I must admit, I was really pleased with my efforts training for my 10K over the tailend of the summer. However, I realise that doing this during the winter months is a whole different challenge. So, I decided to sign up for circuit training with the army - that'll motivate me.
I do it every Tuesday and Thursday evening. I get in from work at about 18:30, eat a spoonful of peanut butter, drink some water, and pull on my running gear. I run up to the park (it takes around 10 and half minutes) and then we run, crawl and exercise aorund in the mud for an hour, before I run home again (it takes about 12 minutes on the way back).
It's exhausting.
We get a coloured bib to wear (like back in my netball days) and we do a variety of exercises. I've learned a lot. For instance, I now know there a lots of different kinds of press-ups (regular, diamond, marine, seal, can-can, etc) and that I can't do any of them.
One night the instructor kept shouting "grenade", which meant we had to hit the deck and crawl like a commando. I was filthy. I had mud all over my face, in my hair and when I got home and peeled off my running tights - I had three distinctive stripes down the outside of either leg. Good branding. 'Date-guy' was coming round for dinner that night and arrived just before I got back. He got out of his car and genuinely thought I'd been in an accident. He ended up doing the cooking while I scrubbed the mud off myself. After dinner, I fell asleep almost immediately and he had to wake me up and tell me to go through to bed. The next morning he told me it had been a wonderful evening. I smiled and said "really?" and then I realised he was being sarcastic.
I think the worst exercise I've done is one where we had to lie down, roll over and jump up ... 30 times. I swear, by about half way through I didn't know where I was and was really just rolling in the mud and flopping about like a fish on the beach.
"Number 48, what are you doing?" "Number 48?" "Number 48!"
(Oh shit, I think that's me) "Erm ..."
"Are you actually having an epileptic fit?"
"Maybe."
Sometimes they tell us to run into the copse, find a branch and do 20 pull-ups. I told my mum this and she said "Oh, did you manage to find a branch that could hold you?". Funny.
It's tough and I dread going but it's fine when I get there. And, most importantly, I notice a difference in my fitness levels. So, I'm hoping it pays off when I do my runs next year.
Fingers crossed.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Joy of Life
It feels like I've been insanely busy over the last month. But now I've come to write about it, I can't think what I've been up to. Let's see ...
Work has been better (if a lot more uncertain and precarious). I've steered things my own way on the next issue of the magazine and, as a result, I think it's looking like the best one yet. I've also been expending a lot of time and effort on my 'chocolate-dipped carrots' mission to show other areas of the company how to improve their communications and write things that people will actually take notice of. (I had originally planned to go down the road of 'big stick' mission, until my boss told me - repeatedly - that there were no sticks.)
I'm also getting to go on a scriptwriting course run by the BBC, which I'm very excited about.
After four weeks off allowing the eyes to recover, I've been at the pool every morning. The snogging couple have mysteriously disappeared and seem to have been replaced by touchy-feely dive-bombing couple. The new eyes are brilliant under the water and I don't have to faff about trying to get my eyes to accept contact lenses at 6:30 in the morning.
I wear a swim cap because the chlorine was ruining the colour of my hair. I look thoroughly mingin' and think I'd die if someone actually recognised me. Last week, when I'd been swimming for about 10 minutes, I stopped at the end, ran my hand round the back of my head, and realised that I hadn't tucked my hair into the cap. It must have looked like I was wearing it for reasons of fashion rather than necessity. How embarrassing. (Though still not as embarrassing as the time I failed to notice my swimsuit had ripped itself open across my chest until I was out the pool and walking to the showers.)
Talking about hair, Emma cut me a fuller fringe last weekend. I've been growing my hair for over three years now and I get really bored just asking for the same thing, so I thought a fringe would give me a bit of a change without getting in the way of my Rapunzelesque plans. I really like it and think it makes me look younger. Two people have complimented me on it on Facebook and Kirsty at work said it was "much better" - which kinda made it sound like it was awful before, but she clarified that she didn't think it was bad before, it's just "much better" now. (Kirsty is very honest. She'll actually tell women she doesn't know whether or not something suits them in the changing rooms. Harsh, but helpful.)
I've been out to see Leanne, Ella and baby Holly a few times. Holly is cute as a button but does scream her head off a lot more than Ella ever did. I was saying to Leanne that Holly cries with such force that her features disappear and she looks like Cartman in South Park when he gets angry - just a face with a cross on it. It must be really, really exhausting for Leanne.
The woman at my work who kept telling me to hurry up and have kids has abated her efforts somewhat. I found a successful way of getting her to shut up was to answer her truthfully whenever she asked what I was up to at the weekend: cocktails with friends at Harvey Nick's, long weekend in Berlin, girly-weekend up North, dinner cooked by 'date-guy', long run on the beach, shopping for new boots, coffee and a book in Waterstones, etc. And then wait for the golden silcence that always follows. I realise my existence my seem shallow, but it's always really good fun.
I still assume I'll feel like I want to have kids at some stage, but it does seem like there's ever more to compromise, sacrifice and risk. Someone recently told me about their experience of giving birth and having to be stitched up again. There was concern that she'd "ripped right through", so the doctor stuck a finger into her ass, wiggled it around and said "No, no, we're fine". Then she heard them saying things like: "I'm not sure where this bit goes", "well, you won't be quite the same as you were before", and "There won't be any blood getting to this bit, so we may as well cut it off". She still doesn't know what they cut off. I reassuringly told her it was probably her clitoris. I swear, I almost fainted when she was telling me this story.
What else ...
I've started fitness training with the army twice a week. Outside in the cold and dark. My experiences with this merit an entry on their own, so I'll write that up soon. I've also signed myself up for a 5K in January, a half marathon (yikes) in April and a 10K in May. I've also bullied Louise at work into running twice a week at lunchtimes with me.
Oh, and I'm just back from a family trip to Berlin (again, I'll write this one up more fully on its own). After all the Christmas markets, I feel distinctively 'Christmassy' and sent out the invitations to my Blessing of the Tree parties, booked in my boozy lunch sessions and will shortly be getting the tree down from the attic. Well, after I've had today's chocolate from my advent calendar.
Work has been better (if a lot more uncertain and precarious). I've steered things my own way on the next issue of the magazine and, as a result, I think it's looking like the best one yet. I've also been expending a lot of time and effort on my 'chocolate-dipped carrots' mission to show other areas of the company how to improve their communications and write things that people will actually take notice of. (I had originally planned to go down the road of 'big stick' mission, until my boss told me - repeatedly - that there were no sticks.)
I'm also getting to go on a scriptwriting course run by the BBC, which I'm very excited about.
After four weeks off allowing the eyes to recover, I've been at the pool every morning. The snogging couple have mysteriously disappeared and seem to have been replaced by touchy-feely dive-bombing couple. The new eyes are brilliant under the water and I don't have to faff about trying to get my eyes to accept contact lenses at 6:30 in the morning.
I wear a swim cap because the chlorine was ruining the colour of my hair. I look thoroughly mingin' and think I'd die if someone actually recognised me. Last week, when I'd been swimming for about 10 minutes, I stopped at the end, ran my hand round the back of my head, and realised that I hadn't tucked my hair into the cap. It must have looked like I was wearing it for reasons of fashion rather than necessity. How embarrassing. (Though still not as embarrassing as the time I failed to notice my swimsuit had ripped itself open across my chest until I was out the pool and walking to the showers.)
Talking about hair, Emma cut me a fuller fringe last weekend. I've been growing my hair for over three years now and I get really bored just asking for the same thing, so I thought a fringe would give me a bit of a change without getting in the way of my Rapunzelesque plans. I really like it and think it makes me look younger. Two people have complimented me on it on Facebook and Kirsty at work said it was "much better" - which kinda made it sound like it was awful before, but she clarified that she didn't think it was bad before, it's just "much better" now. (Kirsty is very honest. She'll actually tell women she doesn't know whether or not something suits them in the changing rooms. Harsh, but helpful.)
I've been out to see Leanne, Ella and baby Holly a few times. Holly is cute as a button but does scream her head off a lot more than Ella ever did. I was saying to Leanne that Holly cries with such force that her features disappear and she looks like Cartman in South Park when he gets angry - just a face with a cross on it. It must be really, really exhausting for Leanne.
The woman at my work who kept telling me to hurry up and have kids has abated her efforts somewhat. I found a successful way of getting her to shut up was to answer her truthfully whenever she asked what I was up to at the weekend: cocktails with friends at Harvey Nick's, long weekend in Berlin, girly-weekend up North, dinner cooked by 'date-guy', long run on the beach, shopping for new boots, coffee and a book in Waterstones, etc. And then wait for the golden silcence that always follows. I realise my existence my seem shallow, but it's always really good fun.
I still assume I'll feel like I want to have kids at some stage, but it does seem like there's ever more to compromise, sacrifice and risk. Someone recently told me about their experience of giving birth and having to be stitched up again. There was concern that she'd "ripped right through", so the doctor stuck a finger into her ass, wiggled it around and said "No, no, we're fine". Then she heard them saying things like: "I'm not sure where this bit goes", "well, you won't be quite the same as you were before", and "There won't be any blood getting to this bit, so we may as well cut it off". She still doesn't know what they cut off. I reassuringly told her it was probably her clitoris. I swear, I almost fainted when she was telling me this story.
What else ...
I've started fitness training with the army twice a week. Outside in the cold and dark. My experiences with this merit an entry on their own, so I'll write that up soon. I've also signed myself up for a 5K in January, a half marathon (yikes) in April and a 10K in May. I've also bullied Louise at work into running twice a week at lunchtimes with me.
Oh, and I'm just back from a family trip to Berlin (again, I'll write this one up more fully on its own). After all the Christmas markets, I feel distinctively 'Christmassy' and sent out the invitations to my Blessing of the Tree parties, booked in my boozy lunch sessions and will shortly be getting the tree down from the attic. Well, after I've had today's chocolate from my advent calendar.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Getting ready
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.
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.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
In the current climate ...
If I hear the phrase 'in the current climate' once more, I'm going to smack someone silly. How boring is this credit crunch shit? 24/7 ad nauseum. OK, it's a story, but it's not the only story. And it's not the end of the bloody world. All those folk with masses of money saved up and all it does is cause them stress. Octogenarians queuing at the banks to move their millions. Why are they still saving? They're queuing and complaining about the cold and they won't even part with some of their cash to buy themselves a coat. What the hell is going on?
I'd be the worst person to have working in a bank branch at the moment. With people lining up to take their money out, I wouldn't be able to resist doing my best Jimmy Stewart impersonation and saying: "Well, I don't have your money ... it's in Bill's house... and Ted's house." I'd think that was hilarious, but I'm not sure anyone else would find it funny.
My gran called me the other night and was asking if my job was safe. "Gran, you don't need to worry about me. I live two doors down from a sauna, I'll never struggle for work."
I was walking along the street today and The Scotsman headline board had the headline "Is Jenners feeling chill of Icelandic collapse?" Oh for fuck sake. Calm the parochialism. HBOS, RBS, Jenners... no doubt The Scotsman will relish in telling us the next victim of the credit crunch is Sean Connery, haggis or the See You Jimmy hat. Oh no, not our comedy hats. I say again, for fuck sake.
I went out to the cinema with 'date guy' last night. I still like him. The cinema was really busy but I spied a couple of seats. However, when I got along the row I noticed that a girl was sitting with her legs stretched out across the seats - effectively taking up three entire seats. I looked at her and smiled but she just gave me a 'challenging' look. I said "excuse me, can you move your feet please?", but still she just stared, daring me to do something. I love a dare, so I smiled and sat on her shins. She quickly changed her mind and withdrew her feet. Don't mess with me little girl. After the film,'Date guy' and I went for some drinks and he walked me home again.
I'd be the worst person to have working in a bank branch at the moment. With people lining up to take their money out, I wouldn't be able to resist doing my best Jimmy Stewart impersonation and saying: "Well, I don't have your money ... it's in Bill's house... and Ted's house." I'd think that was hilarious, but I'm not sure anyone else would find it funny.
My gran called me the other night and was asking if my job was safe. "Gran, you don't need to worry about me. I live two doors down from a sauna, I'll never struggle for work."
I was walking along the street today and The Scotsman headline board had the headline "Is Jenners feeling chill of Icelandic collapse?" Oh for fuck sake. Calm the parochialism. HBOS, RBS, Jenners... no doubt The Scotsman will relish in telling us the next victim of the credit crunch is Sean Connery, haggis or the See You Jimmy hat. Oh no, not our comedy hats. I say again, for fuck sake.
I went out to the cinema with 'date guy' last night. I still like him. The cinema was really busy but I spied a couple of seats. However, when I got along the row I noticed that a girl was sitting with her legs stretched out across the seats - effectively taking up three entire seats. I looked at her and smiled but she just gave me a 'challenging' look. I said "excuse me, can you move your feet please?", but still she just stared, daring me to do something. I love a dare, so I smiled and sat on her shins. She quickly changed her mind and withdrew her feet. Don't mess with me little girl. After the film,'Date guy' and I went for some drinks and he walked me home again.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
It's all looking good
After a week of wearing my specs and no eye make-up, I was ready for my laser eye surgery. I went for my pre-surgery appointment and the optometrist's assistant failed to capture the depth of my cornea. "You've got really big pupils. It makes things difficult." We might have to reschedule your surgery.
"I've already rescheduled it and I've taken a week off work to fit around the op and the subsequent check-ups."
"Well, if you go half an hour earlier for your appointment on Saturday, they can run the tests again."
"Good."
Saturday rolled around and my mum picked me up to take me through to Glasgow. My appointment was at 11am, but we got there at 09:15am. "Don't worry, we'll just take you just now." "Oh. Scary."
They ran the tests and everything was fine. I was shown into a waiting area. There was a comedy door. I say 'comedy' because it was like something from a James Bond film. It had a few signs on it saying: 'Danger. Laser surgery in operation.' 'Lasers beyond this point.' 'Flashing light indicates lasers in action.' And there was a flashing light. Absolutely hilarious. Instead of making me feel like I was going for some hi-tech op, it made me think of people running around with light sabers.
A camp guy in scrubs came to get me and took me through the comedy door. I met with the surgeon who gave the impression of being very competent. That made me feel better. The camp guy then took me through another door and told me to take a seat. It wasn't so much a room as the space between 2 doors. He ran through the instructions for taking me eye drops and anaesthetised my eyes. He told me to remove my jacket and scarf and said he'd take all these through to my mum, "except the scarf. I might steal the scarf. It's really pretty." I had to wear a stupid surgical cap and was taken through the other door to the operating 'theatre'.
It was kind of like a dentist's surgery. There were four people in the room with me: the surgeon (handy), the camp guy (a reassuring presence by this point, if only because it meant he wasn't trying on my scarf), a woman in scrubs (later deduced she was 'suction nurse') and another guy in scrubs who asked me my name and date of birth (let's call him 'question guy').
Camp guy asked me to get into the chair and put my head in the middle of the head rest. I duly obliged. The surgeon asked me to slide up a bit until I could see the flashing orange light. Done. This is what happened next:
He put some kind of clip device on to keep my right eye open. He put lots of drops in it. He put a metal looking thing in front of my eye and took it away again. He put a suction cup on my eye and asked 'suction nurse' for 'suction'. She did and said: "suction progressing well". I lost my vision for about five seconds. It came back. The surgeon said: "don't move" and my eye started going mental (this was because I knew the next part would be the slicer creating the corneal flap). This was over in milliseconds. The surgeon pulled the flap back and told me to keep watching the orange flashing light. A clicking sound started to go off (it was a bit like firing a toy gun) and I could smell my cornea burning. The surgeon then put the flap back down and kept putting drops in my eyes.
Then they did the same with the left eye. It was all over in 15 minutes. Camp guy asked me to sit up and took my hand. I could see. It was amazing! He took me through to the space between the doors and gave me my back of drops and my sexy night-time goggles. He took me through to see the surgeon again. The surgeon checked my eyes and said it was all "extremely successful". Good. A new person in scrubs came to collect me and walked/paraded me through the shop floor (look everyone, another successful laser eye patient, give us yer money). We got to the door leading into the waiting room where my mum was, but instead of going through it, she led me to another door about two metres along the same wall. We walked through this door. It was the comedy door, which I now knew to be utterly pointless and gimmicky. It leads to exactly the same places as the ordinary door. What a joke!
My mum told me that she'd been really worried about me. "Why? I was only away for about 15 minutes." "Well, the guy who came to get you in the first place came back out and spoke to the receptionist. Then he came over and asked if I was your mum. I said I was and he said 'don't worry. She's going to be fine.' I suddenly started wondering what had happened and why you wouldn't be fine. Then he went away and came back with your bag, jacket and scarf. I felt like I was being handed your possessions and that's all that was left of you. I thought you'd been completely lasered."
We got to the car and I got in and pulled down the visor so I could look at myself in the mirror. I gasped and said: "I'm beautiful!" My mum almost choked on her water. "What are you like lady!" My eyes were starting to get quite sore and it was difficult to keep them open so I dropped the seat flat, put on my shades and tied my scarf over the top of them. Every so often, I would come out with some nonsense like "I'm melting" (in the style of the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz) or, when we stopped at traffic lights I would slowly sit up like Dracula in his coffin and turn to the other cars (with the specs and scarf combo). I never run out of ways to amuse myself.
When I got home, I put my drops in, popped some pills, slapped the goggles on and went for a nice long snooze.
Two days later I went for my post-op. My vision is better than 20/20 apparently (which I think, technically, means I can see your soul). My eyes definitely aren't as dry, sore and tired as they were with the contact lenses, so it's all looking good.
"I've already rescheduled it and I've taken a week off work to fit around the op and the subsequent check-ups."
"Well, if you go half an hour earlier for your appointment on Saturday, they can run the tests again."
"Good."
Saturday rolled around and my mum picked me up to take me through to Glasgow. My appointment was at 11am, but we got there at 09:15am. "Don't worry, we'll just take you just now." "Oh. Scary."
They ran the tests and everything was fine. I was shown into a waiting area. There was a comedy door. I say 'comedy' because it was like something from a James Bond film. It had a few signs on it saying: 'Danger. Laser surgery in operation.' 'Lasers beyond this point.' 'Flashing light indicates lasers in action.' And there was a flashing light. Absolutely hilarious. Instead of making me feel like I was going for some hi-tech op, it made me think of people running around with light sabers.
A camp guy in scrubs came to get me and took me through the comedy door. I met with the surgeon who gave the impression of being very competent. That made me feel better. The camp guy then took me through another door and told me to take a seat. It wasn't so much a room as the space between 2 doors. He ran through the instructions for taking me eye drops and anaesthetised my eyes. He told me to remove my jacket and scarf and said he'd take all these through to my mum, "except the scarf. I might steal the scarf. It's really pretty." I had to wear a stupid surgical cap and was taken through the other door to the operating 'theatre'.
It was kind of like a dentist's surgery. There were four people in the room with me: the surgeon (handy), the camp guy (a reassuring presence by this point, if only because it meant he wasn't trying on my scarf), a woman in scrubs (later deduced she was 'suction nurse') and another guy in scrubs who asked me my name and date of birth (let's call him 'question guy').
Camp guy asked me to get into the chair and put my head in the middle of the head rest. I duly obliged. The surgeon asked me to slide up a bit until I could see the flashing orange light. Done. This is what happened next:
He put some kind of clip device on to keep my right eye open. He put lots of drops in it. He put a metal looking thing in front of my eye and took it away again. He put a suction cup on my eye and asked 'suction nurse' for 'suction'. She did and said: "suction progressing well". I lost my vision for about five seconds. It came back. The surgeon said: "don't move" and my eye started going mental (this was because I knew the next part would be the slicer creating the corneal flap). This was over in milliseconds. The surgeon pulled the flap back and told me to keep watching the orange flashing light. A clicking sound started to go off (it was a bit like firing a toy gun) and I could smell my cornea burning. The surgeon then put the flap back down and kept putting drops in my eyes.
Then they did the same with the left eye. It was all over in 15 minutes. Camp guy asked me to sit up and took my hand. I could see. It was amazing! He took me through to the space between the doors and gave me my back of drops and my sexy night-time goggles. He took me through to see the surgeon again. The surgeon checked my eyes and said it was all "extremely successful". Good. A new person in scrubs came to collect me and walked/paraded me through the shop floor (look everyone, another successful laser eye patient, give us yer money). We got to the door leading into the waiting room where my mum was, but instead of going through it, she led me to another door about two metres along the same wall. We walked through this door. It was the comedy door, which I now knew to be utterly pointless and gimmicky. It leads to exactly the same places as the ordinary door. What a joke!
My mum told me that she'd been really worried about me. "Why? I was only away for about 15 minutes." "Well, the guy who came to get you in the first place came back out and spoke to the receptionist. Then he came over and asked if I was your mum. I said I was and he said 'don't worry. She's going to be fine.' I suddenly started wondering what had happened and why you wouldn't be fine. Then he went away and came back with your bag, jacket and scarf. I felt like I was being handed your possessions and that's all that was left of you. I thought you'd been completely lasered."
We got to the car and I got in and pulled down the visor so I could look at myself in the mirror. I gasped and said: "I'm beautiful!" My mum almost choked on her water. "What are you like lady!" My eyes were starting to get quite sore and it was difficult to keep them open so I dropped the seat flat, put on my shades and tied my scarf over the top of them. Every so often, I would come out with some nonsense like "I'm melting" (in the style of the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz) or, when we stopped at traffic lights I would slowly sit up like Dracula in his coffin and turn to the other cars (with the specs and scarf combo). I never run out of ways to amuse myself.
When I got home, I put my drops in, popped some pills, slapped the goggles on and went for a nice long snooze.
Two days later I went for my post-op. My vision is better than 20/20 apparently (which I think, technically, means I can see your soul). My eyes definitely aren't as dry, sore and tired as they were with the contact lenses, so it's all looking good.
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.
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.)
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