Spring forward, fall back. A very handy way to remember when the hour goes forward and when it goes back. I heard it for the first time last Friday but quickly recognised it has more resonance for me than simply the changing of the clocks.
In terms of getting fit and into shape, I make my progress in the spring and on into the summer. Autumn, or fall, comes along and I fall back, get idle and rediscover my inner couch potato. Badly. It is frightening how much work I leave myself in the new year, every year. And how I have to endure near torture at football training and in the gym to make up the ground.
I wish I could say this year was no different. But it was different. It was worse. I said in these pages a couple of months back how I had put on two stone from July 2010 to January 2011. In the same piece I was [insert appropriate word] brave/foolish/naïve enough to set myself the target of losing those two stone by February 26, the day of my sister’s wedding or, failing that, by the start of the GAA leagues in Mayo, which was last Sunday.
As I write now I am down a half stone. Not bad some might say. In fact it is great if you could bear witness to how indulgent and indisciplined I have been in that time. I’m probably single handedly keeping The Sweet Factory in the black and I would hate to see the damage Coca Cola has done to my insides. Frozen pizzas are the sum total of my dinners some evenings (obviously I do cook them first). Nutrition is an alien concept to me at the minute.
But, maybe it is determination, maybe it is downright stubborness, but I still see those two stone coming off. The New Year’s Resolutions didn’t last too long. Giving up everything for Lent was never going to go to plan for someone who hasn’t been at a regular Sunday Mass for years but there is hope.
The glorious weather last week in Galway called for my first road run of the year. The hour going forward makes road running in the evening all the more attractive. And when I’m running in the evening it is very hard to justify eating junk afterwards. It is hard to justify it even on idle days but I’m a master of saying to myself, ‘go on, you deserve it’. Time to spring forward. And maybe it would be no harm this time if I didn’t fall back at the latter end of the year either.
Breaffy paid a fond farewell to Brendan Jordan at the weekend. Taken suddenly last Thursday at the age of 67, Brendan was a great family man and he was one of seven Jordan brothers to play for Breaffy, a serious claim for any family. The Jordan name is synonomous with the club and latterly Brendan took immense pride in watching his nephews Barry and Colm play with distinction for his local club. In a quiet way Brendan left a warm impression on a lot of people.
He will be missed.