Fat Boy Running: The Partial Biography of a Complete Nobody

By Bryan Mills

This book really doesn’t know what it is. I’m not famous so it’s not really an autobiography; I have no inspirational story to tell so it’s not really in that genre; I don’t have any special knowledge of exercise or nutrition so it’s not really a fitness guide. Maybe if it wasn’t for copyright it would be called Zen and the Art of Running.
What it is, and why I wrote it, is a retelling of decades of struggling with exercise. I had to get straight in my head what I’d been doing for so long, and as I did I found some of the memories interesting or funny. I thought to myself that I can’t be alone in this and so thought I’d share it to see if that was, indeed, the case.
So what we are left with is a mix of tips, memories, experiences and half-baked advice. I’ve tried really hard to keep away from numbers and times as we all run our own race – where, and if, I have slipped I apologise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716757853

Book preview

Chapter 1 - Slow beginnings

Stranded in this world of Instagram influencers, personal trainers and fad diets there's the rest of us.  Not lazy, not greedy, just trying to get by.  This book isn't an inspirational self-help guide, it's not a diet book and it's certainly not a training plan.  It's one fat boy’s battle with himself, there's a twist coming part way through - but you're probably already aware of what that is. 

My relationship with running goes way back, I say relationship it's not like it's a love affair, more we are vaguely acquainted.  My earliest happy memory of running is coming home from watching Super Man in the Cameo Cinema.  For whatever reason I was there on my own, seems weird now that as a child I would have walked the three miles to the cinema and back but nevertheless there I was.  As you leave the cinema, now a block of flats, the side road leads out on to the main road and along down a steep hill.  I can remember running down there feeling like I was invincible, granted it was downhill and I was clearly hyped up, but it felt so great that I still remember it.  That's where it ends though.  In every running race at school I felt like I must have lost it, or at least finished back in the also rans.  I never ran for fun, I ran because someone told me to. 

Don't get me wrong, I was an active child.  I spent most of my time outdoors either on a bike, or later in my teens, surfing.  But I didn't run.  Of course schools were a lot more flexible back then on risk and safeguarding.  When we could we would volunteer for cross-country running.  This allowed us to leave the school's premises and do a loop of the local roads, a loop that went right past my house!  A one kilometre jog and walk saw us sat in the front room watching surfing videos with a sneaky back track just in time to return before the bell.  One occasion our timing was a tad off and we got back ahead of a lad who ran for the county.  Took a bit of explaining but I think they just didn’t care.  I'm not sure what PE is like now in school but then it was just a focus on the A team and wining, providing the rest of us didn't cause trouble no one really cared about our fitness or physical education.  Besides I had my surfing.

Some days we had the treat of using the gym.  This well preserved and rarely used haven actually had some useful kit.  These sessions were a little like what might be called ‘circuits’. We had to do a range of different stations each with a different activity.  This was useful and focused on fitness.  I have one fond memory of finally reaching the top of the rope – it felt great to be up there.  Another random success was pole-vault.  Each year we had a sports day, again I was to be found near the back with the also rans.  But this year the call went out for someone to represent the form in pole-vault.  I thought I’d give it a go.  Why not.  Pole-vaulting hadn’t figured in any of our lessons but one lad, a different one to the runner, competed for the county so the school couldn’t resist showcasing this.  The day arrived and he had brought his own pole.  My training consisted of being handed what looked remarkably like a piece of aluminium scaffold tube and being pointed toward the bar.  I managed some sort of low vault but the victory came from being one of the only ones daft enough to try.  Like the Olympics points and medals are awarded for first, second and third.  As there were only two of us I came away with second!

I didn't do much running after school, in fact I did none.  It was probably fifteen years before I tried again.  I'm not sure what motivated me, and it didn't last long, but I decided I would try 'fell running'. Trail running it's now called but back then I set about running, badly, a few local off road routes I used to ride on motorbikes.  It seemed to go ok but I had no idea if I was making progress and I did seem to twist my ankle more often than was useful. Eventually I was persuaded to try a local road run - Tricky Dickies Turkey Trot.  This used to be a yearly 8K one lap run from the aforementioned pub ending in the pub carpark with a pasty.  The first mile or so is down a steep hill - Superman was back! The next mile is all uphill, then the next couple seems to be up a gradual hill, another downhill then a final uphill.  You know the way there seems to more uphill than down even though you start and end at the same spot?  It was just like that.  I made it about two thirds of the way then, right outside my old primary school, shin splints kicked in.  A lack of proper training, running way too quick too early and probably the wrong shoes all conspired to stop me in my tracks.  Stop me that is apart from one thing, bloody mindedness.  I carried on, slower and slower but still sort of running.  By the time we'd, or by then I'd, rounded the junction and was on the last downhill I was being followed by the St John's ambulance.  And I mean literally followed.  It was right behind me.  Bless them if they didn't keep offering me a lift but no, I