Laugh And A Half

Not told you yet, have I?

Last Sunday, I gone and done an 'alf. The Llanelli 'alf to be precise.  My second ever half marathon.  And seeing as I didn't post much more than "yaaay, shiny medal!" (Picture of shiny medal to follow, though. It is shiny. And BIG!) following the popping of my half marathon cherry in Cardiff last year, I though I'd write up an actual account of the day itself this time. No longer a virgin, quaking in my too-clean-to-have-been-used-enough running trainers, I'm glad I have prior experience to compare this weekend to.

As you know by now, I can only seem to communicate in lists.  I would think of so e reasons for this, but that would be another list waiting to happen.

So, behold a list of what the differences were between my first and second half marathons (I can't believe I've come far enough to have done TWO half marathons!! *squee!!!* XD)

1. Company

In Cardiff, I tagged along with an actual bus load of proper runners from a proper running club.  In Llanelli, I ran as a proper runner with a proper running club.  This is true - I have a membership card to prove   it, honest!  I have to be proper if I have a card.  Cards make things proper.  I might get them to give me a badge too, just incase people don't believe me.

The support Run 4 All mustered up was awesome.  They put up flags and some non participating runners clapped and cheered the rest of the pack on from the sidelines.  I also heard there was cake at some point too. I was either too slow to get cake, or it was all a just cruel joke to get everyone to Llanelli at 9am on a Sunday morning.

As a runner who likes to sit comfortably at the "jogging like you're crossing the road" end of the speed spectrum, I was doubly blessed because as all the faster Run 4 Allers doubled back round, I had lots of people to wave and grin at.  I was so excited that I totally missed the irony in the fact that their "well done"s were being aimed at someone who hadn't even got to where they were some half an hour ago yet.

I've said it before.  Probably:

 If you run, or want to run, no matter how slow you are,

JOIN A RUNNING CLUB, FOOL! You're missing out on loads of motivation and support if you don't!

As well as the club, I had a James, who, in running his first marathon, displayed every single bout of anger and hopelessness (followed by ecstatic elation) that I'd felt in Cardiff, and on exactly the same mile markers at which I'd felt those ways.  Both bizzarre and entertaining.  Favourite moments include:

"Three miles already! This is going to be okay!"

"Are we half way yet?"

"Why the FUCK aren't we at mile 10 yet?!"

And 

"I'm NEVER running again."

Then

"That was quite good, wasn't it?"  

Running with The Incredible Hulk made time pass quite nicely.  Didn't know my friend had so much fury to tap into under that calm and friendly surface.  Distance running brings out new sides to everyone.  If the event photos are anything to go by, my persona for the day must've been "overjoyed to be on day release".  Thumbs and grins everywhere. I don't think I blinked for five miles.

2. COLD

Cardiff:  sunshiny sunshine in the city.

Llanelli: pretty coastal path, icy wind and sideways rain.  Spent twenty minutes or so (I wish I was exaggerating) trying to slap and drag my jacket zip up my body to close it because my thumbs refused to work in such conditions.

You'll be pleased to know. I did manage to close it.

Just as the rain stopped.

3. Sprint start, Sprint Finish

Anyone who's run a distance in any race is familiar with the weird burst of energy you get when approaching the finish line, even if one of your legs have fallen off and you're dragging your arse along the floor just to keep moving so the Hell can be over with sooner.  After thirteen miles of gentle but eventually painful plodding, James and I galloped our way to victory along with everyone else crossing the finish line.

More unusually, we also galloped to the start line.  In a world turning upside down kind of event, James ended up in a half hour long men's room queue, while I had enough time to complete two whole panic wees.  

I'd already watched several men leg it out of the loos, and helped zip a smurf into a blue morph suit when James was eventually freed, and we managed to sprint to the start line just in time to tag on the the back as it moved forward.  

Fully believe I need an extra medal for the extra little bit we ran.  I'd be happy with just a small one. I could put it on the cat.

4.  =)

My goal for Cardiff was to just get round, preferably without walking. I got round, but at mile 9, I had to walk.  My body wouldn't accept any argument.    And then I had to walk intermittently til the end.  I'd underestimated how much that distance would grind on my joints and on my mental energy.  For five miles, my brain tantrummed, screamed and bawled until it was over.   I looked to so tired at about mile 11 that a nice, probably psychic lady made me eat some of her Haribo because "you look like you need it."

I loved the experience, but sweet baby Jeebus, did it take a lot out of me.

Llanelli's goal? Slow down and enjoy.  And I did. I knew I'd get around.  I knew that if I slowed down to a pace that even a tortoise on ketamine would call leisurely, I could get more comfortable and happy mileage out of my brain and legs.  It worked! I did the whole thing in 2hrs35 mins and 18secs.... Not the speed of champions, BUT, I was three whole minutes faster that Cardiff, and didn't need to stop to walk. Not even once! And I did it all with a big, fat smile on my chops!

Running is my hobby.  Why kill myself over a race I'm never going to win?  Might as well enjoy and just accept that the mile markers will come in their own time. All I had to do was keep moving.

It also helped that for most of the race, I was behind two women dressed as the Mario Brothers.  How can you not keep bouncing along with that theme song in your head?

Do. Do. Do.

Do do do do. 

do do do DO do do do do do do...

Etc.

MEDULZ!!!

Also HAT!!

Ooh, I love free goodies!!!

The Truth About Cats And Dogs

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

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

I love pussy.

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

For the cat.

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

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

"KITTY, WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING?!"

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

I feel similarly about human children.

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

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

lolpunsamsofunny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

5.  Loookadisface!!!

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

Let's Take This Outside...or...Why I Hate The Gym

Been a bit sluggish on the post front lately.  Apologies.  I fully blame my sister for introducing me to Girls (TV series, not potential same-sex mates).  My need for this programme is so all-encompassing that I just watched a full episode in between writing this sentence and the one before it.  I cannot be helped.

Sorry, another one happened.  

What was I going to write about?  

Oh, yeah. I went to the gym this week! *muffled fanfare*  

I hated it.  HATED it.  You know when once in a while, you go to an old haunt you frequented in your teen years because it was the only place in town that served booze to minors?  

Yeah, you doooo, don't give me that!  

Well, the gym reminded me of that kind of nostalgia.  You think it'll be fun.  That because you enjoyed it sooo much when you used to go there (at least you think you enjoyed it, otherwise why did you spend every weekend there?), then why don't you still go there now? 

And then you go.  And then you remember why you don't go there now.

Reason I went was because it was especially crappy outdoors, and I had ten miles that needed bashing out at some point this week.  Plus, I'd started my annual weighing up of the pros and cons about getting a membership for doing that cross training thing that I've heard so much about.  

Now, I don't want to offend any gym worshipers - I appreciate that the gym is a haven for many, and a social hub, and I admire your dedication and willpower for going regularly, but Christ, I found it frustrating to be there!  

I went along with a friend who had the same mileage to do.  For the duration of our visit, he happily bounced the miles away on the treadmill, whereas I rage-quit after half an hour (an impressive feat for me - I wanted to break the machine apart with my bare hands after ten minutes), and then half heartedly played on some machines I'm not even sure that I used correctly.

Aforementioned friend found me two hours later, sadly pedaling away on a stationary bike and starting listlessly into my Kindle.

Karl Pilkington - The Moaning Of Life, if interested.

I want to leave myself a list of reasons here of why I hate the gym, so I can avoid further bouts of murder-rage should I begin to entertain the idea of signing up again.  

So. 

 Dear future Becky:

1.  Repeatedly doing the same movement over and over whilst not going ANYWHERE makes your body angry with you, the world and everybody in it.  YOU ARE NOT A HAMSTER.  You do not require a hamster wheel.

2.  People don't like it when you start watching them because you are not moving ANYWHERE and therefore have no scenery to take in.  They do not understand that the reason behind your stares is that you want something, anything to look at that's not a wall or a frosted window.  They think you are judging them/ogling their goodies. 

3.  You don't know how 90% of the machines work.  And yes, you do look like a knob trying to figure it out just because you're too much of a proud wussy to ask the nice staff.  That thing you used to make your arms hurt a bit?  Probably for toning your butt, or face, or something.  Just give up.

4.  It frustrates and irritates you that you have zero control over what music they play in there and that every music video that matches the songs on the TV screens boasts body shapes that you will never obtain, even if you lived in the gym and lived off protein shakes and awesomeness for the whole year.  Even if you lost all of your body fat and got hair extensions, you still won't be Iggy Azalea (sp?!), because you are five foot three and she has at least sixteen feet's worth of legs... Measurement feet, not actual.  Although exotic, Iggy Azalea is not many legged spider creature.

5.  The weights area will always terrify you.  You will hover around its boundaries, wimp out, and then stare wistfully at it as you sadly toil away on the rowing machine until the clicking in your knees drives you mental.

There.  Hopefully that will save future me some time and money.  

Went for a ten miler today in weather ten times worse than what it was on the fateful gym night.  

The wind was howling, the sky was grey and it intermittently hailed and rained.  My feet kept feeling like they were being blown out from underneath me.  I had to actually climb over a fallen tree to keep going along the route I'd chosen, and several people made a point of pointing out how deranged I was for bimbling around in it.  

And I LOVED it!  A normal long run became an obstacle course, and because I was unsure of my footing, splashing through puddles (weee!), and had to keep an eye out on where my feet were landing, the time flew.  And I even got some extra distance in when my hat blew away a couple of times.

And that's another thing.  This was the first run I've ever worn a hat during - It was a revelation!  I had no idea that being buffeted in the face by rainwater and hail was optional.  Hurrah for peaked hats!

I know everyone's different, and they enjoy to exercise (or not - that's okay too.  I love a sofa as much as, if not more than anyone.  S'up, sofa surfers! *poorly executed gang sign*) in a way uniquely preferable to them.  And I reckon it's not until you try something that you hate with so much fervor that it actually gives you energy that you figure out what it is that you really, really like doing.  And I really, really like putting my stretchy pants on and lolloping off out the door and pounding the pavements, whatever the weather.  

Bring it on, wind! I don't fear you anymore!!




.....I really hope that someone skim reading this post doesn't think it's about my heroic conquering of flatulence.  That's another post entirely.

25 Wise, Wise Wisdoms

As of tomorrow, I will have been a resident of planet Earth for 26 whole years.  I think I've done well to have not fallen down a manhole, or walked under a falling piano yet, and I fully believe that this deserves presents and flattery.  I'm quite the over achiever.

I've picked up a lot of info over the past just-over-quarter century.  Some of it useful. Most of it uselessly specific.

e.g, thanks to Tumblr, I now know that the best way to get away with murder is by having an icicle as your weapon of choice, as the evidence conveniently melts after said murder-doing.  

Don't cross me, World.  I have a collection of razor sharp Tip Tops in my arsenal.

...So, I thought to myself this morning:  "What better way to mark my crossing over into the second quarter of my life (I plan to live to bang on 100 and yes, fuss arses out there - I know that technically I entered my second quarter century when I hit 25.  Shut up), than to make a list of all the brilliant things I've soaked up so far?  That way, people will know that my vacant stare is more to do with my actual face that my lack of useable wisdom!"  Here is, then.  Prepare to be amazed!

1.  People don't like it when you bite your toenails off in front of them.  They don't even look mildly impressed at how bendy you are.

2.  Cats will never love you as much as you love them.

3.  Dinosaurs aren't coming back.  Get over it.

4.  Moving around is actually really rewarding, and helps keep the crazies under control. Running equals =D as opposed to #!!?**=(///#XP!!....

5.  People who regularly feel the need drop into conversation how nice/fun/"random" they are, are generally the total opposite and you should run very, very far away.

6.  The least flattering pyjamas are also guaranteed to be the most comfortable.  That shapeless, fluffy potato sack you bought on a whim?  The one with the cats on that makes you look like you have no boobs and four arses?  Put it on and I dare you not to immediately nap in it with a smile on your face.

7. Sober nights in playing scrabble and shouting at Take Me Out because "Look at that guy's stupid face!  It's so stupid!" are often way more enjoyable than getting obliterated and then throwing up your memories of that "great night out" the next morning.

8.  EVERYTHING costs money.  Lots of money that you don't have.

9.  Spiders bigger than your face, sitting nonchalantly on your head are fine.  Jellyfish on your TV screen will one day figure out how to break through the glass and attach themselves to your face.  It will happen.

10.  Seagulls are bastards.

11.  You should never take family for granted.  Especially when they always have food and offer to do your laundry.  They do want to cater to your every whim.  Honest.

12.  Love is comfort and the freedom to be yourself at all times.  Even if that means letting your significant other observe the fact that you short circuit when you try to eat and chat at the same time.  For the last time, I didn't pee myself, it was the sauce the mushrooms were in!!

13.  If you obsess over all the bad stuff that's going to happen to you, it's more likely to happen.  Blind optimism is preferable.  And if that doesn't work out, at least you can always blog about the shitty stuff in a bid for pity lolz.

14.  Unless you pay a man with a knife lots of money, you will always look like you.  A you that can be bigger or smaller, but still you.  So you'll have to make do! - Dr Suess (not really)

15.  You rhymes with You.

16.  Unless you are actually Beyonce, you will never be Beyonce.

17.  Humour and sarcasm trump any other kind of response.  Unless someone's just told you someone's died.  In which case, probably plump for sincerity.

18.  You don't need to impress people with your job role.  As long as you're happy with what you're doing to turn productivity into food, fuck everyone else.  Especially people with really cool jobs.  Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em in their smug little faces.

19.  Bit of a cliche - but nothing worth having comes easy.

20.  People who don't appreciate Monty Python are confusing to be around.

21.  Diets don't work.  Not eating Haribo and battenburg with every single meal does. Fascinating.

22.  Never try to second guess anything important.  You're probably wrong.  

23.  If you really, really wanted to be doing the thing, you'd be doing the thing.  Not just talking about how one day, you'd really, really like to do the thing, but you haven't got enough time/money/inspiration.

24.  You will never be free of the clutches of the internet.

25.  You haven't checked Facebook for five minutes.  Better check Facebook.


And there we have it!  A quarter century well lived, I think!  In my next, I hope to learn lots more stuff, like how to not wait until my house covered in a thick layer of dust and carpet fluff before I clean it.  And what the secret is of people my age who already own their own house while I'm still bloody renting off a lady who won't even let me have a cat.  Maybe I'll even figure out how to cross number 16 off the above list and actually become Beyonce.  Who knows.

Happy Sunday to you and happy almost-birthday to me!

Not that I'm milking it.

PRESENTS!!!

Here is a classy picture of me from last year's birthday festivities for you to enjoy.

Tales From A Ten Miler

Agh, I forgot how much I love upping my mileage! And how satisfying it is to pick those weird, white-ish lip boogers off your mouth at the end of the run on the way home.

Don't lie, you all do it too! 

I wonder where that gunky film comes from?  I never notice it while I'm actually moving.

Yes.  So.  Ten miles tonight! First time in a long time, and it went brilliantly! My Llanelli Half training buddy James accompanied me the whole way round.  Here is a lovely, if blurry snapshot of our faces.  Observe the expressions of surprise and relief that we got around with our limbs intact:

Pleased to be rocking some spectacular side fluff on the head area there too.  Turns out I'm not slow - my hair just adds resistance.  It's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

It's been nice to get stuck into mileage again, rather than speed, which tends to stress me out.

This is the first time I've trained with the help of track sessions with Run 4 All on Mondays, and then and the company of one other actual human on my long runs.  As opposed to the voices in my head.  

Apparently talking someone's ear off is the perfect distraction from running your own legs off.  And James has been a very obliging ear on legs!  Maybe next time I'll even let him talk a bit. 

I got through it on the wings of a welsh cake.  I swear I wouldn't have been quite so enthusiastic without that hefty glob of sugar in my system at the beginning. And it also helped that the ibuprofen I'd taken not long before that to zap a killer headache, may have made me numb from the waist down, so if I've got any suffering to do following tonight's efforts, I'm not feeling it yet.  For all I know, I've got two broken legs.  Hurrah!

Because running for a while (took us about 2 hours to get round) can drive you a bit batshit crazy from boredom sometimes, we made a bit of a game of listing things that we've seen to report back to the general public.  So here is the list.  

Stuff What Happened On Our Ten Miler or <Insert Pun I'm Too Tired To Think Up Here>

1.  House doorway strewn with latex gloves.

2.  Some sick immediately upon entering Neath.  Not our own.

3.  A rotund, drunk man who wanted to know where we were going.

4.  Creepy, manic church bells the second we entered a graveyard.  Shat pants and sprinted.

5.  Creepy manic church bells when we looped back through exact same graveyard a few minutes later.  Shat pants and sprinted.

6.  Ominous owl noises from bushes.  Possibly earlier drunk man doing brilliant impressions from hedge.  If so, good effort, drunk man!

7.  Someone - couldn't see who - from Run 4 All, shouting "Go Becky, Go!!" from car park as we passed.  If you're reading this, mystery encourager, thank you, it helped!!  By "BWAAH!!", I meant "Thanks, your encouragement is appreciated!"  Also, I would like to hire you to stand on set point in of all my runs to shout nice things at me from now on, please thanks.

8.  A pair of tiny terriers who thought that they were rottweilers and we were steaks.

9.  The pearly gates of Heaven.  We refrained from walking into the light.  This time.


... I want to round this list up to ten, but that would require further thought, and I really don't think that's a feat I can perform for you right now, sorry.

Anyone else who ran in the dark tonight when they could have been on their sofas with wine and pies.... good bloody effort to you!  I hope you all have wine and pie right now.  You've earned them!

Now.  I have to change my trousers and forage for food.

Happy Wednesday!! xx

Potato Guts & Stupid Ideas: Just Another Sunday

Hang on a sec while I adjust my seating position.  I think I have a roast potato somewhere in my ribcage.

That's what it feels like anyhow.  After a week of mindful, albeit constant eating where I've been eating smaller amounts of good stuff all day long (and therefore in my mind, eating more overall - so is obviously better.  More eats = more happies), I've just returned from a pretty epic-sized Sunday dinner at A's parents' house.  

Not wanting to be an impolite guest, I threw as much as I could down my gullet.  All the lovely greens and spuds and meats.  And now my guts want me dead. I feel like I'm in a pivotal scene from Alien.  I didn't think of the social consequences of my new choices.

I've even been told that the lack of ever-present Haribo in my face hole is weirdly un-me.  Illogically, I fear that my new found reduction in interest of sugar has made me dull.  Like a likeable quirk has been sloughed away by my "boring" attempts to better my health.

Which anyone with half a brain would say was pretty fucking stupid.  No one is going to stop returning my texts because I don't feel like getting a Cornetto as often as I would have before.  

*squeak* I hope.

I'm still Spartan-ing on nicely.  Just taken my body out for walkies because after yesterday's Parkrun, my hips decided they hated me.  It felt like really severe growing pains.  But I doubt that I've got much growing left to do at almost-26. 

I did my first nine miler in ages on Wednesday with a friend who's also training for the Llanelli Half in March, and was overjoyed to feel totally fine over the following two days.  Turns out, it just took Saturday's Parkrun for my body to wake up and go 

"Oh, yeah, I forgot - anything over six miles hurts Becky.  Let's ruin her whole night's sleep and the last episode of Dexter for her by convincing her she has sudden onset arthritis!"

For the record - The last episode of Dexter didn't need any help in being ruined.  It made me want to cry anger tears.  Bastards.

Rest of weekend has comprised of devouring another e-book, for I am poor, and paupers spend their weekends indoors and hiding in books.  

To be totally honest, I think I'm starting to prefer my new routine of parkrun -> family -> geeky time - > box sets on sofa to sit around, waiting for people and drinks -> DRINKING!!! -> "I'm not too drunk, I just have so many EMOTIONS!! -> "ow, my head. Fuck my life."  -> MCDONALDS, NOW!!! -> nap until Monday.

I'm either maturing or taking the fast lane to Hermit Town, population: Becky and cat(s).

Anyway, the book was called

Onward! The Absolute, No B.S., Raw, Ridiculous Soul-Stirring Truth About Training For Your First Marathon - By Brook  Kreder

I read it because a little worm of insanity has chewed into my brain and is trying to convince me that either next year or the following one (giving myself a little wiggle room just in case I pussy out next year)... that I might like to run a marathon.

 Maybe.  

At the minute, even though I've done a half marathon once, I still find even 13.1 miles daunting .  It left me in shreds last year, but the sense of personal achievement was like nothing I've ever experienced.  I can't even picture how my body would allow me to even walk twice that distance, let alone run it.  But part of me keeps thinking - if I felt euphoric after 13.1 miles, perhaps I might sprout wings and take to the sky with the flying pigs out of the sheer awesomeness of what I've done after 26.2! 

 Plus, I am hooked on reading books about people accomplishing their first marathons.  Alexandra Heminsley is my absolute hero, and I guarantee that if you read her book Running Like a Girl , you will not be able to put it down.  She's down to earth, funny and honest about her experiences.  

Another good one is Muireann Carey-Campbell's Be Pretty On Rest Days . The Brook Kreder one I read this weekend was okay.  An alright read if you can get around the fact that, although she has an admirably foul mouth, Kreder keeps using asterixes on every f******* swear word, which drives you a little bit f****** mental after a few pages.

F*ck that sh*t,man! If you're gonna swear, just f******* swear!

Point is - I've loved reading along with other bloggers and writers' personal journeys and feel like I've run right alongside them with no physical consequences and a cup of tea, but I think I want a real-life go now.  

I want to have something as awesome as a marathon in my list of achievements.  It's rare that you meet a person who has run one marathon only.  From what I've read, training for one seems to have the capacity to drastically change who and what you are for the better.

But it also sounds pretty fucking terrifying and horrible, and I enjoy having toenails. 

Still, I reckon I want in on the action.  I want something that ballsy and impressive to document on here too.  I want to show people like right-now me that it's do-able. 

Until then, here are some super exciting pictures from my Spartan week involving a 9 mile run, some swimming, and lots of walks during which I shuffle around the block worrying about how suspicious I look walking around outside without a dog in tow:

p.s Hi to any readers from Run 4 All, Neath who responded to my shameless spamming on Facebook!  I damn near pee'd my pants when I saw how much my blog views jumped up by last night!

p.p.s While I'm recommending books, another good one I've just remembered is Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.  For someone who runs a paltry eleven and a half minute mile on most runs, I certainly read a lot about running! Hoping that I'll magically catch a case of 'proper runner' off of the pages.


 

NEWSFLASH!!! I love moving! Also eating!!

No, I've not gone simple on you.  I've just spent about a week solid feeling pretty fucking terrific and I want to share my nauseating happiness with the world wide scary, faceless web.  Hello, chums!

I started a new job, after my former workmates and current mates surprised me on my final day with a cheese buffet in my honour.  I've never cried over cheese before.  That was either a new high or a new low.  Not sure, but the cheese was the balls!

This past week, I've met lots of new faces, met up with some familiar faces and eaten the flesh off the bones of some strangers' faces.  

That last bit was a lie.  Just wanted to check if you were laying attention.  Good job, you.  

So... The main reasons for my chipper outlook:

MOVING!!  

Been soldiering on through my Spartan 30 challenge and been taking daily, pretty-dull-to-most pictures of...honestly, mostly my feet and face on Instagram.  Observe:

Thrilling stuff, I know.  Pleased to say I've not missed a day walking or running a mile yet.  Maybe except for today because I swam instead.  But that still counts, right?  

Screw you, it counts!!

Bar from a long run that turned into a 2 mile sprint-limp-waddle because of cramping ankles from not resting enough (rookie error - spose I'll learn eventually), it's been a good little challenge!  I've been getting in from work with a brain soaked in new stuff I'm supposed to remember and barely any energy.  Normally, especially with the weather the way it's been (shit. Wet. Rainy. Cold....y'know...British), I'd have curled into the fetal position on at least a couple of nights and made some excuses.  But, getting outside and at least doing a bit every night has given me an extra boost of "fuck yeah!" at the end of the day.

So, where I'd usually be a frowny, napping Becky shaped sofa cushion at the end of the day, I've been an irritatingly springy, talky bag of "what shall we do now?!" before hitting the sack and crashing out like a toddler after a sweety fix.  I thoroughly recommend getting off your arse and running around in the rain a bit when you least feel like it.  The buzz you get just for having survived leaving the house of your own free will is immense!

FOOD! 

Over the weekend, I decided that I wanted to know a bit more about food.  I love food, I love people who bring me food, but up until now, I've given zero fucks about what my food is actually for.  

People who have been running far longer than me have repeatedly been harping on at me about the importance of nutrition.  Usually while my eyes glaze over and I still have cake in my teeth and stray Haribo down my bra.

Curiosity eventually got the better of me when I stumbled across a book review on www.jezebel.com (if you is a lady -or a man- and you live in the internets like I do, visit the site! It's like a glossy magazine but without the rubbish bits and added sarcasm where it's needed most!).  

The review was on a simple guide about the body - how it utilises food, benefits from excercise.... Basically how to be nice to it and not starve or bloat it or just generally be mean to it.  It's packed full of interesting, accessible if basic science (perfect for the clueless and forgetful like myself - I barely recall school, let alone biology) and actual, useable, helpful tips on how to keep yourself roadworthy.

And it's written by Cameron Diaz.  It's called the Body Book and is only about six measly quid on Kindle right now.

I know!! But the fact that it's written in her cool, friendly voice makes it even better and to her credit, the lady knows her shit!  She's done her research!  I didn't plan on changing my eating habits, and am not claiming that the book is a total lifestyle changer, but I've been actually paying attention to what I'm eating for the last couple of days and I've found myself actually wanting to pick good stuff as opposed to nutritionally empty, sugar filled stuff (and I LOVE nutritionally empty sugar filled stuff!).  

As a result, especially today, I have been clear headed, energetic, happy and weirdly focused. To state the glaringly obvious, food really does affect your overall mood.  Hurrah for food!  Hurrah for Cameron Diaz!

My only worry is that I'll end up going off cake and sweets.  It'd feel like losing part of my identity.  If not a Haribo & cheese beast, what am I? 

*whistful stare*

...nah, I won't go off cheese and sweets.  

But it was the perfect my first guide to nutrition kind of book for me, and I can't wait to learn more about what I get to eat that'll give me super powers!

This. Is. Spartaaaa!! (Kind of)

As I mentioned in my last post, I took up a challenge I stumbled across on Facebook - The Spartan 30. 30 days, at least a mile every day. Seems like a do-able way of making my rest days a bit more productive as I plod my way towards the Llanelli Half Marathon in March.

The challenge was issued by the official spartan race, which I'm not signed up for, but would love to do one day (especially if any events decide to come closer to the green, green grass of Wales than London). It's an obstacle course of varying lengths, and each one has actual fire somewhere on the course. Sounds pretty fucking badass, no?  At the very least a conversation starter when you turn up to work with no eyebrows.

In the meantime, this is day one of my challenge, which happened to fall on my planned long run day and on what appears to be the shittiest, rainiest day of the year so far.

It took me an hour of sulking with coffee to get my backside off the sofa (see groggy-faced evidence above), but I eventually made it to a local playing field that has a handy half-mile pavement/trail thing around it.

Felt like a cat being thrown into a cold bath for the first couple of miles, but after a while of gritting my teeth against the cold, it got surprisingly easy!  As the puddles rose along with my temperature, I found myself intentionally going for bigger and bigger splashes whenever I saw water at my feet (which was often), and the 5 mile run I'd planned for turned into 7! Hooray for puddles!

I tend to forget that the less you want to get out tree and move, the bigger the rewards you reap when you've actually gone and done it. Motivation-bomb right there for you.

Owsh.

Decided to document my daily runs throughout the duration by taking daily snaps and posting them to Instagram.  Follow my shameless selfie-taking by finding me on there: I go by the name of BeckyTea.

That'll Do, 2013. That'll Do.

As seems to be the done thing on Facebook today, I feel obligated to sum up 2013 in the soppiest or stroppiest way possible.  Everyone else seems to have had either THE BESTEST YEAR EVER AND NEXT YEAR'S GOING TO BE SUPER AMAZING AND I WILL SPEND THE WHOLE YEAR POOPING GLITTER BECAUSE IT'S GOING TO BE SO GOOD!!!XOXOXOX , or it's been THE WORST YEAR EVER, AND FUCK EVERYONE, I'M GOING TO MAKE 2014 MY BITCH!!!

It might be because I've started 2014 on a severe pizza hang over, meaning that my ability to feel has been compromised by too much cheese on the brain, but if I were to sum up 2013, I would describe it aaaaas....

Okay, bordering on the pretty good.

Yup, that seems adequate.

I didn't win millions on the lottery, enabling me to buy that monkey butler I've always wanted, but I didn't get my face ripped off by a rabid monkey inexplicably roaming the streets of Swansea either (perhaps due to an irresponsible monkey butler owner).  

It was a pretty good year though.  Here's some stuff what happened:

• Running!!! - In "training" (i.e eating burgers and then hoping they help me jog from a to b)for my first ever half marathon, I discovered to my surprise that I actually like running, quite a lot actually.  So much so that I actually went on to run the Cardiff Half Marathon, join a running club and keep up a habit that 15 year old me would have soiled herself in shock at the thought of.

• Drinking - Not really a recent discovery.  More of a coming to terms.  The older I'm getting, the more often that regular old insecure but generally mostly stable me turns into weeping, eyeliner smeared stereotype at the end of drink fuelled jollities.  "But WHY do you like meee?! I'm HORRIBLE!! Waaah.... can we go and get a burger now?"  This is almost always followed by a feeling of inexplicable doom and then humiliation the following morning.  Not classy, San Diego.  Not classy at all.

•  Working - Used to tie myself up in knots over the fact that my job was such a "normo" one and that I wasn't doing something I had a specific passion for like writing/finger painting/eating cheesy snacks for a living, but I've come to the conclusion that - holy fuck - I'm actually pretty content, and I don't have to wait until I secure a job as quality tester at a Dairylea factory to allow myself to feel that way.  Now, all I want to do is try my hardest at the day job while I'm there, come home, run, internet, eat and sleep. Sort of like a cat with access to Tumblr and a wage.

Resolutions, Becky?  I hear you fall over yourself excitedly to ask me.

Nah.  One of the best things about running is that you're constantly aiming to better yourself in some small way all year round.  So while I wouldn't mind eating better, getting fitter and being less screwy and self analysing to the point that it's borderline narcissistic, I'd rather just let my little running achievements snowball into a bigger sense of accomplishment.  It's pretty satisfying!

First challenge this month is the Spartan 30 challenge that starts on Sunday.  One mile every day (at least) for 30 days.  Seems do-able.  I'll keep a diary of it and let you know how I get on.

In the meantime, I hope Christmas made you all fat and happy too, and that 2014 brings you lots of nice surprises, both edible and otherwise!

Maybe 2014 is the year we ALL get butler monkeys =). 

If you're interested in the whole Spartan Challenge business as a way of kick starting your fitness/ not being on the sofa as much as you'd like plans, you can view it as a Facebook event here:

https://www.facebook.com/events/730199780332179/?ref_dashboard_filter=upcoming

Run 4 All & All 4 Run!

I feel like I've been steamrolled!  But in a good way.  If that makes sense.  

That wasn't a euphemism, by the way.

Went on my first non-track outing with the running club I've recently forced myself upon - Run4All Neath, and it's knocked me for six. I'm shattered!

I ran six miles, which I've done before, but not at that speed.  And to top it off, "that speed" was nowhere near that of the small cluster of older (than me - not sure by how much, am a pants judge of age) ladies we'd (my friend James and I) randomly followed in a blind panic.

"Shit, they're moving! Quick, follow someone!!"

I would have ended up lost and forlorn in the middle of Neath - an area I've only ever really visited when A and I have been on the business end of several pints - if it weren't for James.  He kept his pace way slower than he's capable of (wasn't bloody slow for me!!) to make sure I didn't get mugged/knock myself out on a lamp post.

Poor sod. I think I owe him a drink.

Point is, I'm glad I went.  I pushed myself to the best of my ability and not a single person teased me or moaned about my obvious lack of horse power(If I was a car, I'd be that one off the Flintstones that everyone has to power with their feet). And lots of people commended me on how well I'd done, even if what I'd done was something they could have done whilst tranquillized and wearing a suit made of thick, wet wool.

I only wish I'd manned up and joined a running club sooner.  

There's very little option for you to duck out mid-run when everyone around you is soldiering on, and so you're forced to push yourself a little harder than you would have done if you were alone.  And no matter your ability, you are unconditionally applauded for your efforts by people who are just being lovely for the sake of being lovely and supportive.  Not out of a sense of duty.

Lovely, lovely, lovely.  Runners are a wonderful folk.  Everyone should have one!

...lovely.

Seriously, though, should my sides be aching this much? That one's new...

Tis The Season

Ho-ho-hopeless: My current Christmassy window display. Observe sad, limp lights on the right.

It's that month!! The one where you can eat anything you like and not feel bad because some bearded guy in flip flops was born in a shed a long, long time ago!

"Oh, go on then seeing as it's Christmas!"

*eats butter from the tub with a spoon*

I'm pretty fricking excited this year.  I've bought a tiny tree in a pot (see picture above... And try to ignore the Korn doll that appears to be bumming a small replica of Whinnie The Pooh's Tigger) and my fairy lights are loosely secured with what I can only guess was joke sticky tape (because it ain't fuckin' sticky!). 

I'm going for a lonely-drunk-who-dug-their-decs-out-of-a-neighbour's-bin vibe at home this year. Successful, no?

And I've not bought a single gift yet.  But's that's okay because I have a plan up my jumper sleeve:

Enter a state of idiotic, grinning denial until the last minute when I'll have to face the cramped streets of Swansea and probably die, crushed up and suffocating in a fellow shopper's armpit.  

The perils of being both short and disorganised.

Anyhoo, so this is my second Christmas from within this whole cohbitty thing - living in a house with that guy I met when he recognised as the pissed girl he'd seen. The one who'd dropped her bank card down an impossibly narrow crack between cashpoint and pavement and couldn't get it back out.

It's a comfort in knowing that one of longest relationships I've ever been in started with the male party's first impression of me being "pfft...tit!"

I digress. Last year, we went to our respective families' homes - he to England, and I to Carmarthenshire (or as he calls it "the Iron Age"). This year, the probably justifiably terrified sod is joining me and my family for festivities.  But next year, I've no idea what's happening.  And it scares the bejesus out of me!

I'm a quarter if a century old and and I've done the same thing every single year since I was first crawling around on the carpet in a party dress. Not much change on that front, either, I suppose. 

... I dunno.  Sometimes I wear jeans now.

The thought of having to be a grown-up and pretend that I'm cool with eventually having to be anywhere other than in my mum's living room with a stocking I'm much, much too old for but all the more appreciative of, makes me want to hide under a big pile of soft things and sob like a toddler. 

I LOVE my family's annual Christmas/all-day-all-ages-piss-up.  And for all the sleepiness, petty squabbling and unexpected food coma-naps, I never want to change a thing.

So because I'm feeling nostalgic and loath to let go, I'm going to use this post to share with you a couple of my family's Christmas highlights:

The Uno Saga

Most families love a board game.  Especially simple ones like Uno, which are straightforward enough for the young and plastered alike to enjoy with ease.  Unless such games involve my stubborn and often grumpy step-grandad, and my then-teenage and equally mule-like sister.

What started out as a friendly post-dinner game turned into an increasingly aggressive squabble about the rules, culminating an explosive "FUCK OFF!!" from my sister. Neither party spoke for a month.  I don't know why, but confrontation is just that much funnier when everyone's in little paper hats and trying to stifle burps.

Nowadays, we just watch a standup DVD after lunch instead.  Much safer.

"Who am I most like?"

Last year. My grandparents' house. Everyone is settling down around the TV bar from nana, who is upstairs faffing about with something or other.  Conversation turns to who most resembles whom in the family.

Me: I don't think I'm that much like you or dad really, am I mum?

Mum: You're a lot more like your nan than me.

Me: Oh? Why's that?

Mum:  Well, since she's retired, she's been a little more...y'know?

Me: No, what?

Nan descends the stairs, wondering why she's being discussed. Everyone pisses themselves laughing.

The jumper she's gone to put on upstairs is inside out.

..............

Only a couple of specific memories there, but there are regular features to my family Christmas that I couldn't imagine missing out on:

- Being awoken at 6am by mum's super-subtle "coughing" because she's grown accustomed to children trying to wake her up at 4am every December 25th.

- Being told to "piss off out of the kitchen" by my step-grandad while he's cooking.

- Falling out with either sister at least once for a grand total of about 5mins because we're tired and because "just fuck off, okay!"

- Drink being forced in spare hand because hand currently in use only contains a half full beverage.

- Sulking from step-grandad as he believes that we're not drunk enough and are therefore not being festive enough. Suspect he secretly desires Yuletide rave.

- My nan occasionally refilling the quality street tin with toffee pennies because she knows that if she puts them all in at once, I'll weed them all out in one sitting.

...Eee... Christmas!!! Hope you're all looking forward as much as I am.

Now, I need to dig out Elf and A Muppets Christmas Carol soon otherwise Christmas can't officially happen yet.