Bird-watching: is it just a cheep thrill?

ALL things to all men - but honestly, what is the big deal with bird-watching?

Hours and hours spent squatting on a hard seat, in a damp viewing box freezing your wotsits, with binoculars trained to catch sight of the latest ornithological must-see.

It reminds me of those I-Spy books we had a kids - trips to Heathrow Airport to tick off sighting the insignia of Lufthansa, Pan Am, Qantas, BEA or TWA - yes, I'm that old! Very soon I grew up realising what a pointless waste of time this was.

The American Birding Association - I'm assuming they must be on Twitter - surveyed nearly 1,000 of its members recently to discover that male twitchers are ostentatious, competitive and willing to travel long distances to seek out a specific bird.

Whereas the ladies are less showy and more sociable, despite being equally committed to the task in hand. You know what they say about a bird in the hand...a hell of a mess afterwards!

As Matthew Merritt, editor of Bird Watching magazine neatly put it: "I don't understand twitchers who drive 300 miles to see a specific bird, then drive straight back."

Nor do I, Matthew, nor do I. What an exhilarating, laugh-a-minute trip home that must be.

Mind you, maybe the same criticism could be made of running as a sad and pitifully pointless pastime, running round in circles when few of us are ever going to become champions.

Well, given the choice, I'll let the bird-watchers have their fun.

This has been my worst running year to date, riddled with injury and an embarrassing non-finish while pace-making the Ealing Half Marathon. The hamstring strain which has dogged my running since July refuses to go away.

But, all things considered, what's the point of complaining? I'm running reasonably regularly, able to enjoy the solitude and spectacular forest which provides a magnificent backdrop to those picturesque outings.

With increasing age, so your priorities change. Form and speed drops, injuries take longer to heal, you seem to become more susceptible to aches and strains, and even the motivation ebbs and flows with the temperature outside! Your goals alter too.

Last month I went back to my old running club after a couple of years away where many friends are still members. I came away vowing never to go back. Things change and people change.

Where once there were 20 to 30 runners meeting on a Monday evening to run freely, now there is up to 100 folk training in a very controlled environment, where groups stop to regather after every mile or so, where everything is pre-ordained and frustratingly contained.

That's not a criticism of those who organise with their England Athletics accreditation. Without those committed volunteers, sport at grass roots level would wither. Sadly it's the no-nonsense health and safety mandarins who govern the way we breathe, the way we walk, the way we talk, and even the way we run. They've taken the fun out of the spontaneous club run.

Now I'm content to run instead with friends in the New Forest. Focusing on races is no longer a priority. Occasionally I'll run with the small running group who gather on a Sunday morning in the village where I live. The sort of small group I began with through my old running club.

Christmas Day run in the New Forest with mates Ian and Paul

A New Year beckons. My goal running-wise is simply to remain fit and healthy. I'll never clock the personal bests, I'll never run blissfully pain-free, but I want to run sensibly with a huge grin on my face.

When I visited my old running club, I caught up with a guy called John who is still running in his late 70s. He's now limited to how frequently he can get out, but he still loves what he is doing and remains as chirpy as ever, I want to be like John when I'm his age.

Sometimes it is a strain to get out of bed first thing in the morning to run, but I've never yet returned from a training jaunt regretting the effort.

It's time to leave the good memories in the box where they can be preserved, and to move forward.