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!

Fitness Fibs - Lies We Tell Ourselves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Outcast CrossFit - Swansea

 "One of us!  One of us!" 

In a Minute Now: Growing Up in Wales

My mother sat me down as a child and shared something with me:

"Becky, we found you in a bin and decided to keep you."

She also strapped me in my pushchair with a loaf of bread and pissed herself laughing as the ducks swarmed towards me while I screamed (I can't have been too bright a kid.  Upon reflection, I should have just lobbed the bread away from myself), but her questionable sense of humour is beside the point today.  I think she might have been right about the bin thing.

I sound nothing like any of my family members.  Dad was a moustachio'd scouser (is there any other kind?), Mum and the youngest sis have strong Welsh accents, and even the middle sis, who is only two years my junior, has a hint of a Welsh twang in there, even if it is only a subtle one.

I, however, sound like I've just come from a Victorian tea party, which prompts the question

"So...Where are you from, exactly?" or, from those more rude and/or drunk 

"You're not from around here, are you?"

The answers are Wales and yes, shut up!  I've lived here for twenty odd of my twenty seven years.  Before that, I was an army brat living in Germany, but the vast majority of my memories are here, as well as half of my family, who give me biscuits and tea when I visit so I ain't going nowhere!  I belong in this sheep strewn patch of green as much as anyone who was born here.  I loves it, I do.  I have no idea why in two decades my accent's not even remotely deviated from that of a BBC newsreader, but I'm proud to have been brought up here.  Hell, my first name even featured heavily in an infamous welsh riot masterminded by cross dressing locals (see: BBC Wales History - The Rebecca Riots) !

I love Wales' industrial history and its deep roots in art, literature and music (Dylan Thomas may have been a roaring drunk, but that bastard was a clever roaring drunk!), and I love the fact that even if you are in a city, everywhere still has that local feel.  I live in Swansea right now, and my favourite thing about it is that even though it's a city (albeit a baby one), you can always find refuge in the greenery of lakes and trails when you're out running.  Oh!  And I'm seldom further than twenty minutes from a beach!  Not bad, eh?

So..thought I'd use today's post to share with you some things I've learned growing up in South West Wales.  Here goes:

1.  The smaller the town you grow up in, the less need there is for surnames.  My hometown is called Penygroes, which translates to "top of the cross".  Probably because there are more churches than actual families there, which meant that everyone was named by their neighbours after where they worked.  Pete the Petrol Station, So-and-so the Shop.  And so on.  Don't think it works as well these days.  Becky the Call Centre doesn't quite have the same twee feel to it.  Becky the Blog does, though... Might have to pedal that one and see if it sticks.  Sounds a bit too much like "blob", though...Hmm.

2.  Rissoles are a delicious treat from the chippy, and not balls of offal in breadcrumbs (or "lips, arse and teeth" and I heard someone say not-so-inaccurately once).  So much so that my local nightclub served them alongside burgers at the end of the night.  It's been a while since I've gleefully torn into a glob of questionable "meats" at 3am.  I miss that nightclub.

3.  "Butt" is a term of endearment and not just another way for someone to call you an arse.

4.  It is an important tradition to dress your children in old timey Welsh ladies' and men's clothing once a year on St David's day.  You  might think it's cute to see your offspring in a little bonnet and pinny, but I remember what a whole day dressed in fabric made from Satan's beard felt like.  It felt itchy.  And hot.  However, I ever choose to replicate my genes, I know for a fact that I was inflict this on the poor sod too.  "Ahh, look!  You look like a tiny adult!  Stop scratching and smile for the camera - it's not that itchy!"

5.  It is also tradition on this date to eat cawl.  (Pronounced "cowl") - a watery soup made from what tastes like salty water and moist, soft vegetables. Mmmmmm.  Okay, maybe I'm not as Welsh as I'd like to be.  Can't stand the stuff.  It's like drinking armpit water with lumps in.

6.  The Welsh language is the best.  The alphabet is all kinds of fucked up.  We have all the English letters... A, B, C...etc... but this isn't good enough on its own.  How to we make an alphabet our own?  I know!  Let's throw in a handful of extra letters, to trip the foreigners up!  Here we go.  How about... A, B, C, Ch, D, Dd, E, F, Ff, G, Ng, H, I, J.... I never liked K, can we get rid of that one?  Cool...L, Ll, M... etc.  Language is much more colourful, but try and sing that one to the alphabet tune and someone might have to gently guide you to a corner and quietly sit you down with a snack so you don't strain yourself too much.

Here are some words I like:

• Pili pala (pill-lee-pah-la) - Butterfly
• Popty ping (pop-tee-ping) - Microwave
• Guto Ffowc (git-oh-folk) - Guy Fawkes (I love this one.  When I learned it, my mum, who isn't a Welsh speaker, thought I'd made it up and was just using it to say mild swear words)
• Cacen (Cack-en) - Cake (same reason as above.  "Haha, I get to say "cack" and no one can tell me off!)
• Coch (Co...spit all over everyone making a noise I can't write down phonetically) - Red

7.  There is no sense of urgency in Wales.  Everything is done "In a minute now."  So, now, then?  Or in a minute?  "I said I'd do it!  In a minute now!" 

8.  You cannot move for castles.  If you go on a school trip, you go to a castle.  Fancy a walk?  Let's go to a castle!

My house

9.  No flag can top ours.  We have a mother lovin' dragon on it.  Anyone care to claim their design is cooler than that?  Anyone else got a badass red DRAGON?  No?  Didn't think so.

10.  Wales is effing gorgeous.  This next picture is just a generic view from the area I went to comprehensive school in, taken on my phone.  In South West Wales, this kind of view is standard:

My garden

Sudden urge to go outdoors now.  No idea why.  I think I'll leave my list there and get my shoes on.  Hwyl fawr, pawb! Cymru am byth! =)

Marathon Training Week 9/ The Holy Bench

FORGIVE ME IF I SHOUT!!! I'm writing this post to the tuneful backdrop of the temporary tinnitus that I always get just before I get a cold.  I forget that no one existing outside of my own skull can hear the maddening whistling noise I'm hearing.  Sounds like a kettle boiling inside my face.  Maybe I'm secretly a teapot.  It would explain a lot.  

Anyway, HELLO WORLD, IT'S NICE TO SEE YOU!!

I'm not even going to give you a breakdown of last week's running, because what came before Sunday doesn't matter.  Fanfare, please...

...You'll have to verify whether or not there was a fanfare.  Because I CAN'T FECKING HEAR OWT!!! 

Oh, there was? 'Kay.  

On Sunday, I ran (and walked) seventeen miles.   Let me repeat that for you.  Seventeen. Miles.  On my legs and not on wheels.  Holy shit!  I can honestly say, all fucks previously given about my having to take walk breaks on most runs over a few miles have mysteriously gone poof.  Vanished.  When mileage gets to "what is actually wrong with you?  You have a driver's license!!" levels (anything over a half marathon in my eyes), it's hard to keep on caring how fast you got there.  Just actually doing it is a bizarre enough experience to make you forget.

I intended to run out and back, but found the thought of turning around halfway and returning just too depressing.  So I kept going.  All the way to the next county over, where my family fortunately live and were able to give me both bacon sandwiches and a lift home.  Hurrah lifts!  Hurrah bacon!  Here's some stuff that happened on that ridiculous day:

• Hills.  Lots of.

• Pubs.  Equally plentiful.  The temptation to flop down in a beer garden and sink a stranger's unguarded pint was intense.

• Smugness.  The further I got, the more people I smirked at.  I tried giving off a "haw haw, I've run all the way from Swansea and I'm not even tired.  I do this for fun!" vibe.  In reality, I think I instilled more pity than envy.  My "proud stride" was more like a pasty legged, Quasimodo-esque shuffle.  My smirk may have looked more like trapped wind.  Less Paula Radcliffe, more Farty Hunchback.  I should put that on my race bib.

• The poor corner shop keeper.  At about mile 13, I was out of water and STARVING, and so I burst my sweaty body through the shop of a tiny local establishment's door.  One member of staff was alone on the premises and was met by a manic, hyperventilating creature thrusting money and fistfuls of sweets at him.  Learned a lesson that day.  Pink Millions make for an awesome replacement to energy gels!  Also, pretty sure that one man in the Ammanford area may now believe that the zombie apocalypse is coming.  And it's wearing shorts.  

• Death trap.  Much as I enjoyed the daftness of traveling that kind of distance on my own steam (and lots and lots of refined sugar), my lack of planning nearly got me squashed.  Between Swansea and Ammanford, where I ended up, there is a big 60mph stretch of road with not even a sliver of pavement.  I've never known fear like it!  Kept envisioning self tripping on a twig and having my brains squished by a passing car.  Pop!  Plan ahead, kids!

• The Bench.  The timing of this bench's appearance was no coincidence.  The big, beardy man upstairs (God, not a pensioner I'm stowing away in the attic.  Note to self: must feed  Clive) must have witnessed my achy wobbling and though "Ew.  That needs to stop right now."  My Garmin beeped 17 (even its beep sounded more to me like an incredulous "...BEEP??") and immediately to my left was THIS wooden slatted throne.  Angels sang.  Clouds parted.  My buttocks planted.  Oh, what a feeling. 

 

Hark, the Herald Angels...sit.

The most exciting thing I saw all week was a nondescript bench.  Beat that, world!!  Only nine more miles and I'll have done a marathon. 

Nine more.

Just nine.  Only nine.  Oh my Gahd.  I have to run nine fucking more miles?!! Who signs up for this shit?? Oh, yeah.  Numpty over here.  Clever girl.

In other news, I dunna review for events website After Dark.  Read it if you fancy.  It's more interesting than a picture of a bench.  Promise!

Feeling Invncbl: A Race Review

Have an awesome bank holiday, UK readers!  Don't know about you, but I'm already feeling an itch that only a beer garden can scratch...

Marathon Training Week 4/ I Love Swansea, I Do

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

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

Have a peek at this week's shuffly shenanigans:

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is Awesome - Tegan & Sara feat Lonely Island

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

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

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

2.  DOGS!!

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

3.  Nothing is far away

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

4.  It's byootiful!

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

Holy crap, I just blew my own mind.

5.  Students!

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

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

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

Marathon Training, Week....3!

Lots to talk about this week, and ALL about running, so if any of you lovely readers only like my sillier posts, then just warning you now!  Am ver' excited about repeatedly putting one foot in front of the other today.  Ver' excited indeed.

So!  Fellow running bores (or Running Boars - we could start a band with that name!) Where shall I start?  

Here's a quick little overview of the week I've had running-wise:

Mon - 4 miles (inc track session with Run 4 All)
Tues - CrossFit (hurrah!)
Wed - Rest
Thur - 3 miles
Fri    - 3 miles
Sat   - Rest
Sun  - Run Like A Ninja (explanation to follow) + 9 miles walk/running

Busy, busy week!  Despite the fact that my ankle/calf issue flared up with a vengeance on Monday before track, and  that my knee decided to join the pain party on Thursday because I dared to run down a hill, it's been a pretty successful week.  Today was the icing on top of it.

By Run Like A Ninja, I didn't mean I've started donning a balaclava and jumping out of bushes to surprise people. I don't fancy being arrested. It's the name of a 6 week course that's being run by Outcast Swansea's biggest running enthusiast (and fastest man with a beard I've ever met - to hell with wind resistance!), Owen Pillai. 

I jumped at the chance to attend.  It hadn't occurred to me until very recently that, as with all other sports, there has to be a right and a wrong way to run, even though humans are built for the activity.   In retrospect, it's bizarre how most, if not all runners will happily plod right into it without first being taught basic form.  Like what I did.  From just one hour-long session, I learned there are several things that I've been doing wrong:

• I smack my heels repeatedly on the floor as I go.  I'm surprised my ankles made it this far before crying out for help.  Poor, sad ankles!
• I slouch.  In a bid to make running easier on myself, I try to "relax".  Turns out my "relaxing" translates into hunching my shoulders and gritting my teeth until it's over.  So relaxing!
• I swing my arms here, there and everywhere, like a crap Spiderman, flinging away webs of energy with my arms and torso; energy that could be used elsewhere.  Like, I don't know...in helping my legs to run?

Quite an enlightening hour! Fortunately, I also learned a billion and one things that I could do to improve my running.  Which is good, because otherwise it'd just have been an hour of  

"Wow, that's not running! Hahaha, look how silly you are!" 

Also, our coach isn't a Disney Villain whose joy in life is making recreational athletes cry - so the main focus was on what we could do to help us on our way to becoming superstar ninjas instead.

Here's how much learnin' I got done in one hour.  ONE puny hour!
 
1.  Posture is the most important thing to remember.  Shoulders should be back and down.  Shoulders.  Not knuckles.

2.  Engage your core, otherwise running becomes a weird, energy-losing, floppitty motion.
 
3.  Lean forwards slightly from the ankles.  Running should feel like a controlled fall.  Think Michael Jackson move, not choreography off of Stomp.

4.  To stop losing energy by swinging your arms around like Phoebe off of Friends, keep them in a relaxed 90 degree angle, and keep your wrists loose by holding them skywards like you're being camp and offering someone two packs of Monster Munch (or other delicious crisp of choice. Mmm.  Monster Munch).

The most important and mind-blowing bit of advice I absorbed like a sponge cake (Mmm. Sponge cake.  I really need a snack) was...Tiny fanfare, please!

There is no such thing as jogging.

Whaaaaat?!  What have I been doing this whole time??  It makes sense, though! There is only walking, or running.  If you're being overtaken by pensioners taking their pooch for walkies (what? This doesn't happen to me all the time.  Shut up! You're slow!), then you really need to rethink what you're doing.  

By running that slowly, all you are doing is making walking really ruddy hard for yourself.  As a passionate "jogger" (because I thought it sounded more recreational and less scary than "runner"), this information meant that, if true, I'd have to rethink entire way I train.  I bimble along slowly so that I can get further, but what's been bugging me lately is that it still feels like a colossal effort when I do even that.  I thought lack of fitness was to blame.

I was struggling with this concept, so I decided that the 9 miler I had scheduled after the course was a good time to test it out.  I ran at the speed that my shiny new running posture comfortably allowed, walking whenever it got a bit too gritty, or when my posture started to collapse.  There was a lot of walking.  A metric fuck-ton of walking.  

I covered that 9 miles at a slightly quicker pace than I'd have done if I jogged the whole damn thing.  What the actual eff?!  I'm not saying it was easy - I did struggle a lot.  At one point, I had to bribe myself with the prospect of buying Fruit Pastilles at mile 7 to keep myself going.  They were delicious, thanks.

Difference was, I was struggling from fatigue, as opposed to actual pain.  It's a nice feeling when your muscles are tired in a totally painless kind of way, which is something I rarely get to experience. Especially recently.  My heels, ankles and calves are crying today, but for once, it's with relief that they didn't get yet another nasty battering.

Starting to think that maybe walking sections of this marathon might not be a shabby idea....

See you next week!

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!!"

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!

Shorts Were A Bad Choice

Agh, I LOVE Race For Life!!

At these events, we (i.e myself and a bazillion gazillion other lady folk) make a point of politely but firmly informing cancer that we're coming to get it. I can't imagine anything more terrifying than a few thousand women in tutus, jacked up on endorphins and mass hysteria running, walking, lunging, skipping, dancing and giggling towards you.  

If I saw it coming over the horizon, I'd get a shuffle on too.

Besides the gob-slackening amount of funds raised for Cancer Research UK each year by these races, there are lots of reasons why Race For Life gives me the warm and fuzzies. To name a few:

1. WIMMIN!! - women, in case you hadn't noticed, are bloody good fun! And when we get together en masse, especially at events like these, the atmosphere is completely giddy. The excitement is catching.  Dunno, maybe we're all buzzing our tits off on all the estrogen in the air or something.

2.  Race? What race?  - I don't know if others find this, but Race For Life is , I feel, one of the most pressure less, uncompetitive organised races I've ever attended. I'm always planted firmly in the "jogging" section at the start line (as opposed to walking or running), so I'm assuming things probably do get a little more heated up front. 

But at these races, I can forget to compare myself to others in terms of speed and endurance and all that other serious, over-thought crap and I'm reminded just how silly, and therefore how much fun throwing on some shorts and bouncing around outdoors is.  

3. Free crap! - medals! Shiny, shiny medals!!

Tonight, I went to Swansea's Twilight Race For Life...which is pretty much the same as the daytime race...but...at...night...

I know. Blew my mind too.

Just as many head boppers and neon pink leg warmers, but more glow sticks and and an increased risk of running into lamp posts.  I learned about the latter when I had to play guide dog/drill sargeant to my blind-without-her-glasses teen sister ("lamp post!... Puddle!... Lamp post!") this evening.

But, yeah, was good! Definitely an experience.  

Tonight, we had some freak (except not that freaky because it is Wales) torrential rain and early bitter winds to see us on our way.  Those of us who hadn't already frozen to death on the way in stood waiting in a field like a cluster of pink penguins to be taken through our "warm" up routine by a worrisomely enthusiastic lady who looked like she might have been off her meds.

I threw some Britishly noncommittal finger points out there and did some shuffles on the spot while my almost blind sibling crashed into me over and over. Not the most elegant spectacle.

Before I had any more time to beat myself up about having decided that flappy shorts were a marvellous decision, we were off around the marina.  

And it was even more fun than I've ever had during the daytime races! Squinting through sideways rain and splashing through puddles made the whole experience even dafter and more euphoric than ever. We warmed up, chatted and laughed all the way around and there was a sense that what we three thousand or so were doing on a rainy Saturday night was totally ridiculous and more than a bit funny.  It flew by.

If you've been thinking about taking up running and want somewhere to start from, or if you run a lot already but have never given Race For Life a go, then...just... Go to one! There are events all over the UK, so you really don't have a decent excuse to be missing out on all the fun!

http://raceforlife.cancerresearchuk.org/index.html

...no. This isn't duck face.  We grimaced against the cold and the wind changed. I still look like this now.