DRINKIES

Apparently running at a constant speed 3 days a week will not in fact make you run faster or tone your entire body. For a full body work out you have to do what is known in the fitness world as The Devils Game “Cross Training”. I believe everybody is aware of my stance on this subject and I will therefore no go into any greater detail than is necessary to explain my most recent “CS” experience.

For a number of months now I have been going to a morning bootcamp class which consists of stabbing yourself hundreds of times and then pouring hot lava over your entire body. Okay not exactly, but short of actually doing those things, you do feel like you’ve been to hell and back once you’re done. Energized and sore… apparently something people like feeling. Personally I go because I get to skinner for an hour before work and get the scoop on the newest bars around town.

It has become apparent in the last few months that the Drill Sergeant (whom I love, don’t get me wrong) that teaches the class wishes to light a fire under my proverbial ass and make me run faster. This would not be such a bad thing if she literally gave me a rocket and strapped it to me. The problem lies in the fact that she wants me to train. Like really train. Urgh.

And because I can no longer ignore her annoying encouraging words when it’s comes to speed (and my apparent lack thereof), I therefore decided it was time to get back into speed training, properly this time. The Drill Sergeant got overexcited and booked my calendar for three time trials this week.

I managed to get out of Monday by drinking (shocker) but yesterday there was no avoiding it and I arrived at The Evil Place with the promise of drinkies after the run.

Me: How long is this little run of death?

DS: 3km’s Crazii, I think you’ll cope.

Me: That’s what you said about last Saturdays race.

DS: It wasn’t my fault that Granny beat you.

Me: She was not a Granny, she was about 30. Again, proof of what constant running in the sun does to your skin.

DS: Right, so you’ll start at the top of the hill…’

Me: Hill… who found a hill in Florida! Is that where the new bar is?!?!?

DS: Please stop asking me that Crazii. And then you will run four km’s around the area…’

Me: WHAT?! YOU SAID THREE! THREE YOU SAID!’

DS: And then the last two km’s will be running up the hill back to the start’

Me: UP THE WHAT?!

DS: Feel free to do the run twice.

Me: I’d rather set myself on fire.

Me: You promised me this was a 3Km run.

DS: Once you’ve done 3km’s you may as well do another three.

Me: How’s your logic?!

Six hellish km’s later and a lot of swearing, I finished. As promised I was allowed a few celebratory drinkies.

Me: There’s something very right about sitting in running clothes having glasses of wine.

DS: There’s something very wrong about you having four glasses of wine.

Me: Yes, but once you’ve had three, you may as well have another three.

DS: That’s not what I meant.

Me: Works both ways sista.

THREE IS...

If you have been wondering where I have been for these past few months I shall tell you. Jail. Okay, not literally Jail Jail, but a place very similar where the people are also crazy, life runs on a very strict routine and if you find a cockroach in your meal you eat it for extra protein. Yes, the rumours are true, I have been training for a triathlon.

Now let me preface this story with a very important lesson I learned during this process. Whoever tells you that 3 is a lucky number is talking total bollocks. There is nothing lucky about 3. Think about it… when something bad happens, it happens in threes. The all seeing, all knowing third eye; evil. Third time round the buffet table, baaad idea. Trilogies… you get where I’m going with this. 

So when you combine three sporting events into one race and call it a TRIathlon, let this be a warning that things are not going to be pretty. Add to that mixture a group of people who had their frosted flakes covered in crack for breakfast, a large bag of skittles and a protein shake for lunch and something resembling cardboard with a side of speed for dinner. I’m not kidding, these people are crazy. And if they’re not taking drugs then they definitely should be!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are some lovely normal people who do triathlons as well and I’m obviously grossly exaggerating the sphere of the crazies, I am however using my artistic license to make a very clear point. 3 is bad for you and triathlons are not for me. I have my very own brand of crazii which I am very comfortable with and fits perfectly into a size 6 running shoe. Period. No goggles, jellyfish, cleats, helmets, gears etc. Just me, my speed racers and the tar.

That being said, I obviously veered off my perfectly crazii path and landed in a place where actually competing in a TRIathlon didn’t seem like such a bad idea. So I did. I swam with jelly fish, biked until I couldn’t feel my butt cheeks and ran with legs as heavy as stone. If any of these things sound like fun to anyone… seek help. It was not fun.

It is however over and I am very thankful for that. It took me 1 week and all 5 phases of grief to get over it.

Denial: I feel fine, this is not really happening to me (while swimming in a swarm of jelly fish singing “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming” ala Dory style.)

Anger: WTF, this seat is so uncomfortable I’ll be lucky if I can ever walk again.

Bargaining: I promise to be a good girl if you please just make it tomorrow (while still on the bike losing all feeling from the waist down.)

Depression: I can’t believe I’m doing this instead of just running with my faithful speed racers. They’ll never speak to me again, I’m going to be all alone, why even go on…

And finally 1 whole week later …

Acceptance:   It’s over and I’m still alive and my speed racers are still talking to me, life is good.

The world has since realigned and I am back to my old Crazii self pounding the tar and leaving the jellies and oily bike chains to the professionals.

EN(RAPTURE)D

So apparently I am going to die today. Me and everybody else. Well sort of. Actually I’m only going to die sometime between now and October 21^st because I’ve been a bad little girl and Santa didn’t give me any presents for Christmas. But all the people who have been good girls and boys, said their prayers and given their pets to kind atheists to look after, will be dying today. So in the spirit of not missing out on all the fun I thought it might be a good idea to try and figuratively kill myself today too. What I didn’t realize was that figurative definition may have translated directly into a very literal event. My only consolation, because so many people will be going to join the Big Man upstairs at the same time, maybe I’ll get caught up in the  rush and he won’t notice what a heathen I really am.

So the literal event… A brain child only I could conjure up in my mind. A 4 week crash course marathon training month. Today 17 miles, next Saturday 20, the following 23 until said Sunday Marathon of 26.2. The catch, the complete lack of  endurance training coupled with a current total weekly mileage of 6 miles (10kms) at a severely fast speed. Result, 1 x dying redhead about to jump in the shower and go horse riding for 2 hours.

Watch this space…

I'M ALIVE... AND THEN SOME

Apologies, the infinite wisdom that is my cervical cortex has completely forgotten how to use a laptop and all components connected to such a device, hence the total lack of communication. The good news, contrary to popular belief due to the last 6 weeks of radio silence, I am not; unlike the worlds most infamous terrorist, in fact dead. Quite the opposite in fact, very much alive!


News of the last few weeks runs like this: I got a job, relinquished my couch potato status, have run up quota of speed runs, gone to a number of festivals, got a greencard and managed to convince Prince Charming to buy me car! I know, right!


Okay, so let’s start at the beginning. I am an official Legal Alien! Yes, the rumours are true, the USCIS allowed this redheaded African to remain in their country indefinitely! But by George, it was no mean feat… I have filled in paperwork the length of the Amazon, had my eyes, fingerprints and pretty much every aspect of my body inspected, poked and prodded and swore to not do a number of things I wasn’t aware any human was allowed to do, let alone legal aliens. So now after swearing that I have never been and have no intention of becoming a prostitute, drug trafficker, terrorist, or late night TV show host; I was bestowed the privilege of becoming a Greedcard Holder, Woohoo! Thank you America!


So with my new found plastic card in hand (it is actually green too) I set about doing what any newly sensible legal alien would do, drink! No seriously, whilst I may have slicked down a few celebratory glasses of champers, what I really did was get a job. I know, after 6 months of official couch potato duties, they were rudely taken away from me in favour of 50 hour weeks and my own company! Again, in this redhead’s infinite wisdom, the solution to my unemployment status was to start my own company thereby alleviating some guilt in the form of set-up work, website creation etc etc. What I didn’t factor into the equation was that I would actually get a client. I know, a real life, living, breathing, 100% American client! So now, my little one-man architectural consultancy company is already flourishing and if, by some stretch of the imagination, I get another client I’m going to have to hire employees… yikes! But I’ll cross that bridge if it ever needs to be crossed, at high speed, in my new black beauty!


Yip, ladies and gents, say hello to Graca Michelle! She’s as regal as both the first ladies she’s named after, as fast as lightning and as her name sakes suggests, beautifully black and gorgeous! This new little edition to our family comes in the form of a Golf GTI and is courtesy of my wonderful Prince Charming! His reasoning: new job = new wheels! Love him! (Let’s hope new house doesn’t mean new babies ;-)

With speed seemingly the new mantra at the moment, I have tried to incorporate that into my running. Much to my utter horror GI Jane has me doing speedwork which is about as much fun as having hot coffee poured into your eyes balls! 8 x 400m sprints at 6 minute mile intervals with a 1:30 break between, yip, think hot coffee and eyeballs. However, (and I say this with great resistant to the continuation of such early morning hell) it does seem to be paying off. My average pace has dropped from a 9 minute mile to a 7:45 minute mile for half marathons and a 6:55 minute mile for 5km races. Which amazingly puts me a position to actually place. I know, right… really?!?! Yes, could just be America or (and I know this is a stretch for the imagination), I could actually be getting faster ;-)

So with my legs doing their own thing, my fingers drawing away on the computer, my feet putting pedal to the metal and my shelves filling up with awards, this love-up’d redhead is seriously happy and content. I promise, not so long between news feeds from now on!

TRAINERS

I had to buy new trainers the other day (and no, not the sexy kind that come with huge biceps and a six pack, but rather the kind that comes with a new loan from the bank and weeks worth of comfort manipulation training). Apparently it was time for me to lay my beloved speed racers to rest. As a matter of course every runner should replace their trainers somewhere between 500kms and the complete lack of sole. My dead give away was my pinky toes sticking out of each side of the shoes showing of my glorious rainbow sock collection, apparently they were not going to start flapping and fly me over the finish line. So it was with great sadness I lay to rest my 2nd official pair of speed racers and thanked them for getting me through some of the best times of my life. With 1500 grueling kms under their belt, they are not old and haggard, they are a beacon of inspiration; and will be honoured in the plushest part of my walk-in and greeted each morning with a smile and nod to the greatness they achieved.

I hesitantly welcome my new racers into my world as it would appear they have been spending a lot of time with my 12 inch heels and have been getting some ideas about how to cause excruciating blisters and needle point accurate pain just in time for summer and sandal worthy toes! Whilst I appreciate that the new kid in school needs to be treated with tenderness and care, I have adopted the tough love policy theory and have relegate my new smart ass shoes to the corner when they will stay until I have decided whether or not to run them over in an effort to speed the running education process!

In other news, it would appear that my G.I. Jane boot camp instructors constant torture chamber of love is beginning to pay off. Whilst pumping some serious iron one Friday morning (read 8 pounds and a look on my face that could melt steel), my scapula decided it had had enough of this sissy weight lifting and forcefully jammed itself against one clearly easily enchanted nerve. Bring on the pain that one seriously pinched nerve can cause and the realisation that Sunday brought the prelude to St Patrick's Day in the form of The Shamrock Run. A 10 mile race around a park dressed as the silliest green/irish character you can think of! Cue a strapped and bandage leprechaun with high socks, a goggly alice-band and sling running around the park repeating every irish swear word she knows! And to make the situation even more Irish, they gave me an award. No, not for looking the silliest (which by george I'm pretty sure I did), but for actually coming 2nd! Seriously! This was not exactly how I imagined my "Chariots of Fire" moment in the sun... hobbling to receive my award, tears streaming down my red and blotchy face cursing under my breath that the plaque was actually Vicadin in disguise!

But this story ends well. I have since recovered, my scapula has released it's bear-claw hold on my nerve and they are now communicating in small but manageably painful playful jabs. I am back at boot camp for the fun that is interval and sprint training and have managed to survive my first Paddy's day behind the bar! Now that is another story... Happy Hump Day Peeps!

WALKING: WHO NEEDS IT!

Remember my last post and how I so proudly said I was walking freely into the new year etc etc... well everything but one thing is true about that statement, the walking part! Upon our return from Key West and clearly still on a high from the incredible adventure/delicious cans of Strongbow; I made a pact with myself that I might actually try take this running business a bit more seriously. By this I mean maybe pound some tar once a week just to make sure the old legs, you know, stay in shape and whatever. So with this seed very well nestled in the "I am Crazii's evil twin" side of the brian... I joined a gym! 

I know! Even as the words tumble onto the page, I am still in shock as to how this whole process started in motion. What started as a wonderful field trip discovering the inner workings of (all bars in) Key West ended with a signed piece of paper, a gym card and *gasp* and locker number surrounded by *gasp* sweat and *gasp* spandex! And to add insult to injury, the only class that seemed like a realistically feasible option started at 6am! Now I know what you're thinking... who in their currently unemployed state would voluntarily wake up at that hour of the morning to go to the gym... As I said before; Crazii's evil twin. However there is a very loosely interpreted reasonable explanation for this, namely I couldn't actually participate in any of the other classes for various reasons:

1. Spinning - I value my rear end too much.
2. Yoga - I haven't been able to touch my toes since my 10th birthday.
3. Dance - My 2 left feet prohibit such an action, especially in public where injury may occur.
4. Pilates - refer to point 2.
5. Ab training - hahahahahahahahahahahaha, laughing at the sheer thought was training enough!

... which leaves only... 6. Cardio Bootcamp - Bingo!

My thinking this: it's cardio so basically running, which is essentially why I find myself in this predicament in the first place. I glossed over the bootcamp part for obvious reasons, namely the blatant connection with pain and possibility of cross training and set off to meet my new found running self! Wow, do my new found running self and I have seriously differing opinions of what running/exercise actually are. 

• Day 1: weights, dumbells and some sort of thinking I can do sit ups, hahahahaha!
• Day 2: aerobic step climber, skipping rope and some sort of thinking I can do push ups, hahahahaha!
• Day 3: 2 mile TT (for those lucky enough not to know what TT stands for, it means torture treatment, also known as a time trial)

(insert all manner of creative words and phrases here)

Which brings me back to walking freely and now the complete inability to do so! With the bootcamp instructor literally being ex military and as svelt and toned as any abnormal female would be, it is the fear of future class punishment that keeps me returning week in and week out... she knows where I live and should I miss a class, I fear I might lose something a little more than the calories associated with my daily fried food intake! However (and this is Crazii's evil twin talking here) she has managed to convince my brain that maybe, just maybe, the ageless concept of cross training is not quite as insane as originally believed (see Sweat and Spandex: Ch 2 for my opinion on this matter) and the proof has literally been in the pudding:

• 5kms Time Trials in under 23 mins
• Half marathons in 1h46m
• Crazii doing sit ups and push ups
• (I've even been known to lift a few weights here and there, but don't spread the news around)

The major point however, being that after each wonderous achievement, walking usually becomes a problem. And whilst G.I. Jane doesn't seem to think this is a problem, my inability to walk to the phone and call for pizza delivery is seriously concerning!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I feel I should come back with a bang after being on a eating and drinking sabbatical for a month and this being a new year and all too. However, with all the bangs used up in the glorious Christmas crackers scattered in Christmas tree and wrapping heaven at the moment, I'm afraid I'm going to resort to a good old faithful storyline I am very familiar with... running. Don't despair however, as always, there is pain and suffering, joy and laughter and this one comprises of an extra special treat of involving 11 men and me! Got your attention now, don't I!

I am pleased to announce however that this time round, there was no true Crazii style of entering a race and then being a couch potato three weeks before. Nope, I was asked to be a part of a team a few weeks before this amazing event and was therefore content to sit on the couch and relax in fear of pulling something and thereby letting the whole team down. Especially as I was a substitute for a runner who had to resign due to medical reasons! So with relaxing in full swing I set about actually finding out what I had signed a very extensive waiver regarding death by alligator and such for... 

Ragner Relay - Miami to Key West - 191.1 miles

You and 11 of your closest friends running 200(ish) miles, day and night, relay-style, through some of the most scenic terrain North America could muster. Add in crazy runners, inside jokes and a mild case of sleep deprivation. The result? Some call it a slumber party without sleep, pillows or deodorant. We call it a Ragnar Relay.  It's really quite simple. Get a bunch of friends together and start running. Okay, there's a little more to it. Your relay team will consist of 12 members (or 6 for Ultra teams). Almost anyone can run in this relay race...if you train. During the relay, each team member runs three legs, ranging between 3 and 9 miles and varying in difficulty. So, from the elite runner down to the intermittent jogger, it's the ideal relay for anyone in search of an unforgettable adventure.

WTF HAVE I DONE! Sorry excuse the french, but really... Miami to Key West. It's basically exactly like running from Cape Town to Riversdale, or Cape Town to Hermanus and back and then back to Hermanus! With 12 of your closest friends... I don't know a single person and all my friends are female! And see that bit about training... I'm totally screwed! So basically I had signed myself up to run a race with 11 people I didn't know, running down a continent I had only been on for 3 months with a bunch of men who all play soccer together. Brilliant! Here's hoping some of them look like David Beckham!

So with that news I continued my couch potato activities more in  fear than anything else... our first team meeting should be interesting!  Cue 11 David Beckham's, English accents all round and the bonus that they all had brains! Okay, well not really, there were no Beckham look-a-likes but they did all have grey matter unlike their British counterpart. And some were even English. So I sat, speechless amongst a motley crew of Brits, Italians, 1 German, a few Americans and me. The only girl, the only South African and the youngest team member who couldn't for the life of her play a second of soccer! And to add insult to injury, it would appear that they all thought I could run, far... hmmm, things are gonna get interesting

And so began the best 48 hours of fun I have had in ages!  11 brilliant team members, copious amounts of enthusiasm and laughs and continual support for 191 miles! Running in daylight, through the everglades, the ghetto and the sea. Running in darkness through the keys, over bridges and through roadside forests. Running with support cheers and laughs, running alone with only your thoughts, but always running towards something and someone and to a finish where you know there will be smiles, food and a well deserved pat on the back! It was brilliant! A few hours kip caught in a park, a few sips of coffee caught on the run and a few jokes and gear changes changes thrown in for good measure. With a total of just over 20 miles under the belt and the sight of Key West within reach we finished our amazing adventure by running 12 abreast over the finish line to cheers and smiles, hugs and Prince Charming and a full bar! Hooray for my team mates, my husband and a warm shower!

So with that, I walk fearlessly into the New Year knowing if anything, it will be full of adventures and surprises, new friends and bright and loving smiles!

TOO MANY TOO'S/TWO'S!

I think it is safe to say that any iota of sanity my brain/body may have been clinging on to, has officially gone. The inability to move my legs this morning proves that. Maybe it is something in the water, maybe it is my own personal guilt rearing its ugly head or maybe it is my inherent fear of missing out that drives me to such lengths, whichever it may be (i'm going with the water), it must be stopped! To find myself crawling around the house ala Uma Thurman style, "wiggle your big toe", is really not a pretty sight. And the extent of the damaged is more like, "could anything below my belly button please twitch, yes? No?" And whilst I would like to say I have the patience to talk my limbs back into moving, don a sexy matching yellow tracksuit and blame everything on Bill, unfortunately there is only 1 idiot here, me! 

CHAPTER ONE: Killing the Cancer Sticks

This was done with great ease and panache. I woke up one morning, made a decision and the Gods made it happen. What actually happened was that  I was so sick one day that the sight of them made me so nauseous, they were completely dispensed with for what has now been 2 weeks. (Yippee!).  And whilst the ability to breath and taste has returned to 100% effectiveness, the brain is obviously still suffering the consequences of the years of tar and other unique ingredients these little evil sticks have to offer. Hence the decision.

CHAPTER TWO: The Decision

The decision was based on a number of factors previously listed above, namely the water. And with the new found ability to breath better it appeared to be a no brainer. So it was with these crucial aspects in mind that my brain convinced my fingers to begin the process of signing up for the P.A.L Half Marathon. It wasn't a difficult task either, with my obviously still malnourished brain leading the way from digital page to digital page and it's ability to retain numbers for the most important of occasions, the bank had my credit card details and I had an entry to the run! Without even getting off the couch (which I see now could have be a premonition of what was to come). 1 week to go, 1 half marathon entry and 4 months of non-existent training behind me... I was as calm as a hyperactive hamster on speed!

CHAPTER THREE: D-Day

4:30am on a beautifully cool Sunday morning, I hall my body (which at this stage can still move) out of the comfort of bed and commence the process that is ingrained in every runners head around the world, getting ready. As always, clothes, shoes and vaseline have been set out the night before in the order they will be put on, tied up and rubbed into. Car keys, cellphones, painkillers and emergency details have been carefully shrink wrapped to fit into the tiny runners sized secret pocket sewn into the waist band of shorts. One final once over and the experience of running begins. At this stage I am sure you are wondering why on earth I was up at 4:30 when the race only began at 6:35 and I will tell you. Firstly the race was in Boca Raton which is terms of distance from our safe haven is about a billion miles! Also, I wanted to give myself enough time to navigate the roads as the Americans drive on the wrong side of the road and car and the Floridians are just plain bad drivers. And last but not least, my brain wanted to get there before my limbs woke up so there was no possible way of backing out.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Race

All signed up, chip and number attached in the correct places and shivering in the utter blackness that was the start, we began. 21.1kms in the distance I could see my pancakes and syrup waiting. 18kms in the distance with lungs as fresh as daisies, my legs turned to concrete. And trust me, dragging 2 out of shape, concrete legs through 18kms of repetitive scenery is about as much fun as playing marco polo with a great white. Agonising and with little sign that you may in fact win the game. It was at about this point that my brain realized it's gigantic miscalculation of the events and gave me 2 options. Either stop and be ridiculed or continue and lie about your finishing time. Brilliant, the voice of reason has spoken once again and once again, a decision was made. Just keep running Crazii, and look at the bright side, at least you can breath! 

CHAPTER FIVE: The Finish

Finally with the end in sight and the vision of pancakes drenched in syrup returning, I turned the corner of the 20km marker to see the face and reinforcement of Prince Charming glowing in the morning sunlight! Whoopppeee! With a promise that the finish line was just around the next corner I gathered what strength I had left and dragged those concrete limbs over the finish line in a time of 2:02:02.  My second worse half marathon time and a lesson to my over zealous brain. TOO little time, way TOO little training and something never TO be repeated again! 

I STARTED RUNNING AGAIN... WELL SORT OF.

It all started when we arrived in Florida and the guilt from not running for a month started eating away at me. Literally would have been lovely as it would have gotten rid of those lovely extra kilo's i've been carry consisting of cider, ribs and some interesting take on biltong only the Americans can do, called Jerky. But no, literally was not to be, rather more mentally as I was starting to feel very unfit and rather heavy. So I signed up for a 5km charity run and thought the best way to deal with this guilt would be to tackle it head on by making this 5km run a personal time trial. No easing back into it, no leisurely pace... light a fire cracker and run. Whilst this in not necessarily a very bad idea, it turns out it was maybe not the greatest considering only the day before I had  been given a flu shot, a tetnis injection, a TB jab and had copious amounts of my blood removed from my body (only to be replaced by numerous pints of cider) all in the name of immigration.

So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up the day of the run, with the flu! And possibly TB and lock jaw, but who's to say. And to add insult to injury and an already bruised and battered body,  faithful Mother Nature had made sure it was a perfect Florida winter's day. A cool 75 degrees fahrenheit with as little possible respite in the form of a breeze as possible! At this point, my confidence in the fact that surely I can run 5kms, had disappeared. Along with any possibility of escaping the madness as I was already standing in the 25 line deep masses to begin.

An interesting fact to note quickly before I continue my tirade is, that in America before each race they actually semi seed you into groups. 5 minute milers (WTF) up ahead and so on. So carefully placed at the back of the bunch, already losing half my body weight in fluid, we began! AAAHHH! seriously, what have I done!!! It's boiling, my limbs feel like lead and the small amount of oxygen I may be able to inhale is being used to try and rid my system of the germs given to me the previous day. Not good when you're trying to set a pace for a time trial! To say it was an uncomfortable run would be to compare having an anvil dropped on your head as having a mild headache. It was torture! But I suppose time trials usually are!

24 minutes and 33 seconds later I found a little peice of heaven. The finish line, some juice and a small patch of grass I could lie and write my last will and testament (assuming I could open my eyes).  It was over, and by george I have never been so happy to see the end of a run. You know your fitness has taken an island holiday millions if miles away from you when 5kms becomes your conquering Mount Everest. However, slowly but surely I regained my personality and blood supply to all limbs and smiled. At least I finished in under 30 minutes. I'm pretty sure my running family would have disowned me if this wasn't the case :-)

As it turns out, finishing wasn't even the best part. I won a prize. I know, I also fell over when I heard... but it's true. It true American style, I was awarded a 3rd place win for my age group, and the leader was only 8 seconds in front of me! And the prize... A Pint Glass! I'm starting to like America more and more!  So with my new found love of winning... I mean running... I have studeously kept up the training thus far and even thrown in a bit of cycling for good measure. (Yes, Thunder, our building does have one of those bikes you can sit on and read your book). But hey... it's a start!

THE BEGINNING OF LASTS...

Arg, so I ran a half marathon this weekend! Believe me, I am asking myself the same question too, why? Originally it seemed like quite a good idea as it was going to be my last time on the trot with my running club and we had grand ideas of pulling off a mass finish amidst a flurry of cheers as we crossed the finish line to the glorious notes of Chariots of Fire! NO. There was fire, just not in the graceful sense originally envisioned. My lungs (which I now know have not fully recovered from my lovely bought of death flu) bypassed the “Let’s ache a little so she knows what she’s doing to us” and went straight for the “If you don’t refrain from this insane sport of yours immediately we will be forced to burst into flames and evacuate your chest cavity forth with!” Ouch would be a euphemism. Bother this really hurts would be a euphemism. To say I was cursing like a sailor… yip, euphemism too! And to add insult to injury, it was lashing rain. Internal inferno and external hypothermia… I know, I couldn’t imagine why someone would do it either! However, having said all of the above (as friends and family can attest I always do), it was bleeding marvelous! Thunder put it into perspective:

Thunder Struck: Why you walking like a penguin?
Me: Ran a half marathon this morning.
TS: Why?
Me: Was the last run with the running family.
TS: So you thought you would ease back into running after a 4 week break and pneumonia with a 21km run in the rain?
ME: Pretty much!
TS: Riiiiiiighttttt…

I do have a tendency to rush back into running because a) I really like it b) it’s the guilt for not having done it for so long and c) there’s usually a group breakfast involving pancakes which just cannot be missed! And whilst I do like to complain and over exaggerate the weather conditions (I swear we were in a hurricane with flying cows everywhere), I love the runs and the crowd and the scenery and am going to miss everything so much when we leave. When you suddenly realize you are doing something for the last time, it becomes something bigger than itself and very important to you. Am whist I’m not going to bore you with the nerves and stories of me counting all “my lasts” in SA, I am going to say a big thank you to my wonderful running family for being there for that last and for supporting me always.

Thank you guys!

THE END

I found out this morning that apparently that party does end… and it’s a rather abrupt ending. My story goes like this:

*BEEEEEEEEEP* BEEEEEEEEEP* BEEEEEEEEPP*
Me: WTF?
*BEEEEEEEEEP* BEEEEEEEEEP* BEEEEEEEEPP*
Me: Oh Crap…
*BEEEEEEEEEP* BEEEEEEEEEP* BEEEEEEEEPP*
Me: okay, enough already I’m up!
SMACK!
Me: Ouch, that was my foot you “#$%^&” bed
THWACK!
Me: Arg, really, I left those there last night?
GDONK!
Me: Wow, I’m pretty sure that door wasn't there before???

And this is all before I have put my running kit on and hit the tar! Word of warning, do not binge smoke and drink for 3 weeks while ill and then think you can run double digit kms without any recourse. During the hours of 5:30am and 7am this morning I managed to lose a lung, cause severe discomfort to my calves, back and quads and pretty much electroshock my body into running again… bad bad idea! I am now currently sitting at my desk without the ability to walk and breathe, dying for the bathroom and actually frightened about 5pm rolling around because it will involve me moving more than just my arms and mouth!

Ah, the joys of being back on the road again! Time trial tomorrow morning, can’t wait!

HAPPY FRIDAY PEEPS!

I’ve been told that I’m rather scary at times. This usually said to me in a casual environment over a few glasses of bubbles and me in casual clothes. The conversation usually goes like this:

Person 1: Wow, I can’t believe you can do casual.
Me: What?
P1: When I first met you, you were really scary!
Me: How?
P1: Well you were all corporate woman like and I thought you probably had a whip down your stockings.
Me: Oh wow, that’s really sweet, but no I’m not actually that scary unless it calls for it.
P1: And when does it usually call for it?
Me: If you meet me on site in casual clothes, I’d say you should start praying.
P1: F*CK.

So you must understand my current state. I have been on site all week, working with The City Beneath the Mountain suppliers who pretty much have “waka waka” between their heads and nothing else. My patience is non existent, my quads are still aching and my hot physio is MIA. This I’m pretty sure has something to do with Wednesday’s session and me saying something to the effect of impending doom should he feel the need to ever mention or in fact try and put my on that bicycle contraption ever again! I now contend with the very sweet receptionist who feels the need to apologize for Hot Physio’s lack of appearance but assures me each session is for the benefit of my running future and would I mind even so much if I could stop screaming and chasing all other client’s away.

Receptionist: Crazii please, just get on the bike and finish your session.
Me: ARE YOU MAD! That thing was made by the devil without a sense of humour!
Receptionist: Please Crazii, just get on.
Me: Listen up People. All of you who are here for Glucox Eccentric Training stand up!
Crowded Room: *nobody stands*
Me: You see, look what you and that machine have done. These poor people can’t even stand, how do you expect them to resist that machine???

At this point a very sweet woman walks over to me and tells me it’s her first session and how bad is it really. I explain to her in detail the process involved, the endurance calculator and torque metre, the strength training gauge and the firey inferno that starts gripping your upper quads and just before she passes out I manage to slip in that there’s actually no need to worry, I have a better solution. With the blood returning to her face, she perks up hugely and emits a sigh of relief.

Half an hour later we’re sitting at the bar together over a glass of bubbles under the guise that the sparkiling wine of South Africa has energizing qualities due to the fermentation process and there’s absolutely no need to torture one’s self on a bike when drinking champers re-energizes with less agony and definitely more sparkle!

Happy Friday Peeps!

ECCENTRIC, ME? PFFT!

So now that I am officially back to reality, I actually have to pay attention to the details of my life that need assistance ie: my knee (and my French I have decided, but that is another story). So as the diligent, non selfish runner that I am, I took myself off to “The Knee Guy” (note the element of sarcasm, I was pretty much bound and gagged by the physio). Wow was he a ball of laughs! (The Knee Guy, my actual physio is wonderful.)

The Knee Guy: So, where do you have pain?
Me: Ummm…. (panic eyes setting in, check label on door, yip definitely in the right place), my knee?
TKG: Yes, which one?
Me: Ah, right, the left one.
TKG: (pulling and shifting and doing whatever he was doing) any of this hurt?
Me: Well if I was an elastic band, maybe not, but as it would have it, YES!
TKG: Okay, I think you need an MRI
Me: Wow, you’re a genius, that’s what I thought I was here for…

20 minutes under a machine that you have to sit deathly still in, otherwise your images come up looking like one of my cake disasters, my results come in.

TKG: Wow, there’s a lot of inflammation around the Patella and ITB joint. You could have lsdkjflsjflsjkflkjaslkfjlskjf…………
Me: Excuse me, anglais s’il vous plait?
TKG: No running for 2 months and eccentric strength training for 8 weeks, 3 times a week.
Me: Is that for my personality or my knee?
TKG: Here’s your script, physio is upstairs.
Me: Right, bye Mr Cheerful.

And upstairs I trot (literally running up the stairs as my way of being very adult about this whole process and sticking my tongue out at the man downstairs) to meet my physio.

Me: Hello, I’m here to see my physio.
Receptionist: Okay, please take a seat, he’ll be out shortly.
Me: *SWOON* Helllllooooooo….
Hot Physio: Hello Miss Crazii, what can I do for you today?
Me: Hmmm. Well if you really want to know… ummm, I mean, script, dude downstairs, something about being Crazii?
HP: Ah yes, eccentric strength training.
ME: that’s the one.
HP: Right, come with me
Me: With the greatest of pleasure…

And then he put me on a bicycle…

Me: WTF???
HP: What you have to do is resist the momentum of the bicycle.
Me: Why?
HP: Because it will strengthen the muscles around the knee cap and quads so we can get you out of here and back on the road.
Me: Well firstly I don’t really want to leave and I’ve never given up on the road.
HP: So you’re still running then?
Me: yeeeesssss…..
HP: You know that will hamper your progress and you will be here for longer?
Me: Perfect, how much mileage a week will keep me here until I’ve met your mom?
HP: Right, I can see you’re going to be one of “those” patients…
Me: By those you mean the one you want to take home to meet your mother?
HP: No, buy those I mean difficult.
Me: Let’s call me eccentric and see where that gets us…

Needless to say I peddled, or in fact resisted peddling for the duration of the session and am due back again on Saturday. I think this might be the first time I’m excited to be on a bicycle in spandex, sweating.

LUMPY HUMP DAY

I went for a run this morning. It was torture. Not the actual running bit, the bit where I had to actually extricate myself from the warmth and cosines that is my duvet and king-size bed. SuperMom and I decided we would run, last night. We also decided we would sms each other this morning to confirm said arrangement.

SuperMom sms: I can’t get out of bed!
Me sms: Me neither!
(both roll over and try go back to bed... the guilt eats away...)
Me sms: Right I’m up, your turn.
SuperMom sms: I’m up too, see you at the Pool!

Please bare in mind this all happened before the crack of dawn (5:25am), in a drizzly Cape Town winter morning. All clad in my winter running wollies (basically head to toe in thermal garments so that not so much as an ant could find it’s way onto any flesh) I meet SuperMom to find she’s in shorts. Shorts! Seriously! If you never knew why she was called SuperMom before, this is one of the very reasons!

So off we run into the sunrise for our 10km morning warm-up, to realize we’ve only run 8.5kms. Hmph! Hump Day is not going according to plan. On the plus side though, I do have a launch party at the new very chic “Twankey Oyster and Champage Bar” at the Taj Hotel… heaven in a shell and bottle combined!

                                                                        Cheers All!

LONDON REMINDER

Less than 10 days to go before I depart for London and I still need to raise £750 for my Charity!!!

Please can you all beg borrow and steal from where you can and donate!!! All donations go directly to Phab Kids.

The link is below:

http://www.justgiving.com/laurenurquhart

Thank you all!

RE-ACQUAINTANCES

Due to their apparent feelings of abandonment, Mr and Mr (I just put on about 100kgs) Sumo Wrestle have taken up their now almost forgotten residence once again. Happily ensconced on my eyelids for the duration of the day while Ghandi’s flip flop firmly resides itself in my mouth along with possibly a bergie’s lost blanket, I am unhappy to report I am severely hungover. Since the now almost forgotten memory of the painful child birthing process known as Oceans, I have embraced my new found “take a break week” with much enthusiasm. Fellow enthusiast’s include Mr Jangerbomb, Miss Pink Champagne and my personal favourite (please note the dripping with sarcasm tone here), Mrs I-promise-to-give-you-lung-cancer-before-the-age-of-30 Cancer Stick. Together, the 4 of us have re-acquainted ourselves with the life that once was before running. Bleg! It would appear we can only be in each other’s company for a few very select hours, while the sun is sleeping, 80’s music is playing and others are throwing name on the dance floor around us. Thank Heavens… anymore time spent together and we’d be pushing up a veritable daisy farm!

Needless to say, I’m going to drag my sorry ass into bed the moment the big hands hits 12 and the little one hits 5 (assuming I can still drive) and fill my head with the astounding knowledge that is the Legendary Barney Stinson. Bring on my “How I met Your Mother” marathon evening ahead!

Happy Friday all!

GIRLIE WISDOM

Some pearls of Wisdom today from SuperMom:

1. A friend of mine confused her Valium with her birth control pills...she has 14 kids but she doesn't really care..

2. One of life's mysteries is how a 2-pound box of chocolates can make a woman gain 5 lbs.

3. My mind not only wanders, it sometimes leaves completely.

4. The best way to forget your troubles is to wear tight shoes.

5. The nice part about living in a small town is that when you don't know what you are doing, someone else does.

6. The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then your body and your fat are really good friends.

7. Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today.

8. Sometimes I think I understand everything, and then I regain consciousness.

9. I gave up jogging for my health when my thighs kept rubbing together and setting fire to my panties.

10. Amazing! You hang something in your closet, for a while, and it shrinks 2 sizes!

11. Skinny people irritate me! Especially when they say things like...'You know sometimes I forget to eat!' .... Now, I've forgotten my address, my mother's maiden name, and my keys, but I have never forgotten to eat. You have to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat!

12. The trouble with some women is that they get all excited about nothing -- and then they marry him.

13. I read this article that said the typical symptoms of stress are eating too much, impulse buying, and driving too fast. Are they kidding? That's my idea of a perfect day!

LETTERS

Right, so I’ve officially had a few days to recover/think about what exactly happened on Saturday 3rd April 2010 and a few letters have sprung to mind:

Dear Dancing Gorilla,

While your dancing skills and hip thrusting movements are certainly something for the record books, I feel their skills should be used in a more appropriate environment. While putting a smile on my face up Chappies was much appreciated, the resulting drop, tuck and roll (or un-ladylike lack thereof) was not exactly what I was counting on! Your enthusiasm on making sure my executive shuffle kept in pace with the background tunes could indeed have been matched by your unhelpful nature of peeling my now embarrassed and bloody body of the tar. My resulting race was therefore somewhat hindered by the complete annihilation of my right knee cap and I’m pretty sure all the runners behind me (thankfully there were still some at this stage) were not so enamored at the little trickles of blood finding there way off my elbow and into the resulting breeze.

I have included some photographs for your information. While I’m sure viewing the fall was a very humorous event, the resulting bodily injuries are making no-one laugh and thus I request that you maybe take your fabulous skills to the finish line/zoo where a smile at this point is a very very welcome surprise indeed.

Yours in agony,
Crazii

Next Letter:

Dear Body,

You are amazing! Not only have I abused you during the last few months, but come race day you had to contend with my crazii brain announcing that should you, in any way decided you cannot finish the race, tough shit. So I must thank you dear kneecaps, ankles, elbows and hips for taking full advantage of the 3 myprodols readily consumed after the above mentioned fall and floating me the remaining 26kms to what can only be called a first and last finish experience for me.

First for obvious reasons, and last only because of the style in which I finished. I will most certainly be doing the race again, I just shall not be finishing in the manner in which I did on Sat. SuperMom put it the best “You finished in true style Ballerina (she calls me Ballerina), with a pirouette and a puke". Yip, it’s true. But I finished and in under 6 hours and it’s all because of you. So thank you dear Body, you are amazing.

Yours in admiration,
Crazii

Second last letter:

Dear Brain,

You are stubborn, this we know. However I do believe you had a moment of epiphany on Saturday with regards to your Comrades aspirations. The continuous reminder that one should not complete a Comrades Marathon before the age of 30 was somewhat of a mysterious concept to you, until I believe you met Constantia Nek. It was at this point you suddenly fully appreciate the concept of memory. Running memory on your legs. Years of training your body to do what it needs to do to get you the distance.

While I accolade your fierce determination to conquer 5 to 56kms in the period of a year, there is nothing that can beat experience and time on the legs and for that you will need to take a breathe, congratulate yourself, and give yourself a break.

Yours in patience,
Crazii

And last, but certainly not least:

Dear Running Family,

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! I could not have done any of it without you guys! SuperMom, Speed Machine, 2IC, Adventure Queen, Running Mom and everybody else, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

Yours in gratefulness,
Crazii

0 DAYS TO GO!

OMG! I just ran 56kms! And tripped over a cat’s eye while watching a dancing gorilla, and finished in under 6 hours, YAYAYAYAYAYAY! It was amazing. All the training, sore knees, absurd amount of carbs was totally worth it! I, Crazii Redhead, managed to complete the Two Oceans Ultra Marathon, battered and bruised, weak and with my most unhappy face on, but I did it. And by George I would to do it again in a second!

Thanks to SuperMom and all my running family, I made it through. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you guys, or The Chef, The Barman, Thunder and Pint Size. My amazing support crew kept me going for the glorious/agonising/heart breaking 56kms… I wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way!

Thank you all, next stop, London Marathon!

1 DAY TO GO!!!

In less than 24 hours I will be starting the 2010 Two Oceans Ultra Marathon with 9000 other people. There is currently an interesting debate going on between the runners and none runners as to whether or not you can actually call us people. Other names being bandied about include Crazii’s, Freaks, Cuckoo’s and my personal favourite, Machines.

In exactly 24 hours, (this crazii machine, hehe) will hopefully be running along Rhodes drive (after triumphantly having conquered Constantia Nek) cursing about the severe camber in the road but thanking my little speed racers, my running family and the crowd for getting me this far.

I think what I’m looking forward to the most is meeting SuperMom at the start and running together, seeing Thunder and The Barman off for their first half experince, getting through Death Valley unscathed, doing the executive shuffle up Constantia Nek and then finishing, arms raised in triumph, having run with some of the most incredible running names in history.

Good luck to my wonderful running family, Thunder and The Barman, I promise to see you at the finish smiling like the Cheshire cat while hobbling to the tent for an energade and some hot cross buns!

1 Day to Go!!!