We’re halfway through the year, and I can’t be the only person who’s nervously feeling a little
body-image conscious about this being heralded as ‘The Year for British Sport’. London 2012
(TM/Copyright etc etc) is about to launch the nation into fully-fledged sports mania. As sofa-glued
spectators, that is, rather than actual athletes.
I began 2012 with intention of trimming down, really showing my food-writer’s belly what’s what.
With expertise and motivational support from Personal Trainer Tracy Griffen, I’ve managed to
find my running legs again after a year’s break. New trainers and the challenge of running
another 10k in the autumn have helped burn off some of the calories. I also started the year with
the express intention of giving up biscuits during my working day, as frankly, the shortbread habit
was getting out of control. ‘Graze’ boxes are now de rigueur, and I enjoy snacking on the various
assorted seeds, nuts and dried fruit.
So the legs are getting in shape, I’ve managed to switch one snacking habit for another, yet
thanks to my enthusiastic food-centric lifestyle, this belly still persists. Gardening is touted to be
good exercise, so taking care of our not inconsiderably-sized back patch (whilst technically not
‘sport’) must be good for me. Then the reward will be the dragging out of the BBQ for bangers
and a beer. I haven’t even mentioned the mid-afternoon ice cream break.
In this year of Rule Britannia, The Times’ columnist Caitlin Moran suggested the motto for The
Queen’s Jubilee was ‘Get drunk and eat cakes’. The upcoming Games have put the marketing
gurus into hyperdrive with endorsements which seem to include multi-national soft drinks and
fast food brands. The next motto could very well be ‘Drink cola and eat a cheeseburger’. Not
particularly sports-friendly.
My suggestion would be to keep it local and promote that most British of dining institutions.
That’s right, Fish ‘n’ Chips. So this summer, as the world’s top athletes prepare themselves for
the competition of their lives, you’ll find me in my pounding the pavement along the shore. On my
way to the legendary Pierino’s for a suitably patriotic supper of haddock, fluffy chips smothered in
salt’n’sauce, and a can of Irn Bru.
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