Monthly Archives: April 2012

Let’s Go And Play Out, Kids.

Remember Playing Out?

If this phrase makes you feel nostalgic, then shame on you.  Reluctant as I am to criticise anybody, even you: shame on you.

Playing out is important.  Failing to play out is one of the main reasons that the current generation is the fattest and most unhealthy one yet.  It’s also the reason that the generation we’re bringing up now – our own kids – will be even fatter and more unhealthy than our own.

Getting outdoors and playing is a simple, fun and largely unseen way to:

  • burn calories
  • get further away from the fridge
  • have loads of fun
  • make friends
  • become fitter
  • avoid obesity
  • reduce the likelihood of shedloads of diseases in later life

Do you need any more convincing?

In my opinion, we adults often go out and ride out bikes to get ourselves fit.  I’ve been quite vocal in the past that I prefer “playing out on bikes” to exercising any day of the week.  That’s why I prefer a Mountain Bike, but that’s just me.  Whatever you ride a bike, stop to think about the kids and please, please check out the links below.

So, What Do You Do?

Please add your support by contacting your MP. You don’t even have to know who he/she is, Sustrans have done all the work for you.  Just fill in the quick form by hitting this link.

More information about the Free Range Kids campaign can be found here, including some great ideas to get kids outdoors.

If you’re not in mainland UK, and I know a lot of you aren’t, do something in your own area. If you have an organisation doing similar things where you are, post a link in the comments below and lobby someone who can do something for your next generation.

Tell ’em Phill sent you. 🙂

In Search Of My Mojo

I was born in 1969.  So, apart from the less-than-3 months in which I cried, poo’d and drank my way through the 60’s, I was a child of the 1970’s.

As soon as I was old enough to get weekly “spends” (10p a week) and be allowed to walk to the nearest shop, I learned that the greatest value for money that a 5 year-old could realise was to exchange 10p for a mixed bag of 3-per-penny chews.

Three-for-a-penny chews came in two varieties:

  1. Black Jacks:  Turned your tongue black. Tasted of an unidentifiable fruit-based chemical. Were vaguely racist.
  2. Mojos:  Were fruit coloured. Tasted of chemically-enhanced fruit. Weren’t socially questionable.

So, I spent my money on Mojos. Every week.

OK in the 1970's, but where's my Mojo now?

Where do you find YOUR Mojo?

Now I’m 42, I can’t buy Mojos at three for a penny.  As far as I’m aware, I can’t buy them anywhere.  So, on ride nights and every other Saturday, I have to look for my Mojo within myself.

Sometimes I find my Mojo. Sometimes I don’t.  Sometimes other people find it for me, and sometimes other people drag me out on my bike even when I can’t find my Mojo.  At these times I’m grateful.

At other times, when I can’t find my Mojo, I sit on the sofa in my riding gear, wondering where my Mojo is.  Those aren’t the good times.

Where do you find yours?

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