Stuff, interesting to me, possibly not to you....

So, it's been about two weeks since the scary race happened, and guess what?  It wasn't that scary at all!  In fact it was fun.  Well, as much fun as running for six hours can be.  But the whole weekend was kinda nice and chilled and then suddenly there was this running bit that kinda had to happen but by the time it did, everyone was chomping at the bit to get it over with, so it kinda worked well.

And the thought of running for six hours is actually much worse than actually doing it.  Running for six hours, especially when you have a goal in mind is a lot of telling yourself stuff.  For me it was "are you totally fucked yet?"  And if the answer was "no", then I kept running.

Later in the night when I wanted to walk, I kept asking myself this. And there was no point where I was so fucked that I couldn't keep going, so I just kept it up.  I walked a bit on the last few laps but was really quite surprised how much I was able to run.  Ok, so my legs were sore, but my friend Tims words always come back to me.  Yes, you get sore, but it never gets any worse so just keep going, he used to say.  And he is right.  Well, you tell yourself that and just keep going.  Suddenly when I got to marathon distance (42.2km) I thought, fuck, I can maybe actually achieve my goal of 50km.

I saw 43, 44 and 45km roll past and had a giggle to myself.  Me, running all that way.  How very amusing.  And then 48km with twenty minutes to go.  Surely I could do two more laps in twenty minutes.  Hell yes!!

By their timing, I managed 50.65km, which was precisely .65 of a km over my goal.  Job done.

My garmin said 53.65km so that was much much more than I expected.  In my heart I wanted to do 50km but had this horrible feeling I would do something crap like 48km, which I would not have been happy with.
So when I got over 50 laps I was smiling like someone who had just drank a large vat of vodka and sniffed a lot of permanent markers.
They give you a little bean bag with your race number on it on the last lap, so that when the bell rings to signify the six hours are up, you drop it on the ground and some race official comes along and measures from the start to where you dropped your bean bag and that is your final distance.  I dearly wanted to keep my little bean bag as a souvenir but my brain wasn't working all that well to be devious and obtain something by deception so to speak, and I reluctantly handed it to the nice lady who told me how well I had done.

The really good thing about this race was that my old friend Cathie was out there too so it was nice to catch up and chat and encourage each other.  She did a fabulous PB and did 80km in the 12 hour.  Actually seeing her do it and realising how demoralising it must have been to see us six hour people finish and she still had to keep going is testament to how much internal strength that woman has.  She didn't look happy for a few laps but she kept going and then it all seemed to come good for her again.  Note to self.  Don't ever attempt a 12 hour race.  Nastyyyyyyyy.

My race finished at midnight.  Yes, running at night is preferable to running during the day so this type of event suits me down to the ground.  The only problem is the funny feeling of not being tired AT ALL afterwards and wanting to sit up all night and watch everyone else run.  Hard to contemplate some of those guys who are running eight, nine, ten plus hours looking as fresh as they did when they first started.  Who has genes like that?  Freaks, the lot of them.

So - recovery.  That night I fell about like a drunk person trying to put my warm clothes on afterwards.  It was like vSOMS - very Sudden Onset of Muscle Soreness.  Next day was worse, especially as we had to sit in a car from Canberra to Sydney.  The day after was pretty stiff and sore too, until some bright spark suggested a spin class.  I think the words "don't be fucking ridiculous" first escaped before I had a chance to think.  But after a little bit of contemplation (still haven't got that mouth brain co-ordination thing worked out) I thought that maybe that wasn't a bad idea.  Anyway, I kept the resistance low and it was a like a little mini miracle.  The legs suddenly felt great.  We also did a few little bushwalks with steps and stuff so that helped too.  I went back to work on Tuesday feeling all smug.  Wednesday my PT decided to give me a one legged weights session.  HUGE mistake.  I was destroyed for days.  Tried to run on the Saturday and had to run really fast (for me) just to get it over with, it was hurting so much.  So two things not to do after a long run like this.  I had to give myself a few days of just getting out on the bike until I went back to normal, but when I did get back to normal, the running seems to have improved and I now feel a teeny wee bit faster.  How does that work?!!!

In summary, I really enjoyed the race and the whole experience and would DEFINITELY do it again.  For sure.  I might even train for it this time!!  I quite possibly wouldn't do any skipping beforehand or a full on legs weights session afterwards, but you live and learn!  For anyone who thinks running around a 1km track is boring - try it!  It really was fun and a great personal challenge and I have to say I was on a massive high for a few days afterwards!

Whose idea was this anyway?

I've had my legs massaged, my patches prescribed, my eyebrows waxed, pajamas purchased, a zappy tens machine purchased, and a few running clothes washed and thrown in a bag. Hmmm, I don't see the bit where "I trained like a demon, got up at stupid o'clock to run for hours...every weekend for months and months." Nope that bit really is missing. And so now on Saturday I get to make a complete eejit out of myself by lining up for a six hour track race. Shite. As Talking Heads so eloquently put it...."how did I get here?".

But, "here" I most certainly am, so time to suck it up and see what the fuss is all about. I have been especially kind to my Achilles this week (read: I have been a lazy cow and done no training) and have self massaged, got a real (very painful) massage, I've got my nitrous oxide patches, a tens machine and my orthotics all lined up. I've been doing plenty of calf work at the gym, lots of leg weights, so my legs are nice and strong. So really, the legs are sorted.

It's really the big muscle on top of my shoulders I need to focus on now. And remember that I am a LION (little Irish obstinate nutbag). With an emphasis on OBSTINATE. Which is really another way of saying stubborn, strong willed, or determined. Isn't it? So, running around a 1km track for six hours, and walking when it all gets a bit hard is just mind over matter. And I have been lucky enough to be blessed with a few special people in my life who practice this whole determination thing really well. So I will just take a leaf out of their book and carry on, and remember to keep smiling. With the knowledge in my mind that at the end of it I will really deserve a nice cold beer and some carbs. Sorted.

So - it is Friday night and the PLAN was to come home and run this evening, except I got waylaid and ended up at the Opera Bar with my high heels on and pretending I don't have a care in the world.....

But I do.  This farking race.  WHY why why do I agree to enter completely ridiculous things on absolutely no training or forethought?  Because I am a dickhead, that's why.

Anyway, I had a big week.  My Auction was on Monday.  What a night.  I got cornered by Government Hating Lunatics and the Auctioneer had to physically push them off me.  It was a point in my career where I really wanted the customer to be anywhere BUT at the centre of 'everything we do".  Note to self - never ever reveal your sources! Or who you work for.    However the Auction itself was incredibly exciting and a fantastic experience to see the products I had chosen raise over a million dollars, and the charity products raise $26,000 each for both charities.  The night was a bit of a blur, it all happened so quickly,  but I had wonderful support from our joint venture partners, who didn't have to be there, weren't making a cent out of it, but just came along to support me.  That felt nice.  I am so lucky in my job.

So, given I didn't run tonight, the plan is to run tomorrow, after a damn good lie in.  Then I will do all the things that have been bugging me and are on my to do list, like apply for my job, get a skip, pick new paint, decorate the spare bedroom, fix the door in the laundry, stop the toilet from leaking, etc etc.
So, if there is any male who is reading this who would like to apply for the job of unpaid assistant, in charge of lawns, fucked up doors and leaky toilets, please apply within.

Risotto Risoni

I have discovered the PERFECT carb loading thing for those days when you are not doing low GI, low carb, wearing sackcloth and denying yourself anything that is nice.

Risoni masquerading as rice - risotto style.

See, I have this new telly.  I kinda had to buy one because the room looked stupid without one and I lost custody of the other one along with the dog and the red pepper grinder.

Big massive room, big long TV cabinet, tiny wee scrawny telly - looked daft.  And I told myself I didn't need a telly, because I'd never watched it.  Which is true.  But now that I come home to no dog and silence, telly for company is nice.  As is a beer in front of it after work.  So I found myself watching Nigella lick her spoons seductively and cook this marvellous looking dish, which was basically three ingredients (four if you count water) and looked alright.

Well, I added some soup stock I had made from boiling a Portuguese Chicken and can I say, despite starch overload, it was totally yum.  Delicious.  Delicado.  However, having spent the morning on Six Foot Track, I could have eaten a small dog (lookout Buffy, if I ever get custody of you again)....but seriously, fry up some pancetta, throw in some frozen peas, some risoni and some water, and watch it turn into risotto.  To finish up add some grated parmesan.  I made a vegetable soup and I have to say, I was rather over zealous with the parsley.  It tasted yum but looked like shite.  So I put it in the blender and it looked like posh soup.  So I put some of that in the risotto.  It was totally yum.  I have eaten like someone who ran thirty km today when in reality I ran 16.  Actually I ran 8 and walked 8.  So I don't even deserve a protein shake, never mind a starch laden pasta masquerading as a risotto....

However, running.  Hmmmm.  This week has not been brilliant.  Saturday 15km.  Good.  Sunday 14km - ankles protesting wildly, run was shite.  Monday, ran in heavy rain, utterly fabularse, about 10km, but I blew up my iPod from the rain, and I tell you, that new farking iTunes has got to be THE most farking frustrating thing I have ever come across.  All I want is a playlist.  It shouldn't be this hard.
Ah then Tuesday, big fat nuthin, Wednesday - wee treadmill run and one legged leg weights session that rendered me almost unconscious, Thursday early run with Simon but on account of the legs session I was banjaxed, Friday arms session with PT and run on tready, Saturday BIG FAT NUTHING AGAIN, Sunday half run half walk, pretty disappointing week really.  Two weeks til this farking race.  Who's idea was this anyway?  Maybe I should just taper and pretend I have trained?  Mind over matter and all that?

Anyway it is a day off work and an adventure in a tent and then I can say goodbye to all this tomfoolery if I wish and go back to my normal life and stop stressing about not having run enough, as if I dont have enough things to stress about at the moment......

Dramarama - Anything, Anything (Official Music Video)

Norm Pounder

Norm Pounder.  That's the name of the "Consultant" who came to talk to us about having to apply for our jobs.  So we had to sit through this two hour meeting with Norm (aged 12) twittering on about how we must all be feeling angry and rejected (no, I wasn't, not until you mentioned it, dickwit) and how difficult it would be when we don't get our jobs because one person on the interview panel took a dislike to us and how there is more to life than your job, and then Peter sitting next to me wrote PORN GROUNDER in really big letters on my writing pad and then Norm Pounder came and stood behind me and then I noticed it and I think so did he and then my day kinda went to shit.  So I went and did a really tough legs session with Matthu and had a little cry then pulled myself together and now I can't walk, with that beautiful painful wonderful horrible feeling in the legs.  So this week, it has been horrible, surprises related to property (The Who Horrorscope predicted this, honest) a break in, another break in,  moving back to the mountains, leaving my beautiful life in the city and the end of something that had hardly even started, maybe kinda sorta perhaps.  But maybe not.  Who would know?  And I haven't even consulted the Who Horrorscope on this weeks impending doom, I am too scared.  And to top it all off the Axe that was used in the break in doors has been eaten away on the handle, so it is a huge probability that my (wooden) house, my big investment, my only asset, has termites.  Just fucking dandy. 
On a positive note though, the running is going well, there's been lots of it, I guess it keeps me sane.  And gives me hope.  And helps me remember that things change.  And is a bit like meditation.  So have been running with Simon again up here, entering races a bit and getting out and about to various places.  Ran something like 75km over the Xmas week (being dragged all over the place by an over zealous runner friend) and keeping up the regular runs has helped me from hiding under the doona all day and rocking back and forth.  Quit drinking wine.  Wine is lovely and gives such a wonderful buzz but it is evil to me.  I forget, I fall asleep and I tell little old ladies to fuck off under the influence of wine.  Wine has not been in my life for about four weeks now and it is no loss.  Beer, now that is another matter.  I don't mind a nice cold beer but at least I can filter the things that come out of my mouth a little better, and to date I haven't fallen asleep, forgotten or told a little old lady to fuck off. Yet. 
So, will life keep dishing up shite or will the universe shift on its axis and everything will fall into place again?  Who would know?  But I know three things:  there is a very cold beer in the freezer, there is a run with Simon on in the morning and a day out to the trails on Saturday.  That's my long term outlook this week. 

Modernising my life....

So I decided I would crash tackle my way into the 21st Century by purchasing an iPad and an iPhone in one foul swoop.  Every time I bring out not one, but two crusty old Blackberry phones there is much guffawing and poking of fun and frankly I think my friends are bored with my inane ability to "handbag text" them fifty times a day with profound missives such as "uuugggppppuuuuu" and  "xyxyxyxyxyx"....I think Emergency Services are a little over my stalking calls too.  Also, the Blackberry has lost the ability to allow me to surf the net, check my emails or create a single "P" (the p button gets stuck and gives me a s-s-s-s-stutter) and also the delete button doesn't work, so all my friends think I am constantly drunk, when in reality I am just in a hurry or trying to minimise the P content of my text by finding roundabout ways of saying something without a word containing the letter P........

So I headed on into the Big Smoke on my own - on a mission.  Well, I tell you, there are Telstra Shops coming out of your arse when you don't want one, but try and find one and they are about as prevalent as those Sunbed Parlours they used to have in the 90's, before everyone realised looking like an Oompa Loompa had side affects not related to bad taste.  Eventually JB Hi Fi looked the go for an iPad.  Even buying one of those required a lot of discussion about sim cards and prepaid things and all sorts of shite, when really, anyone with half a brain would just suggest some kind of package where it is all thrown in and you don't have to look like a nong asking a whole heap of stupid questions.  Next, on a mission to find a shop that sells iPhones.  Came across Dick Smith.  Bought iPhone.  Paid man $29 to "set it up" for me.  Read, turn it on.  Then he proceeded to tell me how to download "apps", play games, check the weather and sync to my iTunes account.  Rookie error and all that, but he looked surprised when I asked him how I made a call and even more important, how to answer one.  Jeez and there was me thinking I was buying a PHONE!!!  Honestly.

So I had to spend all morning on the phone to two telecommunications carriers trying to get the bloody thing working.  How would I know what my user name is for my mobile phone?  I set it up in 1999 before the internet was invented.  Sheesh.  After all that I was exhausted and happy to hear the lusty chirrup of my Blackberry receiving a message.....

In other news, I went Kayaking at Balmoral Beach on Saturday, which I was really looking forward to.  Unfortunately having been out dancing to farewell another IT colleague, I was not feeling 100% and the mixture of the gently lapping waves, the curried tuna and brown rice breakfast, and the over consumption of cheap sauvingnon blanc played havoc with my tummy.   Suddenly I could not hold back and my stomach decided to throw up the curried tuna, brown rice and large long black in a series of noisy, messy and frankly very embarrassing heaves.  And of course being in a kayak, you cannot throw your body over to the side, or else you are in the water, and the last thing I wanted was to be in the water about a mile out to sea with no way of getting back in my (full of vomit) craft.  So I managed to puke all over this canoe, great first impression.  He very kindly pointed out that I had my mascara on my chin, and my eyes were doing an impression of Alice Cooper but apart from that, I think the day went ok.

I forgot to mention that in my purchasing of the my iPad I managed to bump into the man I had the six minute date with, the one I threw five dollars at, said it was lovely to meet you and ran away.  So that was the second embarrasing thing that happened this weekend. 

Anyway, I did RUN at the weekend too.  Despite having my achilles go to pot, I decided to try it out and went and did that Mountainsports 10km around Manly Dam.  As part of the Achilles Management Plan (AMP) I went for a swim in Shelley Beach afterwards (brrrrrr.....was frosty) and then had a massage, and then slept with a nitro glycerin patch on.  My achilles went from very swollen and pissed off after the race, to quite calm and serene this morning.  Those patches are magic.  Inflammation all gone.  Very happy.  You know that apprehensive first placement of foot on ground the morning after a race?  And usually you have to hop around for the first wee while?  Well there was none of that.  It was fine.  So have made appointment with Doc to get more.  Like the Junkie that I am.....

All in all, massive weekend, for one reason or another.  be it technology, first time kayaking, runs or swims.  But I had fun and bring on my new life.  

One Swallow Doesn't Make A Summer

Someone used to say this.  My mind always turned it around.

Anyway, one or two months of "good" (definition of "good" may vary from person to person) running do not make a runner.  As usual, I am injured and not able to run the race that I wanted to run.  So I am grumpy and miserable.  I have Plantar Fascitis in one foot, which is unbelievably sore, and achilles tendonitis in the other, which is same old same old but a bugger to run on.  And I decided I would do SMC at the weekend, which was probably silly.  But the PF had only made itself known on Saturday and the run was on Sunday and silly me thought it would go away.....

Hmmmm.....

So, guess what?  It didn't.  And I have to walk to work - only 1.5km but still farking hard when your every step is painful and you are used to walking like someone on a mission.  Now I am ambling with very little intent.  AND I AM NOT FARKING HAPPY.  Can I just re-iterate.  Not. Farking. Happy.  And then I have to walk home again.  Again.  Not happy.

Anyway, even a pump class is shite with PF.  And I am betting so is a Spin class.

So, this weekend, no running, no walking, no dancing.  No biking because the effing PF goes all the way up my effing leg.  No hiking, no climbing up mountains and no abseiling down cliffs.  Sitting on my arse drinking wine sounds like the only possible solution.  Hello.  

Proper Running

I felt like a proper runner at the weekend.  So that's a first.

And God I am loving these weights.  But Jesus, Mary and Joseph it takes a while to get rid of the oul bingo wings.  Three sessions a week, one legs, one upper body, one boxing, some pump classes thrown in, and then my running at the weekends.  And I still look at my arms and go FATTY FATTY FATTY.  What is it about forty something arms that reek of forty something arms?????

I am only here writing blog shite because I am halfway through a tax return that I am doing for the second time because when I did the damn thing on line, I got to the end and it told me you couldn't lodge online because it was about two years too late. Fark.

So I got the manual version (a piece of paper and a calculator, because qualified accountants don't pay other accountants for their tax returns) and I am looking at it thinking, no, there is something missing.  So here I am looking for divine intervention in the form of downloading all the shite in my brain into words so that I have some room to think about tax returns.  So far it hasn't been working.

So maybe if I just LEAVE the tax return, someone will come along and finish it off and say, yep, your e-tax estimate was right and you CAN go to Bali on the proceeds.  However, in lieu of a Fairy Godmother, I am guessing I should get back to it.....

Blackmores Half

First of all, well played to the people at Blackmores, especially the photographers who had the "Fat Bastard Wide Angle / Wide Arse" lens taking the marathon photos.  Well played indeed. 

And well played to my Garmin for totally confusing me and making me think it was broken when I really WAS running at five ten and twenty and thirty and forty minute kms.  And also thank you to Garmin Connect for telling me I have "no goals".  I beg to differ.  Anyway I was very very pleased with a new PB for the half yesterday.  And I think running the Banktown (hilly) half two weeks before was a FINE idea and clearly reminded my little legs how to do it.  Really really LOVED running this half marathon, loved it.  Loved the vibe in Sydney, loved the weather, loved how I was feeling, loved sitting in the sun hanging out with my friends after, loved a few drinks at the pub telling war stories afterwards.

Loved it all and has re-ignited the whole motivation to another new level.  There is nothing like doing something physical for yourself to make you feel grrrreat! 

The only thing that was not good about the run was I forgot to have my breakfast and so I panicked a wee bit about that for about five minutes until I realised the massive mound of pasta I consumed from the night before was still ensconced in my tummy and would carry me around the course and probably around McMahons Point for the next week or so.  Think of the starving children etc.

And I had a wee bit of chubby arm chafe, and was running along thinking, "it would be bloody awesome if I came across a big jar of vaseline" and lo and behold, just outside the Overseas Passenger Terminal there was a desk, just on its own, and on top of it, yep, you guessed it, a big jar of vaseline.  So I thought "don't mind if I do" not stopping to contemplate where the fingers that had been in there had been, and lavished it on my already stinging bingo wings.  Tops!

So all that was left was to run along and do some people watching.  And with around 35,000 other runners to look at and compare myself to (speed, size of arse, clothing choice, hairstyle, tee shirt logo, etc) it was all over before it even started to hurt too much.  Which was just fine.  Except I was kinda enjoying it and to be honest, concentrating on all that stuff is much easier than sorting out your life and making the big decisions, so I would have been happy to just keep going at that point.  Although sitting in the sun watching the marathoners was great as was my bacon and egg breakfast and three (yes, only three) beers in the pub afterwards.  No point going out and doing good work and then sabotaging it.  Although it was damn tempting!

Tonight I did a pump class to get the arms hurting like the legs were.....only to find there was standing room only because clearly there is a lot of demand for a hot young attractive male pump instructor in North Sydney.  Who'd have thunk it?  Managed to squeeze in and do some fart inducing moves (what is it about lying flat on your back that encourages this kind of behaviour?.....).

So now to think of the next challenge?  Ideas on the back of a postcard to.......

Chin Tuck

So I was going to go and see the plastic surgeon about my little deposit of fat under my chin.  I tried to explain it to her and she asked me if I had a TURKEY GOBBLER!  A freaking TURKEY GOBBLER?  WTF is that?  So I made an appointment and listened to the lady tell me how I would have to be fitted for a "garment" and wear it for a week and I had a bit of pizza last night and the cheese gave me bad dreams and I dreamt about a really BAD plastic surgeon who had his music really loud to muffle the sounds of screaming, and I honest to god dreamt about old ladies getting liposuctioned in such a scary manner that I woke up and phoned and cancelled.  Phew. 

I also couldn't really imagine going into work with one of those masks you get when you play that game with swords, the name of which I cannot remember at the moment.  Fencing.  That's it.  I mean, I was planning a wee white lie, that I fell over whilst running, but really, who is going to believe that when I turn up with a mummified version of myself.  So I think the turkey gobbler stays and maybe when I am fifty they will have developed some marvellous cream that you apply to your turkey gobbler and it goes away.  I am sure that is possible.  Then you go home with a free unicorn.  I really shouldn't have had that cheese last night.

I found this.

And I had to have my say.

Normality is…

by Paulo Coelho on June 19, 2011 

_________________________________________

1] Anything that makes us forget our true identity and our dreams and makes us only work to produce and reproduce.
2] Making rules for a war (the Geneva Convention).
3] Spending years at university and then not being able to find a job.
4] Working from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon at something that does not give us the least pleasure, so that we can retire after 30 years.
I think I have nailed this one.  I love what I do and I love who I work with.  I enjoy the quirky nuttiness of the whole thing.  I don't work to retire.  I can work from home when I like but I miss my colleagues.  True sign of enjoying what you do I reckon.  Normality is NOT accepting a job that is shite.  I kissed a lot of job frogs until I found one I liked and trust me, I thought there was something wrong with me, changing jobs so often.  But I really could work in this job for another five years and probably still keep learning.  And meeting crazy people.  And having fun.  So normality needn't be hating your job. Or even disliking it. 
5] Retiring only to discover that we have no more energy to enjoy life, and then dying of boredom after a few years.
Gawd I hope this does not happen.  I would like to be running more marathons at retirement than I do now. 
6] Using Botox.
Guilty.  Why is this a problem to anyone else?
7] Trying to be financially successful instead of seeking happiness.
Both is cool.  I'd shoot for happiness first though. 
8] Ridiculing those who seek happiness instead of money by calling them “people with no ambition”.
Seriously, who does this?  No-one I hang out with. 
9] Comparing objects like cars, houses and clothes, and defining life according to these comparisons instead of really trying to find out the true reason for being alive.
Nope, none of my friends do this either. We possibly do focus on happiness though. 
10] Not talking to strangers. Saying nasty things about our neighbors.
I do talk to them.  With varying degrees of success.  
11] Thinking that parents are always right.
12] Getting married, having children and staying together even though the love has gone, claiming that it’s for the sake of the children (who do not seem to be listening to the constant arguments).
12ª] Criticizing everybody who tries to be different.
14] Waking up with a hysterical alarm-clock at the bedside.
15] Believing in everything that is printed.
16] Wearing a piece of colored cloth wrapped around the neck, known by the pompous name “necktie”.
17] Never asking direct questions, even though the other person understands what you want to know.
18] Keeping a smile on your face when you really want to cry. And feeling sorry for those who show their own feelings.
19] Thinking that art is worth a fortune, or that it is worth absolutely nothing.
20] Always despising what was easily gained, because the “necessary sacrifice” – and therefore also the required qualities – are missing.
21] Following fashion, even though it all looks ridiculous and uncomfortable.
22] Being convinced that all the famous people have tons of money.
23] Investing a lot in exterior beauty and paying little attention to interior beauty.
24] Using all possible means to show that even though you are a normal person, you are infinitely superior to other human beings.
25] In any kind of public transport, never looking straight into the eyes of the other passengers, as this may be taken for attempting to seduce them.
26] When in an elevator, looking straight at the door and pretending you are the only person inside, however crowded it may be.
27] Never laughing out loud in a restaurant, no matter how funny the story is.
Totally not guilty. Ever.  Embarrassingly so.  Loud guffaws.  
28] In the Northern hemisphere, always wearing the clothes that match the season of the year: short sleeves in springtime (however cold it may be) and a woolen jacket in the fall (no matter how warm it is).
29] In the Southern hemisphere, decorating the Christmas tree with cotton wool, even though winter has nothing to do with the birth of Christ.
30] As you grow older, thinking you are the wisest man in the world, even though not always do you have enough life experience to know what is wrong.
31] Going to a charity event and thinking that it is enough to put an end to all the social inequalities in the world.
32] Eating three times a day, even when not hungry.
33] Believing that the others are always better at everything: they are better-looking, more resourceful, richer and more intelligent. Since it’s very risky to venture beyond your own limits, it’s better to do nothing.
34] Using the car as a way to feel powerful and in control of the world.
35] Using foul language in traffic.
36] Thinking that everything your child does wrong is the fault of the company he or she is keeping.
37] Marrying the first person who offers a position in society. Love can wait.
38] Always saying “I tried”, even though you haven’t tried at all.
39] Putting off doing the most interesting things in life until you no longer have the strength to do them.
Noted. 
40] Avoiding depression with massive daily doses of television programs.
Never.  Don't watch the telly...
41] Believing that it is possible to be sure of everything you have won.
42] Thinking that women don’t like football and that men don’t like interior decoration.
43] Blaming the government for everything bad that happens.
44] Being convinced that being a good, decent and respectful person means that the others will find you weak, vulnerable and easy to manipulate.
45] Being convinced that aggressiveness and discourtesy in treating others are signs of a powerful personality.
46] Being afraid of fibroscopy (men) and childbirth (women).
47] And finally, thinking that your religion is the sole proprietor of the absolute truth, the most important, the best, and that the other human beings in this immense planet who believe in any other manifestation of God are condemned to the fires of hell.

Rock and Roll.  Compassion.  Actually Compassion comes before Rock and Roll, but only a wee bit. 
I am not sure what Paolo is on about

Dieting....

Dieting and I don't really mix. 

I've been seeing this personal trainer for a wee while now.  After about six weeks, when he realised I was serious, he weighed me.  That was about a month ago.  By that stage I had probably lost around 2.5kg.  I wasn't doing much running, just interval running on the treadmill.  He weighed me on Wednesday.  After another five weeks or so I had lost weight!  Yayyy!!  A whole massive TEN GRAMS.  Yes.  Ten grams.  You know why?  Because I started running again.  And running makes me want to eat my steering wheel.  Running makes me eat like someone who has never seen food in their lives before.  Running makes me dream about food.  Running makes me want to eat bread.  And rice.  And pasta.  And it totally fucks up my weight loss.  So matey personal trainer man goes "so why do you run then?".  And I thought about it, and I answered, really really honestly "because I love it".  But clearly running longer distances and running frequently just aren't for me.  Which is very sad.  I was feeling smug and skinny about four weeks ago.  Since then I ramped up my training and I am feeling fat and wretched.  Again.  So - apart from a really good bout of Amoebic Dysentry I don't think I am going to be seeing the other side of sixty kilos for quite some time, in fact, I will be 90 and will have shrunk to be even smaller and maybe that will make me lighter if I am lucky.  Mr Personal Trainer man did measure me and I have lost two centimetres off one arm but appear to have put it back on the other arm, lost 1 massive cm off my waist and another two off my arse.  Oh and two centimetres off each leg.  So I bought scales today to install in my city home which hopefully will serve as a reminder to my pea brain that lovely yummy city food = big fat arse. 
Anyway, in protest, today I didn't run.  Mind you I slept until 10.30 and had lots to do so the opportunity sort of escaped me.  I am going to do the half next week and then the Blackmores half and then the first in the Running Wild series and then maybe call it a day with training specifically for distance, and just go back to my little 6km runs that seemed to work for me.  I love the whole idea of turning up to races and taking part, but if this is always the outcome, then there really is no point, because I end up hating myself.

Important Questions....

1. Do sit ups still work if you've had a few voddies?
2. Why does Old Age give you whiskers? (and not the cat food variety)
3. Should I look at my bank balance after this weekends throwing of caution to the wind?
4. How do you pronounce Ginkgo Biloba?
5. Will I get my shit together enough to get a strap for my Garmin, and my roots done before Saturday?

All rhetorical questions, given I know the answer to most with the exception of number 4.

Spent the day doing things that please me, namely running, eating, drinking coffee and shopping with friends.  Now drinking Vodka.  Grey Goose for those playing at home.  So have the glow of someone who found the most perfect Georgio Armani Jacket in a Vintage Store and the most well fitting work suit ever in the same place.  Finally I have found somewhere I can take my "mistakes" and trade them in for other mistakes.  I started mentally packing them up as I was perusing the store.  I love going out with Karon because she knows where to shop, period. 

Running.  Oh happy happy days, it seems to be going ok!!!  Today I got up all of my own accord, not responsible for meeting anybody or having to be anywhere at a certain time and was out the door before 7.30 and running 14kms of my own volition.  Yes I think my Mojo has returned.  AND I did the 14km at an avg pace of 6:18 which for me is really quite fabularse, given I have not really run much for an Ice Age.  And yesterday I ran with Simon again, that 10km hilly, steppy bush / trail run, and I hate to say it, but it was rather satisfying to hear him pant and puff whilst I was breathing normally.  Ok ok when he gets fit he will shit all over me (figuratively speaking of course, unless he takes a dose of Xenical) because he is a fast little so and so when he is fit, but it is nice to be able to run at the same speed as him and not feel like I am having a small coronary.  The way he is going, it will not be long till this day comes but I am enjoying it whilst I can.....

So, it is four weeks till the Blackmores Half, so I have a few more long runs to do, but have to say, I am loving it, the legs feel strong, the fitness feels good, and it is helping my mood no end.  I am starting to feel normal again, and that is JUST FECKING WONDERFUL!

Watching the Limpix

Over the last two days I have been sort of forced to watching the Lympics, pretty much because everyone else in the household was when I went home, but WOW!  How very inspirational!  Is it that girls can run marathons in their knickers?  Is it their abs?  Is it because when that Jessica girl won gold I cried?  And when some Kiwi man who looked like the "Other Angry Dolphin" won a heat (a heat, just a freaking heat) I also cried?  Or is it when the British runners who maybe don't have the physical make up of maybe the Kenyan ones, but put their determined face on and give it a lash, that it is sooo exciting?  Anyway, I hate the telly, but I am loving the Lympics.

In other news - last week I spent THREE FULL DAYS cooped up in a classroom, with no ventilation, no fluids and no escape.  Maybe that's an exaggeration, as there was water and coffee and I brought copiuous amounts of Pepsi Max and don't get me wrong, the course was fascinating, but sitting still for three whole days really challenged me.  AND I didn't get to the gym AND they kept feeding us.  So week of feeling fat and yucky, despite all my good work over the last few months.  However, today I redeeemed myself with a FABULARSE run, little bit of bitumen, little bit of trail, some hills, lots of steps, felt really good and strong and wonderful the whole way.  Could eat for Ireland now though.

I've upped the PT sessions for August to three a week to see how that goes.  Loving it still, so it can't hurt.  Still hoping to work up to half marathon distance for the Hidden Half.  Would be a nice little achievement.  Work is a challenge, all our jobs are being advertised and the days of being a well paid contractor are soon to be over.  Who knows what the future will hold?  Having learnt by the last few years not to worry about that, but just be good, be kind, be humble, be compassionate and look my oqn health, I am sure I will be fine.  In the meantime I have to phone the police on Monday and make a work related confession.  Which is way more pressing to me at the moment!!

Sex Sells

Your woman from Fifty Shades fame is reportedly making $1.2m per week from sales of her books.  $1.2m???  Hello?  Could I do this?  Surely I could research some stuff, watch some porn, make shit up and rake it in.  In my lunchbreak.  Not sure I could do the whole "serious" thing.  Like, who has a shag and then catalogues the whole event for their next book?  Or is that not how it works?  Do you just imagine the shag, and then write about it?   I'd get the whole logistics wrong, with him with his underpants still on, or them not having got off their bus or whatever.  Still, would make even more interesting reading. 

Anyway, city life continues to be fun and interesting and all the things I thought it might be, and some.

First weekend in the city ON MY OWN.  But as usual, I didn't end up on my own and had lots of things to do and see and share, including a very farking eye opening trip to North Sydney pool and more specifically the changing rooms afterwards.  Holy sweet mother of Jesus, there is a breed of their own there.  Walk into the ladies change rooms (circa 1880) and there is this older lady (rich, coming from me) who is seriously totally naked and LUBING up and down her body and in particular in between her legs (and, I might add, she and Brazillian Hot Wax have never been introduced) and looking around to see who is watching.  Averts gaze.  To the left where another woman with an oak tree of pubic hair is BLOW DRYING HER HAIR totally naked.  Hello?  Put some farking clothes on lady.  So gaze is averted once more to open plan showers where ANOTHER nudster is busily soaping up under a cold shower.  Fark.  It felt like Ancient Rome and Sparticus and Fifty Shades and a Lesbian Nudist Colony all in one go.  I was never so glad to get out of there unscathed, feeling very prudish about having my towel around me as I made a pathetic attempt to get dried, and ended up getting all caught up in trying to get out of there quickly and putting dry clothes on a wet body and not managing to get the sports bra with the racer back on properly over my bits and I am sure they were thinking "if you can't beat them, join them" which was really not the case.  Fark. It was with great relief that Kristie and I exited the builiding.  Next time I will bring comfy "get into quick" clothes, and dark glasses and possibly find myself a very interesting thing to look at whilst getting changed.  Like the floor. 

Also, North Sydney pool is SALTY.  And Chloriney.  Which is a rather horrible combination.  And the cafe next door makes bacon and eggs.  So mix salt, chlorine and the smell of bacon and eggs....yeuch.  Salty swollen mouth, competing with a sort of strange hunger from the bacon and eggs man.  And the fact that I was in a lane in direct sunlight and could see fark all and punched a few fellow swimmers and swam into the wall at least three times, made for interesting times. 

Anyway, now I know all about how N Sydney pool works, I will be prepared with a big furry murkin for the change rooms, mouthwash and easy on easy off clothes.  I also got very brave at the weekend and TOOK MY CAR OUT.  Since I have been here (three months now) I have let the car sit there all week and have taken trains, taxis and runs to get me from A to B.  Sunday, I decided I had to be brave and drive somewhere, so took the easy option (i.e. not over the bridge) and decided to drive to Chatswood.  The drive itself wasn't the issue, it was finding the farking car after the shopping spree that was the problem, but I solved that (humunguous car park) and now know my way up the Pacific Highway.  Next time I am in the city, I have to drive across the Bridge - MY NEXT GOAL!!! 

Also, have signed up for dancing classes - oh my farking god, I have as much co-ordination as Supre's Winter Collection, but here we go.  Ceroq dance class at North Sydney on a Tuesday night.  In Kathys words, "Sonia, you will get to dance with EVERYONE there.  All the men.  Fat, short, smelly, tall, gangly, greek, italian, you will have to dance with them all" .  Har.  Challenge. 

Actually very excited about a new sport.  Dodging the smelly guys at dancing....

Jack White - Love Interruption

Really who hasn't felt like this...?

These lyrics are wonderful.

Perhaps with the exception of  "I want love to murder my own mother, take her off to somewhere, like hell or up above...."

Change

There is more change in the air than you could poke a stick at.  Makes for quite exhausting but never dull times. I suppose I go along with expectations of what the future will look like and recently it has been like a big dipper roller coaster ride of bumps and changes off course, and things popping up that I never ever expected to see in my life.  Not MY life.  Someone elses maybe.  Not MINE.

Anyway, in my role of "Parent of a Potential Rock Star" - I dutifully went to Hot Damn! on Thursday night to see Curt play.  They were amazingly good.  God to be 20 again.  It was good to see this place I had heard so much about, because "nightclubs" are a whole nother world in my life, but this place was almost identical to the dumps we frequented when we were in our teens.  To call it a nightclub is being kind.  But the atmosphere was great for the kids, everyone seemed to be having a great time, expressing themselves in their own quaint little way (moshing and flailing their arms wildly like someone half wise and jumping on each other AND at one point someone jumped on the lead singer, brought him to the ground and started rolling around the stage with him - the both emerged smiling, so I guess that is part of the show, who am I to question such antics?). 

Training went extremely well this week with three full on weights workouts and some interval training on the tready each time.  Now that I only weigh myself once a week, I was keen to see what was doing on the scales, given my tummy appears flatter and other wobbly bits are less wobbly.  So to see half a kilo register on the scales was pretty rewarding.  I am absolutely loving the weight training.  I still love my little runs too, I love that early morning run feeling too and I hope I never lose that, but the weights are so damn REWARDING.  And I don't feel like I could eat for Ireland afterwards.  And I love Matthu, he is a funny, kind and very helpful personal trainer.  He puts up with my grunting and giggling and changing session times every five minutes so I can fit in work and play and he never complains.  Plus he appears to be helping me getting the body I want so how could I not like him?

So - this week has been typical really.  Ups and downs.  Some very sad times, some good times, some wonderful news, labradors and weight training, music and vodka and all the other stuff I get up to. And SORE LEGS!  Good sore legs. 

Legs

Hurty legs.  Very hurty legs.  That eejit had me pushing out 140kg today.  But fuck it felt great afterwards.  Also I am doing the Dukan Diet.  So that means meat, meat and more meat.  With some eggs.

Today I felt all flu-ey and virusey.  Strangely after my leg session (honestly, Matthu my PT should consider midwifery, it is much the same line of work, all that grunting and groaning and calling him a bastard and then getting the giggles) I felt much better.  By teatime the virusy effect was back.  So got home and was supposed to have, surprise, surprise, MEAT for dinner.  After exploding a little bit of chicken all over the five hundred year old microwave in my flat, I decided to have a protein shake instead.  A little bit over meat.  So, the protein shake that is King of all protein shakes was made.  Chocolate protein powder, pure cocoa powder (which I managed to pour all over myself, if you are ever stuck for face powder, it doesn't look half bad once you rub it in,  but the smell is a bit of a giveaway) and a dollop of low fat cream (it has almost zero sugar but tastes sooooo decadent) and of course ice cubes.  I honestly considered adding a wee bit of vodka and pretending it was a wee cocktail, but refrained.  Only because I like to take my vodka in the bath, with pepsi (in the vodka, not the bath) and have a good book in my hand.  Although that always poses the dilemma of when to brush your teeth.  In the bath, before the vodka is finished?  Or wait till the voddie is down the hatch and hope you remember to do it later?  Dilemmas of a modern life.....

Anyway, at the weekend I had two wonderful runs.  One around the surrounds of the harbour, Kirribilli and Lavender Bay and one around the mountains with Simon.  Saturdays run was in the rain which I love.  Sunday was the perfect running morning, with fabulous company and just the best way to start the day.  I am devoting this week to my training.  Except for Thursday night when I am just carrying out my parental duties and attending "Hot Damn!" in Kings Cross where my erstwhile son is playing a gig.  A very heavy hardcore metal gig.  Should be fun :)

Shapewear

What an oxymoron.  Shapewear.

It should be banned.

Have this thing on that can only be described as a very tight slip.  Petticoat type thing, except EXCRUCIATINGLY tight.  In order to hold in places that aren't normally held in.  Like tummies and arse.

Well, it was a cold day, I was wearing a perfectly nicely fitting Leona Edmiston frock and I thought a bit of extra holding in wouldn't go amiss -  and anyway, it was cold.

Mistake.

These contraptions make you a freaking PECULIAR shape.

Firstly, I soon discovered I had four boobs, whereas previously I had two, nicely symmetrical, in the right place and if I do say so myself, a decent shape.  Not after Shapewear had its way with me.  Oh no.  Whilst my quantity has increased two fold, the quality is distinctly lacking.  Each one pillowy, with bits poking out in odd directions and generally making me look at bit like a Picasso, except not as funky.

Then there was the tummy and bum aspect.  Well this thing is a slip. It has a skirt.  Take two steps and the skirt has effectively ridden up to my waist, bunched up there and become a peculiar looking hump on my lower back and a suspect looking bundle of something on my waist, offset by whatever isn't being held in around my waist to be poking out hopefully underneath. This WASN'T exactly the look I was seeking.  Especially not in a figure hugging dress - a dress that challenges back fat, and tummies, and boobs and the like, with its only saving grace a pattern that confuses the eye on such matters.....

And being at a course all day I decided to bring along some sugar free lollies.  You know.  The ones that make your stomach swell up to twice its size and have you farting like a labrador for the next three days whilst your abdomen resumes from that overstuffed balloon state to its normal size?  So between the tightness of the "slip" and the excruciating wind element in my lower bowels, I spent the day pretty much in agony.

But at least I was warm.

Tomorrow, comfy knickers and a pair of stockings.  I'll let it all hang out.