No blogging, little running and tons of spending. It's the Summer Hols. Have kids must travel. First stop England. Itinerary of the past 3 weeks has included 2 shows in West End (Matilda and Wicked), trips to Legoland, the British Museum, Hamleys and Hampton Court. We have visited with aunts, uncles, Godmothers and Godfathers. We have picnicked in forests and on beaches. And I have shopped....
So far an idyllic trip: the sun shone, a Brit won Wimbledon and a new Prince has been born. We arrived in Paris the same day as Chris Broome rode to Tour de France Victory. And now we are in Sancerre on the pretext of learning French. That will be the Sancerre next to the village of Pouilly famed for its fume.
Would love to blog that the children have been models of gratitude and obedience throughout our Grand tour, but they have quite enjoyed their transformation into spoilt brats. There were a few moments of awe inspiring childish wonder: the arrival of the ice cream truck to my aunt and uncle's cul de sac; the five floors of Hamleys; and my sons obsession with crossing the Thames in as many ways as possible (rail bridge, foot bridge, Gravesend ferry, QE2 bridge). My more cerebral daughter enjoyed seeing Pocahontas statue and observing the live performances of Henry viii and Anne Boleyn at Hampton Court. England really is a beautiful place to holiday, even though its very crowded.
But now we are enjoying the sights of medieval France and are stuffing ourselves stupid with glaces, pain au chocolat, and stinky fromage all washed down with a couple of gallons of wine. Sante....
Monday, 22 July 2013
Wednesday, 19 June 2013
Six not out
Yippee, yippee! Today I ran 6 miles. In just under an hour. Just in case you missed this...
I...RAN...6,...YES...SIX,....MILES IN LESS THAN AN HOUR.
Me, for whom my dad's pet name was Pudding. Me, who couldn't get 1 point for my House during the athletics season at high school. Me, who was cast as the minotaur in the tales of Odysseus because I was so big. Excuse my smug, self-satisfied expression but I've waited a long time for some kind of athletic glory. I've trained hard too. And I've just worn out my first pair of trainers. They had holes and everything because I'd done proper sporty things in them.
I'm getting closer to my goal of running an aggregate marathon in a week.
I...RAN...6,...YES...SIX,....MILES IN LESS THAN AN HOUR.
Me, for whom my dad's pet name was Pudding. Me, who couldn't get 1 point for my House during the athletics season at high school. Me, who was cast as the minotaur in the tales of Odysseus because I was so big. Excuse my smug, self-satisfied expression but I've waited a long time for some kind of athletic glory. I've trained hard too. And I've just worn out my first pair of trainers. They had holes and everything because I'd done proper sporty things in them.
I'm getting closer to my goal of running an aggregate marathon in a week.
Running in my sleep
I've been feeling tired recently. Running has been hard. I'm not getting puffed out but my legs are tired. I am tired. I can sleep for England. I can sleep for the USA too. If pushed I can be caught napping for Zambia. I don't understand it...I'm fitter than I've ever been in my life, I'm taking my thyroid pills what is the matter with me?
After a day of tests, I discover that my pulse, blood pressure and heart rate are that of someone asleep. Apparently my newly found athleticism has sent my vital signs into freefall. The Doctor reassures me that this is incredible for someone my age - he can hardly believe it. And then he looks at his notes and back at me a few times....
"How old are you?, he asks.
"Forty-one", I reply.
"Oh", he says, "your notes say 50, but you're still in great shape", he backtracks...
And then my thyroid dose is raised and I'm put on mega-ultra-massive doses of calcium which he has discovered is non-existent in my blood.
With luck one pill or the other will keep me awake.
After a day of tests, I discover that my pulse, blood pressure and heart rate are that of someone asleep. Apparently my newly found athleticism has sent my vital signs into freefall. The Doctor reassures me that this is incredible for someone my age - he can hardly believe it. And then he looks at his notes and back at me a few times....
"How old are you?, he asks.
"Forty-one", I reply.
"Oh", he says, "your notes say 50, but you're still in great shape", he backtracks...
And then my thyroid dose is raised and I'm put on mega-ultra-massive doses of calcium which he has discovered is non-existent in my blood.
With luck one pill or the other will keep me awake.
Wednesday, 5 June 2013
Happy US Runners Day
Today is national running day in the USA. Don't know what you're supposed to do to celebrate, so I took the obvious option and went for a run. I am now up to 5.5 miles three times a week. But my running is slow: it takes me an hour. Assuming I could keep this tortoise-like rate going throughout a marathon, I would still be at the back with the person dressed as an Ostrich.
So, my resolution for national runners' day is to revamp my running goals. I am going to strive to run a marathon each week by aggregating my miles. A bit like air miles but for feet. And I'm going to try to run more than 5 miles in less than an hour. Blimey, doesn't sound like much of a celebration this runners day thing...does it?
Ok, ok. Let's try again. I am going to drink one glass of wine for each weekly mile...a much more enjoyable goal. And following the spirit of the air miles thing, for every 10 miles I can have a bonus cocktail. Given my talent at marathon drinking, I just need to align my running goals with my consumption of alcoholic beverages. There we go...Happy Happy Runners Day to you all!
By the way, if this all sounds too much, Friday is National Donut Day...
So, my resolution for national runners' day is to revamp my running goals. I am going to strive to run a marathon each week by aggregating my miles. A bit like air miles but for feet. And I'm going to try to run more than 5 miles in less than an hour. Blimey, doesn't sound like much of a celebration this runners day thing...does it?
Ok, ok. Let's try again. I am going to drink one glass of wine for each weekly mile...a much more enjoyable goal. And following the spirit of the air miles thing, for every 10 miles I can have a bonus cocktail. Given my talent at marathon drinking, I just need to align my running goals with my consumption of alcoholic beverages. There we go...Happy Happy Runners Day to you all!
By the way, if this all sounds too much, Friday is National Donut Day...
Tuesday, 21 May 2013
Twister
Just heard the news about the devastating tornado close to Oklahoma City. Although, I haven't lived in the USA for a year, merely hearing the word 'tornado' gives me palpitations... This one may have been bigger than the one that hit Joplin, Missouri a couple of years ago.
I had no idea about US weather extremes until I moved there....and I was in for a baptism of fire. Our first night in our US house, I woke up in the wee hours to discover no electricity. Having watched way too many Scream movies, I assumed some sophisticated night prowler had disconnected our power and was lurking outside ready to strike. Not so. A tornado had ripped through a few blocks away and had lifted a house with a young child inside. The house was flattened. The child didn't survive.
I thought this must be a freak event. I didn't live in tornado alley. And according to the movies, tornadoes just rip up cornfields, right? Wrong. Tornado 'watches' were fairly frequent in North Carolina. My children had tornado 'training'. I had to designate a place in the house where we would move in the event of a 'warning'. We were advised to purchase a weather alarm which sounds when a 'watch' is issued.
Now the thing about tornadoes is that they happen due to clashing weather fronts which occur over large tracts of flat land. The USA being so hugely enormous, means that the conditions are often ripe. And even when tornadoes don't develop, wind storms are frequent. I have experienced temperature drops of 10-20 degrees in as many minutes as weather fronts hit each other. It is petrifying. Nowhere is safe.
In 2011, we had what was termed a once-in-a-decade storm in North Carolina. A line of tornadoes made their way up the state. It wasn't a case of 'if' but 'when' and 'what' would be hit. I took the children to the movies hoping that the noise would drown out the sounds of the tornadoes. We saw the Easter movie 'Hop'. But the storm was loud. I could hear it coming over the Dolby Surround Sound and the cinema's sound proofing. There was a bang. The movie went off. We were moved into the auditorium's tunnel and told not to leave.
An off-duty fireman was with us in the tunnel who was receiving messages on his radio. He could track the tornadoes as they were moving and where they were 'touching down'. We knew there was one close. It hit to the side of the cinema twisting the tops of the trees, but we were safe.
I believe that the people in the cinema in Moore, Oklahoma have not been so lucky.
I had no idea about US weather extremes until I moved there....and I was in for a baptism of fire. Our first night in our US house, I woke up in the wee hours to discover no electricity. Having watched way too many Scream movies, I assumed some sophisticated night prowler had disconnected our power and was lurking outside ready to strike. Not so. A tornado had ripped through a few blocks away and had lifted a house with a young child inside. The house was flattened. The child didn't survive.
I thought this must be a freak event. I didn't live in tornado alley. And according to the movies, tornadoes just rip up cornfields, right? Wrong. Tornado 'watches' were fairly frequent in North Carolina. My children had tornado 'training'. I had to designate a place in the house where we would move in the event of a 'warning'. We were advised to purchase a weather alarm which sounds when a 'watch' is issued.
Now the thing about tornadoes is that they happen due to clashing weather fronts which occur over large tracts of flat land. The USA being so hugely enormous, means that the conditions are often ripe. And even when tornadoes don't develop, wind storms are frequent. I have experienced temperature drops of 10-20 degrees in as many minutes as weather fronts hit each other. It is petrifying. Nowhere is safe.
In 2011, we had what was termed a once-in-a-decade storm in North Carolina. A line of tornadoes made their way up the state. It wasn't a case of 'if' but 'when' and 'what' would be hit. I took the children to the movies hoping that the noise would drown out the sounds of the tornadoes. We saw the Easter movie 'Hop'. But the storm was loud. I could hear it coming over the Dolby Surround Sound and the cinema's sound proofing. There was a bang. The movie went off. We were moved into the auditorium's tunnel and told not to leave.
An off-duty fireman was with us in the tunnel who was receiving messages on his radio. He could track the tornadoes as they were moving and where they were 'touching down'. We knew there was one close. It hit to the side of the cinema twisting the tops of the trees, but we were safe.
I believe that the people in the cinema in Moore, Oklahoma have not been so lucky.
Friday, 17 May 2013
Cinderella is a loser
I listened to British Radio 4's Woman's Hour today on a podcast whilst running. It's been a while since I tuned in (or downloaded in this case), but it didn't disappoint. If you've never listened to Woman's Hour, you should. It is probably the most empowering, interesting and insightful programme that exists for us today.
Yesterday's programme was no exception. A discussion of the 'Disney Princessification' of Merida (Brave) ensued. Finally, the backlash to the Disney Princesses may have become too loud for Disney to ignore. A petition against the new imagery has gained over 200,000 signatures in a few days. Feelings against are strong. I agree. I am raising a daughter. I hate the Disney Princesses, especially Cinderella.
I think we forget how old some of these Disney images are. Snow White was made in 1937, Cinderella in 1950, Sleeping Beauty in 1959. Each of the stories are re-interpretations of what the Brothers Grimm had written or recounted a century before. These are not happy stories, they are a mixture of morality, warning and horror. But they were 'Disneyfied' for a mass audience born 60-80 years ago. The films have been digitized but not re-made. They belong to an era when the role of women was very different and should be saved for courses in popular feminism not held up as icons to our young girls.
It was easy to get my daughter to question the intelligence of the 'Princesses' as my early life reads a bit like Cinderella....mum died, father with someone else, chooses her, I get adopted. This makes me more (over?) sensitive to the Cinderella story. First she's a victim of fate, then her father's marital choices, then her step family and then the Prince. But essentially by most modern criteria, Cinderella is a loser...unable to do anything for herself. She is not able to convince her father, find a lawyer or anyone in her mother's family to help her. By the time we meet her she has completely submitted to her step family's enslavement and her only hope is that the Prince will save her. LOSER!
Being saved by the 'Prince' is, of course, at the heart of all of the Disney Princess's stories. But the traditional Princesses are neither lucid, pro-active in their misfortunes or capable of fighting back. Thankfully the modern Princesses are better (a bit). Belle, for example, can read (hallelujah), she consciously exchanges herself for her father, she rejects the local hunk and saves the Beast (who, of course turns out to be a Prince - it is still Disney). But at least she has a personality.
I think Disney is finally going to have to re-think its imagery of girls. The stupid Princesses are replaced by those spoilt, ill-mannered, pig-headed and generally disgusting, albeit thin and well-made-up, creatures which grace our TV screens on the Disney channel 24 hours a day. One reason I haven't bought a TV since we moved is that I can't stand them. No TV, no arguments.... I also know lots of parents who are changing their cable subscriptions to get rid of the Disney channel or have put parental controls in place to restrict viewing. I realize I sound like my mother here. But here's the thing.... I could accept my child watching half an hour of this turgid, non-sensical, rubbish a couple of times a week. It's the constant bombardment I object so passionately to.
Disney should have a re-think. Appealing to children who constantly whine at their parents for whichever Princess doll (and the billions of Princess products that exist) or to watch 'whatever' pulp they are currently broadcasting is one way. But at some point, parents put their collective 'foot' down. Perhaps this is the start...I hope so....
You can sign a petition against the 'princessification' of Merida at:
https://www.change.org/petitions/disney-say-no-to-the-merida-makeover-keep-our-hero-brave
Yesterday's programme was no exception. A discussion of the 'Disney Princessification' of Merida (Brave) ensued. Finally, the backlash to the Disney Princesses may have become too loud for Disney to ignore. A petition against the new imagery has gained over 200,000 signatures in a few days. Feelings against are strong. I agree. I am raising a daughter. I hate the Disney Princesses, especially Cinderella.
I think we forget how old some of these Disney images are. Snow White was made in 1937, Cinderella in 1950, Sleeping Beauty in 1959. Each of the stories are re-interpretations of what the Brothers Grimm had written or recounted a century before. These are not happy stories, they are a mixture of morality, warning and horror. But they were 'Disneyfied' for a mass audience born 60-80 years ago. The films have been digitized but not re-made. They belong to an era when the role of women was very different and should be saved for courses in popular feminism not held up as icons to our young girls.
It was easy to get my daughter to question the intelligence of the 'Princesses' as my early life reads a bit like Cinderella....mum died, father with someone else, chooses her, I get adopted. This makes me more (over?) sensitive to the Cinderella story. First she's a victim of fate, then her father's marital choices, then her step family and then the Prince. But essentially by most modern criteria, Cinderella is a loser...unable to do anything for herself. She is not able to convince her father, find a lawyer or anyone in her mother's family to help her. By the time we meet her she has completely submitted to her step family's enslavement and her only hope is that the Prince will save her. LOSER!
Being saved by the 'Prince' is, of course, at the heart of all of the Disney Princess's stories. But the traditional Princesses are neither lucid, pro-active in their misfortunes or capable of fighting back. Thankfully the modern Princesses are better (a bit). Belle, for example, can read (hallelujah), she consciously exchanges herself for her father, she rejects the local hunk and saves the Beast (who, of course turns out to be a Prince - it is still Disney). But at least she has a personality.
I think Disney is finally going to have to re-think its imagery of girls. The stupid Princesses are replaced by those spoilt, ill-mannered, pig-headed and generally disgusting, albeit thin and well-made-up, creatures which grace our TV screens on the Disney channel 24 hours a day. One reason I haven't bought a TV since we moved is that I can't stand them. No TV, no arguments.... I also know lots of parents who are changing their cable subscriptions to get rid of the Disney channel or have put parental controls in place to restrict viewing. I realize I sound like my mother here. But here's the thing.... I could accept my child watching half an hour of this turgid, non-sensical, rubbish a couple of times a week. It's the constant bombardment I object so passionately to.
Disney should have a re-think. Appealing to children who constantly whine at their parents for whichever Princess doll (and the billions of Princess products that exist) or to watch 'whatever' pulp they are currently broadcasting is one way. But at some point, parents put their collective 'foot' down. Perhaps this is the start...I hope so....
You can sign a petition against the 'princessification' of Merida at:
https://www.change.org/petitions/disney-say-no-to-the-merida-makeover-keep-our-hero-brave
Wednesday, 15 May 2013
Running to time
About time I actually posted something about running on this running blog of mine. But if truth be told, I'm kind of bored. Track running has had this pointless feel recently of just going round and round in circles. Of course, that is actually all I'm doing. I go round and round and round....I've tried all kinds of permutations of lap accounting. Counting backwards from 30, counting in 5 sets of 6, 6 sets of 5, 3 sets of 10, et cetera, et cetera, yawn, et cetera.... Time for something different.
I bought a running watch in the USA. It was cheap and is technologically speaking a dinosaur. It can only measure my distance in miles, approximate calorie burn and numbers of steps taken. There are no satellites involved and I don't think anyone in the space station can watch my plod by tuning into Telstar (if it's even still in orbit).
But its supposed to give me an added oomph and spring to my step. For mathematical simplicity, I decided to run 5 miles and stop counting laps. Instead I have started to count songs. I should strive to run 2.5 laps per song: the permutations of which are far too boring to go into...but suffice to say this depends on how long the song is. I can run 5 laps to Faithless (the really famous song that everyone knows about not sleeping), but only 2 laps to The Clash's 'London Calling'. Clearly the hypothesis is that anything originally released on a 45rpm is going to be, on average, shorter. How old and boring am I?
Don't answer...more interestingly about wearing this watch is that it shows how lazy I am when I am NOT running. I don't do anything. I don't walk anywhere. I am truly sedentary. I know this because once I have run my five miles, I am lucky if I add another mile by just going about my daily business. If I go food shopping and vacuum the house, I can add 2 miles. But hardly anything. Quite a revelation for someone who feels constantly 'busy'. I actually do sweet FA...
Monday, 13 May 2013
Running book club
Not written again. There is a reason. It was my turn to host the monthly book club. A group of lovely, witty and resourceful ladies created a small lending library. They let me join.
This is not a club which chooses a common book to read and discuss each month. No need to analyze whether Jane Austen's Emma is a subliminal reflection of the author's desire to lap dance in a gay club had she lived in the 21st century. But a chance to tell anecdotes and exchange Lusaka common stories...have you tried the cappuccinos at such-and-such a cafe, found this fantastic recipe for french macaroons, so-and-so got kidnapped and robbed at gun point last week. Conversations are a healthy mix of the benign, informative and need-to-know. I usually take more away from the meetings than a few books.
But to host means to cater...heart sinks, hands sweat, foolproof children's recipe book comes out. I pick 3 things: cheese sticks, carrot cake, chocolate muffins. How hard can that be?
I start with the cheese sticks. In the desire to go beyond the culinary expectations of a 5 year olds birthday party...I add some chopped dill, hoping for the homely yet elegant morsel. So far so good.
On to the carrot cupcakes. I am a domestic goddess. No, really. I am baking 3 things in one day. No less than a marathon bake-off. And then it dawns on me. I'm making carrot cupcakes. I have mixed all the ingredients except for....wait for it.... carrots. I don't have any bloody carrots. Idiot! Stupid, stupid woman that I am! This is why I don't 'host' I don't like cooking...or baking...or decorating stuff.
What should I do? If I don't add carrots what will happen to the cake? Will it be too wet, too dry, too totally tasteless? I take a deep breath. It can't be that difficult. I have beetroots. I will make carrot cupcakes with beetroots. And it worked. Sort of. The cupcakes did look an odd swampy green color and tasted a bit earthy. But the orange icing I put on top soon covered them up.
The chocolate muffins were better. But once cooked, they stuck to the bottom of the cake papers and broke in half. So I cut through the little muffin papers and carefully peeled each one off attempting a salvage job. Too, too stressful. Bless the lady at the school tuck shop who baked me 6 cappuccino muffins to give an appetizing option next to the swampy cupcakes and stuck-to-the-paper muffins.
The outcome. I loaded a plate with cheese sticks and another with 3 different types of cake. Bought cappuccino cakes were completely eaten, followed by a couple of the chocolate muffins. Kids and husband got to take each and every carrot (beetroot) cupcakes in their lunchboxes for the rest of the week. Away from the house, I wouldn't know if they ended up in the bin or not.
My feelings were preserved.
This is not a club which chooses a common book to read and discuss each month. No need to analyze whether Jane Austen's Emma is a subliminal reflection of the author's desire to lap dance in a gay club had she lived in the 21st century. But a chance to tell anecdotes and exchange Lusaka common stories...have you tried the cappuccinos at such-and-such a cafe, found this fantastic recipe for french macaroons, so-and-so got kidnapped and robbed at gun point last week. Conversations are a healthy mix of the benign, informative and need-to-know. I usually take more away from the meetings than a few books.
But to host means to cater...heart sinks, hands sweat, foolproof children's recipe book comes out. I pick 3 things: cheese sticks, carrot cake, chocolate muffins. How hard can that be?
I start with the cheese sticks. In the desire to go beyond the culinary expectations of a 5 year olds birthday party...I add some chopped dill, hoping for the homely yet elegant morsel. So far so good.
On to the carrot cupcakes. I am a domestic goddess. No, really. I am baking 3 things in one day. No less than a marathon bake-off. And then it dawns on me. I'm making carrot cupcakes. I have mixed all the ingredients except for....wait for it.... carrots. I don't have any bloody carrots. Idiot! Stupid, stupid woman that I am! This is why I don't 'host' I don't like cooking...or baking...or decorating stuff.
What should I do? If I don't add carrots what will happen to the cake? Will it be too wet, too dry, too totally tasteless? I take a deep breath. It can't be that difficult. I have beetroots. I will make carrot cupcakes with beetroots. And it worked. Sort of. The cupcakes did look an odd swampy green color and tasted a bit earthy. But the orange icing I put on top soon covered them up.
The chocolate muffins were better. But once cooked, they stuck to the bottom of the cake papers and broke in half. So I cut through the little muffin papers and carefully peeled each one off attempting a salvage job. Too, too stressful. Bless the lady at the school tuck shop who baked me 6 cappuccino muffins to give an appetizing option next to the swampy cupcakes and stuck-to-the-paper muffins.
The outcome. I loaded a plate with cheese sticks and another with 3 different types of cake. Bought cappuccino cakes were completely eaten, followed by a couple of the chocolate muffins. Kids and husband got to take each and every carrot (beetroot) cupcakes in their lunchboxes for the rest of the week. Away from the house, I wouldn't know if they ended up in the bin or not.
My feelings were preserved.
Friday, 3 May 2013
Hard labour day
Missed my Wednesday run - labour day. Kids off school, husband at work....usual 'holiday' situation. What to do? The day started with a play date for my son. Two hours quietly building all the new lego we had bought from the USA, I thought. I had envisioned the two 6 year olds quietly engineering police helicopters, space shuttles and the scale model lego White House. They would be seen but not heard except for the odd exclamation of 'what fine propellers you have built there, my friend'.
Fat chance...they decided to make lego Bayblades and proceeded to take all the heads off the lego people and use them as the spinning tops. As the playdate degenerated into mild anarchy, my daughter offered to play chess with the visiting boy. Hooray, I thought, redemption! Not so, my jealous son started tormenting his sister about it being 'his' playdate....so we moved on to air(head) hockey... a game with no cerebral point whatsoever...
For the afternoon, I decided a quieter form of self torture: the movies. At least I can fall asleep safe in the knowledge that my children are being dumbed down by some brainless feature. I usually do a deal with them: I watch something with them and then they must watch something with me. This is how I have got them to watch the 'Iron Lady' and 'Lincoln' without so much of a peep of protest. They understand the concept of 'quid pro quo' very well.
We went to see 'The Croods' about a cave family escaping Armageddon whilst dealing with father-daughter relationship issues. And actually it wasn't half bad. But I don't understand why children's movies have become this unrelenting stream of fast-paced action. It leaves no time for thought or reflection. I prefer the slower paced 'Lorax', 'Gruffalo' and 'Where the Wild Things Are'. All of which are adapted from books and have an actual story line and a 'point'.
Anyway, movie, play date and labour day successfully completed.
Fat chance...they decided to make lego Bayblades and proceeded to take all the heads off the lego people and use them as the spinning tops. As the playdate degenerated into mild anarchy, my daughter offered to play chess with the visiting boy. Hooray, I thought, redemption! Not so, my jealous son started tormenting his sister about it being 'his' playdate....so we moved on to air(head) hockey... a game with no cerebral point whatsoever...
For the afternoon, I decided a quieter form of self torture: the movies. At least I can fall asleep safe in the knowledge that my children are being dumbed down by some brainless feature. I usually do a deal with them: I watch something with them and then they must watch something with me. This is how I have got them to watch the 'Iron Lady' and 'Lincoln' without so much of a peep of protest. They understand the concept of 'quid pro quo' very well.
We went to see 'The Croods' about a cave family escaping Armageddon whilst dealing with father-daughter relationship issues. And actually it wasn't half bad. But I don't understand why children's movies have become this unrelenting stream of fast-paced action. It leaves no time for thought or reflection. I prefer the slower paced 'Lorax', 'Gruffalo' and 'Where the Wild Things Are'. All of which are adapted from books and have an actual story line and a 'point'.
Anyway, movie, play date and labour day successfully completed.
Monday, 29 April 2013
Namaste to you too
So I run about 7.5km 3-4 times a week without much of a physical twinge. On Thursday, I did my first yoga class in a few weeks and my body ached for 2 days afterwards. So much for my fitness levels. We did do enough sun salutations to cause a heat wave and I managed to complete a couple of chatarungas (slow motion press ups), but I got stiff from a yoga class...really?
Until recently I thought yoga was for wimps. It is slow and about as stimulating as watching paint dry. You lollop from one position to another and the most challenging thing you have to do is breathe...as if one usually forgets...
But since I have built some running muscle and have developed a 'core' (albeit shallow), I have discovered what yoga should be. It doesn't get my endorphins going but I am able to spend an hour a week marinating in my muscles. I clench, I pull, I push, I invert...oh yes...and, when I remember, I breathe...
I've also come to view yoga as good training in frustration management. For now, running is a great way for me to 'vent'. I can achieve a few moments of brain emptying, meditative stillness after 30 laps. My face may look like a gasping beetroot, but underneath I am serene and at one with my blisters. But what will I do as I get older? How am I going to manage when I have to be angry and 'still'?
God, or should I say, Krishna, only knows.
Until recently I thought yoga was for wimps. It is slow and about as stimulating as watching paint dry. You lollop from one position to another and the most challenging thing you have to do is breathe...as if one usually forgets...
But since I have built some running muscle and have developed a 'core' (albeit shallow), I have discovered what yoga should be. It doesn't get my endorphins going but I am able to spend an hour a week marinating in my muscles. I clench, I pull, I push, I invert...oh yes...and, when I remember, I breathe...
I've also come to view yoga as good training in frustration management. For now, running is a great way for me to 'vent'. I can achieve a few moments of brain emptying, meditative stillness after 30 laps. My face may look like a gasping beetroot, but underneath I am serene and at one with my blisters. But what will I do as I get older? How am I going to manage when I have to be angry and 'still'?
God, or should I say, Krishna, only knows.
Monday, 22 April 2013
Running amok
Went to the track today at the kids school, not sure what I would find. There was a huge storm yesterday evening in our area of Lusaka. Just to set the scene....
...we were relaxing at home. Tennis and swimming in the morning, eggy bread for brunch followed by lego building in the afternoon. We had realised vaguely that something was awry with the weather. It has been humid. A few drops of rain had fallen at soccer on Saturday. Nothing unusual in much of the world, except that the seasons are defined differently here. Zambia has 3: hot, hot and rainy and cool (which actually is the 'hot, but not as hot as the hot season, season'). It does NOT rain in the hot or cool seasons.
The weather in Lusaka is pretty temperate by most people's standards. Never too hot, nor too cold, nor too rainy or windy. When people complain here about the weather, I feel like I'm back in England. Comments like, 'it's so hot today' when it's 30 odd degrees. Having lived in Greece and on the East Coast of the USA - I know what proper hot feels like. And I have harped on and on about the great weather here: no tornadoes, no hurricanes, no snow/ice storms...
Until last night. At some point, we realised a storm was coming. And then suddenly, the wind started. Hailstones almost the size of golf balls fell. The wind whipped up some more. Torrential rain. More and more squalling rotational wind.
The children, raised in a tornado and hurricane area, knew what to do and we sat it out in the most internal structure of the house: the stairwell. Our house is a European concrete structure rather than a USA matchstick and plastic house, so we knew we were 'safe' but we didn't know where the water would come in or if something would be hurled through the window.
At some point, water was pouring down the stairs. There had been so much rain, it came in through the window frames and flooded parts of the upper floor. But the roof and windows held out. Our neighbours were not so lucky: one of their windows had imploded with shards of glass flying across the room: they had also been sensible enough to move into a safe room.
Unlike in the US or Europe, we had no warning of the strength of this storm, there is not a functioning emergency services department and there was no information about what the wider impact of this storm has been. Many people here live in concrete block huts with tin roofs and without electricity. If it was a frightening experience for us, it must have been terrifying for the average Zambian. But equally, they live with the elements all the time. We only notice the extremes....
...we were relaxing at home. Tennis and swimming in the morning, eggy bread for brunch followed by lego building in the afternoon. We had realised vaguely that something was awry with the weather. It has been humid. A few drops of rain had fallen at soccer on Saturday. Nothing unusual in much of the world, except that the seasons are defined differently here. Zambia has 3: hot, hot and rainy and cool (which actually is the 'hot, but not as hot as the hot season, season'). It does NOT rain in the hot or cool seasons.
The weather in Lusaka is pretty temperate by most people's standards. Never too hot, nor too cold, nor too rainy or windy. When people complain here about the weather, I feel like I'm back in England. Comments like, 'it's so hot today' when it's 30 odd degrees. Having lived in Greece and on the East Coast of the USA - I know what proper hot feels like. And I have harped on and on about the great weather here: no tornadoes, no hurricanes, no snow/ice storms...
Until last night. At some point, we realised a storm was coming. And then suddenly, the wind started. Hailstones almost the size of golf balls fell. The wind whipped up some more. Torrential rain. More and more squalling rotational wind.
The children, raised in a tornado and hurricane area, knew what to do and we sat it out in the most internal structure of the house: the stairwell. Our house is a European concrete structure rather than a USA matchstick and plastic house, so we knew we were 'safe' but we didn't know where the water would come in or if something would be hurled through the window.
At some point, water was pouring down the stairs. There had been so much rain, it came in through the window frames and flooded parts of the upper floor. But the roof and windows held out. Our neighbours were not so lucky: one of their windows had imploded with shards of glass flying across the room: they had also been sensible enough to move into a safe room.
Unlike in the US or Europe, we had no warning of the strength of this storm, there is not a functioning emergency services department and there was no information about what the wider impact of this storm has been. Many people here live in concrete block huts with tin roofs and without electricity. If it was a frightening experience for us, it must have been terrifying for the average Zambian. But equally, they live with the elements all the time. We only notice the extremes....
Friday, 19 April 2013
Running with the crowd
What a week: Boston marathon bombed, massive earthquake in Iran and then the explosion in Texas. Too many grieving families again this week...
I had always thought that city marathons were peripheral affairs, not worthy of much media and therefore terrorist attention. But I am learning otherwise. There are a lot of runners out there. Some, like me, enduring a solitary, non-competitive form of exercise. Others, seriously competing in 5km, 10km races on flat roads and hills. Then there are those uber-runners running half-marathons, marathons, double and ultra marathons: thousands of races going on all over the world. Running could be the last amateur sport for which anyone can train and have their moment of glory.
I felt some of the competitive excitement last week. It was our local school's triathlon. My 6 year old did the junior event. My 8 year old is a great swimmer but rides a bike like an uptight village spinster and runs like a duck. But we are indulgent and, we like to think, encouraging parents. We would enter a family team. Daughter would swim, husband would bike and I would run.
Given that I run, on average 7km 3-4 times a week and this was a 2km event, I knew I could cope easily with the distance. But I hadn't reckoned on the adrenaline I would feel. So as my daughter soldiered through the swimming (she was against children at least 3 years older than her and adults) and my husband struggled through the bike ride (just unfit), I found myself getting increasingly nervous.
But off I went...not sure about the pace I needed to run 2km quickly and my breathing was completely off. So, I slowed down, took a couple of deep breaths and found a running rhythm which I judged sustainable. It turned out to be easy peasy. And seeing (and hearing) my husband and children cheering me at the finish line was a rare moment of sheer, complete joy. For that alone, I could get into racing.
So how popular is running? This weekend, there will be 36,000 competitors in the London marathon. There were 23,000 in the Boston race. As for the ultra-marathons, the South African Comrades is 89km long and will have 18,000 competitors. At our school last week, over 600 people competed.
These are astounding numbers, especially given the pre-qualification requirements for most races. My 7km run, 4 times a week would not get me a look-in. To give some idea of how large these races are....if the runners in the London Marathon on Saturday changed their mind and decided to play soccer instead, there would be 3,272 teams....quite a tournament!
Whilst such statistics are fantastic news for amateur running, the city marathon lost its innocence on Monday. Let's hope the organisers share the attitude of the competitors....you must just keep going...
I had always thought that city marathons were peripheral affairs, not worthy of much media and therefore terrorist attention. But I am learning otherwise. There are a lot of runners out there. Some, like me, enduring a solitary, non-competitive form of exercise. Others, seriously competing in 5km, 10km races on flat roads and hills. Then there are those uber-runners running half-marathons, marathons, double and ultra marathons: thousands of races going on all over the world. Running could be the last amateur sport for which anyone can train and have their moment of glory.
I felt some of the competitive excitement last week. It was our local school's triathlon. My 6 year old did the junior event. My 8 year old is a great swimmer but rides a bike like an uptight village spinster and runs like a duck. But we are indulgent and, we like to think, encouraging parents. We would enter a family team. Daughter would swim, husband would bike and I would run.
Given that I run, on average 7km 3-4 times a week and this was a 2km event, I knew I could cope easily with the distance. But I hadn't reckoned on the adrenaline I would feel. So as my daughter soldiered through the swimming (she was against children at least 3 years older than her and adults) and my husband struggled through the bike ride (just unfit), I found myself getting increasingly nervous.
But off I went...not sure about the pace I needed to run 2km quickly and my breathing was completely off. So, I slowed down, took a couple of deep breaths and found a running rhythm which I judged sustainable. It turned out to be easy peasy. And seeing (and hearing) my husband and children cheering me at the finish line was a rare moment of sheer, complete joy. For that alone, I could get into racing.
So how popular is running? This weekend, there will be 36,000 competitors in the London marathon. There were 23,000 in the Boston race. As for the ultra-marathons, the South African Comrades is 89km long and will have 18,000 competitors. At our school last week, over 600 people competed.
These are astounding numbers, especially given the pre-qualification requirements for most races. My 7km run, 4 times a week would not get me a look-in. To give some idea of how large these races are....if the runners in the London Marathon on Saturday changed their mind and decided to play soccer instead, there would be 3,272 teams....quite a tournament!
Whilst such statistics are fantastic news for amateur running, the city marathon lost its innocence on Monday. Let's hope the organisers share the attitude of the competitors....you must just keep going...
Monday, 8 April 2013
The Sex Starved Boa Constrictor
I was privileged enough to be in the House of Commons in the late 1980s when Tony Banks accused Margaret Thatcher of having the 'sensitivity of sex starved boa constrictor'. I was an A Level politics student and this was my first of many visits to the House as I continued my politics and economics degree and later worked for a Parliamentary Under Secretary of State.
It was a funny, perhaps even an apt comment and everyone laughed. But as an insecure female teenager, I wondered how any woman could cope with such a personal insult. She didn't flinch. She was witty and acidic in her response. She was so intensely single minded that the comparison didn't even seem to register with her. I was completely inspired.
On the other hand, I had grown up in 1970s council estate Britain. I lived amongst the unionised workers and welfare scroungers which she so passionately opposed. My dad was made redundant in the early 1980s; he was in his mid-50s and had been a manual worker in manufacturing. He was one of the 3 million unemployed: an unprecedented number on the dole since the depression. The night he came home with his redundancy notice was the only time I saw him cry until my mum died.
I was a Thatcher child in every sense of the word. I grasped every opportunity that I could possibly get my hands upon. I worked hard and was 'rewarded'. But my dad had worked hard too.
My mixed feelings about her are writ large today in all of the commentary on her passing. My Liverpudlian neighbour opened a bottle of champagne singing 'Ding, Dong the Witch is Dead'. My husband's work colleague declared her the last great British Statesman. Either way, she is history...
It was a funny, perhaps even an apt comment and everyone laughed. But as an insecure female teenager, I wondered how any woman could cope with such a personal insult. She didn't flinch. She was witty and acidic in her response. She was so intensely single minded that the comparison didn't even seem to register with her. I was completely inspired.
On the other hand, I had grown up in 1970s council estate Britain. I lived amongst the unionised workers and welfare scroungers which she so passionately opposed. My dad was made redundant in the early 1980s; he was in his mid-50s and had been a manual worker in manufacturing. He was one of the 3 million unemployed: an unprecedented number on the dole since the depression. The night he came home with his redundancy notice was the only time I saw him cry until my mum died.
I was a Thatcher child in every sense of the word. I grasped every opportunity that I could possibly get my hands upon. I worked hard and was 'rewarded'. But my dad had worked hard too.
My mixed feelings about her are writ large today in all of the commentary on her passing. My Liverpudlian neighbour opened a bottle of champagne singing 'Ding, Dong the Witch is Dead'. My husband's work colleague declared her the last great British Statesman. Either way, she is history...
Flight plight
What a week...been to Raleigh, NC and Washington DC for Spring Break. We are all jet lagged and dumbstruck after the 16 hour flight back to JoBurg. What an ordeal. Thankfully our lack of TV in our ordinary life means kids are more than happy to watch movies back-to-back for the flight. Even the same movie...my son watched Ice Age 3 three times. And as they are kids, they can sleep in any cramped space.
Not so with me. I've come to the conclusion that economy class in most airlines is designed to put you into your place - socially speaking. Think you're a jet setter....get an intercontinental flight and see what sharing a toilet with 200 other people for 16 hours is like. Try to eat the food which has fallen below the standards of a British Rail 1970s sandwich. You used to be able to board a flight and get drunk with the full cooperation of the cabin crew. Now they treat most passengers with distaste and only appear when some arcane flight regulation allows them to.
And as for the ground transportation, the numbers they squash into the buses to the terminal would be illegal outside of the hallowed ground of an airport. And luggage - Ha! The last trip we took someone rifled through our suitcase, breaking the lock and leaving behind an empty camera case in the process presumably from some other poor victims valise.
And we paid close to USD 8,000 for this privilege!
Air travel is certainly not the only area of life where customers are treated with such contempt. Just think about what the banks have been up to. But where is there any redress for such systemic disregard? It infuriates me.
Anyway, back to our new African normality. Kids back at school, husband back at work and me back on the track. Reduced mileage (26 laps today) as I try to re-engage my muscles.
Not so with me. I've come to the conclusion that economy class in most airlines is designed to put you into your place - socially speaking. Think you're a jet setter....get an intercontinental flight and see what sharing a toilet with 200 other people for 16 hours is like. Try to eat the food which has fallen below the standards of a British Rail 1970s sandwich. You used to be able to board a flight and get drunk with the full cooperation of the cabin crew. Now they treat most passengers with distaste and only appear when some arcane flight regulation allows them to.
And as for the ground transportation, the numbers they squash into the buses to the terminal would be illegal outside of the hallowed ground of an airport. And luggage - Ha! The last trip we took someone rifled through our suitcase, breaking the lock and leaving behind an empty camera case in the process presumably from some other poor victims valise.
And we paid close to USD 8,000 for this privilege!
Air travel is certainly not the only area of life where customers are treated with such contempt. Just think about what the banks have been up to. But where is there any redress for such systemic disregard? It infuriates me.
Anyway, back to our new African normality. Kids back at school, husband back at work and me back on the track. Reduced mileage (26 laps today) as I try to re-engage my muscles.
Monday, 25 March 2013
Hare and hound
Having a day off from running today after back-to-back weekend Hash runs.
For anyone who hasn't heard of the Hash House Harriers (H3).... it is a non-competitive running club set-up by Brits abroad. It is designed for people to run off the excesses of the weekend. And then to re-indulge in all those excesses at the end of the run. All members have a Hash Tag. And to anyone who have seen hashers running around led by a 'hare' blowing a bugle and periodically shouting 'on, on'....you will understand why the Brits are viewed as eccentric, if not plain weird.
This weekend was no exception. The first run on Saturday was through a Bird Sanctuary. But a proper 'sanctuary' as in...it was in the middle of the bush. There were huge spider webs everywhere (beware yellow females...apparently). So I picked a suitably tall US marine to run behind and off I went not really knowing whether to look down (thus avoiding rocks, snakes, thorn bushes) or up (spiders webs everywhere). I am a city girl and am not really suited to this, but I persevered.
And then the really weird run on Sunday. It was the annual fundraising run for the Cheshire Homes of Lusaka (founded by the famed WW2 Dam Buster Leonard Cheshire). The home in Lusaka provides free orthopaedic operations and care for some severely handicapped children. So, a worthy cause....
BUT, the annual wheelchair run was not a sanitised affair of putting an able-bodied Hasher in a wheelchair and pushing them through central Lusaka....oh no! About 30 handicapped children were 'run' at breakneck speed through the city followed by a flatbed truck to carry those who couldn't walk and didn't have a wheelchair. The truck probably hadn't seen a professional mechanic in the past 20 years and as for seatbelts - Ha! This was full on fundraising and with the amount raised I assume the means justified the ends.
As a runner who didn't push a wheelchaired child, I led the runners and ran most of the checkpoints in the African midday sun. As I was shouting...checking 1, checking 2...On, On, I realised I am as bloody weird as the rest of them....
If you would like to donate to this worthwhile cause, you can do so online at....
http://www.justgiving.com/LH3WheelchairRun2013
For anyone who hasn't heard of the Hash House Harriers (H3).... it is a non-competitive running club set-up by Brits abroad. It is designed for people to run off the excesses of the weekend. And then to re-indulge in all those excesses at the end of the run. All members have a Hash Tag. And to anyone who have seen hashers running around led by a 'hare' blowing a bugle and periodically shouting 'on, on'....you will understand why the Brits are viewed as eccentric, if not plain weird.
This weekend was no exception. The first run on Saturday was through a Bird Sanctuary. But a proper 'sanctuary' as in...it was in the middle of the bush. There were huge spider webs everywhere (beware yellow females...apparently). So I picked a suitably tall US marine to run behind and off I went not really knowing whether to look down (thus avoiding rocks, snakes, thorn bushes) or up (spiders webs everywhere). I am a city girl and am not really suited to this, but I persevered.
And then the really weird run on Sunday. It was the annual fundraising run for the Cheshire Homes of Lusaka (founded by the famed WW2 Dam Buster Leonard Cheshire). The home in Lusaka provides free orthopaedic operations and care for some severely handicapped children. So, a worthy cause....
BUT, the annual wheelchair run was not a sanitised affair of putting an able-bodied Hasher in a wheelchair and pushing them through central Lusaka....oh no! About 30 handicapped children were 'run' at breakneck speed through the city followed by a flatbed truck to carry those who couldn't walk and didn't have a wheelchair. The truck probably hadn't seen a professional mechanic in the past 20 years and as for seatbelts - Ha! This was full on fundraising and with the amount raised I assume the means justified the ends.
As a runner who didn't push a wheelchaired child, I led the runners and ran most of the checkpoints in the African midday sun. As I was shouting...checking 1, checking 2...On, On, I realised I am as bloody weird as the rest of them....
If you would like to donate to this worthwhile cause, you can do so online at....
http://www.justgiving.com/LH3WheelchairRun2013
Friday, 22 March 2013
Hunky Dory
I still think the world is made for my generation: I have an ipad; I listen to Maroon 5; and I am on level 37 of Smurf's Village. Ergo, I belong in the 21st Century. On the other hand, I have also lived through 7 British Prime Ministers; 8 US Presidents; numerous war-like-NATO-supported invasions of countries I've never visited; God only knows how many episodes of Friends, and the ra-ra skirt. I can also recollect all phases of Madonna's career.
In other words, I've been around for a while, but can keep up sufficiently with modern culture and technological innovations to still feel 'in touch'. Or so I think. Every once in a while something happens which makes me realise I am kidding myself....
....So, I've got the kids in the car and I play some 'drive time' music. On goes the best of George Michael (and Wham!). We are all happily singing along to 'wake me up before you gogo' when I realise it's close to 30 years old. OMG where has the time gone? In FB Timeline terms, this is the equivalent of my mum playing Glen Miller and Bing Crosby to me back in the 1970s. How has this happened?
Right now, my kids are still young enough to think that I am the best thing since sliced bread. They think it great that they (and their mates) see me running around their school track in the morning. But I realise I am on borrowed time...soon my plodding will become a source of huge embarrassment. As they transition from 'young' to 'youth', I fear I will soon see how uncool I really am. In the meantime, I'm off to download the latest Bowie album...
In other words, I've been around for a while, but can keep up sufficiently with modern culture and technological innovations to still feel 'in touch'. Or so I think. Every once in a while something happens which makes me realise I am kidding myself....
....So, I've got the kids in the car and I play some 'drive time' music. On goes the best of George Michael (and Wham!). We are all happily singing along to 'wake me up before you gogo' when I realise it's close to 30 years old. OMG where has the time gone? In FB Timeline terms, this is the equivalent of my mum playing Glen Miller and Bing Crosby to me back in the 1970s. How has this happened?
Right now, my kids are still young enough to think that I am the best thing since sliced bread. They think it great that they (and their mates) see me running around their school track in the morning. But I realise I am on borrowed time...soon my plodding will become a source of huge embarrassment. As they transition from 'young' to 'youth', I fear I will soon see how uncool I really am. In the meantime, I'm off to download the latest Bowie album...
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Living as a cavewoman
You don't need a degree in nutrition to know that my diet is way too full of processed flour and sugar. I love cake, cookies, bread - any dough will do. Having run off some of my excess poundage, I have found my consumption of food (especially of the unhealthy kind) steadily climbing. And with it, my weight...
Let's take last Saturday. It was my daughter's birthday party. Having spent 3 hours entertaining a bunch of 8 year old girls, my husband and I sought out some adult company. We found an Anglo-American soiree which welcomed us with open arms and bottles. I proceeded to drink a few gallons of red wine and, at about midnight, the hostess tried to sober us all up with platefuls of mac 'n' cheese. Never has reconstituted pasta and cheese powder tasted so good. Or at least, I think it did, I don't really remember much. And actually, it might not be a good example of why my weight is increasing as, according to my husband, I threw it all up when I got home...tally ho!
But something must have clicked physiologically. As I have a sudden urge to purge my diet of gluten and sugar. And, through a Facebook friend, I have discovered the Palaeolithic diet. The theory is to go back to our true biological dietary needs rather than rely on modern farming produce. So, lots of seeds, fruits, veggies, nuts, eggs and meat (although there are both vegetarian and vegan versions of the diet). No bread, no refined sugar and no cereals or grains.
Anyway, there are some great recipe websites which I discovered through the FB friend and yesterday I made my first Paleo recipe....peanut butter Blondies (as opposed to Brownies). You mix together large quantities of peanut butter, dark chocolate and honey with an egg, baking soda and salt et voila, 20 minutes later you have a gluten free, fat-laden cake. So, family loves Paleo diet so far... Today, I will be dipping frozen banana pieces into molten dark chocolate....feel healthier, more cavewoman like already...uga, uga, bunkum!
Let's take last Saturday. It was my daughter's birthday party. Having spent 3 hours entertaining a bunch of 8 year old girls, my husband and I sought out some adult company. We found an Anglo-American soiree which welcomed us with open arms and bottles. I proceeded to drink a few gallons of red wine and, at about midnight, the hostess tried to sober us all up with platefuls of mac 'n' cheese. Never has reconstituted pasta and cheese powder tasted so good. Or at least, I think it did, I don't really remember much. And actually, it might not be a good example of why my weight is increasing as, according to my husband, I threw it all up when I got home...tally ho!
But something must have clicked physiologically. As I have a sudden urge to purge my diet of gluten and sugar. And, through a Facebook friend, I have discovered the Palaeolithic diet. The theory is to go back to our true biological dietary needs rather than rely on modern farming produce. So, lots of seeds, fruits, veggies, nuts, eggs and meat (although there are both vegetarian and vegan versions of the diet). No bread, no refined sugar and no cereals or grains.
Anyway, there are some great recipe websites which I discovered through the FB friend and yesterday I made my first Paleo recipe....peanut butter Blondies (as opposed to Brownies). You mix together large quantities of peanut butter, dark chocolate and honey with an egg, baking soda and salt et voila, 20 minutes later you have a gluten free, fat-laden cake. So, family loves Paleo diet so far... Today, I will be dipping frozen banana pieces into molten dark chocolate....feel healthier, more cavewoman like already...uga, uga, bunkum!
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
The Marathon Marriage
Running well again this week. Thankfully. Need something to keep me buoyed up. If I relied on my husband to add to my self-esteem I would be a quivering wreck. It should have been a great weekend: daughter had 8th birthday; it was Mothering Sunday and a bank holiday. Fat chance... I was left to arrange everything for the birthday, Mothering Sunday was overlooked (again) and we did nothing of any note. The most penetrating conversation we had was which plates I was planning to use for the dinner.
I had a great job when I met my husband and earned as much as he did. I spend lots of time agonising about my current lack of economic worth. The last time we moved, I got a job. We needed the money and I needed to feel like the sum of my existence was greater than my ability to create 101 pasta dishes. But here I am again: jobless, virtually husbandless and in a strange land without any support.
As I've said before on this blog, one of the reasons that running has become so important is that I respect myself for it. If all else is going wrong, I have this one thing which I have succeeded at for the day. Today, I ran 27 laps (about 7 km) which ain't too bad for a bird my age....
I had a great job when I met my husband and earned as much as he did. I spend lots of time agonising about my current lack of economic worth. The last time we moved, I got a job. We needed the money and I needed to feel like the sum of my existence was greater than my ability to create 101 pasta dishes. But here I am again: jobless, virtually husbandless and in a strange land without any support.
As I've said before on this blog, one of the reasons that running has become so important is that I respect myself for it. If all else is going wrong, I have this one thing which I have succeeded at for the day. Today, I ran 27 laps (about 7 km) which ain't too bad for a bird my age....
Monday, 4 March 2013
In the name of Plod
I had a spectacular running week last week. I coped with my extra lap and just enjoyed the run. I've also started well this week. I felt good running today and their were lots of women on the track. Hats off to all you ladies....
It takes a lot of guts to grasp the exercise nettle. Apart from the sheer determination and single-mindedness required to motivate yourself, you also have to overcome the way you feel about the way you look. I am still self-conscious about the way I run. I don't think of myself as a runner. But rather as someone who endures plodding around the track in the interests of physical and psychological self-preservation. I try not to question if my bum looks big and wobbles while I plod. I've known the answer for years....yes, yes it does.
If I'd had the discipline, I would have introduced a private exercise regime. I would have bought a DVD or a home treadmill. But I can't exercise at home. There are too many other things to do. I had to have the discipline to just arrive at the gym each day with my kit. Once there, I knew what I had to do. But it was the 'getting there every day' bit which required the single-mindedness.
I exercised slowly and alone at the treadmill for almost 6 months, before I had the confidence to go to a class. And it was 10 months before I felt up to publicly running on a track. On the track, you are on 'display' not just to other runners and walkers but also those who are just going about their normal daily business. Unlike you, they are not lycraed up and puffing and panting. They are elegant, well-dressed and made-up.
I felt and still feel intimidated about exercising in public. I have not yet managed to road run or to enter any competitions. But I like to think I'm getting there, albeit slowly.
It takes a lot of guts to grasp the exercise nettle. Apart from the sheer determination and single-mindedness required to motivate yourself, you also have to overcome the way you feel about the way you look. I am still self-conscious about the way I run. I don't think of myself as a runner. But rather as someone who endures plodding around the track in the interests of physical and psychological self-preservation. I try not to question if my bum looks big and wobbles while I plod. I've known the answer for years....yes, yes it does.
If I'd had the discipline, I would have introduced a private exercise regime. I would have bought a DVD or a home treadmill. But I can't exercise at home. There are too many other things to do. I had to have the discipline to just arrive at the gym each day with my kit. Once there, I knew what I had to do. But it was the 'getting there every day' bit which required the single-mindedness.
I exercised slowly and alone at the treadmill for almost 6 months, before I had the confidence to go to a class. And it was 10 months before I felt up to publicly running on a track. On the track, you are on 'display' not just to other runners and walkers but also those who are just going about their normal daily business. Unlike you, they are not lycraed up and puffing and panting. They are elegant, well-dressed and made-up.
I felt and still feel intimidated about exercising in public. I have not yet managed to road run or to enter any competitions. But I like to think I'm getting there, albeit slowly.
Sunday, 24 February 2013
Running on cake
Am I the only person on the planet that had not heard of Oscar Pistorius until a couple of weeks ago? I could now answer 20 questions on the criminal history of his family up to and including his 2nd cousins twice removed. Yes, yes, I know I am supposed to be writing a blog about running here, but please don't look to me for any information about 'runners' or sports people in general. I am not very sporty at all.
But I did have the most fantastic run today after a difficult weekend. I finally added a lap to my repertoire. I had plateaued at 25 for a while and today I managed 26! Double hurrah! I think I set a new record for consumption of cake yesterday, so I was expecting a 'lumpy' run.
I eat cake by stealth. You know where you slice some for the children and then take a half sized piece for yourself? Followed by the other half? Followed by another half an inch? Followed by another and then another. And then all of a sudden you seem to have eaten 180 degrees of cake? And instead of being sugar-filled and happy, you become guilty and remorseful? And all that guilt fuels the need for more cake, chocolate, biscuits and any other fat and sugar filled confection? Welcome to my world...
Today, I put the guilt behind me. I ran away from it. Literally. I embraced my slim, self-controlled, salad-loving inner goddess. But that fat, lazy slob that cohabits with her is just so much easier to be...
But I did have the most fantastic run today after a difficult weekend. I finally added a lap to my repertoire. I had plateaued at 25 for a while and today I managed 26! Double hurrah! I think I set a new record for consumption of cake yesterday, so I was expecting a 'lumpy' run.
I eat cake by stealth. You know where you slice some for the children and then take a half sized piece for yourself? Followed by the other half? Followed by another half an inch? Followed by another and then another. And then all of a sudden you seem to have eaten 180 degrees of cake? And instead of being sugar-filled and happy, you become guilty and remorseful? And all that guilt fuels the need for more cake, chocolate, biscuits and any other fat and sugar filled confection? Welcome to my world...
Today, I put the guilt behind me. I ran away from it. Literally. I embraced my slim, self-controlled, salad-loving inner goddess. But that fat, lazy slob that cohabits with her is just so much easier to be...
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