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! 

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!

LADY LUCK

Lady Luck and I have always had a tenuous relationship at best. So it was no real surprise when Prince Charming and I landed at the airport to start our whirlwind trip around the world that we had no luck at all with the baggage handlers and pleading dyslexia fell completely on deaf eyes. My sorry attempt to convince the glorified trolley dolly that in fact my bag weighs 24kgs when actually it rings in at around 42kgs was having no effect at all. Batting eyelids and smiling sweetly was doing nothing to charm the young Hitler in training so I felt the need to resort to reason... Never ever do this at an airport, EVER.

ME: Okay, how about we buy another seat, that way we can have the baggage allowance of that seat?

Hitler in Training: I'm afraid you can't do that.

ME: Why not?

HIT: It's against the rules.

ME: Well could we chat to the person who wrote the rules?

HIT: I'm afraid he's dead.

ME: And it doesn't strike you as odd you are still applying rules written by a dead guy who possibly lived in the dark ages.

HIT: (confusion reigns)...

ME: Nevermind. How about this... You see that guy over there, he weighs in at at least 100kgs. How about you give me my 42kg bag as possible flab I may put on over the next few years and we'll call it quits.

HIT: Ma'am, that's impossible. You have an overweight bag which we have to charge for.

ME: Yes, but he is overweight all by himself, are you going to charge him for being fat??? Can you see no reason man!!!

(At this point Prince Charming steps in to calm his frazzled wife and reasons with the young Hitler in the only universal language)

PC: Okay, in the interest of sparring your eyeballs and my wife's sanity, how much is this going to cost?

And it was with that one sentence that we were so thankful our actual tickets only cost the price of flat screen TV and the over-weight cost was the price of the villa that TV might go into one day!

Needless to say, this episode would repeat itself 3 times before we were to land and Lady Luck finally registered us on her radar. You see, currently we find ourselves in the wonderfully sun-filled region of Florida where we have decided to settle for the next 6 months. As luck would have it, this was one of the easiest and quickest decisions we have had to make. Firstly, we were flying down to see family and friends and I was fully prepared with the speech of reason for the check-in counter lady when it became null and void. She looked at us, checked our passports, mentioned that we were in fact relocating a large african continent worth of clothing and proceeded to smile, issue our tickets and bid us farewell. YAY! Some pizza and ice-cream later, we landed in Florida to find we had a stunning apartment available to us and would we like to rent it. YES! A quick "surprise, we're here" introduction to Prince Charming's wonderful mother and our plans were laid and set within hours. 

So it is with this news that New York can have her freezing cold winter and we will return to see her in all her glory in the springtime when the blossoms and sunshine allow her to shed her winter coat and smile in all her sparkling summer beauty.