As I write this I am sitting not at the kitchen table as usual but at my massive desk in the spare room (another of my whimsical purchases and now one of the most irritating pieces of furniture we own – outdone only in awfulness by Andrew’s old bachelor futon which simply doesn’t fit anywhere). The problem I can foresee with this arrangement is that I have never liked being away from the action, this is why I don’t like having afternoon naps, fear of missing out (officially now recognised as FOMO – invented by me!).
However, we have changed things around in our little house to give me the best chance of writing, at least I now have lovely blank walls on which I can tinker away with mood boards and large lists, in fact I think I can put off actually writing anything ‘proper’ for at least a couple of weeks. More about this anon.
This running malarkey is all feeling rather real this week, in under three weeks I have to somehow run, and keep running, for a whole hour. Oh god. An hour is my goal, which with current stats looks possible but current distances are half what I’ll have to manage so how do I know I’m not going to collapse?? Last night I broke through a major barrier and managed to run with only one minute stop for 25 minutes. Can I make up the other half I need to in two and a half weeks?
The reason it’s feeling so real is that I got my race number through the post. I read the information for participants cover to cover (twice) to see where the section was saying if you suddenly get jelly legs and just feel like a nice lie down with a cup of tea and a cosy blanket was but it seems they had omitted it by mistake. I’m sure there’ll be a nice tent manned by the nice St John’s people who’ll let me have a sit down. Or not.
Watching me get this nervous was Sam who looked at the pictures on the leaflet with me and was full of interest. I decided to confide my fears in him, my gorgeous kind-hearted wee boy:
J: This is what Mummy’s going to be doing in a couple of weeks, that’s pretty cool isn’t it poppet?*
J: I have to admit, I’m not sure I can do it Sam.
S: (Looking very solemnly at me.) No, Mummy, I don’t think so,
Thanks a bunch! Andrew has well and truly started operation support mummy now and the boys are very keen to help. This mainly involves pressing buttons on my watch and chucking water at me when I get home looking a bit hot. William is desperate to come running with me though, as desperate as I am for him not to for fear he’ll outlast me.
I have a major goal looming at the end of the week. To celebrate Edward’s birthday and the last day of the hols we are heading into town to see Andrew and allow me an opportunity to run the course of the MDC just so I can get a feel for it – well, half of it. Doing 8kms means two laps of the course so I’ll go once round on Friday. It wouldn’t be fair on Edward to do any longer…
We’re on school hols at the moment which gives me some lovely opportunities to take some fab pics of the boys. Here are a couple.
I want to dedicate this post to my Mum as I think of her with thanks every time I run. Without her speech and drama lessons (alright, elocution when I began) from an early age I wouldn’t have understood breathing technique and how to best maximise lung capacity. Despite my having had a long and committed relationship with the Marlboro man (over now for a while thankfully) I find, thank god, that I can breathe really quite well! Who’d have thought those diagrams of the diaphragm would come back so many years later. Thank you Mum!
This week I’ve been
Reading back copy of the Life section of the SMH before submitting a pitch.
Listening to a chorus of coughing from the Cahill boys.
Cooking boring suppers but planning a green ninja birthday cake.