In running there is truth

Went out for the year's first run last Sunday, the first for about a month. The multiple Christmas smargasbords and other festive excesses have unsurprisingly left a fatty legacy. That ghastly McKeith woman was right about one thing: you are what you eat. Exercising better/more starts here. In my unbridled enthusiasm and optimism I opted to leave the Swedemount's at home, figuring that I'll be too hot running 21k in lycra. Big mistake, it was bloody freezing. Had I looked outside I would've possibly registered that the ground was covered with frost, as it was I was too busy scrambling around for suitable mid-run nutrition, unfortunately options were decidedly limited.

Armed with a handful of Skittles and seriously under-dressed for arctic conditions I set off. Tiswas a struggle to get round but get round I did despite crucial body parts sending me distress signals. Since I started running properly in December 2013 I've grown to think of it as a somewhat therapeutic undertaking. Whereas at first the only thing on my mind as I meandered round 6 or so miles in 60+ minutes was how much I hated running, I now see it as a welcome opportunity for pondering life's important questions. Did I turn the heating off? Can I afford a new pair of trainers? How much money can I spend on a pair of jeans if I buy a cheap pair of trainers? What shall I have for tea? If I pay a grand off my student loan every year, when will I have finished paying it off? What was the name of that god awful horror film that Shelly from Twin Peaks was in? (Stephen King's Sleepwalkers). All the important questions, totally way existential.

Somewhere between what used to be the Corner Pin but is now some random office and the Shell garage on Carlisle Street East, after I'd rejected both trainer and jean ambition but before the Twin Peaks conundrum, I decided that I really must buy that new camera I'd been mulling over and ideally straight away. Why wait anyway? Ever since I lost my keys somewhere along the route of a 21k run I always bring my bank card with me on a long run, just in case, so I adjusted my running route slightly so that it finished more or less outside Argos on Angel Street. A short moment of catching my breath followed by grappling with the new catalogue-free modus operandi and I'm sat on the tram with a new gadget and aching bones. Cue tram conductor dishing out tried and tested platitudes. “You didn't check the weather forecast this morning then?”. You're killing me honestly.

Forking out £129 and I'm now the owner of a Canon Powershot SX510HS, light weight and compact it is and all.

I've already got a previous incarnation of a Canon Powershot but like Hugh Hefner I don't really see the point in putting up with things getting old and tired when there are new models available. Plus this one has built in WiFi and a much larger zoom. Sometimes size matters. I've not had much opportunity to play around with it, the camera that is, but it takes a pretty clear screenshot of the telly and a really detailed extreme close up of the remote so it all bodes well.

Hugh Hefner aside, the main reason for buying a new camera is because I've recently booked a flight to Seoul in late April to visit South Korea in full spring blossom and I'm planning on taking a whole heap of pictures of weird and wonderful things. Aided by the Cloud and the seemingly mind blowing connectivity of South Korea I'll be able to share pictures as I go along. Everyone jumps for joy. Apart from my savings account which is now officially an endangered species.

I've been to South Korea 3 times previously. First time at birth and up til 8 months of age. Can't really remember much. Second time was in 1987 when my parents took me, my sister, brother and nan on a 2 week organised group travel along with other Swedish families who'd adopted children from South Korea in the 70s. Remember a bit more from then, got to visit loads of urban and rural sights, massive mountain set Buddha statues and such things, ate bulgogi, raw garlic and ginseng chicken, met my foster mother, stepped onto North Korean soil, bought True Blue on tape and insisted on wearing a Donald and Daisy Duck (most likely a girl's) t-shirt. Olympic fever was widespread. The third time was in 2002 for the World Cup, which was absolutely amazing, despite Sweden losing to Senegal in the last 16 to a golden goal. What a rubbish invention that was. I've still got my counterfeit Freddie Ljungberg top. One of the highlights was watching a South Korea game at Seoul's version of Times Square on the screens normally reserved for advertising, sat in the middle of a blocked off, 14 lane wide crossroads, amongst hundreds of thousands of enthusiastic, but ever so polite, Koreans.

I can't wait. I was deliberating between South Korea and Japan but ultimately chose South Korea because the flights were cheaper and the cost of things is a lot less. Frugal as I wanna be. It'll be really interesting to experience the place as a weary and cynical 37 year old as opposed to a naïvely excitable youth. A week in Seoul and a few days in the ancient capital of Gyengju, "the museum without walls", is on the intended itinerary. Plus eating lots and lots and lots of Korean food. Word: Kimchi. And I'll be damned if I get Gok-ed there. Word has it the shopping is first class and dirt cheap so I may throw caution to the wind and get both trainers and jeans. Live a little!