Page 9 of Common People

‘The more you do it, the easier and more beneficial it becomes. I’ve been cold plunging for years. I’ve got one at home, along with a sauna. It’s nothing like this, but it does the trick.’

Eve and Bethan soon left, heading outside for a cold plunge. Max was somewhat overwhelmed with the cold and the heat, but like running, he knew it was good for him. Maybe it was just a part of the new him, and he had to grit his teeth and push on through the pain.

‘When I first did all this, I thought it was nonsense,’ said Joe. ‘But honestly mate, it’s life-changing stuff.’

‘I hope so,’ replied Max, who was curious about Joe. How did a black cab driver from East London get involved in Common People, and end up extolling the virtues of cold water and heat therapy? Max wasn’t one to label people, but Joe seemed like the sort of bloke he’d find down the pub or in an old-school caff, demolishing a full-English. ‘Joe, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get involved with the run club?’

Max looked across at Joe, who was already sweating, beads of sweat were rolling down the side of his face. Max was so hot, which felt good after the cold of the plunge, but he knew that within a few minutes, he would be desperate to get out. It was all about focus and distraction.

‘I picked up Hope in the cab. We got talking, and you know what she’s like—’

‘I can hear you, Joe,’ said Hope, from the bench above them.

Joe laughed. ‘I meant in a good way. You know I think the world of you, Hope.’

‘You too, Joe.’

‘For years and years, I had my head in the sand, Max. I was afraid of facing my demons, but Hope’s very persuasive, and just her energy and joy about running, so when I told her my story, she had me all signed up by the end of the fare. You’d think she’d have twisted my arm, but the thing is, all she did was tell me a few home truths.’

‘Your story?’ Max asked hesitantly. ‘If you don’t mind talking about it.’

‘Nah, you’re all right, mate. I’m not shy about talking about it. Let’s make no bones about it, yeah, I’m a fat bastard. Even my kids call me Big Joe. I was actually heavier before Common People, if you can believe it. You see, my old man was also a cabbie, and he died in his early fifties. A huge heart attack on the job.’

‘Oh, Joe, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK. I loved my old man, but he didn’t take care of himself. He was old-school, you know. A fry-up every morning, and then ten hours behind the wheel, six days a week. He smoked like a chimney, drank too much, and never exercised. It was a recipe for a heart attack, but the thing was, I was going the same way. I had an unhealthy diet, a lifestyle that had me on the journey to going the same way as my old man, but I’ve got a missus, two kids, and I didn’t want to cark it early. I didn’t want to go like Dad, so when I met Hope, she gave me, well, hope.’

‘That’s great,’ replied Max, feeling the sweat dripping down his body. ‘It’s good you’re putting in the work to turn things around.’

‘It’s hard, mate. Trust me, there’s plenty of days when I’d rather be in a caff polishing off a full-English, or down the boozer with my mates on a Friday night, knocking back ten pints and demolishing an extra-large kebab on the way home, but instead I’m going for runs or eating a healthy dinner at home with the family. I even take breaks at work now, park up the cab,and go for a wander. Everything now is about me health, and it’s all thanks to Hope.’

‘Stop it, Joe. I’m just the facilitator, you’re the one putting in the hard yakka,’ replied Hope.

‘Yeah, but if I hadn’t picked you up that day, heaven knows where I’d be now.’

‘Same for me,’ said Max. ‘I just happened to see the flyer on a noticeboard.’

‘Fate. If you believe in stuff like that, which I do. It’s like my missus always says. Nothing ever changes if nothing ever changes.’

Max felt the heat, the sweat, which ran down his body and he thought about what Joe had said. Just like Joe, who knew he needed something to change in his life or he’d end up just like his dad, Max knew that if he ever wanted to be happy again, he needed something to change. A week ago, he would never have imagined he’d be sitting in a roasting hot sauna on Clapham Common with a black cab driver, sharing their philosophies on life, but there they were.

‘The thing is, Max, blokes like me, working class from Barking, we don’t grow up talking about things like mental health, or physical health for that matter. We don’t go to the quack if we’re feeling a bit Pat and Mick, we suffer through it, get on with life, but that’s what my old man did and I don’t wanna go like him. So, I’m here, and I’m making changes for my wife and kids. For me. It’s hard, mate, really bloody hard, but it’s better than the alternative.’

Max looked across at Joe, he looked back at him, and he could see the passion and emotion on Joe’s face. He really meant it, and Max understood. He wasn’t like Joe. He hadn’t grown-up in working class East London, but still, he didn’t talk about things, and he hadn’t dealt with his grief properly, or talked about it in the way he should. It was easier to lose himself inalcohol than to face the truth. Joe was facing it head on, and Max had nothing but admiration and respect for him. Maybe one day he could be like Joe. It was quiet in the sauna, the overwhelming heat draining the energy out of them, until Anita stood up suddenly.

‘Right, I’m too hot, and I’ve been to Rajasthan, so trust me, I know hot!’ Then she walked out, leaving Max, Joe and Hope in the sauna to sweat it out. Max knew he couldn’t stay in much longer, and then it would be back outside for another cold plunge. The rollercoaster of hot and cold was painful, but like Joe’s wife said:Nothing ever changes if nothing ever changes.

The Scotsman

It was the afternoon after the cold plunge and sauna, and Max was in the flat with Robbie, who was making them a sandwich. Max had gone back in the cold plunge four more times within the hour, and then thirty minutes in the sauna, and Joe had been right, he had felt incredible afterwards. The combination of the cold and the heat, and Max had felt a real high as he made his way home. There had clearly been a spike in his dopamine levels because he felt a clarity, a sharpness, and increased levels of happiness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Now it was late afternoon, and Robbie had a shift at the pub that night, but wanted to make Max his latest sandwich creation first. He called it ‘The Scotsman’.

‘What’s in it?’ asked Max, who was loitering around the kitchen, sipping on an alcohol-free beer. He was drinking a Lucky Saint IPA, which would pair well, apparently, with The Scotsman.

‘It’s a neeps and tatties toastie, with Stornoway black pudding, a homemade red onion and chili jam, and Westcombe Cheddar on my homemade sourdough bread,’ replied Robbie, who was in his element in the kitchen. He prepared two sandwiches before he and Max sat on the sofa, their drinks on the coffee table, and a packet of haggis flavoured crisps to share. While Max had his Lucy Saint IPA, Robbie had his usual Irn-Bru. Robbie drank it like water, which he claimed it basically was in Scotland. According to Robbie, Irn-Bru was one of the key things about being Scottish along with black pudding, bagpipes,deep-fried Mars bars, and watching the filmTrainspottingon a yearly basis.

‘It looks interesting,’ said Max, looking down at the sandwich in front of him. It smelled incredible, and he couldn’t wait to give it a go.

‘After three,’ said Robbie, and he counted down to one, and then they both took a bite of their sandwiches. Max thought it was incredible. He knew that Robbie made great bread, but the combination of the neeps and tatties, the fried black pudding, the sweetness from the onion jam with a little heat from the chili, and the melted cheddar, was incredible.