It's just an Iron Man...

// The Dream

David Goggins screaming at me - calling me a fat fuck and saying I need to do more.. that's the way I want to start this article and the way I want you to imagine the rest of this blog.. David (and if you don't know who he is - google him, you won't be disappointed) just telling me that I'm weak, that I should quit and using all the reverse psychology tricks to beat my ass into the sheer bliss of exhaustion.

It's not what many people long for - in fact, I know some people who would actively avoid such an ordeal but for me - it's what I think I need.

In some kind of sadomasochistic way, I need to be back in basic Army training - being absolutely blasted to move my fat ass around a training course, throwing myself into it with all the enthusiasm of a young 20 year old but I know I'm coming up to being a 45 year old man.

Thats where my head is at with just under two weeks to my 45th birthday.

I want to face all my demons and be in a truly physically uncomfortable place - I want to go to places where I am truly exhausted.

// The Reality

I am overweight - I've struggled with my weight for probably the last 8-9 years, I've focused on comfort and fun rather than looking after myself and its starting to show..

I fit in XL tops - not L anymore and just in the last two months, I actually wore a XXL T-Shirt for the first time.

People tell me that I 'carry it well' - mainly because of my height but thats still a ton of weight to carry around the football pitch - I'd hate to be my own ankles as I turn and swivel on a pivot on the pitch. I broke my leg last year, not through a dangerous tackle from another player, nope.. it was my own weight going through my legs that actually snapped my own leg.

Yep. Ouch.

When I was in my 20's and to some extent, in my 30's - I could keep the weight off and my metabolism was all fired up enough to help keep those extra calories at bay but slowly but surely over the years, it's been creeping on and now, I think I've reached the point where it's going to take a real effort to get it off.

The temptation is always there with the Ozempic and Wegovy ad's flowing in on my Instagram (probably because I looked at it just one time) but I know that if I just focused on exercise and eating clean for just 6-8 weeks, I'd break the back of it and actually be a whole lot healthier but life (especially in your 40's) gets in the way.

// The Risk

I know it - you know it.. everyone knows it. The more we eat, the more weight we put on and the risk of an early death increases every single day and with my days remaining alive a constant nagging though in my head, the risk feels like its ever increasing.

But the food is so frickking good - the cheese on the top of the pasta, the glorious cheesy sauce, the cheese on toast with a cuppa on a Friday after a sea swim.. mainly cheese based food and then there is the slow addiction to Bourbon Biscuits.. leave a packet of Bourbons in front of a cup of tea and they won't survive very long.. It's relentless.

I've spent 44 years on this planet and I definitely know what foods bring me effervescent joy - I seek them out.

If you add into that the fact that I have a baby daughter on the way in January, then the feeling of impending doom ever increases and it feels like an anchor around my neck.

I play football twice a week - Mondays and Thursdays and (not for the last few weeks) I swim a few times a month.. I get it, it's more than most people but I also want to be in my 'prime'.. I want to be physically fit.

In 10-15 years time, I don't want to develop health problems related to weight and be a burden on my family, I don't want to suffer a stroke like both my mum and dad had in their late 50's and I want to be able to enjoy holidays without the risk of a heart attack.

A few years ago, there was an episode of Doctor Who where he battled with The Master (this version was played by John Simm) and whilst I can't remember the full storyline, there was one specific element to the story which rang true - the Master could hear an incessant drum, like tinnitus but a low thudding drumming sound which was constantly repeating.. a loud banging drum.. It slowly drove the Master insane and (again, I can't remember the specifics) it was caused by a part of his past catching up with him.

I feel like the Master - I have this ever banging drum pounding in my head, it's the constant reminder that I need to be healthier and I need to be a better version of myself.

Bang... bang... bang... the drumming is getting louder every day.

// Next?

As with every mid-40's man, the word 'Ironman' starts to rise up in your brain as a way to push yourself and prove that you're still young and I'm no different - the nagging feeling is there, it's calling me and I feel like I'm just two or three clicks away from signing up and getting myself into one.

There is an Ironman in Weymouth in September 2026 and whilst I could be fully committed - a part of my brain is telling me it's too much, that I won't be able to do it and that I should just forget the idea.

My ankle has never been the same since I broke it playing football, the mobility is restricted and the additional weight doesn't help - I feel like I've lost a bit of myself and this is only driving me further to push myself into some form of physical transformation.

// The Pull

The strange thing about all this is that I don’t think it’s about fitness. Not really, I think it’s about control.

When life feels unpredictable - business, money, the constant scroll of other people’s highlight reels - the body becomes the last honest frontier. It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t flatter you. It gives you the exact return on the effort you put in.

And I miss that.

I miss the soreness that means I did something hard, I miss my legs feeling like jelly after 'leg day' - the quiet pride of walking up the stairs after a run and knowing no one saw it but me and I love the way my brain switches off when my lungs are on fire - there’s no room for doubt or anxiety in that space, just breath and grit.

I miss the version of me that didn’t negotiate with himself every single morning or failed to go to the gym.

Because that’s what happens as we get older, right? We start making deals with ourselves - tiny lttle allowances.

“I’ve earned this glass of wine, it's been a long week”
“Pizza on a Saturday - it's fine I’ll start Monday.”
“I’m not that bad - I play football twice a week”

But every one of those deals chips away at something inside of you and me - not discipline exactly, but a level of trust in ourselves which doesn't stop - and once you stop trusting yourself, the climb back up gets steep.

// The Plan

So here’s where I’m at - I need to do something, I want to do something and I need to be held accountable - no grand gestures, no waiting until New Year so I can't do the same old “new me” declarations - I just want a few of us to make a quiet commitment to start again.

Run.
Swim.
Stretch.
Sleep.
Repeat.

I’m not chasing abs or medals, although they would be awesome - I had abs once upon a time in my late 20's and whilst it didn't take much (I was working on a building site and it was a symptom of the job - I just want to be fitter and healthier and kind of silence that drumming in my head finally - or at least slow it down because my body is too tired to argue anymore.

I need to start doing something and maybe it's that Ironman - I want my family to be proud of me for sticking to something and actually doing it - maybe it is the time - now, not tomorrow. Now.

Who's in?