Procrastination

Working on another short ebook today.  More story than lists this time, but peeing my pants with just as much excitement!

Opened notebook to find this from when I was also "working" a few days ago.

 

I need help.

In Defence of the Humble Nap

My name is Becky, and I am a serial napper.  There, I said it.  Nice to get that off my chest.  

In fact, I just sprang up from a stealthy half hour right now. So stealthy that even I didn't know it was coming.  Seriously. I have the hair to prove it:

Exhibit A:

p.s That's not a snazzy earring.  I just hang my race medals on a curtain hook.  Happy accident.

pps.  No, I don't have curtains. What? It's out of principle, okay?  God.

I am writing this post today to reach out to more of my kind.  To let others know that napping is not a pastime reserved solely for infants and the old and infirm.  Napping is a human RIGHT to those of all ages.  Yes, they may stain our pillows, desks and significant others with drool, and yes, it might look a bit rude when you're snoring throughout something that your sofa buddy finds inexplicably interesting (*cough*football*cough*).... But dammit, naps make us feel refreshed and happy (aliiiive!), and therefore they make us better people to be around.  After the initial "Where am I? What year is this?" confusion upon waking anyway.

As napping is a fundamental human right in my eyes, I feel (nay, know) that there need not be any excuse to have a nap...

Okay, well maybe sometimes you need an excuse.  Like in the middle of a meeting at work or while driving.  Probably not appropriate then.  Regardless of this, I have compiled a list for the more tentative dozers - for those shy of sneaking a little daytime shut-eye into their day.  I want to let them know that napping is okay.  More than okay.  Admirable!

These reasons for napping are valid and non negotiable.  Read on, my sleepy bretheren:

1.  It is warm.

2.  Food has recently been consumed.  Digestion is a tiring process.

3. You are comfortable.

4.  You are being forced to complete a task that you absolutely do not want to do, but your socks are already paired, dishes and laundry done, and all household pets including the goldfish have had a bath.  A nap is one last, valiant bid at procrastination.

5.  You have attended work today.  You brave soldier.  Have a cheeky twenty.

6.  Sport is on the TV.

7.  That programme where the men talk about football you can't see while watching TV sets themselves is on.  Does not compute.  Must nap.

8.  You have somewhere important to be... in a bit.

9.  You have a Pavlovian response to being in your pyjamas.  Jammie time = sleepy time.

10.  You have just partaken in any kind of physical activity.  Yes, this includes reaching for the biscuits on that very high shelf.  That was a treacherous mission and you deserve a reward.  Maybe just finish chewing that biscuit first, though.

11.  You are drunk, and the cubicle wall is nice and cool on your face.  Just sit and be for five.  You'll be right as rain in a b- zzzzz....
 

It's nice to spread awareness.  Am a veritable activist, lady Jesus type.  You could even call me a hero, if you wanted to.  

You could, you know.  If you wanted.

Now, go forth and nap!  Make the world a happier, slightly-more-awake-for-the-rest-of-the-day place to be!

Huzzah!!

  

Humpday Hump

It's 6.30am, and I'm taking the term Humpday a bit too literally. Currently glaring at a cup of tea and sulking in running shorts.  I set my alarm last night for 5.45am to go to CrossFit, as it's the only time I can make it on a week of late shifts, and I've actually found something I love enough to get up at an hour normally reserved only for when I have a plane to catch (rare).  Woke up feeling like the guy from the GoCompare ads had spent the night alternately sitting on and singing into my head.  Rough.

I'm not crawling on the floor ill, but decided to be sensible for once and stop myself from doing anything that would make me feel worse and prevent me from going later in the week.  The last time I exercised with a cold (parkrun, Christmas day), I ended up with full blown boxing day can't-get-off-the-sofa snot/wheeze fun times.  Still.  Just because I used common sense for once doesn't mean I can't sulk about it.  Plus, A has gone on ahead without me, without so much as sideways head cock in sympathy of my plight.  Bastard.  Doesn't he know that lady colds are so much worse than manflu?  Delicate creatures and all that.

So delicate.

Hey ho, though.  I'm not dying, and I've been gifted a pocket of extra day to do with what I will (except for lift heavy things...goddammit, I want to lift the heavy things!!).  And, the fact that my brain hit the "nope" button two runs in a row this week at mile 5 feels like it makes more sense.  As does yesterday's weirdness at work:

• Wanted to cry every time someone asked me a question at work.  My job is to sit in a chair answering questions. 
• Ear popped in middle of phone call, making me deaf and introducing a pleasant "WEEEEEEEEEH!!" noise to my head that lasted 2 whole hours. 
• Cleverly placed fist in boiling hot mug of tea while chatting.
• Somehow managed to trip over a closed door.
• Karate chopped headset off head while on phone. Far as aware, customer oblivious.  I hope.

Second thoughts, might be best during this extra daytime, for the good of myself and everyone else, that I just sit very, very still....

Just in case you also feel like a badger's arse and need cheering up too, here is a picture of my cat meeting balloons for the first time.  Happy Hump Day!

 

"WTF?!"

Home Town Showdown - Running (and Walking) The Swansea Half

Today, I feel like I'm experiencing the runners' equivalent of one of those rare occasions where you go out for a wine or twelve and miraculously have no hang over the next day.  I ran Swansea's first ever half marathon yesterday, and my legs don't appear to have noticed.  Yet.

They're fine.  No aches.  Nothing.  It's freaking me out.  Maybe my legs are still drunk and they're shortly due to wake up, recall what they've done and kick my arse into next week for putting them through two half marathons in two weeks?

"Yeah, it's weird, I feel great!  Let's go for a walk, or a skip, or.... OH MY GOD, THE PAIN!!!"

Been well over 24hrs though, so... If it does kick in soon, it will be the most literal case of delayed onset muscle soreness I've ever had. Or maybe I've put them through so much "ouch" during those few CrossFit sessions that they've finally given up and just let me have this one as a freebie?  Hmm.  We'll see.

Yes.  Swansea Half marathon.  An event I very, very nearly skipped in favour of a night on the lash. Caught up with some friends I'd not seen in a while on Saturday evening during one of their number's birthday night out.  Combining the fact that I really wanted to celebrate  with them with the bloody beautiful sunshine, which always drives me to cider (fizzy apple juice for grown-ups), it was a tough decision.  But I feel I've made the right one.  Because now I have a medal.  

Obligatory "Honest guv, I was there!" post-race selfie:

 

I walked some of it again.  There.  I said it.  I'm refusing to feel bad about it, though, for reasons thusly:

• I did two half marathons in two weeks.  Two!  If you take out the six days in between, I ran a whole marathon this month.  Technically.
• Medal.
• I did it in pretty much exactly the same time as March's Llanelli half (2hrs35) - throughout which I had no walk breaks.  Which means that I must have gotten at least a bit faster during the bits that I ran in Swansea.  
• I ran at a decent (for me) speed all the way up to mile 9 before my resolve began to crumble.  Not shabby going, considering I usually start to feel "the rage" at about mile 6 or 7. 
• My legs have never felt better during or after a half before, so I must be getting stronger.  I just need a bit of a kick up the jacksie with my mental stamina.  It's aaaaall in my head.
• It was H-A-W-T out! The weather went from beig a bit cloudy and muggy as fuck to no shade, you-can't-hide-from-me-bwahahahaha sunshine, which was decidedly muggy-as-fuckier.  You heard me.  Fuckier. 
• Medal.

Despite the last 4 tapdancing-through-hellfire miles, it was the most fun I've had at a half marathon (and I'm an expert now, with my four, 'kay?), and I was chuffed to be a part of it.  Here's a few of my favourite flashbacks from yesterday's shennanigans:

1.  Because it was local, loads of people I knew were among the grinning crowd of supporters.  Not least Run 4 All, who hijacked most of the race by sneakily posing as marshals.  One of the coaches even put in the effort to wear our flag as a skirt and spent the whole event shouting our names and deafening us with a rave whistle.  This prompted a few "Do you know those people?"s from other runner around me.  Yes, sweaty comrade!  Yes I do!
2. Swansea is a chuffing BEAUTIFUL place.  The majority of the race followed the curve of the bay's coastline.  Swooping seagulls, paddling dogs, lapping waves... all especially lovely when you're tripping balls on sunshine and mild dehydration.

3. Apart from one little, humpy hill, the course was blissfully flat.  

4. A gang (gaggle, herd, flock?) of firemen were on hand towards the end to hose runners down.  Fire engine hose obviously set to "sprinkle", otherwise would have been blasted to the finish line in record time.  Wouldn't have complained. Maybe should have requested "WHOOSH!" setting for self?

5. The sense of cameraderie between supporters, volunteers and runners was awesome.  There was talk of one qualified first aider helping out lots of runners whom the heat had got the better of, and he'd only come down to watch.  Hero!

There were only a miniscule number of things that could have improved the day:

•   I nearly cried when they ran out of energy gels on the sixth mile - really could have used the boost in that weather.  
• The only t-shirts they had left at the end by the time I came shuffling on through were either size L or XL.  But, hey ho, I now have a new snazzy dress/nightie to prance about in, so not a total loss.
• The last few miles were around an (admittedly pretty) estate mostly made up of office blocks - one of which I used to work in (woo!), that looped and twisted around itself.  I found that part quite disheartening because I knew the finish line was nearby, but I had to keep looping back away from the bugger!  Would have preferred it if they'd just let us bimble a little further up the coast before turning to head back to the finish instead.

Nothing of enough significance to ruin what turned out to be a bloody brilliant morning, though.  Can't wait til next year!  Now, I'm going to go back to sitting very still so as not to disturb the dormant pain receptors in my legs.... Gently does it....

 

"Hey, guys, wait for me!!"

Wales Half Marathon (aka What Was I THINKING?!)

Welp.  Just completed the Wales Half Marathon in Tenby.  It's a race that can be quantified as 20% downhill slopes and beautiful scenery, and 80% pure, burning NOPE!  

It is the single most horrifying thing I have ever put myself though, and for that reason, in my screwy, special brand of logic, I loved it.  Sort of. Afterwards.

I've pleased and surprised myself by actually finishing the damned thing.  There was a lot more walking on my part than I'd intended, but I've justified it to myself as being the only method that would have got me around the course today.  At mile two (no typo, mile two), I was already texting A to inform him that the race was a massive (insert unsavory expletive referring to lady parts here), and I didn't think I was going to be able to do it.  He responded with a "That's okay, just do what you can."

Which is a trap.  A knows full well that if he told me that he knew I could do it, I would instantly go on the defensive, tell him to piss off, hijack a cow from one of the nearby fields and haul ass back to the start.  Probably pouting at onlookers and flicking them the V sign.  By giving me permission to give up and ruin my own day/goal/self confidence, it made me get my sorry act together and shuffle grumpily on.  The hills were like nothing I've ever seen.  The inclines were numerous, and I'm pretty sure the top of my head was grazed by the actual moon at one point. We were that high up.  Honest.

Moaning aside, here were the highlights:

• Around halfway, the hills temporarily (important word here, chaps) disappear and this fantastic view of horses, beach, landscape and one pretty cool castle opens up, like the race giving you a little treat for getting that far.  This was also a trick.  The hills are around the corner, hiding.  But at least it was nice while it lasted.
• Little bystander girl informs me firmly that her best friend is also called Rebecca and that, obviously, I am going to win the whole race because of this.  For a second, I actually believe her.
• The coolest couple I have ever met overtook me.  They were doing the full marathon (how?!! How can it be done??) as a "nice finisher" to their whole weekend at Tenby that involved a plethora of events that involved swimming, running, cycling and a number of other terrifying feats of physical activity.  Did I mention that they were holding hands the whole time I saw them?  Assume they just did this at the marathon.  Can imagine hand holding would hinder swimming ability.
•  Everyone in Tenby coming out of their homes to give us all their sweets and say nice things.  
• Hosepipe lady, spraying us all down outside a pub.  I told her I loved her.  I meant it.
• The mile or so of "weeeeee!!" inducing downhill (verbal, not actual wee) after about mile 10 or 11.
• The red carpet at the end, where they called out everyone's names on a microphone, making everyone cheer for us individually.  Felt like a rock star.  Albeit one whose fringe is plastered to her head with sweat.
• My lovely, patient(ish - I successfully narked everyone off this morning by directing us to the wrong place, creating a 20 mile round-trip detour thingy during  I blamed everyone/thing except for myself.  Obviously.) sisters and gentleman companion grinning and waving at me as I sprinted(...ish) towards the end, hoping to convince them that I'd been sprinting all along - despite the fact that my "long sprint" had taken me nearly 3 hours (2hrs50 if interested) to complete.  I love 'em and other soppy stuff. What? Shut up.

Downsides?

1. The hills.
2. The hills.
3. OHMYGOD, THE HILLS!!!

To be fair, a lady acquaintance by the name of Laura from Run 4 All bloody nailed them - ran over every single one like a magical robot trooper.  One day, I will do the same.  Today, I was just overjoyed to be toeing the finish line without giving up/dying/puking.  That was a victory in itself.

Obligatory YAY, SHINY, SHINY MEDAL!!! photo.  Also me sporting invisible handbag & shocked/manic face at finish line.

Quick CrossFit update before I go:

Second of the two on-ramp sessions completed on Friday.  "Arm stuff" worked its magic on me to the point that I needed assistance putting my bra on this morning because I have lost my ability to grip things to DOMS - aka delayed onset muscle soreness. Or "Dying! Oh, my stars!" 

Also, when I got home from that session, my arms had taken on a mind of their own.  In the shower, whilst aiming with my pouffy loofah thing at my armpits, I ended up giving my chin a good scrubbing.  Turns out I have the upper body strength of soggy spaghetti.  Have decided that this is a good thing, as any future progression I make will seem all the more impressive compared with how unforgivably crap I currently am at picking things up. That's rational, right? 

Right?

I hope your weekend was enjoyable and that if you required one, you were able to put on a bra all by yourselves!

Brave New WOD

Owmyfuckinglegs!!!

I mean...hello!

So I went to my first of two on ramp CrossFit sessions with Outcast CrossFit Swansea on Tuesday.  Absolutely loved it!  The coaches were a lovely, approachable bunch and far from the scary, serious terminator types I was secretly bricking myself about.  Instead of reducing our apprehensive group of ten to sweating, weeping puddles of our former selves, they focused on teaching us how to move safely (for now - still warily awaiting the session where they suddenly turn on us and morph into scary drill sergeants from Hell).  On Tuesday, this mostly meant squats and kettle bell swings.  Lots of squats and kettle bell swings.

Learned two new things about myself that night.  Apparently I'm a quite-good squatter.  Not quite sure how to process that information.  Spose if I want to wee in the woods any time soon, I can be confident to get away with dry shoes?  Could be useful come Reading Festival next month.

Also learned that I'm a bit floppy for kettle bell swings at the moment.  Couple of the coaches had to teach me how to not stick my bum out and swing my arms about like some sort of slutty disco monkey, which is a movement seemingly natural to me.  Did start to twig after a few goes, so just goes to show I'll be in good hands at this particular gym.  Eventually, I will be reformed of my slutty disco monkey ways and be able to swing the heavy thing around without paralysing myself in the process.  Hurrah!  Here is some irrefutable evidence that I actually went for your viewing pleasure. I'm the cockney pirate in the blue top:

It's been nearly 48hrs since my first proper CrossFit adventure, and I seem to have lost the ability to walk.  My thighs are aching so much that I can't even pass my limp off as excess swag.  I'm chuffed to be doing something that uses enough different muscles than usual to actually cripple me, but it does make me more than a bit nervous about the infernally stupid idea that is Sunday's Tenby half marathon.  Mr Coach Man of Outcast CrossFit, however, has promised my the use of my own legs following Friday's session as there's going to be more "arm stuff" involved.  I hope to sweet baby Jesus that he's right.  I don't much care for my arms, but I'll be needing my legs on the day!

If anyone sees a vertically challenged blonde running through Tenby on Sunday with arms locked rigidly in the air, it's not a new running fad, or zombies.  It's just me.  You can wave if you like, but please understand that I probably won't be able to return the gesture.  Eep!

I'll Be Hurtin' Come August!

Just popping in here today, for I start my CrossFit regime tomorrow at Outcast CrossFit Swansea and fear I shan't make it out alive.  If I survive, and if I still have use of my fingers, I'll report back.  Experience could be worth a couple of giggles at my expense.

I'm also here because I've found myself home from work four hours earlier than anticipated.  Bogs flooded.  For the surprise half day, I'd like to shake the hand of whoever's bowel evacuation went wrong enough for a whole building to be evacuated in turn.  After they've washed their hands, that is. 

I've already mentioned that I've got the Tenby Half Marathon to run this weekend.  Not sure how/if that's going to pan out after two on-ramp sessions at CrossFit.  The second of the two 1.5hr introductory sessions I'm taking this is only a day and a bit before the actual race.  It took me three whole days to be able to look left and right without wincing after the bloody taster session the other week!

And because I've obviously not made July difficult enough for myself, I've also taken up my Uncle's offer of his place in the Swansea Half the following week as he's had to drop out... That is, if I get away with running it with the name "Crispin" plastered to my race number. To be honest, I fancy my chances - what with my boyish good looks and total lack of breastices.  I might have finally found a golden opportunity to let my beard grow in and all.

Weird thing is, though I'm still feeling distinctly "hahahahanope!"  re: Tenby, the idea of completing two half marathons is as many weeks gets my juices going.  Makes little sense that doing 13.1 miles twice over within two weeks, (considering I didn't think I could do one lot of that distance in one year twelve months ago) makes me feel less wary than just doing the one half marathon does. The more difficult the challenge, the more I want to get that shit done! Silly brain.

Actually, i think I just really like medals and bragging rights.  Probably doesn't get a lot more complex than that. Shiny shiny shinies!

Anyhoo - busy July. Two halves to attempt, followed by my favourite annual mass gathering of pink stuff and hysteria - Race For Life.  Bring it on!

Peace out,

Crispin

xxx

Super Sunshine!

By some miracle, I was freed from my desk shackles and released into the wild early today.  This is what I did with my unexpected afternoon.  Six slow miles in sunny Swansea (today's run brought to you by the letter S, kids!). 

It's unbelievably hot and I could have probably walked faster than I ran, but it's too flipping glorious out not to take advantage.

Am one very happy, sweaty bunny! Just wanted to put that out there =).  I defy you leave the house and not come back with a smile on your face and sweat blobs on your shirt.  Sexual. 

Happy summer, everyone!

It's Gettin' Hot in Here...

It's so HOT outside! Much rejoicing.  And some panicking.  I'm due to run the Tenby Half Marathon (half of the Wales Marathon) in under three weeks, and to say I'm a bit apprehensive is like saying "that water's a bit wet, isn't it?" It's 13.1 miles of hills in the middle of July.  Current me would like to kick past me in the lady nuts for her terrible decision. 

I was all calm and poised up until this week - if by poised you mean gracefully placing slices of cheese into my mouth on the sofa.  We've had some freak weather in South Wales this week.  It was nice out! Holy shit!  I went out for a flat(ish) slow(..ish) 9 miler with Run 4 All on Wednesday, all up for a happy trot along a green, fuzzy-looking canal (the romantic waterways of Neath).  I was fine for about 6 miles, spurting sweat from my eyeballs and plinketty-plonking along with the group, until we reached the top of an "incline" (it was a hill, goddammit!) where my eyes decided to give me a spotty green light show, and I had trouble for a couple of minutes getting a full breath into my lungs (ed: what, Becky, as opposed to your arse?!).

Freaked out as I was, I continued - my little disco-spots panic attack didn't last long, and I'd been slurping away at my bottle of water all the way round, so I decided I can't have been dehydrated.  I had to walk-jog the remaining 3 miles, just in case my body decided "nope, am done!  See ya, cruel world!"  

I'm happy to report, I didn't die.  If I had, then typing this post would be pretty impressive, no?

...Boo!

And to end this exciting story, I finished my evening by staggering like a drunk around Tesco because I had an sudden urgent need for strawberries, drove home and promptly threw up said punnet of strawberries.  I felt too rough to be amused by the fact that my... err... projections... were luminous pink.  Like Angel Delight. Lush.

Long story short, I think I have some lessons to learn re: running in the heat.  I've not been handling it too well.  In the run(jog/walk/gasp/puke) up to Tenby, according to my reliable cross section of Run 4 All members, I will need to:

• Wear a hat
• Eat more before a long run (am not sure how I can add "more" to my current diet of all-the-food-ever, but I'll give it a bash)
•  Drink lots more water in general, not just when you're out running
• Don't expect personal bests in heat. Slow the fuck down.

Praying to Beyonce that these things get me round the course on the day.  Hopefully I'll acclimatise to the heat before then too.  Saying that, I do live in Wales, so July is just as likely to bring blizzards, sideways rain, falling sheep and gale force winds as it is to give us sunshine.  Who knows what I need to prepare for?

In other Becky-Secretly-Wants-to-Be-Superwoman news, I had a crack at that CrossFit malarkey I've heard so much about, thinking that I'd like to be able to open pickle jars with minimal effort on top of my running.  Perhaps at the same time.  I fancied mixing it up a bit and trying to get fitter overall, with a view to it improving my running and general well being.

Turns out CrossFit is sort of like circuits but tougher.  Lots tougher!  What A and I were put through this morning was a fraction of what we saw the regulars do, and by the end, I was grinning through a fringe of sweat and quite possibly tears (both salty, couldn't tell).  I LOVED it! I was in awe of the women who were there, and I want what they've got - lovely knotty arms and the ability to pick up big ass weights despite being barely over 5ft tall.  I want to be strong like an ox!  Albeit an ox with a weakness for Maoams and TV box sets.

Seems expensive though, so going to have to do a bit of research and shop around for the best deal, but I see a fun and painful new hobby on the horizon.  Bring it on! 

The only things these guns have been lifting of late is cans of cider.  Classy bird.

Festivals > Reality

Good moaning! I have much - well, sort of much - to share this week!  This is what I got up to last night:

 Super-flattering picture featuring birds' nest on head and one leg freakishly bigger than the other courtesy of James Taylor.  He is both faster and better at photography than me. Respect.

I ran the Swansea Bay 5k, and FINALLY managed to break the stubborn-as-fuck half hour barrier by doing it in 29mins, 22secs.  Might not sound like an impressive feat, especially when you note that in the picture, I am sprinting flat out, and the man next to me is walking, but I'm pretty chuffed considering I couldn't run a mile without stopping just over a year ago.  Progress, my friends!  Also helped that there were a bugger-ton of Run 4 All members there.  Yellow shirts everywhere. Proud to be one of 'em.

I also want to share a clip that someone I know shared on Facebook this morning, because it's bloody good and relevant to everyone.  It's only a minute or so of Jim Carey giving a speech at a graduation ceremony, where he speaks about risking failure to do what you love.  Very inspiring, and even if you don't feel like you are a magical unicorn galloping on a rainbow of potential afterwards, you can laugh at his silly cap.  It looks like a velor cushion swiped from a poorly decorated caravan.

Clicky clicky for inspiration!

Third bit of "news".  I have thrown all of my money at a Reading Festival ticket.  Again.  This is fast becoming an annual occurrence, and always leaves me eating bread out of the bag for three meals a day for months afterwards as I recover from the financial trauma of that one glorious weekend.  Also, I really should mix it up a bit - I hear that there are other festivals out there (this could be an elaborate lie.  Will report back when find out more). 

Regardless, I regret NOTHING!! Reading Festival is my mother ship, and I am likely to continue crawling back year after year.   I love the weekend long suspension of the everyday.  If you've never been to a UK festival, or if, like me, you seek justification for blowing all of your hard earned dollahs on four days of reckless spending and celebration, here are ten reasons why festivals > reality every time.

1.  If you wake up one morning thinking "fuck it, I want to be six foot tall fabric banana today", then fuck it, you are free to be a six foot tall fabric banana.  People will appreciate your efforts.

2.  It is perfectly okay to have cider for breakfast.

3.  Despite the drinking that stretches from day til early-the-next day, actual hang overs are rare.  I think during the five or so times I've been, I've only had one stonker of a bad head the morning after.  That was quickly cured by the friendly Dr Tubourg.

4.  Everyone is either in a manically good mood, or too knackered from dancing their little faces off to give you any trouble.

5.  The more hopelessly unkempt you are, the more successful at festivalling you are.  Fact.  Leave the GHDs at home, people.

6.  Taking off your headphones at the silent disco to hear hundreds of people singing your favourite songs like they've never heard let alone carried a tune before. Funny as.

7.  You may suddenly realise that you have been dancing to Dizzee Rascal next to Doctor Who (Doctor Who!! Matt Smith is one tall son of a moose!) ,  Nick Grimshaw, and Ron off of Harry Potter.  Despite the fact that they are much cleaner than your average festival attendee, celebrities sometimes decide to blend in with us normals like they're real people.  Occasionally they are successful.

8.  Unlike in real life, you can make new best friends by screaming lyrics into strangers' faces.

9.  It is perfectly acceptable to lie down and take a power nap in the middle of a field if so required.

10.  You learn that mosh pits, despite their outward appearance, are the happiest places in the world.  Inside the thrashing masses, there are grinning faces and willing arms to help pop the people who find staying upright a challenge (i.e moi) back on their feet and to helpfully shove them back into the sweaty throng.

If you're going along too, I shall see you in August! I'll be the one in the banana suit.

Photograph "borrowed" from A. Don't tell him.  All my photos of the stage are dominated by the backs of people's heads.  Am vertically challenged, and looking at this picture, you can tell that A is indeed 20 feet tall.

Welcome To The Pity Party

I. Am. Doing. It! Am....writing!! It was hard work getting here this week.  I've just pulled myself through a fortnight, more or less, of feeling so put-upon that it'd have been comical if I wasn't so sad/frustrated/angry/batshit crazy.  Think Eeyore, but angry... Angr-Eeyore. 

"What's up, Champ?" I hear you ask (in my mind, because I want you to call me Champ.  Makes me feel powerful.  And like I've got a big neck).

The answer is nothing. Naff, sod and fuck all.  My life is exactly the same as it was pre-two-week-sulk:  A continues to tolerate my presence, my job is still willing to give me money, and I haven't experienced a case of sudden onset alopecia. The latter has its pros and cons - I still have eyebrows, but, alas, I continue to shave my armpits and legs.

All that's changed has been my attitude.  I don't know why, but I woke up one morning in my double bed and warm house with the firm conclusion that my comfortable existence was out to get me. I spent my days at work wanting to cry because I had to exert effort to actually, y'know earn my living.  I was baffled by the fact that my house stubbornly chose to remain messy despite how obviously upset I was at it.  Inconsiderate house.  Unless I was out to tip cider into my face hole, any human interaction felt forced.  I think that my brain sometimes scans my situation for threats, and when it finds no real danger, it goes into martyr mode where anything and everything is bad and plain old mean.  Better than being bored, eh?

Basically, for no good reason other than "ooh, poor me", anything that involved doing over just being grated on me.  I felt sorry for myself because stuff wasn't going to just get done by itself while I took a week to lie down and eat cheese toasties.  Life was just such an obligation.  

Today, I feel  fine.  Good, even. Want to know how I manged to do a screeching u-turn into the glass-half-full club?  

Yeah, so do I.  Not a clue.  Just like everyone else (I hope, anyway!), how I feel goes through these cyclical phases all the time (no, not monthly...smart-arse).  I can live two identical days and feel like I'm living the life of something turds eat for breakfast on one day and like I've won the Life Lottery the next.  Makes little sense. But, what's a crappy time without some bite-sized epiphanies to stuff into your pockets and take away with you?  Here are some neatly gift-wrapped favours I've put together from Becky's Pity Party Fortnight.  I hope they make up for the total lack of cake and Pin The Tail On The Donkey:

1.  It's rarely your situation that affects you - it's how you choose to react to it.

2.  As soon as you decide something is an obligation, the fun is totally sucked out of it.  Leave it alone for a bit, and stop poking at it.  Come back to it when you remember that it's actually something you enjoy.

3.  Try to avoid seeing things as chores.  Just be grateful that you are able-bodied and well off enough to do them.  Laundry piling up? At least you have enough clothes to create a fabric, albeit slightly stinky Everest.  Don't want to go for that run?  Get off your backside, at least you can run!

4.  If you're in a bad mood and someone's rubbing you up the wrong way, bite your tongue.  You probably wouldn't care even half as much if you were having a better day.  If you're still pissed off when you feel more sane, then you can kill them with that hammer. Sleep on it.

5.  If you can do it yourself, just do it (insert Nike tick here).  It's not worth asking someone else, and then trying and failing to mask your frustration when they don't immediately drop everything  do your bidding.  You probably could have done the thing in half the time it took you to plead and chastise your prospective biddee into doing said thing.  Do it your Gee-Dee self, fool!

That's all for now, folks.  Hope your week has been a happier one than mine.  May your days be filled with snacks and mirth! 

Jogger: A Sort of Tardis With Legs...

The spring has officially spa-ruuuung!!  Or is it summer now?  I'm not sure.

Just Googled it. Yup, it's summer.  I LOVE summer.  I spend weekends employing any excuse to get out of the house, often just standing on my doorstep doing nothing bar grinning like a moron who's never experienced daylight.  My weekdays then comprise of staring out the office window and waiting for the imaginary bell to ring that means I can turn off my computer and go out to play.

Summer reminds me of one of the main reasons that I love running.  It's the perfect way to be outside and not just creepily smiling at your neighbours from your doorstep with morning hair. People think you're being all productive and healthy and shit, when all you're really doing is getting high as balls off of mother nature's brightest lamp. This week has been glorious, and I feel effing marvelous!  

Yes, I am aware that I might have mild s.a.d.  Grey clouds depress me, and no one should ever cross me if it's windy out.  Oof.

Last week (a crappier week for weather), I was my own lazy twin.  I was lethargic and stressed, and all I wanted to do was glare at the TV and eat leftover Easter eggs until the mess around me decided to clean itself up.  I convinced myself that it was a busy week.  I was too busy.  Work and boring, domestic chores were mounting up, and I didn't have time to run.  Mundane, everyday tasks and their sheer, bloody endlessness were getting to me, and I just wanted to drop everything and sulk in a hole until all this being-a-grown-up bullshit passed me by.  How people who reproduce manage to take care of themselves as well as other humanlings is beyond me.  I find it hard enough to point myself in the vague direction of work at the right time every morning.

I may also have been PMSing, but this is wholly beside the point.  However, it would go some way explain the fact that everyone I spoke to's heads turned into chocolate eggs right before my eyes.

Yes.  Moving on.  After a week of self pity and doing everything from laundry to making food so that I could, y'know, live and stuff with way more unbridled fury than strictly necessary, a friend and I went for a ten mile run.  

And I felt instantly better.  After my knees remembered how to be knees, anyway.  Once I'd had a snack and a little sit down, I chased those up with an epiphany.  I will always have time to run.  I'm amazed at how the busier I get, the more sedentary I become.  Paperwork, phonecalls, office work etc require being sat on my backside. I complain that I don't have enough time, and yet I spend so much time fuming over the fact that I have so much to do that I don't get on with actually doing the things.

Running has this magical ability to give me time.  Not only is it likely to add years onto my life (fingers crossed no buses!), but it improves the rest of the free time I have by making me more physically and mentally able to get on with life's dull stuff.  It puts me in a good enough mood to have me chuckling along to Netflix on the iPad when I'm doing the dishes, and gives me enough energy to bounce my way through whatever else the rest of my day has in store.  And weirdly, because I boing from activity to activity after I've had my five or six miles, I find these strange extra pockets of time I didn't know I had before.  I'm not sure how it works.

Obviously, I just run so fast that I manage to bend time.  That must be it.

Am not jogger. Am time machine!!

Women In Their Own Words

Oh, hi! 

What have I done this week? Oh, nothing.  Only got interviewed for a shiny new website aimed at writerly types with lady parts (Hey, I'm a writerly type with lady parts!!)!  

It's called www.womenintheirownwords.com and was set up by a journalist with shiny hair and equally swishy writing skills called Sarah-Jane Darcey ( @sarahjanedarcey to youTwittererers...tweeter...twittites...twitterators?).  

The site is aimed at established women writers and bloggers and such like, as well as other boob-sporters who want to up their game in the world of writing.  I belong to the latter camp.  What I lack in actual success, I more than make up for in desparation and attention seeking.
Women In Their Own Words is packed full of handy interviews already, despite it only going live this Monday.

It's really ver' good.  And not just because they let me warble on for a whole page about myself.  It's only a little bit because of that.  Maybe, like, 49% or so. Mm-hmm.

Oh, and it's pretty too.  Another important factor. See! See!

If you want to read a page of me talking about my favourite topic (mememeMEEEE!!) , point your clicky device.... here!

Well, that's quite enough narcissism for one day for me.  I'm off to locate some snacks and learn how to be a better blogger by trawling aforementioned website.  Next time I'm online, I'll knock your chuffing socks off, readers, with my abundance of literary know-how and...and...pizzaz! Is pizzaz still a word?  I know pizzas is.
 
....Or I might just mildly amuse you by rambling on for a whole post about what I've done to embarrass myself that day and informing you about the weird, shriveled thing I found at the back of the fridge.  Whatever.  Can't get any worse, though, can it?

[squeaks]...can it?

(Lack of) Money On My Mind

They say that people always live within their means, but I think that's cow poop.  I, like almost every other person I know in their twenties and early thirties like to perch precariously on the edge of my means, waving merrily down into the gaping jaws of Total Skintness.  And thanks to online banking, I can now beckon my friends over and show them the terrifying but inexplicably exhilerating view.

"Look, guys, I can see my overdraft limit from here!"

I live in a permanent state of poorness that ranges from "Ha, look, I got to zero! This is a good month! Drinks on meee!", all the way down to "Mustn't move in case last bit of loose change falls from pockets, and I need that for the loaf of bread I'm going to be living off for three weeks."  Totally my own fault, though. 

I live in a first world country where I am fortunate enough to have enough cash to allow me to rent, eat, and buy myself plenty of non-essential items like smelly candles (bought my first Yankee the other day and have decided that this officially makes me a grown up) and things that my cat will ignore in favor of my stuff.  I haven't made any small people with my uterus, and so all of my money is technically expendable. 

 I'm lucky that my money is my money (except for when it's money I'm borrowing from good old Uncle Natwest).  No one relies on me to keep them alive and fed, which is just as well because I'd probably just lose them under my pile of Apple products and stationary that I'll never use anyway.  I loves me a fancy blank notebook or ten. Mmm...stationary.

But the relative financial freedom my situation affords me means that I'm constantly pissing my hard(ish) earned dollahs away on junk.  I type this on a standalone PC next to the iPad I'm Facebooking on simultaneously.  Behind me sits an exercise bike shaped clothes horse, and I am charging both my Fitbit and Garmin sports watch with aforementioned PC.  Each of these purchases required vigorous excuse making, as did my bazillion other "do you really need that?" items.  

So here is a list of tried and tested excuses that I strongly feel allows me to constantly spend just beyond my means.  If you would like to join me on the yawning precipice of accidental bankruptcy (whoopsy, I slipped!), then these will get you here much more quickly.  I'll budge up and make some room for you:

1.  Am drunk.  Money is not real when you are drunk.  Like in Monopoly.

2.  It's sunny and it would be illegal to not visit a beer garden and have a "few" pints.

3.  It's the weekend.

4.  Am in a bad mood. =)

5.  Am in a good mood. >=(

6.  It's Friday, and I deserve a reward for going to work for a whole week.

7.  The purchase of this book/tv box set/expensive bit of technology that appears to do nothing but go "beep" at set intervals will change my life in such a way that I would be sabotaging my quality of life if I bypassed this chance to make said purchase.  It's my human right to own this thing!

8.  I'll use it every day, I swear!! 

9.  If you buy it on the internet, you use internet money.  Internet money is not real money.  God bless you, Amazon.

10.  I know I got paid yesterday and I'm in my overdraft already, but I'll be getting paid in another month, so it's fiiiiine...

See? All valid, logically sound arguments, I think you'll agree.  Now, I'm off to buy some tyres (essential), groceries (essential) and Lily Allen's new album (even more essential than tyres and groceries combined).  Hope your bank holiday weekends were smashing!

Cat vs Traffic

Sun is setting, roast potatoes (and in my case, a post Sunday dinner "snack" of double cheeseburger, shit ton of Pringles and a dayglo orange smoothie) are settling, and Monday is slowly creeping over the horizon like an unsavory neighbour... Another week is done and dusted.  And I have pretty much naff all to report. Nothing exciting has happened to me whatsoever.  Zilch.  Sorry, guys!

But I'll tell you who has had an eventful one.  My cat.  Walter decided that his life needed shaking up a little.  He needed a bit of excitement because his owners have done nothing but stare vacantly into the glowy box in the corner of the living room all week.  So he went to get himself some of that adrenaline he'd heard so much about (on Rude Tube, probably) ....by going out and picking a fight with a car.

Nope, that wasn't a typo for "cat". It was an actual car. Friday night, he returned from one of his jaunts (run up tree, run down tree, stare at neighbour cat, hide in shed, come out of shed, meow at door til let back in), spouting blood from every facial orifice and wearing a distinct "you weren't there, man!" expression with his one open eye.  He was barely moving and appeared to be in shock.  Also,  I've learned this weekend that blood on a white animal is much more alarming than any on one of a darker colour.  Seeing him like that was freaking terrifying! Like he'd covered himself in ketchup for the crack of it, just to distract us from the tv. Asshole.

Anyhow, the vet wasn't due to open til the next morning, and he appeared to be more shaken up than actually broken, so we couldn't do anything bar go to bed and wait and see what Saturday morning brought us. 

Because my family's cat thinks he's a Rottweiler and often comes home with chunks of ear and face missing all, "no biggie, you should see the other guy!", I wasn't too worried - assumed he'd just done a few rounds with that angry looking, chunky, vaguely cat shaped black beast that sits in our garden like he owns it (suspect is head of Birchgrove Kitty Mafia - I wouldn't mess with him, and I'm a fully grown human) and lost, for he is a fluffy lump who may or may not be made of marshmallows (and apparently ketchup).

A, however, hasn't shared a house with a cat since he was a kid and was much more concerned.  So concerned, in fact, that he allowed Princess Walter to sleep on his side of the bed.  How sweet.  At least that's what I thought until I woke up at 3am, hanging by my fingernails to the end of that bed because naturally, A now needed somewhere to sleep himself. Which was my side of the bed.  Needless to say, I was hardly guffing happiness and light the next morning.

Walter was still a snoozing bag of self pity and scabs, so away to the vet he went.  Vet diagnosed his condition as "car to the face"as opposed to kitty mafia related trauma as I'd suspected (he was also diagnosed with slight constipation - way to kick a cat while he's down) and sent him packing with a big old needleful of antibiotics.   Walt was listless and refused to eat for most of the day.  Only then did I start to panic.  Obviously, any person or pet is fine if they are missing a limb, bleeding from every available hole or talking in tongues...but NOT EATING?! That can only be a symptom of something fatal.

Long story short, several hours later, our battered hero emerged from an all-day slumber, had a MASSIVE..uhh...toilet break...and ate everything in site including my left leg and A's face and all of the furniture, so all is well again.  All that's left on Walter now is a pretty badass black eye, some scabs and a bubble of air atop his head (vet diagnosis: probably normal, but nevertheless yucky) that makes a disgusting noise like someone being slapped in the face with several fish every time he shakes his head.  That's it.

Moral of this week's story?  If you ever get hit by a car, just nap it off, do a poo and have a large sandwich.  You'll be back to waiting by the fridge for ham snacks and getting in the way of any and all productive household activity in no time.

"Chicks dig scabs"

Suitable Activities For 5am

I've just experienced a chain of events that have lead to my being wide awake at 5am - an hour I never see unless I've got a plane to catch (rare). Said chain was started by a phonecall from resident boy companion from a kebab shop up the road, requesting my driving services.

 I was told there'd be pizza in it for me.

Ass-crack-of-dawn pizza is the best kind of pizza, and I'm happy to say that two slices have been demolished in bed so far with more to follow.  I have tomato purée on my face as we speak.  Glorious.

Trouble is, I'm now wide awake, and it's so close to actual daytime that I can't see much point in going back to bed.  Resident boy is snoring peacefully on the bathroom floor and being guarded by the ever faithful resident cat, or at least being watched curiously because he's never seen either of the humans sleep in the mysterious white room where all the water comes from before:

"Human, is you okay down there?!"

Anyway, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. 5am is one of those weird times where you can't really get up and do something productive because the sun's not up, and that's just plain wrong.  Plus, I can't stray too far from the bed just in case my body realises what time it actually is and sends me into a sudden mini coma.

Based on my scant experiences of being up and about at this strange and ungodly hour - usually instances where I've been ill, or simply not gone to bed (i.e any time when I was still a student and didn't require naps to get me through a whole day.  Actually, that's a lie.  I've always been an ardent fan of naps.  The thug life is a sleepy one), I've compiled a short list of things that are acceptable to do at this not-quite-day-but-not-quite-night time:

1.  Wander expressionless around the house with a mug of tea in one hand, picking up objects and putting them down with the other.

2.  Watch sitcoms that last no longer than 20mins (American ones, then) just incase you doze off unexpectedly.  I recommend Modern Family.

3. Document that fact that you are up at 5am on the internet because  you are so rare and special for being up at this time, and everybody'll want to hear about it.

4.  Absentmindedly stroke the cat until you realise that you've been petting your dressing gown for fifteen minutes while the cat sits apart, judging you.

5.  Think of all the awesome extra stuff you're going to be able to do with your day now that it has a few extra hours in it... until you inevitably crash out and hate yourself for making such a stupid decision to stay awake.  Idiot.

6.  Stare at the same page of a book until the words start to go all swimmy.

7. Contemplate upgrading to coffee from the tea so that your picking up and putting down of household objects can be, if not less pointless, at least more aggressive.

8.  Flick through all your Facebook photos and get all weird and emotional about how much you love your friends because you've had 3 hours' sleep, and you just, like, love them so much! Something in my eye...

9. Contemplate moving your boyfriend so that you can use your own bathroom facilities.  

10. Fail spectacularly at moving aforementioned boyfriend as you have no upper body strength.  Instead throw a blanket over him and let cat sleep on his side of bed.

11. Absentmindedly stroke cat and glare at street lights in window to catch the exact second they flick off so you can get up and get shit done.

Hope you all had a happy Easter and that Jesus brought you lots of chocolate eggs!

 It's now quarter to six, and I think I see daylight coming!

[falls into a deep sleep]

On Boy Bums & Moon Faces: A Post About Body Image

Holla!

...Never let me do that again.  I can't pull it off.  Some goes for "Yo". Much as I want to be, I am not Jesse Pinkman....  Bitch. Let me start again.

Hiiii!  You smell lovely today!  I like what you've done with your hair.  Very interesting.  Did you do it on purpsose?  Oh, what have I been up to?  Just winning the star letter prize for Women's Running Magazine!  

I subscribe to and devour the magazine every month, so I thought I'd write in and kiss some ass, because I'm a creep and wanted to show my gratitude  (apparently they don't accept locks of hair bound with your own knicker elastic.  Just letters.  Weird, huh?).  I nearly fell over when they emailed me to say that my name was going to go into their magazine and that I'd be getting free trainers for it - New Balance W870WB3 trainers, I'll have you know.  Observe my awesome modelling skills (and poor hoovering skills):
 

 

I had a day off today and decided to take these neon puppies for a spin.  Reaction to them inconclusive as I stupidly ran for four miles and had to walk/limp back another four because I had hurty feet and knees.  Yes, that is the medical term for it.  Chose at the time to blame the beautiful, glowy shoes, but in hindsight probably should've stuck to a shorter distance on my first jaunt in them.  Plank.

Anyhoo, forgetting for a moment my total lack of common sense, I wanted to write about body image tonight.  Butt kissy and saccharine as my letter was, it's how I really feel messages in the media should be.  

Growing up, I've had some screwy-as-fuck ideas about how I look, or how I expected I should look.  It's only recently, and mostly through running that I've started to come to terms with the fact that everyone thinks irrationally about the way they look at least from time to time, and that appearance doesn't matter anywhere near as much as your mental and emotional wellbeing.  I find that how I feel about myself totally depends on internal stuff like whether or not I'm tripping balls on endorphins after a good lollop in my stretchy pants. My self image rarely depends on things like whether my fringe is doing what I want it to do at the time (clue: it never is).

Seeing as people seemed to respond well in my last post to the fact that I often pee'd my pants as a kid, I've taken it upon myself to further embarrass myself for your amusement this week by compiling a list of the absurd things I thought about my physical self whilst growing up.  Here goes:

1.  The Chins:  At around age 10, I convinced myself I had a HUGE double chin -  I saw myself as some kind of hideous toad/child hybrid. My mother dearest, instead of informing me that I was ridiculous, and even if I did have a double chin that I should give no further shits about it, thought it'd be funny to tell me I could fix it by doing "chin stretches".  Cue at least a month of giving myself lockjaw by gurning in front of a mirror and sticking my bottom teeth as far out as I could. Must've looked like I was constantly on a come down from ecstasy/similar gurn-inducing drug.  Suspect this is why I still chomp in my sleep.  Because of the stretching.  Not ecstasy before bedtime.  My dreams are fucked up enough as it is.

2.  Moon face:  Also convinced self that my features were to small for my massive, egg-like face and that my eyes, nose and mouth all converged together in the middle of it like they were conspiring against my ears.

3. In my eyes, my belly button sat too low on my midriff. I don't recall why this was of any importance, but it the time, it was pressing that I figure out how to change it.  Note: I was unsuccessful at sussing out how one moves one's belly button, so it remains in the same place to this day.  Under my ribcage and above my trousers. The shame of it!

4.  Boy Bum:  Back when baggy jeans were all the rage - the ones where the big ass wallet chains hung from your pockets (and those pockets were deep enough to transport entire baguettes inside them), I was told at a house party by a boy that my jeans made me look like I had a boy's backside.  In all fairness, they did. But, being drunk on alcopops and hormones, I decided that it wasn't the jeans and that my arse was irretrievably, unforgivably mannish.  I took the throwaway comment as being 100% a major failing on my part, when I should actually have dumped my drink on that insensitive little shit's head. Not that I'm bitter. Honest, I'm not.  Bastard.

5. In my early teens, I got a little obsessed about my posture, because I'd "learned" that my shyness at school had something to do with the way I held myself.... It's what the magazines were telling my anyway. Good posture = instant social ability and oodles of confidence.  Obvs.  So, I went about correcting my apparently Quasimodo-esque stoop by shuffling to the bus stop looking like I had an ironing board stuffed up my jumper and a large candle up my bottom.  Funnily enough, I didn't evolve into a straight-spined social butterfly as I fully expected to.  Just melted into a slouchy lump whenever I got home from school and didn't have to sit like I had a bloody back brace on for the rest of the evening.

I wish I could tell you that those were the only things I worried about, but you know me well enough by now to know that that would be a bare assed lie.  And I don't want to lie to you, reader. 

Oh! Oh! And while I remember - when I was little, I also wholeheartedly believed that it didn't matter too much how I looked, as long as I magically morphed into something "acceptable" by the time I was sixteen.  I wasn't even old enough to know why this would be required of me and my boy-arsed, moon faced, weird little body by that age, but sixteen was apparently the cut-off point for when you should reach physical attractiveness.  I don't think sixteen year old me, weighed down by eyeliner and an impressive beard of spots was all too impressed when her time rolled around to shine.   

Point I've been (poorly) trying to make is that everyone has hang-ups and more or less all of them are irrational and stupid, even if we are likely to be stuck with them to some degree right the way through our lives.  

Example:  I bought night cream the other day because I convinced myself that at twenty six years old, my face is collapsing from the forehead down.  Think the irrational thought, laugh at how bloody absurd it is and move the fuck on with your day.  

Now, please excuse me, I have to go and top up on the old Q10.  I feel a sagging sensation underneath my fringe.  Good day!