Marathon Training Week...14(?)/Effed Up Dreams

Well, it's not every day that you're told that your face is in a regional newspaper.That information can make you jump to all kinds of conclusions!  Luckily, my super secret double life as a criminal mastermind/evil super villain remains a closely guarded one, and I'm in there for nice reasons.  A couple of weeks ago, I drafted an article about the running routes I was discovering on my on-foot travels around Swansea and sent it to the news website Wales Online. Because sharing is caring and all that. They kindly accepted my runwaffle and published it on their website, much to my excitement.  

Click below if you fancy a nose.  The top of the article features a very pretty and not-sweaty-at-all runner who I secretly hope readers who don't know me assume is me.  Not-me "me" is rocking the fuck out of that crop top and ponytail.

Wales Online - A Runner's Guide to the Best Runs in Swansea

There was no mention of it leaping out of the interweb and into print in my communications with Wales online, so was quite a shock to find that the article has been renamed "Run Rebecca Run" and is now a two page feature in today's Western Mail.  Chuffed is not the word.  Seeing my name in print makes me crazy happy.  Lookit!! 

  Say whaaat?!

Of course, now that I'm a leading authority on running (and getting selfies into local newspapers), I reckon I'm going to suck it up and do the full marathon in Liverpool fo sho.  I'm feeling good about it now.  It'll hurt, but it's meant to.  I have no doubt that the experience is going to blow my fragile little mind.  I'm getting into taper territory as of next week, so I'll be reducing the mileage, which will allow for lots more time for numbing my fears with cheese and losing control of my bladder as I completely freak out about the task ahead of me.  Should be a relaxing time for myself and the poor bastards that see me every day.

Good luck, friends and family!  You can get through this.  I believe in you!

Running longer distances in training has been a lot of fun.  I've learned loads about myself.  For example, if I am tired and frustrated enough by the fact that "I've still got bloody FOUR miles to go and I'm HUNGRY NOW!!", I am not above loudly huffing "AGH, FUCK IT!!" at nothing and no one whilst out in public.  Oddly enough, it does make you feel better. I've also learned that it's at around the fifteen mile mark that I start to get insatiably snacky.  Still clinging to the fruitless hope that there will be a magical cake station at around that point in Liverpool.  That would be the dream.

If you live in Liverpool and intend to spectate on the day - Battenburg, please and thankyou.

Running aforementioned distances has also screwed with my sleeping patterns, because staving off naps for me is like trying to stop an oncoming train with a broom handle.  It's just not possible.  As a result of this, I've been having some really vivid and slightly screwy dreams.  Want to hear a few?

1.  A capella Cats

A and I return home (probably from one of our never ending "pops to the shop".  We never seem to have food in.  No idea why...)  to see all the neighbours outside their doors watching all of the neighborhood cats singing classic hit "Stand By Me" together in perfect harmony.  When they are done, there is much applause and elation.  So much so that someone sets a pre programmed fireworks display off.  As you do.

Oh, God, the blood.  There was so. Much. Blood.  The one tabby that was stuck to the Catherine Wheel will haunt me forever.  

Cheers, brain.

2.  The Roof, the Roof, the Roof is on Fire

Am at home enjoying daytime TV.  In this particular show, an interior designer surprises families by giving their homes a fancy, fancy make over.  The families are survivors of house fires, which is a really lovely idea.  Except in this one, the houses are mid collapse and a little bit still-on-fire.  The part that I was watching in the dream was where they were in the middle of "the big reveal".  The mother didn't like the olive green kitchen cupboards they were given, which is an odd thing to be focusing on when you're missing one entire outside wall, and your staircase is ablaze.  Some people seriously need to reframe their situations.  Sort it out, lady.


3.  Sugar, We're Going Down

A and I in an aeroplane, off on our hollibobs.  Hurrah!  

Lightening strikes one of the wings, causing it to snap off and sending us hurtling towards to ground at hundreds of miles an hour.  A is frozen in fear and refusing to hold my hand, which I find mildly irksome.  To placate myself, I eat some peanuts and hum "if you're happy and you know it" to myself in my head.  Turns out dream-me handles the whole plummeting towards an untimely demise thing in quite a chipper way.  Who'd have thought? 

Maybe we could learn something from that?  No matter how bad it gets, there's always snacks and a cheery sing-along to be had. Unless there are no snacks.  In which case, everything is fucked and the world is ending.  *shrug*
There have been WAY more dreams than that, but those three are the ones I recall the most clearly.  I certainly have a vivid imagination when I'm unconscious.  Small wonder I'm always so bloody knackered!  I'll be off, then.  I need a coffee and something to chew on.  T'raa!

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.

 

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"

The Truth About Cats And Dogs

I don't believe I've ever brought this topic up explicitly on my blog before, but it's been just below the surface of many of my posts.  Several of my friends know about this leaning of mine, and accept me as I am.  

It's not been from a fear of judgement from wider society as such, although it is a subject that's been known to divide people. I'm not ashamed.  And I think it's high time that I get this out of the way before it becomes too big a burden to bear:

I love pussy.

....cats.  I love pussy cats.  I MUCH prefer them to dogs.  And my love for them isn't the sweet "I appreciate that fluffy thing's cuteness" kind of love.  If a black cat crosses my path, it's bad luck.

For the cat.

Because I will make a beeline for it and aggressively attempt to become best friends with it.  If it has the further misfortune/ stupidity to come close enough to me, it will be smothered within an inch of its nine fuzzyfuzzymuchcute lives. I am the grown up equivalent of one of those hamster squeezer children.

Picture that kid from Finding Nemo.  Remove the braces and the fish obsession, add twenty years and an intense affection for felines and you've got me.

"KITTY, WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING?!"

Many people opt for canine company instead.  While I appreciate the bouncy Funtime energy a dog can bring into a home, I also enjoy being able to give them back to their owners at the end of the day when I tire of their antics and drooling.

I feel similarly about human children.

Here is a short list of reasons why cats are infinitely better companions than dogs (and children, if you like):

1. Poop Shame:  Dogs will happily defacate with a look of either contentment or mild surprise out in the open, and not give any further shits about the (fecal) matter. 

lolpunsamsofunny.

Cats are suitably ashamed and grossed out by their own excrement, giving them a British "oh, I do apologise!  Please, let me remove it from sight in your shoe, I am disgusting. Sorry. So terribly sorry!" air about them.  

2. Affection Roulette:  cats keep you on your toes.  Unlike dogs, who love you so relentlessly that it makes you want to punch them in their soppy faces (note: I have never actually punched a dog in It's soppy face).  You never know if you're going to get kitty cuddles or a claw to the eyeball.  And that makes life much more interesting. Cats are permanently PMSing and I can fully identify with that.

"I LOVE you! I HATE you! I want to eat. Now I need to nap.  Come here so I can rip your face into tiny pieces!!  Purr purr. Nice human. FUCK YOU!!"

3. La La La Not Listening: Dogs will stare at you while you chat away to them, like you are both made out of bacon and the smartest most cleverest person ever ever ever.  If your prattling becomes too much for the cat to bear, he will promptly present you with its butt and shimmy off elsewhere until he decides you are interesting/ useful again.  This is very humbling and admirably sassy.  Humans should follow the way of the cat. 

Next time you're at that business meeting that is of no interest to you? Turn tail, buttocks to speaker and shimmy shimmy shimmy away.  You'll score a promotion for your the bluntness of your feelings. Or get fired.  

4. Fluffy Procrastination Machines:  While dogs are generally eager to please us hoomans, and, especially if well trained, happy to put in the work to impress, cats will actively encourage their owners to do less stuff.  The fact that we work seems to both amuse and annoy them.  If you have a cat anywhere in the house, even if you're nowhere near it, get out a pen and notepad and begin to write.  I'll bet you actual money that in less than ten minutes, there will be a cat ass on your notbook and paws batting at your biro.

5.  Loookadisface!!!

His name is Walter.  I love him.  He tolerates me.