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!

USA and RSA 2

My 100th post, woohoo! And whilst I would like to regale you with a wonderfully witty and scintillating piece of writing, all i've got is still how different my new home is. I've had a bit of time to think about a few more differences and here they are. I must warm you though, toilets are mentioned once again.

Bathrooms.

There are self flushing toilets. Yip, once you get off the seat with the front piece missing the toilet takes it upon itself to flush. Then when you exit the stall you get to the self thinking tap which ejects water onto your hands. There's just one flaw with this whole system. You have to actually touch the soap dispenser to clean your hands. So while you've been so clean up until this point, germs still await. But it's doesn't stop there, there are some bathrooms with clever thinking soap dispensers but you have to push a button on the paper dispensing machine. So whilst the theory of not actually touching anything in a bathroom is a good one, I have yet to go into a bathroom that can do all of the no touching elements stated above.

Banks.

There are no banking fees here. None for withdrawing from an atm, none for having an account and none for upgrading your card. Whilst i'm sure there are some for other things, the day to day irritation of actually having to pay someone to hold your own money is somewhat cheaper. And whilst the thought of paying an institution to safe guard our hard earned money is still a rather crazy notion (especially when they see fit to lend it out to anyone who may or may not be able to pay them back), I take small comfort in the fact that banking in America seems to burn less of a hole in my pocket than it did in SA.

Cars.

There are about a bazillion different makes and models of cars in America. Hundreds to which the likes of South Africa will most probably never see. And most of them are automatic. It is, in some cases, more expensive to buy a manual car here, which I personally think is awesome. However there is a serious drawback to all of this. Whilst I like the variety and automatic-ness of all vehicles here, I still do not like the speed at which they wizz past you, on the wrong side of the road whilst talking on a cellphone. Yes, it is still legal to talk and drive here.. really really not sure why!

Pizza.

I love pizza. I can and have lived on pizza. I have entered pizza heaven. One slice of American pizza is the same size as 1 whole medium Butlers pizza, no jokes. And you can order it online and have it delivered within 20 minutes. Person to person telephonic contact is not necessary, just a bank card and a big appetite! And with all the money I save on the lack of  banking fees, this is a really really good system!

Pharmacies.

They are pretty much exactly the same as they are in South Africa except for one GLARING difference. Whilst the drug selection is larger, the sweet selection worse for your teeth and the oddities you would find in your grandmother's formal lounger more prolific, they are basically just the American super-sized version of our own pharmacies. Except for one thing, they sell cigarettes. I KNOW, weird right??? A health zone openly being unhealthy... maybe it's just me but is seems very strange indeed.

USA and RSA

Since we have been in America, I have noticed a number of differences between South Africa and here. Some are quirky, some are funny and some are just plain weird. My top 10 so far, but have no fear, i'm very certain this might turn into a top 100.

1. Americans. 

They are super duper friendly and will always ask how you are doing and feel no qualms about calling you Pet, Baby Doll or Sweet Cheeks after having met you only once. Whilst in American culture this would be fine, this grumpy South African has a hard time trying to distinguish the difference between wanting to have an actual conversation or general politeness/over friendlyness. I struggle on a daily basis when at the check out at Publix as to whether I should just reply fine or tack on the obligatory "and you"... i'm afraid they might just answer and my ice cream would melt!

2. Kettles and toasters. 

They don't have either. Which by "they don't have" means they have something that does the same thing, just is not a kettle or toaster. It's a thing that looks like a kettle that is filled with water and then put on the stove to boil, no electric cable at all. And to make toast, put your slices of bread in the toaster oven, which is a very miniture version of a real oven but sits in the counter. Incidentally, whilst the toaster oven takes a while to make toasts, it i very handy for heating up other things like pizza slices and left overs you don't want the microwave to make soggy.

3. Driving. 

They drive on the wrong side of the road and sit on the wrong side of the car. And they drive too fast (which is saying something as a South African). 

4. Toilets. 

Whilst i'm not going to get into the details of bathroom etiquette and such, the toilet seats are weird. They have a gap at the front end which I originally thought was a feature for male bathroom seats (for obvious reasons), but these strange seats can be found in female bathrooms too... it's just plain weird. And the doors of the stalls open outwards. Maybe it's just me, but this seems weird too.

5. Pickles. 

They put them on EVERYTHING. And I mean everything. They are the side garnish for every meal, in each and every sandwich you order and come in about 700 billion different varieties. There is a entire section in the supermarket designated to them.  You even get banana pickles, they're yellow... obviously.

6. Preservatives. 

Also, like the pickles, they are in everything. Our bread and milk lasts 2 weeks. Which is a great cost saver and waste reducer, but it's also just not natural.

7. Corn. 

Almost as popular as pickles but in a different form. Cows are corn fed here, not grain fed. There is corn syrup in just about everything that tastes marginally sweet and when you buy meiles, they are either white or yellow (and are called corn on the cob, not meilies).

8. Shots. 

Every shot you order is basically a double. There is not such thing as a single shot which means there is no such thing as a headacheless morning the day after a party. Seriously, never ever order a double in America, you might die!

9. Beef jerky. 

It is not biltong, period.

10. Drive through ATM machines. 

They're genius and so handy. But i'm pretty sure it's self explanatory why SA doesn't have them. 

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!