Decisions, Decisions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benedict Cumberbatch: "Pengwings" 

Happy Sunday! 

Choons!

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

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

 

 

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

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

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


Or maybe I won't.

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

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


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

..."Rock" on, honorable ones!

\m/ \m/

Are You Sitting Comfortably?

FINALLY, I think I've figured out how to host a PDF on this frigging thing without ripping out all of my hair.  Only half of it. I'll just have to try not to look left too often in front of cameras in the coming weeks.

As I mentioned recently, instead of slapping my newest bit of writing onto Amazon and begging for pennies, I've decided to host it for free here, so that anyone interested in having a read of my new short(ish... definitely not long.  I don't have the attention span to whap out a proper novel) can do so online.  

The story is a lighthearted, if slightly cringey one about a blogger called Charlotte and her account of being forced by post graduation skintness to return to her home town. It's written in a conversational bloggy stylee, so not too much of a  divorce from the kind of verbal diarrhoea you're used to reading up in here!  I hope you like it, and I'd love any feedback/love/sweary outbursts/sacrificial offerings you have for me in response to it.  Link to story below:

May I Be Excused? - One Blogger's Month In Her Home Town 

Shout out to Walter, who had held my hand throughout the creation of this project.  Whether I wanted it or not:

 

Back In The Shire (The Swan...shire)

I'm baaaack!! Spent the previous week on my back in a foreign country (Lindos, Rhodes).  

Not like that! Filth. 

I've returned with a smile on my face and have also changed in colour from transparent white to a more opaque beige.  Closest thing to a tan I've ever had.  Might even be able to pass off as a human for a little while.  Needless to say, I'm gutted to be back in reality, where all the cooking and cleaning isn't done for me while I'm busy pickling my liver with local beers and cocktails. Also, it's hard to leave behind something that looks as pretty as this:

 

Pretty surroundings not own back/backside, but thanks for saying! ;)

 I had a go at that "relaxing" thing I'd heard so much about, and I think that for a couple of days, I think I even managed to crack it!  Burned through two really bloody good books:

• Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (suggestion courtesy of http://shewantstoread.blogspot.co.uk/ if you're looking for summat to eat with your eyes.  Handy blog!).
• Karen Joy Fowler - We Are All Completely Beside ourselves

Came to the conclusion that for me, food + booze + books + heat = complete and total bliss.  Who'd have thought?  Only trouble is, all the fooding and the boozing has only served to reinforce how much I love fooding and boozing.  Which is making my resolve over last post's grand announcement about going sober for October go a bit wobbly.  Much like a drunk person's.  We'll see.

Another side effect of all the relaxing I've been dabbling in is that I seem to have further hindered my ability to run.  All the focusing on CrossFit and sitting on my backside in between sessions has rendered my cardiovascular fitness all but fucked.  I tried to run three miles yesterday, and had to walk even during that, which rarely used to happen unless I'd hurt myself.  Seems I'm back to square one-and-a-bit on the running front.  I have a 10k to do tomorrow along Swansea's sea front and Cardiff half marathon to do in a couple of weeks.  Daunted isn't even the word!

On the other hand, I find my new total lack of aerobic fitness strangely encouraging.  Because I now know that my recent inability to run very steadily or far is more physical than mental, it feels much more fixable.  Fitness is simpler.  You just do more of the thing you find yourself crap at until you're not as crap anymore.  I got complacent with running, and my sudden onset rubbishness has given me a point to start from all over again, so I'm able to make it a priority without hating every single second of it.  If that makes even a blob of sense.

The next two races I'm going to do are going to be a nightmare, but I know I'll finish, whether it means crawling around the route and weeping for my mummy.  But by jove, I'll be doing it!  Cant wait to tell you about them =).

Still Alive!

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

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

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

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

 

Hell's Angels membership card pending.

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

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

 (dun dun duuuuuuuuhn!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Procrastination

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

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

 

I need help.

In Defence of the Humble Nap

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

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

Exhibit A:

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.  It is warm.

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

3. You are comfortable.

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

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

6.  Sport is on the TV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could, you know.  If you wanted.

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

Huzzah!!

  

Humpday Hump

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

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

So delicate.

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

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

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

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

 

"WTF?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

"Hey, guys, wait for me!!"

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

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

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

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

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

Moaning aside, here were the highlights:

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

Downsides?

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

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

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

Quick CrossFit update before I go:

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

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

Right?

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

Brave New WOD

Owmyfuckinglegs!!!

I mean...hello!

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

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

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

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

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

I'll Be Hurtin' Come August!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace out,

Crispin

xxx

Super Sunshine!

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

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

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

Happy summer, everyone!

It's Gettin' Hot in Here...

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

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

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

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

...Boo!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Festivals > Reality

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

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

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

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

Clicky clicky for inspiration!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome To The Pity Party

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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