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...
Sunday, 24 February 2013
Friday, 15 February 2013
The woman in the mirror
Finally, today I had a great running day. The laps just melted away and I 'enjoyed' my run. Whether I enjoyed it more than rearranging my sock drawer is questionable. But my sock drawer doesn't offer much in the way of personal fulfilment (perhaps I just keep the wrong things in there...).
I have a bit of a ritual after my run. I drive back home (oh, the irony) grab a coffee and a shower. And then, as I'm getting dressed I look in mirror and say to myself....'you know what, you're in great shape for a woman your age'. I've never really gone in for such self-aggrandising mantras: self-praise is no recommendation, as they say. But ever since having the children and all the physical accoutrements (stretch marks, dog-eared breasts, bottom ballast), I realised that no-one was ever going to call me objectively 'attractive' anymore. Yes, my husband does, but he doesn't count...he loves me unconditionally (or perhaps that's what his mantra is). The problem is I don't love myself that way....
So, after having the children, I started this habit of looking in the mirror each morning (naked) before getting dressed for work and I would say to myself: 'you look pretty good for a woman who had 2 children back-to-back in her mid-30s and kept down a full time job and who ate a whole packet of chocolate biscuits last night'. Indeed, I did look like someone who did no exercise, hardly slept and overate. But it did help me get through those tough long days and short nights when the children were babies. I accepted my dietary transgressions to avoid feeling worse than I already did. Sleepless nights, tortuous tantrums and the requirement to praise your child when they got half their poo in their potty and only half on the floor this time...hooray, not! Oh, and would I give a project presentation at 5:30 today, please? Life was already a bit too 'full on' for me to put additional pressure on myself to actually look good.
I have had 41 years to get to 'know myself' and I like to think I've been a good student. In the absence of being able to love myself unconditionally, I try to set myself 'goals' or 'conditions' under which I can succeed at something. I have to earn my self-respect. By all that's holy, I bloody well earned it today....
I have a bit of a ritual after my run. I drive back home (oh, the irony) grab a coffee and a shower. And then, as I'm getting dressed I look in mirror and say to myself....'you know what, you're in great shape for a woman your age'. I've never really gone in for such self-aggrandising mantras: self-praise is no recommendation, as they say. But ever since having the children and all the physical accoutrements (stretch marks, dog-eared breasts, bottom ballast), I realised that no-one was ever going to call me objectively 'attractive' anymore. Yes, my husband does, but he doesn't count...he loves me unconditionally (or perhaps that's what his mantra is). The problem is I don't love myself that way....
So, after having the children, I started this habit of looking in the mirror each morning (naked) before getting dressed for work and I would say to myself: 'you look pretty good for a woman who had 2 children back-to-back in her mid-30s and kept down a full time job and who ate a whole packet of chocolate biscuits last night'. Indeed, I did look like someone who did no exercise, hardly slept and overate. But it did help me get through those tough long days and short nights when the children were babies. I accepted my dietary transgressions to avoid feeling worse than I already did. Sleepless nights, tortuous tantrums and the requirement to praise your child when they got half their poo in their potty and only half on the floor this time...hooray, not! Oh, and would I give a project presentation at 5:30 today, please? Life was already a bit too 'full on' for me to put additional pressure on myself to actually look good.
I have had 41 years to get to 'know myself' and I like to think I've been a good student. In the absence of being able to love myself unconditionally, I try to set myself 'goals' or 'conditions' under which I can succeed at something. I have to earn my self-respect. By all that's holy, I bloody well earned it today....
Sunday, 10 February 2013
Diet another day
Had a fun and food packed weekend. Had my first Friday night curry in 12 years. Pigged out on garlic naan bread, dahl and the most amazing chicken curry. All washed down with a few beers. Saturday evening, we ate Greek style. Not very authentic or very nice. But heavy food. Had a bit of a shock when I got on the scales this morning... I am carrying 2kgs (approx 4lbs) extra weight since Friday morning.
When I was younger, I used to be able to skip a meal and lose 3kgs (approx 6lbs) immediately, now I only have to smell a pizza and I inhale weight. My metabolism works at the speed of a three-legged tortoise.
I work really hard to stay slim. I wish I could be one of those women who can eat 10 burgers a day and not add an ounce but I'm not. I also yearn to flounce a size 20 figure with confidence and flair. But I could never get to love a fuller-figured me. So, I live this constant battle with food. A battle which gets harder as the years pass.
So, today, I plodded around the track like a suet pudding. I wore my hair shirt and repeated like a mantra...run, fatty, run until I had completed my 25 laps. Rational? No. Masochistic? Completely. But I've lived to diet another day. Well done me....
When I was younger, I used to be able to skip a meal and lose 3kgs (approx 6lbs) immediately, now I only have to smell a pizza and I inhale weight. My metabolism works at the speed of a three-legged tortoise.
I work really hard to stay slim. I wish I could be one of those women who can eat 10 burgers a day and not add an ounce but I'm not. I also yearn to flounce a size 20 figure with confidence and flair. But I could never get to love a fuller-figured me. So, I live this constant battle with food. A battle which gets harder as the years pass.
So, today, I plodded around the track like a suet pudding. I wore my hair shirt and repeated like a mantra...run, fatty, run until I had completed my 25 laps. Rational? No. Masochistic? Completely. But I've lived to diet another day. Well done me....
Thursday, 7 February 2013
Zumba in Zambia
I don't much like exercise classes. Anyone who grew up in Britain in the 80s might recall the trend of the 'keep fat' class with all the pink spandex and bandanas. I'm also not good at team sports. The minute someone expects me to catch a ball, throw it into a net or make a semi-accurate pass, I fall to pieces losing all semblance of coordination. Hopeless....
Running, as a solitary form of exercise works for me. I make one exception, however. I do love a good Zumba class. Somehow my body is able to remember all the club moves of my youth and is able to perform them without copious amounts of alcohol. Amazing.
If you happen to live near the Wilson YMCA in North Carolina, there is the most fantastic Zumba class on a Sunday afternoon. I went religiously. Some weeks I felt I was dancing in an Ibiza night club whereas others I thought I was in training for lap dancing. Unlike my clubbing days, I would leave feeling refreshed and energised. And the following day, I had neither a hangover nor any embarassing encounters with members of the opposite sex. I miss this class. It was fun.
So today, as I couldn't run (rainy season...more to come on this), I went to a Zambian Zumba class. Apart from the catchy aliteration, not much else engaged me. I will never be able to do the African woman hip shake. And at my age, I need a musical repertoire which spans three decades and not the past three weeks.
Back to running tomorrow....
Running, as a solitary form of exercise works for me. I make one exception, however. I do love a good Zumba class. Somehow my body is able to remember all the club moves of my youth and is able to perform them without copious amounts of alcohol. Amazing.
If you happen to live near the Wilson YMCA in North Carolina, there is the most fantastic Zumba class on a Sunday afternoon. I went religiously. Some weeks I felt I was dancing in an Ibiza night club whereas others I thought I was in training for lap dancing. Unlike my clubbing days, I would leave feeling refreshed and energised. And the following day, I had neither a hangover nor any embarassing encounters with members of the opposite sex. I miss this class. It was fun.
So today, as I couldn't run (rainy season...more to come on this), I went to a Zambian Zumba class. Apart from the catchy aliteration, not much else engaged me. I will never be able to do the African woman hip shake. And at my age, I need a musical repertoire which spans three decades and not the past three weeks.
Back to running tomorrow....
Wednesday, 30 January 2013
Resistance running
Not many posts over the past 10 days. I'm struggling... I'm still running 4 times a weeks but it feels like hard work. I'm having to argue with myself on my 'running' days. Head comes up with any number of lines, here's my top 3 'you can't run today because you are...' lines:
1) too tired;
2) too busy;
3) so gorgeous already, that you don't need to.
So my schizo brain has been going back and forth - should I, shouldn't I...But I haven't let myself fall into this trap: yet. My running has been fine, but my attitude stinks.
For me (as a non-adept runner and someone who has avoided exercise my whole life), what I 'say' to myself as I'm running is everything. For while my brain stops thinking about my 'issues', it does rather focus itself on my running. My running brain goes along the lines of:
Lap 1: "hooray I'm running; what a thoroughly fit and modern middle-aged woman I am":
Lap 2; "help, my lungs are going to explode";
Laps 3-5: "I knew if I got past the initial pain, I would find my stride, look at me go now";
Laps 5-15: "wind feels good on my face, sun feels great, I love my ipod";
Laps 15-20: "I can't run anymore, my legs ache, I'm tired and surely at my age 15 laps is good enough?"
Laps 20-25: "Yeah! You kept going. You are a modern day goddess who can conquer the world and seduce kings (if you had ever met one)."
These to me are the 6 stages of running and probably sufficient proof that I am not a natural. I have gone through these stages since my first week of walking 4 'laps' on the treadmill and I've managed to spread them over ever further distances.
I might have met my limit.
1) too tired;
2) too busy;
3) so gorgeous already, that you don't need to.
So my schizo brain has been going back and forth - should I, shouldn't I...But I haven't let myself fall into this trap: yet. My running has been fine, but my attitude stinks.
For me (as a non-adept runner and someone who has avoided exercise my whole life), what I 'say' to myself as I'm running is everything. For while my brain stops thinking about my 'issues', it does rather focus itself on my running. My running brain goes along the lines of:
Lap 1: "hooray I'm running; what a thoroughly fit and modern middle-aged woman I am":
Lap 2; "help, my lungs are going to explode";
Laps 3-5: "I knew if I got past the initial pain, I would find my stride, look at me go now";
Laps 5-15: "wind feels good on my face, sun feels great, I love my ipod";
Laps 15-20: "I can't run anymore, my legs ache, I'm tired and surely at my age 15 laps is good enough?"
Laps 20-25: "Yeah! You kept going. You are a modern day goddess who can conquer the world and seduce kings (if you had ever met one)."
These to me are the 6 stages of running and probably sufficient proof that I am not a natural. I have gone through these stages since my first week of walking 4 'laps' on the treadmill and I've managed to spread them over ever further distances.
I might have met my limit.
Monday, 28 January 2013
Expanding my vocabulary about middle age
I haven't given up my running but I have been a bit concerned for the past couple of weeks that I would have to rename my blog to www.pregnantinmyforties.blogspot.com or, more appropriately www.godmustreallyexist-iamcarryinghischild.blogspot.com. Instead (and somewhat thankfully), I am just becoming familiar with middle-aged biological terms: amenorrhea, perimenopause, premenopause, actual menopause. Given my age, I guess I'm either pre- or peri-. But its been a strange few weeks with my husband and I having discussions about our levels of intimacy which always concluded with the phrase 'but you can't get pregnant from doing that - can you?'
I should point out that my husband and I proved a very fertile mix. And we are very grateful for our two too easily conceived children. But the older we were becoming, the more contraceptively challenged we were. And despite conceiving at the drop of a hat, I had complications through both pregnancies which were too risky to risk repeating.
Anyway, some adolescent style fumbling and one missed period do not a pregnancy make. But for the first time in my life, I seem to be, biologically-speaking, unpredictable.
I should point out that my husband and I proved a very fertile mix. And we are very grateful for our two too easily conceived children. But the older we were becoming, the more contraceptively challenged we were. And despite conceiving at the drop of a hat, I had complications through both pregnancies which were too risky to risk repeating.
Anyway, some adolescent style fumbling and one missed period do not a pregnancy make. But for the first time in my life, I seem to be, biologically-speaking, unpredictable.
Sunday, 20 January 2013
International Rehydration Run
Ran with the Lusaka Hash House Harriers on Saturday on their inaugural annual rehydration run. Point of the run was to enjoy traditional international alcoholic beverages at the five check points along the way. Checkpoint 1 - Germany (Jaegermeister), 2 - England (Pimms), 3 - South Africa (Brandy and Coke), 4 - USA (Beer), 5 - Scotland (Scotch). Thankfully hardest part of the run was first leg as despite 'feeling' that I could run faster and longer after each checkpoint, reality triumphed over alcohol infused hope.
This is the first time I ran though the 'real' Lusaka (as opposed to ex-pat land). The locals were bemused at seeing a bunch of (mainly) whites running through their streets (well, mud paths). Some children ran with us in bare feet laughing and whooping at us. People came out on their doorsteps to see this weird sight. Must be hard to comprehend running for fun when you don't own a car or even a bike and walking/running is part of your everyday routine.
This is the first time I've lived in a culture where being plump is a sign of health and wealth. I don't know how you would communicate the concept of diet and exercise to much of the population here. You can map the economic development of a country according to food consumption: scarcity, plenty, gluttony!
This is the first time I ran though the 'real' Lusaka (as opposed to ex-pat land). The locals were bemused at seeing a bunch of (mainly) whites running through their streets (well, mud paths). Some children ran with us in bare feet laughing and whooping at us. People came out on their doorsteps to see this weird sight. Must be hard to comprehend running for fun when you don't own a car or even a bike and walking/running is part of your everyday routine.
This is the first time I've lived in a culture where being plump is a sign of health and wealth. I don't know how you would communicate the concept of diet and exercise to much of the population here. You can map the economic development of a country according to food consumption: scarcity, plenty, gluttony!
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