Lady of Leisure

Happy Sunday from my lot to yours!

"One, two, three....SUNDAAAAAAY!!"

It's been a decent old week for me, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that I had the whole thing off work.  Maybe.  Surprised myself by being pretty productive and only taking a grand total of about two unplanned naps.  Hurrah!  Nothing I did was Earth shatteringly exciting, but it was nice to catch up on all the boring life admin that usually hangs out in the back of my head, threatening to ignite my stress levels at any minute like an evil child with its hands on a lighter. 

Some stuff what I did:

Quality time with dog
Quality time to my dog = sitting three centimeters away from me at all times, staring unblinkingly until I drop food.  

Quality time with cat
Let cat in. Let cat out. Let cat in. Let cat out.  Repeat times infinity. Cat is an arse hole who am pretty sure does this for lolz.

Experienced too many feelings in a short space of time
As many of you well know, the Netflix series Orange is the New Black made its return with excellent timing.  I binge watched the whole thing within about three or four days.  Mistake.  BIG mistake.  There should be a limit on how many episodes you're allowed to consume within a single week.   My body and mind are not equipped to handle that volume and variation of feeling in such a short space of time.  I just...ugh!  It needs to come with a health warning.  Like on a box of fags, you get those pictures of shrivelled up lungs...The thumbnail image on OINTB should be an image of someone in food stained jammies with three day old bed hair, sob-laughing into a box of pre-sliced cheese.

WARNING: MAY CAUSE EXTREME FEELINGS.

Turns out when I cry, the dog also cries. Think more out of fear than empathy - don't think he's ever seen my face contort in such an attractive way before.  Imagine it was quite alarming.

Learned to cook.  Sort of
I jumped on the bandwagon and bought Joe Wicks' (Instagram famous smiley cockney in shorts - look him up if unsure!) Lean in 15 books.  Bought more into the premise that actual meals can be made within 15 minutes as apposed to the whole "get lean" part.  Although based on the fact that I failed to get a pair of jeans that fit me last year past my knees the other day, "lean" would be a happy bonus... Or new jeans.  Whichever comes first.  So far, I've seen four recipes through to the 15(ish) minute end and not given myself or anyone else food poisoning so far.  Yippee!  Joe Wicks is evidently some kind of Becky-proof recipe creating genius.  Like Stephen Hawking with a frying pan and a low resting heart rate (I assume).

Lost and regained running mojo
Since Cardiff Half in October last year, I've only been running about once a week, averaging about 3-5 miles and going to Crossfit three days or so a week.  I assumed that I can automatically run long distances still because:

a. Am doing Crossfit regularly now and am therefore superhuman (the bar for "superhuman" for me is low. It means "person who can now do up to six push ups in a row on a good day").
b. Have done a full marathon last year.
c. Have conveniently forgotten how quickly my mindset went from "I can run FOREVER!!" to "please can I go home and lie down now?" after mile 7 of March's interesting attempt at the Llanelli Half marathon.
d.  Once you know how to run distances, it just stays with you, yeah?

No, Dick Brain.  Just no. I've taken a break from signing up to every single race that comes my way this year because that's how I managed to injure myself last year.  Also is crazy expensive and doing event after  event sucks the joy out of things.  This week, as I've signed up for the big 'un (London Marathon) next year, I decided to sign up to a couple of races for September and October just in case I get in (still undecided what I actually want the outcome to be.  Gulp). I've got myself a place for the Swansea Bay 10k, and come next payday, I'll be signing up to have my third crack at Cardiff Half. 

This sounds so stupid, but I forgot how HARD running is and how quickly easily you can lose the mental capacity for longer distances.  I've done a couple of 6+ mile runs recently and after about 5 miles, everything starts to grind.  I started overthinking my "slow, oh so very very slow, am rubbish!" pace and assuming that my injury from last year is going to come back at any second to bite me in the ankles.  It's not been v much fun.  At one point early this week, I was wondering how I could change my website address here to just be "Rebecca Writes" because the lack of running I do of late makes the title of this blog more than a little misleading.  Ridiculous.

This morning, Andy and I went to spectate at the Swansea Half Marathon.  I've never been that side of the barrier before.  It was so much fun to see people I know bossing the course! And so inspiring to watch the 8,000 or so entrants dig in and get 'er done.  From the fastest to the slowest, it was clear that every single person was putting in so much effort. Because I'm usually piddling around towards the back, I don't normally get to see how the Speedy McLightningPants types look when they run a race.  I assumed that they springily gazelled their way to the finish line, because they were "naturals."  Nope!  Turns out all of us runners look like we're chewing onions when the going gets tough because guess what?  Running is hard no matter your ability or speed, and that's exactly why we do it!  To get that feeling of elation that we've survived something.  If running suddenly became easy, I'd probably go right off it.  Where's the achievement without the effort? And the bragging rights, obvs. Achievement and bragging rights are more or less the same thing, no?

Being reminded that there are shinies, goodies and glory at the finish line didn't hurt either.  The atmosphere was brilliant.  Bring on the training, and bring on the next race!  Here's to chewing onions with the elite and the newbies alike!  Hurrah!


...Hmm.  Not too sure how a list of "things what I done this week" turned into a emotional ramble about running, but there we are.  Least my attitude seems to be steering back in the right direction.  I'm sure my next post will have more of an actual structure to it.  75% sure.

...62%

50/50?

Side note: Fully aware that this week's EU referendum vote is of slightly more importance than my ability to cook chicken without killing anyone (only slightly, mind. I mean, it is pretty impressive).  Long story short, I'm gutted by how the whole thing turned out.  I respect anyone's right to an opinion, even if it is different to mine as long as that opinion isn't blindly concocted and/or driven by fear.  I also believe that given the chance to vote again, a lot more people will participate and make the effort to educate themselves about the choice they're making as the magnitude of it dawns on everyone.  Sooo, I'm just going to leave this here...

Click here to sign petition for a second EU referendum =)

Okay, bye!

Half Arsing Llanelli Half

Finiiiiiished!

Those jubilant, slightly shocked faces belong to three people who attempted to run the Llanelli Half Marathon on little to no (edging more towards the "no" end of the scale) training miles and actually managed to complete the bugger.  It is possible! Now I know that when (not if.  It's going to happen and we have to be prepared) the zombie apocalypse comes, I will be able to evade the undead for miles and miles and miles.  Provided the undead keep it to a slow shuffle with frequent walk/limp breaks.

Last night, due to the near total lack of actual preparing for this race, I felt as though my knees had been subject to a light "tickling" from a combine harvester and my arse was making its complaints known by sending "Ow. Ow. F*!!*#g OW!!" impulses to my brain each time I stood up or sat down, but the warm fuzziness of a magical morning did something to ease the fact that it hurt to move.  Or keep still.  Or just sort of have a lower body.

Here are some memories that I have of the event for your perusal:

Pre race: Why aren't I nervous? WHY?!!

Spent a good chunk of the morning dissecting my total lack of nerves.  Usually on the morning of a half, I spend it worrying about what I've eaten, whether it will be hard (to which the sane answer is "yes. You have chosen to travel 13 miles on foot.  Yes it will be hard. Div), if I've forgotten something important like my legs, whether this will be the day my body says "enough now!" and adopts the fetal position until it knows the event is over.  

Yesterday morning?  Serenity.  The sun was out for the first time in what feels like months.  I had no expectations of myself speed-wise (which is just as well as the highest velocity I was going to get on that amount of training was akin to Mr Blobby fighting through a wind tunnel).  I felt good.  Relaxed. So, naturally, I worried about the fact that I wasn't worried, thus successfully bumping myself back up to my usual, comfortable level of mild neuroses.  Ahh, palpitations.  Much better!

Don't leave me hanging, bruh.

My friend Gareth (off of the left of the top picture, in red) was full of enthusiasm the moment we broke through the start line and began to bimble along our merry way.  He gathered speed ahead of me, taking in the festive atmosphere and the modest crowd of onlookers.  He went to high five a small child as he passed, as he knew that would inevitably inspire it to tackle a half marathon of his own one day.  Gareth would be his hero.  

Small child remained motionless, giving him a look that way halfway between "STRANGER DANGER!" and "Do not touch me, peasant!"  

Priceless.

The coastline

Aw, man, the views!  The last time I did this race was in 2014, where everything was grey and I was being rained on sideways.  It's hard to take in the scenery when you have rain water shooting into your ear holes and filling up your skull.  The Llanelli coastline is gorgeous in the sunshine.  All rocks and sand and stuff.  Well, you've seen a beach before, haven't you?  It was like that.  Beaches are nice and they are nice to look at.  When you're sweating from every orifice and looking for ANY distraction from counting down how long you have left to run (spoiler: the answer is always "FOREVER!!"), a thought like "ooh that's pretty!" is about as deep as your brain can go, and you are grateful for giving your eyes something to do other than looking for the next sodding mile marker.  After 6 half marathons and one full one, I've come to the conclusion that mile markers are the work of Satan himself and should be banned from races.  They are only there to make grown ups in stretchy pants want to cry.

Mile 7

I changed my mind.  Mile 7 is the work of Lucifer.  I think they should cut out mile 7 if they must insist on markers, like lots of office buildings have a 12th and 14th floor, but not a 13th.  As is usual for me (don't know if this applies to all half marathoners.  Would be curious to find out), realising you're over half way does naff all to spur you on.  Quite the opposite.  In Llanelli, I was happily shuffling along with the rest of the front-of-the-back-of-the-pack-ers (mah people, mah homies), convinced I was invincible as I'd not needed to slow to a walk not even once yet, merrily flipping the race the finger to show it who's boss:

 

And then...mile 7.  Every bloody time.  It hits me like a trowel to the shins and turns me from "Ha, I could run forever!  They could mine my sweat to create everlasting batteries!  I will be rich!" to I'M GOING TO RUN! No, I need a little walk. I'M RUNNING AGAIN- Oh, no, wait, I need to walk, I'M..no, false alarm, I need another walk. Goddamn, it, mile 7!

Is anybody out there?

Llanelli half is a relatively small race. 1,500 participants when sold out, I think.  It gives it a lovely, family feel, but it also feels like said family has taken a sneaky right turn while you weren't looking in a bid to lose you because you're cramping their style.  At one point, I looked ahead of me and behind, and convinced myself that I'd ambled off course down a random cycle path by accident because I could see no other human life forms anywhere.  Thankfully, we were all just very spread out and the cluster of runners I'd following like the lame calf of the herd were just around a bend I couldn't see.  


All in all a good morning!  I'm desperate to cover that distance again and finally slay mile 7 by not immediately shuffle-run-hobble-walk-ing from that point onwards through to the end, but that would involve actual training and planning.  Ew.  We shall see.  I wisely booked today off work because I'm an unlovable, grumpy shit the day after a half.  Is there such a thing as a post race hang over?  Either way, I'm going to slouch over a big coffee now and glare out my living room window at the incessantly cheery sunshine now.  Byeee!

"We survived!!"

Reasons To Eat the Thing

So.  It's mid January.  Corporate turkey and Jesus fest is over (I love corporate turkey and Jesus fest.  Praise be Turkey).  Resolutions have been made by many and broken by most.  My genius plan was to write something every day, be it a diary entry, blog post or a bit of fiction. 

How's it going, you ask?  My last post was before Christmas.  As I may have already mentioned, it's mid January.  You tell me how it's going.

Seriously, tell me.  It's going good, right? 

The only habit that I have successfully  managed to strengthen since the house became a barren, tinsel free zone was that of eating sweet treats until I feel sick on at least a bi hourly basis.  Major first world problem, I'm fully aware, but hunger has become an foreign concept to me.  I've forgotten what it's like.  I only assume it's that feeling of being "not nauseous to my very bones."

I blame the boom in the market for "salted and sweet" products.  Popcorn is the worst siren call.  Sweet and salted popcorn is like crack to me.  I think.  I mean, I've never tried crack, but the only things that I can think of that I've been hopelessly addicted to are all food items.   It'd sound weird if I said popcorn is like cheese on toast.  Makes no sense.

Back at work, I have found daily excuses to leave the office and retrieve a my beloved bag of salted, candied crack.  I often buy two bags, thinking that having a spare for the following day will dissuade me from another trip to the supermarket solely to buy a single variety of crunchy snack.  Never works.  I just end up sheepishly (no idea why.  Who's going to catch me?  The food police?  Dear God don't tell me there are really food police) eating both bags in the car on my way from the shop and back to work.  

"Oh, you've been for a walk?"

"Yup, nice to stretch my legs. Get a bit of the old exercise."

"What's that flaky stuff on your face?"

"NOTHING. SHUT UP, AM A HEALTHY, HEALTHY LADY WHO JUST LOVES A LOVELY WALK! NOTHING TO SEE HERE."

I know in the small, shy, logical bit of my brain that rarely comes out of its hole (assume is busy reading and contemplating the universe or something) that eating 2 bags a day of nutritionally void salt and sugar lumps, plus whatever is shaped like a biscuit and not nailed down isn't going to do my mood, well being and health any good in the long run.  However, the other 99.9% of my brain has become something of an expert over the years at fighting off sensible logic-brain at moments of greed.  I have a lot of these moments.  So if you're anything like me and always need an excuse handy for when you might need to consume an entire box of toffees in one sitting (ow, my body hurts.  I feel a new chin coming on), here are some you may use at your leisure:

• I'm tired.
• I'm sad.
• I'm hormonal.
• I'm happy.
• I'm awake.
• I've eaten something healthy and totally deserve a reward for being so saintly.
• I can't look like I'm on a diet or something.  Diets are ridiculous and never work.  It makes much more sense to eat until I hate myself a little bit.  Much, much healthier.
• That particular thing is my absolute favourite thing to eat ever and so I am powerless against it.
• This thing is also may favourite.
• This too.
• I'm bulking.  Bulging? Whatever.  Same difference.
• It's okay if I eat this chewy thing because it's so chewy.  It takes more calories to chew the chewy thing than it does to digest it.
• I regularly exercise.  That means I'm immune to fatty, sugary food, right?  I need the energy.  I'm not putting on fat.  It's muscle.  Lovely, wobbly muscle.
• I need to have a period of eating as though all confectionery is going to be made illegal at any moment before I can turn it all around and emerge, butterfly-like from my poor, abused body.  Eventually.  That's how it works, yes? 
• I've already eaten one crap thing today, so that's today out of the window.  Might as well carry on and start again tomorrow!  Nothing from now until midnight counts as a poor choice.  Hurrah!
• I'm on a Haribo induced shame spiral and so now I need this vat of salty pretzels to counteract the guilt because it's not sweet and so will cancel the sugary snack out.
• It's Friday.
• It's Monday.
• It's a day with the letter A in it.

O-kay, better stop there.  Little bit frightened by the fact that I could carry on for pages and pages.

Before I go, and because "my efforts" to keep this blerg up to date have been pants at best, here are some things:

1. Despite my plan (As you have already seen, I am very good at sticking to plans) to stay away from longer distance races for a good, long while until my ankle gets all-the-way better, I might be signing up to the Llanelli Half Marathon.  I enjoyed the last one, despite the frigid (heh. Frigid) conditions and grim numbness from said frigid (heh heh) conditions.  It's in March and because of my new commute for work, I am unlikely to find the time to put much training in outside of Crossfit and the odd 5k.  Should be an interesting event to say the least. The only thing for certain is that I will cross the finish line if I have to crawl on my elbows, because we had cool beanie hats at the end of the last one, and I really want a new hat.  Hopefully blue this time.  Or purple.  Not fussy.
2. Dog is still alive.  Excellent.
3. Cat is still a resident of our humble abode and has entered into a reluctant friendship with Dog.  Albeit a one sided friendship where Dog repeatedly sniffs Cat's anus until Hell breaks loose.  Aww.  So cute.
4. I recently saw all bar the newest Star Wars movies.  I couldn't be any later to the party, and I want to blog about my reactions to them, but I need to see the newest one first in order to put my inane thoughts down in writing.  Soon.

....Sooooon.

Right, I'm off to have an argument with myself about the merit of getting out of my pyjamas and heading down the street to where my car is parked to retrieve the bag of popcorn I've just remembered I've not inhaled yet.  By out of my pyjamas, I mean "and into clothes".  Don't want to become infamous for being the local naked snacker.

Bye!

Run Like You Called Someone a Jogger

I gone and dunnit! I made it through the Lloyds TSB Cardiff Half Marathon with all my body parts still attached! Thanks to a couple of trips to Rosie the Magical Osteopath (still trying to cook up a jaunty jingle to go with that title), my foot appears to be my friend again.  It at least tolerated me well enough to behave during 13.1 miles of probably the second most enjoyable (first being Liverpool.  Takes a lot to beat a band on every mile and a medal that looks like headphones) long distance race I've ever done.  Two days after the event, which is usually delayed onset muscle soreness happy-fun-time for me, I can still bound up and down stairs without looking like I've pooped my pants or misplaced my kneecaps.  Hurrah!

You can't see it, but I actually jumped for joy then.  Because I can still jump! Yippee, look at me go!

My finishing time was 2hrs, 37mins.  About the speed I usually do a half in, give or take a few minutes.  Far from breaking any records but for once, I didn't care.  Like, at all.  My happy-go-lucky shamble (or if the official photos are anything to go by, 13 mile chimp impersonation).  Posture, Becky!  Posture!!) meant that I got through the event unscathed, and that I wasn't pushing myself hard enough to allow it to suck.  Why throw my money dollars at an event if I'm going to be wheezing, stressing and suffering through the whole thing?  I'd rather have actual, nice memories of things I've seen.  Not PTSD.

So, memories... Imagine you're a 5-foot-and-a-fart, pasty twenty something in shorts (with a case of mild chub rub between the thighs because Papa Johns exists) and come see the event through my eyes.. *mysterious hand waving*

The Start

I'm chuffed that my first ever longer distance running event back in 2013 was the Cardiff Half.  It properly set the tone for what I should expect from a race. The buzzy energy is freaking magical.  There are so many entrants that it's not unlike a festival.  Something ridiculous like 27,000 of us squished together to run Cardiff's streets together.  With all that lycra and plastic gear, I wouldn't be surprised if we gave off a lovely static glow. 

Suppose that's why the energy was so...electric...

Haw haw.  Anyway, look at our excited little faces! 

Oo-eer, lookit all 'em knees!

Owners of said knees, left to right:

Gareth:  Shaved off approx 15mins of personal best.  Threw up an army of WHOLE ENTIRE jelly babies at end of race, all with a smile on his face.   Warrior!

Sam: Ran her first ever half in a ridiculous time and left the rest of us trailing in her dust.

Me:  I do have forearms.  Picture just makes me look like an uncooked chicken.

James: Eats half marathons for breakfast.  Possibly because they don't have carbs (heehee sorry, James. Couldn't resist).

Arwel: Beast moded it through the half, setting the pace for Gareth (hence jelly baby incident), immediately disappeared after race for a cheeky Nandos. Fair one.

 

Ready, steady, AAAAAAAGH!!!

The Bloody Rowing Boat

When you're a long distance shuffler like myself, you get used to running alongside the people in fancy dress.  You can look at in in two different ways:

1.  You are the same speed as, or slower than someone who is overheating in a Tigger onesie/breathing in 13 miles of their own hot breath in a plastic Darth Vadar Mask/wearing full cricket gear; including the bat, helmet, shin pads and knitted jumper (all of the above and more have whooshed by me in the past).  This is depressing as shit and you wind up deciding that you are not a real runner.

2.  All the racers up at the front are only seeing other people clad in lycra, huffing and puffing after their PB or position on a pedestal.  You, however are in a fantasy land where Mario and Luigi are running right alongside a hot dog and bottle of mustard with legs, and people are sharing their sweets with you.  No hallucinogenics required.  It's all getting a bit Alice in Wonderland up the back, and it's awesome! 

I don't know about you, but I prefer outlook #2.  However...these two guys in one costume did take the biscuit (speaking of biscuit, I got through the whole race on a single digestive biscuit kindly donated by some church folk because the race ran out of energy gels.  No idea what was in that biscuit, but I think I'm using biccies for fuel from now on. Mmm Hobnobs).  Look:

Not content with passing by me just the once like most people, I counted at least...At least four times that this pair sailed (sorry, rowed) past me.  They kept being asked to stop for photos, which they politely did, all before picking the pace back up and cruising on by, like they do everything in tandem in their normal lives.  Seriously??  Fair play to them, though.  Running that far with an actual boat strapped to the pair of them must have taken some co-ordination!

Jesus Guy

Saw an article about this guy after the race.  Apparently they stopped him from doing this at the London Marathon this year, and this isn't the first time he's wheeled a MASSIVE crucifix over a ridiculous distance.  I'm not 100% whether he was doing it for charity or his own personal reasons, but just...wow!  I don't like carrying a bottle of water when I'm running, let alone a ruddy great big cross.  Applause to you, crucifix dude!

 

Never seen a cross wearing a bum bag before.

 

The Supporters

Anyone who has run the Cardiff Half would probably tell you the same thing.  The best thing about the day is the fact that the city's residents come out in droves to offer cheers and refreshments.  I nearly fell over with glee when I saw that the same retirement home as the one I saw in 2013 were sat in a big row outside their building waving signs again this year.  Best.  Supporters.  Ever.  Again, I enjoyed high-fiving small children as I went.  The home made signs were top notch this year too.  Couple of my favourites:

RUN LIKE YOU JUST CALLED SOMEONE A JOGGER

and

THIS IS A MOTIVATIONAL SIGN.

Zombies!  Run!

Got through 3 story "missions" (one which was a tad emotional and almost had me having a little cry in public.  Did the British thing by swallowing my feelings and buggering on) on my wonderful app.  Had to turn the zombie chases off after a point because there were just too many people around to get much of a sprint on.  Not worth clothes lining myself over, or trampling a poor unsuspecting runner.  The story mode alone made the race fly by.

Frands!

Was lovely starting the race with the four smiling faces in the top pictures.  I may have lost them all within the first fifteen minutes because they don't run like the air is made of jam like I do, but crossing the start line in our little huddle and having a medal wearing gang waiting at the finish line to share experiences with gave me the warm and fuzzies.  If any of you are reading this, well bloody done, you speedy freaks!   Until next time!

(Half...?) Marathon Training Week 11/ Irish Face

Excuse me, for I am in a slightly unstable mood.  Hovering somewhere between giddy optimism and hateful melancholy.  I look like I'm doing Dylan Moran's "Irish face":

Dylan Moran: Irish Face

Second weekend running (pun definitely not intended.  I don't know if you can call what I've been doing "running".  Hmph) where I've set out for a monster run and been let down by my own stubborn body.  Cut an 18 miler down to 4 last week and abandoned a 19 miler for 10 (better, but still...) this weekend.  My right ankle, heel, knee and under..foot...area (?!!) took in turns to have a bit of a cry at me, while my creaky old left hip spent intermittent periods going

"Hmm..no..nope.  Not for me.  No, thankyou. Nope."

I started training late in the first place because of my gammy foot, and have had to skip and/or shorten way more runs than I'd have liked over the past few weeks.  After today's swear-fest, I was miserable.  I don't feel anywhere near fit enough to participate in the full distance, but

• I've told everyone and their pets that I'm going to be running a marathon, and I'm soft enough to care what people would think if I drop out, and vain enough to assume that they'd care about it.
• I agreed to do this with a friend, who I was meant to be doing the Cardiff Half with last year before I jibbed out on that one.  I hate letting people down.
• I stupidly named my blog Rebecca Writes and Runs , so wanging on about doing a marathon and then not doing it makes me feel like a big ole phony.
• The only thing I have on my "to do before I'm 30 list" (making it more of a lone item than an actual list) is "run a marathon".  It's all I've thought about since Christmas.

However, I want my first marathon to be an enjoyable experience.  Hating 70% of it because I'm an un-ready mess of twinges and throbby ligaments would be totally undermining everything I love about the activity.  So, on one of the many generous limp breaks I allowed myself today, I googled the Liverpool Rock 'N' Roll FAQ page, trying to find out whether I could defer my place for another year if the worst came to worst.  

I can't.

Buuuuuuuut, I can reduce my race to the half marathon distance, which I know for a fact I can do without too much swearing and dragging one lame leg behind me.  The awesome thing is that they allow you to change your preferred distance on the day of the race, meaning that I don't have to make a decision right away.  If it came to it (and if I'm honest with myself, with only 5 weeks to go, it's looking like opting for the friendlier distance is the most likely outcome), my day would still be pretty awesome.  I wouldn't be letting anyone down, I'd still get to participate at a fantastic event, and (most importantly) I'd still get a medal.  Silver linings and that.

So I'm going to continue training along the same schedule and do as much as my body allows, but now the pressure has been lifted off me, knowing that I have a back up plan.  I might not be able to do what I set out to do this year, but a couple of years ago, I couldn't run more than a mile or two, so a half is still something Past Becky would have been quaking in her lounge wear over.  Now, it's my "easy option". 

(Rock and) roll on, Liverpool!

Decisions, Decisions

Okay, so... in total contrast to my previous post, I have a confession to make.  I gave up my Cardiff Half place.  The decision wasn't taken lightly, and it was made while I was lady balls deep in mud.  I shall explain:

On Friday, I took my shiny new playlist out cruising (jogging), intending to bosh out at least 2 hours of pavement pounding.  I managed about an hour or so of trying to keep my lungs from lurching out of my mouth, and at around mile 5/6, I had to admit defeat.  Personally, I like it when my lungs are inside my body.  Trouble is, I still had 4 miles to get back to both my car and water (the latter because I threw my bottle in a bin in a tantrum because the sloshy noises it was making was getting on my nerves).  

Luckily, I live in glorious Swansea and was beach adjacent.  A 4 mile walk/sulk could be a lot worse without lapping waves and the adrenaline of walking by that seagull that always dive bombs me when I'm in the vicinity (it is the same one every time, I'd recognise that evil bird in a seagull line up any day!).  So, walked out to the wetter sand to get firmer footing for my journey back.  

Trouble is, the sand was so wet and so loose that with each step I sank further and started to fear that I was going to get swallowed up by quicksand like what they do in cartoons.  I threw a few panicked looks at a couple of dog walkers off in the distance, who didn't seem bothered at all that the lady in the shorts seemed to be getting shorter with each step.  No avail.  

Anyhoo, I did survive my terrible ordeal with only some very manky trainers, and didn't sink all the way to China.  Even though that would be cool, as I've never been to China.  I realised somewhere in between the lung spewing and the wading that I really wasn't enjoying myself and that if my fitness levels are at a point where 6 miles makes me want to cry, then maybe a half marathon is something I should take a rain check on.

Yeah, I probably could get around the route with a bit of weeping and hobbling, but I would hate every single bloody second of it, and that's not why I started running.  I want to enjoy it.

Anyhoo, turns out, the decision was the best one for me right now, for reasons thusly [clears throat]:

• Friends were 100bazillion times less judgy and more lovely about the decision than I'd anticipated.  I often forget that whether I run or not has no impact whatsoever on what my nearest and dearest think of me.  It only matters, and only should matter to me.

• I've been on 2 runs since the horrific Friday one.  I focused on maintaining a pace where I could feel calm and my mind could wander.  They've been so, so slow and punctuated with walking, but how I've felt after them beats the hell out of the guilt and physical discomfort of the ones I pressure myself to be faster-faster-further in.  I have CrossFit and sessions with Run4All for intensity.  My solo runs are my "me time" and so during them, I should enjoy them as I see fit, even if that means being overtaken by zimmerframe users.

• One of my CrossFit coaches saw my offer to offload my Cardiff Half place and let me know that he's holding a course soon for people who want to learn how to balance CrossFit and distance running better. This couldn't have come at a better time!

• Next Sunday, I can now go to the Cardiff Half and scream like a banshee at my friends who are running.  This will terrify them into running so fast that they overtake the elites and ultimately win.  Hurrah!

So, yeah.   Pretty happy with life and a more well-adjusted, sane and comfortable approach to running.  Aaaand...exhale! =)

And here is a link to a Huffington Post video in which Benedict Cumberbatch tries and fails to pronounce the word "penguins".  Enjoy!

Benedict Cumberbatch: "Pengwings" 

Happy Sunday! 

Choons!

Moooorning!! Rota'd day off work, and last (and only, really) long training run day before the Cardiff Half, which I am...well, I'm shitting my pants over it, to be frank ("Can I still be Garth?").

Got through the Swansea Bay 10K on Sunday by the skin of my teeth.  Had to walk parts of the last mile just to get to the end, which I normally wouldn't need to do during a race of that length.  Lack of speed isn't bothering me so much as enjoyment.  I'm never going to win any races, especially at my current level of "fitness," so my main focus should be fun.  And when my lungs feel like they want to escape out of my butt, it goes without saying I'm not going to be having the time of my life. Lesson learned: training is important, even if you aren't expecting to be Sonic the Hedgehog (fast - not blue and naked bar shoes).  Nevertheless... medal!

 

 

Pure terror of running anything further than "to the fridge for cheese" of late has forced me to get creative.  I'm easily distracted and pretty soggy willed when my motivation levels aren't high, so I needed something to get me excited about pounding pavements for 2hours +.  So, I'm currently putting together a Spotify Premium playlist to see me through the event.  I've not moved from my computer all morning.  I'm having a bloody blast!  As I type, I am currently bouncing to "The Bitch Song" by Bowling For Soup. 

I love clicking through the "related artist" feature and coming across bands I'd almost forgotten I loved as a spot ridden, angsty,  pasty skinned teen (not much has changed.  Slightly less spots, but I certainly haven't gotten any wiser, taller or less pale).  I don't know if most other people in their twenties are the same, but my taste in music seems to have stalled at around age fifteen.  I still LOVE American pop/punk. Love, love love it! I also seem to have developed a taste for shameless pop music, which is ideal for grinning to yourself while you have headphones on because no one bar you knows that you're secretly getting your groove on to 5ive.  I miss 5ive...

Can't wait to get off my arse this afternoon for a playlist test drive. I plan to bounce around Swansea to the musical stylings of Blink 182 and New Found Glory, Something Corporate... (remember them?! I didn't!)  Maybe in the spirit of regression, I will also wear eyeliner down to my chin and sport some black and purple shag bands.


Or maybe I won't.

Behold some gems from my Cardiff Half playlist for your inspiration/revulsion:

In Too Deep - Sum 41
Sk8er Boi - Avril Lavigne
My Favourite Game - The Cardigans
Hella Good - No Doubt
All Downhill From Here - New Found Glory
Punk Rock Princess - Something Corporate 
Dammit - Blink 182
Fatally Yours - Alkaline Trio
All My Best Friends Are Metalheads - Less Than Jake
She Hates Me - Puddle Of Mudd
I Want You To Want Me - Letters To Cleo
Sell Out - Reel Big Fish  


If you're on spotify too, you can have a nose at my debatable taste in music here:
cardiff half

..."Rock" on, honorable ones!

\m/ \m/

Still Alive!

Gah! I haven't done this for over a fortnight. What am I supposed to do?! Um, um, um... Here's a picture of what I looked like the weekend before last:

No, I didn't get bad dentures.  I saw my heroes live onstage at Reading Festival for the third time (Blink 182).  Fart jokes and power chords abound! I love that trio so much that, as I sat on A's shoulders and took in their iconic flaming "FUCK" backdrop sign over a sea of thousands of heads, I may have done a little cry.  In my pants.

Only joking. Out of my eyes.  But I was three days deep into field dust and day drinking, so it seems normal that my face chose to malfunction in such a way.  Had a great weekend, as ever.

What else, what else... Ooh! I got some sweet, sweet ink done on a whim while my sister was getting her first tattoo.  In true big sister stylee, I obviously felt I had to at least borrow some of her thunder by asking one of the tattoo artists if they had any cancellations.  They did. Hurrah!  Here is the result:

 

Hell's Angels membership card pending.

I did write a little (10,000 words or so) story to publish the other week, as I mentioned in my last post.  Like my last verbal creation, it's another attempt at "the funnies", but this time, it's fiction.  That sounds like the world's shittiest movie tagline.

BECKY'S BACK! BUT THIS TIME... IT'S FICTION

 (dun dun duuuuuuuuhn!)

Instead of hosting it on Amazon and making people pay their hard earned 77p's on it, when I've figured out how to host PDFs on a blog (poking screen with a stick doesn't seem to have worked so far) and actually bothered to proof read the thing, I will put it up here for downloading at your leisure.  Watch this space and all that.

In some attempts-at-fitness news, I'm still bumming the living daylights out of CrossFit - novelty very much alive and not worn off yet.  I seem to get a kick out of making myself waddle with pain most days of the week.  Only detrimental result of my new addiction (apart from making my blog title Rebecca Writes & Runs look like a big, fat fatty of a lie) is that I've barely run due to my permanently heavy legs, and when I do, I can't seem to break the  6 mile mental barrier I've put up for myself.  I feel every. Single. Step.  It's like my brain won't let the handbrake go, which isn't great when Cardiff Half is in a few terrifying weeks.  Going to attempt somewhere between 8 and 10 miles today, which frightens the bajeezus out of me.  We shall see.

Last bit of my exciting update now.  Drumroll, please.

I came to the conclusion on Saturday morning that I have spent a big ole chunk of August pissed as a newt.  This has left me poor(er than normal) and given me the energy levels of an old, crumpled towel.  Much as I love the demon drink, it don't love me back! My hangovers are reaching nuclear level and only seem to be getting worse with age.  I've had some great days and nights out this month, but I'm ready for a break now.  And I think my friends deserve a hard earned rest from beauties like this at 3am:

No, Drunk Becky.  Spelling obviously isn't the issue here.  Go home.

So, in a bid to replenish my bank balance and general well being, I intend to have a sober October next month (can't not drink this month.  Going abroad for a wedding next week, and my willpower is about as strong as soggy paper).  I know Macmillan are doing a sponsored month of sobriety, but I feel a bit odd asking my friends to fork out money for me to stay at home on Saturday nights, catching up on The Walking Dead (zombies!! Guns!! ZOMBIES!!!) and eating snacks for a month, so I'll probably make a donation to the charity and go on my merry way without pestering those who tolerate my actions enough as it is.  Only reason I'm slapping my decision up on here is so that I can't back out.  It's out there now, on the interweb, so it's official.  Like a relationship status on Facebook.

Yes.  So.  That's us caught up for the last few weeks.  I like your new haircut, and that's a snazzy top you have on there.  See you sooner rather than later later this time!

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!!"