My birthday was on a Monday this year, so we celebrated it two days early by going out on Saturday night. Always conscious of time and the burning need to do 'stuff', I've given a lot of thought to what I want to do before I'm 30. I wanted to map this out so I'd have something to reference for the next 12 months. So, on Thursday morning I went to Woolworth's and bought myself some felt tip pens.
I started drawing. There are 10 things on the map for the year ahead:
1) Run a half-marathon (well, I managed the 10K after only 8 weeks so why not keep going?)
2) Finish the book (if only to stop being harassed by people asking 'when'?)
3) Go to a full-on music festival (no camping though)
4) Buy a red sports car (oh. yes.)
5) Go to Africa (even just Morocco. I'd happily wait longer for the five-star safari)
6) Learn to take proper photographs (Love taking snaps, but they'd be better if I were better)
7) Learn to ski properly (thrill seeker seeks part in Bond movie)
8) Learn to horse ride (someone at work went on a riding holiday through the desert to Petra. I said that would be ace and maybe I'd do it next year. She asked: "do you ride?" I said: "Not horses, no." She said: "That might be a problem." I said: "Well, I can learn.")
9) Master sign language (This is a random one. I don't know any deaf people and no one seems to 'interpret for the deaf' on Scotland Today anymore (I'd love that gig), but I figure it might be handy for venting frustration with people but in a such a way that I can keep my job; or if I'm kidnapped and need to send secret messages as to my whereabouts ... you know, if they film me ... OK, it's just random.)
10) Have visited 30 countries (Currently on 25 so would love to tick off another 5 this year).
I also drew out a 'life so far' map of all the significant things I'd done. It made me feel great because there's absolutely loads on it. And, aside from passing my driving test, living abroad for a year, graduating from uni and getting married, I've done it all in the last three years alone. It reaffirmed to me what I can achieve when I stay open to opportunities, jump at everything and put my mind to it. Good work!
On Saturday morning, I ordered some hi-viz running togs in preparation for starting up again next week. I can't wait. Then I took myself of to the hairdressers to get my highlights done (and to ask for big 60s hair for my night out). I always feel great after Emma sorts out my hair, so on my way there I decided that when I was finished I'd take myself up to Harvey Nick's to get my nails done. Well, it was my birthday.
I arrived at the Champagne Nail Bar with my ab-fab new hair and asked if they had any space for a file and polish. Amazingly they did. "What colour would you like?" the manicurist asked. "Oooh ... em... something red." "What kind of red, we have about 8 shades?" I had a look at the colours on offer at the bar. The best red was the Victoriana, but I also took a fancy to the Black Taxi (black nails are very on trend). I couldn't choose between them so the manicurist made some other suggestions. I ended up selecting an amazing dark grey colour.
Manicurist: "Any special occasion?"
Me: "Well, it's my birthday on Monday so we're going out tonight."
Manicurist: "Wow. It's my birthday on Monday too. We're like birthday twins."
Me: "uh-huh."
Manicurist: "I'm going to be 18."
Me: "Ah, that's nice. I'm not. I'm really not."
They gave me a glass of champagne while my nails were drying and I enjoyed it. Then I walked home and started getting ready. After over a week, I was finally allowed to wear eye make-up again - so I went to town with it.
Sinead, Jo and Kerry arrived and I made us all Dirty Mojitos. Kerry asked: "What's 'dirty' about them?" I said: "They've got Chlamydia." But they were dirty cause I'd made the sugar syrup with brown sugar. They checked out my life maps and said I should get them framed(I can't draw for toffee, but apparently my efforts have such "vibrancy" and "humour" as to make them endearing.) We met Mog at the restaurant and she'd handily ordered some sangria. We scoffed the delicious tapas and quaffed a few bottles of Campo Viejo Crianza. It was joyous.
I'm 29 and , surprise, surprise, it feels right.
Showing posts with label Joleen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joleen. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Red and dangerous
The date was good. He phoned me two hours before we were due to meet for dinner. "I bet you're getting ready." "No I'm not. I'm quite chilled about these things. Probably won't start getting ready for another hour yet." "Uh huh."
Of course I was getting ready. I had an active charcoal face mask on as we were speaking.
"Are you nervous?" I decided to be honest. "A little bit." "Why?" "Well, I'm worried my mouth won't work." "Lisa, from what I've seen so far, that's not even a remote possibility." The cheek of him. I liked it. I decided to be more honest. "Hey, I was also thinking how funny it would be if I turned up for dinner dressed as a man from the 1920s. You know, with a tux, slicked back hair and a monocle." "hahaha. Now that would be hilarious." Oooh. I like him even more.
We had tapas and some fab red wine. My mouth worked fine. I hadn't noticed before, but he has lovely teeth. I like nice teeth. After dinner, we went to Bramble and laid down on this cushioned bed. He introduced me to a special kind of gin. I noticed he had nice shoes. We stayed out until 2am. He walked me home. I said: "I would invite you in, but I'm not a whore". He laughed and said: "We should definitely do this again."
The 10K was good. I'd been struggling to sleep on account of it all week and then Saturday morning arrived. I packed my bag and drove over to Fife. Joleen picked me up and we headed to Inverness. We checked into the hotel and headed into town for some dinner - preferably a pasta overload.
Inverness, however, was full to bursting with runners - and they all wanted a pasta overload. Jo and I walked round the town 3 times trying to find an Italian place that had space. We asked a man for directions and he was very keen to take us there himself - but that was probably because Jo tripped when she went over to speak to him and almost head-butted him in the 'nads. We tried everywhere else, before giving up and joining the queue at Bella Italia.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I was ridiculously nervous about the race, which is nuts. I wasn't running for anybody but myself. I wasn't even being sponsored. I didn't have to do it. At 6am my alarm went off.
Jo and the others were all doing the 5K and set off for the start about 2 hours before I was due to leave. At 0930, I arrived at the Royal Academy and we all had to follow these pipers about a kilometre to the start point. It was totally surreal. I kept thinking 'people are weird and they do weird things'. The race started in the middle of a new build housing scheme, which must have been joyous for those living there. It took about two minutes to reach the starting line after the gun had gone. As I crossed the line, I started my watch and my Ipod. I was off.
The first part of the race was through the woods and it was very narrow. I had to weave in and out, running through ditches to get passed the other, slower, runners. By 4K, we were on the road. At 5K I checked my watch - 28 minutes. Pretty good. I suddenly felt comfortable. I knew I was going to make it. I just wanted to try and do it in under an hour. But I know nothing about pace. And soon after, I noticed that I was no longer passing anyone. They were all passing me. Well, apart from the ones who were stopping - right in front of me, arrgghh!
About 7KMTRS in, I was running alongside two girls in wedding dresses. They clearly weren't taking this seriously so I didn't want to be beaten by them. Then I remembered that I was dressed as a reject from FAME (red training bib emblazoned with my surname, and a red headband) and that people probably thought I was joking around too.
At 9KMTRS I got both excited and relieved. I checked my watch - 54 mins. I might just make it.
But, I swear, that last kilometre went on forever. I didn't think it was ever going to end. My thighs and my ass were really sore. And it was uphill. I got into the stadium and onto the track. I could see the finish line. Thank fuck. Then, hilariously (but somewhat annoyingly given that I struggled so much in that last kilometre) I sprinted like a mad woman and overtook pretty much everyone who was on the track. I didn't know I could get my legs that high. I crossed the line - 1:03. Not my target, but not too bad given that 8 weeks previously I barely made it from the car park to the swan pond.
Jo had snapped some pics of me on the track. Some of the funniest things I have ever seen. I look like a cross between Carl Lewis (all spread-fingered and mecahnical) and Rambo (red and dangerous). Oh yeah, and not in any way attractive.
So, next time, I will do it in under an hour.
Of course I was getting ready. I had an active charcoal face mask on as we were speaking.
"Are you nervous?" I decided to be honest. "A little bit." "Why?" "Well, I'm worried my mouth won't work." "Lisa, from what I've seen so far, that's not even a remote possibility." The cheek of him. I liked it. I decided to be more honest. "Hey, I was also thinking how funny it would be if I turned up for dinner dressed as a man from the 1920s. You know, with a tux, slicked back hair and a monocle." "hahaha. Now that would be hilarious." Oooh. I like him even more.
We had tapas and some fab red wine. My mouth worked fine. I hadn't noticed before, but he has lovely teeth. I like nice teeth. After dinner, we went to Bramble and laid down on this cushioned bed. He introduced me to a special kind of gin. I noticed he had nice shoes. We stayed out until 2am. He walked me home. I said: "I would invite you in, but I'm not a whore". He laughed and said: "We should definitely do this again."
The 10K was good. I'd been struggling to sleep on account of it all week and then Saturday morning arrived. I packed my bag and drove over to Fife. Joleen picked me up and we headed to Inverness. We checked into the hotel and headed into town for some dinner - preferably a pasta overload.
Inverness, however, was full to bursting with runners - and they all wanted a pasta overload. Jo and I walked round the town 3 times trying to find an Italian place that had space. We asked a man for directions and he was very keen to take us there himself - but that was probably because Jo tripped when she went over to speak to him and almost head-butted him in the 'nads. We tried everywhere else, before giving up and joining the queue at Bella Italia.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I was ridiculously nervous about the race, which is nuts. I wasn't running for anybody but myself. I wasn't even being sponsored. I didn't have to do it. At 6am my alarm went off.
Jo and the others were all doing the 5K and set off for the start about 2 hours before I was due to leave. At 0930, I arrived at the Royal Academy and we all had to follow these pipers about a kilometre to the start point. It was totally surreal. I kept thinking 'people are weird and they do weird things'. The race started in the middle of a new build housing scheme, which must have been joyous for those living there. It took about two minutes to reach the starting line after the gun had gone. As I crossed the line, I started my watch and my Ipod. I was off.
The first part of the race was through the woods and it was very narrow. I had to weave in and out, running through ditches to get passed the other, slower, runners. By 4K, we were on the road. At 5K I checked my watch - 28 minutes. Pretty good. I suddenly felt comfortable. I knew I was going to make it. I just wanted to try and do it in under an hour. But I know nothing about pace. And soon after, I noticed that I was no longer passing anyone. They were all passing me. Well, apart from the ones who were stopping - right in front of me, arrgghh!
About 7KMTRS in, I was running alongside two girls in wedding dresses. They clearly weren't taking this seriously so I didn't want to be beaten by them. Then I remembered that I was dressed as a reject from FAME (red training bib emblazoned with my surname, and a red headband) and that people probably thought I was joking around too.
At 9KMTRS I got both excited and relieved. I checked my watch - 54 mins. I might just make it.
But, I swear, that last kilometre went on forever. I didn't think it was ever going to end. My thighs and my ass were really sore. And it was uphill. I got into the stadium and onto the track. I could see the finish line. Thank fuck. Then, hilariously (but somewhat annoyingly given that I struggled so much in that last kilometre) I sprinted like a mad woman and overtook pretty much everyone who was on the track. I didn't know I could get my legs that high. I crossed the line - 1:03. Not my target, but not too bad given that 8 weeks previously I barely made it from the car park to the swan pond.
Jo had snapped some pics of me on the track. Some of the funniest things I have ever seen. I look like a cross between Carl Lewis (all spread-fingered and mecahnical) and Rambo (red and dangerous). Oh yeah, and not in any way attractive.
So, next time, I will do it in under an hour.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
My urban jungle
I told you about my efforts with 'the running' a few weeks back. Well, it continues. I've been incredibly self-motivated (well, spending half your mortgage payment on running gear helps with the motivation) and have stuck to my MapMyRun training plan.
Two weeks ago, Joleen sent me an email at work asking if I fancied going to Inverness to do a 5K with her and some of her friends from work on October 5th. "Yeah, I'd be up for that." Jo sent me the link and I looked over all the info. But when it came to it, I just couldn't sign myself up. Inverness? I'm not going all that way just to pick up a chicken. So I (foolishly) signed myself up for the 10K and immediately felt nauseous.
Having only 5 weeks to train - and having only started running 3 weeks ago - I'm not feeling optimistic. I don't even know if I can run for an hour yet, never mind trying to complete 10K in that time. Needless to say, the training plan has been ramped up a bit. 3.5K on alternate weeknights with a longer run on the Sunday.
It's a bit of an urban jungle where I live. Last week, I ran round the corner and had to hurdle 2 televisions. On another occasion - but on the same street - I was attacked by a West Highland terrier. I was just running along the street, as usual, and there were two women standing chatting. I noticed that one of the women had a Westie on a lead and another standing beside her without a lead. As I got closer, I could see the unleashed Westie barking at me (I couldn't hear because I had the 'pod on - Great DJ by the Ting Tings). Then it started running towards me. When it reached me, it started head-butting my legs like it was trying to trip me up. It was totally surreal.
There was one great moment though, as I was running downhill with 'All these things that I've done' propelling me to greatness, a big fat guy came out of a shop. He was wearing a grey hoodie and - get this - emblazoned across the front of it was my surname! How cool is that? Totally uncool is the fact that I started grinning like an idiot and 'the commentator' started speaking inside my head. 'The crowds have come out to cheer her on. They're wearing her name on their clothing. It's a great atmosphere, with all this support she can't fail.' I'm such a saddo.
Three Sundays ago was my first attempt at 5K. I managed it in 29 minutes, which wasn't bad at all. Although, finishing by running up Easter Road was not a particularly good idea.
On the Wednesday, I went out on my 3.5K and was gutted to have to stop at 3K. It wasn't much more to run but I just couldn't do it. I got into the flat and felt really dizzy then I remembered that I'd donated a pint of blood to the NHS that day and perhaps running wasn't very sensible. On Friday, it was a miserable night (made more so by the delay on the magazine and the comments from the Chief Exec that my writing was 'pish') so I stayed in and happily made my way through a bottle of Campo Viejo Reserva. That meant I had to make up for it on the Saturday. I headed out at 10am and finished the route in a decent time (despite being stopped by a woman looking for Albion Place and Lochend Road). However, when I got into the flat - I immediately felt awful. I managed to get my trainers and socks off, and splash my face with cold water before throwing up. I got really bad stomach cramps and continued to vomit before curling myself into a ball on the bathroom floor racked by cold sweats. I drank plenty of water, popped some paracetamol and lay down on the bed. I woke up half an hour later and felt great. How very bizarre.
For the last two Sundays I've managed 6.5K and then 7.5K. Tomorrow it's 8.5K. My 5K route that I do now feels like a walk in the park. Last Saturday, I walked out my front door just before 9am and was ready to set off. I noticed a couple crossing the road and as I got closer I recognised the woman as someone I used to work with. She was getting a kiss from the guy and was clearly wearing Friday night's dress and hair. When I knew her, she was married and this wasn't her husband. I thought: "Ah, please don't turn around and see me cause you'll be embarrassed." Then I remembered that I was the one wearing Lycra. "Ah!" I bolted and managed to set my quickest time yet - 26 minutes.
Two weeks ago, Joleen sent me an email at work asking if I fancied going to Inverness to do a 5K with her and some of her friends from work on October 5th. "Yeah, I'd be up for that." Jo sent me the link and I looked over all the info. But when it came to it, I just couldn't sign myself up. Inverness? I'm not going all that way just to pick up a chicken. So I (foolishly) signed myself up for the 10K and immediately felt nauseous.
Having only 5 weeks to train - and having only started running 3 weeks ago - I'm not feeling optimistic. I don't even know if I can run for an hour yet, never mind trying to complete 10K in that time. Needless to say, the training plan has been ramped up a bit. 3.5K on alternate weeknights with a longer run on the Sunday.
It's a bit of an urban jungle where I live. Last week, I ran round the corner and had to hurdle 2 televisions. On another occasion - but on the same street - I was attacked by a West Highland terrier. I was just running along the street, as usual, and there were two women standing chatting. I noticed that one of the women had a Westie on a lead and another standing beside her without a lead. As I got closer, I could see the unleashed Westie barking at me (I couldn't hear because I had the 'pod on - Great DJ by the Ting Tings). Then it started running towards me. When it reached me, it started head-butting my legs like it was trying to trip me up. It was totally surreal.
There was one great moment though, as I was running downhill with 'All these things that I've done' propelling me to greatness, a big fat guy came out of a shop. He was wearing a grey hoodie and - get this - emblazoned across the front of it was my surname! How cool is that? Totally uncool is the fact that I started grinning like an idiot and 'the commentator' started speaking inside my head. 'The crowds have come out to cheer her on. They're wearing her name on their clothing. It's a great atmosphere, with all this support she can't fail.' I'm such a saddo.
Three Sundays ago was my first attempt at 5K. I managed it in 29 minutes, which wasn't bad at all. Although, finishing by running up Easter Road was not a particularly good idea.
On the Wednesday, I went out on my 3.5K and was gutted to have to stop at 3K. It wasn't much more to run but I just couldn't do it. I got into the flat and felt really dizzy then I remembered that I'd donated a pint of blood to the NHS that day and perhaps running wasn't very sensible. On Friday, it was a miserable night (made more so by the delay on the magazine and the comments from the Chief Exec that my writing was 'pish') so I stayed in and happily made my way through a bottle of Campo Viejo Reserva. That meant I had to make up for it on the Saturday. I headed out at 10am and finished the route in a decent time (despite being stopped by a woman looking for Albion Place and Lochend Road). However, when I got into the flat - I immediately felt awful. I managed to get my trainers and socks off, and splash my face with cold water before throwing up. I got really bad stomach cramps and continued to vomit before curling myself into a ball on the bathroom floor racked by cold sweats. I drank plenty of water, popped some paracetamol and lay down on the bed. I woke up half an hour later and felt great. How very bizarre.
For the last two Sundays I've managed 6.5K and then 7.5K. Tomorrow it's 8.5K. My 5K route that I do now feels like a walk in the park. Last Saturday, I walked out my front door just before 9am and was ready to set off. I noticed a couple crossing the road and as I got closer I recognised the woman as someone I used to work with. She was getting a kiss from the guy and was clearly wearing Friday night's dress and hair. When I knew her, she was married and this wasn't her husband. I thought: "Ah, please don't turn around and see me cause you'll be embarrassed." Then I remembered that I was the one wearing Lycra. "Ah!" I bolted and managed to set my quickest time yet - 26 minutes.
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