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.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
What's that?
Leanne and Ella (who is almost three. Now that's scary as she was mere weeks old when this blog first started) came round to my place for lunch yesterday. Despite my general incompetence with children, it was actually really good. Ella didn't want to go!! What a result.
She's at a brilliant stage where she's really inquisitive, listens in on your conversations then asks what all the words she doesn't understand mean. Brilliant fun - for me (as the non-parent) anyway. I enjoyed trying to throw in as many big words as possible: "Mummy, what's supposition? negotiate? lacklustre? existentialism?"
Ella was also asking me why I had or didn't have certain things. "Lisa, why do you have a that car up there?" (I have a model red Dodge Viper that I got for my 17th birthday because it was my dream car. I had been secretly hoping for the keys to a Dodge Viper, alas ...) "it's an aspirational item Ella." "Mummy, what's aspirational?" "Mummy, does Lisa play with that car?" "Sometimes Ella, when I'm really lonely I bring it down and drive it around the floor." "Mummy, Lisa talks rubbish."
"Lisa, what's in this cupboard?" "Oh, that's where I keep all my ex-husbands." "Mummy, what's an ex-husband?" "Lisa!"
The best bit though, was something that I didn't instigate at all. Ella decided to start asking Leanne about the imminent arrival of her baby brother or sister. "But how will my baby get out mummy?" (Brilliant.) Leanne is trying not to make-up nonsense stories for Ella so this was going to be fun. "Well, there's a hole that the baby can come out." (Nice work Leanne.) "But where is the hole?" (hahahahaha.) "Well, it's underneath mummy's tummy." (good recovery.) "Can I see the hole please mummy?" (Argh! Unexpected return.) "No." (Sometimes no other answer will do.)
She's at a brilliant stage where she's really inquisitive, listens in on your conversations then asks what all the words she doesn't understand mean. Brilliant fun - for me (as the non-parent) anyway. I enjoyed trying to throw in as many big words as possible: "Mummy, what's supposition? negotiate? lacklustre? existentialism?"
Ella was also asking me why I had or didn't have certain things. "Lisa, why do you have a that car up there?" (I have a model red Dodge Viper that I got for my 17th birthday because it was my dream car. I had been secretly hoping for the keys to a Dodge Viper, alas ...) "it's an aspirational item Ella." "Mummy, what's aspirational?" "Mummy, does Lisa play with that car?" "Sometimes Ella, when I'm really lonely I bring it down and drive it around the floor." "Mummy, Lisa talks rubbish."
"Lisa, what's in this cupboard?" "Oh, that's where I keep all my ex-husbands." "Mummy, what's an ex-husband?" "Lisa!"
The best bit though, was something that I didn't instigate at all. Ella decided to start asking Leanne about the imminent arrival of her baby brother or sister. "But how will my baby get out mummy?" (Brilliant.) Leanne is trying not to make-up nonsense stories for Ella so this was going to be fun. "Well, there's a hole that the baby can come out." (Nice work Leanne.) "But where is the hole?" (hahahahaha.) "Well, it's underneath mummy's tummy." (good recovery.) "Can I see the hole please mummy?" (Argh! Unexpected return.) "No." (Sometimes no other answer will do.)
Monday, September 29, 2008
Staying warm this winter
It's very cold in the flat tonight but I'm refusing to put on the fire or the radiators because it's still only September. Also, if I get into the habit of putting that fire on now, it'll be on all the time and, given the impending financial apocalypse, I really don't need my gas meter to start ringing up numbers with the speed and ferocity of an ambitious tele-sales executive.
Speaking of financial doom, I went out for cocktails on Friday night at The Scotsman and on Saturday night at Harvey Nick's. Lots of people were doing the same; you wouldn't think there was a credit crunch. It reminded me vaguely of those paintings depicting the Gilded Age of American excess just before the Great Depression kicked in. Uh-oh.
I have a date this week with someone I actually feel quite excited about. (I'm not looking for a relationship but since I'm not putting the fire on, I could really do with something to keep me warm.) I know, who'd have thought it? The last time I felt like this about someone I was 14, so it's a lot of fun. Even if it comes to nothing, it's good to know that I can still get excited. I was beginning to wonder. (p.s. 'Dave' and I have gone back to being 'just friends'. He accepted it with good grace and humour and said: "Yeah, you're much cooler when you're not going out with you." 'Dave', on the other hand, was exactly as cool as when he wasn't going out with me. I feel he has a lot to learn about women and I need to be more honest with myself.)
A colleague from work was telling me about a guy she's just started dating. He sounds hot and she's pretty excited. All excellent news. However, she was telling me about a dinner he'd cooked the night before. He made lobster. She was suspicious that he hadn't made it himself as cooking is 'neither a great interest nor skill' for him. "What does it matter whether he caught the lobster with his teeth or whether he scooped it out of a can, it's the thought that counts." "Oh I know, and it was really good. I just wish he'd be upfront if he didn't make it himself."
"Did you have a good night though?"
"Yeah, it was great. A really nice evening."
"Excellent."
"Except..."
"What?"
"Well, it was getting quite late so Steve offered to give me a lift home. And I said: 'Well, maybe I'll just stay'. He looked a bit startled and said: 'Erm... the thing is ... my mum's here'. I said: 'What? You're kidding!' I mean, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of his mum all night. 'Where is she?' 'Erm ... she's through in one of the bedrooms. She's visiting this weekend, but she didn't want to get in the way.' 'Right, well I'm not staying if your mum's here.' 'Yeah, I'll give you a lift.' So he gave me a lift home. I still don't think he cooked that lobster himself though. I wish he'd just say."
"Oh my God. Who cares about the fucking lobster? You're dating Norman Bates."
In other news:
1)I've got my race number and champion chip through for Sunday's big race. Very excited and nervous.
2)I received a text from Careth to say she and Mark are "expecting a 'bundle of joy' in March '09". Jen said she felt the '09 part was unnecessary unless Careth has turned into an elephant since we saw her last. I clearly missed the point as I thought their insurance policy was paying out.
3)Leanne is due to deliver baby number two any day now.
4)Sinead is loved-up and she and Saul are acting like Jonathan and Jennifer Hart. I don't just mean they're being all romantic and cosy, they're actually undertaking investigative assignments in and around Kirkcaldy.
5)My ex is getting married, again, (the fool) and wants to chat through some 'unresolved stuff' from our spectacularly short-lived attempt. I'm not doing it."
I'll let you know how I get on in the big race.
Speaking of financial doom, I went out for cocktails on Friday night at The Scotsman and on Saturday night at Harvey Nick's. Lots of people were doing the same; you wouldn't think there was a credit crunch. It reminded me vaguely of those paintings depicting the Gilded Age of American excess just before the Great Depression kicked in. Uh-oh.
I have a date this week with someone I actually feel quite excited about. (I'm not looking for a relationship but since I'm not putting the fire on, I could really do with something to keep me warm.) I know, who'd have thought it? The last time I felt like this about someone I was 14, so it's a lot of fun. Even if it comes to nothing, it's good to know that I can still get excited. I was beginning to wonder. (p.s. 'Dave' and I have gone back to being 'just friends'. He accepted it with good grace and humour and said: "Yeah, you're much cooler when you're not going out with you." 'Dave', on the other hand, was exactly as cool as when he wasn't going out with me. I feel he has a lot to learn about women and I need to be more honest with myself.)
A colleague from work was telling me about a guy she's just started dating. He sounds hot and she's pretty excited. All excellent news. However, she was telling me about a dinner he'd cooked the night before. He made lobster. She was suspicious that he hadn't made it himself as cooking is 'neither a great interest nor skill' for him. "What does it matter whether he caught the lobster with his teeth or whether he scooped it out of a can, it's the thought that counts." "Oh I know, and it was really good. I just wish he'd be upfront if he didn't make it himself."
"Did you have a good night though?"
"Yeah, it was great. A really nice evening."
"Excellent."
"Except..."
"What?"
"Well, it was getting quite late so Steve offered to give me a lift home. And I said: 'Well, maybe I'll just stay'. He looked a bit startled and said: 'Erm... the thing is ... my mum's here'. I said: 'What? You're kidding!' I mean, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of his mum all night. 'Where is she?' 'Erm ... she's through in one of the bedrooms. She's visiting this weekend, but she didn't want to get in the way.' 'Right, well I'm not staying if your mum's here.' 'Yeah, I'll give you a lift.' So he gave me a lift home. I still don't think he cooked that lobster himself though. I wish he'd just say."
"Oh my God. Who cares about the fucking lobster? You're dating Norman Bates."
In other news:
1)I've got my race number and champion chip through for Sunday's big race. Very excited and nervous.
2)I received a text from Careth to say she and Mark are "expecting a 'bundle of joy' in March '09". Jen said she felt the '09 part was unnecessary unless Careth has turned into an elephant since we saw her last. I clearly missed the point as I thought their insurance policy was paying out.
3)Leanne is due to deliver baby number two any day now.
4)Sinead is loved-up and she and Saul are acting like Jonathan and Jennifer Hart. I don't just mean they're being all romantic and cosy, they're actually undertaking investigative assignments in and around Kirkcaldy.
5)My ex is getting married, again, (the fool) and wants to chat through some 'unresolved stuff' from our spectacularly short-lived attempt. I'm not doing it."
I'll let you know how I get on in the big race.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun
Sunday morning dawned and I awoke - thanks to the irritating people upstairs. Thankfully, they weren't having sex this time but they were jumping around and giggling - a lot. It's nice that they're so happy, but I do wish they'd try to keep it down a bit.
Anyway, 0730 and my legs feel a lot better than they did yesterday. I think the 5k on Saturday evening limbered them up a bit. A slice of toast with crunchy peanut butter and catching up with Strictly Come Dancing on IPlayer. I decide that Gary Rhodes looks like a raw prawn - all grey and hunched. Unpleasant.
At 9am I decide to set off on my 5.2 mile run. I look at the clock and think I'll have 5 miles done within the hour - no excuses. If I'm on pace for my desired 10K time, I should be back midway through 'That's Entertainment' by The Jam.
The first mile is always the toughest, but after that I always seem to settle into it. I run up to London Road via Rossie Place and then back along to the top of Easter Road. My route takes me down past Leith Links and along to Ocean Terminal and back. It's a beautiful morning for a run and I'm particularly enjoying it as I run alongside the water at the Scottish Executive building.
Running up Easter Road after having already clocked up 4.5 miles is a tough one, but I've got A Town Like Malice blasting in my ears and I feel pretty cool. I feel even cooler when I notice a wee old lady hanging out her front door looking for someone to take her rubbish bag and put it into the bin. I duly oblige without stopping, scooping it out of her hands, running over to the bin and depositing it inside. I turn around and give her a wave, my civic pride swelling in my chest - well, that and my pumped-up heart and lungs.
Unfortunately, That's Entertainment finishes as I turn into my street. I'm off the pace. Still, 5 miles in 53 minutes isn't too bad for my 6th week faking it as a runner. Go me!
I climb the stairs, kick off my trainers, run my face under the tap and drink half a litre of water. My top is soaking and I look a state, so I have a cold shower and put a fresh t-shirt on. Then I put 'Dark Side of the Moon' on and lie in the middle of the living room floor watching the clouds roll by.
I'm thinking about the first time I discovered this album, which isn't the same as the first time I heard it. I 'discovered' it in Orlando of all places. I was lying on a sun lounger by the pool in May of 2003. It was a scorcher with a perfectly clear blue sky. I just listened to the music and stared up at the sky. Sheer and utter bliss.
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.
Anyway, 0730 and my legs feel a lot better than they did yesterday. I think the 5k on Saturday evening limbered them up a bit. A slice of toast with crunchy peanut butter and catching up with Strictly Come Dancing on IPlayer. I decide that Gary Rhodes looks like a raw prawn - all grey and hunched. Unpleasant.
At 9am I decide to set off on my 5.2 mile run. I look at the clock and think I'll have 5 miles done within the hour - no excuses. If I'm on pace for my desired 10K time, I should be back midway through 'That's Entertainment' by The Jam.
The first mile is always the toughest, but after that I always seem to settle into it. I run up to London Road via Rossie Place and then back along to the top of Easter Road. My route takes me down past Leith Links and along to Ocean Terminal and back. It's a beautiful morning for a run and I'm particularly enjoying it as I run alongside the water at the Scottish Executive building.
Running up Easter Road after having already clocked up 4.5 miles is a tough one, but I've got A Town Like Malice blasting in my ears and I feel pretty cool. I feel even cooler when I notice a wee old lady hanging out her front door looking for someone to take her rubbish bag and put it into the bin. I duly oblige without stopping, scooping it out of her hands, running over to the bin and depositing it inside. I turn around and give her a wave, my civic pride swelling in my chest - well, that and my pumped-up heart and lungs.
Unfortunately, That's Entertainment finishes as I turn into my street. I'm off the pace. Still, 5 miles in 53 minutes isn't too bad for my 6th week faking it as a runner. Go me!
I climb the stairs, kick off my trainers, run my face under the tap and drink half a litre of water. My top is soaking and I look a state, so I have a cold shower and put a fresh t-shirt on. Then I put 'Dark Side of the Moon' on and lie in the middle of the living room floor watching the clouds roll by.
I'm thinking about the first time I discovered this album, which isn't the same as the first time I heard it. I 'discovered' it in Orlando of all places. I was lying on a sun lounger by the pool in May of 2003. It was a scorcher with a perfectly clear blue sky. I just listened to the music and stared up at the sky. Sheer and utter bliss.
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Mince pies update
So I realised that I would have to change the date of my laser eye surgery after all. Apparently, you're not supposed to do any excercise for a week after it and running is a big no-no. "You could dislodge the corneal flap". "Yeah, I probably don't want to be doing that, let's just reschedule."
After all my hard work with 'the running', there was no way I was going to cancel my 10K. So now the 10K is on the 5th October and the laser eye surgery is on the 11th and I have about 3 weeks off work (incidentally, the magazine should be going to the printers next week - finally) and everything is grand. Except that I have stress excema on my eyelids and am wearing sudocrem for eyeshadow. Good look!
As I was paying for my eye surgery, the woman asked where I worked. I told her and she said: "You're entitled to a discount." I thought, "discounts are good, maybe I'll be £50 better off".
More like £500!!!
How fantastic is that news? I'm elated.
After all my hard work with 'the running', there was no way I was going to cancel my 10K. So now the 10K is on the 5th October and the laser eye surgery is on the 11th and I have about 3 weeks off work (incidentally, the magazine should be going to the printers next week - finally) and everything is grand. Except that I have stress excema on my eyelids and am wearing sudocrem for eyeshadow. Good look!
As I was paying for my eye surgery, the woman asked where I worked. I told her and she said: "You're entitled to a discount." I thought, "discounts are good, maybe I'll be £50 better off".
More like £500!!!
How fantastic is that news? I'm elated.
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.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
I beg to differ
Well ... it had to happen sooner or later and I'm surprised (and glad) it's taken as long as eight months. Work, over the last three weeks, has been turgid, frustrating, exasperating - and I feel like I've been fighting with everyone.
Issue 3 (henceforth to be known as 'the difficult third issue') was running smoothly. Then something that was supposed to happen on the 1st September (when the magazine was originally supposed to be out) was postponed until 5th October, which meant I couldn't mention it in the mag and had to find a new feature for two of the editions and another news story for the other two editions - this was the day before it was due to go to print. I managed it and breathed a sigh of relief.
Then, when all the copies of the magazine had been printed, dried and almost stitched, I received a phone call. "Lisa, what would be the cost/time implications of binning the magazine? We need to add a new double-page feature." I knew at that moment all bets were off and we'd be lucky to get a magazine out before the middle of October.
I was right. Twice this week, the head of the company, has read the article and given the constructive feedback that it is "pish". Meanwhile, I'm fielding calls from around the world from people demanding to know when the magazine will be out and why it is delayed. The first question, I can't answer and the second one I'm not allowed to answer.
The delayed magazine has implications for a massive world-wide project being done by another department, so they call me about 30 times a day asking for an update. I kept telling them I didn't have one, but when I did they'd be the first to know. But, when the second 'pish' comment came through yesterday I was told I wasn't allowed to tell them we still hadn't found a resolution. Brilliant.
Then, the cherry on the top of my cake, completely out of left-field one of my colleagues asked me if 'Dave' was 'the one'. I laughed and told her I didn't subscribe to the concept of 'the one'. She said: "Do you want him to father your children?" I said: "God no, I don't want anyone to do that." And she said: "Oh you will."
I was completely shocked. I knew she wasn't meaning to be horrible or anything so I didn't stab her with my fork. Instead, I just laughed and said: "Well maybe I will, and maybe I won't, but I'm not going to go around making decisions based on how I might or might not feel in future. Maybe I won't be looking after grandchildren, maybe I'll be scuba diving somewhere exotic, maybe I'll be dictating best-selling novels - maybe I'll be dictating them to my grandchildren. Who knows?"
Could you imagine how crap your life would be if you made all your decisions based on how you think you might feel when you're retired? I'd be miserable because I'd be pumping all my money into a pension, which would mean I'd look like shit, never go on holiday, never go out for dinner or drinks, and never get my red sports-car. I might even have married someone I didn't fancy just because they were sensible and dependable and put all their money in a pension too. I might have had children. I might spend my days fretting about the fact that I might get to retiring and wonder what my life's all been about - because it certainly wasn't about me.
Lisa, your writing is pish and your life is pitiful. Ha, ha, ha - I beg to differ.
Issue 3 (henceforth to be known as 'the difficult third issue') was running smoothly. Then something that was supposed to happen on the 1st September (when the magazine was originally supposed to be out) was postponed until 5th October, which meant I couldn't mention it in the mag and had to find a new feature for two of the editions and another news story for the other two editions - this was the day before it was due to go to print. I managed it and breathed a sigh of relief.
Then, when all the copies of the magazine had been printed, dried and almost stitched, I received a phone call. "Lisa, what would be the cost/time implications of binning the magazine? We need to add a new double-page feature." I knew at that moment all bets were off and we'd be lucky to get a magazine out before the middle of October.
I was right. Twice this week, the head of the company, has read the article and given the constructive feedback that it is "pish". Meanwhile, I'm fielding calls from around the world from people demanding to know when the magazine will be out and why it is delayed. The first question, I can't answer and the second one I'm not allowed to answer.
The delayed magazine has implications for a massive world-wide project being done by another department, so they call me about 30 times a day asking for an update. I kept telling them I didn't have one, but when I did they'd be the first to know. But, when the second 'pish' comment came through yesterday I was told I wasn't allowed to tell them we still hadn't found a resolution. Brilliant.
Then, the cherry on the top of my cake, completely out of left-field one of my colleagues asked me if 'Dave' was 'the one'. I laughed and told her I didn't subscribe to the concept of 'the one'. She said: "Do you want him to father your children?" I said: "God no, I don't want anyone to do that." And she said: "Oh you will."
I was completely shocked. I knew she wasn't meaning to be horrible or anything so I didn't stab her with my fork. Instead, I just laughed and said: "Well maybe I will, and maybe I won't, but I'm not going to go around making decisions based on how I might or might not feel in future. Maybe I won't be looking after grandchildren, maybe I'll be scuba diving somewhere exotic, maybe I'll be dictating best-selling novels - maybe I'll be dictating them to my grandchildren. Who knows?"
Could you imagine how crap your life would be if you made all your decisions based on how you think you might feel when you're retired? I'd be miserable because I'd be pumping all my money into a pension, which would mean I'd look like shit, never go on holiday, never go out for dinner or drinks, and never get my red sports-car. I might even have married someone I didn't fancy just because they were sensible and dependable and put all their money in a pension too. I might have had children. I might spend my days fretting about the fact that I might get to retiring and wonder what my life's all been about - because it certainly wasn't about me.
Lisa, your writing is pish and your life is pitiful. Ha, ha, ha - I beg to differ.
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