Zombies, Run!

I love a bank holiday! This is my first year in a few where I've not attended Reading Festival, so I've been busily distracting myself to avoid coming down with a case of the sads.  

Le sigh.

Oh, well.  Busy month ahead of me!  Foo Fighters and Royal Blood in Milton Keynes next week (uh huh, much smug), Wheatus towards the end of the month (much love) and a 22 mile walking marathon mid September along the Gower Coast with Outcast Swansea (much...snacks? It's for Macmillan, so if you'd be so awesome as to sponsor us...?).  This weekend's come with plenty of ups and downs to keep me distracted while I've not been paying a billion pounds a pint and getting sufficiently mucky in my welly boots.  

It wouldn't be a British bank holiday without an ill advised night on the tiles.  Saturday night/the wee hours of Sunday morning were spent at Swansea Beer and Cider Festival and in my favourite sticky local Irish bar, Jack Murphy's.  All the best bars have sticky floors.  The more time I invest in my trainers, the lower my tolerance for booze plummets, so let's just say that just being within sniffing range of locally brewed (strong!) cider ensured that I ended the night as cock eyed as I began it. Believe it or not, this is the "before" shot:

 Much classy. So lady.

Sunday was meant to follow on in pretty much the same fashion at a friend's wedding do, but a stomach tantrum (seem to be getting a lot of these of late, but so far am choosing to ignore them as I suspect they stem from something delicious like cheese or bread.  No one's ever intolerant to muesli or liver are they?) meant that I had to miss out.  Plus side - no hang over today... Which meeeeans....running!

During a nine miler I attempted earlier on in the week, I decided that I hate running.  Hate. It.  It's uncomfortable.  I'm slow.  I'm bored and my butt hurts!  Whine whine blah blah.  I spent more time sulking and walking than actually running. After all the mileage I put in to get round Liverpool without my legs falling off, I've fallen fully head over heels back in love with CrossFit's short, sharp and shitty (in the best possible way!) approach, meaning that my brain's ability to endure runs upwards of an hour is now pants, and I have the Cardiff Half Marathon to get around in October.  Bollocks.

I know I'm fit enough to do half the distance I did back in June, so the problem was/is clearly all in my fragile little mind.  I needed to remind myself that I run for the enjoyment of it, not as a form of torture or simply a method of burning off some of the cake I eat.  So, I decided to turn it into a game.  Not like in Saw.  The sort of game where you still have limbs at the end.

I remembered an app that I tried on my phone when I first got it into my head that I wanted to learn how to run more than two miles in one go.  It was called Zombies, Run! and it cost me about £6 in the Apple Store (also available in Google Play). It plays out a story in which you're immersed in a post apocalyptic, zombie infested world and your job as Runner 5 is...pretty self explanatory.  You run around, automatically collecting things for your camp as you go and if you have them enabled, you occasionally enter into a zombie chase, where you have to put on a burst of speed lest you become a human jerky.  Actually, you just drop a few items and don't actually get eaten because it's  all pretend, but it bloody well got me going!  You hear the moans of the undead in your earphones, making it sound like they're close enough to give you a shoulder massage.  I don't think they want to give you a shoulder massage.

The reason I've waited so long to pick it up again is that the first time I tried it, I didn't bother to look up the instructions (which are pretty idiot proof, really).  I got so immersed in freaking myself out that I blindly ran out into traffic, terrified I that was about to be eaten.  Turns out I didn't even have chase mode enabled, so I would have succeeded my "mission" alive, even if I'd been lying down on the floor the entire time, face down in a bowl of Doritos.

I'm only a few episodes into the game, and I'm quite enjoying being the mysterious Runner 5, who has just appeared in the township and whose purpose is so mysterious that even I don't know what my own deal is yet.  I've had a crack at an interval run (one of the few different modes available outside of the story), which is made up of shorter bursts of speed, jogging and walking, and I've been using the items I've picked up on my travels to help build my little vitural town in the app when I'm not actually running.  My town has two playgrounds so far, because that's how I roll.  Now that I've figured out that you can choose roughly how often the zombies chase you (I've set it at about 5 times an hour) and how fast or slow you want the story to progress, I feel much less like I'm going to soil my pants and more like I'm actually having fun because I'm in control of the game.

...Though I still get nervous when I'm approaching an incline.  Hills may slow me down, but they apparently have no effect on the imaginary zombies' athletic ability.  Jammy buggers.

I ran seven miles today without the urge to walk.  Not even once.  It may be that I'm rediscovering the joys of running for fun thanks to this genius game.  It may be that I'm less concerned with my overall speed because I don't want to have a cardiac arrest when the next zombie chase could happen at any moment. I think I'm going to use that in future, actually.  I'm not slow.  I'm saving my energy so I can get away from the zombies when I need to.  

Happy weekend, and if you choose to have a bash at being a zombie evading badass like me, please read and listen to the instructions and stay the hell away from cars!

 

To Do or Not To Do

Writing this blog is very difficult for me.  

Not because I'm about to broach a sensitive topic.  Nor am I physically incapacitated.  Unless you count being severely creeped out by an ice cream van playing the most terrifying melody known to man (Greensleeves) on repeat as it does loops of the neighbourhood as incapacitation.  I hope that if he does try to kill me, I'll at least get a Fab lolly out of it.

My conundrum is that I've had the house to myself for the whole weekend.  A has gone to a stag do in Geordie Land (Newcastle, not a theme park where Mickey and Minnie Mouse have been replaced by Ant and Dec... But I would go to that theme park), leaving me do what I do best when I have more than a couple of hours alone:  Panic about not making the most of it by being at a perfect, unachievable combination of productive and relaxed.  To conquer the free time crazies, I wrote myself a sort of To Do list.  Because that's what cool people do:

 

This list is precisely why writing this is so difficult.  Free time plus listy thing should equal calm Becky.  Instead, two opposing trains of thought in my brain are now clashing:

• The one that wants a pat on the back and a cookie for completing said list.
• The one that thinks list is bullshit, because this is my time off, and I shouldn't have to do anything!!  Not even writing this stupid blog, because that's still doing something!!!

So...what do I do in response to my warring mental faculties?  I procrastinate of course! And I half ass more or less everything by using flawed logic to get out of it.  Thought I'd give you a lowdown of what went down on my super cool, not-at-all worrisome weekend home alone to give you an idea.  Am like Macauley Culkin (spelling?!) with boobs.  Sort of.  That's a mental image to give you nightmares, isn't it?

CrossFit
Done, dusted and kicked it in the arse!  Or I was kicked in the arse...Both?  Even went to an impromptu extra open gym session today, where they let a few of us in to play with big tyres for a while.  After several failed attempts, I managed to flip the big bugger!  So far, so good.

Long run 
To my credit, did a run.  By "long", I did have about 8 to 10 miles in mind, what with the upcoming Cardiff Half in October.  I did 6 and a bit and called it a day because there was a two mile stretch of hills at the end.  Each hill adds on an extra two miles, right?  Dubious reasoning aside, I did really enjoy this run.  I tried for the first time to keep within a comfy heart rate zone thanks to my Fitbit Charge HR, and it was blooming magical!  Didn't worry about my speed or lack thereof even once, and only needed to stop moving when I needed to avoid being squashed by cars.

Go see mum - there'll be cake
Mum's birthday yesterday.  There was cake.  There was also a doggy bag of leftover chilli and crispy bread rolls.  Happy mum's birthday to me! Also happy birthday to mum, who is likely to be sat in a foodless kitchen as we speak.  Standard protocol for one of my raids visits.

Avoid spending money
Walked in a daze around Tesco after open gym.  Wanted a sandwich, came out with coat hangers, bath salts (because I'm eighty now?) and a whole bunch of other shit that I don't need. Regretting not getting this, though:

"Yolo hair and body wash - for bathers that don't give a fuck!"

Scuse the grubby hands.  I may never wash my hands after flipping the Big Bugger (Heehee. New euphemism?)

Watch films that Andy won't

This translated as getting more pissed than anticipated on two teeny glasses of wine in front of Bridesmaids/The newer Hunger Games one and idly stroking the cat with an issue of Glamour Magazine on my lap.  Apparently when I'm home on my own, I morph into Bridget Jones.  All that's left for me to do this afternoon is get into my pyjamas (*cough* remain in my pyjamas) and lip synch ballads into what's left of my wine.  Ooh, I haven't watched Bridget Jones for a while, have I...?   

Sort out stuff for jury duty (food)

Doing jury service for the first time tomorrow.  Excited as it'll be a new experience for me, but concerned that there will not be ample feeding intervals.  Handbag apples and wads of cheese oatcakes it is, then.  Mmm, transportable food.

Clean house

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.... heee.  *slaps knee*

Write something fictional

Have decided that to do list is inaccurate enough to be considered a work of fiction.  Good job, Becky!  Excellent weekending!

 

This Month, I Are Mostly Being...Sober.

Hey hi hello....good day!

I have an hour to myself before work this morning - working slightly later, got up slightly earlier than usual.  Plenty of stuff I can get out of the way before my day even begins.  This hour-long vista of opportunity for productivity can only mean one thing:

Procrastinating on the internet!

I just wish I hadn't checked my bank account first.  Grim.  Looks like it's going to be a fairly quiet (translate: sober) month for this one, if I want to be able to get suitably pie eyed in front of this motley crew next month:

http://www.readingfestival.com/line-up

Oddly enough, though, I'm quite looking forward to a month of relative sobriety and peace.  I do love a night out, but they seem to be losing their sheen for me.  I don't know whether it's an age thing, or something to do with the fact that I only have to smell sambuca to transform into the emotional equivalent of a crayon left on a hot hob.

Most weekends, I go through this phase where every bone in my body is jumping around under my skin to get me out "dancing" (more translations: running around with fixed grin, arms rigid in the air) and I'm compelled to send out a barrage of oh-so-subtle "I'm soooo BORED tonight!" texts, in the hope that the people in my contacts list are equally soooo BORED and want to do something like, oh, I don't know.  Maybe just nip to the pub and, y'know, see what happens?

It's pretty much a guarantee that by the end of the night, I will have regretted listening to my jumpy bones, feeling disappointed because my expectations of the wild night of fun times weren't met.  I don't know what I expect....unicorns and American girly TV-esque lollitude where I am very drunk but still oh-so fabulous?  Dream on, sister! *finger snap*

Because I'm feeling old and embittered, here are 5 things about nights out on the tiles that never fail to disappoint:

1. That bit at the end of the night where no one is actually communicating with each other (myself included).  The whole club are just glassy-eyed pissed and looking through each other.  The best kind of conversation you can hope for at 3am is someone talking at you about their insatiable need for a kebab/that "fittie" they can't stop staring at yet wouldn't have looked twice at in the cold light of day.  
2. The sleepiness: I never ever used to experience this, but a wall has sprung up between me and a good time, and I tend to smash my face into it somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.  Closing time was always too early for me, and I would be chomping at the bit to carry the party on elsewhere, anywhere, as long as I didn't have to go to bed while I was a student.  Nowadays, the witching hour passes, and, laden with knackered-ness and cider, I find myself too proud to admit that I"m feeling a bit snoozy and want to go home.  Instead, I have "dancing breaks" at the bar and end up getting so messy that when it is time to go, I have to actually instruct my legs to work as a team to get out of the door and into a taxi.
3. The pulling: I don't want to sound like a prude or a party pooper.  I have spent my fair share of nights as a teen latched onto some random's face in aid of a good time/a novel way to keep myself upright. We all have.  But when you're looking at it from the outside of said pull, there is nothing wild or exciting about it.  It's just a sweaty, wriggly mass of "well, I certainly hope I don't remember you in the morning, sweet cheeks!"
4. The dancing:  I love a goofy dance-off as much as the next white girl dancing shamelessly to hip hop, but there comes a point in the night where everyone has stopped with the silliness and they have begin to really mean it!  Hips are sashayed, people are doing that weird feel-yourself-up dance that you only ever see in nightclubs... Even while I'm pissed, I'm still inherently British.  This part of the night is where the "dance breaks" start to happen, and when I am "dancing", my exuberance will have melted down to a wobbly foot-shuffle as I pray for bed.
5. The emotions: Oh, God, the emotions!  If I have any insecurities, doubts, feelings previously bravely held in by a stiff upper lip, they will come spilling out of my mouth, because when I'm in da club, it's obviously a perfect time to tearfully inform everyone how fat and unloved I am.  Because that's appropriate, and everyone loves to talk a jibbering wreck down at the ass crack of dawn.  Such fun!  Most people have their own version of these mini meltdowns when they're on the sauce, but more often than not, they have to good sense to pipe down about it the next day and claim to remember nothing the following morning in hopes that any witnesses will follow suit. I, unfortunately, am a dweller.  The shame can follow me around for days.

Well, that was a happy-go-lucky post!  In other news, I am running my first parkrun with the lil sis next Saturday in preparation for the Race for Life event the following week, so pretty excited for that!  If you've not heard of a parkrun before, they are weekly 5k races dotted all over the country for people of all abilities, and they're 100% free!  Take a look:

http://www.parkrun.org.uk/

Happy Friday, all! 

xxx

Cheers To The Freakin' Weekend...

Today's lead me to believe that I should do the diva thing and beg my boss for 3 day weekends.  It took me well over half a day today to get over the stress of having a whole 24hrs to myself. 

This morning, I "accidentally" bought some new-old-faithfuls (high-ish heels).  For nights out, I usually select one pair of black heels to wear until their lop-sided, beer stained deaths.  My last pair were mortally wounded when a man took it upon himself to fall on and temporarily cripple me by landing smack bang on my knee cap.

Thanks, guy!

Then, I embarked on a 10 mile run.

I made it to 2 miles.  Just about.  My legs felt like they were seizing up - I'm not sure why - and the muggy heat just made me inexplicably angry.  I looked like a pasty hulk, tantrumming my way back up the beach to the car.  I fretted over what to do with my afternoon since it was suddenly going to be devoid of any physical activity.  Socialise?  Write?  Do work?  Drink (under the umbarella of "socialising" - I wasn't  quite stressed enough to be necking wine on my kitchen floor at that point).  That's what Brits do whenever the sun makes a fleeting appearance, isn't it?  Get plastered in a lovely, lovely beer garden.

Mmm...beer garden.

Overwhelmed with all the possible activities that lay before me, and my brain seeping anxiously out of my ears, I got home and made a sandwich.  Then I promptly took an aggressive nap in front of Peep Show.

And aggressive nap, in case you ask, is like a normal nap, except it's very sudden and you have no choice about whether or not you are going to do it.

...And here I am!  I'm feeling effing marvellous now!  Blogging and rocking some serious bed hed hair and heels (what?  Like I'm going to wait for an occasion to wear the new things? Pshuh!) .  It's taken all sodding day, but it's now occurred to me that one of the very best, tried and tested by people less...affected...than me - ways to spend a Saturday is this:

Doing Sweet Fuck All!

Happy Saturday, Internet!!

Taxes, Motherfucker!

Sorting out my taxes, because I'm one grown up motherfucker!

.... Once I've finished throwing back coffees and stopped taking pictures of how grown up I'm being.

Shit, this looks quite difficult, actually...

Picture pretty much sums up last night's festivities. House party followed by boogies at a gay bar. Met some new people, was told by a white, homosexual gentleman that I "dance alright for a white girl" and stroked the inside of a dead hare's face. Standard.

Aaaand Relaaaax.....

Okay. So I've decided to relax. Because relaxation isn't something I'm naturally adept at, I have to consciously choose when to have a bash at doing the chillout thing.

I've had a full day at work, ponced about doing a little freelancin' (I'm going to use every opportunity going to tell you that I do freelance work now, because to my dorky little ears, it sounds like to coolest thing EVER!!), and now the time has come to wind down because it's a Friday night and I have the house to myself. Laaahvlee!

But. I'm stressing out. I have to make a decision to relax, and then a plan of action as to how I'm going to do this. I could:

- Sit under a blanket and watch TV
- Play Skyrim until my eyes bleed
- Continue reading Tina Fey's Bossypants, which I'm adoring so far
- Veg in the bath...oooh, I loves a good bath!
- Bung a film on. I borrowed Perks Of Being a Wallflower...

Trouble is, I can't decide which of these things I want to do so, naturally, I'm turning my free time into an opportunity to stress myself out. Which do I want to do the most? What will be the most relaxing thing to do? It's not hard, JUST PICK SOMETHING AND DO IT, YOU ANXIOUS, CRAZY PRICK!!

*breathes into a paper bag*

I should not be allowed free time to myself. It's not good for me.

Moods And Foods

My first thought upon waking today was "woe betide meee!" I mean, after the initial wordless horror of realising that I was no longer asleep.*

Someone's crept into my room overnight, replaced my brain and bunged up my nose with a delightful mucousy substance. I only have today off this weekend because of stupid work (boo!), and I have agreed to spend most of it at the boyfriend's parents' house. FML, I would have thought if I sometimes thought in text speak.**

I've now breakfasted on coffee and LLama Bites. If you've never heard of these... Investigate! I have included in this post a handy pictorial example to make spotting them in supermarkets easier for you. They're fucking ace! I recommend the barbecue flavour. Probably not recommendable as a breakfast snack though...

Since "breakfast", my snot leaking brain has done a full, screeching U-turn. I've got a whole day at my disposal. It's cold, but so gloriously sunny that I briefly forgot that I live in Wales - a place that's usually Dull-As-Fuck Grey (check the Dulux colour chart - it's a real colour, honest!), even in the summer months.

I joke. Everyone knows summer's a myth.

I only have a cold. Man Flu at worst, so I'm hardly bed ridden. And, I get to spend it in decent company, eating free food.

Free food. Food that's free!! Today isn't a social obligation. It's a perfectly valid reason to sit on my arse, chatting and eating. What's not to like about that scenario?! Ungrateful prick.

Seriously, it worries me how much my mood depends on how long it's been since I've last eaten. I will spend entire afternoons wondering if I'm clinically depressed, only to have a sandwich and realise that I am Queen Of The Fucking Universe when it comes to life. Even my family have cottoned onto My spiking and plummeting mood levels and their correlation with munching. My sisters bring sweets on shopping trips so that they have something to medicate with when they see the storm cloud passing over my eyes.

If that's not a good reason to eat my way through a day I don't know what is.










*Note: not suicidal melodrama. I just suck at waking up.
** Which I do TBH. Lol. BRB.