TROUBLED TOOTSIES

Today I worked in promotions for an event.  Don’t you love how that sounds?  Like I am pivotal to the success of somebody else’s enterprise. 

In all actuality I stood around for seven whole hours in a hot pink size too big t-shirt and an equally oversized black cap.   I looked like a licorice all-sort.  

I was meant to be helping the guests use the computers to help them find their way around the show.  The problem was that the guests had either already done that on their own computers before they arrived, or they were making use of the booklet given at the entrance that had a complete list of every store and a map with which to locate them.

I was, therefore, completely redundant.  The entire day long.

And so I stood there in my mum’s uncomfortable black shoes, (since I still haven’t unpacked my own) and entertained myself by memorising the designs of the stained glass window stall to my right.

What is odd is that after this not so exhausting day I still felt the need for a nap before my evening run.  I put my head down on the kitchen table and woke up twenty minutes later with a stiff neck and a face covered in drool. 

I had my doubts about today’s run. 

Diligently I put on the gear, strapped on the iPod and set off…my toenails are hurting!  No, really they are.  They must be bruised from standing in those uncomfortable shoes all today and now the pressure running down hill means serious discomfort!

I’m a glutton for punishment as most of my course is up hill so they didn’t hurt for too long, but just to be safe, tomorrow I’m wearing my sensible shoes.  That’s what they market them as, but they’re really borderline orthopedic.

I don’t care, it’s not like anyone notices me at this job anyway.  

86% SICK

I’m tired.  I’m calling in sick.  Not 100% sick (see blog below).  Maybe 86% sick.  Which means no run.  Which means nothing to write about.  Which means I had better get my act together for tomorrow.  Thank you fine followers, that is all.

100% SICK LEAVE

My brother Lachlan is working in Norway at the moment, and today he told me that a guy from his work called in sick on Monday for Tuesday while he was actually working because he was put at the reception desk and it was too cold.  Then he tells me that his girlfriend’s boss called in on 100% sick leave.  100% sick leave.  Isn’t that death?

Today I have a headache, which is making it difficult to concentrate on my writing.  I could call in sick.  Can do anytime I like.  I don’t have a boss, a deadline…I actually don’t really even have a job.  So sure, I could call in on 100% sick leave too.  It’s just that it’s even harder to get published if you haven’t actually written a book. 

I have four days of early mornings coming up, so in an effort to be able to cope with said early mornings, I am going to try to get an earlier night tonight.  I feel like a kid again in the last week of the Christmas holidays and mum is trying to get us back into routine for school.  I hated that week.  The reality of a new teacher, of maybe not being in class with your friends.  It was awkward and uncomfortable and I’m glad I don’t ever have to go through it again. 

None of which has anything to do with running, the original purpose of this blog.

Today I ran up and down my parent’s steep driveway, interspersing my sprints with situps and pushups.  All of which would have been fine, if the people who bought the house next door hadn’t decided to move in at exactly the same time.  There I was chugging and lugging my arse up the hill while four generations of new neighbours interspersed rearranging the living room furniture with having a good laugh at the girl next door.  I had my iPod on, listening to the Russians, so I’m not totally certain of what they said, but I imagine I made a rather pathetic sight.  The driveway is neither very long nor particularly steep so it would be hard to justify the amount of energy I seemed to be exerting.  

THE TORTOISE MEETS THE HARE

Today I ran the same route as I did on Monday but I ran it a hell of a lot faster.  I know this because on Monday I made it home as the last strains of the Muse album were fading away, whereas today I still had a couple of songs to go. 

How do you knock over five minutes off your time in one run?  I can’t have been running very fast the other day, can I?

But it’s so gratifying.  The speeds so different, it’s almost as if you’ve beaten a complete stranger.  I feel sorry for the sprinters.  For them it’s about 0.001 of a second.  That’s the move of a misplaced piece of hair, a sneeze, a badly timed blink. 

In comparison, it seems I can stop when my iPod pouch falls off, stop again when an ignorant driver heads straight through a pedestrian crossing, walk up the final flight of stairs and still shave minutes off my time.

Extraordinary.

It could also have something to do with the drastic change in weather conditions between the cool eve of tonight and the relative heat wave of the other day, but I prefer to think I’m making great strides.  Pardon the pun.

VAMPIRE'S HOURS

I am upside down and turned around.  Ever since I arrived back in Australia I’ve been happily up until 3 am and waking again around 8 or 9.  Living vampire hours is a byproduct of working in hospitality or theatre, but consistent time spent operating roughly three hours out of sync with the normal population starts to effect you after a while.

I get hungry at the wrong times, for example.  1am always seems like the perfect time for a bit of a snack, and if I resist, it is easy to get up at 8 after only 5 hours of sleep because I am ABSOLUTELY STARVING.  Yesterday I resorted to a weight watcher’s chocolate chip cookie.  Pathetic choice really, but don’t judge me.  It was the only thing in the cupboard.

It’s a great time to get stuff done though, which is why I do it.  I want to write, and I do, but it’s easier when no one is ringing me to ask me to come out and play.

You do, however, start to develop some serious shadowing under the eyes and tend to operate with a constant, minor headache.  Which brings me to the point of this blog…marathon training.

Yesterday I didn’t do it. 

Monday’s run in that unbroken heat sapped every ounce of reserve energy I possessed and yesterday I was as limp as a ragdoll.  I was as capable of running as I am completing my superannuation forms. 

But today people, I promise today.  It’s cooler, might even rain and I WILL be amongst it.

CUTTLEFISH AND ODOURS

It is so inconvenient when life gets in the way isn’t it?  Being newly relocated and unemployed, I was thoroughly enjoying spending my time writing late into the night and running in the cool – or not so cool – of the early evening.  Now I find myself with odd jobs at odd times, auditions to prepare for, submissions to submit, and the necessities of life to attend to.  Things like grocery shopping, replacing blown up electrical equipment (see yesterday's post) and visiting my friends at the Post Office and several other favourite bureaucracy loving institutions.

Which means yesterday’s run was sandwiched between attempting to teach three year olds how to sing - though as my father-in-law pointed out, at least they’re toilet trained - and eating a magnificent seafood dinner prepared by my husband who is getting antsy now for his contract to start.  (This is the longest he’s ever gone without cooking professionally and my parents are I are reaping the rewards of his frustrations).  Tonight was grilled cuttlefish caught with his very own spear, (see picture) followed by a delicious bouillabaisse with garlic rubbed toast.  Honestly people, other than a masseur, who else but a chef would you really want to marry?

Yesterday I ran in my youngest brother’s shorts again – he is due home in a week or so, but I just don’t think I’m going to give them back.  I’m quite partial to the built-in-undies now.  It’s a lovely added bit of aeration and makes me feel a tad professional to boot.  I’m also quite sure that the more I show of my lily-white large legs, the better off we all are.  For my top I chose one with a built-in bra (similar benefits for women as the shorts are for men) but made an unfortunate discovery mid-run.  This was the top that had sat at the bottom of the dirty clothes bag in Nelson Bay last week.  By the time it finally got washed, the sweat from that week old run had well and truly made its bed amongst the fabric.  It will now, forever, release an overwhelming odour much like stagnant seawater every time I take it out for a sweat.  On the upside, it was a fast run as I was somewhat embarrassed by my stench, which forced me to sprint whenever I passed someone to avoid them catching a whiff.  Perhaps if I’m dressed in a shirt so smelly I can hardly stand myself, and promised a fabulous meal at the end of it, this marathon won’t seem so bad… 

THE PURITAN'S MARCH

I have not run for two days on account of one day spent nursing Gregory (who ingested some strange water born bug resulting in the vomits) and today spent moving our stuff into our new place.

And since this blog is supposed to be about my training for a marathon, I don’t know what to write.

I could bore you with details about how I built our bookcase out of wooden wine boxes and arranged them artfully around light switches and power-points but who wants to read about that?

I could regale you with tales about my exploits with electricity and how all in one day (today) I managed to blow my parent’s air conditioner, which seems to have had some sort of negative effect on the TV, which is now claiming to have a ‘weak signal’ and refusing to show a picture, and follow all that by blowing a fuse in our new house when I plugged in an American appliance with the correct adaptor but no converter and the whole thing went up in smoke.  Literally. 

But again, who would want to read about that?

I could really get you going with talk of invoicing and how I’m finally learning to mind my own business, but I don’t even want to write about that.

And so I'll move on.

We are boldly heading towards the Puritan’s March.  Also known as the third month of the year, during which Gregory, our friend Renee (and by default I) have decided to rid our diets of their excess.  Renee is going for the Kath and Kim method of cigarettes and laxatives (which doesn’t sound too puritan to me) and Gregory is considering the recommendation of our friends to swallow a tapeworm.

“Are they cheap?” he asked.

Thirty days of sensible eating and zero tolerance for alcohol...except for events Renee already has in her calendar and occasions when Gregory feels it is necessary to drink with the boys at his new job.  You can see already that we’re going to be wildly successful in our mission.

Tomorrow’s run will be a long one in an effort to reverse my recent behaviour, and I feel like the Russians might be just the people to keep me company.