Wooden poles protrude the scree at crazy angles like shattered bones, the crumbling remnants of a former path. Sweat trickles down my nose as I edge gradually upwards, the unfamiliar bulk of heavy bag and awkward bike nestled on tender shoulders. The col creeps into view, a crack of brilliant blue between imposing cliffs. Nervous anticipation long since dissipated, replaced by the trudge of unsteady progress. Average people doing extraordinary things. A true sense of adventure. Almost certainly a world’s first. The ground levels and I gratefully ditch the heavy load, glimpsing into the abyss on the far side, hoping…
I used to be a runner… Not a bad one too. And like many obsessive types it dominated my thoughts and actions for years. Fifteen hours a week of skipping round the mountains backed up by recovery spins on the bike. Sub 3:35 Seven Sevens twice in a week, followed by a 3:41 Mourne Skyline, with a couple of 55 minute Slieve Donards for rest days. Diet pored over, any excess a weakness that could shatter the delicate mental balance of an elite mindset. Holidays were thinly disguised training camps. The mantlepiece groaned with the weight of a lovely variety…
When the fun stops… stop. It’s a well-worn quote from a gamble aware campaign, and frankly when it comes to gambling I struggle to see where the fun really starts. Formative eighties memories of the stale reek of desperation that emanated from the amusement arcade that I wasn’t allowed into. Watching mates tossing drinking money into pub fruit machines, convinced they were about to win big in the nineties. The creep of online gambling spewing over all sports coverage and sponsorship in recent decades. Stopping gambling seems like as good a policy as never starting in the first place. Stop?…