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Showing posts from February, 2014

Bitten

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That's how Dave described it when I said I was going out for my training while the rest of the UK was being battered by high winds. He said I'd been bitten by the Running Bug. I think he was exaggerating. It wasn't that windy in Norwich. And besides, I had one more workout to go before my Rest Day. Silly man.

You will continue to note that I say training, rather than running. There's still rather more walking than running going on; though I am gradually beginning to run more and more. I work hard for each and every slight improvement. The sessions leave me knackered, sweating and aching. My legs are a constant dull throb and I'm learning to live with the discomfort. At the end of March I'll be running that Sports Relief mile and in November I'll be running the half-marathon. From zero to hero in 40 weeks. Oh yeah.
I can't say I like it much. It's not at all comfortable. I have to do my training in the morning before I go to work. If I don't do it …

Is there no end to the Madness?

Ladies and Gentlemen, if you're long-time readers of this blog, you'll know that I am one lazy-assed woman. I hate mornings, I don't like sweating or anything energetic and as for running...well, running is an evolutionary response to charging mammoths and we don't see many mammoths round Norwich, do we?

Yes.

Well, things started to change when Dave took me out on the bike. You may remember what a shambles that was? I turned to my exercise DVDs to get me moving, with some success. At least, I was able to get to the pub and back without dying...or feeling like I was about to keel over. And then I got a bike of my very own and the winter hit. I don't do wet and I don't do cold. Simple as that. No, I don't care if it's really bright...well, alright then...just a small ride.

In a vulnerable moment, my manager caught me and said "you are going to do the Norwich Half-Marathon in November, aren't you?"

People I don't know what the hell happened.

D…

In Which I find a new Friend

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Being self-employed means once a year, I have to work myself up to file my taxes or I have to brace myself for the wrath of Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs. January 31st is the deadline to dread as I search out receipts, invoices and wade through my nightmare admin system. Last year, I had two weeks to spare. This year, I procrastinated and procrastinated and then did them Thursday evening.

Part of the procrastination was looking at cat rehoming sites in Norfolk. There are several cat rehoming charities/sanctuaries, all with varying rules and regulations. Some won't rehome kittens unless they go in pairs, some won't rehome kittens with children under 5/4 or at all. Some won't rehome grown cats unless they've got a garden. Some require an application form, a pre-adoption visit, a hefty fee and a post-adoption visit.

I ignored all of that and looked at cats. 

Dave and I agreed that yesterday, we were going to finish off the tiling. When I told him I was looking at c…