EX vs. XXX

I thought for the sake of my readers sanity, I would deviate the topic today ever so slightly from running to a somewhat more salacious subject, that of ex’s. As fate would have it, a few months ago I got the most mysterious sms from a person I do not know. It said that we should meet, woman to woman and talk. Suddenly finding myself in a very bad soap opera (sorely lacking in the retarded cousin and spiritual guide), I responded with my usual sweetness and asked “Who the frek are you and what do we need to talk about”. Long story short and I found myself drinking tequila with the ex’s ex. Yip, hell hath no furry like a woman scorned and I’ll tell you what... you don’t want to mess with this little piece of dynamite. So there I was talking to the woman who, not 2 weeks ago, hated my guts and had visions of stabbing me to death ala Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. With a volume of new information acquired over the following 2 weeks and the ensuing break up, she felt the need to fully explain and talk to me about this man we both, clearly, had misunderstood.

Cue a 3 hour discussion, some highly enlightening and rather heart breaking realizations and we were kindred sprits. As apparently a number of other woman we needed to find would soon become. Yip, it would appear our supposed Mr Perfect turned out to be slightly less than perfect after all! Rather amusing for me and highly painful for my new found friend, we analyzed and over analyzed every inch of the past few years as only woman can do.

Since that fateful day when I aquired a new friend and sounding board, two realizations came to pass:

1) No matter what happens in life and love, woman will always be there for each other to wipe away the tears, call him nasty names and feed each other ice cream and pizza whenever the need arises. We will feel each others pain, laugh with each other in times of happiness and always hold each others hands when things seem a little to big.

2)  “A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life, to be thankful for a good one” - Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

(3 DAYS TO GO!!!)

4 DAYS TO GO!

The panic seems to have subsided marginally and my lungs seem to have remembered how to process oxygen to a point where breathing is just possible. My fellow running family have continued to run until this morning, which is causing a great sense of unease and a fear that I may, in fact, be completely under trained. I keep repeating the old adage of “under trained is better than over trained”, but thus far it’s not working. I think that saying is very much like the saying of “It’s good luck to be shat on by a bird”. It’s not, it’s the universe’s way of telling you you are equivilant to a pigeons long drop. The only reason people tell you it’s good luck is to make you feel better because you are now covered in pigeon poop! So now I sit at my desk, contemplating the reasons how I actually ended up here in the first place.

12 months ago it seemed like a good idea to start running. Life was very chaotic, love life was in a shambles and the one lonely pair of running shoes I owned suddenly grew a voice. So I began running alone along the promenade for 5 arduous kms before collapsing in a heap on the grass wishing my car was an automatic. I continued this torturous experience until the Men’s Health 10kms Run where I signed up for what became the biggest life changing adventure of my life!

With the introduction of a new life before sunrise, a group of incredible people and a support structure I realized I had been lacking, I find myself today, ready to embrace the challenge of long distance running as well as the realization that no matter how big the mountain may seem, when you have helping hands all along the way, it’s only a little bump in the road.

So a big thank you to my wonderful running family, for taking me under their well run wings and teaching me that no matter how many times you shower, if you get home at 4am and join the 5:30am run, you will still smell like tequila!

4 Days To Go!!!

MEETING THE FOCKERS AND FREKKERS - Part 2

Right, back to Durbs… Not withstanding the incredible greenhouse that Durban is, we had a wonderful weekend.

I was abused treated to a run with a 10 x comrades runner on Sunday morning of 32 agonizing glorious kms through the colossal mountains undulating hills that make up this area of Natal. It was hot. I was sweating. Lots. By the time I arrived home, barely breathing and still trying to figure out how we started on a hill and ended running up a hill ala an MC Escher puzzle, I was drenched. I honestly looked like I had just stepped out from under a waterfall. Even The Chef said so. Thunder was so amazed by this event she wanted hard photographic evidence, which I’m afraid, along with my toned and tanned sports illustrated figure, did not materialize! What did however materialize was the realization that no matter how long and hard you train, nothing can beat experience and time on the legs. My comrades partner arrived home looking as fresh as a daisy with the perfect “sweat” glow, feeling relaxed and looking closer to the sports illustrated model than I could even come. And he’s male. And in his 60’s!

Shamed beyond recognition I shyed into the shower and tried to remember why in fact I enjoy this running thing so much. Getting your arsed kicked is one thing. Getting your arse kicked by someone on the wrong side of 60 doing the thing you think you may be marginally good at, is quite another. Not to mention losing all ability to remember what was discussed over those long 3 hours and hoping to all hell you didn’t put your foot in your mouth. Whilst I don’t literally remember tripping, it soon became apparent that that was not necessary to embarrass myself. Just open your mouth Crazii, that should do it.

So, ever so slightly embarrassed and very very tired, we headed to another first experience for me in the form of Church. I have not voluntarily been to church since… ever actually. At school it was a compulsory torture exercise so once I was free and clear from that institution I made sure I never did anything unless I wanted to. Religion and I (as I have mentioned before here) have a very civilized relationship. We do not get involved in each other businesses, comment on one another’s doing’s or try and change the other unless absolutely necessary for the good of each other. Cue The Chef and the whole concept of Divine Intervention. Which, it would turn out, I have obviously been lacking the last few years.

So I sat in Church, voluntarily, singing hymns and listening to people talk about God and Jesus. It was interesting. I understood some, but not much. It wasn’t painful or boring, just new and a little strange. It has now made me curious and I shall be returning to feed my curiosity as well as ask a lot of questions. Some I’m sure resulting in the not so uncommon foot in mouth disease, but others hopefully giving me an inkling of understanding into a concept and book that has the whole world talking.

More meeting of the Fockers, the Fockers Frekkers and some Focker ankle biters for good measure, I was well and truly exhausted come Monday morning. Having remembered all names from grannies to new baby cousins, boyfriends/girlfriends/parents/aunts etc etc, introducing myself several times and being thanked for getting the Chef back to Durbs, the beach was a welcome distraction. Warm sea, large umbrella and some quite time with the Chef was just what the doctored ordered. A leisurely lunch and an on time flight back to Cape Town ended one of the most fun weekends I’ve had in a while.

JUST BREATHE...

If I can quickly just divert your attention for the next few paragraphs from the awesomeness that was Durban to something utterly terrifying and insane! I, Crazii Redhead, in complete insane mind and body have voluntarily (and I use this term very loosely as my running family paired with my body’s endorphins are a very persuasive bunch) elected to put myself through one of the most toughest and grueling races of all time (In the world that I live it is the toughest!). Yes, I am running the Two Oceans Ultra 56km Marathon on Saturday 3 April 2010. Coupled with this completely ludicrous endevour I have managed to lose my WPA license numbers. I have no idea where they are. I think they, much like my brain and other organs are trying to do, have gone into hiding until the aforementioned event has been completed.

Needless to say, I am in complete panic mode with none of my body parts communicating with one another, all talking above the decibel level any dog could hear, never mind mere mortal and all I can think about is 56kms. 56 grueling kms from Newlands all the way to Simonstown and back. For fun. Seriously?!?! There is (contrary to popular belief) a rational person inside me (buried deep down somewhere in the nether regions of my grey matter) that is trying her utmost to calm me down and convince me that everything will be fine and the only reason I am worried is because I have never done it before. Right, whatever!

So all I can really do now is try and breathe. As this is proving rather difficult, any words of wisdom/set of wings would be greatly appreciated in calming me down to a level where my heart is not trying it’s utmost to escape my chest and start co-habiting with my WPA numbers!

5 Days To Go!!!

MEETING THE FOCKERS AND FREKKERS - Part 1

Meeting the Fockers is not a specialty of mine. I am not that wonderfully easily likable girl that can just smile and nod and listen patiently while people talk around me, or answer questions politely and demurely and without bias. Nope, no sirree. I am the nervous, verbal diarrhea, foot-jambed-so-far-into-my-mouth-I-can-barely-see-my-knee kinda gal. Yip, when it comes to meeting the Fockers I’m about as nervous as a Jack Russell puppy on speed! So at this point, 48hours after leaving Cape Town including 4 hours on a hot sticky bus, I have to thank the universe for sparing me the initial embarrassing first impressions meeting, as I was so exhausted breathing was an issue (this could also of course be from the RIDICULOUSLY humid, thick air of Durbs!). The universe had obviously done some prior calculations and figured that I’d never last Friday to Monday in Durbs without burying myself neck deep in “what NOT TO DO when you meet the parents” moments and thus postponed the inevitable just long enough for me to re-gather my momentum!

Prior to this (ie the foot in mouth disease moment), the Chef and I cleaned ourselves up a bit and got ready for a night out in Durban. 1st stop, the famous BBB. Known to Durbanites as Bean Bag Bohemia and the place that all your generalized ideas about surfer-dude-laid-back-durbanites become a reality. There is no equivalent in Cape Town, so to set the scene picture Keanu Reeves in Point Break just when he’s about to jump into the sea for his first surf. Now transfer that image of him into a restaurant, hair and clothing remaining the same. Am I painting a clear picture here? So basically what you get is a bunch of good-looking, very chilled people dressed for the beach, but in a rather chic space all just “chilling man…”. I mention this purely to illustrate my other very special quality of being able to stick out like a sore thumb. I am not from Durban, I do not do chilled, beach gear. I do 12inch heels and smart (usually black) tops that cover most of my glow in the dark pale skin. So not only am I overdressed in terms of “the vibe”, I am also literally wearing too much! Cue deep breathing exercises and confused looks from the Chef.

The Chef: Crazii, what’s wrong?
ME: Look what everyone is wearing…
TC: Yes?
ME: I’m completely overdressed! Why didn’t you tell me!
TC: You look lovely Crazii, calm down.
ME: But if you’d told me what Durban Dudes wear I would have dressed appropriately.
TC: Really, you have casual clothes?
ME: Well obviously I have casual clothes!
TC: What, your pajamas?
ME: Right, point taken. Let’s go in.

We go in and are shown to our table. I have calmed down to a mere panic and have started breathing again. We’re 5 minutes late (still a bit jet lagged from our train trip) and walk in to find EVERYONE there. All 8 other people, sitting round the table, waiting for us. Seriously, in Durban, the Capital City of Utter Chillness. This is all just too much for me… how did these people managed to get a balance between Cape Town chilled dress sense and Johannesburg time efficiency??? My utter discombobulation is obviously noticed by the Chef who promptly orders a bottle of wine and issues a “drink me” look. No problem.

As you can imagine, the rest of the night passes with little more surprises as I take my new task of consuming Alto’s Rouge’s finest with great conviction. The usual “How did you meet each other”, “where are you from”, “family siblings etc etc” questions are asked and then the kicker:

Frekker: So, how long you guys been together?
TC: Um… (looks towards me)
ME: Well, um (looking like a deer in headlights), it’s quite an amusing story really…
TC: Yes, (haha, nervous laugh) we sort of met in August… but only really got together in…
ME: Um, let’s call it September?
TC: And then we sort of, well..
ME: It’s complicated.
TC: Let’s say, give or take 5 months, all days combined
Frekker: Right… okay then…
(we evetually settled on December, so officially 4 months)

Embarrassing line of fire quickly diverted and it was back to the task at hand. Drinking and eating being a forte of mine, I was set on proving I could totally mingle with the like super cool people man. 2 bottles of wine down and I was totally making waves Dude (hehe, pun intended!). But seriously, dinner was lovely, all Frekkers are very cool and I managed not to talk unless I was spoken to. Success! Time to leave the now relative safety of BBB and head out to a new night club in Durban called Origin. Would you like me to tell you why this place is called Origin… I thought so.

3 dance floors, strobe lights, disco balls and smoke machines. Seriously, smoke machines… I felt like I was back in the 80’s when spandex, leg warmers and oh, wait, smoke machines were cool! Hence the name Origin – The beginning of the reason why we hated the 80’s. But wait, it gets worse. House music. Yip, the 80’s combined with the worst of the 90’s, with a little bit of Tent Top wearing girls thrown in for good measure(read here regarding my feelings on these). It was weird Man. So in true Crazii style, when the going gets tough… throw name. We danced and drank and chatted to people we didn’t know and had a ball. Durban may be weird, but it’s a flipping blast!

And what do we do best after a night on the town??? Consume food that when seen in the light of day would give you instant gangrene, never mind heartburn! A quick drive in a really fast car and we’re outside the local Cockroach Café… I mean Roti House. It’s at this point that I realize my wine and savanna induced bear goggles are doing much for my fear of giant bugs as well as my understanding of what a Roti is. One GIANT cockroach perching on my foot and a large thing wrapped in foil and we’re ready. For what at this point, I have no idea… but I’m excited!

It transpires that a Roti is actually a large baby wrapped in a pancake and smothered in spicy sauce and cheese. It’s delicious and just what is needed to try and salvage the remains of my name and future ability to talk. So with stomach’s now lined and eye balls ready to learn to focus again - bed time. Good night Durbs, thanks for an awesome first introduction!

CHITTY CHITTY BANG BANG!!

Back on home soil and as much fun as we had in Durbs, there’s just no place like home (cue 3 ankle taps on glittery red shoes and a soft landing in your own bed)

So the Chef and I arrived in Durban in what can only be described as truly South African style. With our bags packed, cooler box stocked with liquid and non-liquid refreshments, we set off to the newly renovated, still post modern eyesore, known as Cape Town Station. It is at this point that I must digress slightly and outline both mine vs. The Chef’s traveling style. Crazii = small bag on wheels, book and calm demeanor. The Chef = heavy backpack with broken straps and nervous twitches. I travel quite regularly, I have yet to be left behind on any mode of transport, be it train, bus or plane. This was the Chef’s first experience on a South African long distance train and boy was he cute! We got to the station a full hour before the train had even thought about docking on the correct platform, never mind actually taking passengers to a pre planned destination. We were the first there, alone on Platform 24 looking overly keen and only slightly like a pair of rather sore thumbs.

The Chef: Crazii, what’s the time?
ME: It’s 5 o’clock Chef.
TC: What time are we leaving?
ME: 6 o’clock Chef.
TC: So where’s our train?
ME: Well, judging by the position of the sun, the number of passangers around and the frequency at which the electrical currents are travelling… Chef, sit down, calm yourself, and worry not for I promise our train will come in shortly.
TC: But where are all these people going, shouldn’t we follow them.
ME: Only if you’re a lemming and like the idea of living in Belville.
TC: How do you know it’s going to Belville?
ME: Sign, train number, neon lights saying “Belville 17:20”
TC: Smart ass

Needless to say, miraculously our train arrived and we boarded with great excitement and found ourselves lucky enough to have a 4 sleeper all to ourselves! Cue jumping up and down, high pitched screams and general all round happiness! A loud “Choot Choot” and we were off, waving farewell to our glorious mountain and heading to what I quickly learnt was the hottest place on the planet!

TC: Crazii, what are you doing?
ME: I’m waving goodbye to my mountain.
TC: Firstly, I don’t think you have entire ownership of the mountain and secondly, is it totally necessary to do it with ¾ of your body sticking out the window?
ME: Well firstly, he is my mountain and if you’re going to get jealous, I think this is something that needs to be discussed up front. Secondly, he won’t be able to see me just waving one hand out the window, the full body wave always works best.
TC: Crazii, you are barely inside a piece of fast moving machinery travelling at some unusually fast speed towards what can only be described as large dangerous objects, does it not strike you as peculiar that your are doing exactly what the 3 x bright red signs in our compartment alone are saying is ILLEGAL.
ME: Kill Joy.

So while modifying the words to “The wheels on the bus go round and round” we uncorked a bottle of red and relaxed into an evening of fine dining and great company. A bottle of red down, tummy’s having had their rather inelegant sufficiency and with hours of glorious conversation behind us, it was time to settle into pj’s and bed.

*BANG*CRASH*BOOM*WHAT THE F***!!!

TC: What on earth was that???
ME: I don’t know, let’s go see!
TC: Crazii, stay inside, you can’t go running around in the middle of the night in your pj’s.
ME: It’s fine Chef, the train has stopped, everyone is up now and the mystery begins…

(and off I run to see what all the fuss is about!)

TC: Crazii, get back on the train.
ME: Why, we’re in the middle of nowhere and the train is stationary.
TC: Exactly, we’re in the middle of nowehere and there are bandits about.
ME: Bandits! What kind of bandits?
TC: Train robbers Crazii, the bad kind.
ME: The kind like Jesse James kind?
TC: Yes Crazii, now please, get back on the train.
ME: No ways, I want be carried away under the starlight by Brad Pitt!
TC: Crazii, these bandits are not like Brad Pitt
ME: How do you know? Maybe he’s finally come to his senses and realized I am far better than Angelina.
TC: While I have no doubt you are far better than Angelina, I very much doubt that Brad Pitt has robbed the cables of the train just to secure the apparent love of his life in the ass end of some little town in the middle of the Karoo. So would you please, for the love of my patience and sanity, get back on the train.
ME: Okay, but only once I’ve found out what’s really going on…

(and off I run to see what all the fuss is about again!)

Exasperated and obviously not appreciating the glorious movie style adventure we seem to be in, the Chef finally manages to coax me back onto the train with promises that, although I may not be carried away ala Hollywood style into the night by Brad Bitt, he does promise to make sure at least I receive a parting kiss from the handsome bandit. As it turns out, we were not unfortunately robbed by Brad Pitt, but by some sneaky cable thieves who cut the electrical cables of the train, securing our abrupt emergency stop in Afrikaskop under a bright and brilliant milky way, for the next 7 hours!

You have to give cudos to Shosholoza Meyl at this point. While completely managing to tell everyone on the train absolutely nothing about what was going on, they did feed us and serve enough tea and coffee to keep us occupied until we were shunted into Ladysmith by an old but obviously more reliable diesel engine. From Ladysmith to Durbs we were bused into Durban station to a welcoming mob of people obviously patiently waiting for presumed lost family members and a warm welcome into the arms of The Chef’s family.

So now begins the story of how I met the Fockers, the Frekkers (as Chef calls his friends) and the Frikkin massive bugs that reside so happily in the humid hothouse known as Durban!

AND WE'RE OFF!

Goodbye All, The Chef and I are on our way to Durbs for a lovely well needed long weekend. We’re taking the train there and flying home on Monday, I will report on my return on meeting The Fockers, The Friends, The Climate and the giant size bugs Durbs seems to cultivate oh so well!

Happy running/drinking/sleeping to you all xxx

... STILL HAPPINESS

It would appear in the world of blogging, or at least the world that I read, we all seem to have slowed down a bit with regards to posts. This could obviously mean a number of things. 1) Real work has interrupted (hate it when that happens), 2) Life is not particularly note worthy at the moment and/or 3) Ours minds are on other things. With regards to yours truly, it’s a combination of 1 & 3. Work is totally screwing with my procrastinating mojo and my brain is currently like a sieve when it comes to remembering anything but feeling giggly and girly and happy. Yip, it’s true Peeps, I am once again re-united with myself and have found I wake in the morning smiling. It’s feels like that moment when you’re walking idly along somewhere and you catch just a slight wiff of something that reminds you of when you were young. You can’t quite remember what it was, but it makes your tummy do somersaults and the feelings when you where in that moment in time come flooding back.

I feel like I’m finally smelling the proverbial roses if you will, and by George do they smell amazing. Every sound and taste and touch feels extraordinary and I can’t help but smile at everything, even the thought of going to the Dentist can’t put a damper on these spirits. My dark cloud of oppression has officially blown away with the black south easter and I can assure you I have no intention of letting it manifest in these clear skies again. Armed with my newly acquired umbrella of wisdom and raincoat of pure joy I cannot be beaten. I also cannot be more lame but I don’t care.

The Chef has decided this nutty bag of peanuts is a rather novel accompaniment to his otherwise rather stable lifestyle and has promptly ignored all mention of the aforementioned black Sunday. The duly noted moment of insanity has been classified as such, put in a box to think about it’s behavior and dissappeard. Whooopppeeeee! And here stands, in it’s place, a very very happy woman indeed.

So, to all out there having a Blue Monday, do not despair as I promise “This too shall Pass”… I am living proof.

HAPPINESS IS...

Right, the craziness that is work has calmed down to a mere panic and I finally have some time to voice my thoughts and do a quick catch-up session. Right now, in this moment in time, I am happy. I have been happy for a whole week, I haven’t cried once and have managed a quiet equilibrium. I’m rather proud of myself, as is my head doctor, so now all I have to do is find a way to maintain in the long term.

I have been running a lot lately too, a crazii bunch of us got together on Saturday morning at sparrows to run 46kms, it was awesome! It was the most amazing mental head rush I have ever had. To finish off on the beach in Hout Bay and run into the ice cold water knowing my little stick legs have just carried me from Hout Bay through Newlands, Constantia, Kalk Bay, Fishoek and back was something else! Not withstanding the mental boost it gave to know that actually all I have to do now is run an extra 10kms and Oceans is totally under the belt!

I unfortunately also managed to break The Chef’s heart again seemingly in the way I do best. By being completely crazii, nonsensical and all round as nutty as a bag of peanuts. He seems to agree with that synopsis as well and although there were tears, this time round I at least managed to keep my comedy of errors under wraps. That was last Sunday, so no tears since then. I’m totally giving myself a Noddy badge.

The GBF has been wonderful and treated a bunch of us to Goldfish at Kirstenbosch yesterday. It was a truly wonderful day of good friends, champagne and much laughter. The heat was near unbearable and within 30 minutes Kirstenbosch started looking very much like a Nudist colony with bare chests and teeny tiny bikini’s all round. Not that I’m complaining mind, there were a number of extremely good looking eye candy’s strutting around to complement the champagne just perfectly!

But alas, here I sit on Monday morning losing body mass as we speak due to the amount of water escaping my body and trying to devise a plan to teleport myself into the pool! I'll let you know how it goes. I’m not hellavu confident but I have to try something to keep my mind from melting onto the floor with the rest of my body!