Getting to the heart of the matter

So, I am still waiting for the personal invitation. I have made sure I have connections everywhere. I have not missed the no-caller ID call, thinking it's my Asian friend who is so worried about my business phone connection that he calls each month to see if I've changed my mind; and yes, I checked the spam folder to see if this misplaced invitation has been dumped with all my Ruby Palace casino offers. But I'm still waiting, wondering why they did not call me to join Team Canberra Times for last weekend's Australian Running Festival event?

It would not be so bad if the Canberra Times was not the major sponsor of said event.

I could see I might be considered a risky team member. I probably would have increased the average age somewhat and possibly the high-density content of Team Canberra Times. I imagine, and now I'm just making up excuses for them, that when the organisers of the team were going through their list, having the food writer with a penchant for pork and offal might be somewhere below the art writer. Adding to this is the fact I am a wine maker, so technically I carry one standard drink, as the bare minimum, in my blood stream. I may even be at the bottom of the list with the political journalists, who, if I recall correctly, have had three durries and a quarter of rum before they start each day.

Yes, on paper, I can see I might not have been the best choice to team up with. However, I think they made a mistake. I've spent the past three months pounding the road out here and reckon I might be in peak post-middle age form.

Eventually, I joined myself up to the 2014 half-marathon, thinking anything with ''fun run'' sounds like you can turn up in costume and the full marathon is for people from Ethiopia. There's nothing like an embittered, slightly inebriated 50-year-old to make a point. So next year I can expect the call first.

I took an holistic approach to training for this half-marathon - I do prefer this title rather than the double-and-a-bit-fun run, always been the ''cup half-full'' kinda guy. I made sure that what I am putting into my body, now that it is a machine as well as the usual temple, was the right sort of stuff to get me over the line.

My first port of call was my doctor, who gave me a clean bill of health: good heart, low cholesterol, no blood pressure issues, could lose a few kilos. After I avoided eye contact and shaking his hand, I gave myself a big tick and thought carry on as is, everything seems to be in some sort of balance. No point upsetting the cart with yoga, personal trainers and quinoa.

My routine was not, under any circumstances, drink a bottle of burgundy before a run, again, and to lay off that second serve of pork belly or roast duck and focus on lean, high protein meats to get me to that finishing line before it gets dark and lonely.

I remained positive, even though the first reaction most people had when I told them what I was doing was "Really … you?" like I'm an elephant with a unicycle. Have to admit to feeling pretty healthy, which shouldn't be as big a surprise. I'm sure it's written down somewhere that if you do this regular exercise and eat sensibly, then you'll stay healthy.

One thing you get to do when joining the running festival is to nominate a charity, so you can also feel good that your torment is helping others. I have to admit that I was taken aback by just how many charities there are needing help. Seriously, there were about 200 that you scroll through and the job of choosing becomes a lesson in helplessness. How do you make a coin toss between childhood cancer and breast cancer? I end up thinking, logically and slightly selfishly, that given my age and risk, who am I more likely to need? So my chosen charity was the local Royal Flying Doctors Service, for reasons that shouldn't need to be spelt out.

If you are reading this and my exploits didn't make the front page, then I no doubt survived the race and will provide an update in my next column.

Lately, after visiting a local restaurant I've been playing around with hearts.

I know it probably seems desperate and slightly confused, to eat heart in the hope that yours will perform well.

This organ tends to be clumped in with offal, but really it is a muscle so can be treated as such. How your chosen cow, sheep or goat has been keeping up with their own exercise will dictate how much fat is attached to the outside. I picked up a quite large cow heart from the markets and it looked like a happy heart, though I'm no vet. The meat was deep purple with just a few large globs of hard fat near the left and right atriums. That's all the prep needed, you can now launch in.

Grilled beef heart skewers with braised radicchio

1 large heart, trimmed of any fat

¼ cup good quality balsamic vinegar

1 splash of olive oil

salt and pepper

1 tsp thyme leaves

8 bamboo skewers

Slice the prepared heart across into 5 millimetre slices, place in a bowl with vinegar, oil and thyme. Marinate for a day or the best part of it. Thread onto skewers, season with salt and pepper.

Heat a griddle or char-grill to smoking hot, grill the skewers on each side for two to three minutes. Rest a little and serve with the following.

Braised radicchio

1 large head of radicchio, finely shredded

2-3 tbsp pork fat or olive oil (whimp!)

Salt and pepper

Marinade from skewers

Heat a pan till hot, add fat and quickly saute the lettuce until limp, deglaze with marinade, season.

>> Bryan Martin is winemaker at Ravensworth and Clonakilla.