proudly displaying their race numbers so that they could collect them a few days after the race. I turned to my partner and said how I could not wait to see the '385 yards to go' sign as by this point my legs were hating me for not having prepared them more. As we approached the sign a race marshal appeared out of nowhere, telling the runners that they had to display their numbers or have a foot tag. I now faced a big problem because obviously I did not have a foot tag and my race number was in bits and pieces in my pouch.

He ran right along side me and told me that without a tag or race number it was "not going to happen" and so he started to point to the side of the track for me. I reassured him I had my number but that it was in my pouch. As I pulled it out he just said "no, they are designed not to do that".

My number was hardly legible and had torn in a number of places.

The finish line was in sight, but this marshal was about to end my race with 300 yards to go, I could not believe it, my partner unsurprisingly had distance herself from me and left me to it. I tried to explain that it was not my fault that the weather had been so warm and that I had been clumsy with my drinks bottles and torn it in the process of moving it around my person etc but he was not buying my story and sprinted towards what was the senior race marshal, and ordered me to follow him, adding more distance to my already tired legs.

As I ran on towards the senior race marshal I could see a lot of finger pointing and gesturing going on, I began to wonder if I had enough gas left in my legs to make a sprint for the finish line but I realised this may result in being rugby tackled on the concrete, something I was keen to avoid, so I continued over towards the side of the track and thought my valiant effort was over. In my head I could hear it now "you ran 26 miles? I thought a marathon was 26.2 miles". Luck it seems was on my side, as I got to the senior marshal he just pointed and told me to head to the lost tag aisle.

I did not see where this was and took it as my chance to sprint off and cross the finish line.

I rejoined my partner who suddenly remember who I was and we finished together, relieved that I was allowed to finish at all. I walked straight through the finish area, collecting my medal and post race bag, and did not look back in case the race marshal had decided to follow me. We had done it.

Gold is the colour, photoshopped number.

A couple of days later and my legs have forgiven me for putting them through hell and more importantly they have forgiven my partner for encouraging me to act in an 'unsane' manner. Why anyone would wilfully put their body through the trauma of a marathon, just to see if they could gate crash it, is beyond most people who I have told the story to so far. The drama that unfolded in the last 300 yards just made it all the more worthwhile for me.

All I can say is this, that sitting here now I am already considering my next marathon. The problem  is pain does not last and when it is gone all you are left with are the memories of your achievements. Having secured a place only to have it taken from me due to an error in administration was hard to take, I was not prepared to miss out on the opportunity, so I took a leaf out of Richard Branson's book and thought outside the box to solve my problem.

London Marathon route, 27 miles, zig zagging inclusive.