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.
Showing posts with label blood donating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blood donating. Show all posts
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
On trying to be a good citizen
Today at work, I gave blood. I'd been put on a 12 month ban following my Cambodia trip, so it was good to finally do it again. It was my ninth donation and, apparently, I get a badge the next time I donate. I'm trying to put that across and sound like a good citizen, but it's not really that impressive, as if I'd stuck to my three times a year promise I should have donated around 30 times by now. Hmmm.
As always, the form you have to fill in causes me no shortage of dilemma. One of the questions is 'Have you ever had sex with a man who has ever had sex with another man?' I mean, how are you supposed to know that? Occasionally I flirt with the idea of telling them about that one guy. The one whom I wouldn't be surprised to hear is actually gay. But I don't know for certain and it might just cause more hassle than it's worth - like the time my mum let slip my grandma was dead when she was trying to cash in my grandma's astronomically high BT shares. Bummer.
The other question that causes me problems is the one that asks 'Have you ever had sex for money?'
Now technically, the answer to that is of course 'no', but I have done it out of pity. Once. And I know a few people who have done it for jewellery. Oh, and one person who did it for a sports car. So what's the big difference? Why don't they just ask 'Are you, or have you ever been, a prostitute?', rather than making people who aren't prostitutes feel bad about themselves when all they're trying to do is be a good citizen.
Obviously the reason I would feel bad about myself is because I know that 'pity' is not a positive reason for having sex with someone. However, I also feel bad because at least the prostitutes had the good sense to get paid for something they didn't really want to do. So here's a new slogan for the Blood Donation Service ...
... Feel cheap and stupid:Give blood.
As always, the form you have to fill in causes me no shortage of dilemma. One of the questions is 'Have you ever had sex with a man who has ever had sex with another man?' I mean, how are you supposed to know that? Occasionally I flirt with the idea of telling them about that one guy. The one whom I wouldn't be surprised to hear is actually gay. But I don't know for certain and it might just cause more hassle than it's worth - like the time my mum let slip my grandma was dead when she was trying to cash in my grandma's astronomically high BT shares. Bummer.
The other question that causes me problems is the one that asks 'Have you ever had sex for money?'
Now technically, the answer to that is of course 'no', but I have done it out of pity. Once. And I know a few people who have done it for jewellery. Oh, and one person who did it for a sports car. So what's the big difference? Why don't they just ask 'Are you, or have you ever been, a prostitute?', rather than making people who aren't prostitutes feel bad about themselves when all they're trying to do is be a good citizen.
Obviously the reason I would feel bad about myself is because I know that 'pity' is not a positive reason for having sex with someone. However, I also feel bad because at least the prostitutes had the good sense to get paid for something they didn't really want to do. So here's a new slogan for the Blood Donation Service ...
... Feel cheap and stupid:Give blood.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Lights, camera, exfoliation
The job continues to go well and I've been tasked with a couple of meaty and interesting projects. After scripting and producing my team's take on Big Brother for the departmental away day, we shot the video last Tuesday night after work. Everybody got into the spirit of things and brought along great props - wine bottles, sunglasses, even a little silver suitcase. Yvonne shared her husband's reaction when she had told him she'd be working late on Tuesday night as she picked up her overnight bag complete with dressing gown stuffed in. My colleague Lisa was playing Davina and totally blew us away. She ad-libed her way through the interviews like a true pro and really brought the proceedings to life. We used the lift doors to portray us leaving the big brother house and even had the papparazzi waiting - complete with flashing digital cameras.
The real work comes in with overhauling my department's pages on the company website and re-thinking a particular suite of literature that isn't being used to full effect. Time will tell whether this goes as well as my film production talents.
I thought my week was off to a bad start when I rushed up to donate blood and was told that my flow was "a bit slow today," but that they were sure they'd "be able to do something with it." As the guy took the needle out of my arm and lifted up the bag of blood I'd offered, I was embarrassed to see that there was almost nothing there. I apologised for my crapness and the guy told me it was a simple case of self-preservation and not to bother stressing myself. But still, I thought it was a worrying sign. On Monday night I cooked dinner for my aunt and uncle in their flat. It was a really good night and I enjoyed chatting to them. It's nice to be able to have a friendship like that with family members. On Wednesday night, I was off to Sygn again for food and drinks with Mog and Debs. It was great catching up with Debs because I hadn't seen her since well before Christmas. On Thursday, my mum took me out for dinner before we went off to view some flats. She really liked the one I like, so it's just a question of whether I have enough money to do anything about it.
By Friday, I was knackered so it was a night of quiet bliss. I treated myself to an Indian takeaway, scoffed it and immediately regretted so when I discovered my ability to move had been seriously impaired. I swear that stuff expands and swells as soon as it makes contact with my stomach. Since I clearly wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, I read this week's Economist until I fell asleep. There was an interesting article on the lack of burial space in Britain (see previous entry).
Something fantastic happened while I was having my Decleor facial on Saturday morning. As well as the darkened room, soothing music and pleasing aromatherapy oils, the beauty therapist actually tackled my blackheads. It was the ultimate indulgence; lying there in a blissful state of utter relaxation and having someone attend to the needs of my individual pores.
Hopefully this rejuvenating experience will give my tired body the kick-start it needs to get through next week. If not, I don't think I'll be donating much blood, sweat or tears anytime soon.
The real work comes in with overhauling my department's pages on the company website and re-thinking a particular suite of literature that isn't being used to full effect. Time will tell whether this goes as well as my film production talents.
I thought my week was off to a bad start when I rushed up to donate blood and was told that my flow was "a bit slow today," but that they were sure they'd "be able to do something with it." As the guy took the needle out of my arm and lifted up the bag of blood I'd offered, I was embarrassed to see that there was almost nothing there. I apologised for my crapness and the guy told me it was a simple case of self-preservation and not to bother stressing myself. But still, I thought it was a worrying sign. On Monday night I cooked dinner for my aunt and uncle in their flat. It was a really good night and I enjoyed chatting to them. It's nice to be able to have a friendship like that with family members. On Wednesday night, I was off to Sygn again for food and drinks with Mog and Debs. It was great catching up with Debs because I hadn't seen her since well before Christmas. On Thursday, my mum took me out for dinner before we went off to view some flats. She really liked the one I like, so it's just a question of whether I have enough money to do anything about it.
By Friday, I was knackered so it was a night of quiet bliss. I treated myself to an Indian takeaway, scoffed it and immediately regretted so when I discovered my ability to move had been seriously impaired. I swear that stuff expands and swells as soon as it makes contact with my stomach. Since I clearly wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, I read this week's Economist until I fell asleep. There was an interesting article on the lack of burial space in Britain (see previous entry).
Something fantastic happened while I was having my Decleor facial on Saturday morning. As well as the darkened room, soothing music and pleasing aromatherapy oils, the beauty therapist actually tackled my blackheads. It was the ultimate indulgence; lying there in a blissful state of utter relaxation and having someone attend to the needs of my individual pores.
Hopefully this rejuvenating experience will give my tired body the kick-start it needs to get through next week. If not, I don't think I'll be donating much blood, sweat or tears anytime soon.
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