This was supposed to be the week it all clicked into place. After surprising myself with how well Week 1 of Couch to 5K went (you can read about that here), I went into Week 2 feeling quietly confident. I had the perfect running route mapped out, no more looping fields just to hit the target time. Week 2 of the Couch to 5K plan upped the ante: six 90-second runs, each followed by 2 minutes of walking. Manageable, but definitely harder and I was ready to build on last weeks the momentum.
🏃♂️ Run 1 (2.16 miles | 31:00 mins | 14’21”/mi)
The breathing? Yeah, that escalated quickly. I went from “Hey, I’ve got this!” to “Who turned up the gravity?” in about 45 seconds. But I kept my cool, focused on slow, deep breaths, and somehow wheezed my way through all six intervals like a slightly broken steam engine.
I actually finished feeling okay, triumphant, even, until a few hours later, when my knees filed a formal complaint. Nothing sharp or dramatic, just a steady “Oi, what was that?” kind of ache. I decided not to push my luck and took the sensible route: five full days off, like a true mature adult (and not at all because I wanted an excuse to sit down a lot).
💨 Side Quest: The Asthma Check
Fueled by my newfound athleticism (jogging without collapsing), I decided it was finally time to get my asthma meds sorted. It’s usually mild, only really flares up when I’m ill or chasing rogue footballs, but I hadn’t had an inhaler review since approximately the Bronze Age.
So I did the responsible thing: attempted to fill out an online consult. The first day? Missed the cut-off. Turns out the system only accepts forms between 7am and 6:30pm, Monday to Friday, but it can shut down earlier if the practice reaches capacity. By the time I logged on at 9:30am, it was already “computer says no.”
The next morning, I hit that form at 7:01am like it was Glastonbury ticket day. This time, success! I submitted my info, felt very smug, and promptly got a call back. Victory was mine… or so I thought.
Turns out, no shiny new inhalers for me until I have a full review, and the earliest phone appointment? Three weeks away. Classic NHS plot twist. So for now, I’m sticking with slow runs, deep breaths, and hoping my lungs play nice until then.
⛺ Half Term Camping Chaos
It was May half term, so we packed the car to the rafters and set off for our traditional Monday–Friday camping trip to Dawlish, big blue tent and all. Honestly, at this point, the Horizon 700 is practically a family member. It takes up half the car, but it’s worth it for the sheer luxury of standing upright while trying to locate a toothbrush in a toiletry bag the size of a thimble.
Usually, these camping trips are less about “embracing nature” and more about eating like a pigs who’s just discovered Just Eat. We’re talking two takeaways a day, ice cream at least three times before lunch, and a snack schedule that would make a cinema concession stand blush.
In fact, I once set myself a personal challenge to eat an ice cream from every single shop along the Weymouth seafront in one week. I very nearly pulled it off, too. I fell short, defeated not by willpower, but by the realisation I was starting to sweat sugar.
But this time, I made an effort. A real one. As the kids inhaled sweets with the focus of elite athletes, I ate sensibly. Balanced, even. Some fruit, some fibre… some visible regret.
That said, there was one slip-up. A caramel Biscoff sundae, and yes, it deserves capital letters. It was a thing of beauty. Layers of cream, sauce, crumbled biscuits, and zero shame. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. In fact, I’d happily walk to Dawlish just to have another.
So, technically, I behaved. Mostly. I’d give myself a solid 7/10 on the restraint scale — and a full 10/10 for dessert-based decision making.
We stayed at Leadstone Camping in Dawlish Warren, which might just be the most peaceful, well-kept site we’ve ever visited. Beautifully situated between Dawlish and Dawlish Warren, it’s quiet enough to relax, but close enough to civilisation that you’re never more than ten minutes from a pasty. Bliss.
We arrived with high hopes, a car packed tighter than a Ryanair suitcase, and the kind of family optimism that only lasts until someone asks, “Where’s the bedding?”
To be fair, Sarah is the organisational powerhouse behind our trips. She handles the packing with the precision of a military logistics officer. But even the best can have an off day, and nothing quite humbles a parent like realising you’ve driven 100 miles with children and zero bedding.
Still, spirits were high the sun was out, the tent went up (mostly during a biblical downpour), and Oreo the dog quickly marked his territory on every blade of grass in a three-mile radius.
We’ve had our Horizon 700 for three years, a big blue bungalow of a tent that takes up more boot space than the children. It’s a bit of a legend in the family now, especially after that trip where we discovered our original tent came without any poles. Nothing screams “family holiday” like panic-buying canvas accommodation on day one.
But the highlight of this trip? The water pistols. It started innocently enough, our kids having a light-hearted squirt battle. Then some kids from the next pitch joined in. Within ten minutes, the campsite resembled a low-budget Waterworld. At one point, as I sat in the dry safety of our tent I counted over 30 children armed and drenched, running wild in the sunshine. It was chaos. It was glorious. It was also the exact moment I realised our children now have a more active social life than I do.
The weather held out beautifully (bar the usual “rain right as the tent goes up” tradition), and with the kids having the time of their lives, we extended the trip by two extra days. Best decision we made, apart from the Biscoff sundae.
Camping with kids will always be unpredictable, muddy, and occasionally damp. But when they’re happy, the sun’s shining, and you’ve only forgotten one essential item, it’s a holiday well done.
🏃♂️ Run 2 (2.14 miles | 31:00 mins | 14’30”/mi)
Back to training. After a few days off, my knees were feeling better, or at least quiet enough to convince me they were fine. So, with cautious optimism (and a slight limp of denial), I laced up and headed out for Run 2.
The pain crept back almost immediately, like a grumpy toddler you’d hoped was napping. I seriously considered turning around and calling it a day, but instead… I did the stubborn thing. I pushed through.
Probably not my smartest move, but I finished the run. Limping, wincing, and wondering if this was how bionic knees were born.
🦵 A Step Towards Recovery
I had planned to do Run 3 on the Wednesday of our trip, along Teignmouth seafront. But my knees still weren’t right. So, I did something sensible for once: I booked an appointment with a physio.
Years of neglect have left me stiff and tight all over. I’m hoping the physio can help me understand what’s going wrong with my knees and give me the tools to get back on track running pain-free.
👉 What’s Next?
In the next blog post: my first visit to the physio, an honest look at what he found, and whether I finally get to complete Run 3 of Week 2.
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Let’s see where this journey takes us, knees willing.