GOOD IDEAS... I DON'T HAVE ANY.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. To be fair though, they always do… especially in my case if you preface something with alcohol, I’m yours. I enjoy running, I especially like running races. So when The Marine decided to tell me about a race on our door step that would end in The Pretty, Friendly, Lovely version of Miami where there was beer and music, I was obviously ecstatic. “Count me in”, “I’m there like a bear” and so forth were the usual nonsensical however excited phrases exiting my mouth. Then I actually looked at the race and then I lost all blood flow to my brain and then I passed out and hit my head hard on the concrete. I awake from my apparent moment of madness with hope that, it was in fact, a dream. Alas, it was a true moment of insanity (however common they may be) and I was in fact running an Ultra Marathon in under a month!

So I told Prince Charming:

Me: Guess what?

Prince Charming: What?

Me: I’m running an ultra marathon in 4 weeks!

PC: Ummm… when was the last time you ran an Ultra Crazii?

Me: Ummm… 2 years ago maybe?

PC: And when was the last time you actually trained for an Ultra Marathon?

Me: Ummm… 2 years ago maybe?

PC: I see… and how do you propose to complete this 50km run?

Me: Well there’s beer at the end.

PC: Oh well in that; case give it horns!

You have to accolade the man, he does know me very well!

In the forthcoming weeks I have planned a very rigorous exercise regime involving drinking beer, I mean carbo loading, and going to bootcamp… the bootcamp part is proving to be slightly tricky. For my sins I signed up at the local Hell on Earth, I mean gym, and within five minutes it became clear I was ‘that’ person in the class. Having forgotten I was supposed to start on Friday, I rocked up yesterday.

Me: It’s me, I’m here!

Drill Sergeant: You were supposed to be here on Friday.

Me: I was playing hide and seek with my enthusiasm… It won, I couldn’t find it anywhere.

DS: Where’s your mat?

Me: Matt who?

DS: Your mat to lie on.

Me: We lie around in bootcamp, I can totally do this!

DS: *Sigh* how about weights?

Me: I think you mean weight, singular, and isn’t that a bit personal. Regardless, I’m giving you a heads up here, I will lie.

DS: No Crazii, hand weights, that you lift up and down to build muscle.

Me: Oh right… well I think I have a bottle of wine in my bag. Probably more than I can handle but I’m willing to give it a go.

Wish me luck Peeps, for you all know that I need it!

MARKETING FOR THOUGHT

A bit of running trivia/absolute drivel for all keen runners out there; and a bit of a cop out for me because I have, as yet,  not recovered from this weeks worth of running/gym and therefore all blood flow has been reserved for the sole purpose or resuscitating my hamstrings and convincing my calf muscles that fighting with the neighboring Achilles tendon is not a good idea. Enjoy!

P.S. While I think it’s a pretty amusing little piece if marketing/nonsense, could someone explain why its called Sports Bras vs. Speedos… do men really run in speedo’s???

Brought to you by Running Music 

SIMPLICITY

Right, so… In an effort to adhere to one of my New Years Resolutions (a topic for another time), I have tried to simplify my life therefore my blog. I’m going in a new design direction and colour scheme to see how it fits. Comments are always welcome and if there is an over-whelming desire to change, I shall do so.

I promise to be back in action soon with witty banter and stories of general hilarity (often involving me being a total idiot), some sweat and spandex and of course wine and it’s accompanying sumo wrestler eyelids and jack hammer brain! 

TIME... WHERE DID YOU GO???

Can’t talk now, last deadline of the year. And since I left it till the last minute, I have until midnight to draw something utterly inspiring, truly original and elegantly subtle that appeals to ‘everyone’. I’m not sure if this includes aliens, poor and/or senile people or anyone/thing outside the realm of extremely wealthy, but I will give it a go. So far I’ve draw the front door and written down twenty words which were in fact a shopping list; I’ve also cleaned my desk, done some seriously innovative filing (read numerous small piles of paperwork as opposed to one) and listened to everything that Pandora has to offer. I then spent an hour on YouTube watching running/motivational films of ultra marathoners during their 75 mile delusional state... Not because they would help me with my house but because they’re wipe my eyes and spray tea through my nose funny and somehow make my current position look easily surmountable. I’m now waiting for ‘beer o’clock’ which usually rolls around late afternoon in the office and involves drinking alcohol and being distracted for 30 mins. I’ll have wine I think, beer makes me gassy… I’ll draw after wine. Perhaps not straight lines, more organic, but if this house is supposed to appeal to everyone, I say why by square...

OMG it’s January 20^th… I’m screwed!

Happy new year everyone! I’ll be better this year I promise!

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…