And so the Easter holidays begin. I’ve been looking forward to them for a while, even though Bryan and I aren’t doing a huge amount – we’re staying relatively local and just enjoying a slower pace of life for a couple of weeks.
Both of us are off for the entire fortnight, which will be a welcome change to the pace we usually live at.
Living through a global pandemic had pretty much no upsides, but the slower pace of life was very welcome for a few months. I’d only been a dad for a year at that point, and was still learning (what am I saying? I’m STILL learning), but the slow down during all three lockdowns helped Bryan and I to bond a lot more quickly – as well as to just spend more time together, which I absolutely loved. I’d had eight months leave from work the previous year, and it felt like a second gift amidst the uncertainty and anxiety of that strange time.
Having said all that, we ARE going to Wildwood this weekend. The last time we went was – I think – 2020 (in the brief gap in the summer where excursions were allowed); it’s a lovely place, and I can’t wait to just spend the day in some fresh air with my brilliant son, who is growing up … but who is still willing to spend time with me (for which I am very grateful).
As I write this week’s column, I’m sitting in the waiting room of Bryan’s dance studio on a sunny Saturday afternoon. He’s just finished one dance and is waiting a while for his second class to begin. I don’t begrudge any of the waiting around I do for him; when a child finds a passion, it’s great to be able to support and encourage them. For me, one of my biggest passions is writing, whereas Bryan’s is more physical – dancing.
I’ve never been one for sport or dance or physicality in any form – except for walking, I guess. I’d walk anywhere and everywhere and do at every opportunity; I’ve even managed to convince Bryan to do a half-marathon with me in September of this year. It wasn’t much of an effort, to tell the truth; having done a couple of sponsored walks together in the past, Bryan seems to have enjoyed them and was open to the thought of something a bit more challenging.
I’ve done a few marathons over the years – all walking ones, I should emphasise. I’ve never been inclined to go for a run; I tried it once, as some friends extolled the virtues of running, but my knees and back soon told me that they had their limits.
When I first did a marathon, I’d wanted to start with a half (13.1 miles instead of 26.2), but my friends convinced me that the full marathon walk would be more interesting and fun. I’m glad they did convince me in the end; while it was hard, I thoroughly enjoyed it and soon became obsessed. I did thirteen marathons with friends, and one by myself when my main marathon buddy decided to retire from doing them when she moved away from the area.
I was actually more nervous about doing the solo marathon than I had been about the very first marathon with friends. I was used to a certain pattern and routine in the build-up to the marathon, and having someone I knew and trusted by my side to encourage me when I hit “the wall” – and that happened more often than I like to admit. But the solo marathon wasn’t bad in the end; I found myself talking to a few people in the first half of the walk, and then just put my head down in the second half and powered through.
Walking through London in the middle of the night – along with thousands of other people – was a lovely experience, and I felt quite emotional when it was all over.
But this year, I’m looking forward to sharing that experience with my son, and that’s going to be a lot of fun. Perhaps that’s one thing we can do in the holidays – go on some practice walks around Thanet.
