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?

Just About Standing...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am still standing. After one of the most horrible days on Monday, where I cried and cried through the whole day, I went to bed and slept. I actually slept well, which surprised me somewhat, but there you go. Tuesday started with a few sniffles and then I put on my Big Girl Pants and went forth to work. I had a few rough moments, but breathed through them.

I don't understand people who live on their own without a pet. Why would you do that to yourself? I know some people work erratic hours or travel away a lot of the time, but to come home to a cold, dark house without a little face happy to see you at the door...that must be loneliness of the stone cold soul variety. 

I am sitting with my grief. I did have a look at the RSPCA site at cats...but all the ones I saw were black and too close in temperament to Solitaire. If I get another cat so soon, they will end up being constantly compared to her and that will be forever a poor second. The vets have organised her cremation, I would like her ashes home for a couple of weeks before I think about getting another companion. 

It seems in my vulnerable moments I suffer from The Stupid. 

I signed up for doing a half marathon in November with the runners at work. I seriously doubt my sanity sometimes. Dave is concerned. Given I haven't run a step since October, he's right to be concerned. I'm scratching my head here. I honestly don't know where my head was at. 

But I signed up, I've got 42 weeks to train. Now all I need to do is put in the miles. 

We went for a 10 mile bike ride on Friday. I enjoyed the return journey more than the first leg. It'd been a few months since I'd been out on my Shiny Bike and my confidence had dipped and so had my Road Craft; but I did it. Coming back, we went off road. My word, I love going off road. It was muddy and bumpy and I had this mad grin for the whole time. 

I misjudged the weather and didn't wear thick enough layers. I knew I'd be okay while I was going...and I was. It was just when we got home, the cold seeped out of my thighs for hours after. Even after a very hot shower. The next day, I dragged Dave off to buy the proper gear. Happily, my new cycling leggings also have padding on the backside. My butt is still sore. We're going to have to experiment with saddle angles to improve my posture as I ride and I may even try one of Dave's saddles to see if that helps. 

Exercising regularly again has been good for me. I still have a lot of ground to catch up on, but one thing is for sure, it is good for me to go back to my lazy ways. I twanged something in my neck on Friday. Normally that would mean a £40.00 visit to see my osteopath. I've pretty much shaken it today and it bloody hurt Friday evening; I had to sleep very carefully. A couple of years ago, I was popping Ibuprofen like a junkie because my lower back hurt so much when I sat down for any length of time. I do have the occasional twinge and my posture still has a lot of room for improvement, but I haven't needed to resort to the drugs for my back for a long time. 

I'm still surprised that I now have a bike of my own and that I would even think of running...it's a far cry from my old attitude of "I'm horizontal and comfy, leave me alone." I wish my fitness would improve more quickly. For all my hard work, I'm still not very fit at all. If I had been doing it for the outcome, I'd have packed up ages ago. Too much like bloody hard work, if you ask me. I'm doing it because it makes me feel good. Simple as that really. My only goal is to do the workouts. Somehow or another I'm going to have to squeeze in the running. One thing I have noticed is that by mixing things up, it makes it more fun and it pushes improvements in sideways...when I do a bike ride, my lifting improves. By increasing my weights, my cardio improves. So, it's all good. 

In Memoriam: The Cat

Regular readers of this blog, will know her as the Cat. To me she was: Bloody Animal, Little One, Solly and Solitaire. 

She was Boy's birthday present. After 2 years of upheaval after my separation and divorce, we were finally settled enough to have a pet. She was supposed to be Boy's. Stupid human. We were hers. 

We went and chose her from the surviving litter of 3. A dog had got in and killed her mum and other siblings. She remained a nervous little thing with a horrendous habit of peeing by the front door. Especially, if I hung a door curtain to keep the cold out. I tried all kinds of remedies to break that habit. It was only once we'd moved back here to the flat (and I didn't bother with the door curtain) that she stopped peeing regularly there. 

As a kitten she was a mental little thing. As an adult, she had the sweetest temperament. When we lived here in the Flat before, I'd throw the door open in the summer and she would go out and about. When I had to shut the door to go out, or it was time for bed, she would come running. She didn't like to be shut out. At the House, with the cat flap, she would come in and out as she pleased. Still she preferred company. When I smoked she would always come out and keep me company, though she was less inclined if the weather was diabolical, she would still huddle under the umbrella with me.

The Cat hated to be picked up. She would tolerate it for a few heartbeats and then the front feet would come out and she would push until she was released. That didn't prevent her from being affectionate. She'd never come and sit on my lap, but she would curl up next to me on the sofa, or at my feet on the bottom of my bed. Afternoon nap time she'd lie in between my legs as long as I was there and give me the evils when I'd get up.

She loved to play. Her games became more sedate as she gracefully aged, but there was still mischief there. She liked to bat things off tables, much in the same way a baby will throw a toy out of a pushchair, and she would wait with supposed indifference until it was replaced. Then it would be batted off again. Pens, coins, batteries. 

She also had a thing about water. No glass of water was safe...I was never fully convinced that glasses of squash were off limits either. As a kitten she'd play with her water until the kitchen was flooded. I took to putting her water in a jug in the bath. At night, I'd wake to hear the sound of the plastic reverberating against the bath as she played.

A small cat, she had a thing about heights. She needed to be higher off the ground. Therefore, stools, tables, bookcases were all her favoured vantage points. Box files on tables were also acceptable and at a push a single 80 gsm piece of paper on the floor would do. When we moved to the House 5 years ago, she wasn't so much of a keen jumper. I only really know of one occasion when she jumped the fence and left the garden and I know that only through Boy who had to retrieve her from behind the neighbour's shed. 

Last summer, I noticed she was even less inclined to jump and she struggled to get onto furniture in the same energetic way. She was 14 going on 15 and I figured she was entitled to slow down. 

In my heart of hearts, I knew last summer our time together was coming to an end. I knew I could take her to the vets and get her checked out. But it would mean a car journey that she hated with a passion and the vets, which stressed her out to the extent she would hide for days after. Instead, I bought collapsable stools that I placed where she liked to jump up: next to our sofas, next to the bath and at the foot of my bed. I bought her a new catnip toy mouse that she squeaked around the front room. I gave her more and more treats to encourage her to eat.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed she kept trying to go to the loo on the carpet. Nothing was coming out. Then her distress was more clear. I packed her off to the vets to be told she was vastly underweight and dehydrated. They kept her in for blood tests and stuck her on a drip. It was an awful weekend. When the second round of blood tests came back with hyper-thyroidism, I thought we had a reprieve. I was forced to consider our options and I knew I wouldn't put her through any treatment. 

In the last fortnight, she and I had a battle twice a day, to get her to take a little pink pill. Bless her, she instantly forgave the indignity, even if she began to develop a time sense and started to try to disappear at pill time. Her appetite returned and she ate with much gusto.

On Friday morning, I woke to the sound of her being sick. Yakking up a furball I thought. Except there was no fur. I had to work. I took her food away and didn't give her the pill, but asked Boy to do it later on. Work was an absolute blast. I swanned in full of triumph and a couple of gins. Dave and I were going to drive Boy back to university on Saturday and despite that, I was in total party mode.

Until I saw she had continued to be sick. And she was sick where she was. 

I rang the vets and pestered the receptionist until I was given an emergency appointment there and then. 

Despite her improved appetite she hadn't gained any weight in the two weeks. The vet couldn't hear her heartbeat on one side of her body. She was too fragile to sedate to X-ray  Yes, the vomiting could be stopped. It could be caused by the medication. There were diets that could potentially work. She had just lost too much weight in too short a time. Her fur hid the lack of bulk. I cried through our entire consultation, the Cat tucked firmly against me. It was the only place she felt safe. She fought with the vet to get back to me and in the end, she was examined as I held her. 

We had 15 years together. She was our sense of home. She was my companion through sorrow and joy. We have so many memories fun, frustrating, hilarious of her. She trained us so well.

Solitaire slipped away, very gently in my arms.

Still Rambling

Still too early damn it

As you can see, there's some improvement. The days of doing bugger-all are beginning to work. But my attention span is still all over the place, so I'm falling back on lazy blogging  with bullet points.

• Dave made the mistake. He told me he saw a purple lava lamp. I needed it. Yes, this is exactly all what is wrong in society today. I needed it. I had to have it. It went on my credit card. I don't care. I LOVE IT! It's mine...
• It now sits next to my printer, behind my laptop 
• It takes a while for the wax to warm up and then it makes lovely shapes in the liquid
• I gave my beloved a torc wrench for Christmas, he gave me a heart rate and fitness monitor (purple). We are both ecstatic with our gifts. Needless to say, I know it won't be long before every nut and bolt on our bikes will be tightened up...and apparently, I have a [good] fitness level
• I'm starting to move again. Only after Dave complained of a sore throat and thick head for a week, it occurred to me that perhaps another bug was contributing to my general malaise
• Work has been a veritable cornucopia of germs, bugs and things to make you go bleugh
• I must get more anti-bac gel to give my immune system a break. I'm fed up of feeling ill
• Boy's back in town. It's a lot more strange having him back, than I anticipated. Though I hasten to add, it is good to see him
• I realised we don't talk much when we're alone together, we just kind of hang out
• I wonder if he thinks I'm boring and I don't do much. I certainly haven't done much over the break
• I've been drinking a lot of tea over the break. It makes me feel warm and cosy inside
• My man bought me a tea pot to match my kitchen and it has a removable metal basket inside for loose tea. You see why I'm so partial to him? It matches my kitchen
• The Boxing Day sale madness has passed me by. I have not participated in the feeding frenzy that is seasonal bargain hunting. Apart from the purple lava lamp (did I mention it was purple), I've been unmoved to venture into the city
• When we did amble into the city so I could purchase the lava lamp (purple), I was the only person in a frenzy. However, for the first time in years there were masses of shoppers who were actually carrying bags
• I feel your confusion
• In recent years, the city has been busy at this time of year. Gentleman's Walk, the main thoroughfare of the retail heart of Norwich, has been packed. But people were looking, not buying. Their arms were swinging
• Not so this year. People had bags and bags. This is good news for our local economy. These four festive weeks are when our retailers take 80% of their money
• Apart from one Amazon purchase to go abroad, once again I shopped local and independent. I was thinking of stretching my definition to John Lewis (which is a co-operative, but a large one), and in the end I didn't need to
• I did go into a local shop and ask them to get me an electrical item. I was unimpressed when they invited me to go to John Lewis as they could not match their price to order in this bit of kit. I told them it didn't matter. I wanted to give them my money. They declined
• Today will be the last totally lazy, bone idle day of rest. From tomorrow, I will start increasing my activity levels and start bringing my sleeping patterns back to normal i.e. not going to sleep at 1 am, getting up at 9-10-11 am
• I am so behind in my personal admin I'm looking at my colon. If it doesn't get done this week, the tax man is going to be demanding my lava lamp
• Even though I had exactly the Christmas I wanted and needed, I still had The Sad. I miss my dad and I'm homesick. My family back home and I have missed each other communication-wise and in a way I'm relieved. The way I feel right now, I could just hop on a plane and head out there now
• It's a dangerous feeling. 

It's purple

Jammie Day, Day 1 of Festive Season Time Off

I didn't think I'd make it. I really didn't. It was like crawling across a dessert of broken glass. I'm exhausted. 2013 has been bloody hard work. 

There really isn't a polite way of saying I look as rough as a badger's arse

But I'm here. I am taking a proper, long break over the Festive Season. I don't go back until the 6th of January. I'm aware that there's a pile of work waiting for me when I do get back, but that's fine. I want to start 2014, rested and energised. Well, okay. That's what I want, I know I won't necessarily feel like it. And that's okay. 

I promised myself 2 days of pyjamas. Two days of not leaving the house. Two days of not doing anything I don't want to do. I've got a pile of potential reading that's going to take me at least two weeks. I'm not doing stress over this break. I don't care if it's Christmas. I'm opting out of anything drama-related and woe betide anyone who attempts to bring it to my doorstep. I'm feeling very protective of myself.

More coffee, Dear Gods, please - More coffee!

The blogging habit has slipped somewhat with the extra hours at work and the end of the year exhaustion. I'd very much like to get back to it. It feels like I've lost touch with too many good friends in the blogosphere, especially those who avoid Facebook like the plague. Facebook is the lazy person's way of keeping in touch - which is why I like it so much!

Boy and I have planned a totally decadent Christmas Day. We will go shopping on the 24th, buy up a whole load of ridiculous party munchies and on the 25th, we'll done pjs cook, watch DVDs, play Xbox games. I will be indulging in naughtiness consumption. Now Boy is of legal age, he's dry as Methuselah's grave. Dave is invited to join us, only if he gets into his own jammies. 

So, this is the first day of my festive break and I was wide awake at 6.45. Go figure. I managed to doze until 8 o'clock and then it got too much. I needed coffee. After I publish this, I'll be tackling another workout. If I'm going to be eating my bodyweight in nibbles and treats, I sure as hell need to keep my metabolism going otherwise I'm going to be really pissed off with myself in January.

It'll be okay, honest.

What are your plans? Are you all set for the Season's frivolities?

Drunk and in Charge of a Keyboard

I'm sure this isn't a good idea. One I will regret and perhaps delete when sobriety hits. But since when has that ever stopped me? Never. I'm going to tell you a little about why I'm such a fundamental optimist. Why I feel compelled to help the talented people around (and yes, there are many). This isn't a "OMG, Poor me" post. I've only had a gin and tonic, I'm not quite there enough to let the Self-Pity Gnome in.

I'm a bit of an outsider in my Life. 

During my childhood, I didn't look like my family. I was adopted. I didn't know my racial origins. I was scrawny, short-sighted and had teeth and a smile only a mother could love. I didn't know what I wanted to do when I grew up. I was socially awkward, unathletic and preferred the company of animals. I liked books, but was rubbish at school. I liked people and had a weird kind of confidence with them, but didn't really connect with anyone for any length of time. All in all, I was a bit of a mess. 

I wanted to be like my brother. He always knew what he wanted to do. I respected that so much. That passion to exclude all other things, to just know what path needed to be trod. That was just so cool.

I though this passion could be found in relationships with the opposite sex. But no, I chose badly; it all went horribly wrong and I've since learnt to love very carefully. It can be a bit of a compromise, but I love as much as I feel safe to, so I'm not hurt by rejection too much.

Writing as my preferred form of communication has been with me since I nicked my father's Brother typewriter at 13. It was only at 33 that I began to learn how to construct a story someone might actually want to read from start to finish. Ten years later, I haven't really written anything apart from my random blogging and a novella.

I have commitment issues.

That's why I'm so utterly inspired by talented people who follow through their passions with actions. I am blessed with friends both online and IRL who are writers, artists, poets, musicians, photographers and entrepreneurs, I just want to help. That's part of the reason why I did the NLP, I thought it would enable me to help people who wanted to do something different.

Simple really.

Too see people who are prepared to walk to the ends of the earth to make their dreams come true, who do that bit more different, that's really something. 

Getting Back on Several Horses

A couple of days after I wrote the previous blog post I was flattened by a bug. I ended up in bed for 3 days which then wrecked my back and then the bug headed into my sinuses for another week. Honestly, if I would have been put down if I were a horse. I managed one day off sick and crawled into work regardless. I don't do stiff-upper lip normally, I lean towards the pathetic-and-give-me-sympathy-and-more-tea. But frankly, I'm busy. I was too busy to whinge. So I didn't. 

This week has been the first time I've felt almost human. I'm running on about 85%, which is a relief. I've also agreed that I will be taking a long break over the Festive Period. I am exhausted and desperate for my jammies, Pink Fluffy Dressing Gown and lots of Facebook Statuses about coffee. 

Every year in January, my work packs up and heads to an appropriate auditorium to host their Vision Day. It's a chance to reflect about the previous year and to set goals and the theme for the new year. I end up doing one of my favourite jobs which is researching quotes and information that will go into the various presentations. 

Doing this has put me into a reflective frame of mind. I haven't been this introspective for some time. I've been thinking about all the changes that have happened this year. All of the different facets of my life have moved around, adjusted their positions or just metamorphosed into something I wouldn't have recognised this time last year.

This has been a year of changing relationships. Some have drifted, some have dissolved completely, some have changed shape and solidified into new forms. It's been an interesting process. 

I moved. A highly traumatic, but necessary event. I also took steps to sort out my finances. I've done another 'quick fix', but I've shaved my outgoings and I'm still grappling with my bad spending habits. 

On a similar note, October marked my third anniversary at my place work. Hard to believe I've actually been in the same place for 3 years. It's the longest time I've ever been in one place of employment. My past record is 18 months. I have a very low boredom threshold. The great thing about my role is that it's constantly changing, I get to police my own hours and I get to be myself. Both Insight and myself have managed to come up with a working compromise which means I am contented there and I give them value for money. If you'd have told me 4 years ago I'd be this happy to work within financial services, I'd have laughed at you. 

Who knew eh?

Not me.

This December marks my first anniversary of being nicotine free. It's a year since I stopped. I went cold turkey, with minimal NLP intervention and since stopping I can think of only a few times when I really was tempted and the temptation didn't last very long at all. I'm quite pleased about that. I've not even had a puff. My lungs and bank manager are even more pleased about it. It's nice not waking up to a phlegmic cough and wheezing.

I also started exercising regularly. Or I should say, I made a commitment not to give up exercising. I continue to be determined not to stop working at improving my fitness. Yes, I'd still like to lose a stone (14 lbs to you over the water) but it's more akin to wanting to win the lottery and buying a ticket once every 6 months. I'm more interested in becoming stronger, not thinner. 

I saw a comment on a blog post of the fitness site I follow and it particularly resonated with me. The young woman who commented, was recently getting over a serious illness, her recovery has been over a couple of years (it was that serious). She attributed her recovery to the fact that she was a semi-professional dancer and had to maintain the level of fitness necessary to perform at that physically demanding activity. When she got flattened by her illness (which sounded on par with meningitis) she thinks it would have been so much worse, had she not been that fit. She finished off by saying she needed to get fitter, not to be well, but in order to be ill. 

I want to be more robust, physically. I feel strong emotionally, but rather lacking physically. Exercise is my way of dealing with this. Rather than adopting an exercise plan, I've adopted a commitment. I'm not going to stop getting stronger. I may lapse, need a week off or as recently, 3 weeks off, but I'm returning to program. The lapses are rests and time for recovery, not for giving up.

Can't talk about exercise, without talking about diet. I'm still making my own lunches. I've reduced the amount of processed foods I eat. I've increased my vegetable and fruit intake to the point where I'm eating 9 or 10 a day. My wok is my new best friend. Even if I fry my veggies in butter and add dollops of creme fraiche. I still have a little of what I fancy e.g. a biscuit and a slice of cake today. It's a guilt free indulgence.

2013 hasn't been a kind year, but it's been a year where lots of great things have happened.  I'm hoping 2014 will continue this trend. I'm going to work on being stronger - physically, emotionally and financially (and to blog more regularly). 

How's 2013 been for you? Did you make resolutions? Did you keep them? 

Do you fancy a cheerleader? I'm totally up for cheerleading you, if you've got some goal you'd like to achieve in 2014. I'll encourage you, you encourage me. That's the way it'll work. We can hang out IRL, on blogs or on social media. Let's do it! You could want motivation for exercise, eating healthily or for upping your career game. I don't mind. I'm totally selfish about my motivation for setting up an Inspiration Group. I want to hang out with YES people.  People who want to test their limits and try new shit out. I want to inspire and be inspired. Go on. Let's do it.

Beware the Snake Oil Salesman

...if you're thinking about getting fit and healthy.

You think that there's conflicting "facts" about food? Hah! Wait till you try exercise! There's all kinds of sneaky ways to part you from your cash, without it ever making much of a difference to your fitness or general health.

To be fair, part of it is caused by consumers' apathy and fear.

As I meander around the internet and try to get to the bottom of how to move my bottom better, so it's not sagging towards the floor, I realised that PT Barnum was right. There really is one born every minute.

The sad fact of the matter is exercise is hard. It's called a workout because you have to "work". There's no magic pill, no magic fruit discovered by a botanist in the Amazon you can sprinkle on your porridge, or electrodes that you can attach to your wobbly tummy - they don't work. There's no quick fix. No fit in 4 weeks. No fit in 4 months, even.

The trouble is, people want to believe this magic quick fix works, and when it doesn't, they give up.

Fact of the matter is: want to stop smoking, put the cigarette out and don't put another in your mouth; want to lose weight, make better food choices - not so much, more fruit and veg; want to get fit...be fit for life. Put on the shoes and work. 

Harsh, but perhaps it's time we talked straight. Yes, I know there are thousands of reasons for that other slice of chocolate cake, that last, next last fag, the pint...well, it was a hard day and it's genetic. The reason I know this, is because I've said them all.

The changes to my behaviour came about because I really wanted to be a non-smoker. I really wanted to be under 9 stone. And I really wanted to be able to say YES, when Dave asked if I wanted to go out on a bike ride.

You know me. I'm the laziest so and so this side of the Atlantic. My favourite position is horizontal. Preferably with a bowl of crisps and a glass of naughtiness within arm's reach. I'm not a morning person. I've never met a calorie I didn't like. A glass of something naughty? Why yes, I'd love another.

I made a choice. I chose now to do things that feel good. 

Not comfort-good, or stress-good, or lonely-good. But proper good.

And it seems that exercise helps me feel good. Even when I can barely walk down stairs because of the squats. Arrgh!

I've said this before, I'll repeat myself to save you having to look up my words of wisdom. You don't need to spend a huge amount of money to be fit. By all means, do get a personal trainer and 2 chefs to prepare your nutritious and delicious meals. If you want to and can afford it - go for it. I've met some incredibly committed exercisers who've got PTs and swear by (at?) them. You just don't need to. 

I can't abide gyms. I hate them. Perhaps it's because I've only walked into the ones with the women putting on their make-up before they workout. The one filled with the really skinny, ecstatic fitness buffs. You know, white smiles, orange skin? I'm told that there are proper gyms out there, full of sweaty, blobby people focused on what they're doing and aren't at all interested in what everyone else is doing in there. 

Until I find the sweaty gym, I'll do my workouts at home. I'm not blessed with cash. I spent on good shoes and when I could, I bought my gear from M&S during their sale. I have enough space in my front room. Just. I started out with a selection of DVDs, but I stick to Davina McColl's simply because she and her personal trainers are fun to workout with. I started on her 3x30 minute workouts and this morning, I've upped the pace. I'm now on her Superbody it's 40 minutes long with extra sessions if you've got the time and energy. It's also got a low impact version of all the exercises. 

It has taken me 3 months to get to this point. I'm taking it slow. I have a dodgy lower back and a knee that bitches at me. I've been in an abusive relationship, I don't need someone in my face, shouting at me, even if they say it's for my own good. Dave is worried that I do it on my own. He thinks I should get a workout buddy to push me to do more. I will eventually, but at the moment, I'm enjoying sweating on my own. If I'm tired, emotionally or physically, I rest. My aim is to do a workout every weekday morning. However, if I need to insert a rest day or a rest week, so be it. Because in the long run it won't matter. I do this because it feels good. When it doesn't feel good, I'll stop.

Nerd Fitness is a website I really love. I know, I'll stop going on about it. I love it because they say women should train like men. Strength training won't build bulky muscles. Lifting weights is good for bone density, stamina and is better for weight-loss than hours of cardio. It means there's no need to take notice of the scales, strength training leads to increased muscle density which is heavier than fat. You've got to eat properly in order to strength train. None of this carrot juice 3 times a day nonsense. They also advocate heavier weights and lower reps. Frankly, that's heaven to me. Who wants to count 50 bloody bicep curls with 1 kg? Bored now.

I've got the urge to build up my strength and do it properly - in a sweaty gym with a punch bag. I want to start landing my punches. I want to get a barbell and learn how to deadlift. I've realised that there just isn't the time to do everything I want to do. I keep looking at my running shoes and my Shiny Bike. I have friends who I want to go swimming with. There just isn't the time to fit all of the fitness things in! Arrgh!

Perhaps it's just a question of going with the flow? As it's all winter-bleak-bleugh, I could stay in and do my DVDs, build up my fitness and strength and then in the summer, switch to outdoor-focused stuff. That sounds like fun to me.

Did I really write that out loud? 

Who, the bloody hell have I become? 

I want to do it. In my very gut I want to do it. And no, that's not this morning's smoothie acting up.

Do I expect to increase my life-expectancy? Will I get a body like Davina's? Do I expect that by loading up on these happy-exercise hormones that I will never experience lows again?

Hell no. 

I'm doing it now, because it feels good. I'm sure the evangelical stage will exit stage right as the habit beds in and go back to blogging about coffee, perfume and how much I hate the festive season. Don't even be thinking that I'm buff and fit and toned and bouncy. I'm struggling with my 1.5kg weights. I've got a long, long way to go...