This "Supermoon" phenomenon continues - and I'm blaming it for the bad mood I've been in for the last twenty four hours. I'm also blaming it for the bad mood that everybody else I seem to encounter at the moment.
Stupid thing is, the anger is only masking a whole heap of really good things, which would be missed if it wasn't for the fact that it's the small, nice things that are keeping me sane in his rather nasty hell week.
Hell week? My name for the week where I have something on every night - with no respite. Monday was a Pinochet session (not really out, but it was a commitment), last night book group, tonight dream group, tomorrow night out for a posh dinner with Millie and Jonella, Friday, girlie admin, maybe rub a set of feet and pack and then I hop on a plane to go away for the weekend Saturday morning.
What, going away for the weekend? Yeah. As a reward for myself, I'm celebrating the third anniversary of me running timed races by doing the Mother's Day Classic in Sydney this year. I'm also visiting some friends while I'm up there, making the trip there even more worthy. I was telling Reindert that I couldn't believe how far my running had come in the last three years. It was the 2009 Mother's Day Classic that Em and I ran the 4 km race for the first time. In 2010 I did the 8 km race with Kitt. Last year I amazed myself with in the 8 km race completing the distance in around 50 minutes. I'm not going to run anything amazing this time round - 55 minutes would be grand - I'm doing the distance. Even better, the race starts at 8.10 almost from the door of my hotel. I should be done by 9.30, can grab a coffee on the way back and meet my friend at around 11 before coming back. Works well.
Okay, so I'm busy after work. Work has me with barely time to scratch myself. Back to back meetings most days often in different locations across the city. Great. Which means hell week is even harder.
The anger started to rear it's head last night at book group.
It wasn't the book, which was fantastic (Stephen Kelman's "Pigeon English" - highly recommended - exceptional writing), the discussion was wonderful. For the first time in ages, we had a full contingent, which was also great. It was nice to be at our winter home, a quiet city pub.
The fact that the kitchen made us wait an hour for our meals. GRRRRRRRR.
"Where's my dinner?" I thumped the table gently after 40 minutes wait. The tables around us who had arrived before us had been fed.
"What's up with you?" asked Jonella.
"I didn't get my afternoon snack. They feed you well here, so I didn't have my 3 pm muesli bar."
Another five minutes went by. There were two women sitting at the bar who had walked in ten minutes before received a bowl of chips. This was taking the piss.
"Where's my dinner?" I thumped the table again - a little louder.
"Wassup?" asked Georgie.
"I get grumpy when I don't get fed. It's been 50 minutes. It's getting close to 8 pm. I could eat one of Blarney's units."
"Ah, that happens to Tom," said Georgie, "He get's grumpy when he's hungry. I call it "hangry"."
"Great word for it. Still hasn't brought my dinner out."
After another ten minutes, after trying in vain to flag down the harangued waitress (in their defence, they were understaffed) we were told our meals would be five minutes. No explanation - nothing.
I was very, very hangry by now.
15 minutes later, dinner arrived. One last minor glitch - the tomato sauce I requested didn't turn up. Can't have chips without that. It's unAustralian! Grrrr. Could have thrown something.
The manager came and spoke to the table, apologised, gave the table a bottle of wine - but still, left a bit of a bad taste - thought the meals, when they came, were great - plentiful and robust. Just very late. We will go back to that pub - we've been there before, it's the first time we've had such a problem.
I got home around 9 pm, later than I wanted, Em's cat fed, not too many smelly drunks on the tram. I had to be up early this morning. Due for a run with Desi at 7.30 from the city.
Up, showered, dressed, packed, on the tram at 7 am, happily reading my new book (Jasper Fforde's,"The Eyre Affair" - had me doing spit takes at that early hour)
Arrived at the gym where I store my gear - Desi wasn't going to make it - bus trouble. GRRRRR. The only way I was going to run was with somebody. Too tired to run without somebody to take my mind off the fact I was schlepping around the Yarra at 7.30 in the morning.
Rather than run, I did 45 minutes on the cross trainer - which helped the mood somewhat. It doesn't matter that I wasn't running, I was doing something and breaking a decent sweat.
Work was brutal today - everybody appeared to be in a bad mood. The atmosphere was toxic - thankfully it's not normally like that - just today - it was terrible. I escaped at lunchtime - I've been working through for the last few days, and it felt indulgent - but clearing the mailbox and a macaron or two might help things I thought. It was also a glorious day out in the sunshine. 20 degrees. Light breeze. Bliss to walk in.
Arriving at "La Belle Miette", I staggered in the day. Karen behind the counter greeted me.
"Bad day, love?"
"Yep. The natives are revolting in more ways that one."
"A macaron will make it better."
"Why do you think I'm here?"
"We have some new flavours for you to try. We want your expert opinion."
"Excellent."
I ordered a lavender and a jasmine tea macaron - the new ones on the menu. They looked interesting. Karen urged me try tell her what I thought. The lavender one was divine. Light, unusual, perfectly balanced. Then for the Jasmine Tea one. I bit into it.
"Hmm, this tastes like your Champagne and Cassis." I told her.
She had a look. "They look the same, looks like they got mixed up." She indicated to her co-worker to look at the line of macarons - sure enough, there was a mix up. I was passed a real Jasmine Tea one, free of charge, to taste.
It pays to be a regular sometimes.
The third macaron was exquisite. Seriously, if you're down Hardware Lane, pop in. Best macarons in Melbourne.
Returning to the office, the acrimony continued. My saving grace was the dentist appointment at 5.30 pm. I'd have to leave a bit early. Amazing how work can make you look forward to something which you normally dread. A phone call during the afternoon made it better. Could I make it a bit earlier? They'd had a cancellation.
Brilliant!
So I got away. I got to walk in the balmy afternoon light. The health fund somehow paid out ten dollars more for my check up and polish than they did last time. I don't need any fillings. Life is good.
It's going to be a bit strange for a few more days I feel. I know Sydney will restore me. Just the chance to get away and read a book in the bath will help a bit.
But I'm also grateful that though I'm a bit grumpy and temporarily angry, I can see all the nice things going on around me. Macarons, sunny days, uncomplicated dentist appointments, good friends, plentiful food - when it arrives, great literature, a varied life.
These are the upsides of anger.
Just don't delay my dinner and don't forget my tomato sauce - then there's hell to pay.
Showing posts with label Running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Running. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
The Calm Before The Storm
There was a big Scorpio moon lunchtime yesterday and boy am I feeling the pull of the sucker.
Jonathan Cainer writes: "This weekend brings the biggest, brightest Full Moon for 100 years. Try to take a look at it when it is first rising up over the horizon around sunset. It seems almost unfeasibly close.... and that's at least partially because it is closer than usual. The Moon's journey through the sky causes it to perform a little dance with the Earth where it regularly steps nearer, then further back. It's now as near as it ever gets... and because it happens to be full, that makes it as powerful as ever gets. People are calling it a 'Supermoon' - although you may want to find other names to call it as you begin to notice how much emotion and intensity it is stirring up in your life!"
Yep. Sums it up in one.
Other than a horrid, persistent headache for the lasted a day, one that had had me reaching for the ibuprofen and stronger, life is okay. Just busy. And perplexing. And a bit harsh.
Saturday night I was out babysitting Bernie and Gaz's twin six-year-olds, who were a delight, teaching me about Star Wars, reading to me and going to bed, teeth cleaned, pyjama-ed and toileted without a boo. All that was left for me was to snuggle up with their chiahuahua cross on the couch and doze in front of the "The Shawshank Redemption". Bernie and Gaz found me fast asleep at around midnight, snoring in time with the dog. A great Friday night, no dramas, apart from the near migraine headache.
Woke Saturday morning after a great night's sleep (assisted by some lovely panadeine forte). A long meditation session, a wonderful breakfast with the meditation crew at my favourite Caulfield eatery - where due to being back on the hippy diet, a faboulous bowl of bircher muesli was had. Not the normal Challah French Toast or the smashed avocado and Persian Feta on sourdough with roasted pumpkin seeds... nope, lovely, fresh, light bircher muesli with fresh strawberries and natural yoghurt. The headache started to go.
This was followed by my three monthly haircut. I've been going to the same hairdresser for over ten years. A friend of a friend, she never buggers up my cut - it lasts for ever and keeps it's shape - having wavy hair, it's good to know there is somebody who knows your hair. I don't mind who colours it so much, but Lee cuts my hair. It's worth the half an hour drive across Melbourne to get it done.
Sitting in the chair, reading my book, waiting for the colour to set, the phone rings. It's Mum. News on my beloved aunt. She's not been well over the last few months and there was some suspicion that something more was happening. After tests last week it appears she has bowel cancer, which has gone through the wall of the bowel and metastasised in the liver. She's having a scan done next week, but things do not look good at all. She's also 84, so really, what ever they do won't be trying to save her life, but make sure that either they slow down the decay or keep her comfortable.
This news rocked me. Not of the diagnosis - this news had been brewing for a bit, more the finality that somebody I love won't be around for much longer. My aunt is a very, very special person, knowing that her days are numbered isn't good - for her or for anybody. I contacted my favourite cousin - her daughter - the spare room is there if she needs to debrief. She said that it may get some use over the next few months.
So now, a day on, I'm sitting here thinking like this is the calm before the storm.
Reading tarot last night at a hen's party, attended by what appeared to be the noisiest family in Melbourne - a large, loving, strange, energetic gaggle of Portuguese women, I wondered if my family would ever be a cohesive group like this - not that it ever really has been like it, but there were days when we were closer. By the end of the night, 20 readings later, a very bizarre stripper who appeared to flap his bits in front of everybody in the room, I'd worked out who go on with whom, who was ill, who was unhappy, who was disappointed, who was avoiding stuff.
(Maybe I should arrange a group reading for my family - though that would be a bit pointless as many of them are rabid Christians who think of tarot as the devil's pasteboards.)
The last girl I read for the night was a sweetie. She looked tired. Tired, sensible, quiet and frankly, completely bamboozled by this rambunctious mob.
"Why to I get the feeling you want to run away?" I asked her as I turned over the last card.
"I'm plotting it. Next year. Go interstate for university - get away from all of this. I love them, but I can't be around them too much or I go mad."
"You're the academic of the family? The quiet achiever?"
"Yep. I'm the black sheep." she told me. "I love all these people but I don't know how we're related."
I was looking at my eighteen-year-old self.
The other strange event at this tarot job - I ran into an old work mate there who was attending the party. This has never happened before. I like to keep my tarot work and my day job very separate - people are aware that I read, I just don't want to read for them. She came up, said hello and that was it, thankfully. Being eight months pregnant, I think she went home early.
To top off a hard, surreal day, I dropped in at the service station on Hoddle Street to fill the car - I wasn't tired - it was something to do with all the energy floating around me. As I started to fill the car and ancient Magna pulled up behind me. Out poured three drag queens, each at least six two, dressed to the nines, heels like daggers, though you know that they probably wear steel caps by day, especially going by their gait as they went inside for cigarettes. They were search of some club in Collingwood.
Of all the juxtapositions. It topped the day off beautifully.
So a day on, does it still feel like the calm before the storm. Yes. There are no answers as to what will happen with my aunt, other than she will die at some point sooner rather than later. Things still feel intense. The headache has passed.
One thing that's taken my mind off all the things going on - my great friend Geetangeli and her husband Bill will be in Sydney on the first weekend in June, over from New Zealand for Bill's work. They've asked me up for the weekend, so arrangements have been made - go up for the weekend and go on foodie expeditions around Darling Harbour (though I think I've talked them into taking the ferry out to Manly to experience the creations of Adriano Zumbo, and maybe go try Sydney's Chinatown. Geetangeli and Bill are foodies extraordinaire and are happy to try new things. This I will enjoy immensely. Along with catching up with one of my oldest and dearest friends who I haven't seen in about four years.
But still, I reckon this is the calm before the storm.
I'm wondering what else might happen. For the moment, I think taking to sitting under my snuggie and reading a book - a Pandora form of putting my hands over my ears and singing 'lalalalalalala' is in order.
Pandx
Jonathan Cainer writes: "This weekend brings the biggest, brightest Full Moon for 100 years. Try to take a look at it when it is first rising up over the horizon around sunset. It seems almost unfeasibly close.... and that's at least partially because it is closer than usual. The Moon's journey through the sky causes it to perform a little dance with the Earth where it regularly steps nearer, then further back. It's now as near as it ever gets... and because it happens to be full, that makes it as powerful as ever gets. People are calling it a 'Supermoon' - although you may want to find other names to call it as you begin to notice how much emotion and intensity it is stirring up in your life!"
Yep. Sums it up in one.
Other than a horrid, persistent headache for the lasted a day, one that had had me reaching for the ibuprofen and stronger, life is okay. Just busy. And perplexing. And a bit harsh.
Saturday night I was out babysitting Bernie and Gaz's twin six-year-olds, who were a delight, teaching me about Star Wars, reading to me and going to bed, teeth cleaned, pyjama-ed and toileted without a boo. All that was left for me was to snuggle up with their chiahuahua cross on the couch and doze in front of the "The Shawshank Redemption". Bernie and Gaz found me fast asleep at around midnight, snoring in time with the dog. A great Friday night, no dramas, apart from the near migraine headache.
Woke Saturday morning after a great night's sleep (assisted by some lovely panadeine forte). A long meditation session, a wonderful breakfast with the meditation crew at my favourite Caulfield eatery - where due to being back on the hippy diet, a faboulous bowl of bircher muesli was had. Not the normal Challah French Toast or the smashed avocado and Persian Feta on sourdough with roasted pumpkin seeds... nope, lovely, fresh, light bircher muesli with fresh strawberries and natural yoghurt. The headache started to go.
This was followed by my three monthly haircut. I've been going to the same hairdresser for over ten years. A friend of a friend, she never buggers up my cut - it lasts for ever and keeps it's shape - having wavy hair, it's good to know there is somebody who knows your hair. I don't mind who colours it so much, but Lee cuts my hair. It's worth the half an hour drive across Melbourne to get it done.
Sitting in the chair, reading my book, waiting for the colour to set, the phone rings. It's Mum. News on my beloved aunt. She's not been well over the last few months and there was some suspicion that something more was happening. After tests last week it appears she has bowel cancer, which has gone through the wall of the bowel and metastasised in the liver. She's having a scan done next week, but things do not look good at all. She's also 84, so really, what ever they do won't be trying to save her life, but make sure that either they slow down the decay or keep her comfortable.
This news rocked me. Not of the diagnosis - this news had been brewing for a bit, more the finality that somebody I love won't be around for much longer. My aunt is a very, very special person, knowing that her days are numbered isn't good - for her or for anybody. I contacted my favourite cousin - her daughter - the spare room is there if she needs to debrief. She said that it may get some use over the next few months.
So now, a day on, I'm sitting here thinking like this is the calm before the storm.
Reading tarot last night at a hen's party, attended by what appeared to be the noisiest family in Melbourne - a large, loving, strange, energetic gaggle of Portuguese women, I wondered if my family would ever be a cohesive group like this - not that it ever really has been like it, but there were days when we were closer. By the end of the night, 20 readings later, a very bizarre stripper who appeared to flap his bits in front of everybody in the room, I'd worked out who go on with whom, who was ill, who was unhappy, who was disappointed, who was avoiding stuff.
(Maybe I should arrange a group reading for my family - though that would be a bit pointless as many of them are rabid Christians who think of tarot as the devil's pasteboards.)
The last girl I read for the night was a sweetie. She looked tired. Tired, sensible, quiet and frankly, completely bamboozled by this rambunctious mob.
"Why to I get the feeling you want to run away?" I asked her as I turned over the last card.
"I'm plotting it. Next year. Go interstate for university - get away from all of this. I love them, but I can't be around them too much or I go mad."
"You're the academic of the family? The quiet achiever?"
"Yep. I'm the black sheep." she told me. "I love all these people but I don't know how we're related."
I was looking at my eighteen-year-old self.
The other strange event at this tarot job - I ran into an old work mate there who was attending the party. This has never happened before. I like to keep my tarot work and my day job very separate - people are aware that I read, I just don't want to read for them. She came up, said hello and that was it, thankfully. Being eight months pregnant, I think she went home early.
To top off a hard, surreal day, I dropped in at the service station on Hoddle Street to fill the car - I wasn't tired - it was something to do with all the energy floating around me. As I started to fill the car and ancient Magna pulled up behind me. Out poured three drag queens, each at least six two, dressed to the nines, heels like daggers, though you know that they probably wear steel caps by day, especially going by their gait as they went inside for cigarettes. They were search of some club in Collingwood.
Of all the juxtapositions. It topped the day off beautifully.
So a day on, does it still feel like the calm before the storm. Yes. There are no answers as to what will happen with my aunt, other than she will die at some point sooner rather than later. Things still feel intense. The headache has passed.
One thing that's taken my mind off all the things going on - my great friend Geetangeli and her husband Bill will be in Sydney on the first weekend in June, over from New Zealand for Bill's work. They've asked me up for the weekend, so arrangements have been made - go up for the weekend and go on foodie expeditions around Darling Harbour (though I think I've talked them into taking the ferry out to Manly to experience the creations of Adriano Zumbo, and maybe go try Sydney's Chinatown. Geetangeli and Bill are foodies extraordinaire and are happy to try new things. This I will enjoy immensely. Along with catching up with one of my oldest and dearest friends who I haven't seen in about four years.
But still, I reckon this is the calm before the storm.
I'm wondering what else might happen. For the moment, I think taking to sitting under my snuggie and reading a book - a Pandora form of putting my hands over my ears and singing 'lalalalalalala' is in order.
Pandx
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Puddles, Presents and Popping Cherries
As Friday go, this last one was superb.
After a week of reading, learning , training and finding the lay of the land at my new job at Your Money Is Important To Us, Inc, I was looking forward to this morning most of all.
See, Friday is running morning - and since I've been somewhat slack on the running front, I was looking forward to this all the more.
In my defence, the week has been hard going on a number of levels and the running has had to take a back
seat for a week, even though I know I have this Great Ocean Road Half Marathon coming up in a month. Starting the new job took a bit out of me. However, I've been making sure I've been getting a lot of walking in - around 10 kms a day knowing I wouldn't make the gym.
Thursday night I'd had a session with Pinochet, getting tortured in Pinochet's special way - which this time just happened to be reasonably heavy weights and some revolting abdominal crunches. The adult human body is not supposed to be able to support itself only on the toes and forearms with nothing else touching the floor. Add into this what I'll refer to as the 'horizontal hokey pokey'. Left foot out, right foot out, up on the right hand, up on the left hand, down on the right elbow, down on the left elbow, right foot in, left foot in. Repeat ten times, three times over. Not pleasant.
Pinochet's other favorites from Thursday night - hoiking a 12.5 - 15 kilogram dumb bell from the ground to over my head - one armed, 10 times each side, three times over. We were in the trainer's room with another trainer, a rather large, bald, intimidating fellow who would fit in well at a Hitler Youth parade a la Rolf from the Sound of Music. A middle aged man was being put through his paces by a stern looking Rolf. I looked at the weights he was pushing. He looked at mine.
"Your trainer's soft." I told him.
He replied in dulcet South African tones. "No, you're effing scary."
Rolf chipped in, "Would you say that to my face?"
I had to smile. "Of course. You're soft." And I continued shoving this mass the weight of a two year old child over my head.
Pinochet instructed me to play nicely with those less fortunate than myself.
I do enjoy this light-hearted brinkmanship. I know I push what's referred to as 'boy' weights. I like being strong...It's rather nice to stand there and be a little intimidating - not that I am - but I like the feeling.
The other occurrence which threw me out this week was dream group. My dream this time round. A dream of an old boss who would give David Brent a run for his money in the people management stakes, his only saving grace being he was very switched on when it came to computers. A dream where he and I were getting on well. There was a baby in the dream too, well fed but it wasn't really nurtured, and this guys plain, pretty accountant of a wife. Then this rather disturbing bit about picking large, ugly lemons rotting on a vine (or maybe they were custard apples) - but it was this bit of the dream that got to me.
Regardless, after an hour of some really intense conversation where a part of my life never discussed came up, I left dream group feeling like my psyche had been given a once over with an industrial cheese grater and the instructions to wear lots of blue and be nice to myself.
Wednesday night one of the rare nights when I come home from dream group and wished that there was somebody around to give me a cuddle - which considering the last time anybody held me was years ago, I had to find another way to cope and not dwell on this desire. Resisting ice cream, chocolate, alcohol - not wanting to numb the emotions, I just had to feel, and cry and weep and process. And feel, cry, weep and process I did. As dream group reactions go, this was a big one - but necessary - cleansing and affirming. I made it to bed well after one, cried out, but at peace.
On the Thursday, dutifully wearing a pair of blue knickers and blue top went to work - and went shopping at lunchtime for something I've been coveting for a while. This wasn't a compensation present. This was a reward for all the hard work. A gift to myself for the work that is being done. A gift to mark a milestone that came out in dream group the night before.
I'm a collector of Pandora jewellery - I have been since before it was really popular. I walked away with the Tree of Life bead and earrings, their power resonating with me as walked back to the office, wallet moaning, but happy.
Anyway, back to Friday morning and running. For once, I was a bit early - making the 7 a.m. tram. It had started to spit as I boarded, the morning warm and close. By the time I reached the office and dropped off my bag, it was raining. Al and Den, the old workmates from Bastard Bank came out of the building as I arrived at our meeting spot.
"Should we go?" asked Den.
"Of course, the rain might pass." I said, ever the optimist.
"Looks like it might be heavy." said Den.
"Don't be a wuss. It's only water," added Al.
"And it's not cold. Besides, I need this. Mush, mush."
Friday morning's run was one of the best runs ever. An eight kilometre traipse around the botanical gardens from the far end of town. It was pelting down. Very few people were on the footpaths and trails. I tucked my glasses down my bra, the water making it impossible to see through them, thankful I'm not so myopic that I'd trip up. This was warm, driving rain - rain that had made its way down from the tropics. If you're going to run in the rain, this is the rain to do it in (fine drizzle only just trumping this).
Best of all, the three of us, all in our late thirties and early forties, made a point of jumping in EVERY puddle we could find, of which there appeared to be one every few hundred metres. The more splash the better - with points given for if you got somebody else in the process. I made the mistake as we neared the office to jump in a puddle which was deceptively deep, saturating what was already damp and everybody around me. Even better, wearing a new pair of ASICs, I felt they were appropriately christened.
This run was seriously brilliant fun.
The three of us agreed that though our time wasn't great, that was the best run we'd ever gone on. Changing and showering at the gym ten minutes later, my running clothes felt like they'd just been pulled out of the washing machine. I can't remember being so wet in ages.
It set up the day beautifully.
Later that evening, I had Jonella and Teddy - a new friend of mine and an old mate of Jonella's, came over to mine for a quick dinner and an evening of cinematic cherry popping.
See, Jonella and Teddy had never seen Donnie Darko before this evening. When I found out they'd never viewed this masterpiece, my incredulous look had them bamboozled. Both of them had heard of Donnie Darko, but had never investigated.
Like how can you not have seen Donnie Darko? Superlative film.(Though saying this, Glen Waverley hasn't seen it either and we keep trying to make a night to see it) It's up there in my top five favourite films.
So after a meal at the local Italian pizza joint, the E Lounge - one of Melbourne's best kept secrets and home to some of the best pizza I've had out of Italy, it was back to mine for a viewing of this magnificent film, and some ice cream - being of the Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel variety.
All of this made for a wonderful day.
Jonella and Teddy left suitably perplexed and in awe of the magnificence that is Donnie Darko, their Donnie Darko cherries well and truly popped - with a view to doing this pizza and film thing regularly - the next film on the list, another favorite of mine - Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Three Colours - Blue". Another of my very favourite films and another one I can never believe when people say they haven't seen it.
All of this, the puddle jumping, the friends, the laughter, the great cinema - and of course the ice cream, made for a pretty good day all round.
Here's to more like it.
After a week of reading, learning , training and finding the lay of the land at my new job at Your Money Is Important To Us, Inc, I was looking forward to this morning most of all.
See, Friday is running morning - and since I've been somewhat slack on the running front, I was looking forward to this all the more.
In my defence, the week has been hard going on a number of levels and the running has had to take a back
seat for a week, even though I know I have this Great Ocean Road Half Marathon coming up in a month. Starting the new job took a bit out of me. However, I've been making sure I've been getting a lot of walking in - around 10 kms a day knowing I wouldn't make the gym.
Thursday night I'd had a session with Pinochet, getting tortured in Pinochet's special way - which this time just happened to be reasonably heavy weights and some revolting abdominal crunches. The adult human body is not supposed to be able to support itself only on the toes and forearms with nothing else touching the floor. Add into this what I'll refer to as the 'horizontal hokey pokey'. Left foot out, right foot out, up on the right hand, up on the left hand, down on the right elbow, down on the left elbow, right foot in, left foot in. Repeat ten times, three times over. Not pleasant.
Pinochet's other favorites from Thursday night - hoiking a 12.5 - 15 kilogram dumb bell from the ground to over my head - one armed, 10 times each side, three times over. We were in the trainer's room with another trainer, a rather large, bald, intimidating fellow who would fit in well at a Hitler Youth parade a la Rolf from the Sound of Music. A middle aged man was being put through his paces by a stern looking Rolf. I looked at the weights he was pushing. He looked at mine.
"Your trainer's soft." I told him.
He replied in dulcet South African tones. "No, you're effing scary."
Rolf chipped in, "Would you say that to my face?"
I had to smile. "Of course. You're soft." And I continued shoving this mass the weight of a two year old child over my head.
Pinochet instructed me to play nicely with those less fortunate than myself.
I do enjoy this light-hearted brinkmanship. I know I push what's referred to as 'boy' weights. I like being strong...It's rather nice to stand there and be a little intimidating - not that I am - but I like the feeling.
The other occurrence which threw me out this week was dream group. My dream this time round. A dream of an old boss who would give David Brent a run for his money in the people management stakes, his only saving grace being he was very switched on when it came to computers. A dream where he and I were getting on well. There was a baby in the dream too, well fed but it wasn't really nurtured, and this guys plain, pretty accountant of a wife. Then this rather disturbing bit about picking large, ugly lemons rotting on a vine (or maybe they were custard apples) - but it was this bit of the dream that got to me.
Regardless, after an hour of some really intense conversation where a part of my life never discussed came up, I left dream group feeling like my psyche had been given a once over with an industrial cheese grater and the instructions to wear lots of blue and be nice to myself.
Wednesday night one of the rare nights when I come home from dream group and wished that there was somebody around to give me a cuddle - which considering the last time anybody held me was years ago, I had to find another way to cope and not dwell on this desire. Resisting ice cream, chocolate, alcohol - not wanting to numb the emotions, I just had to feel, and cry and weep and process. And feel, cry, weep and process I did. As dream group reactions go, this was a big one - but necessary - cleansing and affirming. I made it to bed well after one, cried out, but at peace.
On the Thursday, dutifully wearing a pair of blue knickers and blue top went to work - and went shopping at lunchtime for something I've been coveting for a while. This wasn't a compensation present. This was a reward for all the hard work. A gift to myself for the work that is being done. A gift to mark a milestone that came out in dream group the night before.
I'm a collector of Pandora jewellery - I have been since before it was really popular. I walked away with the Tree of Life bead and earrings, their power resonating with me as walked back to the office, wallet moaning, but happy.
Anyway, back to Friday morning and running. For once, I was a bit early - making the 7 a.m. tram. It had started to spit as I boarded, the morning warm and close. By the time I reached the office and dropped off my bag, it was raining. Al and Den, the old workmates from Bastard Bank came out of the building as I arrived at our meeting spot.
"Should we go?" asked Den.
"Of course, the rain might pass." I said, ever the optimist.
"Looks like it might be heavy." said Den.
"Don't be a wuss. It's only water," added Al.
"And it's not cold. Besides, I need this. Mush, mush."
Friday morning's run was one of the best runs ever. An eight kilometre traipse around the botanical gardens from the far end of town. It was pelting down. Very few people were on the footpaths and trails. I tucked my glasses down my bra, the water making it impossible to see through them, thankful I'm not so myopic that I'd trip up. This was warm, driving rain - rain that had made its way down from the tropics. If you're going to run in the rain, this is the rain to do it in (fine drizzle only just trumping this).
Best of all, the three of us, all in our late thirties and early forties, made a point of jumping in EVERY puddle we could find, of which there appeared to be one every few hundred metres. The more splash the better - with points given for if you got somebody else in the process. I made the mistake as we neared the office to jump in a puddle which was deceptively deep, saturating what was already damp and everybody around me. Even better, wearing a new pair of ASICs, I felt they were appropriately christened.
This run was seriously brilliant fun.
The three of us agreed that though our time wasn't great, that was the best run we'd ever gone on. Changing and showering at the gym ten minutes later, my running clothes felt like they'd just been pulled out of the washing machine. I can't remember being so wet in ages.
It set up the day beautifully.
Later that evening, I had Jonella and Teddy - a new friend of mine and an old mate of Jonella's, came over to mine for a quick dinner and an evening of cinematic cherry popping.
See, Jonella and Teddy had never seen Donnie Darko before this evening. When I found out they'd never viewed this masterpiece, my incredulous look had them bamboozled. Both of them had heard of Donnie Darko, but had never investigated.
Like how can you not have seen Donnie Darko? Superlative film.(Though saying this, Glen Waverley hasn't seen it either and we keep trying to make a night to see it) It's up there in my top five favourite films.
So after a meal at the local Italian pizza joint, the E Lounge - one of Melbourne's best kept secrets and home to some of the best pizza I've had out of Italy, it was back to mine for a viewing of this magnificent film, and some ice cream - being of the Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel variety.
All of this made for a wonderful day.
Jonella and Teddy left suitably perplexed and in awe of the magnificence that is Donnie Darko, their Donnie Darko cherries well and truly popped - with a view to doing this pizza and film thing regularly - the next film on the list, another favorite of mine - Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Three Colours - Blue". Another of my very favourite films and another one I can never believe when people say they haven't seen it.
All of this, the puddle jumping, the friends, the laughter, the great cinema - and of course the ice cream, made for a pretty good day all round.
Here's to more like it.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Playing Hooky
I really shouldn't try and write after I've been drinking - even just a little bit of wine with dinner, as my last short post shows, but I'm going to attempt to say the stuff I wanted to say then.
I've had a lot on my mind of late, what with running, challenging myself, changing jobs and all sorts of other things, it was time to get some clarity. For me, this meant getting out of Melbourne and playing hooky for a bit - but not too long as I have responsibilities - I have Glen Waverley's cat to look after for one. Also, as I'm still waiting for the paperwork to come though on my new job, the joys of large telecommunications companies and their lack of communication, it looks like I'll be having another week off - which suits me just fine.
Struck with the fact that I have a couple of weeks up my sleeve, the first thing I wanted to do was go away. Then I looked at the funds. And I looked at the funds again. And looked at my responsibilities, thought of the fact that I still have some stuff on in town and that I still haven't validated my passport and being Easter meant that a trip abroad was out of the question.
But it didn't stop me getting away for the night and paying hooky.
Using some Frequent Flyer points I obtained a return flight to Sydney. I also got onto a last minute accommodation website and found a decent hotel room at a bargain rate even for booking it the night before I left. They have some great mystery deals - so taking up the mystery offer, I was thrilled to find myself staying at the five-star Shangri-La Hotel for the night - something I never thought I'd do. Over the years, I've heard many things about this hotel and it's miraculous views of the Sydney Harbour.
Arriving at reception, I was chuffed to find out that I'd been given an upgrade, a harbour view room. This was what was out the window.
Along with a great view, a huge bed and a lovely big bath, being smack in the middle of the Rocks area of Sydney walking distance from everything.
Playing hooky has its advantages. No agendas. No responsibilities. No timetables.
I checked out of my life for 24 hours.
I told precious few people where I was going. I was looking to go see the Picasso Exhibition at the Art Gallery, but stupidy forgot to check the dates to find that I'd missed it by a week. I had a mooch around the gallery regardless visiting some wonderful, peace-inducing art. That was the first port of call after lunch.
The great thing about the Rocks is that there are all sorts of restaurants for the sampling. Rather than living on sandwiches and chips as I tend to do on holiday, I went up market. A lovely lunch of duck done a number of ways at a place called Baroque with great harbour views started things off nicely. Washed down with glass of wine and some macarons for after, I was more than happy - though the macarons weren't quite to the standard of my mararon shop down Hardware Lane in Melbourne.
This is the first time I've been to Sydney without a real reason. I've been up for work a few times, visited friends on a number of occasions, did the City to Surf last year and that's about it. Sydney's never been a place I've liked that much, the killer humidity being a large factor in this, the brashness, the rudeness and the general melee just get me down.
This time, Sydney had a lot more to offer. Wandering the Rocks, taking in that this was the place that white Australia came into being some two hundred and twenty years ago, padding around the streets that would have been trod by all sorts, convicts, soliders and freemen alike. I was lucky with the weather too - a bit breezy, lovely and sunny and just a joy to wander around the streets with no plans in mind.
Dinner was taken at a Belgian Beer Cafe where a pot of mussels was had with one too many glasses of wine. Padding back to the hotel, I traipsed back through the streets to find a much needed holiday ice cream before returning to my room. After a long, deep bath and a good read and I was ready for bed.
This is where the Reckless clip comes into things (see last post). Ever had a favorite song for over twenty years? It's a song that has so many memories attached to it, it's a song that makes me sit, reflect and feel. Shoving my iPod on the docking station, cranking up the sound, there was something very, very surreal about watching the Manly ferry skate into the dock below. A feeling of the time continuum cracking came over me - tears streaming down my face, sitting on the window seat in the dark, watching and reflecting.
Maybe hearing this song all those years ago somehow lead me to this place, perched above the city, watching, checked out of my life, waiting for things to change. There was a feeling of completion about the moment. And a wish that I was sharing it with somebody.
The following morning it was off for a run, much needed after the indulgences of the day before. Strapping on the runners and the heart rate monitor I started on my planned route, somewhat annoyed that I'd left one piece of equipment home - the second level of industrial scaffolding needed to tame my breasts when I run. Setting a gentle pace, I walk/ran from Circular Quay, round the Botanical Gardens to Wooloomooloo and back again.
The run, albeit short and to overly fast, was dedicated to Caballo Blanco.
The runners around me have had quite a bit to say about his death. A man who embodied the quintessential runner. A man who demonstrated everything I know and love about running, especially the zen side of it that I bleat on about. The man was a legend. That he died on a run, doing something that he loved, is a blessing. The fact that they hauled his body out of the canyon to be picked over, autopsied and disposed with in a clinical manner - not so good.
If anybody should have been left to run off into the morning to be never seen again, Caballo Blanco was the man. Let him rot where he lay, the the coyotes and vultures have him for carrion. Let him blend back into the wide open spaces he loved so much. Don't dispose of him with the indignity of modern clinical indifference. Don't sing him off with hymns. Let the legend remain, the white horse that floats around the backwaters, to turn up on odd occasions free from any tethers.
Rest in peace, Caballo Blanco. Your legend will live on.
Coming back to Circular Quay, it was time for breakfast. Holiday breakfast of Eggs Atlantic and a big coffee with some charming breakfast companions.
After breakfast, another long bath spent reading my book (The Hunger Games - the book is fantastic - the movie not to much) I checked out, dropped my bag with the concierge and proceeded to spend another few well spent hours looking around the Powerhouse Museum.
Returning later in the afternoon, a decent steak lunch at Circular Quay restaurant, I made my way back to the airport for the flight home.
The 24 hours taken out of my life left me peaceful and rejuvenated.
It's something I hope to get the opportunity to do again - especially if I'm lucky enough to score a similar hotel room.
Right, I'd better get to spin class - burn off some of the indulgences of the Sydney trip.
I've had a lot on my mind of late, what with running, challenging myself, changing jobs and all sorts of other things, it was time to get some clarity. For me, this meant getting out of Melbourne and playing hooky for a bit - but not too long as I have responsibilities - I have Glen Waverley's cat to look after for one. Also, as I'm still waiting for the paperwork to come though on my new job, the joys of large telecommunications companies and their lack of communication, it looks like I'll be having another week off - which suits me just fine.
Struck with the fact that I have a couple of weeks up my sleeve, the first thing I wanted to do was go away. Then I looked at the funds. And I looked at the funds again. And looked at my responsibilities, thought of the fact that I still have some stuff on in town and that I still haven't validated my passport and being Easter meant that a trip abroad was out of the question.
But it didn't stop me getting away for the night and paying hooky.
Using some Frequent Flyer points I obtained a return flight to Sydney. I also got onto a last minute accommodation website and found a decent hotel room at a bargain rate even for booking it the night before I left. They have some great mystery deals - so taking up the mystery offer, I was thrilled to find myself staying at the five-star Shangri-La Hotel for the night - something I never thought I'd do. Over the years, I've heard many things about this hotel and it's miraculous views of the Sydney Harbour.
Arriving at reception, I was chuffed to find out that I'd been given an upgrade, a harbour view room. This was what was out the window.
Playing hooky has its advantages. No agendas. No responsibilities. No timetables.
I checked out of my life for 24 hours.
I told precious few people where I was going. I was looking to go see the Picasso Exhibition at the Art Gallery, but stupidy forgot to check the dates to find that I'd missed it by a week. I had a mooch around the gallery regardless visiting some wonderful, peace-inducing art. That was the first port of call after lunch.
The great thing about the Rocks is that there are all sorts of restaurants for the sampling. Rather than living on sandwiches and chips as I tend to do on holiday, I went up market. A lovely lunch of duck done a number of ways at a place called Baroque with great harbour views started things off nicely. Washed down with glass of wine and some macarons for after, I was more than happy - though the macarons weren't quite to the standard of my mararon shop down Hardware Lane in Melbourne.
This is the first time I've been to Sydney without a real reason. I've been up for work a few times, visited friends on a number of occasions, did the City to Surf last year and that's about it. Sydney's never been a place I've liked that much, the killer humidity being a large factor in this, the brashness, the rudeness and the general melee just get me down.
This time, Sydney had a lot more to offer. Wandering the Rocks, taking in that this was the place that white Australia came into being some two hundred and twenty years ago, padding around the streets that would have been trod by all sorts, convicts, soliders and freemen alike. I was lucky with the weather too - a bit breezy, lovely and sunny and just a joy to wander around the streets with no plans in mind.
Dinner was taken at a Belgian Beer Cafe where a pot of mussels was had with one too many glasses of wine. Padding back to the hotel, I traipsed back through the streets to find a much needed holiday ice cream before returning to my room. After a long, deep bath and a good read and I was ready for bed.
This is where the Reckless clip comes into things (see last post). Ever had a favorite song for over twenty years? It's a song that has so many memories attached to it, it's a song that makes me sit, reflect and feel. Shoving my iPod on the docking station, cranking up the sound, there was something very, very surreal about watching the Manly ferry skate into the dock below. A feeling of the time continuum cracking came over me - tears streaming down my face, sitting on the window seat in the dark, watching and reflecting.
Maybe hearing this song all those years ago somehow lead me to this place, perched above the city, watching, checked out of my life, waiting for things to change. There was a feeling of completion about the moment. And a wish that I was sharing it with somebody.
The following morning it was off for a run, much needed after the indulgences of the day before. Strapping on the runners and the heart rate monitor I started on my planned route, somewhat annoyed that I'd left one piece of equipment home - the second level of industrial scaffolding needed to tame my breasts when I run. Setting a gentle pace, I walk/ran from Circular Quay, round the Botanical Gardens to Wooloomooloo and back again.
The run, albeit short and to overly fast, was dedicated to Caballo Blanco.
The runners around me have had quite a bit to say about his death. A man who embodied the quintessential runner. A man who demonstrated everything I know and love about running, especially the zen side of it that I bleat on about. The man was a legend. That he died on a run, doing something that he loved, is a blessing. The fact that they hauled his body out of the canyon to be picked over, autopsied and disposed with in a clinical manner - not so good.
If anybody should have been left to run off into the morning to be never seen again, Caballo Blanco was the man. Let him rot where he lay, the the coyotes and vultures have him for carrion. Let him blend back into the wide open spaces he loved so much. Don't dispose of him with the indignity of modern clinical indifference. Don't sing him off with hymns. Let the legend remain, the white horse that floats around the backwaters, to turn up on odd occasions free from any tethers.
Rest in peace, Caballo Blanco. Your legend will live on.
Coming back to Circular Quay, it was time for breakfast. Holiday breakfast of Eggs Atlantic and a big coffee with some charming breakfast companions.
Returning later in the afternoon, a decent steak lunch at Circular Quay restaurant, I made my way back to the airport for the flight home.
The 24 hours taken out of my life left me peaceful and rejuvenated.
It's something I hope to get the opportunity to do again - especially if I'm lucky enough to score a similar hotel room.
Right, I'd better get to spin class - burn off some of the indulgences of the Sydney trip.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Running for Myself
Today was the annual Run for the Kids. This is an annual Melbourne event which this year which has one of the best courses around Melbourne, the long course taking you through the Domain Tunnel and over the Bolte Bridge then back through the Docklands to the Botanical Gardens, where the race started - some 14.38 kilometres. For some, the race of the Melbourne foot race calendar. For others, like me, it's a chance to participate in group civil disobedience - like how often do you get to run on Citylink and not get either fined or put on psychiatric watch.
Last year, my gammy knee strapped, Trin and I made it through in an hour and 41 minutes. It was a great effort.
The year before, I really wasn't prepared for this race and came in at the hour fifty mark.
This year, at the start of the morning, I would have been happier staying in bed reading my book.
I'm the first one to own up to the fact I haven't been running enough in the last few months. I'm still training 4-5 times a week, but running - I've been slack. I was chuffed the other week when Dan, Alan and myself did an 8 km loop of the Tan in 56 minutes - doing long intervals. I was thrilled with this run.
The other thing that's been on my mind is some stuff that came up at dream group a few weeks back. The competitive overachiever thing. Why do I push myself? Why do I rely on numbers? Why is it that I have to go into this with the this competitive edge. It's been playing on my mind for the last few weeks.
Also, with leaving the job on Friday, finishing up stuff and running around like a headless chook for the last fortnight I didn't get to make arrangements to meet people either before the run or after, which is a bit of a strange feeling as for the last year I've always had people to meet up with. I wasn't fretting about this. It felt like some of the pressure was off. Also had a tarot reading in Daylesford, some 100 kilometres away the night before, which meant arriving home late and very tired.
Generally, not in the right space to go on an all out fast run over a 14 kilometres.
So this morning, I let myself off the hook. I'd run. I'd walk if I wanted to. There was to be no killing myself. I was to run for the love of running. Nothing more, nothing less. Time was not an issue. I haven't been training to the level to do a fast run. What ever happened, happened. The only element that was important was that I had a good time. Dream group was getting their wish. I was going to run for the sake of running.
Have fun on a 14 km run. Phah!
Setting off for the event on the last tram available to make the starting gun, I was feeling relieved. Not taking anything extra, no jacket, to bag, just me, my phone, credit card and driver's licence in my SPI belt (small personal items belt - the runner's best friend.) and a couple of gels in my t-shirt pocket for the 9 km and end zone. With $20 tucked in my bra for emergency cab fare if I crack the sads and my house keys pinned into my upper bra it was just me and the road. Nobody to meet meant not having to be sociable - or waiting around in loo queues and all the other things you seem to do with others before a run. I got to the starting line with five minutes to spare, hanging out with the orange tagged crowd. In a fit of gung ho pride back in January I put myself in the semi-serious runners group with the yellow tags - able to run the 14 kms in under 1.30. Trained up, I theoretically should be able to do this quite easily - but not today.
Today was about fun. A nice long training run - albeit through a tunnel and over a bridge, on the road... not from my place, round the Tan and back again.
The other thing about the day - humid. Bleargh. I hate humidity. I hate humidity even more when I run - mainly because it tends to make my bra shred my breasts to kingdom come. The chafing began to become apparent around kilometre three. I was thinking about how to get off the course and use that money stashed down my front.
Salvation came at kilometre four. In front of me, a rather short woman with a loping stride.
Bobby!
"I know that stride anywhere!" I yelled in her ear over her doofdoof music.
"Pandora! Weyheey."
Bobby and I ran about 10 kms of the 2009 Melbourne Half Marathon together. We sat on each other's pace quite well at the time before I went off around the 12 km mark. Last year, I ran into her again, but this time, running far stronger, we chatted for five minutes then I streaked ahead - and came in a good 20 minutes in front of her.
Today, with no agenda other than to enjoy myself, Bobby and I stuck together. She slowed me down, I sped her up. We talked about all sorts of stuff from the four kilometre mark. Work, health, life. We're both originally from Adelaide. We both work in IT. We've both struggled with our fitness. It was just fantastic to have somebody to chat to. We saw each other over the Westgate and over the Bolte. Bobby kept telling me that I should go on, she was slowing me down. I said I'd run with her until the nine kilometre mark - then I'd have my gel and let the Running Fairy really kick in (The running fairy is the annoying bint I turn into after having a gel. I sing. I smile and I speed up and pass lots of people... oops)
The thing I love most about running, after the fitness and the sense of achievement, is the generosity of spirit you can find with it. I loved that Bobby let me run with her- facing the road together. I love the encouragement you get from the other runners on the course. I love the fact that across the race, you get to meet so many different people - all running for different reason. It's wonderful.
Through the Docklands, I passed another woman I'd met on runs before. Said hi, gave some encouragement, and ran on. This encouragement -this camaraderieie among strangers - love it.
An hour and forty eight minutes later - I finished. Not my fastest time. Not my slowest time. The joy comes in the fact I participated in something - and loved every minute of it. I ran for the sake and the love of running. Nothing more.
However, there was one other great result for the day. By taking it easy and enjoying the run, I've come out of it in great shape - barely an ache on my body. My poor breasts are covered in bandaids, lavender oil and papaya cream to ease the irritation of the chafing, but that's it.
I walked the four kilometres home to Richmond and went and sat in Glen Waverley's bath for an hour with my book. The bath steeped with Epsom salts. The cat sitting in the bathroom door shouting at me. Breakfast at Tiffany's delighting the soul. It was bliss.
All I'm aware of now, other than a bit of lingering tiredness and the knowledge that over the next eight weeks I have some real training to do. The Great Ocean Road Half Marathon is not a walk in the park. 23 kilometres of hills from Kennetts Bridge to Apollo Bay. I'm not setting at time for myself, though I would like to be a little lighter and running better - not that I'm running that badly.
In the training comes the knowledge that I can do this, and do this well.
A great result all round.
Last year, my gammy knee strapped, Trin and I made it through in an hour and 41 minutes. It was a great effort.
The year before, I really wasn't prepared for this race and came in at the hour fifty mark.
This year, at the start of the morning, I would have been happier staying in bed reading my book.
I'm the first one to own up to the fact I haven't been running enough in the last few months. I'm still training 4-5 times a week, but running - I've been slack. I was chuffed the other week when Dan, Alan and myself did an 8 km loop of the Tan in 56 minutes - doing long intervals. I was thrilled with this run.
The other thing that's been on my mind is some stuff that came up at dream group a few weeks back. The competitive overachiever thing. Why do I push myself? Why do I rely on numbers? Why is it that I have to go into this with the this competitive edge. It's been playing on my mind for the last few weeks.
Also, with leaving the job on Friday, finishing up stuff and running around like a headless chook for the last fortnight I didn't get to make arrangements to meet people either before the run or after, which is a bit of a strange feeling as for the last year I've always had people to meet up with. I wasn't fretting about this. It felt like some of the pressure was off. Also had a tarot reading in Daylesford, some 100 kilometres away the night before, which meant arriving home late and very tired.
Generally, not in the right space to go on an all out fast run over a 14 kilometres.
So this morning, I let myself off the hook. I'd run. I'd walk if I wanted to. There was to be no killing myself. I was to run for the love of running. Nothing more, nothing less. Time was not an issue. I haven't been training to the level to do a fast run. What ever happened, happened. The only element that was important was that I had a good time. Dream group was getting their wish. I was going to run for the sake of running.
Have fun on a 14 km run. Phah!
Setting off for the event on the last tram available to make the starting gun, I was feeling relieved. Not taking anything extra, no jacket, to bag, just me, my phone, credit card and driver's licence in my SPI belt (small personal items belt - the runner's best friend.) and a couple of gels in my t-shirt pocket for the 9 km and end zone. With $20 tucked in my bra for emergency cab fare if I crack the sads and my house keys pinned into my upper bra it was just me and the road. Nobody to meet meant not having to be sociable - or waiting around in loo queues and all the other things you seem to do with others before a run. I got to the starting line with five minutes to spare, hanging out with the orange tagged crowd. In a fit of gung ho pride back in January I put myself in the semi-serious runners group with the yellow tags - able to run the 14 kms in under 1.30. Trained up, I theoretically should be able to do this quite easily - but not today.
Today was about fun. A nice long training run - albeit through a tunnel and over a bridge, on the road... not from my place, round the Tan and back again.
The other thing about the day - humid. Bleargh. I hate humidity. I hate humidity even more when I run - mainly because it tends to make my bra shred my breasts to kingdom come. The chafing began to become apparent around kilometre three. I was thinking about how to get off the course and use that money stashed down my front.
Salvation came at kilometre four. In front of me, a rather short woman with a loping stride.
Bobby!
"I know that stride anywhere!" I yelled in her ear over her doofdoof music.
"Pandora! Weyheey."
Bobby and I ran about 10 kms of the 2009 Melbourne Half Marathon together. We sat on each other's pace quite well at the time before I went off around the 12 km mark. Last year, I ran into her again, but this time, running far stronger, we chatted for five minutes then I streaked ahead - and came in a good 20 minutes in front of her.
Today, with no agenda other than to enjoy myself, Bobby and I stuck together. She slowed me down, I sped her up. We talked about all sorts of stuff from the four kilometre mark. Work, health, life. We're both originally from Adelaide. We both work in IT. We've both struggled with our fitness. It was just fantastic to have somebody to chat to. We saw each other over the Westgate and over the Bolte. Bobby kept telling me that I should go on, she was slowing me down. I said I'd run with her until the nine kilometre mark - then I'd have my gel and let the Running Fairy really kick in (The running fairy is the annoying bint I turn into after having a gel. I sing. I smile and I speed up and pass lots of people... oops)
The thing I love most about running, after the fitness and the sense of achievement, is the generosity of spirit you can find with it. I loved that Bobby let me run with her- facing the road together. I love the encouragement you get from the other runners on the course. I love the fact that across the race, you get to meet so many different people - all running for different reason. It's wonderful.
Through the Docklands, I passed another woman I'd met on runs before. Said hi, gave some encouragement, and ran on. This encouragement -this camaraderieie among strangers - love it.
An hour and forty eight minutes later - I finished. Not my fastest time. Not my slowest time. The joy comes in the fact I participated in something - and loved every minute of it. I ran for the sake and the love of running. Nothing more.
However, there was one other great result for the day. By taking it easy and enjoying the run, I've come out of it in great shape - barely an ache on my body. My poor breasts are covered in bandaids, lavender oil and papaya cream to ease the irritation of the chafing, but that's it.
I walked the four kilometres home to Richmond and went and sat in Glen Waverley's bath for an hour with my book. The bath steeped with Epsom salts. The cat sitting in the bathroom door shouting at me. Breakfast at Tiffany's delighting the soul. It was bliss.
All I'm aware of now, other than a bit of lingering tiredness and the knowledge that over the next eight weeks I have some real training to do. The Great Ocean Road Half Marathon is not a walk in the park. 23 kilometres of hills from Kennetts Bridge to Apollo Bay. I'm not setting at time for myself, though I would like to be a little lighter and running better - not that I'm running that badly.
In the training comes the knowledge that I can do this, and do this well.
A great result all round.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Front Running
So much has happened this week.
So much has happened today.
Where to start.
Okay, first thing this morning I went for a run with Desi - the last before the run for the kids. I had my annual flu shot on Tuesday. The ensuing dead arm and slightly snotty nose made the thought of running a bit of a chore. Desi was in a similar mood and health state so we settled on a slow five kilometres along the river. About a kilometre in this is what we saw.
A good omen I thought.
This is my favourite time of the day in my favourite time of the year. I had to slow down and take a picture.
See, in this funny week, I've had a heap of opportunities thrown at me.
First up, running. This Sunday is the 14.38 km Run for the Kids. I haven't trained enough for the race, but I know I'm more than fit enough to complete the course and walk home after and not do myself any injury. Last week I ran with a couple of guys from work - we did the normal 8 km lap from work, round the Botanical Gardens and back in 56 minutes - doing intervals. So my strategy for Sunday - long intervals. Run five minutes, walk one or two - and do that all round the course. Should get me in in under an hour and forty minutes - well, that is the theory. I have a tarot reading in Daylesford the night before, so this is going to be a bit interesting. Long drive for two hours. Might go to the hot springs before the reading. You never know.
On the running, I've also challenged myself to the Great Ocean Road Half Marathon at the end of May. 23 kilometres along the Great Ocean Road. I've always wanted to do this run but injury and lack of accommodation have always been an issue in previous years. Then the other day Gloria asked if I'd like a blow up mattress with the people from Gaynor's running club.
Gaynor runs with Melbourne Front Runners, a gay and lesbian running club.
"Are you sure they'll have me?" I asked Gaynor.
"Of course they will. You can be our mascot." she replied.
"What, a slow, chubby, silly breeder for a mascot?"
"Why not? You're not that slow, chubby or silly and as a breeder you're not too bad."
I'm actually chuffed that G & G offered me the blow up mattress option in their rental in Apollo Bay for the night. I was thinking of asking a mate if I could borrow his camper for the night and stay at the caravan park. But that thing is a bitch to drive.
So as of this week, I'm back in half marathon training - it's actually a bit longer than a normal half marathon - 23 kilometres. I'm not going to put a time on this - not even looking to run the distance - long intervals all he way will be great - I just want to participate. I'm not at my best running weight, but my fitness and technique are a lot better than they were. Just to run this road will be wondeful. Reindert says it's one of the most picturesque marathons in the world. Must get some hills in and soon (anybody up for a few laps of the 1000 steps over Easter?)
After the run, showering, changing and going to work, I prepared for coffee with somebody who was courting me for a job.
My current contract is up tomorrow. It's been great. Interesting work, great people, learned a lot, but the project is coming to an end and the writers will be dropping off over the next two months or so - and being the last one in, I'm the first one out.
In the last few weeks I've been shoving my CV around. My current consultancy said they had something for me - but nothing concrete had been put in front of me. My old consultancy put me in front of a company for an interview on Tuesday. Never before have I felt so conflicted. One interviewer was great. The other gave me the impression that they would be a nightmare to work for. The interview went well, but I had this sinking feeling in my stomach that if I ended up in this company and working for the nightmare, I'd be miserable.
I've also spent the last fortnight playing phone tag with somebody I know from the old consultancy about a third job. After having to postpone this meeting we finally met up for a coffee.
Push comes to shove, she's headhunted me. She's been doing a bit of investigation - grilling some workmates about me (Allegedly I'm flaky but really good at what I do. Me, flaky! Hmph.)
We had a good conversation.
45 minutes later, I walked away with a six month contract in a top Australian company working on one of the largest projects about. On more money. Working with people I respect. On a job that will be a challenge.
Stoked!
I've never been headhunted before. It's a nice feeling, but rather daunting as well. My reputation is fine. It's the reputations of the people who recommended me that I fret for. What if they don't like me? What if I can't play nicely with the other kids in the office? I just don't want to let people down.
The one comment that sticks out for me is, "Well, I need a project eccentric. You're it. Only have room for one nut bag. You're it."
I've been tripping over my botton lip for most of the day. Eccentric?! Moi?
On skipping back to the office, we had a leaving morning tea for me. There goes the low carb diet. Never to mind.
Had lunch with an old podmate from Tin Can, String and Whistle - he was blown away at how happy I was. We talked about all the things we normally talk about at lunch. Who's leaving Tin Can String and Whistle, his kids, his parent's divorce, the joys of siblings, my running and fluid job prospects.
But today we talked about hope and opportunity most of all. The two things left in Pandora's Box after she opened it.
Really, I'm just happy that I don't have to fret about work. I feel strangely at peace.
So now I'm here, staring down ten days of freedom.
And all I have planned for the next ten days.
Lots of running
Lots of reading
Lots of writing - get a bit more of that novel underway
Finish the Greek Writing job that has been irritating me for the last few months
Clean the flat
I might go visit some friends
I have to spend some time with Glen Waverley's cat (and Kitt's cat is coming over Easter)
See a few films
Sounds pretty good to me.
So much has happened today.
Where to start.
Okay, first thing this morning I went for a run with Desi - the last before the run for the kids. I had my annual flu shot on Tuesday. The ensuing dead arm and slightly snotty nose made the thought of running a bit of a chore. Desi was in a similar mood and health state so we settled on a slow five kilometres along the river. About a kilometre in this is what we saw.
This is my favourite time of the day in my favourite time of the year. I had to slow down and take a picture.
See, in this funny week, I've had a heap of opportunities thrown at me.
First up, running. This Sunday is the 14.38 km Run for the Kids. I haven't trained enough for the race, but I know I'm more than fit enough to complete the course and walk home after and not do myself any injury. Last week I ran with a couple of guys from work - we did the normal 8 km lap from work, round the Botanical Gardens and back in 56 minutes - doing intervals. So my strategy for Sunday - long intervals. Run five minutes, walk one or two - and do that all round the course. Should get me in in under an hour and forty minutes - well, that is the theory. I have a tarot reading in Daylesford the night before, so this is going to be a bit interesting. Long drive for two hours. Might go to the hot springs before the reading. You never know.
On the running, I've also challenged myself to the Great Ocean Road Half Marathon at the end of May. 23 kilometres along the Great Ocean Road. I've always wanted to do this run but injury and lack of accommodation have always been an issue in previous years. Then the other day Gloria asked if I'd like a blow up mattress with the people from Gaynor's running club.
Gaynor runs with Melbourne Front Runners, a gay and lesbian running club.
"Are you sure they'll have me?" I asked Gaynor.
"Of course they will. You can be our mascot." she replied.
"What, a slow, chubby, silly breeder for a mascot?"
"Why not? You're not that slow, chubby or silly and as a breeder you're not too bad."
I'm actually chuffed that G & G offered me the blow up mattress option in their rental in Apollo Bay for the night. I was thinking of asking a mate if I could borrow his camper for the night and stay at the caravan park. But that thing is a bitch to drive.
So as of this week, I'm back in half marathon training - it's actually a bit longer than a normal half marathon - 23 kilometres. I'm not going to put a time on this - not even looking to run the distance - long intervals all he way will be great - I just want to participate. I'm not at my best running weight, but my fitness and technique are a lot better than they were. Just to run this road will be wondeful. Reindert says it's one of the most picturesque marathons in the world. Must get some hills in and soon (anybody up for a few laps of the 1000 steps over Easter?)
After the run, showering, changing and going to work, I prepared for coffee with somebody who was courting me for a job.
My current contract is up tomorrow. It's been great. Interesting work, great people, learned a lot, but the project is coming to an end and the writers will be dropping off over the next two months or so - and being the last one in, I'm the first one out.
In the last few weeks I've been shoving my CV around. My current consultancy said they had something for me - but nothing concrete had been put in front of me. My old consultancy put me in front of a company for an interview on Tuesday. Never before have I felt so conflicted. One interviewer was great. The other gave me the impression that they would be a nightmare to work for. The interview went well, but I had this sinking feeling in my stomach that if I ended up in this company and working for the nightmare, I'd be miserable.
I've also spent the last fortnight playing phone tag with somebody I know from the old consultancy about a third job. After having to postpone this meeting we finally met up for a coffee.
Push comes to shove, she's headhunted me. She's been doing a bit of investigation - grilling some workmates about me (Allegedly I'm flaky but really good at what I do. Me, flaky! Hmph.)
We had a good conversation.
45 minutes later, I walked away with a six month contract in a top Australian company working on one of the largest projects about. On more money. Working with people I respect. On a job that will be a challenge.
Stoked!
I've never been headhunted before. It's a nice feeling, but rather daunting as well. My reputation is fine. It's the reputations of the people who recommended me that I fret for. What if they don't like me? What if I can't play nicely with the other kids in the office? I just don't want to let people down.
The one comment that sticks out for me is, "Well, I need a project eccentric. You're it. Only have room for one nut bag. You're it."
I've been tripping over my botton lip for most of the day. Eccentric?! Moi?
On skipping back to the office, we had a leaving morning tea for me. There goes the low carb diet. Never to mind.
Had lunch with an old podmate from Tin Can, String and Whistle - he was blown away at how happy I was. We talked about all the things we normally talk about at lunch. Who's leaving Tin Can String and Whistle, his kids, his parent's divorce, the joys of siblings, my running and fluid job prospects.
But today we talked about hope and opportunity most of all. The two things left in Pandora's Box after she opened it.
Really, I'm just happy that I don't have to fret about work. I feel strangely at peace.
So now I'm here, staring down ten days of freedom.
And all I have planned for the next ten days.
Lots of running
Lots of reading
Lots of writing - get a bit more of that novel underway
Finish the Greek Writing job that has been irritating me for the last few months
Clean the flat
I might go visit some friends
I have to spend some time with Glen Waverley's cat (and Kitt's cat is coming over Easter)
See a few films
Sounds pretty good to me.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The Repeated Actions of Falling and Righting Oneself
Trin looked at me like an overbearing librarian."Pand, shut it!"
Desi was standing next to Trin, looking at me with surprise.
"Don't worry, Desi, she's always like this before a race. Never heard anybody moan so much about doing something she loves."
"Who's effing idea was it to do this? The sun is barely up." I moaned. "It's alright for you, you'll be done by nine 'o' clock. I have to wait about for another half hour to start and then I'm not going to finish for over two hours. This isn't fun. I'm surrounded by thousands of lycra clad people, all thinking exactly the same thing. This is shit!"
"Pand, shut it!" repeated Trin and Desi in unison.
Okay, I admit it. Part of my race day plan is to moan for at least ten minutes before the race. If I'm not getting clocked in the face by some person taking off a jumper, or tripping over a pram or having a dog growl at me, I'm being freaked out by the crowds - or in today's case, just a bit tired and grumpy because I didn't quite get enough sleep and I'd been up since 5.45. Desi, arrived at 6.20, Trin at 6.30 and we walked to the event together. You have to have a little bitch about that....
Thing is, my grizzling is my way of shedding my nerves. I'm standing there knowing that I have 21.1 kilometres to cover. Yes, I'm nuts. Yes, nobody else signed me up for this. Yes, I know I've done the training. Yes, I know I've done the distance before. But still! It's 7.30 on a damp, cool Sunday morning and I'm standing there about to wave my friends off on their ten kilometre run and I still have to schlep down St Kilda Road, Round Albert Park Lake and back again.
Phooey.
My race started at eight. Double Phooey.
I was thinking about going back to bed.
Once Trin and Desi were on their way, I continued my internal moaning, whilst doing some gentle stretching and keeping an eye out for Anna from the gym. She was down for the half as well. I didn't find her however. Nevermind.
Today was my fourth half marathon.
The first one was done in Adelaide in May 2009. Reindert walk/ran it with me (he did the full marathon - just met up with me at the two kilometer mark of the half. Two hours thirty nine it took me.
A few months later, I ran the Melbourne half marathon. A warm, sunny day, a bit too warm in many ways. Two hours forty four that one took me. Lost a toenail too.
Last year, in May, I did the Williamstown Half Marathon. Possibly the proudest moment of my life. I ran all the way. It was a seminal moment. It proved that I could do ANYTHING! The official time came in at 2.33.58.
Then I got injured and needed surgery and I had to give up running for six months and that was bloody awful. I was getting back into it in October and I did my right knee. Things didn't look good.
A year later - here I was lining up for the half again.
Of course, all of the rituals were performed the night before. A big bowl of pasta for dinner, my clothes set out, $20 put near my bra to go down the front of it (cab fare). The bum bag was packed. Credit card, driver's licence, gels, light weight house keys. Done.
The only two small changes to my racing outfit - I changed my go-faster red singlet top for a quick dry t-shirt as it was looking like rain - at least the rapid dry t-shirt wouldn't weigh me down or keep me cold. The other change was the black toe socks I picked up in Sydney. These are great - they stop my toes aching too much on longer runs. The other consideration - with the likelihood of rain, contact lenses were placed in my eyes, not my normal glasses. I hoped it wouldn't get too sunny - I don't have any non-prescription sunnies.
Desi, Trin an I walked the three kilometres to the MCG. Halfway there Trin said she'd left her heart rate monitor behind. I stopped myself from saying something. My heart rate monitor is like a critical piece of equiment - up there with my two bras. Being a control freak, I need to know what time I'm doing, where I'm heading, how I'm tracking. It was then I realised that I'd left my hat at home. Oh well, buy one when I get there. Which I did. Can't run without a hat. That's the rules on race day.
Finally, I set off. Passed through the arch at 8.03.
I've learned a lot over the last few years of running.
I don't hit my true stride until the five kilometre mark - I bitch and moan internally until then - and it's all a matter of seeing this period through.
Not being as fast as I would like doesn't upset me any more. Today's humidity made my apply the brakes a bit. Humidity and I don't get on - thankfully it wasn't any warmer.
There are all the normal obstacles to overcome. Not tripping at the drinks stations is one, the sea of plastic cups can be lethal.
The mental obtacles get easier as the race goes on. You tell yourself to be somewhere at a certain point - make the ten kilometre mark by 65 minutes (I got there around 66 minutes - okay with that - certainly not a failure on my part) Have a gel at the eight and sixteen kilometre marks (I had the spare at eighteen as well - was feeling a bit whooshy). Give encouragement where encouragement is due. You chat to a lot of people in the last few kilometres, egging each other on getting each other over the line.
One of the highlights of this race was passing a girl I ran with in the 2009 race. She and I sat on the same pace in 2009 and we helped each other along for an hour or so. It was lovely to see her. We ran together for about a kilometre before I bid her well. She was aiming for around 2.40. I was looking at around twenty minutes quicker. No point slowing myself down to that pace. I had some things to prove to myself.
The only downer to the race - invisible kilometre markings. Psychologically, these markers are critical. Just seeing that you only have seven, three, two kilometres to go can give you an edge. I remember seeing the one, two, three, six, ten, eleven, seventeen, eighteen and twenty kilometre markers only. Not happy, but I was running well, so I took pleasure in that. At the nineteen kilometre mark, one of the volunteers said that it was just ahead. I let out a whoop and a "thank f*ck for that!" before running around the corner and not finding it.
Oh well, I was nearly home.
Did I walk. For twenty or so metres at each drink station (sorry, I can't run and drink) and twice, I walked for about fifty metres to regulate my heart rate, which was up a bit high. No shame in that. Ostensibly, I ran all the way.
My legs held up really well, my breathing was good, except for an occasionaly dry cough - the joys of blossoms flying off the trees down St Kilda Road.
Finally, in the last kilometre, it dawned on me - I've just done this. I wouldn't say it was easy, but I've done it. My knee was good. My legs, though a touch stiff, were good. I was pretty tired tired, but fine.
Two hours, twenty one minutes and thirty five seconds after running through the first arch, I finished.
Twelve clear minutes faster than my last personal best.
And I cried.
Why cry, other than I'm physically wrecked, my toes feel like they're about to drop off and there are thousands of people jostling about?
I cry for a stupid reason. There is nobody here to meet me.
It's like, if a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
I run a half marathon, nobody is there to collect me at the end - have I really done it?
Well, I have. I did it. The results will be up in the next day or so on the website. Pandora Behr, aged 43 - runs a 2.21.35 half marathon, making the 10 kilometre mark at 66.05. I've done it! It will be a matter of public record in a day or so.
Despite not having a friend to meet up with, I regained my composure in a minute, found the water table, downed two nurofen and settled myself. My achilles throbbed for a few minutes, nothing some concentrated stretching didn't fix. Gathering my showbag, going to the toilet, buying a SPIbelt as a well done present (Small Personal Items Belt - much more efficient than the bum bag I've been using to haul things about during races) then I walked the three kilometres home, chatting with another half marathoner down Bridge Road and grabbed a coffee and a finger bun as a treat.
Reindert was very pleased - we caught up on skype when I got home, me, all sweaty, but happy. It's great to rehash a race with somebody who understands.
Doing a body check after my shower, my breasts have not been cut to ribbons. My toenails are intact. My limbs are working well. Just a bit tired, that is all. It's great.
Two years on from my first half marathon, what have I learned, other than I have the spirit of a warrior, that running requires generousity of spirit, tenacity and commitment, that not cutting your toenails can hobble you, that like cycling gear, running clothing is not particularly sexy and that not drinking at each water station should be done at your own risk?
What else other than reaping the health benefits of far fewer colds, a toned, slimmer frame, healthy bones and muscles and far more energy?
I think that running has taught me that I truly can overcome anything. If I can beat myself, I can take on the world. It's taught me that I am worth the time and effort it take to keep fit to such a level. It's taught me that there is some suffering that is truly worth it - that the sacrifice of mornings in bed, of drunken nights out, of time out on the road pays more dividends than the initial sacrifice. I'm truly worth all this effort.
Running has given me a sense of peace. Long may it continue.
I've just finished a book about barefoot and distance running. "Born to Run" by Christopher Mc Dougall details the lives of ultra-marathon runners, including a tribe of Mexican Indians, the Tarahumara and the wonderful, barking mad, inspiring Caballo Blanco - a guy by the name of Micah True.
Get the book. Read it. It's one of the best non-fictions books out there about running. Even if you're a non-runner.
Everything they say about the 'soul' of running is what I've believed for a while.
We're meant to do this.
After all, running is just the process of repeatedly falling down and getting back up again.
Desi was standing next to Trin, looking at me with surprise.
"Don't worry, Desi, she's always like this before a race. Never heard anybody moan so much about doing something she loves."
"Who's effing idea was it to do this? The sun is barely up." I moaned. "It's alright for you, you'll be done by nine 'o' clock. I have to wait about for another half hour to start and then I'm not going to finish for over two hours. This isn't fun. I'm surrounded by thousands of lycra clad people, all thinking exactly the same thing. This is shit!"
"Pand, shut it!" repeated Trin and Desi in unison.
Okay, I admit it. Part of my race day plan is to moan for at least ten minutes before the race. If I'm not getting clocked in the face by some person taking off a jumper, or tripping over a pram or having a dog growl at me, I'm being freaked out by the crowds - or in today's case, just a bit tired and grumpy because I didn't quite get enough sleep and I'd been up since 5.45. Desi, arrived at 6.20, Trin at 6.30 and we walked to the event together. You have to have a little bitch about that....
Thing is, my grizzling is my way of shedding my nerves. I'm standing there knowing that I have 21.1 kilometres to cover. Yes, I'm nuts. Yes, nobody else signed me up for this. Yes, I know I've done the training. Yes, I know I've done the distance before. But still! It's 7.30 on a damp, cool Sunday morning and I'm standing there about to wave my friends off on their ten kilometre run and I still have to schlep down St Kilda Road, Round Albert Park Lake and back again.
Phooey.
My race started at eight. Double Phooey.
I was thinking about going back to bed.
Once Trin and Desi were on their way, I continued my internal moaning, whilst doing some gentle stretching and keeping an eye out for Anna from the gym. She was down for the half as well. I didn't find her however. Nevermind.
Today was my fourth half marathon.
The first one was done in Adelaide in May 2009. Reindert walk/ran it with me (he did the full marathon - just met up with me at the two kilometer mark of the half. Two hours thirty nine it took me.
A few months later, I ran the Melbourne half marathon. A warm, sunny day, a bit too warm in many ways. Two hours forty four that one took me. Lost a toenail too.
Last year, in May, I did the Williamstown Half Marathon. Possibly the proudest moment of my life. I ran all the way. It was a seminal moment. It proved that I could do ANYTHING! The official time came in at 2.33.58.
Then I got injured and needed surgery and I had to give up running for six months and that was bloody awful. I was getting back into it in October and I did my right knee. Things didn't look good.
A year later - here I was lining up for the half again.
Of course, all of the rituals were performed the night before. A big bowl of pasta for dinner, my clothes set out, $20 put near my bra to go down the front of it (cab fare). The bum bag was packed. Credit card, driver's licence, gels, light weight house keys. Done.
Desi, Trin an I walked the three kilometres to the MCG. Halfway there Trin said she'd left her heart rate monitor behind. I stopped myself from saying something. My heart rate monitor is like a critical piece of equiment - up there with my two bras. Being a control freak, I need to know what time I'm doing, where I'm heading, how I'm tracking. It was then I realised that I'd left my hat at home. Oh well, buy one when I get there. Which I did. Can't run without a hat. That's the rules on race day.
Finally, I set off. Passed through the arch at 8.03.
I've learned a lot over the last few years of running.
I don't hit my true stride until the five kilometre mark - I bitch and moan internally until then - and it's all a matter of seeing this period through.
Not being as fast as I would like doesn't upset me any more. Today's humidity made my apply the brakes a bit. Humidity and I don't get on - thankfully it wasn't any warmer.
There are all the normal obstacles to overcome. Not tripping at the drinks stations is one, the sea of plastic cups can be lethal.
The mental obtacles get easier as the race goes on. You tell yourself to be somewhere at a certain point - make the ten kilometre mark by 65 minutes (I got there around 66 minutes - okay with that - certainly not a failure on my part) Have a gel at the eight and sixteen kilometre marks (I had the spare at eighteen as well - was feeling a bit whooshy). Give encouragement where encouragement is due. You chat to a lot of people in the last few kilometres, egging each other on getting each other over the line.
One of the highlights of this race was passing a girl I ran with in the 2009 race. She and I sat on the same pace in 2009 and we helped each other along for an hour or so. It was lovely to see her. We ran together for about a kilometre before I bid her well. She was aiming for around 2.40. I was looking at around twenty minutes quicker. No point slowing myself down to that pace. I had some things to prove to myself.
The only downer to the race - invisible kilometre markings. Psychologically, these markers are critical. Just seeing that you only have seven, three, two kilometres to go can give you an edge. I remember seeing the one, two, three, six, ten, eleven, seventeen, eighteen and twenty kilometre markers only. Not happy, but I was running well, so I took pleasure in that. At the nineteen kilometre mark, one of the volunteers said that it was just ahead. I let out a whoop and a "thank f*ck for that!" before running around the corner and not finding it.
Oh well, I was nearly home.
Did I walk. For twenty or so metres at each drink station (sorry, I can't run and drink) and twice, I walked for about fifty metres to regulate my heart rate, which was up a bit high. No shame in that. Ostensibly, I ran all the way.
My legs held up really well, my breathing was good, except for an occasionaly dry cough - the joys of blossoms flying off the trees down St Kilda Road.
Finally, in the last kilometre, it dawned on me - I've just done this. I wouldn't say it was easy, but I've done it. My knee was good. My legs, though a touch stiff, were good. I was pretty tired tired, but fine.
Two hours, twenty one minutes and thirty five seconds after running through the first arch, I finished.
Twelve clear minutes faster than my last personal best.
And I cried.
Why cry, other than I'm physically wrecked, my toes feel like they're about to drop off and there are thousands of people jostling about?
I cry for a stupid reason. There is nobody here to meet me.
It's like, if a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
I run a half marathon, nobody is there to collect me at the end - have I really done it?
Well, I have. I did it. The results will be up in the next day or so on the website. Pandora Behr, aged 43 - runs a 2.21.35 half marathon, making the 10 kilometre mark at 66.05. I've done it! It will be a matter of public record in a day or so.
Despite not having a friend to meet up with, I regained my composure in a minute, found the water table, downed two nurofen and settled myself. My achilles throbbed for a few minutes, nothing some concentrated stretching didn't fix. Gathering my showbag, going to the toilet, buying a SPIbelt as a well done present (Small Personal Items Belt - much more efficient than the bum bag I've been using to haul things about during races) then I walked the three kilometres home, chatting with another half marathoner down Bridge Road and grabbed a coffee and a finger bun as a treat.
Reindert was very pleased - we caught up on skype when I got home, me, all sweaty, but happy. It's great to rehash a race with somebody who understands.
Doing a body check after my shower, my breasts have not been cut to ribbons. My toenails are intact. My limbs are working well. Just a bit tired, that is all. It's great.
Two years on from my first half marathon, what have I learned, other than I have the spirit of a warrior, that running requires generousity of spirit, tenacity and commitment, that not cutting your toenails can hobble you, that like cycling gear, running clothing is not particularly sexy and that not drinking at each water station should be done at your own risk?
What else other than reaping the health benefits of far fewer colds, a toned, slimmer frame, healthy bones and muscles and far more energy?
I think that running has taught me that I truly can overcome anything. If I can beat myself, I can take on the world. It's taught me that I am worth the time and effort it take to keep fit to such a level. It's taught me that there is some suffering that is truly worth it - that the sacrifice of mornings in bed, of drunken nights out, of time out on the road pays more dividends than the initial sacrifice. I'm truly worth all this effort.
Running has given me a sense of peace. Long may it continue.
I've just finished a book about barefoot and distance running. "Born to Run" by Christopher Mc Dougall details the lives of ultra-marathon runners, including a tribe of Mexican Indians, the Tarahumara and the wonderful, barking mad, inspiring Caballo Blanco - a guy by the name of Micah True.
Get the book. Read it. It's one of the best non-fictions books out there about running. Even if you're a non-runner.
Everything they say about the 'soul' of running is what I've believed for a while.
We're meant to do this.
After all, running is just the process of repeatedly falling down and getting back up again.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Preparation
I'm enjoying this sense of calm.
In five days I'll be testing myself once again. It's all I ever seem to do - set myself challenges and see if I can do them. Thankfully, I appear to overcome most of the time.
For a change, I'm serene. I feel okay about this. I just have to keep telling myself that it's going to be okay. I've done it before I can do it again. I can't overthink this. It's just one morning of my life.
It's only 21.1 kilometres.
I will be rising early on Sunday. I'll be imbibing my normal triple ristretto and a vanilla protein shake - that's all I ever have on the morning of a race. My bum bag will be packed the night before. My spare, lightweight house keys, a couple of gels - one for the 8 km mark, one for the 16 km mark, one for after and a spare or two for any needy compatriots on the road. Also there will be my driver's licence, my credit card and twenty dollars which I jokingly refer to as cab fare. I normally run with twenty dollars tucked down my bra - just in case I get into trouble. To date, I've never used it.
Clothing wise - I now know which bra destroys my breasts leaving my poor,dear, girlie fun bags covered in chafe marks - I wont wear that one. Along with a crop top, my go-faster-red singlet I like to wear for races, 2XU compression tights, black toe socks, heart rate monitor, ASICS Kayanos and a white, stay dry hat. A spare bag might have a jumper in it to sit in the bagging area - then again, I might not. It will depend on the day. If it's not feeling too cold I'll leave it behind.
Other than my knee brace, I don't have any special accoutrements. The toenails will be cut short during the week. I left them long for my second race and lost a toenail. Don't want that to happen again.
So far, the day looks like it will be a good one to run in. 23 degrees celcius, fairly sunny, at 12 degrees overnight, so when we set off, it will be nice and cool - some of the marathoners will struggle if they're doing the race in anything over four hours though - I can see the last half hour being a bit rigorous - though thank heavens for daylight savings.
If Trin and Desi join me on the way in on the morning, I'll see them off on their 10 km run which starts half an hour before.
It's Desi's first fun run. She'll do brilliantly in the ten kilometre race.
I've lost count at how many I've done of these. I just know it's my fourth timed half marathon.
Anna from the gym might be running with me in the half - she normally runs a bit faster than me, but she has never gone the distance. I don't mind if I'm on my own. I like the challenge and I always meet people on the road - just like when I go on holidays.
I'm not setting out with a true race plan. My agenda is fairly simple. Run 21.1 kilometres. Don't hurt myself. Don't walk too much (I use the odd 50 metre walk as a way to regulate my heart rate - it's a nifty trick). Don't cry at the 18 kilometre mark when the pain really sets in - once you've passed the 19 kilometre mark you know you only have ten minutes left and it's all over. I normally cry around the 18 kilometre mark. Sprint the last hundred metres, as per the other races - because I can - because there is just enough in the tank to do that. Don't get dragged back by somebody else's too slow pace (this might hinder Anna if she runs with me - then again, might not) Drink at every water station. See what you can clock the 10 km at - if I'm there before 65 minutes - I'm cruising.
I don't want to put the pressure of a two hour fifteen half marathon on myself. I want to see what the day brings. All I know is that I'm running well at the moment. I went to spin class yesterday. First in over a year (that I've completed - I went in March, but my knee gave me jip so I left after the warm up). Finding that I could complete the class with ease felt good - going to try going a few times a week from now on to get the intervals at a better place. It will also mean ramping up the tension on th bike a bit. I forgot how much I love spin class, even if it breaks my bum for a day or so after - will just have to toughen up.
For all of the hype around running this half marathon, for the first time ever, I feel prepared. Mentally, I'm well set. Physically, I'm in great nick - slightly broken bum excepted and that will be right in a day or two. Emotionally, I'm not doing to badly either. I feel strong on the inside and out.
It's never been like this before.
So, bring it on.
I just wish I could sometimes tackle life with the grace of a long race.
In five days I'll be testing myself once again. It's all I ever seem to do - set myself challenges and see if I can do them. Thankfully, I appear to overcome most of the time.
For a change, I'm serene. I feel okay about this. I just have to keep telling myself that it's going to be okay. I've done it before I can do it again. I can't overthink this. It's just one morning of my life.
It's only 21.1 kilometres.
I will be rising early on Sunday. I'll be imbibing my normal triple ristretto and a vanilla protein shake - that's all I ever have on the morning of a race. My bum bag will be packed the night before. My spare, lightweight house keys, a couple of gels - one for the 8 km mark, one for the 16 km mark, one for after and a spare or two for any needy compatriots on the road. Also there will be my driver's licence, my credit card and twenty dollars which I jokingly refer to as cab fare. I normally run with twenty dollars tucked down my bra - just in case I get into trouble. To date, I've never used it.
Clothing wise - I now know which bra destroys my breasts leaving my poor,dear, girlie fun bags covered in chafe marks - I wont wear that one. Along with a crop top, my go-faster-red singlet I like to wear for races, 2XU compression tights, black toe socks, heart rate monitor, ASICS Kayanos and a white, stay dry hat. A spare bag might have a jumper in it to sit in the bagging area - then again, I might not. It will depend on the day. If it's not feeling too cold I'll leave it behind.
Other than my knee brace, I don't have any special accoutrements. The toenails will be cut short during the week. I left them long for my second race and lost a toenail. Don't want that to happen again.
So far, the day looks like it will be a good one to run in. 23 degrees celcius, fairly sunny, at 12 degrees overnight, so when we set off, it will be nice and cool - some of the marathoners will struggle if they're doing the race in anything over four hours though - I can see the last half hour being a bit rigorous - though thank heavens for daylight savings.
If Trin and Desi join me on the way in on the morning, I'll see them off on their 10 km run which starts half an hour before.
It's Desi's first fun run. She'll do brilliantly in the ten kilometre race.
I've lost count at how many I've done of these. I just know it's my fourth timed half marathon.
Anna from the gym might be running with me in the half - she normally runs a bit faster than me, but she has never gone the distance. I don't mind if I'm on my own. I like the challenge and I always meet people on the road - just like when I go on holidays.
I'm not setting out with a true race plan. My agenda is fairly simple. Run 21.1 kilometres. Don't hurt myself. Don't walk too much (I use the odd 50 metre walk as a way to regulate my heart rate - it's a nifty trick). Don't cry at the 18 kilometre mark when the pain really sets in - once you've passed the 19 kilometre mark you know you only have ten minutes left and it's all over. I normally cry around the 18 kilometre mark. Sprint the last hundred metres, as per the other races - because I can - because there is just enough in the tank to do that. Don't get dragged back by somebody else's too slow pace (this might hinder Anna if she runs with me - then again, might not) Drink at every water station. See what you can clock the 10 km at - if I'm there before 65 minutes - I'm cruising.
I don't want to put the pressure of a two hour fifteen half marathon on myself. I want to see what the day brings. All I know is that I'm running well at the moment. I went to spin class yesterday. First in over a year (that I've completed - I went in March, but my knee gave me jip so I left after the warm up). Finding that I could complete the class with ease felt good - going to try going a few times a week from now on to get the intervals at a better place. It will also mean ramping up the tension on th bike a bit. I forgot how much I love spin class, even if it breaks my bum for a day or so after - will just have to toughen up.
For all of the hype around running this half marathon, for the first time ever, I feel prepared. Mentally, I'm well set. Physically, I'm in great nick - slightly broken bum excepted and that will be right in a day or two. Emotionally, I'm not doing to badly either. I feel strong on the inside and out.
It's never been like this before.
So, bring it on.
I just wish I could sometimes tackle life with the grace of a long race.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Adelaide Mark II
This weekend's trip to Adelaide was far less fraught than the last time. I was there two weeks ago and the aftermath took me a couple of days to process. This time, I've come away unscathed - something that doesn't normally happen when on my return from my old home town.
Too much crap from many years ago tends to get dredged up.
Discussing this with Jonella at lunch today, I worked out that I left Adelaide twenty years ago almost to the week. October 1991 I departed. I left a rather shitty life - family troubles, non-existent career, no self-esteem, totally miserable. Twenty years later I could say that not much has changed - but it has. I'm happier. I'm employable. I'm solvent. And most importantly, I've got a very good idea about who I am.
The main reason for this visit was to run the Adelaide City to Bay Fun Run. It's a twelve kilometre hike from the centre of the city to Glenelg beach. When I was home in May, I challenged my sister to participating in the event, walking the distance. I'd run it, of course. She was up to the challenge, hoping the scant training on which she was going to embark was going to help her gain a bit of fitness. A four or five times a week, she and the dog would set out for an hour for a walk around the hilly Adelaide Southern suburbs. I'm really proud of her for sticking at the training and coming with me. Okay, I did shove in a sweetener - I paid for her entry and found her a new pair of trainers (we measured her up at a local footwear store and then found them on ebay at half price - I'm not that generous).
Arriving in Adelaide around lunchtime on the Saturday, Affectionately known as Manhands collected me at the airport with a cold. She didn't look too bad, but she was suffering a little. All that was planned for the Saturday was a nice relax and maybe wash the dog and that be all.
This sounded pretty good to me.
Washing the dog, a large, very affectionate Golden Retriever named Bozley, is one of my favorite things to do. Brings out the child in me. Changing into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and we got to work on the beast out on the back lawn. Boz tolerates being washed just for the rub down with a towel at the end. Then it was my job to brush him out over the rest of the day. By the time I'd finished there was half a yellow dog in a plastic supermarket bag. And I smelled like a clean, wet Golden Retriever. Attractive.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with Big Niece and Little Niece watching Pixar films. Monsters, Inc never loses it's appeal. Boo!
Sunday morning, Affectionately known as Manhands and I rose around 5.30 am, showered, changed and made our way down to Glenelg to park the car in a side street and make our way into town on the free tram.
Being her first "fun run" I showed her the ropes. The City to Bay run has been run for 39 years. It's the biggest fun run in Australia, per capita, as the guy on the microphone kept touting. 35000 people lined up near the Festival Theatre on King William Street. I think half of those people were in the loo queue - well it felt like it. Adelaide hasn't quite got the hang of mass public events it seems.
After twenty minutes of waiting, I was off on my run. Manhands would start about ten minutes later and walk the distance with a friend.
Somewhere just before Grote Street a tall, lumbering guy in a flourescent green t-shirt caught my eye. I passed on a bit of encouragement, as you do. Running is about generousity of spirit, so you pass on a bit of encouragement.
"Pandora?!"
"Kip?!"
I'd arranged to meet up with Kip, and old university friend after the race. Well, here he was, jogging along for the charity, Canteen. We ran together for a kilometre or so, then he needed to slow down and I speeded up. Said I'm meet up with him later. It was cool to meet up with somebody you haven't seen in twenty years.
And hour and seventeen minutes later I passed through the blow up arch. I would have been happy with an hour and twenty, but the Running Gods were on my side. Thrilled with my time.
It was mayhem at the end of the run, so I went to find a bit of civilisation a few streets away, where some other friends had congregated for breakfast. It was great to catch up with them while I waited for Affectionately known as Manhands to walk the distance (and she did well, came in in under two hours, with a cold - very proud of her)
Later, Kip and I met for coffee. We arranged to meet on the proviso that he drop me at the airport, saving my brother-in-law the trip.
It's strange. Kip and I knew each other at college. We were in the same year. He was always a nice guy - a bit nerdy, but nice. Like me, he wasn't part of the cool brigade, but he wasn't unpopular either.
How to you wrap twenty years of your life up into a neat little package? How do you compartmentalise twenty years? It was lovely to see the Kip was in a great space. Career changes, marriage, kids, travel. He's married to his girlfriend from college days. He seems really happy. It's wonderful to see.
For me, it's just nice to know that I no longer feel inadequate being 43, umarried and childless - and I don't feel like I have to justify any of my decisions. I finally feel like I'm achieving something, even if I do have to go find a new job in a few weeks.
Besides- I'd just run my fastest 10 kilometres (63 minutes) and a great run. To add to the equation, I'd beaten Kip in by ten minutes... but that isn't fair - I'm trained up - we wasn't - I run regularly - he doesn't. But still ...
Meeting up was Kip was great on many other levels - and I truly hope it's not another twenty years before we catch up again. It would be great to see his wife, Katie, as well.
For me, I just remember how inadequate I felt through university. How unworthy, ugly, fat and stupid I thought I was. After having it drummed into me that I was fat and ugly and stupid for so many years, yesterday was a bit of a revelation. All that stuff has gone. It was lovely to be able to sit down, some twenty years later, with somebody who knew me back then and just be myself. To just be, and to acknowledge that things are alright.
My life certainly not the same as everybody else's path - but that is okay too.
It's just the way it is.
And it provides a little bit of courage for another reunion I have in a few weeks time. But that is another story for another day.
Too much crap from many years ago tends to get dredged up.
Discussing this with Jonella at lunch today, I worked out that I left Adelaide twenty years ago almost to the week. October 1991 I departed. I left a rather shitty life - family troubles, non-existent career, no self-esteem, totally miserable. Twenty years later I could say that not much has changed - but it has. I'm happier. I'm employable. I'm solvent. And most importantly, I've got a very good idea about who I am.
The main reason for this visit was to run the Adelaide City to Bay Fun Run. It's a twelve kilometre hike from the centre of the city to Glenelg beach. When I was home in May, I challenged my sister to participating in the event, walking the distance. I'd run it, of course. She was up to the challenge, hoping the scant training on which she was going to embark was going to help her gain a bit of fitness. A four or five times a week, she and the dog would set out for an hour for a walk around the hilly Adelaide Southern suburbs. I'm really proud of her for sticking at the training and coming with me. Okay, I did shove in a sweetener - I paid for her entry and found her a new pair of trainers (we measured her up at a local footwear store and then found them on ebay at half price - I'm not that generous).
Arriving in Adelaide around lunchtime on the Saturday, Affectionately known as Manhands collected me at the airport with a cold. She didn't look too bad, but she was suffering a little. All that was planned for the Saturday was a nice relax and maybe wash the dog and that be all.
This sounded pretty good to me.
Washing the dog, a large, very affectionate Golden Retriever named Bozley, is one of my favorite things to do. Brings out the child in me. Changing into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and we got to work on the beast out on the back lawn. Boz tolerates being washed just for the rub down with a towel at the end. Then it was my job to brush him out over the rest of the day. By the time I'd finished there was half a yellow dog in a plastic supermarket bag. And I smelled like a clean, wet Golden Retriever. Attractive.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with Big Niece and Little Niece watching Pixar films. Monsters, Inc never loses it's appeal. Boo!
Sunday morning, Affectionately known as Manhands and I rose around 5.30 am, showered, changed and made our way down to Glenelg to park the car in a side street and make our way into town on the free tram.
Being her first "fun run" I showed her the ropes. The City to Bay run has been run for 39 years. It's the biggest fun run in Australia, per capita, as the guy on the microphone kept touting. 35000 people lined up near the Festival Theatre on King William Street. I think half of those people were in the loo queue - well it felt like it. Adelaide hasn't quite got the hang of mass public events it seems.
After twenty minutes of waiting, I was off on my run. Manhands would start about ten minutes later and walk the distance with a friend.
Somewhere just before Grote Street a tall, lumbering guy in a flourescent green t-shirt caught my eye. I passed on a bit of encouragement, as you do. Running is about generousity of spirit, so you pass on a bit of encouragement.
"Pandora?!"
"Kip?!"
I'd arranged to meet up with Kip, and old university friend after the race. Well, here he was, jogging along for the charity, Canteen. We ran together for a kilometre or so, then he needed to slow down and I speeded up. Said I'm meet up with him later. It was cool to meet up with somebody you haven't seen in twenty years.
And hour and seventeen minutes later I passed through the blow up arch. I would have been happy with an hour and twenty, but the Running Gods were on my side. Thrilled with my time.
It was mayhem at the end of the run, so I went to find a bit of civilisation a few streets away, where some other friends had congregated for breakfast. It was great to catch up with them while I waited for Affectionately known as Manhands to walk the distance (and she did well, came in in under two hours, with a cold - very proud of her)
Later, Kip and I met for coffee. We arranged to meet on the proviso that he drop me at the airport, saving my brother-in-law the trip.
It's strange. Kip and I knew each other at college. We were in the same year. He was always a nice guy - a bit nerdy, but nice. Like me, he wasn't part of the cool brigade, but he wasn't unpopular either.
How to you wrap twenty years of your life up into a neat little package? How do you compartmentalise twenty years? It was lovely to see the Kip was in a great space. Career changes, marriage, kids, travel. He's married to his girlfriend from college days. He seems really happy. It's wonderful to see.
For me, it's just nice to know that I no longer feel inadequate being 43, umarried and childless - and I don't feel like I have to justify any of my decisions. I finally feel like I'm achieving something, even if I do have to go find a new job in a few weeks.
Besides- I'd just run my fastest 10 kilometres (63 minutes) and a great run. To add to the equation, I'd beaten Kip in by ten minutes... but that isn't fair - I'm trained up - we wasn't - I run regularly - he doesn't. But still ...
Meeting up was Kip was great on many other levels - and I truly hope it's not another twenty years before we catch up again. It would be great to see his wife, Katie, as well.
For me, I just remember how inadequate I felt through university. How unworthy, ugly, fat and stupid I thought I was. After having it drummed into me that I was fat and ugly and stupid for so many years, yesterday was a bit of a revelation. All that stuff has gone. It was lovely to be able to sit down, some twenty years later, with somebody who knew me back then and just be myself. To just be, and to acknowledge that things are alright.
My life certainly not the same as everybody else's path - but that is okay too.
It's just the way it is.
And it provides a little bit of courage for another reunion I have in a few weeks time. But that is another story for another day.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
I run, therefore I am
Yes, I know I'm misquoting Descartes, but there is something very intrinsic about my identity, my psyche, my being and the fact that I am a runner.
Running is very zen.
Running is completely and totaly about headspace once you have the mechanics sorted out.
Running demands a generosity of spirit.
Running can make you feel better than the bestest poo and the bestest orgasm rolled into one (there is nothing as underated as a good poo), especially after you stop.
Running is fairly uncomplicated, yet strangely harrowing - a divine paradox.
Most of all, running provides part of my identity - but only a small part of it - and it hinges on many other bits of me.
And days like today make me love running even more.
(Okay, non-runners, roll your eyes now - I know, another diatribe about running. Joy, joy, happy, joy.)
Two years ago, almost to the day, Reindert and I set off on the five kilometre Grape Run, up in the Yarra Valley - a lovely short jog though the grape vines. Another colleague, Dan, was also with us. It was Dan's first timed run - my fourth. Reindert, a veteran of too many marathons, split his time between us, making sure we were doing okay. Dan finished a minute or so in front of me. Reindert, on that day, ran his slowest ever five kilometres ( or 4.2 kms by both his and Dan's Garmins)
Today, I set off alone on the 13.5 kilometre version of the event. I've become used to running as part of a posse. I normally run with Trin, who, though her natural pace is a little slower than mine, lets me run and enjoy the event rather than getting all super-competetive with myself. Kez was supposed to do the event, but she's done her knee. Another of the group, Leah, was also supposed to join me, but she's also been banned from running for medical reasons. So today, I was on my lonesome.
So, I rose early, dressed, cleaned my teeth, got in Neville, drove to Healesville, where I parked Neville and alighted a bus for Yarra Glen with a few hundred other nutters.
First job, set my Facebook Status.
Pandora Behr. 9.30 a.m. "Reminder to self. I is da running fairy. I piss off everybody when I run cos I smile and sing and run. I is a gazelle, albeit a lumpy one. It's only 13.5 kilometers. JFDI. Moosh moosh, Pand. ( guess who's had her first gel...)"
At Yarra Glen, I found my tummy number (573), attached my timing tag to my shoe, joined the loo queue for ten minutes, did some mild stretching and waited for the starting gun with the rest of the rabble - from the looks of the crowd at the country oval, around five hundred of us. Slightly worrying is the ache in my right temple. A headache. Just what I need!
One bad thing about running events - portaloos. Fine before the events. Shocking after. Portaloos are never pretty, but they're an unfortunate necessity. The appear to be a bit better if only females use them - something about the knowledge that things need to be left how you found them, but we won't go into that here.
At ten a.m., the starters gun goes bang and we're off. Running down a long country road to the next town some thirteen kilometres away.
The first rule in my head kicks in - don't start off too quick. I'm dreadful at this, but I'm slowly learning to pace myself. I set myself near the back of the pack - it's where I run. I've also got to somehow try and forget the headache that's beating away. Rather than dwell, we do. Just get on with it. Moosh moosh, Pand.
I'm not a fast runner by any stretch, but I am consistent. Being alone, I get to look about, relax and just get on with it. Tits out, shoulders back - do it early and it stops the hunchies mid-race - learned this one over time too.
There's nobody else to worry about but me. Nobody to coach through hills and breathing stress and the stitch. Just me, and the road, and about five hundred other barking mad sods.
Just after the first kilometre I meet another running wombat (wombats - "chunky" runners - more muscle than bone - don't look like they should run but they have the stamina of a Himalayan Sherpa) Garry had bikie beard, tattoos, obligatory Ramones t-shirt, an incisor missiing and a skull encrusted bandana on his probably bald head. He appeared to be struggling a little.
"Your first run?" I asked.
"Yep. Furthest I've run is 8 kms. My first big run."
"Cool. Why are you running?" I like to ask this - you get some great responses.
"Gave up smoking 18 months ago (mandatory high five), and my kids, eight and five, are on the cross country team. I want to keep up with them."
"Cool. Now what's your strategy? How are you going to get through this?"
"Buggered if I know - just keep running."
Hmm. That will see him in an ambulance.
"Can I make a suggestion. Try this. Make sure you drink at every water station - it's warmer than you think. Slow down going up the hills - and a word of warning - between kilometre nine and ten is a great-big-fuck-off-hill. Don't let it beat you. Walk it if you have to."
"I wish I met you at the start of the race."
"You did. You're running faster than me, run on - I'll see you around kilometre eight."
I ran on in the shadow of Garry. Gorgeous day, sunshiney and breezy, surround by gentle hills and farm animals. The Yarra Valley reminds me of where I grew up. It's just a joy to run in the countryside. Blissful. Around two or three degrees warmer than like to run in - but the gentle head wind made things bearable. I just pushed on. When then uphills got a bit much, I walked, and ran the downhills and flats. I drank at the water stations. It was all in the plan. Nobody to beat. Nobody to coach. Nobody waiting for me at the end of the race. This was for me.
My game plan - have a gel at the 8 km mark and try and finish in around an hour and forty. After the City to Surf I thought this realistic. The 14 kilometre City to Surf was the worst race I've ever run, even though I ended up enjoying it. I came in in an hour and fifty minutes. Not a great time, but under the circumstances, fine.
My run and occasionally walk a bit routine put me on pace with a woman of about my age running in a CanToo shirt. I'd walk, she'd pass me. I'd run and pass her again. This kept happening. We'd acknowledge each other as we passed.
I took my gel at the eight kilometre mark with a cup of water. Ping. It's the return of the running fairy!
At the nine kilometre mark the great-big-fuck-off-hill started. Two years ago this was nearly my undoing. I remember I wanted to cry. Today's strategy - scout run it. Run twenty steps, walk twenty steps. Attack it that way. It's just a bloody hill as I'm fond of telling anybody who complains about them. Hills happen. Hills are good for you. Hill training is the best way to improve your running. Wish I'd listened to Reindert years ago. I regularly do hills now as a part of my training.
My philosophy about running up hills. One foot in front of the other. Don't let them freak you out. It's just a bloody hill. Just like life. It's just there to be overcome. Don't be frightened. Take it in your own time.
My friend in the CanToo t-shirt caught up with me.
"You're a freaking inspiration." I told her.
"So are you. You keep walking and then you pass me again."
"Yeah - sorry about that. Hi, I'm Pandora."
"Hi, I'm Brigid."
Brigid, it turns out, is also training for the Melbourne Half Marathon. At 50, she was also fairly new to running. We chatted. Took our mind off things. We do similar things in corporate land. Brigid's husband set up CanToo. She was telling me about what is referred to as the "Mid Life Marathon". I can sort of see where she's coming from. I'm hoping to do my mid-life marathon next year in New York.
Once the big-fuck-off-hill was finished, there was only three kilometres left. My watch was saying we'd been at it for an hour and ten. What! I'd clocked the nine kilometre mark at an hour and one minute. Okay - calm Pandora.
Today wasn't supposed to be about time. Today was a race to enjoy, look at the pretty grapevines and check out the odd male rear end. That is all.
I was running free. Running at my true pace. The pride swelled. This is what it's about. Doing your best. Getting on top of things. Getting out there and showing yourself what you can do. How often do you get that?
Coming into Healesville around the twelve kilometre mark, we catch up with Garry - plodding along, but still going.
"Hello."
"You said you'd see me around kilometre eight."
"Well, I'm seeing you now. How are you travelling, Garry?"
"I've run all the way. Some walkers passed me going up that great-big-fuck-off-hill, but I still ran it."
"Brilliant!"
"Thanks for the advice."
"My pleasure. Now I'm going to do a very unladylike thing and sprint to the finish. See you in a minute or so."
And I took off. There was enough in the tank.
13.5 kilometres. An hour and thirty two minutes and a handful of seconds. Over undulating hills (with one big-fuck-off-hill at the nine kilometre mark.)
In the words of Blur. WHOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO!
Okay, I'm training properly. I'm not injured. I didn't have my step-sister doing her best angle grinder impression in the next bed during the night. I was well rested and ready to go, but still. Doing a pace of around 6.30 minutes a kilometre, over hills, over distance - I could not be prouder of myself.
Brigid and Garry arrived a minute or so later. Obligatory high fives. It's great to have somebody waiting at the end for you.
Timing tag retreived, showbag found, water imbibed, long stretches - I was feeling fantastic. My legs had no pain. The headache had gone.
After a quick stop at the chemist for some ibuprufen (take two after a long race and it help keep muscle pain at bay - great tip, Kez) I climbed into Neville and made my way home.
A few hours on, I'm still on a high.
The only very minor downside to this run. My bra rubbed to the point of bleeding once again. I'm not as lucky as men, who just have to stick bandaids over their nipples and they're fine. My poor girlie fun bags are now covered in bandaids and will be for a week or so, such was the chafing. The offending brassiere in now in the bin, a new one ordered off ebay already.
I've beaten myself. I've faced a few fears. I've shown me, and the world, what it is I can do, on my own, with nobody around to push me too far and fast or slow me down. It's shown my determination, courage and strength.
If running isn't the perfect metaphor for life, I don't know what is.
Pand xxx (AKA The Running Fairy)
Running is very zen.
Running is completely and totaly about headspace once you have the mechanics sorted out.
Running demands a generosity of spirit.
Running can make you feel better than the bestest poo and the bestest orgasm rolled into one (there is nothing as underated as a good poo), especially after you stop.
Running is fairly uncomplicated, yet strangely harrowing - a divine paradox.
Most of all, running provides part of my identity - but only a small part of it - and it hinges on many other bits of me.
And days like today make me love running even more.
(Okay, non-runners, roll your eyes now - I know, another diatribe about running. Joy, joy, happy, joy.)
Two years ago, almost to the day, Reindert and I set off on the five kilometre Grape Run, up in the Yarra Valley - a lovely short jog though the grape vines. Another colleague, Dan, was also with us. It was Dan's first timed run - my fourth. Reindert, a veteran of too many marathons, split his time between us, making sure we were doing okay. Dan finished a minute or so in front of me. Reindert, on that day, ran his slowest ever five kilometres ( or 4.2 kms by both his and Dan's Garmins)
Today, I set off alone on the 13.5 kilometre version of the event. I've become used to running as part of a posse. I normally run with Trin, who, though her natural pace is a little slower than mine, lets me run and enjoy the event rather than getting all super-competetive with myself. Kez was supposed to do the event, but she's done her knee. Another of the group, Leah, was also supposed to join me, but she's also been banned from running for medical reasons. So today, I was on my lonesome.
So, I rose early, dressed, cleaned my teeth, got in Neville, drove to Healesville, where I parked Neville and alighted a bus for Yarra Glen with a few hundred other nutters.
First job, set my Facebook Status.
Pandora Behr. 9.30 a.m. "Reminder to self. I is da running fairy. I piss off everybody when I run cos I smile and sing and run. I is a gazelle, albeit a lumpy one. It's only 13.5 kilometers. JFDI. Moosh moosh, Pand. ( guess who's had her first gel...)"
At Yarra Glen, I found my tummy number (573), attached my timing tag to my shoe, joined the loo queue for ten minutes, did some mild stretching and waited for the starting gun with the rest of the rabble - from the looks of the crowd at the country oval, around five hundred of us. Slightly worrying is the ache in my right temple. A headache. Just what I need!
One bad thing about running events - portaloos. Fine before the events. Shocking after. Portaloos are never pretty, but they're an unfortunate necessity. The appear to be a bit better if only females use them - something about the knowledge that things need to be left how you found them, but we won't go into that here.
At ten a.m., the starters gun goes bang and we're off. Running down a long country road to the next town some thirteen kilometres away.
The first rule in my head kicks in - don't start off too quick. I'm dreadful at this, but I'm slowly learning to pace myself. I set myself near the back of the pack - it's where I run. I've also got to somehow try and forget the headache that's beating away. Rather than dwell, we do. Just get on with it. Moosh moosh, Pand.
I'm not a fast runner by any stretch, but I am consistent. Being alone, I get to look about, relax and just get on with it. Tits out, shoulders back - do it early and it stops the hunchies mid-race - learned this one over time too.
There's nobody else to worry about but me. Nobody to coach through hills and breathing stress and the stitch. Just me, and the road, and about five hundred other barking mad sods.
Just after the first kilometre I meet another running wombat (wombats - "chunky" runners - more muscle than bone - don't look like they should run but they have the stamina of a Himalayan Sherpa) Garry had bikie beard, tattoos, obligatory Ramones t-shirt, an incisor missiing and a skull encrusted bandana on his probably bald head. He appeared to be struggling a little.
"Your first run?" I asked.
"Yep. Furthest I've run is 8 kms. My first big run."
"Cool. Why are you running?" I like to ask this - you get some great responses.
"Gave up smoking 18 months ago (mandatory high five), and my kids, eight and five, are on the cross country team. I want to keep up with them."
"Cool. Now what's your strategy? How are you going to get through this?"
"Buggered if I know - just keep running."
Hmm. That will see him in an ambulance.
"Can I make a suggestion. Try this. Make sure you drink at every water station - it's warmer than you think. Slow down going up the hills - and a word of warning - between kilometre nine and ten is a great-big-fuck-off-hill. Don't let it beat you. Walk it if you have to."
"I wish I met you at the start of the race."
"You did. You're running faster than me, run on - I'll see you around kilometre eight."
I ran on in the shadow of Garry. Gorgeous day, sunshiney and breezy, surround by gentle hills and farm animals. The Yarra Valley reminds me of where I grew up. It's just a joy to run in the countryside. Blissful. Around two or three degrees warmer than like to run in - but the gentle head wind made things bearable. I just pushed on. When then uphills got a bit much, I walked, and ran the downhills and flats. I drank at the water stations. It was all in the plan. Nobody to beat. Nobody to coach. Nobody waiting for me at the end of the race. This was for me.
My game plan - have a gel at the 8 km mark and try and finish in around an hour and forty. After the City to Surf I thought this realistic. The 14 kilometre City to Surf was the worst race I've ever run, even though I ended up enjoying it. I came in in an hour and fifty minutes. Not a great time, but under the circumstances, fine.
My run and occasionally walk a bit routine put me on pace with a woman of about my age running in a CanToo shirt. I'd walk, she'd pass me. I'd run and pass her again. This kept happening. We'd acknowledge each other as we passed.
I took my gel at the eight kilometre mark with a cup of water. Ping. It's the return of the running fairy!
At the nine kilometre mark the great-big-fuck-off-hill started. Two years ago this was nearly my undoing. I remember I wanted to cry. Today's strategy - scout run it. Run twenty steps, walk twenty steps. Attack it that way. It's just a bloody hill as I'm fond of telling anybody who complains about them. Hills happen. Hills are good for you. Hill training is the best way to improve your running. Wish I'd listened to Reindert years ago. I regularly do hills now as a part of my training.
My philosophy about running up hills. One foot in front of the other. Don't let them freak you out. It's just a bloody hill. Just like life. It's just there to be overcome. Don't be frightened. Take it in your own time.
My friend in the CanToo t-shirt caught up with me.
"You're a freaking inspiration." I told her.
"So are you. You keep walking and then you pass me again."
"Yeah - sorry about that. Hi, I'm Pandora."
"Hi, I'm Brigid."
Brigid, it turns out, is also training for the Melbourne Half Marathon. At 50, she was also fairly new to running. We chatted. Took our mind off things. We do similar things in corporate land. Brigid's husband set up CanToo. She was telling me about what is referred to as the "Mid Life Marathon". I can sort of see where she's coming from. I'm hoping to do my mid-life marathon next year in New York.
Once the big-fuck-off-hill was finished, there was only three kilometres left. My watch was saying we'd been at it for an hour and ten. What! I'd clocked the nine kilometre mark at an hour and one minute. Okay - calm Pandora.
Today wasn't supposed to be about time. Today was a race to enjoy, look at the pretty grapevines and check out the odd male rear end. That is all.
I was running free. Running at my true pace. The pride swelled. This is what it's about. Doing your best. Getting on top of things. Getting out there and showing yourself what you can do. How often do you get that?
Coming into Healesville around the twelve kilometre mark, we catch up with Garry - plodding along, but still going.
"Hello."
"You said you'd see me around kilometre eight."
"Well, I'm seeing you now. How are you travelling, Garry?"
"I've run all the way. Some walkers passed me going up that great-big-fuck-off-hill, but I still ran it."
"Brilliant!"
"Thanks for the advice."
"My pleasure. Now I'm going to do a very unladylike thing and sprint to the finish. See you in a minute or so."
And I took off. There was enough in the tank.
13.5 kilometres. An hour and thirty two minutes and a handful of seconds. Over undulating hills (with one big-fuck-off-hill at the nine kilometre mark.)
In the words of Blur. WHOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO!
Okay, I'm training properly. I'm not injured. I didn't have my step-sister doing her best angle grinder impression in the next bed during the night. I was well rested and ready to go, but still. Doing a pace of around 6.30 minutes a kilometre, over hills, over distance - I could not be prouder of myself.
Brigid and Garry arrived a minute or so later. Obligatory high fives. It's great to have somebody waiting at the end for you.
Timing tag retreived, showbag found, water imbibed, long stretches - I was feeling fantastic. My legs had no pain. The headache had gone.
After a quick stop at the chemist for some ibuprufen (take two after a long race and it help keep muscle pain at bay - great tip, Kez) I climbed into Neville and made my way home.
A few hours on, I'm still on a high.
The only very minor downside to this run. My bra rubbed to the point of bleeding once again. I'm not as lucky as men, who just have to stick bandaids over their nipples and they're fine. My poor girlie fun bags are now covered in bandaids and will be for a week or so, such was the chafing. The offending brassiere in now in the bin, a new one ordered off ebay already.
I've beaten myself. I've faced a few fears. I've shown me, and the world, what it is I can do, on my own, with nobody around to push me too far and fast or slow me down. It's shown my determination, courage and strength.
If running isn't the perfect metaphor for life, I don't know what is.
Pand xxx (AKA The Running Fairy)
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Best Weekend
There are a number of things I have learned this weekend.
I'm sitting here in my dressing gown just trying to find the words describe what this weekend actually has meant to me.
I will get to that shortly.
First of all, this blog needs a soundtrack - and for purposes to be divulged, I'm naming the song of the blog Australian Crawl's "Reckless". It's my favorite song ever. I've also had it going in my head on repeat since Saturday afternoon as I watched the Manly ferry cut it's way to Circular Quay from the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
I've just peeled off my clothes and done a load of washing. My clothing is now mostly size 14s. It wasn't there at the start of the year. In January, my clothes were more an 18-20. I was nearly 15 kilos heavier in January.
In the wash is also my running gear. I ran the better part of 14 kilometres today - and other than feeling tired, all is well. My feet are a bit sore, but I reckon I've done a marathon's worth of walking this weekend.
This weekend was the weekend a group of us, weight loss warriors in our own way, went and climbed a mountain - or in this case, a big Bridge. The group of six of us who went up the Sydney Harbour Bridge on the climb have lost in total more than 250 kilograms between us - or three, average, grown women. It's an acheivement. It's an amazing acheivement when you think about it. This Bridge Climb was to celebrate our acheivements - a reward for the hard work - but this was only a part small part of the riches of the weekend.
My first lesson learned is that I am a very, very blessed woman.
I've spent most of the weekend in the company of some very, very wonderful people - and I am honoured to know them and honoured to call them my friends (and in JD's case, family)
When this bridge climb weekend was planned, I made it known that part of the weekend would be spent celebrating my birthday, which is happening at the end of this week. As this weekend coincided with the City to Surf run, it appeared that my friends Gloria and Gaynor would be around in Sydney Town too - as Gaynor was keen to participate in the run too. Kez and Trin were coming, that was always part of the plan. Then once the plan was hatched, JD was asked along too.
There were stirrings from others in the group that there was clubbing and late nights to be had after the climb, the serious runners were reluctant to do this, so we planned a posh dinner away from the doof doof music - where and when to be decided nearer the time. It would be a great chance to celebrate my birthday in a manner befitting. Besides, I stopped clubbing back when God was a boy and who want's to go out and get smashed the night before a 14 kilometre fast hike over hills?
So I've been looking forward to all this for months. The Bridge Climb. Posh Dinner. City to Surf.
It was just far more rewarding that I ever could have envisaged.
:Lesson Two: Posh Dinners are the best - particularly when the company is fantastic
After asking about for restaurants tips in Sydney, a city of which I'm not particularly fond, Sake Restaurant in The Rocks was suggested. My friend Millie, an inveterate foodie, highly recommended the place. She did VERY well to suggest it. A table for six was duly booked about a month ago. It was in the price range we desired and as I found out last week, it was highlighted on the penultimate episode of Masterchef as one of the best Japanese restaurants in town.
As always, when booking, there was a bit of trepidation. Would my friends get on? Kez and Trin are party of my running fraternity. Gloria is one of my closest friends, her partner, Gaynor,also a runner, is delightful. JD had never met these people. I don't normally mix groups of friends.
Shouldn't have worried.
The place was gorgeous and the food was incredible - one of the best meals I've had in years. Making the night even more special was the company. I don't think I've laughed so much in ages. Very special friends made it a night to remember - along with the scallops cerviche and the Japanese Lime dessert and the plum wine and the ... superb meal.
Third Lesson. When the going gets tough, the tough get ice cream.
The only small downer to the weekend was when walking home from dinner on Saturday night, JD got a call on my phone. Trista had been admitted to hospital with complications. JD took the news on the chin. Her mum was in good hands and there was nothing she could do. She's see her as soon as she got back to Adelaide. Pragmatic to the last, the four of us went and got ice cream at a nearby gelati shop - complete with sixteen flavours of chocolate gelati. It seemed fitting. My coconut gelati was brilliant.
Lesson Four: There is not that much you can do about snoring.
JD snores like a tractor on heat. Trin doesn't snore. She has a mouth guard that prevents her from doing that.
I know I snore - I allegedly "cute" snore - not too loudly, but still, I can't cast the first stone.
Regardless, wired on ice cream, knowing I had to be up at 6.30 to prepare for a race the next morning, JD is a foot away from me in the next bed making a noise that would put a Massey Ferguson to shame.
Joy.
Trin has put in her mouthguard and earplugs and appears to be off in the land of nod.
I'm lying there, shaking JDs mattress periodically hoping she'll turn over. Shaking the mattress stops the snoring for a minute or so, then she starts up again.
How does one get to sleep? Normal methods of relaxing are not available (like I'm going to do "that" with two other women in the room - like no... I have standards) I don't take pills - and I don't have them to take anyway. I don't have ear plugs. The pillows are thin and they let noise through. I could smother JD in her sleep, but she is my step-sister. My step-dad would be mad if I did that.
In the end, I get about three hours of unbroken sleep for the night.
Joy.
Lesson Five: Lack of sleep does not make for good running.
Trin, Kez, Gaynor and myself made our way to the start of the City to Surf at 7.30. It has been raining overnight. It was cool. There's a bit of drizzle about.
There were 85,000 other participants!
I'm not happy. I hate crowds. I'm tired. My knee is giving me jip. I was in my "Sod this for a game of soldiers mood." The other's area aware of my anxiety and I'm doing the best I can to contain it.
Thing is, I came up to do this run - so run I did. I'm far too bloody minded not to. And tight. There's no refunds for late drop outs.
The gun went off at 8.29 a.m.
Kez and Gaynor went on ahead . They're quite evenly matched runners and they streaked off. They got through the course in an hour and 23 minutes.
Trin and I run well together too. I'm a normally bit faster than Trin, but today was not a good day. My heart rate monitor decided to misbehave. I was getting pushed about. I was ready to either cry or go home.
Trin thankfully calmed me down a bit.
That and the fact there were firemen lining the route at the first kilometre kept me going. I wanted to see if there were more. (I like firemen.... (Large grin))
Lesson Six: Sometimes adjusting your expectations make for a more rewarding time.
Two kilometres in I came to the realisation there was three ways to approach this race. Battle on and kill myself. Use the twenty dollars tucked in my bra to get a cab home. Or slow down, take it easy and try and enjoy the race.
Sensibly, I chose the third option.
Sydney is a humid place. After a night of rain, the roads were slippery. I'd had about three hours sleep.
I'd rather have my armpit hairs pulled out one by one with rusty pliers than run in humidity. It's one of the reasons I dislike Sydney so much. It drains me. I don't cope well with it unless sitting by a swimming pool with a cold beer in my hand.
Thankfully, this put me right on Trin's natural pace. We ran 3-4 minute intervals for the first few kilometres. The humidity was a killer, but we plodded forward. After Heartbreak Hill - which really is a bitch of a hill, the breeze picked up, the humidity dropped and my demeanour improved. This was also helped along by watching Trin take her first gel. Gels are runner's race food - 100 calorie pouches of complex carbohydrate and caffeine that gives you a pick up along the way. Trin has finally worked out where the "running fairy" comes from. It was great to watch.
Coming into Bondi, I got the realisation that I really do know what I'm doing with this running lark. Okay, it was nowhere near my best time. But I did the race. I got through. I didn't get carried off in an ambulance. I can run up hills. Twelve hours later, my legs feel great. And in adjusting my expectations, I came out happy.
I'd do the race again - just next time there will be no sugaring up the night before and JD, if she's about, can have her own room where she can snore to her hearts content.
Also, twelve hours on, though still tired, my legs feel fine - fresher than they were this morning - which is a great sign. The toe socks Danger Dood suggested worked well too.
The last lesson from the trip is about crossing bridges.
I look back on the bridge climb and I see that in climbing the bridge yesterday as a necessary crossing.
I'm not the person I was at the start of the year. She's gone. She got left behind when she suited up to go and climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
This new woman faces her fears head on. In this case, my wandering vertigo got a bit of a work out. And I hate climbing ladders. But I did all this with grace and ease - well as much grace and ease as I could muster. Attached to the static line, taking in the views, surrounded by friends, the old me, the one I left behind, would never feel worthy of such an experience.
The new me laps it up.
The old person, left behind, would probably not feel the joy of knowing that what ever she sets her mind to, she can do, whether it be running long distances, or setting new challenges, or wearing pretty clothes and feeling attractive... all things that the new person is thriving on. The new person takes nothing for granted, doesn't accept second best, demands the most out of everything and generally gets it. The new person faces her fears and challenges head on. She takes no crap. She doesn't suffer fools.
How much has changed in the year.
But most of all, the biggest blessing for the weekend, is the blessing of friendship.
As Trin put it, Best. Weekend. Ever.
I'm sitting here in my dressing gown just trying to find the words describe what this weekend actually has meant to me.
I will get to that shortly.
First of all, this blog needs a soundtrack - and for purposes to be divulged, I'm naming the song of the blog Australian Crawl's "Reckless". It's my favorite song ever. I've also had it going in my head on repeat since Saturday afternoon as I watched the Manly ferry cut it's way to Circular Quay from the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
I've just peeled off my clothes and done a load of washing. My clothing is now mostly size 14s. It wasn't there at the start of the year. In January, my clothes were more an 18-20. I was nearly 15 kilos heavier in January.
In the wash is also my running gear. I ran the better part of 14 kilometres today - and other than feeling tired, all is well. My feet are a bit sore, but I reckon I've done a marathon's worth of walking this weekend.
This weekend was the weekend a group of us, weight loss warriors in our own way, went and climbed a mountain - or in this case, a big Bridge. The group of six of us who went up the Sydney Harbour Bridge on the climb have lost in total more than 250 kilograms between us - or three, average, grown women. It's an acheivement. It's an amazing acheivement when you think about it. This Bridge Climb was to celebrate our acheivements - a reward for the hard work - but this was only a part small part of the riches of the weekend.
My first lesson learned is that I am a very, very blessed woman.
I've spent most of the weekend in the company of some very, very wonderful people - and I am honoured to know them and honoured to call them my friends (and in JD's case, family)
When this bridge climb weekend was planned, I made it known that part of the weekend would be spent celebrating my birthday, which is happening at the end of this week. As this weekend coincided with the City to Surf run, it appeared that my friends Gloria and Gaynor would be around in Sydney Town too - as Gaynor was keen to participate in the run too. Kez and Trin were coming, that was always part of the plan. Then once the plan was hatched, JD was asked along too.
There were stirrings from others in the group that there was clubbing and late nights to be had after the climb, the serious runners were reluctant to do this, so we planned a posh dinner away from the doof doof music - where and when to be decided nearer the time. It would be a great chance to celebrate my birthday in a manner befitting. Besides, I stopped clubbing back when God was a boy and who want's to go out and get smashed the night before a 14 kilometre fast hike over hills?
So I've been looking forward to all this for months. The Bridge Climb. Posh Dinner. City to Surf.
It was just far more rewarding that I ever could have envisaged.
:Lesson Two: Posh Dinners are the best - particularly when the company is fantastic
After asking about for restaurants tips in Sydney, a city of which I'm not particularly fond, Sake Restaurant in The Rocks was suggested. My friend Millie, an inveterate foodie, highly recommended the place. She did VERY well to suggest it. A table for six was duly booked about a month ago. It was in the price range we desired and as I found out last week, it was highlighted on the penultimate episode of Masterchef as one of the best Japanese restaurants in town.
As always, when booking, there was a bit of trepidation. Would my friends get on? Kez and Trin are party of my running fraternity. Gloria is one of my closest friends, her partner, Gaynor,also a runner, is delightful. JD had never met these people. I don't normally mix groups of friends.
Shouldn't have worried.
The place was gorgeous and the food was incredible - one of the best meals I've had in years. Making the night even more special was the company. I don't think I've laughed so much in ages. Very special friends made it a night to remember - along with the scallops cerviche and the Japanese Lime dessert and the plum wine and the ... superb meal.
Third Lesson. When the going gets tough, the tough get ice cream.
The only small downer to the weekend was when walking home from dinner on Saturday night, JD got a call on my phone. Trista had been admitted to hospital with complications. JD took the news on the chin. Her mum was in good hands and there was nothing she could do. She's see her as soon as she got back to Adelaide. Pragmatic to the last, the four of us went and got ice cream at a nearby gelati shop - complete with sixteen flavours of chocolate gelati. It seemed fitting. My coconut gelati was brilliant.
Lesson Four: There is not that much you can do about snoring.
JD snores like a tractor on heat. Trin doesn't snore. She has a mouth guard that prevents her from doing that.
I know I snore - I allegedly "cute" snore - not too loudly, but still, I can't cast the first stone.
Regardless, wired on ice cream, knowing I had to be up at 6.30 to prepare for a race the next morning, JD is a foot away from me in the next bed making a noise that would put a Massey Ferguson to shame.
Joy.
Trin has put in her mouthguard and earplugs and appears to be off in the land of nod.
I'm lying there, shaking JDs mattress periodically hoping she'll turn over. Shaking the mattress stops the snoring for a minute or so, then she starts up again.
How does one get to sleep? Normal methods of relaxing are not available (like I'm going to do "that" with two other women in the room - like no... I have standards) I don't take pills - and I don't have them to take anyway. I don't have ear plugs. The pillows are thin and they let noise through. I could smother JD in her sleep, but she is my step-sister. My step-dad would be mad if I did that.
In the end, I get about three hours of unbroken sleep for the night.
Joy.
Lesson Five: Lack of sleep does not make for good running.
Trin, Kez, Gaynor and myself made our way to the start of the City to Surf at 7.30. It has been raining overnight. It was cool. There's a bit of drizzle about.
There were 85,000 other participants!
I'm not happy. I hate crowds. I'm tired. My knee is giving me jip. I was in my "Sod this for a game of soldiers mood." The other's area aware of my anxiety and I'm doing the best I can to contain it.
Thing is, I came up to do this run - so run I did. I'm far too bloody minded not to. And tight. There's no refunds for late drop outs.
The gun went off at 8.29 a.m.
Kez and Gaynor went on ahead . They're quite evenly matched runners and they streaked off. They got through the course in an hour and 23 minutes.
Trin and I run well together too. I'm a normally bit faster than Trin, but today was not a good day. My heart rate monitor decided to misbehave. I was getting pushed about. I was ready to either cry or go home.
Trin thankfully calmed me down a bit.
That and the fact there were firemen lining the route at the first kilometre kept me going. I wanted to see if there were more. (I like firemen.... (Large grin))
Lesson Six: Sometimes adjusting your expectations make for a more rewarding time.
Two kilometres in I came to the realisation there was three ways to approach this race. Battle on and kill myself. Use the twenty dollars tucked in my bra to get a cab home. Or slow down, take it easy and try and enjoy the race.
Sensibly, I chose the third option.
Sydney is a humid place. After a night of rain, the roads were slippery. I'd had about three hours sleep.
I'd rather have my armpit hairs pulled out one by one with rusty pliers than run in humidity. It's one of the reasons I dislike Sydney so much. It drains me. I don't cope well with it unless sitting by a swimming pool with a cold beer in my hand.
Thankfully, this put me right on Trin's natural pace. We ran 3-4 minute intervals for the first few kilometres. The humidity was a killer, but we plodded forward. After Heartbreak Hill - which really is a bitch of a hill, the breeze picked up, the humidity dropped and my demeanour improved. This was also helped along by watching Trin take her first gel. Gels are runner's race food - 100 calorie pouches of complex carbohydrate and caffeine that gives you a pick up along the way. Trin has finally worked out where the "running fairy" comes from. It was great to watch.
Coming into Bondi, I got the realisation that I really do know what I'm doing with this running lark. Okay, it was nowhere near my best time. But I did the race. I got through. I didn't get carried off in an ambulance. I can run up hills. Twelve hours later, my legs feel great. And in adjusting my expectations, I came out happy.
I'd do the race again - just next time there will be no sugaring up the night before and JD, if she's about, can have her own room where she can snore to her hearts content.
Also, twelve hours on, though still tired, my legs feel fine - fresher than they were this morning - which is a great sign. The toe socks Danger Dood suggested worked well too.
The last lesson from the trip is about crossing bridges.
I look back on the bridge climb and I see that in climbing the bridge yesterday as a necessary crossing.
I'm not the person I was at the start of the year. She's gone. She got left behind when she suited up to go and climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
This new woman faces her fears head on. In this case, my wandering vertigo got a bit of a work out. And I hate climbing ladders. But I did all this with grace and ease - well as much grace and ease as I could muster. Attached to the static line, taking in the views, surrounded by friends, the old me, the one I left behind, would never feel worthy of such an experience.
The new me laps it up.
The old person, left behind, would probably not feel the joy of knowing that what ever she sets her mind to, she can do, whether it be running long distances, or setting new challenges, or wearing pretty clothes and feeling attractive... all things that the new person is thriving on. The new person takes nothing for granted, doesn't accept second best, demands the most out of everything and generally gets it. The new person faces her fears and challenges head on. She takes no crap. She doesn't suffer fools.
How much has changed in the year.
But most of all, the biggest blessing for the weekend, is the blessing of friendship.
As Trin put it, Best. Weekend. Ever.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Philosophy, Disapointment and Flirting
Today was the annual Run Melbourne Run. I ran in the 10 kilometre event.
I'm an old hat at running races now. The morning has a routine. I get up, I have a cup of coffee and a protein shake, I get dressed, strapping my knee, plastering a number to my belly and attaching a timing tag to my shoe. I double knot my laces so that they don't come loose. In my bum bag there is my driver's licence, a credit card, twenty dollars in notes, a runner's gel - 100 calories of carbohydrate in a little packet, my spare, light weight house keys and my mobile phone. After a slap of sunscreen and donning a light weight running cap, I get on the road early. If the race in the city, I tend to walk there as it's only four kilometres away and it's a good warm up. At the event, I store any other layers in the baggage area - today it was my favorite Boston jacket and a jar of marmalade that I made yesterday which was brought in for Kay, who I was meeting later. Then, I got to the line and gather with the rest of the idiots to go for a "fun" run.
Among my running friends I'm known as the running fairy. I run with a light gait and a rather off-putting smile on my face. Not the smile of one trying to take a dump or a smile through the pain - it's a full on cheesy grin. I love to run - love it. I'm not great at it, but I love doing it. And I love stopping even more once the race is over.
I've only been running for two years - but I've done a lot of it over the years. When I started I was around 10 kgs heavier than I am now. I've got fitter and faster. I can talk and run for over an hour. Yes, I'm sodding annoying. I don't think I'm a natural runner, but I'm consistent. I'm also consistently getting better.
The other difference about today's run was I was not sure how I was going to go. A few months ago I was wanting to do this ten kilometre race in under sixty minutes. Some ongoing blood pressure issues have made me cut back on the training. Thankfully that's nearly sorted, but it's meant that I haven't trained to the capacity I wanted.
The race was run. After the second kilometre I was ready to clip a few people around the head - walkers - phah! By kilometre four, the back side of Anderson Street was hard. At around the seven kilometre mark I was annoyed - they'd stuffed up the signage and the kilometre markers were skewed. By the time I reached Jolimont I was over it - but I came on for a strong finish 65 minutes and about 40 seconds later - by my watch.
Bottom lip goes out, I get my stompy face on. I wanted to do this in the hour. Am I disappointed? A little. Am I philosphical? Yes.
Okay, the pros. As Danger Dude kept telling me - don't try and run a personal best on a crowded course. Very sound advice. You're tripping over Tom, Dick and Donna who seem to think that a running course is a place to walk three in a row and chat. Pushers, dogs and walkers are the bane of the fun run.
Of the last six weeks, I've not been able to train to the intensity I wanted - but I did train - however gently. But I ran the course well. My cardiovascular fitness is wonderful. I can run and talk. I don't get breathless. I can keep going - I have great stamina.
Looking back, the only 10 kilometre race I've done to date was in December 2009. I ran the 10 km in 75 minutes. This time I did that in ten minutes less. It's a personal best.
I should be happy. I'm not really.
Oh, and my right knee has held up wonderfully - it feels good.
Okay - I'm just an over-acheiver. it's not enough for me to go jump. I have to jump high and shove chocolate sprinkles on top. Hmph.
I'm being philosophical about this run. I have the 14 km City to Surf in just under a month. Then there's the Adelaide City to Bay a month after that - another 12 kilometers. Then I'm down for the Melbourne half marathon in October. 21.1 kilometres of sheer determination.
And then I have to look at the other side of things.
I am turning 43 next month. I am in the best shape of my life. I can run 20 kilometres when I put my mind (and a training schedule) to it. I know about running tactics. I have a resting heart rate of 53 beats a minute. I have a body that does what it's told for the most part. In the last year I've overcome surgery and injury, lost 15 kilograms in weight and got my fitmess to a point where I'm verging on athlete status. Best of all - I like my body now. It's not perfect, but there are more good bits than bad bits now.
What the hell am I complaining about?
There will be other runs. Today's event will just spur me on to train more and well and get my legs and mind around the tasks at hand.
And I will do my 10 kilometres in the hour. Soon.
And it's back to Pump class tomorrow. Back to it - today was just a training run.
Ah tomorrow. Where I have to skulk into the office and face the shame that my beloved football team has once again bestowed on me. The Crows coudn't beat the Bendigo Under 15's B grade at the moment - though they gave Essendon a run for their money on Friday night. For this, I owe the guy across the desk a coffee. For three quarters I thought it would be me having a skinny decaf cappucino deposited on my desk tomorrow.
Ah, the guy across the desk. Rather cute in a country footballer sort of way. Stupidly, stupidly smart. A bit of a dork. Often there with a quick remark and a sneaky smile. We share the odd chat and a packet of mints. A strange relationship - but I'm used to strange relationships with men at work.
Rule number two of work. Thou shalt not flirt.
Rule number three of work. Though should not get ahead of ones self.
I'm crap at flirting anyway. Just like my mother's old pussycat, I'm aware of how to catch things, but I don't have a bloody clue what to do with them when I've caught them.
This has caught me unawares in so many ways.
Better get running and training to shove these stirings to the furthest parts of my mind. Not worth it. Just keep on with the odd sneaky smile and a shared pack of Jila Mints. I've shared Jila Mints before. No biggie.
My friend Gloria was berating me at breakfast yesterday after telling her about this flirting.
"Do you know how good you're looking?"
"What do you mean? I wore this to work yesterday?. It's Friday casual. Nothing special."
"You wear that to work?" She looked me up and down.
"Yeah. Of course." Skinny jeans, brown leather boots, a stripy top, hair tousled. On Fridays I put on a bit more eyeliner and some red lipstick.
"Have you any idea how sexy you are? That poor boy doesn't stand a chance."
Part of me wishes this was the case.
I'm an old hat at running races now. The morning has a routine. I get up, I have a cup of coffee and a protein shake, I get dressed, strapping my knee, plastering a number to my belly and attaching a timing tag to my shoe. I double knot my laces so that they don't come loose. In my bum bag there is my driver's licence, a credit card, twenty dollars in notes, a runner's gel - 100 calories of carbohydrate in a little packet, my spare, light weight house keys and my mobile phone. After a slap of sunscreen and donning a light weight running cap, I get on the road early. If the race in the city, I tend to walk there as it's only four kilometres away and it's a good warm up. At the event, I store any other layers in the baggage area - today it was my favorite Boston jacket and a jar of marmalade that I made yesterday which was brought in for Kay, who I was meeting later. Then, I got to the line and gather with the rest of the idiots to go for a "fun" run.
Among my running friends I'm known as the running fairy. I run with a light gait and a rather off-putting smile on my face. Not the smile of one trying to take a dump or a smile through the pain - it's a full on cheesy grin. I love to run - love it. I'm not great at it, but I love doing it. And I love stopping even more once the race is over.
I've only been running for two years - but I've done a lot of it over the years. When I started I was around 10 kgs heavier than I am now. I've got fitter and faster. I can talk and run for over an hour. Yes, I'm sodding annoying. I don't think I'm a natural runner, but I'm consistent. I'm also consistently getting better.
The other difference about today's run was I was not sure how I was going to go. A few months ago I was wanting to do this ten kilometre race in under sixty minutes. Some ongoing blood pressure issues have made me cut back on the training. Thankfully that's nearly sorted, but it's meant that I haven't trained to the capacity I wanted.
The race was run. After the second kilometre I was ready to clip a few people around the head - walkers - phah! By kilometre four, the back side of Anderson Street was hard. At around the seven kilometre mark I was annoyed - they'd stuffed up the signage and the kilometre markers were skewed. By the time I reached Jolimont I was over it - but I came on for a strong finish 65 minutes and about 40 seconds later - by my watch.
Bottom lip goes out, I get my stompy face on. I wanted to do this in the hour. Am I disappointed? A little. Am I philosphical? Yes.
Okay, the pros. As Danger Dude kept telling me - don't try and run a personal best on a crowded course. Very sound advice. You're tripping over Tom, Dick and Donna who seem to think that a running course is a place to walk three in a row and chat. Pushers, dogs and walkers are the bane of the fun run.
Of the last six weeks, I've not been able to train to the intensity I wanted - but I did train - however gently. But I ran the course well. My cardiovascular fitness is wonderful. I can run and talk. I don't get breathless. I can keep going - I have great stamina.
Looking back, the only 10 kilometre race I've done to date was in December 2009. I ran the 10 km in 75 minutes. This time I did that in ten minutes less. It's a personal best.
I should be happy. I'm not really.
Oh, and my right knee has held up wonderfully - it feels good.
Okay - I'm just an over-acheiver. it's not enough for me to go jump. I have to jump high and shove chocolate sprinkles on top. Hmph.
I'm being philosophical about this run. I have the 14 km City to Surf in just under a month. Then there's the Adelaide City to Bay a month after that - another 12 kilometers. Then I'm down for the Melbourne half marathon in October. 21.1 kilometres of sheer determination.
And then I have to look at the other side of things.
I am turning 43 next month. I am in the best shape of my life. I can run 20 kilometres when I put my mind (and a training schedule) to it. I know about running tactics. I have a resting heart rate of 53 beats a minute. I have a body that does what it's told for the most part. In the last year I've overcome surgery and injury, lost 15 kilograms in weight and got my fitmess to a point where I'm verging on athlete status. Best of all - I like my body now. It's not perfect, but there are more good bits than bad bits now.
What the hell am I complaining about?
There will be other runs. Today's event will just spur me on to train more and well and get my legs and mind around the tasks at hand.
And I will do my 10 kilometres in the hour. Soon.
And it's back to Pump class tomorrow. Back to it - today was just a training run.
Ah tomorrow. Where I have to skulk into the office and face the shame that my beloved football team has once again bestowed on me. The Crows coudn't beat the Bendigo Under 15's B grade at the moment - though they gave Essendon a run for their money on Friday night. For this, I owe the guy across the desk a coffee. For three quarters I thought it would be me having a skinny decaf cappucino deposited on my desk tomorrow.
Ah, the guy across the desk. Rather cute in a country footballer sort of way. Stupidly, stupidly smart. A bit of a dork. Often there with a quick remark and a sneaky smile. We share the odd chat and a packet of mints. A strange relationship - but I'm used to strange relationships with men at work.
Rule number two of work. Thou shalt not flirt.
Rule number three of work. Though should not get ahead of ones self.
I'm crap at flirting anyway. Just like my mother's old pussycat, I'm aware of how to catch things, but I don't have a bloody clue what to do with them when I've caught them.
This has caught me unawares in so many ways.
Better get running and training to shove these stirings to the furthest parts of my mind. Not worth it. Just keep on with the odd sneaky smile and a shared pack of Jila Mints. I've shared Jila Mints before. No biggie.
My friend Gloria was berating me at breakfast yesterday after telling her about this flirting.
"Do you know how good you're looking?"
"What do you mean? I wore this to work yesterday?. It's Friday casual. Nothing special."
"You wear that to work?" She looked me up and down.
"Yeah. Of course." Skinny jeans, brown leather boots, a stripy top, hair tousled. On Fridays I put on a bit more eyeliner and some red lipstick.
"Have you any idea how sexy you are? That poor boy doesn't stand a chance."
Part of me wishes this was the case.
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