The Chat
You can skip this bit if you want - as part of the previous challenges I have tried to say something vaguely funny to encourage generosity in supporting me and slightly disconcertingly have been asked to do so again, so this is where it goes:
My face has sprung a leak
Each advancing year I find requires more training to maintain my athletic prowess. So with this challenge in mind, my training entourage (AKA Family) and I eschewed any possibility of a relaxing holiday in the sun and headed firstly for an intense training camp high in the foothills of the Lake District and then added altitude training in the Scottish Highlands.
Here with my childrens' comments (spelling corrected) are the highlights of the training camp:
Climbed big hill - "lots of flying ants, can we not go back there?"
Sailed boat - "jumped in and was rescued. Daddy wouldn't let me jump in again"
Climbed half a Munro (Change of plan due to inclement weather): - "I got wet and cold and Mummy shouted at Daddy"
Went running - "No way! I am not going running"
Swimming in lake - "Too cold, can we just paddle instead?"
Shopping - "Can we go shopping again. I love shopping".
Being on a training camp allows one more control over one's diet than usual. Curiously as the week went on we found we needed more and more carbohydrates to keep us awake in the evenings. Best taken in liquid form I have found. From vintage champagne courtesy of my favourite recruitment consultant to a bottle of Scapa whisky (best followed by Solpadine painkillers - you sleep like a child and the next morning your whole body has been replaced with one that does not hurt from climbing hills - IMPORTANT NOTICE: this is not a recommendation made to me by any doctor and for all I know might be fatal to you so try it at your own risk); some of the local ales - it is almost a duty to sample the local fare - to fine Australian wine (oxymoron), we carbo loaded staggeringly well.
Between intense physical activity can lie boredom for the finely tuned athlete awaiting the next punishing exercise. Not for me - the training team and I honed our mental skills with broad ranging discussions. With one of my good Edinburgh friends we debated who had the better carbon footprint - my good start with cycling to the station had me ahead, I was pulled back by a reminder about my 6 cylinder car but was able to turn that to my advantage as I use the car so infrequently (as I refuse to drive it with the hood up and the children will only go it with the hood down unless it is (a) dry and (b) over 30 degrees so the car is used 0.3 times a year) that I have effectively improved the environment by withdrawing it from general use. All good until flying was mentioned. My friend would need to be anaesthetised heavily and carried on to a plane. It has only happened once and is not likely to be repeated. I fly a lot. Not always from choice. "Not the point". I lost.
Then there was the slightly shrill debate on the Munro. Admittedly it was raining unremittingly. But everyone was dry on the inside of their kagoules and only cold when we stopped. Except my wife who was wet but warm when we stopped (how can that be!?). I lost. The children are semi-Munro baggers. We could start a new club for those who have walked half way up a Munro and then come home. Only 567 half Munros to go before we are the first to get the set. Not sure how we tackle the upper halves...
There needs to be a reward at the end of an intense training programme - ours was a couple of days at the Edinburgh festival including a very special weigh in. Not for us the privacy of a set of scales in a bathroom - no, by popular demand (and I received, I maintain, the biggest cheer of any of the festival performers in the High Street in Edinburgh on that day) my weigh in consisted of my standing on the bare chest of a man lying on some pieces of broken glass. He concluded that I was heavy. So did the ambulance men. Man with scars on back v Wilson comes to Court soon. My advice: never, ever stand near the front of a crowd watching a live act comedian in the festival (or Covent Garden or South Bank or wherever), and if he asks you to stick your hand in the air, run away. Fast. Then again maybe you would have realised that by intuition. I have gone soft living in the South, I really have.
All good things come to an end and it was back to work. Cunningly I had taken the precaution of removing all the World's liquidity before leaving on holiday (by simply adding one extra zero to one of our bills) so that there was, in fact, no work to come back to. Plenty of time to go to the gym then. Now you would have thought that all that hill climbing/sailing/running/jumping/debating and carbo loading would have improved my fitness, but back on the running machine it was the old wheezing and panting for breath, heavy legs etc routine with which I and I am guessing many of you are familiar and a new phenomenon - perspiration leaping out of my face like a mountain spring. 10 miles on Sunday? I am off to the gym again, there is a lot of work to do.
Keith Wilson, Partner | Paul, Hastings, Janofsky & Walker (Europe) LLP | Solicitors & Registered Foreign Lawyers | Ten Bishops Square, Eighth Floor, London E1 6EG | direct: +44 (0) 20 3023 5141 | main: +44 (0) 20 3023 5100 | fax: +44 (0) 20 3023 5441 | email keithwilson@paulhastings.com | www.paulhastings.com
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