Sunday, 19 January 2014

Potato Guts & Stupid Ideas: Just Another Sunday

Hang on a sec while I adjust my seating position.  I think I have a roast potato somewhere in my ribcage.

That's what it feels like anyhow.  After a week of mindful, albeit constant eating where I've been eating smaller amounts of good stuff all day long (and therefore in my mind, eating more overall - so is obviously better.  More eats = more happies), I've just returned from a pretty epic-sized Sunday dinner at A's parents' house.  

Not wanting to be an impolite guest, I threw as much as I could down my gullet.  All the lovely greens and spuds and meats.  And now my guts want me dead. I feel like I'm in a pivotal scene from Alien.  I didn't think of the social consequences of my new choices.

I've even been told that the lack of ever-present Haribo in my face hole is weirdly un-me.  Illogically, I fear that my new found reduction in interest of sugar has made me dull.  Like a likeable quirk has been sloughed away by my "boring" attempts to better my health.

Which anyone with half a brain would say was pretty fucking stupid.  No one is going to stop returning my texts because I don't feel like getting a Cornetto as often as I would have before.  

*squeak* I hope.

I'm still Spartan-ing on nicely.  Just taken my body out for walkies because after yesterday's Parkrun, my hips decided they hated me.  It felt like really severe growing pains.  But I doubt that I've got much growing left to do at almost-26. 

I did my first nine miler in ages on Wednesday with a friend who's also training for the Llanelli Half in March, and was overjoyed to feel totally fine over the following two days.  Turns out, it just took Saturday's Parkrun for my body to wake up and go 

"Oh, yeah, I forgot - anything over six miles hurts Becky.  Let's ruin her whole night's sleep and the last episode of Dexter for her by convincing her she has sudden onset arthritis!"

For the record - The last episode of Dexter didn't need any help in being ruined.  It made me want to cry anger tears.  Bastards.

Rest of weekend has comprised of devouring another e-book, for I am poor, and paupers spend their weekends indoors and hiding in books.  

To be totally honest, I think I'm starting to prefer my new routine of parkrun -> family -> geeky time - > box sets on sofa to sit around, waiting for people and drinks -> DRINKING!!! -> "I'm not too drunk, I just have so many EMOTIONS!! -> "ow, my head. Fuck my life."  -> MCDONALDS, NOW!!! -> nap until Monday.

I'm either maturing or taking the fast lane to Hermit Town, population: Becky and cat(s).

Anyway, the book was called

Onward! The Absolute, No B.S., Raw, Ridiculous Soul-Stirring Truth About Training For Your First Marathon - By Brook  Kreder

I read it because a little worm of insanity has chewed into my brain and is trying to convince me that either next year or the following one (giving myself a little wiggle room just in case I pussy out next year)... that I might like to run a marathon.


At the minute, even though I've done a half marathon once, I still find even 13.1 miles daunting .  It left me in shreds last year, but the sense of personal achievement was like nothing I've ever experienced.  I can't even picture how my body would allow me to even walk twice that distance, let alone run it.  But part of me keeps thinking - if I felt euphoric after 13.1 miles, perhaps I might sprout wings and take to the sky with the flying pigs out of the sheer awesomeness of what I've done after 26.2! 

 Plus, I am hooked on reading books about people accomplishing their first marathons.  Alexandra Heminsley is my absolute hero, and I guarantee that if you read her book Running Like a Girl , you will not be able to put it down.  She's down to earth, funny and honest about her experiences.  

Another good one is Muireann Carey-Campbell's Be Pretty On Rest Days . The Brook Kreder one I read this weekend was okay.  An alright read if you can get around the fact that, although she has an admirably foul mouth, Kreder keeps using asterixes on every f******* swear word, which drives you a little bit f****** mental after a few pages.

F*ck that sh*t,man! If you're gonna swear, just f******* swear!

Point is - I've loved reading along with other bloggers and writers' personal journeys and feel like I've run right alongside them with no physical consequences and a cup of tea, but I think I want a real-life go now.  

I want to have something as awesome as a marathon in my list of achievements.  It's rare that you meet a person who has run one marathon only.  From what I've read, training for one seems to have the capacity to drastically change who and what you are for the better.

But it also sounds pretty fucking terrifying and horrible, and I enjoy having toenails. 

Still, I reckon I want in on the action.  I want something that ballsy and impressive to document on here too.  I want to show people like right-now me that it's do-able. 

Until then, here are some super exciting pictures from my Spartan week involving a 9 mile run, some swimming, and lots of walks during which I shuffle around the block worrying about how suspicious I look walking around outside without a dog in tow:

p.s Hi to any readers from Run 4 All, Neath who responded to my shameless spamming on Facebook!  I damn near pee'd my pants when I saw how much my blog views jumped up by last night!

p.p.s While I'm recommending books, another good one I've just remembered is Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About RunningFor someone who runs a paltry eleven and a half minute mile on most runs, I certainly read a lot about running! Hoping that I'll magically catch a case of 'proper runner' off of the pages.


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