Do Something Each Day that Scares You - Does Walking Two Dogs Together Count?

Let's start by announcing the winner to my dodgy, home-made give-away prize. (I like to really talk things up) And the winner is (cue drum roll)... Ali Mac. Ali if you can contact me with a few details we can discuss what and where.

Okay, housekeeping done - time to talk about other fun stuff namely me!

I did something unusual, possibly foolhardy and definitely brave this morning. I took both dogs for a walk AT THE SAME TIME.

I've been walking Toby regularly for ages now but really didn't include Bubbles in our expeditions. My reasoning was that I had to concentrate on getting Toby  to be good on the lead with as few distractions as possible. Toby is blonde and can be a little ditzy at times especially when there's strange and interesting dogs around, birds to chase (yes, with me attached by the lead) and strange noises to frighten us.

Every time I'd pull on my walking shoes (which are really my old running shoes in disguise) Bubbles would get a little excited and whine frantically until I told her that she couldn't come and then she'd jump on the couch and look sad.

Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I'll go eat worms.

I know it doesn't seem fair but Bubbles is over 10, weighs about 4 kilos and probably gets enough exercise running around the back yard chasing turkeys, fighting with Toby and jumping on and off couches and beds. Toby needed the exercise way more and I simply didn't have the energy to do two walks in a day on top of running.

But Toby is a lot better on the lead now so for the last couple of walks I've put on my big girl pants and pulled out both of their leads. As you can imagine, this creates pandemonium. A walk, to a dog gives the same excitement level as telling an eight year old that you're taking them out of school for the day to go to Dreamworld or Disneyland (unless that eight year old is scared of rides and in that case the announcement might be greeted with projectile vomiting).

No need for you to come, Mum. I know the way I can take her.

There is jumping, barking and lots of pulling which make getting down the stairs in one piece a feat in itself. Just as well I've got these massive guns (thanks to my illicit performance-enhancing drug use).

Working on the Tuckshop Lady arms (I was going to say bat wings but there are other definitions to that one according to Urban Dictionary that I'd never heard of)

Once we've safely negotiated the stairs the fun really starts. Stop, start, stop, sniff. It wouldn't be so bad if they managed to synchronise their stops but the smell that stimulates one dog's olfactory organ doesn't titillate the nostrils of the other. They meander across the path, not at the same time mind you. The leads go over, under and through until we're just a tangle of flesh and fur held together by black and red nylon.

The walk was punctuated by detangling stops, poo pick-ups (yes, I'm a responsible dog owner) and foliage watering. But the best moment came when Bubbles decided to check out exactly what Toby was doing when he squatted. That's a mistake I doubt she'll make again - she really doesn't like having to have baths.

This was supposed to be my rest day after two solid days' training. Not so sure that it was restful. But at least I've got some very tired canines who aren't going to do any mattress or magazine tearing today.

I'd like to finish off with a little gratuitous bragging - again.

I finished an entire speed session yesterday!! That wouldn't have been worth bragging about a couple of years ago but since January last year it definitely gets the Gold Seal of Boastfulness. The session was to run continuous reps like a time trial at a pre-determined pace (approximate 10k pace). Luckily my last 10k was in July and was pretty slow so I put myself into the 5:30/k group. Even then I wasn't confident but I made all 8k under that pace (between 4:58 and 5:25). Obviously need to do a little work on getting my pacing more even.

Fifty Shades of ...

What's wrong with us runners??!!

It's been hideously hot this last week. Not as hot as it has been in outback Queensland where the temperatures have been hitting close to 50C in some places. But hotter than it usually is. And hotter for longer than it usually is. And hotter at night than it should ever be. The temps didn't dip below 25C/77F for three nights in a row. And the humidity? Up around the 80% every morning.

Most of the population has decided that the only way to deal with this heat is to lock themselves away in their air conditioned houses or go to air conditioned shopping centres or maybe take a dip in the pool. All very sensible alternatives.

But what do we runners do? We get up super-early to beat the heat (who are we kidding - there's no beating this heat) and we run regardless.

Saturday morning a group from our squad were up well before the kookaburras hitting the road for their long run training for the Paris marathon in April. I was one of the slackers who only got up at quarter to five to do the 12k run. 12k was hard enough when the only breeze there was was what you could produce yourself and the water bubblers were giving you tepid water. I have no idea how the other group did it. But I know that the staff at the coffee shop we went to afterwards were all regaled with our stories of epic heroism and strength and fortitude in the face of bitter odds and hardship.

Today I only had to post this pic ...

on Facebook and I had comments that reminded me that I'm not the only crazy out there. We love to revel in the fact that we've sweat so hard that we look like we've been swimming, that we can't tell whether it's our nose running or we're just melting and that we've lost half a kilo in just 5 kilometres. We love to show people all our war wounds. The toe nails lost, the bloodied knees, the chipped tooth from the face plant onto the concrete, the blood blisters from the beach run. And we love to share how far we've run before most people were even out of bed.

We are basically masochists at heart. We don't do Fifty Shades of Grey - we prefer 50 Shades of Black and Blue. We get off on knowing that we've taken that teaspoon of concrete. No one tells us to harden up! 

So in the spirit of being a REAL RUNNER. I'd like to gratuitously brag that my run today started at 5:00am AND it was stinking hot AND I ran 12k AND I finished up with a 3k walk with my two favourite pooches. I was home before half of the family was out of bed! And believe me you're not the first to hear this. My coffee lady already knows, as do both of my sleepy sons and the lady at the supermarket. And they're all impressed (well, in my head they're impressed. I'm sure the eye rolling was because of a little dust in the air.)

Toby, however, is not that easily impressed with my feats on my feet. I think he's annoyed that he hasn't been invited on my runs since it's gotten so hot. I'm only thinking of him and trying to imagine how I'd feel if I was running 12k with a fur coat on. I got home to find him devouring an issue of Runner's World - quite literally. Although he may have been annoyed with the article on runner's nutrition that it was aimed at omnivores rather than carnivores.

I should just be grateful that these are the only running shoes that he's chewing on.

But this behaviour isn't as disturbing as how I found Teddy this morning. I don't know where Toby found out about pole dancing BUT I'm going to be having a serious chat with each of my sons.

Who else has done something epic and hard-core today? Please feel free to do a little gratuitous boasting of your own.

Looking For Love - My Little Foray into On-line Dating

I've just dipped my toes into the on-line dating pool.

I know! I know! I'm married. Mostly happily (I'll try not to think about the tissues left in pockets that end up in the wash and the toothpaste tube that gets squeezed from the middle and the dishwasher that's stacked THE WRONG WAY and no, I'm not OCD ... much). I'm even coming up to wedding anniversary number 27 in just a few days. My motto is 'better the devil you know' so I'm not looking to change things in a hurry.

The reason I was on this web-site was as moral support for a friend who is looking. She's tried other ways of finding a partner/boyfriend/companion/lover but it's just not easy out in the dating world. Personally I wouldn't have a clue how or where to start. Honestly, once you get to a certain age it's hard to know who's taken and who isn't, who's got serious stalkerish tendencies and carry date-rape drugs and gaffer tape in their brief case and who is just a genuinely nice bloke who's not found the right person or has found and lost her and is looking again.

I'm going to call my friend Ophelia for the purpose of today's post because I want to preserve her anonymity.

Ophelia had a spare day yesterday and we'd decided to spend it together. We'd had a lovely time wandering around in air conditioning at a shopping centre, having lunch and ticking off a few chores. But the real fun came when we finally sat in front of the computer in my kitchen.

The way it works is you put up a profile of yourself including pictures. You put down basics such as your age, where you live, if you have kids or want kids. Then you fill out your profile with info on the type of person you are - what's important to you, what you like to do, your values and dreams. Then the site matches you with potential candidates.

Ophelia had a huge list of potentials that fit her criteria - living within a 50k radius and aged between 40 and 60.

Then you start shopping. It kind of reminded me of a car sale. You look at the the picture first and suss out any physical imperfections. We immediately eliminated ones without a photo, after all you want to see what you're buying and whether it's got a dent or just a few scratches that you can buff out. Then the ones who couldn't take a 'selfie' or didn't have a friend to take a decent picture also got the flick. Then we eliminated used car and insurance salesmen, men into bikram yoga and that guy who looked like he could have been the devil if you'd drawn horns on him.

The one man who looked perfect (and I do mean perfect - model looks, great physique and interests that matched Ophelia's) was off the market. But we did send smiles to maybe a dozen men. What flirts! Sending electronic smiles over the internet!! We're so daring.

Now we wait until someone smiles back. And then there might be a little chatting - on-line of course. And eventually maybe a coffee date. It's sort of like going to a party and seeing someone you like but this way you know that he's looking for someone too and you're not going to spend an entire evening chatting up someone else's friendly husband.

On the way through it made me wonder whether I'd go there if something ever happened to Iven. Like maybe he left one too many tissues in his dirty clothes and I actually managed to pull off the perfect murder. (Of course I've never actually thought of that scenario before. I have no idea how it just popped into my head.) Would I go out actively searching or would my Golden Retriever and forty four cats be enough for me? And if I went out looking would I find the right person who was looking for a psycho lady who runs too much but can bake a mean cupcake?

All I can say is after looking on the dating site, Iven had better kick off soon because the older you get the slimmer the pickings are. And I will have to become a cougar. Anyone have a Lycra leopard print skirt I can borrow? Actually don't worry - I can make my own.

Revenge Massage

I've been able to increase my kilometres in the last two weeks. I'm back up to running four times a week and I'm trying to stretch one run out a bit longer. But with the added kilometres comes a few little niggly aches and pains and the tendency to walk like an eighty year old for the first couple of minutes out of bed.(I may be exaggerating here. I know some very sprightly eighty year olds who probably spring out of bed much better than me.)

I have a problem hip. It's a little like a problem child - it whines and complains about doing anything it doesn't want to, it refuses to make his bed and put away his washing but if anyone mentions ice cream he's the first to put his hand up. Oh sorry. I got a little distracted by the problem child thing. But my hip DOES whine and complain if I don't treat it nicely. And by treating it nicely I mean stretching it DILIGENTLY after every run (and maybe even later during the day), doing a little yoga and torturing it with my roller and a tennis ball. Yes, my hip is into S and M.

Last week I was not a very judicious stretcher or roller. And my hip has decided to misbehave. My hip flexor has been super-tight and my sacro iliac joint has been complaining. The bottom half of me was a bit sick and twisted so I decided that action had to be taken. It was time to book in for a massage.

One of my sisters did a massage course last year and has been giving me 'mates rates' on massages. She was free this morning so I went around for my hour and a bit of torture and hip-taming. It's all fun and games until she actually starts touching me and then the groaning and wailing start.

My hip was so tight today that she couldn't tell what was muscle and what was bone. So she dug her elbow in. I need to mention at this point that Julie is a very strong woman. She's a rower who still competes at age 51. And she has really, really sharp, pointy elbows.

I tried to talk through the pain but sometimes my chat was interrupted by a guttural sound or a little cursing. A couple of times I had to go into a safe place in my head where no pain could touch me. And it was those times that I wondered what I'd done to make her want to hurt me so bad. We always got on pretty well even as kids.

And then it occurred to me that it was possibly pay-back for the time when we hung her first bra in a very public place when we knew that visitors were expected. Back then it was called a training bra - not sure why because breasts are a little immune to training. No amount of directing them to sit up and stay seems to work. I've even tried to bribe them with M&Ms. Don't judge - it works with Toby.

Julie had only had hers for a week or so and it was a source of fascination and amusement for her younger sisters. The Youth Group from church was coming over. We were young. We were immature. And it seemed really funny at the time.

I can't quite remember the end of the story but I'm sure there was some embarrassment involved. But did that embarrassment cause lasting and painful memories? Enough to warrant pay-back??

When she finished I realised that, as usual, she had only my best interests at heart. My hip had stopped hurting. I could move much more freely than before. My sister still loves me.

Thanks Julie. And sorry about the bra thing. I won't ever do anything like that again. 

***

My fashion faus pax clothing have undergone a little renovations so I can now run comfortably and without fiddling with my outfit for the entire run. (I will never again buy shorts that say 'cheeky' on the tag) I've sewn down the split in the shorts and hopefully it'll still allow me to run uphill. But despite this little hiccup I'd like to say that I'm very impressed with this range of clothing. It's called One Active and it's marketed through Big W. It has all the features that the big names have and that I'm looking for without the hefty price tag - $25 for a pair of shorts compared with the $65 pair that I tried on in Lorna Jane. And that means that I can buy more without guilt.

Heaven knows I don't need any more guilt than I've been living with for the last few days. Some of it is bad guilt. Like sneakily throwing away a shirt that I'd been soaking to get a stain out of only to realise a few hours later that I'd been a little heavy-handed with the bleach. I HAD managed to get out all those nasty sweat stains from under the arms but it's no longer the 70's and the tie-dyed look isn't so acceptable in the business place. 

Some of my guilt has come in the form of guilty pleasures. Like taking one or two of Iven's Christmas chocolate and sneak-eating them. He has offered them to me because they're the ones with the nuts but they honestly taste better when I sneak them. And then there's the toilet paper that Josh brought home from his night away. Stolen hotel paper is softer and more absorbent. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed going to the loo in the last couple of days.

Now I'm going to head off and have a guilty little nap in front of the tennis. I love holidays.

Wardrobe Malfunction.

Ever had a wardrobe malfunction? I have.

My worst was probably when those see through plastic bra straps were in. People of my generation (ie getting on in years) were brought up to NOT show their underwear. We made sure our skirts and shorts covered our undies (and seriously we pushed that to the limit in the 70s) and our bra straps were tucked in. The showing of underwear was considered, at the worst, lewd and at the best, racy. So see through bra straps seemed a good idea.

And they were ... until they'd past their use-by date. Problem was that you weren't given a use-by date on the packet so it'd kind of sneak up on you. Surprise! I was lucky enough to have both straps do a synchronised snapping while I was out at the shops. I was walking along one moment trussed up like a Christmas chicken and the next minute the chickens were running around the coop.

I was momentarily flummoxed (love that word but not the feeling) - until I realised that it was the best possible place for the straps to go. I could just go down to the bra shop and buy another pair. Problem solved.

Today I had another wardrobe malfunction. And I'm going to blame this on Iven and Sam.

We went shopping yesterday. Sam needed some good pants for his prac placements in the upcoming weeks. Iven had a gift card to use and I just wanted a coffee. We went out to a shopping centre a bit further a field than our local because our local is undergoing renovations and basically it's not fun to shop there.

We ended up in Big W, a department store that's for the budget-conscious shopper because all three of us are cheap! I'd shopped there a bit before Christmas and found a great new range of sports wear by Michelle Bridges, the trainer of Australia's biggest loser. I'd bought myself a pair of running shorts and then the boys had bought me another pair for Christmas and they ticked all the boxes - cool, comfortable, big enough zip pocket for my car key and didn't make me look fat. So while Sam was browsing, I went to the women's section and found myself a whole new outfit. I tried it on quickly because I didn't want to keep the boys waiting and it looked and felt okay so I bought it. Note to self - when trying on running clothes in the change room, make sure you actually move around in them.

It was hard not to run yesterday just because I had new clothes to run in but I was good and kept the day as a rest day. (See, I do follow my training schedule Coach Chris) But the clothes were all laid out for me ready to go for this morning's run. I put them on and they looked as good as they had the day before in the change room and then I headed out the door.

When I'd looked at the receipt the day before I'd had a little laugh because the shorts were called cheeky shorts. They hadn't looked cheeky on me. I'm almost 50 and I've never done cheeky and I'm not about to start now unless the dementia really takes a hold.

Well, today I DID cheeky.

It was cheeky in the way Angelina did cheeky at the Oscars.

I hadn't realised that the side split was split ALL THE WAY TO THE WAIST. So every time I lifted my leg there was a good expanse of pale, pasty, pallid and possibly cellulitey thigh on display. And the hem had a tendency to flip up making the run a lot more risqué than I was comfortable with.

And then there was the top. As I ran, my top experienced the forces of gravity more than any other part of my ensemble. I don't like showing my once-white-but-now-an-ugly-grey bra. It's a dead give-away that I don't separate my whites and coloureds when I wash. And definitely goes against my strict Baptist-don't wear bikinis-don't have your ears pierced-and definitely don't show any flesh upbringing.

    

                                           

I decided early on that I shouldn't worry too much about it - it was just after 5am when I left home so I figured that there probably weren't many people who were going to see me. 

Wrong! I saw five people that I knew while I was out. (One was Iven and he was pleasantly surprised to see me showing cleavage for a change). I had to stop and chat to two of them who I hadn't seen in a while.

Why is it that I can do really long runs and not see anyone and when I don't want to see anyone I see them in droves?

Has anyone else had a wardrobe malfunction on the run? (or not on the run?) 

Clean? I DON"T Clean!

Gasps resonated around the world yesterday when I posted about not messing up my new iPhone. And I'm expecting even louder gasps of astonishment and amazement today. But first I have to give you a bit of background information.

Some long term readers may remember me mentioning casually how much I hate, detest, despise, loath and abhor housework. Yes, I know I claim to be a domestic goddess but that only applies to sewing and baking. Goddesses get to choose what they're good at. I like to do stuff that gives me satisfaction when I've finished - and making stuff gives me that kind of satisfaction. Baking especially gives satisfaction even before I've finished - the kind of satisfaction that causes a sugar coma. (Maybe I should have made one of my New Year's resolution to STOP licking the spoon, beater and my fingers when I bake).

To keep domestic harmony, I've had a cleaning lady come once a week. I figure if I'm working and Iven's working why should I be the one who has to clean as well? But my cleaning lady, Evelyn, always has holidays around Christmas which means I have a decision to make. Either I live in squalor for a few weeks (and believe me this is what I opt for most years) or I suck it up, put on my French maid's costume and pull out the feather duster.

This is the last week before she comes back and I want to tell the entire world that I have cleaned every single one of the weeks that she was away. Is your mind blown yet??

But I have to admit that I've really only cleaned one room in our house every week. And I've done it for entirely selfish reasons.

THIS IS THE REASON FOR MY SUDDEN INTEREST IN CLEANING

Golden Retrievers have many fine traits as pets but they are terrible shedders. And of course they shed when it's hot. But when it's hot I come home from my runs like this ...

And after I've stretched on the lounge room floor I look a lot like this ...

I don't want every one blaming the fact that I'm on the 'roids for my new hirsute look so I did what I had to do. 

I miss Evelyn!

I've now been on treatment for five weeks and I can't believe how good I feel some days. I'm not feeling good every day but more and more often I'm feeling normal. I can't explain just how wonderful it feels to feel normal. I've had four days this week feeling great. And by great I mean that I'm not feeling nauseated all morning. I don't need to have a nap. And I'm recovering from my runs (the runs themselves are still slogging along but it's reassuring to know that if I push myself I may feel tired that day but I'll feel okay the next - not tired for the following few days). 

I ran 15k yesterday. I'd chatted with Coach Chris about my program. The one he gave me for this four week block was minimalist. Only three sessions a week BUT I have permission to add a fourth when I'm feeling up to it. And I have permission to stretch out my long run as I recover. The problem is that when I'm with the group on Saturday I tend to run just a little faster than when I'm running alone. And when I run alone I don't feel so bad if I have to resort to occasional walk breaks. So until I get a bit more confident I'll be making my Thursday run the longer one. 

That's brought you up to date with my progress and this video will bring you up to date with Toby's. 

I think we need a whole lot more practice.

Award Nominations

Cute little fellow isn't he?! I thought so but my first-born was reduced to waving the white flag (or rather, tissue) after a little encounter with him last night. 

Me and the religious mantis here were having a lovely bonding session in front of the tennis last night (where our boy Tomic beat world #1 Djokovic - woot!). He was exploring and doing Zoolander's Blue Steel and I was playing paparazzi when Sam came into the room. 

Sam and The Mantis did NOT take to each other. Sam got all freaked out that The Mantis was going to fly at him. Luckily he stopped short at actually squealing like a girl. The Mantis took Sam as a threat and proceeded to follow Sam's every move. Sam moved around the table. The Mantis did his best Carrie impression.

Sam got a little too close and The Mantis went all Karate Kid on him (minus the blood and the beheading).

Luckily Sam didn't have as an extreme reaction as one of my arachnophobic running friends.

He picked up a tissue, waved it in front of The Mantis to make sure he was good and angry then picked it up and flung it outside. I wonder if he'll be nominated for a bravery award.

I probably should be nominated for an award too.

My new iPhone arrived today. Remember how my old one had been throwing hissy fits a few weeks ago which ended up in me getting all confused about geek terms like backing up and synching. Goodbye all the contacts on my phone and my Christmas shopping list and many other useful and important bits of information. There was a day of mourning in our house.

I'd spent a fair bit of time on the phone that day with a lovely lady called Marianne. And the reason that she was lovely was because she offered me a phone swap even though my phone was out of warranty (by three days!). I didn't take her up on it because my phone miraculously started to behave itself while we were still talking. I think it was the fear of becoming obsolete and maybe being stripped for parts and ending up in an iPad. 

Just last week the fit-throwing started up again. Do you know just how frustrating it is to be trying for your high score in Sudoku with the screen lagging and the phone shutting down in the middle of it?  And there were a couple of conversations that were cut short when the phone deemed that they were probably too boring to be part of. (Sorry Coach Chris but when you said that nothing much had happened the phone just made a judgement call.)

So I decided to contact Marianne and take her up on her offer. And today I got the dubious pleasure of trying to get all my information from one phone to another without breaking anything, throwing a tantrum or sitting in a corner, rocking. 

At this point I'd like to remind you that I'm almost 50 and these hand-talk-box thingies weren't invented when I was in my formative years. "You have three sons," I hear you say. And yes I do, but they mock my iPhone - treat it with the scathing derision that's usually reserved for Glee night. And they're rarely home. And if they're home they're usually asleep. So I knew I was on my own.

I'm happy to report that my new phone now holds exactly the same information as my old phone AND all the apps are in exactly the same spots. And it only took me about an hour to nut it all out. And I took no calmative drugs at all in the process - either before, during or after. 

Do you think that testosterone cream has magical geek powers?