The Highs and Lows of Living in Liverpool

I've got to give credit where credit is due. Those who know me know that I'm far from a sport aficionado. I mean I like watching sport, I enjoy a good display of talent, but its not high on my list of things I'd like to be doing, especially not football. Football, especially at a Premiership level annoys me more than it excites me, too many big egos swaggering around, if I had to spend time watching a sport a good rugby game beats a good football game almost every time.

But this is Liverpool, a football city, and this is the Champions League. So, Kate and I (Kate being the true fan) went down to the Flute to watch the third of Liverpool's recent confrontations with Arsenal. I've got to be honest, if I was sitting at home listening to the radio and the scores were announced on the ten o'clock news I'd like Liverpool to win, just because it's my adoptive city and I have a lot of love for this place, but at the end of the day I don't really care, if they'd lost I wouldn't spare it more than a brief thought.

But going to watch it in the pub, it changes things.

The Flute is a perfect sport watching location with screens everywhere you can always see the action no matter how packed the place is and though it didn't quite compare to the capacity I experiences last year for the Champion's League final the place was still pretty well jammed. We had to stand, both with our coke's: me out of a reluctance to needlessly consume alcohol (and a very low budget at the moment) and Kate out of respect for her drunken state last night and the match began.

I won't give a commentary of the match, those that care will have already seen it or will find much better match summaries elsewhere. What I really want to express in this Blog entry is the power of a crowd and the atmosphere of a pub in Liverpool that gets behind its team.

The match was very up and down and despite my nonchalance regarding the final result I found myself upset when Arsenal pulled ahead on aggregate and jumping for joy when Gerard slotted in the penalty to put Liverpool ahead (pictured) let alone the fourth goal! Singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" at the top of my lungs with who knows how many people joining me, it lifts you, it sends a thrill through you and you experience something really special.

I still don't care about football and if Liverpool don't win this cup it won't make me lose any sleep but for 90 minutes I was part of something amazing and I think that whether you like football or not that experience is something special and well worth revisiting.

Back from a hiatus

I love that word. Hiatus. Sounds good doesn't it.

It's been a pretty long hiatus, but the blog is back up and running. There's so much going on at the moment I shouldn't really have time to post anything but here we go nonetheless.

In that time I've been up to a lot of junk, with varying levels of success. I've been down into the deepest depths of despair and raised to stellar levels of joy.

The most recent achievement I've clocked up is my completing the Liverpool Half Marathon 2008. I finished the 13.1 mile course in 2hrs 22mins 20 seconds (according to the gun time), according to the official results on the websites I came in place 3042 of 3435 I know that sounds pretty bad but to be honest I'm just happy I finished. The bane of my running life are my knees which despite a support on the right knee (the main trouble maker) starting hurting at the 3 mile mark. I pushed through and was confident that I could make it round without stopping until a muscle twang around 9.5 miles made me stop for a minute whilst I stretched out my hamstring.

Maybe I should have taken this as a warning: I started running again until I passed the 11 mile marker when I had the worst cramp I have ever experienced. My right calf just clenched mid stride and I had a shooting pain near the bottom and side of my knee (where I imagine the calf ligaments are...?). It literally floored me and it was heart warming to see how many people stopped to check I was ok and offered to send one of the many medical teams back for me. I declined the help through gritted teeth and after a couple of minutes managed to get up and carry on.

Needless to say the pain was pretty bad and it was at a slow hobble that I made the final two miles. Before the race we'd joked that the final .1 mile (of the 13.1) would be a killer that would destroy us and I really shouldn't have made such a comment as I entered the final stretch, limping along and people were cheering us on at both sides of the track, I could even hear people shouting out my number (454) seeing the obvious pain on my face. Well, the pain got worse. Just as I began the final hundred metre hobble my left leg cramped up. Not as bad as the right calf but enough to send my stumbling. I was determined not to go down though and with every last piece of willpower I could summon (and yes, I'll admit - through a haze of tears) I forced myself across the line before falling to my knees clutching my leg.

If I EVER say I'm going to do something so physically trying as that run again remind me of all of this but more than anything else, remind me how stupid I was to not do any training since a run to the park (of maybe 8km) in NOVEMBER! Fool!

Anyway, today my knees are fine (weirdly) and my legs are okay, just a considerably amount of muscle stiffness and rawness where my shorts had started to chafe. At least I got a medal and a T-shirt though :-D I gave myself my own reward by letting myself do most of my work for the day in bed. Getting up at 5pm for something to eat and then hobbling to the library where you find me now at 00.30am putting the final touches to some dissertation research. Oh and reviving this blog.

See how long it lasts this time!