Lookin' at that Hoss from the Ground

Last week, I realised how far I was slipping back into my old, lazy assed self. I was struggling to get things done around the flat. I started looking in the mirror and seriously disliking what I saw. Nothing else had changed apart from the fact that I was laid up with my lower back and my poorly, wrenched wrist. 

Boy and I went away for a few days, the late end of last week. We went to move him from halls of residence to his student house. I like Lincoln as a place to visit. It's got a great vibe. Or at least, it does where Boy lives.

We agreed there would be no stressing and there really wasn't. We took the move slowly, with lots of breaks. Somehow, in the 9 months he was there, he went from 1 car load of stuff to 2.5! Granted, it wasn't packed tightly - the car load going up was a bit like a level on Tetris - but even so. 

After the move, we then went up to Beverly for the wedding of the Viking to his Lovely. It was an absolutely amazing day from start to finish, even with the occasional downpour. Thank goodness for Clinique mascara, that's all I'm saying. I started dabbing my eyes with the first hymn and didn't stop until the Wedding March.

I made the mistake of saying to people "yep, we're going to the wedding of my ex-bf." I learnt too late that I then had to go into the whole "it was a good break-up, we're really good friends, I'm really happy for them. No, I'm REALLY happy for them" routine. The fact of the matter is, the Viking spent the whole day looking at his Lovely like he just opened all of his birthday and Christmas presents at once, while she looked like she'd just won the lottery. Both sets of parents were delighted all round. That people down here couldn't understand, I'm afraid that's their look out. Not mine. What was particularly lovely was the warmth that both Boy and myself were greeted. I've got stern instructions to return sooner, rather than later to have a proper catch up with everyone. Frankly, I'm looking forward to becoming Mad Aunty Roses (no pressure darlings, no pressure). 

While we were away, I had many miles of open road to think. 

My lower back issue means absolutely no running. Running is hard on everything and the impact could potentially make things much worse. My wrenched wrist means no load bearing, or twisting; pretty much rules out lifting, swimming, cycling or push-ups. My dishy osteopath advised waiting until I was pain free for a week before attempting any strengthening exercises. 

My body, mind and energy levels were reverting to how I felt two years ago and it was not good. 

I also had the time to think about my weight. It's a bit of a touchy subject with me. 

The fitness industry for women, tends to focus on weight loss and paints everything pink. Go into the main stream gyms, health food shops, it smacks you straight in the face. Being the rebellious sort, I've resolutely stuck to my numbers. I am not overweight, my BMI* is smack bang within the healthy range. I don't have anything to worry about, health-wise.

However, the fact of the matter is that while this is true, my body fat percentage is too high for my liking. When I look in the mirror now, I don't see muscle, I see flab. I see the results of 3 months on my butt. Ladies and gentlemen, trust me when I say this, it isn't pretty. It does not feel good.

One of the things I struggle with is planning. I can create a plan, no problem; implementing said plan, well, that's a different matter altogether. I kind of get there, but not within the timescales I originally set out. For example, I have a running app called Zombies Run! 5k. It's an 8 week programme to take you from couch to running your first 5k. Did I do it in 8 weeks? Hell no. In fact, I'm on week 8, workout 2. I can give you all the reasons why I didn't stick to the plan and mostly, they are good. But the outcome is still the same - I didn't do it.

I'm a woman who likes a challenge. Therefore, I set myself this challenge. I am on the 5:2 diet for the next 7 weeks (or rather 6 as it started on Monday). Don't ask me why I set 7 weeks, it was a completely arbitrary number. For the next 7 weeks I am going to be eating 500 calories for 2 days in the week. 

In this time I am also going to be doing what I call Foundation exercises. I'm doing a basic circuit, cardio and abs routines throughout the weeks ahead. Everything I'm doing is geared to get me to the point where I can pick up my weights and lace up my running shoes again. 

There's a physio dude at my gym who I've been trying to get hold of and this week I managed to snag an appointment with him. We had an hour long consult and next week, there will be another one. He assessed me on everything: body, exercise, diet and mental health. It was very useful indeed. He's already made some adjustments to my current circuit routine to address the issues in my lower body. I lack strength in weird places which is causing the imbalances that has lead to my lower back issues. He's highlighted some dietary issues and made a suggestion about probiotics. I followed that up as soon as I got home yesterday. Some eye-wateringly expense probiotics will be winging their way over to me next week. Unlike the probiotic yoghurts and drinks available in the supermarket, these have been cultivated to colonise the gut. Stuff from the supermarket, usually high in sugar, has been designed to die so when a person stops taking them, they stop feeling the benefit. These probiotics are shipped with cool packs and have to be stored in the fridge. I do not expect miracles, but improvements are more than welcome.

Next Wednesday morning, he's going to put me through my paces. I will come away with a programme that will address these niggly issues and hurtle me towards my Awesome again.

Ladies and Gentlemen, that is a very tall horse that I will be am climbing back on. This first week has not been shitz and gigglez as the kids say. I feel beset on all sides at the moment. But I am buggered if I'm going to lay here on the floor and take it.

*BMI is not a particularly useful measurement for weight, despite the fact that it's pretty much universally used by health and fitness professionals. Muscle is more dense than fat, if you're athletic and have a low body fat percentage, chances are your BMI will class you as obese. True story.

July 2014 - an update

If you've been keeping up with my lack of shenanigans on Facebook, you'll know the last month has been a bit of a trial for me. Got side-swiped by a virus, that behaved like a weird stalker ex-boyfriend by refusing to go away; the lack of movement during this time has buggered both my back and wrist. 

In other words, any blog post I might write starts "whinge, whine, moan..." 

Therefore, I fall back on blogging with bullet points:

• Dave's coffee business is now up and running
• It is a lot of fun
• The equipment is really heavy (coffee machine alone is 65kg)
• The coffee is really good
• I'm the cashier/order taker and I wipe up mess every 3 seconds which drives the barista absolutely nuts, but keeps everything clean
• It's bloody hard work
• I really hope my gym membership is tax deductible, because if I am to continue working with him in this business, I must become much, much stronger.

• It is the season of weddings
• We were doing coffee at a wedding yesterday and it was fab
• Boy and I will go off in a couple of weeks to celebrate The Viking and his lovely's wedding
• I am really looking forward to it
• I know they will continue to be a very happy couple and be very good for each other.

• Rummy is totally bonkers
• Boy continues to claim Rummy is a dick
• He rushes outside to break up the many fights Rummy has with his doppelgänger neighbour, Rocky
• Boy is still pleased when Rummy comes to sit next to him
• In the morning, after I given him breakfast and made myself a cup of coffee, Rummy comes to sit on my lap until he gets too hot.

• I miss running and I miss the gym
• I miss that feeling of accomplishment after a workout or a run, even if it wasn't the best
• I'm going down to the gym this morning to book myself into some yoga sessions to try and free up my back
• It's nuts how much ground I have lost in such a few weeks
• My body has made it very clear it needs to move
• Finding the balance will be the challenge from here on in
• Finding the balance is always a challenge for a person who naturally enjoys extremes.

• Summer should be my best time of year, given I love warm weather
• With my hayfever, sinusitis and increased vulnerability to bugs at this time of year, I now perceive Autumn and Winter completely differently
• I was much healthier last Winter, despite the cold and the bugs flying around the office
• I will be doing a lot of research into allergies and sinusitis for next year
• The Lovely Ursus gave me a light bulb moment when she reminded me this is my tough time.

• I suspect I have become vain in my old age
• Urban Decay make up is now my drug of choice
• I had several oops moments in their counter
• I have now more eye shadows than Pantone have colours
• Some are sparkly, some shimmery and some are barely there
• I haven't decided on a "look" yet, it's all down to mood right now
• In fact, it's all down to mood. I'm sure there's a deeper meaning to my current obsession, I don't much care to think too deeply about it
• Eyebrows continue to be the bane of my existence
• However, I'm beginning to get the hang of them
• I no longer look continually cross or surprised (unless I'm cross or surprised), which I'm counting as progress.

• My finances are challenging
• Thanks to new government regulations, I am unable to consolidate my debt to a cheaper monthly payment
• I have way too much fun with cash
• I tell myself, this is a learning experience
• When I finally clear my debt, I won't be so quick with my credit card
• That was until Friday when I went to the Urban Decay counter
• It's time for me to think outside my financial box.

• I'm in my fourth decade and I haven't begun another degree
• It worries me
• I did my BA in Development Studies in my 20s
• I did my BA in Creative Writing in my 30s
• My 40s stretch in front of me and I'm not sure what to learn next
• Not that I can afford another degree
• But I am beginning to think about it.

Considering I didn't know what to write, I think I've done quite well...

That's all for now folks. Catch you later...

Have you seen June?

The last time I felt properly well was at Zoe's blog party. I know I promised you a post, but it has come and gone and it feels wrong doing a post about it so far afterwards. The last 3 weeks I have been hit by the Virus from Hell. I thought I had shifted it last weekend, I could feel the symptoms abating and then...WHAM...it hit me again and even harder. 

Today, I woke up feeling like a human being again. I peered at myself in the mirror and ran away screaming. It was not a pretty sight. Have I done the piles of laundry that have multiplied in my period of illness? Hell no. Have I dug out the kitchen and liberated it from the fuzz of unwashed plates. Oh please. Have I watered my plants and loved them after my neglect? Go on, can you guess?

What have you been doing with your new-found energy? I hear you ask. Well, I have been attending to my personal grooming. When I opened my front door today (the first time in 6 days), I realised Summer had arrived in my absence. My legs glowed like a florescent bulb. I  started with a shower and got the lawn mower out on my legs. I'm a hirsute woman. I'm not going to beat around the bush (ha ha ha), I have two fuzzy caterpillars: one above my lip, the other that lays across my eyes and nose without any interruption. Once the legs and caterpillars were dealt with - I was liberal with the application of orange.

I look like this if I'm not careful

For those of you who feel self-tan is difficult, it really isn't. Moisturised the dry bits (knee caps, shins, back of the ankles) first, apply liberally and remember, facial toner is your friend. For the streaks and heavy bits, toner gets rid of those lickidy splick. By the way, I would lie out in the sun and bake myself golden except for one slight issue...my skin no longer reacts well to sun. I get very unattractive blotches, which I am told is due to my ethnic mix and age. sigh. I used to go five times a year on a sun bed to dim the whiteness, but that all had to come to an end. If I want to get my legs out, I slap on the orange. 

According to the blurb, this colour is Mahogany Brown. No, not...



I'm really not sure. It's lighter than my natural hair colour and it's got a red tinge to it. To be honest, it's safe hair. Next time, I'm going to lighten it up a bit. Go more golden maybe...I'm not sure. My hair is so dark, I always am concerned about the roots. Next time.

S'alright I s'pose

Yes, with the shaving, the tweezing, the chemistry etc. etc. it's not real. But gorgeous. Deal with it. The fact that I actually give a shit means I'm on the mend. Watch me as I rise...

Run Roses, Run!

On Saturday, I ran with Norwich parkrun. For those not in the know, parkrun is an international movement to encourage people of all ages and abilities to run 5k against the clock. It's held in parks all around the world, is free to runners and supported by volunteers. All a runner needs to do is to register, print off their barcode and show up Saturday morning.

I was nervous. I felt underprepared and unfit and really was not up for it. The week's running had been hard going. The temperatures were in high 20s when I made it out the door and the pollen count...the least said about that the better. My definition of hell is running without a tissue, a streaming nose and proper running gear. My heart rate monitor warned me that I was about 30 bpm faster than normal, which could have been down to the heat and the fact I taking hardcore decongestants at the moment. But it did mean I had to be careful. In my training sessions I walked far more than I would have liked. 

Saturday dawned cool and gloomy. It's probably the first time I've ever gone out my door and said with genuine enthusiasm "it's drizzling!"

There were 402 runners gathered for the run. And they really were all shapes, sizes and ages, squeezed into lycra. There were mums and dads running with buggies, parents running with small children, people running with dogs. Because this is Norwich, I recognised quite a few faces. I was greeted by a good friend of Dave's who took up running a year ago. She's been so encouraging and so sweet. She said I looked petrified. Yes. That's because I really was. 

The 5k has been carefully measured out in the park. I figured I'd be following everyone, so I wouldn't get lost. The newbies and I had our instructions and then we went down to the starting point. I made sure I started at the back, I didn't want to be in anyone's way. I had a great view of everyone's backside as they disappeared from my view. 

I focused on 3 people who seemed to be of a similar ability to me and I paced myself with them. Occasionally, I'd pass them, occasionally they'd pass me. I reckon I ran about 75% of it. I did my best not to get in anyone's way. It was hard. It was really hard. I got passed by everyone. I saw a lot of peoples' butts. Doing the run in laps was quite good because it broke the field up into portions that I could count my way through. Once I had done the 2nd lap, I knew I was half way done. I knew I had another 20 minutes to go and that I was on the count-down to the end. I found myself counting in 8s in my head. I have no idea why. I just kept counting up to 8 and starting over again. 

When I was on the home straight, there was me and an older guy who I'd been pacing to and we encouraged each other over the park bridge and then he sprinted off down to finish. I honestly don't know where he got it from, I was done. That was it. There was no more.

According to my heart rate monitor, I had done it in 39:06, but I had been slow switching it on. My final result was: 39:20! In a field of 402, I was runner 400! I am so pleased. It's my first ever 5k run. This run sets the marker. 

A year ago, if you'd have said I would be running regularly and would run 5k, I would have laughed at you. But I did it! Tomorrow morning I've got my recovery run all planned and as long as it isn't chucking it down, I will be out there.

The best bit of Saturday was yet to come: Zoe's BLOG PARTY! (but that's another blog post)

Dusting Myself Off

Hi! Remember me? I used to blog here regularly. Well, I think I've fallen off so many horses recently it's got beyond a joke. Last week, I had to take some time out and have a proper think about things. Not small things like laundry or shoes or eyeliner. But big things - what do I want to do when I grow up?

That was not the first time I have asked myself that particular question. I suspect I will ask it again many times before I leave this earth. Again, I found myself coming back to my place of creativity, of writing. I haven't written anything since last summer that hasn't been work related; and my intermittent blogging...well, it became more and more intermittent.

I had put my head down, put all thoughts of writing to one side and went to work. The problem is simply, it's not who I am. I can do it in short bursts. Certainly, I am so blessed that the people I work with are actually prepared to put up with me. I must be the world's biggest pain in the arse for them - wafting in and around. But the fact of the matter is, I am never going to manage being a full time anything. I require flexibility and creativity.

I have come to terms with the fact I am going to die a very poor woman. I console myself with the fact that I will have a lot of fun along the way.

Getting back on the Exercise Horse, has not been so painless (if you can call the process of giving up 2 days work to write, painless). My physical activities in May petered out to the point of disappearing. All of my previous physical niggles started to creep in again. My back, my knee, my shoulders. I got myself moving again.

Let me tell you, the biggest lesson I've learnt in the last 6 weeks is: it is much harder to start up again, than to notch the intensity down.

I am not beating myself up about it; there would be no benefit in doing so. I know why I paused and I've learnt my lesson. I am going to take every step I can, not make that mistake again.

Part of the mistake I made was to 'exercise'. I bailed out of doing the City of Norwich Half Marathon in November because I wasn't at all confident I would be fit or strong enough to run it, without serious risk of injury. It seems I am more motivated to 'train'. I need a reason to exercise beyond the 'it's good for me'. Over the weekend, I signed up to run the Wroxham 5k in the middle of July. This Saturday, I will take part in the Norwich parkrun to set my first bench mark. I know my time will be rubbish. I know it'll be a miracle if I don't kill myself. I will be walking bits of it. It doesn't matter.

If I am to eat regularly, I have to rethink my writing activities. That's what today is all about. I'm getting back on this horse and I'm going to ride this sucker until we both drop dead from exhaustion. 

The difference now is the exercise has taught me self-discipline and to put my motivation in action. Perhaps I am still unable to set clear goals as per NLP structures, but I'm all about the moving in the general direction. 

I really do hope I'm moving in the general direction of Financial Sustainability...

Kitty, Kitty, Kitty

 It's now 4 months, more or less since Rummy came to live with me. It's not been an easy transition for either of us. I wanted a different natured cat than my beloved Cat and yes, I certainly got one. It's true, you should be careful for what you wish for. 

He has big brass ones. I think the vet might have neutered him, but they left the cohones. He picked an Alpha fight with Dave and then one with Boy. And that's just the start...

Gin Rummy was supposed to be a house cat. By the end of our first 6 weeks together he and I were about to kill each other. He meowed constantly. And I do mean constantly. Like a fractious baby, throughout the night. 

I got him a nice shiny disc, engraved with his name, my mobile number and a bell. I attached it to a bright red cat collar and I then put it around his neck. Off he went into the big, wide world. Not a moment too soon. 

My unhappy, vocal cat, restless, grumpy and demanding, chilled right out. Nowadays, he comes running when I shout "bedtime Rummy", curls up on my chest for love, then moves off to sleep at my feet. There he stays until I have to get up the next morning. He goes out for a pee and then demands breakfast. After that, he goes out again and I won't see him again until I come back from work. He's happy and contented and so am I. 

He's a very solid, physical cat. He actually likes being hauled about. Firm petting is definitely preferred. He will push his way onto my lap and demand attention. He's not shy about coming forward. He might have a very kittenish meow but he's all male.

When I say the following, please understand that I am not sure whether I am deeply appalled or deeply impressed about the following. 

There are quite a few cats that live around here. In fact, there's one across the road that looks pretty much identical to my Rummy, apart from the fact that he's heavier and has a very grating voice. These are cats with a well-established territory. Here comes this upstart in their territory....you know how it works, right?

Well, think again. Rummy might have a couple of battle scars, but he is the big dawg round here. The other cats yowl and puff themselves up when he's around and they very carefully back away from him to run under parked cars, to hiss at him from a distance. As far as I can tell, he's quite pleased with his new territory.

And then there's the small matter of his kill.

Remember I said I bought him a collar with a disc? Two days after he started going out, he came home without it. We looked everywhere and couldn't find it. I got a phone call from a neighbour to say she found it in the nearby car park. I went picked it up, put it back around his neck. The next day, he demanded to come in, sauntered in and shook the collar off on the carpet.

I got him another collar with the disc and a bell. It never came home when he did. 

The thing is, I wanted him especially to have a bell.

I went running one Tuesday morning, he came out when I did. I did my run, limped up the steps to my front door and the sight that greeted me still haunts me.

Other cats bring home rodents and song birds, my cat brought me home a sparrowhawk. Yes, a sparrowhawk. A mother-lovin' bird of prey. Not only that, a female of the species - the species which is notorious for its grumpiness, feistiness and general stroppy behaviour not especially favoured by any but the most experienced falconers.

Big, brass ones.

The thing that surprises me about him the most, my big, bruiser, hunting cat is really lovely with kids. Small kids. My neighbour has a two year old girl, who was very curious about this big black and white cat. He was affectionate and patient as she fussed and petted him. I swear he looked sad when they went inside.

I can't say I absolutely love him to bits, but I am very fond of him. Boy said he's a dick and that's not far from the truth. But he's my dick and I'm very glad he hangs out with me.

Continuing to be Tedious

As the title suggests, I will bang on about fitness stuff again. This is my second week of completed gym sessions and my last with my Personal Trainer (PT) for four weeks. Of all of the decisions I've made recently, this is the one I am exceptionally pleased about. Or should I say a doubly good one?

The gym is brilliant. I love it's shabbiness. It's functional only; with an emphasis on weights and strength training. There are nods to cardio and floor work in the back with a handful of machines, but that's pretty much it. You want shiny machines, tvs to watch, magazines to read? You're in the wrong place. 

My PT is fantastic. The programme he developed for me is perfect in that it's challenging, addresses my weakness and builds on my strengths. In the past two weeks I've seen some brilliant improvements. Mind you, I look on every extra rep, every added 0.25kg as a brilliant improvement. 

Working out at home to the DVDs did exactly what I hoped they'd do: they built my confidence and brought up my fitness level to the point where I felt comfortable taking it further. What they couldn't do was correct my form. I knew I wanted to increase the weights, but I wasn't happy doing so without a better idea of form. I am doing everything possible to avoid injury. I felt if I went out and bought heavier weights I would be at risk. Perhaps I was a bit overly-cautious, but I would rather take it more slowly and anchor in the fitness habit properly so I continue to feel excited and motivated about exercising.

What I wasn't prepared for was the increase in my appetite. I'd heard about the need for protein after a workout, but mostly dismissed that as just manly men hype....until at 10.30am on Monday I would have killed for a whole roasted chicken. On Wednesday, I had a funny turn and it was suggested I really need to eat before my workout. I have no wish to throw up on the gym floor. That would just be embarrassing. It was good advice because this morning I had my mid-morning smoothie first thing instead and no wobblies. Please don't laugh, but I'm looking into protein shakes to boost my mid-morning smoothie to deal with the sudden carnivorous urges. 

Next week, I start Gym/Run/Rest rotations. I'm really excited about getting back out there to pound the pavement. I've missed the running. Again, deciding not to run while I got to grips with the new strength routine was a good one. I am grudgingly following Dave's advice to start with this routine rather than go straight into running and gym on alternate days with a rest on Sundays.

Last blog post, I talked about the added extra of confidence I've gained by doing the strength training. During the weekend, I realised something else.

The last 6 months have been the most consistently stressful, and in parts, distressing period of time I've experienced pretty much since my dad died nearly four years ago. In this time, I have gone from working out irregularly to working out pretty much 3-4 times a week, if not 5-6 times some weeks. This year, I started running, then joined a gym and started lifting weights. My working hours have increased to the point where it's rare that I leave the office before 6pm; my workload has multiplied like bunny rabbits on viagra and I've gone to anyone who would listen and demanded more responsibility. I haven't taken many sick days at all, despite the winter bugs and more importantly, and this is the point of it all - I am not depressed. 

I am not dragging my arse behind me trying to get things done at home or at work. I am out of bed in the mornings and after an hour of Pink Fluffy Dressing Gown, coffee and Facebook, I am out of my chair doing stuff. On my days off, I don't nap in the afternoon any more as standard. When I come home in the evenings, I'm still doing what needs to be done. My housework is no longer a chore I have to work up to. Don't get me wrong, I'm still knackered, but gone are the days when I'd crawl through the door and have a microwave meal because it was the only thing I could manage to do.

This is quite a scary revelation for me. For the past 43 years, I thought I had problems with my energy levels, problems with mental health. It turns out there's nothing wrong with my energy levels or my mental health - I just wasn't fit enough to live. 

All this time wasted.

Well, not much can be done about the past and dwelling on that isn't going to help me continue to move forward well. For the next 43 years, I now know the key to feeling good and doing more is about focusing on keeping fit and being well in myself. The more I move, the better I feel, the more I do. I am the kind of person who totally digs on the concept of 'more', so I'm going to stick with this and see where it leads.

First Week of Personal Training at the Gym

I'm so knackered, I can't think of any witty titles. I finished my session with my dreadlocked Personal Trainer (PT), came home via a greasy spoon, and spent the afternoon in bed.

This week, Rummy decided I wasn't allowed to sleep. I've had him meowing all through the night and last night I had enough. I put him outside at about 1.30. At 5 am I felt guilty and went looking for him, eventually I found him wandering round warily. Of course, I couldn't go back to sleep and he was totally wound up by the whole experience. He's still asleep. 

My PT sessions have been pretty damned awesome. Even with the sleep deprivation. I've done the most amazing things, that I never dreamed I could do. I've also got a lot of work to do, as today's session made clear. But I'm starting with a damned good base nevertheless.

People I can do dead lifts, I can squat with a 20 kg bar, leg press, chest press. Lunges, body squats, all of these I can do. Still can't do bench presses or even a push-up. That's okay. Before long, I will be dropping and doing 20! I've worked really hard. I aim to do at least 3-5 more reps, especially if it's hard. I want to get stronger. I really want to see what I can do.

Boy will be coming home next weekend and he and I are going to hit the gym together. Dave says he wants to come too. It's going to be me and my posse! I'm not sure how they're going to like my routine of 7 am starts, but in all honesty, if I leave it to the end of the day, I'm not going to be able to workout. I work at work and when I get home I want dinner and to veg either in front of Facebook or the idiot box. 

I miss the running though. I'm looking forward to getting back to my Zombies and Chapelfield Park. It's going to be interesting to see how the strength training affects my running, if at all. I'm hoping my stronger muscles will help my endurance and enable me to go further with more comfort. Shin splints are not fun. 

I also recognise I am filled with Newbie enthusiasm! I must be very tedious company right now. It's also having another strange effect. Dave will back me up on this. I'm developing an attitude problem. Situations that would have had me backing down and crawling off into a little hole to have a quiet rock and drool - no longer. 

I can run a mile in 9 mins 44 secs, I am starting to dead lift with an Olympic bar and you want to come here with that BS and expect me to take it?! HAH! I'm so done with that. It's a proper confidence, not a state that I have to talk myself into or that I think I should aspire to. It's simply - yeah, we're done with that. This is how we're going to do it.

How do I feel apart from the tiredness and muscle soreness? Good. Really good. I'm enjoying this experience far more than I ever thought I could. I've joined the gym for 1 month. It's a great place, I can have completely flexible membership, so if my finances crash, I know I'm not tied into anything. 

The gym is kinda weird really. I mean, outside of the normal allergic reactions I have to gyms anyway. When I walked in at 6.55 am Monday morning, I was really pleased that I was there. I was immediately comfortable. It wasn't overly busy, the guys there ranged from huge man mountains to weedy little scrappers. It's got two rooms. The weight floor is at the front and is the largest room. The equipment looks sturdy and well-used. The cardio and floor work room is out the back. There are a couple of treadmills, spinning bikes, a rowing machine and a weird piece of equipment that looks like a cross between a bike and a skiing machine. 

I saw three other women there today, the most I've seen. We nodded at each other and then  focused on our respective workouts - or at least they did. I was focused on my PT. He's great. He's a bloody good laugh, very encouraging and took this week at my learner's pace. We used our time together to establish where I was starting from and my goals for the next 8 weeks.

After next week, I go back to my running! Yay! I can't wait! 

Can you Hear me?

 (not the gym in question)

It seems I have been labouring under the misconception that I am an articulate woman. I always thought my communication was straightforward and direct. It seems this is not the case.

It seems that when I approach a staff member at a university gym and ask for a fitness assessment, I am actually asking for a Personal Training session. When I say I am smack-bang in the middle of the bell curve for weight/BMI/body fat percentage and am not interested in advice on nutrition, it means I really need to talk to their PT who specialises in nutrition advice. And it's okay, she's a woman, she'll totally get my specific needs. He kindly offered me a blow-by-blow tour of all the great cardio machines. I told him I was interested in strength training and he tried to show me the cardio machines some more. He was then slightly put out when I said I really wasn't interested and lead me past the weights to show me pictures of all of the PTs with their qualifications and big smiles. I stopped listening and nodded and smiled and fumed.

Everything I've ever hated in a gym rolled up into one neat package. 

(also not the gym in question)

Rows of neatly laid out machines, facing the big glass windows and the outside world. Slim gym bunnies bouncing on stair machines, the guys lifting weights over there. All very clean, attractive and so, not me.

I go to the Sportspark to swim. I could be tempted by the circuit training, except that only happens at lunchtimes and I'm in another part of the city. Everything else they can keep.

All I wanted was a proper, scientific assessment of my fitness. I want to have accurate data so when I start the next part of my training I'll have solid base measurements as a guide. I know, I know I'm odd. But you would think that the university gym, where all of these shiny PTs were trained, would be totally up for the odd. 

The PT I met on Tuesday evening, who might have been confused by my request on the phone was straight up about it. He might have thought I was odd, but he was up for the challenge. I'm meeting him for my first session at 7 am Monday and I'm now confident I made the right decision; about the gym and about him.

All I've committed to is three sessions next week. I haven't signed up at the gym or agreed to sign up. I can pay as I go. If I hate it, I will bail PDQ. I see myself doing two weeks with him and then fly solo, with occasional sessions to check my form and progression. Or at least, that's the Plan*.

Tomorrow, I'm off for a Yoga Day. I'm really looking forward to it. I know I'm in safe hands and the thought of spending a day stretching out and meditating is absolute bliss.

* we all know how well my Plans can work out

There is no Finish Line...

After my run yesterday, I could have crawled into my bed and cried. Talk about going backwards and painful: I was so slow and my shins, my word they hurt. Instead, I slapped on some Tiger Balm and made a phone call. I've got to the point where I need advice. But again, whose can I trust?

There's so much information out there and so much of it is conflicting. Like many other industries, the fitness industry seems to have fallen into different camps that really don't talk to each other and spend a lot of time slagging everyone else off. They want you to spend your money with them exclusively. Throw diet into the equation and Oh My Goodness, welcome to hysteria. 

I picked up and called a gym wanting a proper fitness assessment. When I picked up the phone I thought having a proper assessment of my heart rate and VO2 max would be useful to me as a bench mark. Instead, I got a consultation. I think it was a good outcome. I went down there to have a chat and a look around last night.

The gym itself is small, shabby and smells of sweat and testosterone. Boy knows it's reputation as a body builders gym and was immediately concerned. When you go in, you immediately see the weights. Lots of space to lift. There are a few machines and the obligatory mirrors. The cardio machines are out back. I didn't bother to go there. It always seems to be a surprise to some. I'm stroppy enough that I enjoy the surprise.

My consult was with a young, strapping, dreadlocked, dude. He listened as I told him what I wanted. 

Apparently, what I want requires a bit of adjustment on his end of things. Because I want strength and speed and flexibility. Apparently, it's more normal to want one thing and to focus on that thing. I think that's just mainstream blinkers and laziness from their programme design end. From my own tiny bit of experience, I know I got on much better on the bike, after I did my exercise DVDs. Yes, in order to be a better runner I do need to pound the miles on the pave. However, if my legs, core and arms are stronger and work more efficiently, I will be able to bring power to my running. Something, I don't have a lot of right now. There are some who say more muscle mass means slower. If it means better endurance and an ease in the aching in my shins, I'm totally cool with making the trade off. But something tells me that won't be the case.

I don't think I will be ready for the Norwich Half Marathon this year.

This realisation irks me no end. I would have loved to have been able to run it this year. It would have given me great pleasure to have done it. To be able to run against the regular runners at work. But there you go. That's about ego.

The goals I've set aren't about this year, or even next. I haven't given myself a time limit. I will do those 13.1 miles and when I run them I'm going to do it from a position of strength, not a position of ego and desperation to prove myself. The miles aren't going to go anywhere. But if injure myself or knacker myself in the training I won't be able to do it; I'll get pissed off and stop.

Fitness for body beautiful doesn't interest me at all. If I was that bothered about my general appearance, I suppose I'd have lived my life a lot more differently. I'm not also particularly interested in fitness for fitness' sake either. I don't want to turn it into doing a DVD, running on a treadmill reading a magazine. I tried that and could never make it stick. I'm not doing it for the weight-loss. I'm smack bang within the bell curves of weight for age and BMI. Yes, I'd love to drop half a stone (that's 7 lbs for you over the water), I'd love to be size 8. But realistically, I'm probably going to gain a half a stone with the strength training. My body shape has already started to change, even with the light and gentle start. 

By the way, lifting weights is unlikely to turn me into Arnold Schwarzenegger. Women tend not to build muscles like men, unless they are dropping steroids. Not enough testosterone. 

I'm doing this so Dave and I can go biking in the summer. When the weather is good, we can take off on our bikes and go have afternoon tea in a small village tea room a couple of villages over. Dave also fancies walking the coast of Norfolk and I'd like to be strong enough to do it and carry my share of equipment. There may be camping involved. But we'll see how that goes.

The running...well the running is for me. I bloody love it and I want to see how fast I can go, how far I can run. I belt out of here and the pleasure of running in the early morning, before the World is up and at 'em, it's all mine.

There's a race around Fritton Lake in May that looks interesting. It's a 5k, perfect. I'm also going to look for a 10k later in the year. Dave and I have laughingly started talking about triathlons and I confess, I'm more than a little bit curious. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to race on a bike, nor is my swimming good enough for that level of competition. Hell, I can barely stop myself drowning. But it's a nice fantasy. 

I've booked 3 PT sessions next week, stupid o'clock in the morning before work. I had a think about things and I'm going to have to hold off on the running for the next few weeks. I'm going to be asking a lot from my body and I've also got to be sharp enough for work. Gently, gently is the pace right now. Get my strength routine bedded in and then back to the running. It feels like the right thing to do. That's the plan at any rate. I'm sure Life has a stack of spanners to throw at me.

Run Roses, Run!

I'm struggling to believe that nearly a month has past since I last blogged. My days settled into a routine which went along these lines:

Wake up early (like at 6am, sometimes even before the alarm went off)
Go running/Exercise
Go to work
Work like a dawg
Come home
Eat
Collapse in bed by 9.30

Rinse and repeat ad nauseum.

Dave has been concerned that I've been training by myself. He believes that running with others is more motivating. I loathe exercising with other people and have resisted his suggestions vigourously. I've been getting up, pretty much every other day and getting my backside out the door, with my Zombies! Run 5k training. He did suggest I sign up for the Sports Relief mile, which I duly did. It helped having a nearby goal. November's Half Marathon is still quite a way away. 

I've been steadily noting my improvements: running to every third tree, to running down the length of the park, to running all way around the park. Still not a mile without stopping though.

I made the mistake of asking advice from one of the guys at work who runs marathons regularly. As we chatted, he asked about my heart rate and as I'm a keen keeper of biometric stats, I was able to answer. At which point he fell about laughing. Apparently, 183 bpm is still ridiculously high. Like I didn't already know. There was much hilarity at my expense and I crept away. 

You see, I am still the girl who got picked second to last for team sports at school. I am still the girl who finished last at pretty much every awful sports day throughout my school life. I am the girl who people laughed and laughed at because I was slow and uncoordinated. 

When I thought about the Norwich Half Marathon in November, it was something I was curious about doing. I was interested to see how I would do setting a goal and working towards it. I wanted to challenge myself. I never expected to fall in love with running.

I have fallen in love with running.

It's quite scary. I am usually awake before my alarm goes off. I bounce out of bed on my running days and get into my running gear as quickly as possible. I'm out the house and pounding the pave with my headphones blaring my running tracks, interspersed with the Zombies! Run 5k story and instructions: and a massive grin on my face. 

Today, I ran my first race in my adult life. Dave teased me good naturedley about having to beat the girl in 4c and not to feel bad when a bunch of 7 year olds over-took me. He wasn't far wrong actually. The race was full of primary school children with their parents. There were also people in fancy dress, Sports Relief onesies and miscellaneous adults (of which I was one).

I was crapping myself. What kind of a fraud was I? Wearing this running gear and thinking I could do this?

Dave suggested I aim to finish 11 mins 20 secs. For a beginner, he said it was a good start. Frankly, as I hadn't run a complete mile yet, I was just looking forward to finishing the race in one piece. I wasn't confident, but I was going to go for it.

We arrived on time and it was great to see everyone in such good spirits. The waiting around for the start was a bit nerve-wracking. When we were called to The Start, I was really nervous. Dave was there, I could see him out of the way to one side. And then, one of my Facebook friends and members of a fitness group found me and gave me the most massive hug. Her husband just finished his 10k run and she stayed on long enough to wish me luck.

The group warm-up was a pain. I got boxed in by kids and parents who were confused by the instructions and in all honesty, there was no stretching included (although, there is some debate as to whether stretching before a race keeps injuries down) and I got impatient.

The air horn going off was a complete relief! There was a downhill stretch and I started to create some space. I started weaving around the slower people running. It was a bit disconcerting to see small kids running past me, but as the race progressed, I learnt not to care too much.

Going up Opie Street was great. I like the uphill, felt good on my calves. Unfortunately, I ran out of puff going along Castle Meadow, I slowed right down and most of the people who I overtook early then got their own back. Karma really is a bitch. 

Once I got to the bottom of Theatre Street and that steady climb, I was really puffing hard. I focused on my breathing and keeping my running form. I ended up having a small walk, but got frustrated with myself when I realised I was on the home stretch. Chapelfield Park is where I train. Going through the entrance was such an emotional lift. I knew that path. Physically, I hurt. Not so much my shins but my breath and chest, I was pushing it. As I ran along the length of the park, I got over taken by two women. Suddenly, my competitiveness kicked in.

That is a totally weird feeling, let me tell you. I became Aggressive Bitch from Hell. I refused to have it. I picked up my pace and passed the first one and when I got the second one in my sights, just before the Finish Line, oh my goodness, I increased the length in my stride and fucking went for it!

I over took her and got to Finish Line.

It took me a few minutes to get my breath back, but I had my medal! I did it! And then Dave told me my time. He timed me exactly from Start to Finish.

I did it in 9 mins 44 secs!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am trying to describe the feeling and failing miserably. Elation? Pleasure? Exhaustion? Exultation?

I have been dancing around the flat. I have been on social media crowing about my achievement. I fucking did it! For a beginner 9 mins 44 secs is perfectly acceptable. This is a start, a great start. The fact of the matter is, I'm in this for the long-haul. I may not be good enough for the Half-Marathon this year, I've got a helluva lot of work to do between now and then. But I will sure as hell be good enough for it next year. 

And this is my soundtrack since I crossed the Finish Line.

Bitten

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 then, it doesn't get done at all. I can't train at the end of the day, I am just too tired. Work is very demanding and when I get home, I take my shoes off, dig something out of the fridge and disengage my brain in front of a screen. I don't particularly like getting out of breath and sweaty. My shins and calves ache all the time. There's no let up. 

Why do it?

Ten years ago, my mother died. It was my wake up call to the inevitability of death. I bought an exercise DVD, some cheap workout gear from Primark and some cross-trainers. Every now and then, between then and now I'd break out the DVD, write a blog about how much I wanted to get fit and take the shoes off, put the DVD back on the shelf and have another handful of chocolate.

Two years ago, I started having a lot of trouble with my lower back. I couldn't sit down for any length of time. I started popping ibuprofen like tic-tacs. A few sessions of yoga and a few visits to my osteopath got it to a more manageable level. It was becoming clear to me, I needed to move more.

Last year, Dave finally convinced me to get on a bike. I did and it damned near killed me. I dusted off my exercise DVDs and looked and my knackered shoes. The little bit of exercising I did made a whole heap of difference to the experience of going out on the bike. And then Dave bought me the Shiny Bike. We've not been out much over the winter, but as the nights draw out, the road is beginning to call. 

Over the winter, I've upped my exercise activity. I wanted to move more, to be able to do a little bit more. And then, in a vulnerable moment, I said I would do the Norwich half-marathon. More fool me.

At this point, I say this and I have no idea if I will actually be able to do it. I tell you what it's done - I am now one focused woman. I am in training, not just exercising. There is a point to my increased physical activity level. The Viking recommended Zombies, Run! as a fun way to  run and I downloaded their 5k training app. I'm so glad I did. It combines a proper running program with Zombie Apocalypse storyline and is way more fun than just running around and around my local park. 

Zombies, Run!

For Christmas, Dave gave me a heart-rate monitor. I can now keep track of how hard I'm working and it's been a very useful tool. I now visit fitness websites and have loads of apps to track my progress - fitness and weight goals. Yes, I am perfectly aware that they are fun to have and are not really necessary. Just as I don't really need to have three pairs of running leggings, long-sleeved running shirts or those shiny, expensive running shoes. I do feel a total fraud still. I'm not actually running...I am working up to it. I squeeze my body into the running lycra, put on my florescent gear and head out feeling like a total fool. I look like too much mince, shoved into a tight sausage skin. I suppose that's part of the other reason I run in the mornings - no one else is awake to point and laugh.

I'm also having to work on my running technique. I'm a heavy heel striker which is part of the reason I'm having such issues with my shins. By concentrating on adopting good form now, it will hopefully mean less joint and back issues in the future as I begin to pile on the miles. 

Speaking of my back and previous skeletal issues...my back is remarkably happy with me at the moment. To the point where I did some strength training yesterday and then went for a long walk around town. I was able to keep standing and move without any grinding in my hips or lower back. I didn't even think about it until I got home. No, I couldn't have done that in October. Walking around the city became quite uncomfortable very quickly and I adopted many strategies to avoid it as much as possible.

My knee is surprisingly quiet. No undue bitching or complaining about the extra work-load at all. It makes me wish I started working out far sooner.

Exercise is not a magic bullet. I am not going to suddenly become happier and healthier and go skipping through fields of daisies with bunnies, unicorns and rainbows. Training has given me an outlet for my emotions, it's a distraction from some of the stuff I'm really struggling with right now. In my weaker moments, it's stopping me from reaching for the bottle of gin and the packet of rolling tobacco.

The biggest physical challenge I've ever faced up until now was Boy's birth. I know I've got a whole heap of emotional resources to call on, I can face down most crises with confidence. Physical stuff...not so much. I've always been a bit of a wimp. Not now though. I've got my running shoes on.

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.

Dave hasn't stopped laughing.

I believe he's figured out my personality failing: if someone says I can't do something...I have to do it. Even if it's not in my best interests. Hell, especially if it's not in my best interests. 

When in doubt, go shopping. It's a rule of mine that works pretty well. Shopping for proper fitness clothes on a budget is a bit of a challenge, let me tell you. I've done pretty well so far, but even so it's stretched me somewhat. I'm not dressing to impress. People who run/cycle will spot me and go "all gear, no frigging idea." I'm dressing to be safe, comfortable and warm/cool* (*delete as appropriate). Tonight, I ventured into another sports store to find a light florescent running jacket that's going to be wind and rain proof.

You see I've signed up to do the Sports Relief Mile. Dave rightly pointed out that the Half-Marathon is only 40 weeks away. Oh, you think that's ages away? Hah. You forget I've given birth. I know the fallacy of that thinking. I'll start with the Sports Relief Mile and then aim for the Park Run 5k and then when I've cracked that I'll start training for 10k. 

First things first. 

The mile. 

Yesterday, I took my shoes for their second outing ever. I discovered that jogging/running slow is knackering and tedious. I liked the sprinting for short distances. I also get cold. Even when running.

I've got the App. It's called Zombies, Run! and it's awesome fun. It integrates proper training with a zombie apocalypse storyline. It tells me I will be running 5k in 8 weeks. I think it's dreaming, but there you go.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the proper shoes, the gear, the technology and now I can't put it off any longer...I have to run. 

Tomorrow morning, I will be watching this video. How about this for sheer, cast-iron determination?



Oh you can also sponsor me, if you like? 

In Which I find a new Friend

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 cats, he made mumbly noises, so I showed him the cats I was looking at. We agreed to go and look. He warned me several times and I quote:

"We are going to look. Do not expect to come home with a cat in a carrier bag."

We go to the back and beyond. The elderly lady who set up this trust, surrounded by cats of varying ages, shapes and sizes, asks me a few pointed questions and then I am shown into the cattery. 

In the past few weeks since Solitaire died, I've found it very difficult coming home to a cold, empty, dark flat. I miss her so very, very much. Her little face in the glass panel of the door, pleased to see me. I miss her little Solitaire ways.

When I started looking at pictures of cats - all I saw were small, black, nervy cats. It turns out black cats have the lowest adoption rate. I was determined not to get another small, nervy cat. Solitaire was her own person and I can never replace her. I was looking for a companion, a new friend and lodger.

The lady who showed me around said they adopt to people who the cats choose, rather than the other way round. She led me through the cattery where there were a mixture of permanent residents and cats waiting for their new slaves. Beji was described as a slim, slightly nervous cat. Suitable for indoors only...and preferably to go with his "best friend" Basil.

Benji is not slim, by any means. He's a massive bruiser. Though that really didn't register too much until he came home with us. Every time Basil came anywhere near him, there was much growling and fuss. He was however, the only cat who was interested in me and continued to be interested in me once we greeted each other. The lady went and got Dave and the two said hello to each other. At that the lady said, "Have you got a pet carrier? It's decided, he'll have you."

Dave and I blinked at each other.

Yes, Dave still had my carrier in his car, but when he brought it in, it was obvious there no way Benji was going to fit. He was too big. Happily, they had a spare carrier that they let me have and I left mine with them. Benji was cornered and coaxed into the carrier and within 15 minutes, Dave, my new owner and I were heading back to Norwich. He was as good as gold in the car. I held the carrier on my lap and he settled down. Half-way home, he stuck his paw out to hold my hand.

We had to go home via the pet store to get him all the things that should have been waiting here for him. I really wasn't expecting to be bringing a cat home on the same day. He was uncomplaining for the whole trip, the wait in the car park with Dave, and arrival at the flat. His new domain.

He disappeared for a couple of hours, which is standard behaviour. Cats like to find some place safe to act as a base, they come out and explore in quadrants and in very small doses. 

There was a knock on the door and there was my Boy! He decided to surprise me. Had I known he was about, I'd have dragged him off to choose my new owner. But as Dave said, I have to live with the beast; it was important we chose each other. 

First thing that had to happen was a rename. Boy's middle name is Benjamin and Zoe's dog's name is Ben. Another Benjamin would just be too weird. Boy came up with the idea over dinner of keeping with the card game theme, so Benji is now Rummy. 

He's a big fellow. I mean really big. He's also quite confident and strong. Now he's settling in, I'm beginning to really see who he is; I think we'll get on just fine. He's draped on one of our sofas, taking up quite a bit of space. As I was writing this he decided he wanted to be on my lap. My lap and chair are not big enough for him unless I hold onto him. I'm going to learn how to become a one-handed typist. Stop sniggering in the back.

I certainly got my wish in the fact he is his own person. He is different in size, shape and temperament to Solitaire. I think we'll get on just fine. He'll soon have me trained up.

My spot. You may worship me

Would you like to play a game?