Thursday, February 27, 2014

Happy Endings - This Week's Updates.

So I bet you're all dying to know how the Great Coffee Showdown turned out.

Before I go into it in exquisite detail, I'd like to point out that I am a huge wuss. I really hate confrontation and I hate to disappoint people. If left to my own devices I would probably have said nothing about it and just gone shopping for a stylish dress, high heels and matching handbag. But having put it out there and getting so many responses, well I couldn't really wimp out this time could I?

So yesterday I turned up at my coffee shop, The girl at the cash register was new so I had to explain my order to her. The girl at the coffee machine was the usual barista and, rather than check Facebook while I was waiting like I usually do, I decided to keep an eagle eye on proceedings. I had all your voices ringing in my ears telling me to get what I'd ordered - but to do it in a nice way. If she went to give me my coffee without its crowning glory, I was going to ask her nicely to add it while mocking my chocolate addiction.

But something strange happened. Maybe she reads my blog. Maybe she is psychic. Or maybe she bothered to read the order on the screen in front of her instead of leaving it up to her memory.

I got my cappuccino!

And I didn't have to say anything at all. My reputation as a wuss can stay intact.


And I bet you're all dying to know what happened with Loo-Loo.

I can happily report that there has been no sightings of this monster from the black lagoon since I provided her with an escape route. I can only conclude that she made a bid for freedom and high-tailed it out of the toilet.

Either that or she accidentally choked on an un-flushed floater and died an excruciating death followed by a burial at sea. Not a happy picture so I choose to believe the first option. I imagine that she's running around the backyard as I type this - eating insects and being shunned by other skinks because she smells kind of funky after spending a couple of days in a toilet.

What's that smell??

As for the the new couch. We've given up even thinking that it would be a dog-free zone. That was patently way too ambitious for people who treat their dogs like humans. And why should I deny myself the pleasure of a nightly snuggle with my favourite person pet. That's almost as good a mental-health therapy as a run.


And finally - this week's speed session. 

I said I would stop mentioning Bevan in my posts. I am clearly a liar. Or he's forcing me to mention him by engaging me in our weekly tussles.

This week's session was 500s and 1k reps. I was tired and I'd promised myself that I wasn't going to be drawn into pushing myself really hard. That promise lasted for all of the warm up.

There's something about having someone just a little bit in front of you that makes you push yourself to keep up. Bevan took off on the first rep and I settled in to my now-traditional spot a few meters behind. I kept telling myself that it was the first rep and not go too hard but the need to stay in touch out-weighed rational thought. 

I was hoping that this week he wouldn't wait for me at the end of each of the reps so he'd get further and further in front and there'd be no need to try to keep up. But we don't always get what we want and every time I finished a rep he was there waiting for me. 

Turns out that the first rep, where I thought we were going too fast, ended up being our slowest 500m and our last was my fastest. All my 1k reps were in the 4:30-4:35 range. I haven't run such a good, consistent and strong session in years. And Bevan - well he was pretty happy with his set too.

It might hurt and I might dread it sometimes but I'm loving the results of this in-house competition. My confidence is growing and I'm absolutely certain that Bevan is going to get his sub-25 min 5k in a couple of weeks. 

We both might be on the other side of 50 but we're pretty damned awesome!

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

First World Problems

I have a problem.

I'm talking about a first world problem - nothing serious. The earth will not stop turning if it doesn't get sorted. But it's enough of a problem for me to come to my loyal, long-suffering readers for advice.

The burning question? Is it too late to say something?

I go to the same coffee shop most days to get my one, daily indulgence. Actually, if I'm being honest it's not my only daily indulgence. My evening cookie or slab piece of home-made Toblerone rocky road would probably be considered by many as a daily indulgence - even if I consider it a necessity.

I go to the same place because I know I'm going to get a consistent, quality coffee made by people who know my order and greet me with a friendly smile.

But lately the girl who makes my coffee has been getting the order wrong. I order a medium soy cappuccino extra hot (I've put it out there just in case someone wants to surprise me with one some day) and I've been getting a medium soy latte extra hot.

I know it really isn't a big deal. Effectively it's just a delicate dusting of chocolate powder on top of the foam. But I miss that little hint of chocolatey goodness. It's what gives me that mmmm moment as I contemplate the day ahead.

The first time she made the mistake I just brushed it off. Who hasn't made a mistake in their lives? No big deal. But by the third time I realised that this mistake wasn't really a mistake on her behalf. I think she genuinely believes that I'm a latte drinker.

Seriously, do I look like a latte drinker? Not that I'm saying that there's anything wrong with drinking lattes. One of my best friends is a latte drinker and I don't hold it against her. But you only have to look at me to realise that I'd be a cappuccino drinker.

How can you tell a cappuccino drinker from a latte one? Cappuccino drinkers are the dags of the cafe-set. We never did conform to the stylish latte trend because dags tend to be a little stuck in their ways. We like our coffee milky and with a subtle frosting of that gift from the Gods - chocolate. I could never be accused of being stylish. I turn up for my coffee in a denim skirt and t-shirt in summer and jeans and jumper in winter. The closest I get to stylish is when I throw on a scarf - which is usually covered in dog hair, thereby negating any stylishness that would otherwise been attained.

So now you understand my dilemma, what do I do about it? Do I just stay quiet, become a latte drinker and up my game as far as dressing and accessorizing are concerned? Do I say something and wipe the lovely smile off her face that she gives me every time she hands over my coffee? Or do I start carrying a purse-sized shaker of chocolate powder so I can add my own?

Like I said - first world problem.

Sunday, February 23, 2014


I said good-bye to a dear friend the other day.

Not Toby - that would have been devastating. Just the old green couch. And by old I mean it was starting to fall apart. Some of the support underneath the cushions had torn and there was a huge chunk missing from one of the legs thanks to a very naughty puppy. Plus there was a permanent Sammy-shaped dent in the cushions from when he'd spent weeks on end napping there during his bout of glandular fever.

It was time to make a change so Iven and I had gone shopping a month or so ago and ordered a new couch. But we didn't know when it'd be delivered, so when I got a phone call on Thursday to say it was ready to go, I decided it'd be a surprise for the family. I organised for it to be delivered the next day and I didn't tell a soul.

Sometimes I don't think things through very well.

I spent Friday morning in a lather of excitement about my impending surprise. Luke and Becky had been at home all morning and I'd worried that the delivery would come while they were still around but luckily they had to leave. Then, as it got later, I started to worry that the delivery wouldn't come before Iven got home from work.

But I needn't have. I got a phone call at around 1pm. The delivery men would be around in about 30 minutes.

Great, I thought. Just enough time for a little nap!

I lay down for just a second before realising that there wasn't time for a nap. I certainly hadn't thought this through well at all. Everything in our lounge room needed to be moved. And there was quite a lot of stuff. And some of it was pretty heavy. And it was one of those days when you only need to move your finger just a little to start to sweat.

Once I'd moved the old couches, I realised just how much dirt can accumulate in a decade or so. I'm of the school of thought that believes that if you can't see it, the dirt doesn't exist. It was mostly dust tumble-weeds, but I did find one of Toby's long lost toys. I was still vacuuming when the delivery truck pulled up into the driveway.

The delivery men had the old couch taken downstairs in no time and then they deposited all six pieces of the new one in the room. They left me tearing off the biggest plastic bags I've ever seen. Once that was done all I had to do was hook the bottoms of the couches together. I say ALL, because one would think it was a fairly simple task.

It wasn't.

The first chair hooked in pretty easily and I patted myself on the back for being so damned awesome. But I'd started at the wrong spot and only realised that when I tried to hook on the second piece. I was trying to lift two sections of the couch to slot onto the third and, despite using testosterone on a regular basis, I'm really not that strong.

I had to work my way around from the left to the right. Starting in the middle had been a stupid move. If only they'd supplied me with assembly instructions. Oh, who am I trying to kid? I wouldn't have read them anyway.

I unhooked the only bit that I'd managed to assemble. Then I restarted from the right spot. I got all the way to the corner piece before remembering that maybe I should have tested the recliner to make sure it was working. It wasn't.

I had to disassemble the couch again. The only thing is that this time I couldn't. I tried and tried. I tried from the front and from behind. I lifted. I pushed. I grunted. I sweated. I broke a blood vessel in my finger. I sweated some more. I swore. But nothing I did helped. The seats remained firmly hooked together.

I was starting to get a bit frustrated at this point. With myself. For not thinking it through. A smarter person would have checked all the bits with moving pieces to make sure they moved. A smarter person would have realised, without have to make a mistake, in which order the couch needed to be assembled. A smarter person would have told the rest of the family about the impending arrival so she wouldn't have had to do it all herself. And a smarter person would have known when to admit defeat and wait for another pair of hands to arrive.

But we marathon runners are not known for giving up when the going gets tough. I kept trying for another half an hour before I admitted defeat. I was sodden with sweat - my hair was dripping and my t-shirt could be wrung out - and that's how Iven found me. Of course he couldn't understand how I could have gotten so sweaty standing in my air conditioned workroom cutting out fabric so I took him upstairs.

We had the lounge disassembled and reassembled in no time. The recliner did work (not sure what I was doing wrong). But I wasn't allowed to sit on it until I'd had a shower.


So the moral of the story? Being stubborn and persistent is a great trait as a marathoner but not so good as a furniture assembler. Sometimes it's better to admit defeat and ask for help earlier rather than later.

So much for the dog not sleeping on the new couch. This is how I found him first thing Saturday morning.
I was incredibly sore and tired the next day from my impromptu weights session. Not sore or tired enough to stop me from running a pretty slick 20k Saturday morning. But definitely sore enough to make me spend most of the rest of the weekend in my new favourite spot. And I've already trained my faithful hound to guard it when I'm not around.

Such a ferocious guard dog - with his pink stuffed gorilla.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Meet Loo-Loo

I'm so over summer.

I'm over the heat, the humidity, feeling sweaty and sticky. I'm over limp hair, not being able to enjoy a cup of tea, sleeping with a fan on, cold showers. I'm over feeling wrung out and tired.

And it seems as though I'm not the only one whose whole focus at the moment is trying to stay cool.

On Tuesday, after sculling my second water-bottle, I had to make an urgent dash to the toilet. I lifted the lid and nearly wet myself with surprise. A fairly large skink was swimming around in the bowl.

Of course this presented me with a quandary. Do I just use the toilet and to hell with the skink - after all it's a human toilet not a lizard swimming pool? Do I race upstairs and use the toilet up there? Or do I test my control and get my phone to take a photo to put on the blog?

You'd think that being a diligent blogger I would have chosen door number three BUT I have given birth three times and tend to err on the side of distrust when it comes to sphincters so, despite the rigours of my weekly battle to the death with Bevan (yeah, I know I promised I'd stop writing about you but you seem to enjoy it so much) AND being an animal lover from way back, option number two seemed like the only good choice for everyone involved. I took the fact that my quads were burning at the top of the stairs as a positive that I'd really put in during speed.

I did race back downstairs once I was done to grab my phone but the skink had vanished. I thought that she'd managed to swim her way out of there the way she'd gotten in but, as you can judge from the photo, I was wrong.

When I went back not that long after (I told you I'd sculled two water-bottles full) there she was swimming around again. This time I chose blogging over bladder and went for the phone. She swam out of sight after I'd gotten the photographic evidence that I wanted and I thought I'd help her out by making sure that she was swimming with the tide, by flushing the toilet. A girl can only cope with seeing a lizard in her toilet just so many times.

But I'd underestimated the determination of this particular lizard to remain in this climate-controlled oasis. Yep, next time I went to go she was back. I encouraged a retreat with the toilet brush then polluted her lovely swimming hole and, as I flushed, I yelled "Surf's up".

I didn't see her again for the rest of the day so I thought I'd won the battle over the possession of the downstairs toilet.

Just a little aside here - the downstairs toilet is right next to #3 son's bedroom and he and his girlfriend have been away this week visiting #1 son down in Melbourne. I'm pretty sure that his girlfriend would prefer that there was no reptiles underneath her if she needed to go so I had a strong incentive to get rid of our new pet, who I've called Loo-Loo, before they came home.

The next day I went back to check. No, I hadn't won. Loo-Loo was back but she seemed to be quite keen to get out when she saw me. The whole total lunar eclipse thing followed by an acid rain downpour that I'd inflicted on her must have been quite unsettling. The porcelain was too slippery for her to gain any traction so I provided a ramp.

I couldn't hang around to see if she took advantage of my escape route but she hasn't been sighted since. So I'm assuming that she's gotten out and disappeared out the back door. That makes me so much more comfortable than the other two alternatives - that either she's lurking in the bedroom or still in the toilet biding her time to exact revenge.

One thing's for sure - I will be checking the bowl before I go from this time forth until I die.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

The Incident

There are people in this world that I try to avoid. You know the sort of people - the ones who like to talk and talk and talk and you can't get a word in even to excuse yourself and escape. Today, though, I was so very grateful that I ran across one.

I did my Wednesday run this morning. That's not at all strange being that it's Wednesday - but I don't always do my Wednesday run on Wednesday. And I ran one of my favourite routes. The one that takes me to the University and around the duck pond.

I haven't been running this route lately because I had an incident there at the end of last year. Not a dreadful incident. Just one that put me off running that way by myself.

Curious? Of course you are. And far be it for me to withhold from my reading public.

It was Christmas morning and I was doing my usual Christmas I-need-me-some-endorphins run. I'd spent a lot of the run thinking about a man that I usually see on this run - an older Greek man who'd recently lost his wife to liver cancer - and I was hoping that I'd see him to wish him a Merry Christmas.

I was almost out of the University before I spotted him. I went over to say hello and that's when it happened. I just went to hug him but it ended up with some very uncomfortable kissing (not on the cheek) and protestations of love.

Eeew. Talk about awkward. I couldn't get away fast enough. Or wash my mouth out with enough water.

I put it down to him being lonely and it being Christmas. And then one morning after an especially hot run I caught sight of my red-faced, limp-haired sweaty self and realised that he'd probably been powerless to stop himself so I shouldn't hold it against him and maybe I should be flattered instead of grossed out. Then I wished for a moment that it had been the lost identical twin of Hugh Jackman instead of a short, dumpy septuagenarian but I can never seem to get that lucky. And then I let it all go - except for avoiding that route (which I guess means that I really didn't let it go at all).

But just a couple of weeks ago I found out that I wasn't the only person to have been subject to his unwanted and, quite frankly, sloppy attentions. More eeew. Another member of our squad had also been accosted. And another friend who often walks at the uni.

Seems like my little Greek friend is a serial kisser. And as little as I didn't want his attentions, finding this out made me feel a little less special and a lot more creeped out.

It took a fair amount of courage to run the University loop this morning. For a lot of the run I gave him no thought at all but as soon as I hit the duck pond I couldn't help but wonder when I'd see him and hope I'd see him with enough time to cross the road and avoid him.

Once again I was almost out of the University grounds before I saw him up ahead - getting close to the water fountain that I was planning on stopping at. I did a quick recalculation. It was only another kilometre or so till the next chance for water and even though it was really hot and I'd sweat buckets, I was prepared to wait till then. But I didn't have to.

A very chatty acquaintance ran interference for me. This woman (let's call her Sue because it's nice and generic and happens to be her name) is also a regular on that path so would know my little Greek 'friend' and they'd settled into what would probably (if my experience is anything to go by) be a very long conversation. I was able to run past with a friendly wave and hello, stop at the tap that I'd wanted to stop at and know that I could do it unmolested. Phew!


Just a quick update on the weekly battle for speed supremacy between Bevan and I. Here's this week's video footage.

Unfortunately I'm the one wearing the blue shorts this week. Bevan beat me on every single one of the seven 1k reps. 

Bevan, I bow to your superiority - this week.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Watch-Free and Carefree.

Saturday didn't start off well.

I'd set my alarm for 4:45am the night before. I know I had because I'd double-checked it. But when I woke up with a start at 5:00am the little alarm symbol wasn't showing on the screen. Somehow I must have turned it off. Or maybe I'd imagined the whole double-checking scenario the night before. Either way I was running really late.

I had less than 15 minutes to get dressed, strap my feet (complicated explanation for this one - just accept that it stops my ITB from flaring up), stuff a banana down my throat, drink enough water to stop dehydration yet not too much as to cause a stitch or enforce lots of toilet stops AND go to the toilet.

The first four items on the list were totally doable in that time-frame. The last? Well that was totally up to the whims of my intestines and we all know how whimsical they can be at times.

Luckily, whimsy smiled in my direction and I was ready in ten minutes flat which had me wondering why I've been getting up so early in the past when the stress of having to make a tight deadline is such an effective cleanser.

Saturday's long run was a designated No-Watch run. The point of it was to make the group get back to grass roots running. To run for pleasure. By feel. Without electronic prods making us push ourselves harder than we should.

We ran a familiar route so we'd know the approximate turnaround points but apart from that there would be no data to input into my program. No uploads from my watch to the Garmin website. It was a 'if a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it does it make a sound?' conundrum. Would the run even count? I wasn't sure how I felt about it. #dataaddict

How stupid am I?? Of course it counts when there's 30 or 40 other runners to act as witness. To say nothing of the cyclists, walkers and non-GaleForce runners that we went past. Basically nothing had changed apart from not having to stop and start my watch at water stops - and believe me I tried.

It was even quite liberating. I didn't have that beep every kilometre that forced me to look at my watch and reassess my pace. It felt like we were running at a pretty good pace and had I seen that I was running at, let's say, 5:10 then I would have started to worry that I was going too fast and backed off the pace. If I'd seen we were running quite slow but it felt harder than I thought it should then I would have felt a bit annoyed with myself. Having no watch allowed the run to just be a run - and I could pretend that it had been awesome.

Because it was - just ask Elio.


In a miraculous turn of events I managed to track down some footage of the epic tussle between Bevan and I at speed last Tuesday. It's just the last hundred meters of the final rep and I'm the dude in the black pants (my cute checked ones were in the wash). 

I'm still basking in the triumph,.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Why Run With A Group?

I love my running group.

I've been running with it for seven years now and couldn't imagine my life without the regular speed sessions and long runs and even the hill sessions. Actually I can imagine my life without the hill sessions and my weekly dose of fear-of-falling. 

Running with a group pushes you way out of your comfort zone. It makes you challenge yourself to do things that you'd never dreamt that you'd do. Like running down vertical gravelly slopes. Like driving for an hour at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning just so you can run on the sand at the beach. And like getting up before 4:00am just so you can get enough kilometers in before it gets too hot.

It makes you push yourself harder in a session. And this is never so evident as at speed sessions on Tuesday morning. 

The last speed session was a particularly challenging one for me. It wasn't the distances of the reps or the length of the session. It was the little in-squad rivalry between Bevan, one of the squad members, and me. Let's just say that both of us are competitive beasts and we're fairly similar in speed so we often end up running close together in the session.

Coach Chris had a challenging set for us. We started off with two ten minute reps - run out for five minutes, turn around at the whistle then run back to the start by the end of the next five minutes, then repeat after a 3 minute recovery and try to make it to the same spot. And then it was 400m reps till the end of the session.

Bevan had been to the squad camp over the weekend and declared that he was too tired to really push the reps when I suggested that I'd be eating his dust. 

He lied!

When we were sent on our way, he shot quickly to the lead and stayed there. I closed in on him a couple of times but he kept checking on me and any time I'd get closer he'd put on the afterburners. We walked together for the 100m recovery and then we'd repeat it almost identically - except this time a little bit faster because I really did want to catch him and he really didn't want to be caught.

By the end of the fourth one, I realised just how much Bevan wanted to keep ahead of me. When he finished the rep there was a little bit of coughing followed by a little bit of dry-heaving. That was followed by a little bit of laughing by both of us. Why? Because runners are a strange bunch and think it's cool, hard-core and a little bit funny to push yourself to the point of being sick.

I was starting to think that maybe I'd get him by the end of the next rep. But his competitive drive kept him just that little bit ahead of me again. And had him dry-retching again. You've got to admire a man who can keep pushing that hard and can still keep the contents of his stomach IN his stomach. And be able to joke about where he'd be aiming his vomitus. At least I hope he was joking because I wasn't joking about the new shoes and socks he'd owe me if his aim was good.

The sixth rep was our last. And it was my last opportunity to run down the Silver Fox. He was slightly ahead to about the 150m mark and then, for the first time, I pulled in front. But being in front doesn't mean you'll stay in front with Bevan. I had to keep running hard to make sure I stayed there and passed the finish first. Thank goodness it was the last rep because I don't think I'd have liked to have tried that again. I gave it just about all I had and the result was my fastest rep of the morning.

It was a good hard session and it hurt just a bit (I'm lying - it hurt a lot) but in a weird way it felt amazing. My two 10 minute reps were really consistent as were the 400m reps. And my pace didn't die at the end like it had a tendency to do last year. And I almost made someone throw up. That's what I call a successful speed session.

And that's why I love the squad. All the support, encouragement and friendly rivalry - you can't help but become a better runner. And maybe even a better person.


Sunday, February 9, 2014

A Lesson In Overthinking

I am a self-professed worrier. An over-thinker of the highest order.

It's a totally futile past-time. It's never made me feel better. It's never stopped bad things from happening - because the bad things that have happened were never anything I'd ever imagined. And in reality, the things I've worried about have never actually materialised. Probably because I'm not omnipotent or omniscient.

Just this last week I was given a big lesson in why worrying is so pointless. By one of my sons.

He's been in the same job for a few years now and about 10 days ago the company went through a restructure. A few people lost their jobs. My son didn't but he was called in to a meeting with the powers that be and was told that they were moving him to another area of the business.

He did exactly what I would have done. He assumed that the change was because they weren't happy with his performance in his other job. He decided that the move was a demotion and it threw him into a bit of a tailspin.

By Friday he was so upset about it that he didn't want to go into work but rather than stay at home and stress even more about it he did something that I would have found extremely hard to do. He made an appointment with Human Resources to talk about the change.

It's hard to ask about the why's of decisions when you  think you know what the answer is - and it's not a compliment. But he did. And he found out that the reason that he'd been moved was because he was doing a good job. They effectively had created this job for him.

I'm so incredibly proud of him for having the courage to confront his fears head on and put himself on the line. It's definitely a lesson that I have to remember to apply to myself in the future.


I, decided after my last post, to embrace my girlish running style. I might as well own it - cause at my age I have very little inclination to change it. I couldn't find a tiara so I went with the next best thing.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Run Like A Girl

I was forced to confront a hard, bitter truth yesterday. 

It was a tough pill to swallow - not unlike the zinc tablets that I try to swallow without water only to find them sticking at the back of my throat and releasing a nasty, metallic taste and making me gag. I do this because if I had water I'd have another cup to wash up. Yes, I can be that lazy that I'd rather gag than wash up a single glass.

The truth that I learnt? 

I run like a girl!

And I don't mean that in a good way. As in 'I am woman hear me roar'. Or in a tough, feminist, armpit-hair-growing, anything-a-boy-can-do-a-girl-can-do-better-while-knitting-the-family-sweaters-and-making-a-gourmet-dinner-because-I'm-girl-therefore-I-can-multi-task way.

No I mean in the running-like-I'm-wearing-too-small-Barbie-high-heels-and-flapping-my-hands-like-I've-seen-a-mouse style of running. 

I had an image in my head when I started running hills and trails again of how I looked. That image had my muscular quads powering me up inclines. I was as sure-footed as a mountain goat - leaping over rocks and roots with ease. I was strong and tough - without having to have a tattoo to prove just how strong and tough I was. 

Then I saw the picture that my squad-mate Trudy took on yesterday's run. It totally shattered my delusion. 

And because I'm all about honesty and openness on this blog, I felt I had to share the bitter truth. Even though I will lose all my street cred and hard-core reputation.

Shameful isn't it?! And this was on a relatively un-technical part of the trail. Heaven knows how bad it looked on the tough bits.

The other photo she took was much nicer. Even though I was holding onto that tree for dear life because I'm a little bit scared of rugged downhills, I could at least manage a smile and a nonchalant pose that gives the illusion that this trail-running caper is a breeze. 

So there you go - as a trail runner I've got a lot of work to do. And I will start by trying to get the hand-flapping under control.

Yesterday's photos weren't all bad, though. I managed to snap this one of Toby who's trying to step up and help more around the house now that Sam's gone. He decided that he could help bring in some of the groceries. Those king-size toilet rolls were a challenge but Toby isn't one to give in easily. He just clamped his jaws down hard and wrestled them inside.

We will probably have to tear the first few sheets off a couple of those rolls.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

As Requested

I try to keep my readers happy. 

So when Coach Dion asked to see my new shorts being modelled how could I not oblige?!

I'm expecting phone calls from the marketing divisions of Lululemon (and Rockwear for the top) to discuss further modelling ventures. 

But I've warned my #3 son that they'll probably expect him to shave his legs and maybe tan-up a little for the shots.

And I've warned him that as his agent I will be taking 50% because that's how much DNA I provided. And because that body was sculpted and moulded by my special exercise plan (a lot of squats to pick up the dirty undies off his floor) and diet (cookies, cupcakes and brownies - home made of course).

Thanks for being such a good sport Luke!!

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Call Me Gullible

Call me gullible.

I've been called a lot worse. My eldest son once called me a 'Wonderful Parent.' See I kept the note as a memento.

I know it doesn't seem like that should be a worse insult than gullible but if you look closely at the word 'wonderful' you'll note that it's been written in a whole different way to the rest of the note. If it was a computer font it would be called Sarcastica because that's exactly how it was intended. And the reason that Iven and I were abused in such a manner was because we hadn't let Sam go to a performance of his favourite comedy group in the middle of a school week while he was recovering from Glandular Fever. (And on a side note - Sam is such a sweetie that he couldn't bring himself to say anything worse even when he was furious with us.)

Saturday I was totally conned. By these two.

I'd had a big day on Saturday. Started with a 3:15am alarm so I could be out running by 4:00am. Ran a long, slow half marathon. Back home (after a coffee with the squad) to head out for breakfast. Then some grocery shopping. Iced cakes for a first birthday party. And that was before midday. 

Yeah, I was justifiably (IMHO) tired so I had a nap. But once I'd woken up these guys were keeping a close watch on me  and I was pretty sure I knew the reason why. They wanted a walk. 

I've taken over a lot of the dog-walking duties since Iven hurt his back in October. He has just started taking them out again recently but it's not every day. And on Saturday afternoon he'd decided to wash cars (mine included - yay, I've got a clean car!) so I was pretty sure that if I didn't walk them, they weren't going to get walked. I laced up my shoes for the second time that day. And told them that I was tired from my run so they had to behave themselves - no tugging, no tangling, no lunging and no chasing birds.

They seemed to agree with my conditions. They were well-behaved as I put the leads on them (Usually just the sight of the leads is enough to whip them into a state of hysteria). They sat at the top of the steps so I could open the gate calmly, without having to fight them over who gets to go down first. Then they actually walked sedately down - it was nice not to have to fear being pulled head-first down onto the concrete path below. I, naively, thought that their good behaviour was due to my superior dog-handling skills and my pre-walk pep talk.

As we walked past Iven he commented on how lucky they were to get two walks in one day. 

Two walks?!!! No one had told me about the first. When I'd mentioned the walk to them casually after my nap neither of them had blinked. They'd pricked up their ears and tilted their heads and acted like they hadn't had a walk in months. Their good behaviour as we were leaving the house was only because they were a little bit tired from their first walk. I'd run a half marathon and was planning on running the next morning - didn't really need that extra fifty minutes on my feet.

Next time I'll check with Iven before I even think of walking them. They can fool me once but I'm a quick learner.

And while I'm on the subject of gullibility - I bought myself another pair of cute running shorts. I like these even better than the first pair that I got because there's no maroon in them. But I stuck with the checks because I knew that Iven wouldn't notice that they were a different pair. He's not into fine details like that. I wore them Saturday and, as I predicted, he didn't even bat an eyelid. And this means that as long as Lululemon keep making checked shorts, I'll be able to keep buying new ones without having to justify myself.

And no, he never reads my blog.