In what is surely payback for my snide comments about middle aged men in lycra, my husband has become addicted to running. The man, formerly known for his love of booze, fags and parties that rage through the night, has metamorphosed into the (not so lonely) long distance runner. Clearly there are upsides to this new fettish - fewer demands for illicit lunchtime trips to the pub, the disappearance of the Dad Bod. But I sort of miss the crisp crunching, chain smoking, lager lout I married, a man who was no stranger to a Fray Bentos pie.
These days I find myself scanning his history, not for pornography, but to check up on the level of his running addiction. A recent sample of his internet research threw up, should you run 10k every day? And is it good to run with a hangover? Answer, yes, provided you drink two pints of water before you set off.
We are a family of obsessives down to a man. There’s the sixteen year old, serial box set watcher, currently lost, quite literally, in Lost and who once watched the 5 seasons of Breaking Bad in the space of two weeks and had such bad withdrawal symptoms I almost called in a shrink.
Our daughter exists in a vehemently DO NOT ENTER book bubble, a tower either side of her bed, her bookshelf crammed and overflowing, an Amazon habit to rival her mother’s. This is a good obsession, it’s the impending boys and vodka I worry about.
And then the 7 year old, who sheds obsessions more often than his underwear, dinosaurs, Kapla bricks, football, drumming, though the current one, Minecraft, looks worryingly enduring. Actually it’s not the Minecraft he’s addicted to, it’s the youtube videos of gamers playing Minecraft. Weird, huh? And a private worry of mine, Is Stampy a pervert? I might google that right now.
That just leaves me and I’ve always had a list of obsessions longer than my arm. Green smoothies, mindfulness, zumba, vodka, lime and soda, to define it is to limit it. But I’d go as far as to say I prefer people with addictive personalities. At most parties you’ll find me outside with the smokers (whether I’m smoking or not relates directly to the amount of tequila consumed).
I like ex-alcoholic triathletes, I like secret chocolate eaters, secret lemonade drinkers, guess you could say I’m obsessive about obsessives. And frankly with a family like this one that’s just as well.