that's torn it

A couple of weeks my brother and sister-in-law took receipt of a beautiful new baby girl, which of course made me an uncle again. This was brilliant news and we became quite excited at the thought of a bubba in the family again. Then we remembered that we're a long way from home and probably wouldn't get to see her for at least another couple of years - suddenly it feels like it's the other side of the world rather than a skype of phone-call away.

This is why it's good to do lots of family things together, and last weekend was favourite fun day out this year. Katie decided as part of her birthday treat that she didn't want a party this year, but instead wanted to spend some time alone with each of us and do something special. This is really sweet, and sterotypically Katie is looking forward to spending the day shopping with Cathy this weekend, birthday money ready to spend.

My time with her was to go bike riding at McLeans Forest in the Waimakariri River Regional Park, and this was an absolute joy. I was concerned that 10k may be too much for Katie (and, if I'm being honest, for me), but we spent an enjoyable hour zipping through the forest up and down playful slopes and over gentle banks. There were a couple of steeper slopes which made it more exciting, and we took it in turn to take the lead and 'gee' the other up. I can't really overestimate how much fun I had, and I was sorry when we left.

not the bike you were thinking of © Catherine White 2009

Biking is just one of the many and varied ways I'm honing my near 40-year-old body (one that's rarely moved away from a computer desk for 15 years) to be ready for the South Island Masters Tournament and specifically the social soccer (and yes I know it's 'football', but i'm getting sick of people presuming I'm referring to rugby all the time). Hilariously I have just over two weeks to get ready to play at least 45 minutes at least three times over a single weekend. I'm abolutely bricking it.

I've bought football boots and been for a run in them, and that felt a bit weird. All the things I can do easily with a ball on the beach or in the garden suddenly become complex maneuvers that my bumbling body and sausage feet are ill-equipped to cope with when I'm on grass. The boots feel more like ballet shoes rather than the chunky trainers that I'm used to, and there wasn't even another overweight pommy father of three running at me with all the unstoppable force of 226 bags of sugar. I can't wait to play again, but any joy I feel has been smothered an avalanche of insecurity and the fear that I may make an absolute idiot of myself.

Training has already included (but is not wholly limited to) a pulled calf muscle and a strained achilles. The nightmare scenario of having to hobble off 30 seconds into my first and only appearence due to a torn hamstring has a certain inevitable feel about it...