The Kimchi Chronicles: 2014 - A year of PROGRESSION.

A couple of days ago I was sat by myself on the 18:05 train out of London Victoria, with time to reflect to myself on how ground-breaking the stark contrasts were for both my life and Dover Athletic in just the space of 12 months.

On the very same day one year previously, we had just completed the double over Ebbsfleet United in the conference south in which both clubs had become embroiled in a full-scale war. That afternoon I found myself on the receiving end of dog's abuse from a sizable quantity of their vocal support, who partook in several choruses of that hilariously original "10 man and his forklift truck couldn't carry ~~Lampard~~ Callum" song for much of the contest.

Our superiority on that day, however, was by no means a measure of our league performance on the whole. We still remained outside the play-off berths and trailed the internet-sellout club by 5 points even in spite of that result, plus our dreadful home form would yet to be eradicated over the following couple of months with inconsistency set to confine another league campaign to failure.

Fast forward twelve months and I'd be making my way home after visiting the Hive; the swish new home of Conference Premier pace-setters Barnet, who had led the pack since the very infancy of the 2014/15 campaign. They are a side managed by a wily old dog in Martin Allen and have plenty of football league quality amongst their ranks; to accompany the state-of-the-art facilities in their new surroundings.
We escaped there with a very creditable point after a hugely entertaining 2-2 draw. Granted, it was tinged with disappointment that we had surrendered a two goal lead, but that was more an indictment of our opponents' strength than any shortfalls of our own. We still had chances of our own to have killed the game and any sorrowness of our failure to hold out was a measurement of just how far our club had progressed in such a short space of time, rather than genuine displeasure.
After all, this result had just extended our unbeaten run in all competitions to a stunning run of 15 games, some feat for a club our size with what we're competing against since our division jump. The slaying of two football league clubs are also amongst this impressive stretch; which has thus bagged us an FA Cup 3rd round tie against Premier League outfit Crystal Palace, netting the club a huge windfall after its selection of televised status.

I'd also leave this game roughly 8 and a bit stone lighter than I had weighed during my public display of mocking on that day at Stonebridge Road.

Ebbsfleet United, meanwhile, having been condemned to at least another season of feeder league oblivion by the club who have (or had) a supporter who required a forklift to get past its turnstiles, marked this otherwise inconsequential anniversaire by being trounced 5-1 by the might of Basingstoke Town. At home. To leave them meandering behind league leaders Boreham Wood (who 'attracted' a Boxing Day 'crowd' of 278) by a whole 10 points, despite their shit-or-bust scale of spending in a ridiculously piss-weak league.

I'm under no illusions that eventually that club will sort themselves and ~~buy~~ drag themselves out of that division, especially now they have appointed a seemingly competent manager in ex-White Jamie Day, who performed spectacular at Welling United given the meagre resources available. If he can eradicate the jobs-for-boys culture at the club and weed out all the ex-Dover pea-hearted mercenaries like Daryl McMahon and Billy Bricknell, I'm sure he'll eventually be a success there in due time. At some point in the future we'll no doubt be on equal footing again, or worse still, they'll surpass us.

However, I'd be lying if I said I haven't smirked at the irony of our contrasting fortunes in this moment of time. Generally, I bit my tongue a bit after our great Nathan Elder induced triumph of 10th May 2014. By my standards, I was rather constrained in the aftermath of that game. Partly because the sheer joy of finally escaping out of that tedious division overrode the need to mock our defeated rivals. The elation of not having to visit Boreham fucking Wood or Staines Town for the umpteenth time and instead being able to set our satnavs towards Blundell Park, The Memorial Ground and Plainmoor meant I was able to set aside my bitterness against our fallen opponents.

Part of me thinks that an enormous, whopping big "fuck you" with Stone Cold Steve Austin middle fingers raised alike is long overdue against that club and its fanbase. But why should that disgruntlement remain? Ebbsfleet United, and Steve Brown in particular, have paved the way for DAFC to be the club it is today. The club that is currently experiencing some of its best moments in living memory. If he hadn't have raided the club for the bottling, overrated failures that we were for some reason disheartened to lose in the summer of 2013, then it would be very difficult to envisage DAFC being in the position that it currently is. Ebbsfleet may have instead appointment a man who would've put better use to their available astronomical funds and we wouldn't be lumbered with players who have ultimately shown that they are devoid of any mettle or moral fibre.

So thank you Ebbsfleet United, it may have been fucking horrible at the time but you have ultimately shown that your recruitment policy of signing past and present DAFC employees has been fruitful in restoring one of Kent's most famous and beloved non-league clubs back to where they belong. It's just a shame for you that at the time you didn't realise that I would be talking about us.

Some people (well, my Dad at least anyway) also believe that I should display gratification towards you for helping me achieve my subsequent transformation in both weight loss and life outlook. However, if the catalyst towards me finally managing to sort my life out is a gaggle of oddball non-leaguers taking the piss out of me, then I probably ought to take a long, studious observation of myself.

Though I will not try and lie and pretend otherwise; having a whole stand verbally mock and laugh at me for my obesity did hurt me somewhat at the time. Especially given some of the perpetrators were people I have previously acquainted myself with and at one point would have considered them as friends. As much the abuse was disguised under the tediously cockish, overused line of defence "it was only banter", I felt pretty damn humiliated at the time, as much as in the macho-male bravado world of watching soccer you would wish to pretend otherwise.

I'm not going to play the precious victim card here though. I opened myself up to the abuse I received by my conduct on several online outlets - both on football forums and on social media. I too have written some unsavoury and harsh stuff about Ebbsfleet United prior and in the aftermath of the games. I too, like 90% of match-going fans in the cockish world of football behaviour, have dished out and given abuse to players & officials from the safety confines of being behind a barrier. So I'm certainly in no position to pretend to be some virtue of morality who should be exempt from receiving what I regularly give out (although neither does it make it right).

Some said it should have been a compliment that the abuse of their fans was veiled at me, rather than any DAFC employee who had been embroiled in the public tit-for-tat spat in the local press(es) that had been stirred in the game's lead-up.
The abuse was personalised though, and without wanting to come across as a precious flower I wasn't able to see the funny side at the time. There was an element of truth to their claims anyway - weighing in at around 20 and a half stone at that point - it would have been difficult to envisage a man being able to carry me without the aid of some form of machinery. You can't argue with those sort of facts.

To use this game, as my Dad would, as a tipping point and main provocation into undergoing such a dramatic weight loss, however, would be wrong. It was merely coincidental that it happened at such a point. It may have hit home and reinforced the ideal that I needed to lose weight - but it was certainly an issue that had already been circling me in the lead up to the new year.
If "non-league bullies prompt obese lardarse to lose nearly half his body weight" makes for more of a sensationalist tabloid style story though, feel free to go along with it.

The predominant factor for needing to lose weight was mainly my health. Around this Christmas point, I was struggling to walk more than 5 minutes without needing to use my asthma pump. This was undoubtedly also caused by my suicidal tendency to still smoke heavily at weekends at this point but it had been progressing to a stage where my lack of breathing was of major concern. My prescription rate for requiring new inhalers had reached its frequent rate during my time on earth. I smoked my last ever cigarette on the early hours on that Boxing Day.

I'd even been reaching a point where at night time I was struggling to sleep sometimes because I could hear my heart rate palpitating. Now that's pretty scary. And worrying. I don't think it's melodramatic to say that if I continued for much longer with my then-lifestyle that I would soon have suffered a heart attack or contracted other potentially fatal coronary-related diseases. I had pretty much driven myself to the brink with my careless, carefree, do-what-I-like attitude towards drinking and eating, stemming from my general apathy towards leading a fulfilling life.

Of course, the self-image side of things also served as an incentive to lose weight. For who wouldn't it? Around this point it had reached the stage where I found myself untagging 97% of the photos I had tagged in on facebook, due to the sheer contempt of my own appearance.When it is coming down to that you know that it's a necessity to start taking action.
Family photos at Christmas were ones that were particularly strong at hitting home; I looked revolting. A novelty, an embarrassment. I knew that I had piled on the pounds in my post school years but I think I had seriously underestimated just how much by until these latest ones emerged.

New Year's Eve, 2013

Christmas Day 2013

I knew I would have to take serious action if I wanted to live beyond my mid twenties and thus began a new diet on 6th January. By the time I returned to Stonebridge Road for the play-off final in May, I had already shed more than five stone, making that victory all the more sweeter knowing that I was (probably) now slimmer than some of the ghastly figures who had once laughed at me. By early July I had already reached my initial target loss of 6 & half stone. At my last weigh-in before Christmas I had reached a body weight of 12st 3lbs; a total of 8st 4lbs vanished in less than 12 months.

I think it would be fair to say that it's with matter-of-factness rather than arrogance that I can claim to have done rather well. It is a rapid rate to have achieved such a loss and especially when you consider I have managed to balance it out well by allowing myself to unwind, indulge and enjoy myself at weekends and on european trips away.

However, my "achievement" is somewhat lessened by the fact I would describe my weight loss as easy, rather than strenuous. Once you get yourself into a routine, and find yourself increasingly buoyant from how much you are losing, it is a piss-of-piss to maintain that continuity. All you require is to not lax on discipline and have a strong element of self-trust. If you are truly committed to achieving your goals then the buzz of losing weight should be enough to see you through. I lost 12lbs in the first fortnight and at that point I knew there was no option of going back.

I found myself enjoying eating healthily and my newly found positive attitude to food, learning all about cuisine and even beginning to cook for myself. It helps that I'm not a macho male dickhead enough to sneer at the thought of eating bulgar wheat and dried apricots. I wouldn't think it's uncool to opt for a falafel pitta bread over a 8oz steak burger. Fresh fruit and vegetables deserve to be embraced rather than mocked. Constantly eating shit, processed foods, however, does. You are not cool or anti-establishment for wanting a vile McDonalds Muffin delivered to your house for your Sunday hangover; you are in fact a bellend and nobody cares.

People have always assumed that my speedy weight loss is a result of some meticulous and intense eating and exercise plan in which I have North Korea levels of restrictiveness on what I can do. That is hardly the case at all. My programme has pretty much been a cliched, simple case of "eat healthily and be active". That's all there is to it, in my view. I won't lie, I immerse great pleasure in the type of people who pay £40 to subscribe to herbalife and think that drinking a few genetically modified protein shakes will have them looking like Cyndi Lauper (or whoever the fuck is currently the embodiment of mainstream beauty these days) by the end of their programme. The same types who appear bedazzled when I inform them that I don't go to the gym or go out running.

That's not to say that I don't take care over what I eat. At the turn of the year I still suffered from the indignity of being a checkout operator. One of the very few benefits of this mind-numbing role is that it enabled me to closely study the calorie, fat and sugar contents of the vast majority of our Sainsbury's products. I would do so with great interest - it enabled me to learn just how horrific dairy products, chocolates and biscuits were, while I soon learned the joys of how beneficial things like chicken and non-oily fish are.
That might all seem pretty basic stuff but I was astoundingly ignorant towards food content before - I had always adopted an "I'm not listening" attitude to food. But hereafter I would stick to using skimmed milk, avoid the vast majority of cheeses and only use cereals with a low fat content. Breakfast would typically be weetabix or porridge; lunch a huge bulky salad usually accompanied by snackajacks and several fruit, while dinner would be varying - whatever me old dear had knocked up. She had catered towards me slightly by introducing regular chicken wraps as a meal and rice dishes like jambalaya would become more frequent - but overall I benefitted from a wide range of cooking.

And as for exercising - the stress some people place on the need to do complicated workouts is completely unjust and unnecessary. From my experience it's getting a healthy diet that is the prerequisite towards losing weight - not intense exercise. Don't get me wrong - I kept active. I regularly walk at least one of the 3 mile legs to or from work. This is hardly sacrificial - it only takes 50 minutes and a good walk is useful for helping to cleanse your soul or examine dead seagulls that you encounter on your footpath.
It also helps that working in retail I am constantly on my feet since exiting checkout work - all that rushing around and lifting is much more of a workout than it would seem on the surface.
But other than that - my level of exercise has been fairly modest. I went through a spell where I would go swimming once a week, and swim 30/40/50 laps dependant on at what stage my fitness had built up. My hectic working schedule has prevented me from going in months but I found it a great way to knock off a few calories, improve my body strength and fitness while doing something I enjoyed.

Slightly less repulsive, Christmas 2014.

Without wanting (but failing) to sound like a classic case of "first world problems", I will say that the transition from being a fat, useless no-hoper to somebody who can now be seen as more than just a novelty is less rainbows & butterflies than you would imagine.

Losing weight doesn't suddenly mean you have a personality transplant to go with it; it doesn't mean that you automatically extinguish all your unlikable features and traits, become confident in your looks and suddenly gain arrogant levels of self-confidence and feel like you can take on the world. Au contraire; quite the opposite has occurred with myself - at times I've had a crisis of self-identity and my crippling lack of self-belief and confidence has remained a burdening issue. There have been spells where I've tried to remove myself and distance myself away from certain things, whether it's been for my greater good or not.

However, I don't want to leave this blog on a sour note by documenting any personal issues that have clouded me at points over this year - energy is best consumed on reflecting on the positives and looking onwards to what the future can bring.

2015 is a year in which I need to push myself onwards, strive to keep improving and bettering myself a person. I have laid the groundwork on over the course of this year but it's no use if I choose continue to build upon that. Cliched? I know. Gay? I know, you homophobe.

Some of you may or may not know by now that I have decided to go to university next year. I have managed to blag myself a place into University of Leicester, a top 20 ranking institution and will be studying a history course that interests me greatly. Given I will be turning 24 in September, I know this probably seems that it's come at least 5 years too late to suddenly act upon the decent A-Level grades I attained. However, I'm rather glad the path I have taken has worked out this way. I would never have possessed enough maturity or desire to attain and see out a degree had I entered university at 18. I now feel in a place where I want to push myself academically, want to learn and to develop myself as a person.

Of course I do harbour some concerns and fear going into it, that's only natural. In my current job at Sainsburys', there is a worrying volume of postgraduates who are still here; one of whom even has a bioscience masters from Surrey! I have friends and acquaintances who worked hard for good degrees but are still working in modest jobs.

Then there is the age gap. Technically - at 23 and a bit - I am still young and fresh-faced enough to go out and enjoy myself and involve myself socially. However - the maturity difference between someone my age and an 18 year old is more startling than you'd imagine - and I'm not just referring to my rapidly receding hairline! I was reading through one of my blogs on here from a few years back and I winced in embarrassment at my old self; both in my writing style and the way I used to behave. Who the fuck in their right mind would drink Carlsberg?

I have become prematurely middle-aged over the past 18 months with my newly discovered fondness for real ale, european cities, cooking & cuisine and fine arts. I still retain plenty of my immature aspects and part of me will always remain a working class scumbag - but it's still only natural to worry over how you'll fit in and adapt to new surroundings and people. How will people respond to my quirks, my shit catchphrases, my odd sense of humour? But this is something that I need to undergo to try and make myself more personable and in all honesty - less of a prick. Become more accepting and engaging of other people, while learning how to accept to myself.

That said, there are also plenty of beneficial factors to beginning university life so late. I'm sharper, older and wiser than I once was. My 5 years of experience in working mundane retail jobs have given me that sense of perspective which should enable me to push on. I have several months to try and prepare myself for my degree both academically and financially. I will, for example, be making a serious attempt to learn German to prepare me for a likely year out studying in either Munich or Berlin. My history-graduate sister has also already plied me with several books to absorb in!

I need to concentrate on the positives, try and cast aside my doubts and general negative outlook and focus on what should be an amazing experience. I have been given an excellent opportunity by a proper university in a proper city, one with top-level student satisfaction rates and it is a chance that I fully intend to grasp.

2015 has potential to be an amazing year. Dover Athletic's FA Cup adventure continues; we have serious potential and genuine aspirations for a top half finish and plenty of great away days/weekends to follow in the likes of Lincoln, Halifax, Wrexham, Chester and Kidderminster. I'm re-entering Germany in February to take in games at Eintracht Frankfurt, FC Koln and Ajax, and have a few far-flung adventures later on in both Istanbul and Seoul. The two weeks I am spending in the latter should be an incredible life experience in an area of the world I am still yet to visit. And then of course there is the whole matter of joining university.

The year just gone will take some living up to, though. Thank you to everybody who has encouraged or supported me along the way, to whom I probably don't show enough appreciation of. Thanks to all of you who have helped create many amazing memories - it truly is a pleasure for once to be able to look back on a year with fondness rather than one of regret and a lack of fulfillment, as has been the case for far too often.

Here are some pictures of my favourite 2014 memories to leave you on :-)

The Krakow Derby, February. The atmosphere gave me goosebumps.

Reacquainting with old Barrow pals in a Cambridge pub.

Sheer delight at Sutton; our play-off second leg destruction of them with 10 men is the most complete DAFC performance I have ever witnessed.

.....But we only got there in the first place thanks to Barry Cogan's nerves of steel from the spot on the final day,3 minutes before the season ended.

Conquering Ebbsfleet for the third and final time.

Enjoying the title celebrations at Sparta Praha. Bandwagoners!

Pleasantries overhanging the edge of Prague castle.

Enjoy the communist style stadia at Slovan Bratislava.

Wasted on lambics in Bruges.

Vienna Zoo was epic all round but seeing a polar bear in all it's glory topped it.

Toasting our first away day success in the big boys' league with the matchball, from Telford.

Grabbing a last minute equalizer to silence 6,000 Gasheads at the Memorial was one of several unforgettable DAFC moments in the calender year.

Some might think I'm an oddball for spending my 23rd birthday alone in Germany, but where else will you find such awe-inspiring relic terraces in 4th division football?

With my brother in Budapest. We've lost over 13 stone between us this year, and both managed to bag ourselves a bit of Czech crumpet on this adventure.