CHILDISH WAYS

So, definitely feeling less fragile today, got to do my run last night and the agonizing argument between my iliotibial band and my knee cap was totally worth it! Have resorted to Lesson 101 in parental teachings, ignore the noisy children and they will eventually go away. Thunder and The Chef think this might be a juvenile way of dealing with the matter, namely that my ligaments and bone are not in fact children and can therefore not just be told off. My argument to them is that I am still a child (hence the manner in which I am dealing with the situation) and therefore my body and its parts are still childish and can therefore be treated as such.

I fear the retort coming hereafter will be not unlike being told off and asked to stand in the corner and think about what I’ve done. Except I’ll probably have to hobble to the corner, crutches in hand and a very miserable look on my face while being told ‘I Told You So’ and having my prized speed racers taken away! Thunder even went so far as to make up horrific scenes outlining how the ligament could start pulling away from the bone and eventually tear, causing excruciating pain and months on crutches… I mean, really. Really? Crap!?!?

Anyway, the point of the story is that today I am less fragile than yesterday, which is a good thing, especially when you receive an sms like this: Notice Issued on SARS eFiling. Miss Crazii Redhead. Balls! What does the most effective money siphoning system in SA want with me again! Apparently it would appear there is a discrepancy between my submitted return and what SARS thinks my return should look like. (insert a variety of colourful swearwords here). Really?!?!? Well Mr SARS big man, you can take your presumptions regarding my apparent tax return discrepancy and shove it up your ***!

I fear my childish attitude may not in fact get me out of this pickle, what do you think?

FRAGILE

I’m feeling quite emotionally fragile today. I think it’s because I can’t run. Going to the physio this afternoon and hopefully she’ll give me the all clear to run tonight, otherwise I’m scared about how much more fragile I’ll feel tomorrow…

BAD UNIVERSE

I think the universe is out to get me, punish me, prove a point, I’m not really sure yet. All I know is that it obviously has its reasons for completely incapacitating me and I am damn well going to find out what they are! I have composed this letter below to discover said reasons, but have yet to have a response; do you think I sound too pissed off???

Dear Universe,

While I appreciate the fact that you are much bigger than me and have grandiose ideas that you know everything, could you please stop interfering in what I’m sure you consider my small inconsequential life. While I understand the concept of not taking anything for granted, completely rendering my right knee painfully useless 5kms into a 36km race does not denote good manners. I appreciate that you would like me to understand the concept of over use and resting correctly, however (as I sure you are well aware), when taken by surprise with lessons I deem ridiculous, I react with the complete opposite. Hence the continuation and finish of the race (thank you dear Myprodol), staying on my feet the whole day and donning 12inch heels to dance Saturday night away.

While I understand your powers of persuasion are extremely honed, brainwashing my physio into putting me on bed rest for 5 days, is just plain rude. She seems to be under the misguided notion that I have ITB and that the very artistic development of purple and black splotches across the knee and thigh are actually a very bad thing! And, to add insult to injury, after telling me I CAN’T RUN, she said the unspeakable… she said the “c” words… cycling and cross training!!! What have I done to deserve such blasphemous conversation topics!

Just so you know, I will NOT humour you and perform any of the above mentioned swear words, nor will I entertain the idea of not running for an extended period of time. I will however compromise and not run until, say, Thursday; thereby duly noting your lessons and teachings, and proving that I can in fact be a very attentive and learned student.

I do hope this meets with your approval, should you have any reservations about my commitment to the task at hand, or any comments regarding the above mentioned letter, please feel free to contact me as your earliest convenience (via a dream/sign rather than an agonizing lesson, if you don’t mind)

Your faithful Student,

Crazii

SWEAT AND SPANDEX: CH 2

Crises Peeps, It’s Friday! I know I say this with religious fervor every Friday, but I am especially excited about this one as it is the first Friday since I have been back at work and it has been hectic! Getting back into the work swing of things after a luxurious 3 week holiday is tantamount to having a root canal without an anesthetic! By a herbal healer. In the bundu’s. Using pliers!

Never-the-less, I have managed to survive and while I have no witty work horror stories to share, I do have a funny little trinket from The Chef. Thunder and The Chef train together. And by train I mean go to the hell hole sespit known as The Gym, lift weights, etc etc and act like proper healthy gyming professionals. They even sweat. (Refer to this to hear my thoughts on the matter). Thunder and I used to run together so she’s pretty much a super athlete. Anyway, it was decided between the gyming professionals that a new regime would be designed for 2010 and this would include cardio ie: running. Basically, The Chefs worst nightmare. I was rather amused at this whole thing as I would obviously run rather than step foot into hell, but I suppose the Chef feels that same way about gyming and performing the evil quad destroying sport I love.

Cue Wednesday evening and a very woe-be-tide looking Chef:

Me: What’s wrong?
The Chef: Thunder and I went running…
Me: Awesome, how was it?
TC: I don’t want to talk about it
Me: Wow, that good hey???
TC: Everything hurts
Me: It usually does when you overzealously try to do something you haven’t done in ages (grinning like the Cheshire Cat)
TC: And what are you smiling at?
Me: Nothing…
TC: You’re just smiling like that because I looked at you this way after you came back from gym, aren’t you!

Now, this brings me onto my gym experience. I know, I confess, I broke my own rules. But for very good reason. I am training for The 2 Oceans 56km Ultra Marathon. I’ve stepped over the Boundaries of Craziness, bypassed the Valley’s of Sanity and have dived head first into the realm of Completely and Utterly Bonkers. I’m okay with that, really I am. So the reason for gym was what is known in gyming circles as “cross training”. WTF??? Apparently “cross training” is good for my running because it’ll work on muscles I don’t necessarily use when running. Why would I need to work on muscles I don’t use!!! Anyway, I did it. Morally I wasn’t feeling great because I was breaking my own rules, but I was so excited at the time I just couldn’t resist. I had visions of being super-fit, hitting the pro-circuit and doing a Forrest Gump “Run Forrest, Run” without even glowing.

There is a downside to this, let me tell you. Lunging across the gym carrying weights heavier that a bottle of Champagne is clearly not ideal for my apparently ageing body. After my 3rd set of everything; I tried, with as much elegance and poise as possible, to escape the nasty mechanical filled area only to find I could not move! Elegance and poise out the window and a waterfall of profanity sweeping through the building, I clawed my way down to my apartment and waited for The Chef to arrive.

The Chef: Oh goodness Crazii, what now?
Me: What ever do you mean?
TC: I mean you've splayed yourself ala a spatch-cocked chicken across the bed and have every appendage raised as if you’re praying to the god of butterflied chickens everywhere.
Me: Your supposed to keep sore limbs raised about your heart.
TC: I think that's when there’s actually something wrong with them!
Me: There is something wrong, it’s called death by stupidity/cross training! This makes me feel better, rather that than the death inducing pain I was feeling earlier. It was like childbirth.
TC: Because you would know.
Me: I do now!
TC: What are you doing tonight besides being annoying?
Me: I'm thinking of teaching myself how to paint with only my mouth.
TC: Very funny. Well I'm going for dinner, want to come?
Me: Only if you have a wheel chair and promise to feed me?
TC: Sweet lord.

I haven’t yet broken the news to the Chef (or Thunder) that I think “cross training” is a bunch of bollocks and I will not be entertaining the idea again, unless of course I get to be wheeled around in a fancy chair and hand fed pizza and ice cream!

LONDON HERE I COME!

Okay Peeps, so I finally got my arse into gear and created my Just Giving Webpage: http://www.justgiving.com/laurenurquhart. I will be harping on about this until after the 25th of April unless donations are placed timeously, so in order to keep me quiet, dig deep!

The reason you ask, ah yes, very good question! I want to go to London to run the London Marathon, the only way I can do this as a Crazii Saffa is if I run on behalf of a charity and raise frek loads of money for their worthy cause. This charity in particular is very cool and sponsors disabled runners, whoop whoop! So my madness will contribute to loads of cash which will continue the line of more crazii runners, exciting stuff!

No donation is too big or too small, so please, all pennies collected will be greatly appreciated. Also, as I’ll be in London I will bribe you all with promises of gifts and the like should sponsorship be forthcoming ;-)

Thank you Crazii Friends!

I'M BAAAACK...

Hello Peeps! Goodness I can’t believe it’s been almost three weeks of complete silence. Apologies to all those who needed a distraction because they started work before me, haha! Sorry, that’s mean! But never-the-less I’m back and we have a lot to catch up on!

Okay, where to begin? Well as most of you know, New Years Resolution no 1 was promptly thrown out the window due to impending pneumonia and a very important road race. Therefore the cancer sticks were promptly re-instated in order to alleviate the sore throat and body withdrawal symptoms! Needless to say I then ran another personal best for 30kms and was super duper stocked! Giving up Cancer sticks 0, Breaking New Year’s resolution 1.

Number 3 I’m afraid has also failed to come to fruition. Crazii’s bar has been open and pumping for the last few weeks and I can’t really see how a spaghetti spoon or wooden chopping board it going to assist my Cosmo making skills. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind a saber so I could ever so elegantly slice the tops off all the champagne bottles waiting to be consumed. Buying Kitchen Utensils 0, Breaking New Year’s resolution 2.

7, 8 and 9 are a bit dubious at the moment, but as soon as I have gotten through my plethora of work emails I promise to set up my site and then it’s up to you guys to get me there! Beg, borrow and steal where you can, I promise to bail you out of jail once I’ve complete the craziness that is the marathon! So at this juncture we’ll just give the resolution is pass until further evidence it collected.

New Years Resolutions aside, the holidays have just flown by like a speeding shooting star. They have been awesome, relaxing, crazy and all round pretty frikkin amazing and I’m still in slight shock that I’m sitting in front of my laptop surrounded by four bailey cream walls and reams of fabric and wallpaper grappling with the 105 emails I so effectively ignored over the last 3 weeks! So many wonderful people were here over the past weeks and Thunder and I have decided that their presence is now needed on a more permanent basis, not this flit in and out of nonsnese. No, no… we’re going to get Pop Tart and Glass and a Half to take up full residency in the City Beneath The Mountain come hell or high water.

That reminds me (talking about hell) which usually brings me onto the subject of religion, I heard the funniest saying the other day! Are you ready… Okay… Let’s make like a Shepard and get the flock outta here… bahahahahaha. I told it to The Chef who I thought would totally think it amazing, and he just smiled weakly at me and gave me the same look he gives me when I tell my cow jokes. Oh, oh, I’ve got a goodie: What do you call a cow in Alaska? An ESKIMOOO… how brilliant is that???

Anyway, it's fairly apparent from the above ramblings that the office environment is sucking all known sanity and oxygen from my body, so I will quit while I’m ahead and promise a more entertaining and enlightening post in the days to come.

Welcome back Peeps, crisis I’ve missed you!