Creepers, Weepers and Burpees - A Roundup

Hangover day two.  Finally starting to see the horizon on which I will no longer be craving pizza and Maoams for every single meal;  A foreign land where I don't respond to every attempt at interaction with me with a "Wuh? Sorry, my ears are still ringing," as I pray internally for the ground to swallow me up.

Had a leaving do with my workmates on Saturday.  I'm told by a few sources that I was "funny", which usually means that I was so trousered that I thought my name was Jagerbomb.  Cracking night, but definitely paid the price!  Main thing that's brought me through resulting paranoid, carb craving fug of my hangover was forcing my body into moving about a bit at my current gym - F.I.T Pontarddulais (click for FITBont's Faceboobs page).  Been going ever since I decided to move to the area.  Still feel like I've cheated on Outcast, but convenience and a lovely crowd and a coach who is the human equivalent of of caffeine ("You're doing GREAT! Nearly finished! Only joking! BURPEEEEES!!!") have made the transition really fun:

"Smile like your arms aren't ready to fall off!"

I love group exercise. Love.  It.  Along with the camaraderie and (I fucking hate the word, but I can't think of an alternative because I lost all my brain cells to cider) banter (*dies a bit inside*), it's nice to have witnesses to prevent the "Nope! Time for cake, bye bye!" moments I'd usually experience trying to work out solo....Which I might have to start doing more of soon, what with my new jerb being a bazillion and twenty five light years away (I Google mapped it) from my house.  For this reason, I'm enjoying the group stuff as much as I can for now, just in case I'm not able to do it as much in the near future.  

Contrary to some people's beliefs, group exercise is rarely boring. As well as the content of the workouts changing all the time, where your head is at (in the case of this evening, it was physically in the gym and mentally at Domino's) changes every day too, which makes for some interesting times.  Here are a few types of workout you can get at a functional fitness and/or Crossfit type class, based on my experience:

The Weeper

 You came to the gym because you've had a pants day.  You're a bit emotionally, erm...squiffy.  You know from experience that you rarely leave the gym sad, because endorphins and science and shit, so you drag your anxious, frazzled self to the Church of Iron to be cleansed.  You get a few reps in.  You and the barbell are one. You are the barbell. Until you aren't.  The barbell is a torture device, designed to somehow get heavier with each movement.  Your coach asks if you want to add more weight to the bar because he obviously secretly hates you and would very much like to kill you.  You wonder whether it's acceptable to sob openly in public. Maybe you could just tell people that you sweat most from your eyes? You hate this.  You can't do this.  You just can't.  Until you can.  Because you just did.  And now you're beaming and high-fiving everyone within range because "THAT WAS AWESOME!!", conveniently forgetting that a few reps ago, you were praying to all and any deities for a swift and merciful death so you didn't have to do it any more.

The Creeper

"Oh, those are all body weight/ kind of simple movements!  I can do all of those things!  This will be a walk in the park!"  You are wrong.  And you are certainly aren't going to be able to walk in any parks (or at any other kinds of recreational grounds, for that matter) for at least a week, because everything hurts too much.  DOMs has you now.  Rest in peace.

The Team Effort

i.e The one where you can't half arse it because people are watching you at closer range than normal. Judging.  Always judging

...Or so you convince yourself as each teammate takes a minute to rasp and wheeze into a water bottle while they wait for their turn.  Oh, you can't wait for your turn to do the rasping and wheezing.  Water bottle is safe.  Water bottle is life.

The "Nice" One

This is where the coach/trainer occasionally throws in a workout where it doesn't leave you trying to decide whether you should stay on this Earthly plane or shuffle on into to light.  I'm convinced that they do this once a month or so in order to trick you into thinking that you're suddenly "really, really good at this exercise stuff!"...right before they plunge you face first into another Creeper the following day.   With a "burpees with sprinting" finisher.  *shakes fist* 

...I had a "nice" one tonight.  Off to F.I.T again Wednesday.  Pray for me.

Fitness Fibs - Lies We Tell Ourselves

Two things that made me cringe when I originally wrote that title:

1 - I worried it makes me sound like I think I'm some kind of "expert", which would translate to everyone else as "unqualified douche nugget who probably can't even outrun a tranquilized sloth in a weight vest."  This only makes me want to write this post more, because clearly I need it just as much as, if not more than, anyone else.

2 - I originally wrote "Lies Women Tell Themselves," which is ridiculous because I don't think only those of us with certain chromosomes are entitled to feeling a bit insecure about our abilities.  Unless I'm totally wrong and "The Men" are just pretending in order to somehow get the better of us women folk in a way that we are too distracted by knitting and chocolate to grasp. God.  Men, huh? 

That was a joke.  I like men.  You guys are great. *Eyes you all suspiciously*

I should probably tell you what this post is about now.  I've been an enthusiastic (and oftentimes unenthusiastic) casual/amateur pursuer of fitness for a few years now.  I've transformed from girl who fakes "hurty ear" as an excuse to get out of P.E...actually, hurty ANYTHING to get out of P.E in into adult woman who enthusiastically turns down Friday nights out on this piss so she can go hang out at the gym on Saturday morning until it feels like her lungs are coming out of her butt.  She can also bench press a bus.

I lied about the bus.  Point is, I do some kind of physical activity (running and/or CrossFit) 3-5 times a week (depending on the week) and even though it took me a long time to get here, I now love it almost (almost!  Let's not go crazy) as much as I love cake.  I'm not super fit.  I'm not even sure if I'm average, but I've got to a stage where I know that I will come away from that day's workout feeling happier, saner and stronger than when I went in.  

 Image 1 - How I used to spend my Friday nights (now how I spend the odd Saturday night instead.  What?  I said I'd changed a bit, not had a personality transplant. Jeez.  Go get me a beer)

Image 2 - How I mostly Spend my Saturday mornings now instead of crying because I want pizza and a cuddle.

I haven't always felt this way about exercise.  On some days, I still don't, but those days are getting rarer.  On these "off" days, I find that I lie to myself (like that one about the bus.  Maybe I could bench a toy bus though.  So technically not a lie?), but at least now I know well enough that my brain is just telling me fibs again in order to get me back to the sofa sooner, which is closer to the cake. I'm sure it means well.  It's hard to stay angry at a body part with such a strong devotion to getting me cake.

From personal experience and speaking to others, I think a lot of these lies are universal barriers to living more actively, so I'm writing them down in the hope that people like me will see them and realise that they're just dastardly fibbers too.  Here goes:

1.  I'm not a natural
Who is?  For every Usain Bolt there are fifty bazillion gajillion (fact.  I counted on my fingers. I have a lot of fingers) "regular" people who can only learn something and become competent at it by doing that thing over and over and over again.  And then again some more after a snack break.  Pretty sure even Usain has to keep doing the sprinting thing over and over and over again in between filming Virgin Media ads too.  It's not glamorous or easy, but that's just how it is.  And the great thing is that once you "get it" on your bajillion and twelfth go, you can celebrate that little bit harder because you know how much work you put into getting there.  Fuck it, throw in a victory dance if you have the energy!  I did one push up a year or so ago and didn't shut up about it for a week.

Did I mention that I can do a push up now?  Sometimes I can even do two!

2.  I have to be fit already to keep up with group workouts
Nope.  You have to be willing to turn up and do what the workout, even if you come last.  And if the class/gym/running club you've gone to get all sweaty with is any good, coming last will be applauded because you stuck at it until the end.  Also because you are a badass who worked out for longer than everyone else and still had the balls to not take the easy route and give up.  As long as you're doing as much as you can do, everyone there will know that you've tried just as hard as them.  If not harder. Go you and your balls!

3.  I don't look the part
If you have at least a semi functioning human body, you look the part. In the running club I used to go to, I often used to think I looked like a three legged pug chasing after gazelles. When I started CrossFit, I thought I looked like Tim Burton drew my arms on in comparison with some of the gun shows on display there.  I don't look that much different now, but I don't care because I'm constantly finding out I can do things that I previously thought I couldn't.  No one is judging you for how you look. 

4.  I've been doing this a while now and I'm not getting "good" fast enough
First of all, what does "good" mean?  How do you quantify it? "Good" is such a vague notion that if you strive for this alone, you'll never feel like you're enough.  This is the one I'm worst for and I continually have to "logic" myself out of it.  When you see people progress at a faster rate than you, or worse, you see someone who is totally new at what you've been doing for ages best your efforts right away, it can be heart breaking.  You have two options here; Give up, go home and cry into some ice cream or remember that everyone is different and you can probably do something that they covet...and then go happily eat some ice cream.  Either way, you get ice cream.  What was the point I was trying to make again? 

 Small weights, big improvement considering I couldn't lift a plastic bar over my head without getting a bit of a wobble on (not an exaggeration) 2 years ago.

5.  I can't do it
Unless it's reciting the Russian alphabet backwards and simultaneously inventing time travel (Wait! Do you think that's how we can crack time travel?  Who speaks Russian and how can I copyright that idea? Dibs on that idea!) yep, you can.  Slow down, concentrate on doing what you're doing well and safely (ask a coach/trainer/magical gym genie if you're not sure how) and keep going. You'll get there, if only so you can turn around to your past self and those people who are in the same place you were and tell them that it's 100% possible.

I've nicked  borrowed all the photos (bar the "pint cow" one) in this post from Outcast CrossFit Swansea's Facebook page.  If anyone from the Swansea area wants to join in in having sweaty times (ooh, matron!) with a bunch of people who are so supportive that you'll end up regularly going on the internet to spout about fitness despite being heavily under qualified to offer fitness advice, this is a great place to start.  It's not a cult, honest.

Outcast CrossFit - Swansea

 "One of us!  One of us!" 

Marathon Training Week 15/ Taper (or tapir) Time!

Morning!  

Iiiit's taper tiiiiime! Taper.  Not tapir, as I just misspelled it.  Tapirs are weird elephant-pig creatures that zoos keep in order to baffle the public.  There's something simultaneously cute and disturbing about those strange, melty faced beasts.  Kicking myself for not owning a picture of a tapir to put on here now.  Never occurred to me that I might need one.  You'll have to use a search engine of your choosing. 


Tapering, on the other hand, is reducing your mileage a couple of weeks before a big race.  I've read countless books on running marathons since I took up recreational bimbling as a hobby, hoping that I would gain the ability to run one via osmosis. In my reading, I've learned that people usually have a hard time cutting down the miles.  Probably because they've grown used to doing "what-the-fuck?!" length jaunts around their hometowns over several weeks and suddenly have to go back to sensible distances like what sane people do.

Well, I've had no problems in reducing mileage.  In fact, I think I might be a bit too good at it.  This week has been a big ole nightmare from start to finish.  On Monday, I was missing CrossFit profoundly and feeling a bit cocky (always a winning combination), so I had the not-the-idea-of-a-dumb-frick-at-all notion that I would be able to attend a WOD (work out of the day in sensible speak) that was incredibly squat-heavy, and still be okay to run for the rest of the week, despite my near total lack of prowess when it comes to weighted squats.

WRONG!!

Cue three days of the worst case of delayed muscle soreness I have ever experienced.  In normal cases where this happens to me, I am a bit of a wobbly mess when faced with a simple staircase and may have to lower myself onto the loo by placing my palms flat on the seat and wincing until I'm sat down, but this was a whole other level.  

Because of the weakness in my poor, battered pins, I teetered like a Weeble (Google it, millenials. They wobble...but they don't fall down! This is how we entertained ourselves before the internet) whenever it was required of me to just be stood up, and the basic act of walking made me look like a drunkard on a pair of the world's shortest stilts, sporting an aggressive facial twitch.  Not pretty. 

Also, I had/have a pretty nasty cold, which would have floored me even with all of my limbs functioning.  Colds are another thing that I have learned is common to experience towards the end of a marathon training plan, when your immune system finally gets a look in as your body starts to wind down. Luckily, my legs are now working, and I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel where I can run again without coughing my lungs out and jogging over them.  It's a sexy light, too.  Check this beauty out from one of my runs:

 

Phwoar.  Jealous much?

This morning, I had a revelation that makes me think I'm going to need a lot more underwear than normal this week.  It's dawned on me that at the time of writing this (midday-ish), at this time next week, I will be two whole hours into the Liverpool Rock 'n' Roll Marathon.  That's not even halfway for this stubborn tortoise.  I know I'm excited, but I'm having difficulty in accessing that emotion under the sudden onset mist of panic that has clouded my brain.  I feel like I'm in that part of Silent Hill where all the sirens go off and everything's going dark, and the baddie with the big cheese grater for a head is coming to get me.

I am terrified.  Terrified of two things:

1.  Not finishing

2.  Hating every second of it

Logically, I know that I won't hate every second of it.  There will be moments where I want to cry, tantrum and pray for unconsciousness, but without those moments, the elation, joy and sheer awe at just what the hell I'm doing will seem even more enhanced in comparison.  Those emotional peaks are pretty much exactly why I run, so I know I'll just have to take the bad bits with it.

It's the idea of not finishing that's sending me into a tailspin.  I can think of a billion reasons why I might not:

• Hating the experience so much that my body just sits down without my permission and refuses to get back up.
• Getting so hungry that I eat another runner and end up being arrested before I can finish.
• Taking a wrong turn and getting lost.
• Actually drowning as I forget I can't multitask and try to drink water and run at the same time.
• Suddenly morphing back into my pre-running self where running more than a few metres makes me want to keel over and immediately find consolatory ice cream.
• Falling down a man hole/tripping up/piano dropped on me from building/any other ridiculous scenario that results in me being horribly injured.
• Going so slowly that I can't finish inside the cut off time.
• Spontaneous human combustion.
• Remembering I suck at running up hills.
• Stampede of wildebeest like what happens to Mustafa in the Lion King.
• My feet fall off.
• My head falls off.
• My clothes fall off.

 I could go on for hours.  Deep, deep (DEEEEP) down, I know I have it in me to finish, because the thought of having wanged on about it for so long and then turning around and going "oh, no, I didn't do it in the end..." is about the worst thing I can imagine.  Also, after reading so much about it, I really want to have this transformative experience for myself.  I actually believe it will change how I feel about my abilities as a human in general.  I've never thought of myself as someone who could run marathons, which makes me want it a bazillion times more.  It's a club that I want to belong to!  

Still fucking nervous, though.  S'pose I could go for a run to calm myself down... Novel idea.

 
 

Marathon Training Week 7/ SUGAR!!! OMIGOD, SUGAR!!!!

7 weeks in! Ermagerd, shit's getting really, REALLY real! I'm actually going to have to do this thing, aren't I?  Without much further ado, please observe a glorious week in which I followed my training plan to.  The.  Letter.  Oh.  My. Gawd (lookat. Her. Butt*):

Mon    Restful day of resting (so restful)
Tues   5 miles
Weds  Who am I to resist a-rest (haw haw)?
Thurs 3 miles & Crossfit, during which I learned I can now fling 25kg onto my shoulders easily! Rejoicing!
Fri     4 miles
Sat  Stag do/dancing at an Irish bar induced hang over. Rest day
Sun   Penultimate Run Like a Ninja & 14 MILES!!!

Furthest I have ever-ever-ever-ever run!  And it was enjoyable!  Ninja lesson of the day was about getting cadence (the optimum number of steps to take per second while running = approx 3, or 180 beats per minute).  I learned that as long as my feet hit that ideal 1-2-3 rhythm, I could control my speed by either zipping my ankles higher up my legs to go faster, or by keeping my feet close to the floor for a low 'n' slow pace.  The way I run has completely changed over the last few weeks; for the better.  Zero injuries, and thanks to more frequent walk breaks (still getting used to not berating myself for having to do this and accepting that it's a better method of running long distance for me), I'm remembering to enjoy myself.  Plus, I'm still weirdly faster the more often I let myself have walk breaks.  Maybe if I walk the marathon, I'll win? Haz I dun a logick?

My epically tanned and muscular calves after 14 fun solo miles, 

because after 14 miles, my face wasn't prepared to be photographed.

Cameras have yet to have red-face reduction as well as red eye.

Aaand this week's plan is all going to go to shit because I've signed up to my first ever obstacle course, which falls on a rest day (Saturday).  It's the Margam Invncbl run.  6 miles, 20-something obstacles and a whole heap o' mud!  Have discovered that there are electric shocks at one point along the course.  I may or may not be sitting in soiled pants as I type.  I HATE electric shocks!!  I get pissy enough when I get static shocks off of shopping trollies.  Keep an eye out for a 5ft3 She-Hulk on the news.  I don't know how rage-y more than a little static is likely to make me.  If I even do that part of the course.  But there is a medal and a t-shirt, so no backing out now.  I have a pretty new shiny to collect, G-D it!

Clicky here to laugh at what I'm going to be putting myself through on the day. 

Runnin' done for this post.  Main topic I'm going to cover today was brought on by a conversation I had with the osteopath I met through Outcast CrossFit and who is doing a damn good job of making sure I don't make any of my own limbs fall off from over use during training (Swansea Body Kinetics - Rosie Jones).  Turns out we are both frequent sugar giver-uppers/binge consumers.  My attitude to sweets/cakes/other delicious things that make my brain light up like a Catherine wheel is well summed up by a Mark Twain quote I saw somewhere about his smoking habits:

 “To cease smoking is the easiest thing I ever did. I ought to know because I’ve done it a thousand times.”

I give up sugary treats every single day I when I wake up. Granted, it's not a habit akin to smoking in the eyes of most (especially if you are smoking in the eyes of most.  People don't like that, apparently), but I really believe that my addiction to the sweet stuff is just as intense, and can be just as damaging to our health in the long term.  I've read enough about it** to know why I shouldn't be eating Maoams at every meal.  Some examples of what excessive amounts of sugar can do to you:

• Fatty liver
• Fat and triglycerides in the blood
• Visceral fat
• All of the above can contribute to heart disease
• Damages collagen (translates: makes you prematurely look like a well used handbag)
• Over time makes you increasingly resistant to insulin, causing you to be at higher risk for diabetes.

 My logical Cleverbrain knows that if I keep eating nutritionally void party foods on the daily, I am likely to become a diabetic thirty year old who looks like she should have a bus pass and is one trifle away from an Elvis style heart attack on the bog.  No person wants that for themselves.  Nope.  No quick rush of "weeh, this is nice!" is worth it.  Cleverbrain also knows that nice things happen when I give up sugary snacks, because it's helped me try do it enough times.  When I'm off the Devil's granules,

• I'm more awake because I'm not in a WEEEEE!...zzzz...AAAAGH!!!...zzzz....WEEEEH!! cycle of peaks and crashes in my alertness.
• I'm a nicer person to be around because I'm less crazy from the merry-go-round of energy levels and spiking emotions.
• My brain feels less foggy.  Probably because it's not filled with bits of Fruit Pastille.
• I get physically leaner very quickly. I'm not too bothered about my weight, but it is easier to do my runs without little functionless almost-saddlebags that I can't even carry my loose change in.

 Of course I'm always going to want sugar.  Because frankly, it's fucking delicious. But it does bug me that all of my reasoning and good intentions to give myself a better chance at carving myself an independent and healthy old age is ruined by Cleverbrain's nemisis, the evil Professor Shitforbrains, who frequently turns up in my mind like an obese, grabby-handed child with chocolate on its face going 

MORE!!!!! I NEED MORE SUGAR NOW OR NO MORE THOUGHTS ABOUT ANYTHING USEFUL OR NON EDIBLE FOR THE REST OF THE DAY! HAHAHAHA GIVE ME HARIBO OR DIE AN UNPRODUCTIVE DEATH!!!

I don't get it.  How have humans evolved to think for themselves, and at the same time be contantly overruled by destructive impulses "just because it's nice and I want it, I want it now!"?  I understand that in the grand scheme of things, my "problem" isn't a problem anywhere near the scale of those experienced by people suffering with genuinely life ruining habits, but it is something I've grappled with for years.

Rosie the Magical Osteopath (sorry, Rosie, I've made you sound like a character off Playdays!  Send Why Bird and Poppy the cat my regards) made the point that maybe the reason that sugar is so easy to binge on is exactly that.  There's no sudden danger or deterioration while you're "on" it, and no dramatic comedown to put you off having more.  The negative effects are more long term, silent and creeping, which is ominous enough, but nothing like the shock of seeing a picture of a burnt up lung on a packet of Lambert & Butler.

Maybe after the marathon, I'll set myself a project to ease my dependance on sugar out of my life.  For now, I just wanted to get the topic out of my head, because it's been bugging me for a while.

Apparently I have a comments doohicky on this thing that I seldom mention/use.  Let me know - is your consumption of sugar something that bugs you, too?  Or am I alone here under my pile of Drumsticks and Sherbert Dip Dabs?

Also phwoar.  Do Sherbert Dip Dabs still exist??

*Apologies if, like me, you now can't get Nicki Minaj's manic giggles out of your head from that surreal version of Baby Got Back she did either.  "EhhhhHAHAHAHAH!!!"

** Two really good reads to get you started if interested: That Sugar Book - Damon Gameau and Sweet Nothing - Nicole Mowbray

Marathon Training Week 4/ I Love Swansea, I Do

Wow, this Sunday came around quickly!  Knackered today, so hoping this post comes out making sense. Just got out of a half hour shower during which I stared into space, drank coffee and ate cheesy oatcakes.  Name a classier bird, I dare you!  

Don't think I helped my alertness levels by getting merrily pissed on a visit to see my family this Friday evening.  I forgot how cheap a night out I am when my running mileage creeps up.  I had half a bottle of wine and one can of cider and I was plastered.  I don't recall what happened in Friday's Gogglebox, but I can tell you that based on my viewing experience through wine goggles, it was conclusively the best episode EVER!  Also, if my relationship with A evolves into anything like that of the posh couple from Sandwich, I will know that I have won at life.  

Have a peek at this week's shuffly shenanigans:

Mon   - Rest
Tues  - 4 miles + CrossFit
Weds - CrossFit (meant to be a rest day, but this one involved hitting the crap out of a big tyre with a sledgehammer.  No ruddy way I was going to miss that one. Je ne regrette rein).
Thurs - 3 miles
Fri      - 1 mile (yeah, I don't know either.  Maybe I copied the training plan down wrong)
Sat     - Rest
Sun  - Run Like a Ninja + 10 miles.

Today's 10 was bloody lovely!  If spring was a furry animal, I'd be squeezing it.  I love that there's a hint of warmth in the air, but that it's not too hot to do anything in it. Everything's better when the sun's out.  All the greenery goes HD, and people are transformed from miserable wastrels to chirpy beer garden dwellers.  Look how pretty today is!

Not the best of photographs, but you get the picture.  Pun intended.

...At least you can't see the shopping trolley on the bank.  Why are there always trollies in rivers?

I took my time today.  Focused on relaxing and just enjoying myself.  When it got a bit tough, I walked for a while, adjusted my form and carried on my merry way.  It was nice.  Only thing that drove me mad was that my good mood kick-started the jukebox in my brain, making Everything is Awesome by Tegan and Sara (that one off of the Lego Movie) play on a loop in my head.  Enjoyable at first, but by mile 8, I wanted to stick twigs in my ears and wiggle them about in hopes of finding the "off" button.  Here's a short taster of what I endured:

Everything is Awesome - Tegan & Sara feat Lonely Island

Fortunately, my good mood gave me warm, fuzzy feelings to concentrate on too.  The first five miles were spent ambling along Swansea's seafront with a dippy smile on my face as I ruminated about how much I love my city.  I proper loves it, I do.  I had plenty of time as I weaved through other joggers and smiling families to compile a list of why living here makes me silly-face happy.  Here is a shortened version of said list:

1. Is it a city?  Is it the countryside? Oooh...

Swansea is one of those rare cities that strikes a nice balance between urban and rural.  If I want to plonk one foot after the other on concrete, I can mosey on over to SA1 and marvel at the shininess of its buildings.  If I want to feel like I'm in the wilderness, all I have to do is pick a nearby mountain to scramble up.  And have you SEEN the seafront?  We've got beaches, bitches!

2.  DOGS!!

I'm not allowed a dog in my rented house/glorified shoebox.  I'm not allowed a cat either, but we'll keep that one between us, faceless Internet.  Shh.  Fortunately, everyone else around here seems to have at least one dog, so there's always a loveable looking mutt within petting distance.  I'd like to think I'm getting alright at this adult-ing business, but in the presence of a dog, my brain short circuits and turns me back into 4 year old "OHMYGODISTHATADOGGYCANITOUCHIT?!" Becky.  I'm getting better at controlling it, though.  I can usually tone it down to an intensely goo-eyed grin at a passing canine. Until I remember the canine is highly likely to have a human owner attached to it, who is judging me for looking at their dog like I want to steal it.  That's because I do want to steal it.  People can be very perceptive sometimes.

3.  Nothing is far away

Swansea's nightlife is the best example of this.  99.9% of its bars are one one street, making it easy to ping-pong your way down a single stretch of road, where there is inevitably a weary taxi driver with his door open, ready to catch you and return you to your house - the place where your bed lives. 

4.  It's byootiful!

Dylan Thomas put it best, calling Swansea an "ugly, lovely city".  As it modernises, Swansea's quickly becoming much, much less of an uggo.  It's the ugly duckling of cities.  Which, now that I'm typing it, I'm realising is kind of a perfect analogy. Doesn't the ugly duckling turn into a swan?  Swan?  Swansea?

Holy crap, I just blew my own mind.

5.  Students!

I don't care what people say about students.  Students make a city awesome.  If my liver and bank balance could still handle 4 consecutive nights' drinking a week, whilst holding down a part time job (granted, much of my time working in Debenhams' restaurant involved me "going to the fridge to get something" to ease my pounding headaches and nausea) and attending lectures (but only the ones that start after midday), I would do it all over again.  Students make a city busier, more creative and more vibrant.  Plus, I'm pretty sure that without them, there wouldn't be half as many coffee shops,and that would be a goddamn travesty.

Hope you're enjoying the sunshine too today.  I have to go now, as I have been promised a lasagne/mexican food hybrid.  Mmm.  Everything truly is awesome.

...Aww, fuck, it's back in my head! Gettitout, gettitout!!!!

Cats vs Humans

Ow, I hurt my... me!  Had my second ever experience with atlas stones last night, and as a result, am now feeling like I was at the losing end of a bar fight with Mr T. Woke up to what I briefly thought was a heart attack this morning, to find it was only the snazzy bruise on my chest complaining as I tried and failed to flip myself over.  Never thought I'd be part of an organisation that sees chucking concrete (concrete!! That stuff that pavements and breeze blocks are made of. WT-actual-Eff?!) balls around as an excellent, healthy activity.

Moaning aside, I'm chuffed I went to that particular session.  I always find that the classes that make me want to cry the most at the start also tend to end with me feeling like She-Hulk, but with pastier skin.  Raaah! The fact that I found it so challenging can mean only one thing - That as soon as I get the knack, I will LOVE it.  Logic for you.  

Also, the bruises look pretty bad ass.  

"Oh, this little thing?  I got it from THROWING A BIG ASS BALL OF CONCRETE AROUND!! You need me to open that jar of pickles for you?  Perhaps direct you to the beach whilst tactically but discretely showing off my guns?"

I kid.  I don't have guns.  Weapons or physical.

You find me at the second of two days off I've magically managed to get off work at the last minute this week.  My manager is a saint who knows that the best way to get me to do my job well is to secure me as many days off doing actual work as possible.  Glad we see eye to eye.  I am sat at my PC with a snoring lump of fluff in my lap that I've spent a lot of time hanging out with over the festive period.

No, I haven't let my personal grooming get out of hand.  I am fully clothed, and Walter the cat has chosen to sleep in the most inconvenient spot he can find.  As per.  After glaring at me like this...

If looks could kill.

 

 

...from the printer for a while, he has now forgiven me for whatever crimes he is silently accusing me of in the above image, and has now settled in my lap/on the arm I need for the mouse.  The more time I spend with Walter, the clearer it becomes to me how differently these fluffy, conniving bundles of manipulation see the world to humans.  I have come prepared with some examples.  I shall roll up my sleeves and begin:

 

The Human Nose

Human - Facial feature for sniffing out food (and probably other things too.  But mostly food).

Cat - Human "on" button.  Sticks out from duvet while humans sleep, handily reachable from bedside table for when I need to be let out to pee at 4am.  Or just for shits and giggles because humans hate being woken up.  More effective/amusing if you implement claws.

Laundry Pile

Human - Clothing that needs to be washed.

Cat - Bed.

 

Radiator

Human - Handy addition to the home for heating the immediate environment.

Cat - Bed.  Even though am obviously uncomfortable as it feels like butt and paws are in direct contact with the fiery pits of Hell.  Glare at humans for making it so hot but stay put anyway.  

Kitchen 

Human - Food preparation area.  More sanitary if cat keeps paws off worktops.
Cat - Hey, what you doing? Why'd you put me on the floor?  Is that food?  Why'd you put me on the floor?  Can I have a hug? Why'd you put me on the floor? etc etc.

PC/Phone/Tablet/TV

Human - Electronic entertainment to stave off thoughts of mortality/stuff that I'm actually meant to be getting done.

Cat - Portals into another dimension.  Must sit directly on/in front of device in order to stop humans being sucked in.  God forbid I actually have to hunt for my food like some sort of wild animal.

 

Clothing

Human -  Items worn outside of the body for warmth/ to make self look hip and trendy.  So hip and trendy.

Cat - Needs more fur.  I will lie on it.

Cat Toys

Human - Look how nice I am, giving cat something fun to play with.  Look, cat! Look how fun this is!

Cat - Human playthings.  Humans are an easily amused species.  Morons.

 

Cardboard Box 

Human - Disposable container.

Cat - Holy fuck, this is awesome!  I am an astronaut!  A pirate!  Now I'm a ninja!  No one can see me now mwahahaha!!

 

"Tee hee. I am so invisible right now."

Human

Human - Complex, autonomous being with own free will trying to figure own own purpose in life.

Cat - Food/attention bringing slave.  Also bed.

 

 

 

Sigh... I need to get out more.

 

New Year, New You? Nah!

I can't believe Christmas is over for another year already! Just as I was getting settled into sweets and cheese for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and long hours in front of the telly, it's been cruelly snatched from my grasp.  That, and I'm running out of Haribo.  I've enjoyed properly (and by "properly", I mean "drunkenly") catching up with my family, and with friends that I only tend to see once or twice a year because everyone's off on their own adventures in pastures new(er than where we went to school). Also, in my excitement, I've been trying to make use of every single thing I obtained in my Christmas loot from Santa.  Example:

 

Me, looking like a potato in a tea cosy and slippers after taking my beautiful, new, pink Asics and 1000-mile socks for their maiden jog... and then managing to lock myself out of the house in the freezing cold until A came to my rescue and made me coffee. Not sure why am making that face.  Can only assume is frozen in place.

So, now that Crimbo-time is pretty much over, I'm seeing the gradual drip-drip of New Year status updates filtering through my Facebook feed.  So far, they seem to fall into two opposing camps:

Camp 1 -  "As soon as the new year hits, I'm going to be a new person! All skinny and living in the gym.  Also, I will learn French and how to change colour like a chameleon.  I will be UNRECOGNISABLE!!  I shall be skinny, French and occasionally purple!"

Camp 2 - "Ugh, here come the New Year, New Me. Statuses!  They're never going to change, and I won't be able to park at the gym, because I am the boss of the Healthy Lifestyle Club, and there's no room for anyone else!"

I might be exaggerating a leedle bit, but that's the gist of what I've been reading.  Some people want to change everything about themselves, whilst others who have admirably managed to  create a regime they are content with scoff at those who want to follow in their footsteps and do the same.

Whilst I agree with Camp 2 that improvements to your way of life won't necessarily magically stick just because it's January, I don't see any harm in resolutions.  As long as you are prepared to be flexible with them, and don't admonish yourself and throw in the towel the second you inevitably stumble back into old habits. Everyone does it. Habits become habits because you repeat a behaviour until it becomes something you do more consistently than whatever you were doing before.

I believe that the end of the year is a great time to take stock of what you've achieved, and what you want to get out of the next 12 months.  I probably think this because I'm one of those cool kids who has kept a diary since I my early teens, which means I have an overwhelming compulsion to document every single thing I do.  It makes for terribly exciting reading.

It also means that I can look at old resolutions I've made myself over the years.  Let's see if we can spot a pattern!  I would offer you a prize for finding it, but I've eaten everything in my house that's not nailed down.  In no particular order:

• Lose weight
• Bite nails less
• Be less shy/incompetent around other people
• Spend less time sitting around
• Watch less TV
• Be more selfless

Etc etc.  Nothing revolutionary.  The trend?  Everything has to be less.  I think this is a common thing, especially in women.  We need to spend less time relaxing, less time thinking about ourselves and eat much, much less until we become tiny, waif-like molecules living off lettuce leaves and self judgement.  Hurrah! The year ahead is going to be spectacular! So much fun! 

We start on the assumption that we're not enough to begin with, which the logical bit of the brain (the one behind the bit that likes watching Netflix for eight hours straight and believes that after 3 pints, money isn't real) knows is... well, just bollocks, really.  Everything you achieve throughout the year is achieved by the person you already are, in the body you already have.  Here's some stuff that I'm proud of having done this year:

1. Ran 3 half marathons.
2. Got into a decent routine with the superhero runners at Run4All.
3. Maintained a blog, which I enjoy doing and am proud of.
4. Got a secure, not-too-shabby job that I'm comfortable in. 
5. Tried out and loved Outcast CrossFit, and made more friends in the process.  Impressively strong and speedy friends!

Did I need to lose half my bodyweight and become an expert socialite to do any of those things?  Noop!  I still have all my "flaws" from before - I decide that I'm terrified of socialising at the most counterproductive of times (until I forget to be), I still have a weakness for anything edible that's terrible for my health, and my knee jerk reaction to anything negative is to berate myself for it.  But, overall, I'm pretty happy with my lot in life.  Everything I've done this year has come with perks - made me fitter, slightly more fulfilled and busier.  I'm just the same as I was before this year.  Just... more!  I'm Becky Plus!  Becky.2 ... etc.  I'm like an iPhone.  I'm essentially the same, just with the occasional software update.  Or a simile that's a bit more imaginative...

Point is, there's nothing wrong with taking stock of what you have and creating a plan to push for more things that will serve to add to your life experience.  Just don't forget that it's only you who can get you all that stuff - You, exactly as you are right now!

Hmm.  I didn't originally intend for this post to be all motivational-y.  Here's my favourite terrible joke to distract you from the sentimentality of it all:

Man goes into a farrier's.

Man: Hello, do you have any jobs going?

Farrier: Depends.  Have you ever shoed a horse?

Man:  No, but I said "fuck off" to a donkey once.

Haw haw.   

How To Make Running Suck

WEEKEND!!

I mean, hello! Hope you've found this Saturday as relaxing as I have.  And by relaxing I mean: 

• A morning spent at a women-only CrossFit session with Outcast Swansea. No smelly boys to slow us down!  Except for the coach.  Who wasn't smelly, and who refused to tolerate any slowing down.  At all.  And he tried to kill us with burpees.  Like, kill us dead.  It was touch and go for a moment there, as I wondered whether I'd ever get my breath back, but I loved it, and survived to tell the tale!

• An afternoon unwisely spent in town Christmas shopping, which is a fancy term for spending 45mins parking and 10mins dodging elbows in the shops, getting too stressed and shuffling back to the car with tail between legs and a single pair of jeans.  Tis the season to be elbowed in the boobs by browsing strangers. 

Week's not been a bad one either for getting off my backside. I went to one other CrossFit class on Tuesday which featured a lot of core/ab/that middle bit where I keep my cookies work, and after several minutes of overly enthusiastic "fuck yeah, I'm NAILING this!!"ing and a smug night's sleep, I spent the following 3 days unable to pull myself up into a sitting position.  I hadn't realised how much I needed my mid-section until I tried to get out of a bath and nearly drowned myself;

"Okay, time to get ou-AAAARGH IS THAT A HERNIA?!!"

Needless to say, I don't suffer DOMS (stands for "death of muscles. Shit.") graciously.

On Monday, I went for a short jog that turned into a magical, hilly 10 miler, because I'd discovered that we've got one of those electric signs that detects cars' speeds on a hill near our house, and I childishly wanted to try and beat my time.  On one loop, 26mph flashed up, but it turned out that there was just a car behind me.  Shame.   Anyway, I figured out that if I run downhill with all my might and just a bit of arm flapping, I can reach a princely speed of... 7 miles per hour. 

My cheetah-esque abilities aside, I really enjoyed that run.  Distance in double digits (the name of my first album/book/autobiography...whichever comes first) is usually a daunting prospect for me.  I've done it, but not all that many times, and I almost always have to grit my teeth through it, at the very least towards the end.  There's something special about those runs, of any distance, that end up being much more enjoyable than you initially though it would be.  The more often I do this putting one foot in front of the other thing, the more handy little tools and mental games I'm picking up to help me pass the time and to get more out of a run.  

That being said, I have a WAY bigger list of things I've learned the hard way not to do when I'm out on my shuffles, so I'm going to dispense those findings to you instead.  So, here is my list of the multiple ways you can make a regular run completely suck balls.  Don't say I never give you anything.  

1.  Look at your watch/tracking doohicky regularly to see how far you've gone/how much time has passed.  I guarantee it will be less than you wanted, and you will want to cry.

2.   Expect the run to be easy, because you've been doing it lots now, and this is only going to be a slow one.  I don't think I've ever found a run easy, or that I ever will.  My opinion is that it never any less difficult (though there is a small chance I've just been doing it wrong the entire time...Let's not rule that one out).  You just learn to embrace being challenged.  Unless you're hungry, or it's windy out. Then it's totally okay to just sit in the house and eat chocolate spread on toast.  Especially because you've just discovered that Maltesers does a crunchy spread now, called Teasers and it's the best thing in the effing WORLD!  Beautiful, glorious, evil sugar-paste. Mmmmm.

3.  Eat something heavy immediately before you head out the door.  For energy and that. And by "that", I mean vomit.

4.  Worry from start to finish about how slow you are and how that elderly gentleman that whizzed past you on his mobility scooter was definitely smirking at you like he was in a convertible sports car and you were in a Morris Minor.  Whatever, guy.  Morris Minors are cool. 


5.  Make sure you have enough noisy change and keys in your pockets in order to be driven slowly insane.

6.  Forget to take music with you.  

7.  Try to distract yourself from the fact that you're running and that your legs/lungs/bum cheeks/entire body hurts.  It won't make everything seem ten times worse, honest.  Go ahead.  Try so hard to "engross yourself in nature" that dog walkers wonder why you're so angry at their pets.

8.  Make your strides unnaturally long so that it's all over with faster, or so short that you're emulating that classic, British "trotting across the car park" run that people do when they see cars coming but are too civilized to break into a full on jog.  

9.  Constantly calculate how much further it is you have to go. Are we there yet?  Are we there yet?

...Are we there yet?

10.  Pick a completely flat, out-and-back route with no decent views.  That way, both your brain and body get a big, fat slice of boredom.  Yippee, hooray!

And there we have it!  Plenty more where that came from.  I am most definitely shirking my calling as a personal trainer, aren't I? Such motivation.  Much positive. Wow.

Happy running, peoples! =)