this is not quite goodbye but it is the end!

Keep On Running.

The finale.

So, if you haven’t already heard…I RAN THE CARDIFF HALF MARATHON!! I did, I bloody did it.

Who’d have thought, ey? The chubby kid did good. She did two hours and fifteen minutes good and I’m yet to come down of cloud thirteen point one.

Where to begin?

If I begin at the beginning I will have missed out a bit so I’ll start from the moment my eyes pinged wide open at ridiculous o clock. Nerves, excitement and the quaffed Chinese and cheesecake combination had me ready for action approximately two hours before my alarm was due to go off.

And then as sods law goes I dropped back off into a lovely slumber five minutes before the damn thing hooted that it was the morning of the Cardiff half marathon and I’d have to get my twitching arse up out of bed.

It is safe to say I spent a frantic half hour preparing for battle…you know the score; Vaseline, more Vaseline and surprise surprise more Vaseline!

Now if I mention that it was ‘cold’ on Sunday morning I’d be telling a lie. It was effin freezing. Literally. The car windscreen was coated in what looked like a good two inches of frost. Of course it was only a slither really but I was playing the role of drama queen down to a T.

‘I’m doomed.’ I had wailed, swaying in the darkness of a Sunday morning.

‘Your fine.’ Scotty Boy assured me flinging warm water over Jesus’s windscreen. And true to his word I was, the car was, everything was, just fine.

Scotty Boy then dropped me off at Junior Mee’s, that’s Antony by the way. Remember Antony? The one who emailed me whilst I was under the influence of Mexico’s finest cocktails; ‘Yes, I’ll join a running tem, that sounds fun…hiccup.’

Antony and Geraint (designated driver) were waiting and as soon as I said goodbye to Scotty Boy who reassured that everything was going to be fine once again, and we made our way to collect Gavin. Good old Gavin!

I don’t remember much about the trip to the city only the child lock palaver and the M people conversation which I won’t go into now for sanity reasons above all else.  

I don’t know what was more traumatising when we got to the runners village, using the portaloo, seeing the other eighteen thousand runners or having to take my jacket off. Seriously, it was freezing.  I was pretty much blue as we made our way through various shapes and sizes towards the castle for the national anthem and the start of the 2012 Cardiff half marathon.

Gavin actually said the words ‘turkey drummer’ when I held my arm out.

And then before I knew it, before I had time to realise what I’d potentially got myself into, we were off, just like that. I was embarking on thirteen miles in the city for my first half marathon.

I took the run at my own pace, after loosing Geraint in the first fifteen seconds and then loosing Gav and Antony around about mile two.  This meant I lost my team pretty much straight away and I realised I’d made a vital mistake by not having my headphones within the first two miles, I also realised my phone and everything else I’d brought with me was in Antony’s bag and if I didn’t find my team I’d be lost in the city for the rest of my life! Back to the lack of headphone malarkey; there’s something quite off putting hearing people pant and splutter around you whilst your concentrating on not falling over, not bumping into people and how cold it was, but I suppose it was all a bit of a learning curve and from now on I will have my Ipod or MP3 player on me ALWAYS!

The route was lovely. That’s all I can say on it. There were a few inclines scattered throughout but all in the entire ‘thing’ was very pleasant and I’ll be brutally honest, I didn’t find it all that taxing. In fact, I had another two miles in me for sure.

Like I said; I didn’t push myself, I wasn’t sauntering by any means but I took it nice and easy. I overtook the man wearing a boat and the man with the ironing board on his back so I was quite pleased on that front.

I have to give the girl who had ‘Eye of the Tiger’ screaming from her window as I passed a massive shout out! You made me very happy not to mention a little faster.

I do have to mention that I now hate Roath Park. It’s boring and never ending and there’s a bloody hill at the end of it! I’m even considering getting a T-shirt that reads; ‘I hate Roath Park.’ We’ll see.  

Finishing was amazing. The crowds, the atmosphere, absolutely everything was brilliant and I cannot wait to do it all again next year. In fact, myself and my team will be doing another one in March. Yes, we are undertaking a brand new half marathon in Newport! I believe we have created a monster but it was nice for morale to share it with the boys and I’d like to say a massive thank you to the three of them. It was fun.

(We’ve got a ballot system thing on the go now for anyone who wants to join our little running team! So, if we’ve inspired you to run; piss off!)  (That’s a joke by the way.)

After the run things went down rapidly. Scotty ‘I know all the back roads of Cardiff’ got a £70 parking ticket and then got lost trying to get out of the city, then the cheeky shit of a boy, whilst ironing his shirt, actually muttered; ‘God, my legs are stiff, must be because I stood in the same place for two hours.’ My reply consisted of words that are probably not appropriate for the blog!

I had just run thirteen miles and he was complaining about his legs being stiff! Nice one Scotty Boy!

So, this is it for the blog. The finale, the end of the road. I kept on running and got exactly where I wanted to be.

I’d like to thank absolutely every single reader, every single mutter of encouragement I’ve had and in general thank the entire universe for making me shape up and ship out onto the pavement.

Now, like I’ve said it’s the finale to ‘Keep on Running’ but it’s the start for ‘Run to the Hills!’ so keep tuned butties and for Christ sake KEEP ON RUNNING!

Love

Hannah 

Also its not too late to donate now i've completed the run! 

http://www.justgiving.com/hannah-phillips-0 

T'was the night before...

…the bloody Cardiff half marathon! Christ on a bike where the hell has the past ten months gone?

Ten months of sweat, blisters, ups and downs. Tracks, pavements, laps and trails. Inclines, bridges and even football fields. I wonder how many miles I’ve covered in total?

I wonder how many complaints to Sports bra companies I’ve lodged? How many bras I’ve actually gone through? How many blisters I’ve popped and how many times I’ve had the word ‘tits’ shouted at me?

Bloody hell I feel rather nostalgic thinking back.

Remember that first freezing cold January night when I laced up my much neglected trainers and headed out all cloak and dagger in the dark. Remember the first time I did the sweaty star fish impression on the kitchen floor? God, I really have come quite far. Thirteen point one miles far to be precise.

So, its here. Well, it will be first thing tomorrow. The Lloyds TSB Cardiff half marathon and to be brutally honest, I’m feeling fine. Excited if anything.

Scotty Boy has just treated me to a Chinese and a chocolate cheesecake and I’m patiently sipping water before I hit the hay way too early for a Saturday night but there you go, its all for a good cause.

I’ve had an interesting week to say the least and tomorrow it will be rounded up nicely with my first half marathon and then a cast amount of alcohol in my favourite place in the world; The Baili Glas. (Feel free to buy me a beer if you’re about, I’ll have deserved it, honestly.)

Friday I did the radio interview talking about this old running malarkey and it all went very well until I actually said the words ‘camel toe’ live on air! But the less said about that the better.

Secondly, I had the most disastrous job interview in the history of job interviews so its safe to say I wont be getting that promotion in work.

Also, I’ve spent my time between two houses and three and a half dogs and a cat called PshPsh. Yes, having the parents go away just as I’m in final training preparations hasn’t been the easiest of tasks but as the saying goes; ‘it’s all sent to try us!’

Right, this Blog wouldn’t be worth anything if I didn’t spend a relatively serious moment to say to everyone, firstly; thank you for reading this little journey of mine via Keep on Running, you have boosted my self esteem more than you’ll ever know and that is indescribable. Secondly; thank you to everyone who has donated to the Baili Glas Ammeter Running Team, we will be eternally grateful for your generosity and finally; thank you to Scotty Boy who has endured the ups and downs, in’s and out’s of a chubby girl training for a half marathon; ‘Babe, I’d never have done it without you!’

So, that’s enough of that and back to the matter in hand.

Tomorrow morning!

I’ll be leaving the house just before seven to have a lift with my fellow team mates (this makes me chuckle) and then we’re heading to the city to begin the fun!

The weather for tomorrow in Cardiff has been described as ‘optimistic’ so lets hope the conditions are good.

After the deed is done and the blisters start to form I am getting smashed! Yes, steaming beaming from the roof top so don’t be surprised to wait a while for the next (possibly final) instalment of Keep On Running.

I’ll leave it there for now. I’ve still got a bit of water to drink and a few final preparations to make (that’s code for; ‘I have to shave!’) so, wish me luck and well and I’ll see you at the finishing line!

One last thing; if you fancy donating £1. Text; BGRT97£1 to 70070 because every little bit really does help.

I’ll also leave the link to the Just Giving page if you fancy donating a bit more and the link to my very comical radio interview.

http://www.justgiving.com/hannah-phillips-0

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01n7kvm

KEEP ON RUNNING PEOPLE!

H xxxx 

Hank Marvin...

I forgot to tell you…I know have four reasons why I love shadows.

1. They frighten me on the odd occasion.

2. You can’t see how red your head is in them.

3. You’ll never, ever catch it and,

4. Mine looked pretty skinny in the autumn sunshine.

Yes, it was this weekend I definitely noticed a shape change. With this in mind, and my re-found love for running, I have decided that the Edinburgh marathon is no longer a maybe; it’s a must. I want, more than anything at this precise moment, to be able to tick full marathon off my bucket list. That’s if I don’t kick the bloody bucket in trying to achieve this.

So, we’re looking at four sleeps until I embark on my next step to achieving one of my ‘running’ goals and I have to say I’m feeling quite…OK! Yes, surprisingly I’m more excited than nervous and I bloody love this tapering excuse, I mean technique.

(Tapering, the lazy runners best friend!!!!)

I completed a nice three and a half miles this evening at a nice pace and even managed to conquer a mother of an incline.

I’d been on motivational interviewing training today and I’d like to say I left the hostel feeling positive, motivated and in general all the bumph I’d learned throughout the day. In reality, I was drained, lazy, bored and frustrated by the entire bollocks I’d had to listen to for seven poxy hours.  I’d also quaffed way too much off the ‘provided lunch’ to feel ready for a run, but run I did and I’m glad about that.

Yesterday, I only managed a walk. Me and Scotty Boy embarked on a stroll to the Gurnos to ensure a little bit of activity. You see, I love the sofa, Scotty boy loves the TV, we’d both be happy to stew in our own laziness and cheesecake if we had our way, hence the fact I make myself run and he makes himself…he makes himself look busy every now and then! (No one tell him I wrote this.)

Anyway, I walked yesterday because I was absolutely knackered from spending the day underground. Yes, you did read that right, we took a trip to Big Pit, the mining museum in Blaenavaon and to be totally truthful the tour pretty much wiped me out.

Its madness that people actually work in those conditions? Madness! And I have the cheek to moan about my job.

So, walk on Tuesday, three and a half tonight, do I attempt a three to four tomorrow and off Friday or three to four Friday and that’s me done until Sunday? Suppose its best to see how I’m feeling.

I’ve got to take the parentals to the airport in the early hours of tomorrow and I’m back doing my broadcasting bit for the BBC on Friday so there is a high possibility that there will be zero running until Sunday.

Oh heck!

Sunday.

Day after Saturday.

Not long until Sunday.

the final countdown

10 is our most important number because it is the base of our counting system.

Our counting system is based on 10 because we have 10 fingers.

"Ten" spelled backwards is "net."

Lobsters and other crustaceans have 10 legs.

You know where I’m going with this right?

Yes; the girl managed ten miles yesterday and as I keep saying; not bad for a chubby one. Its seriously baffles me that ten months ago I was two stone heavier, ten miles slower and in general, inactive, unhealthy and very unhappy with my appearance. Simply madness.

Anyway, I managed an eight miler on Thursday and was slightly concerned with taking on a hefty run yesterday seens as there was a mere eight days until the half marathon. Myself and Scotty Boy had a chat and we/I decided my best option was to just get out there and run. If I was tired I was to stop. If I wanted to keep going I would.

And I did.

And I managed ten miles.

And I was happy.

I started out on my normal five mile route but instead of turning I continued on the road towards the pretty bit of Merthyr. No, I didn’t run to the Gurnos, I ran past Brecon Mountain railway and into the sticks, looping back onto the Taff trail before getting back into the heart of the town.

And it was nice. Yesterdays running conditions were spot on. Sunny but not boiling. Everything looked lovely and yesterday I remembered why I had started running. Because despite my moaning and whining and in general negativity towards my hobby, I actually enjoy it. Yes, I am well and truly back in the game.

I did, however, make a school girl error yesterday. Have I mentioned about my new found acne problem? If I haven’t, all of a sudden I have become spotty. Yes, I have a face not unlike a seventeen year old and before embarking on my run, for some unknown reason, I cleansed, toned and the moisturised. Mixing a freshly moisturised face with sweat is not a pleasant combination I can tell you.

Slippery. That’s the only way I can describe my chops. Slippery and minging and a damn right mess. Lesson learned though; won’t be doing that again in a hurry. I’d rather be spotty than have my eyes stinging from whatever concoction Nivea uses that creates an explosive mess when mixed with perspiration. Yuck a ve.

Also, yesterday made me question my entire technique because three, not two, not one but three people asked me was I going for a run. Really like?

‘Are you going for a run?’

‘Out for a run is it?’

‘Been for a run?’

‘No, actually I decided to go ice skating half way down the Taff trail!’ I mean, seriously, I was clearly running, in the middle of running to be incredibly precise.  Surely in trainers, running trousers, carrying a water bottle it’s pretty obvious?

Another problem I have with running the trail on a Saturday is the cyclists. I have never had an issue with sharing my path with my two wheeled butties, however, I do have a problem sharing it with bell happy, rude idiots. I’m out for a run, I am not out to jeopardise your ride. There is no need to ring your ponsy bell at me. There is also no need to be so god damn rude. So, you got wheels, doesn’t make you exempt from being a pleasant human being, OK?    

Scotty Boy went out on his bike yesterday and I was sure to lecture him about the politics of politeness when he’s out and about. A smile, even a cheery ‘alright’ doesn’t cost a bloody thing. The poor boy now probably feels it’s necessary to ask passer by’s for their life story.

Anyway, a week today. Yes seven days and it’ll all be over. Well, the Cardiff half marathon will be over. Then training for the full on twenty six point two miles begins.

Oh heck.

That’s running the Cardiff half marathon twice.

Epic.

Epic yet exciting.

So, its Sunday today and I’m doing wifely things like cooking beef.

Yee ha.

I hope I don’t poison us. 

Guess who's back, back again?

IT’S BACK!

ITS BLOODY BACK! The running mojo, so to speak, is well and truly back.

You've all seen 8 mile, right? 

Last night I had a long hard think about what the hell I was playing at. I’ve spent the week justifying not running and basically, moaning about getting out there.

After I posted the blog yesterday I decided to get a blood grip.

Running has made me smaller, running has made me happier, running has given me healthy challenges and something to bloody do. All in all running, believe it or not, is making me a better person. Day by day, mile by mile, I am becoming more confident, more content, far more level headed (honest) and more important, I’m becoming a person I never thought I could be.

When I told a friend of mine this morning that I read four million motivational quotes and was now ready for battle, I wasn’t lying.

This evening I completed a lovely eight miles and boy oh boy did it feel good. In fact, It felt better than good it felt effin marvellous, so marvellous I was quite emotional…again!

Seriously, I’m turning into such a girl its frightening.

Anyway, let me tell you about my run. I had planned it from seven this morning. I Googled it, I AA auto routed it, I even street viewed it until I was more than happy in where the hell I was running.

I knew I wanted to do a relatively hefty mileage; after all, I’ve spent the week talking myself out of doing anything.

I wanted to run a route, no laps, a proper, quite a way route.

So, I started out from work in Pontypridd and basically did a seven mile loop landing me back in the old faithful that is, Ponty Park. Once I got to the park I had to do a little lap of it to just define my eight miles. (I don’t want to become one of those runners who run a seven and a half but tell everyone it’s at least an eight! I can lie with the best of them but I cannot lie to myself.)

I got back to the hostel, all be it red faced but completely unscathed.

I was elated I suppose. After a few days of such negativity it was nice to be back on track, back on the road, back sweating like an idiot.

Also, it was the debut of the new daps and like my confidence, boons and knees, my feet were also in pretty good shape after the EIGHT MILES!

You do understand that I ran EIGHT MILES, right?

As I've said, I got back to the hostel and I was all smiley and happy that was until I checked my phone.

Scotty Boy!

I forgot to tell Scotty Boy I wouldn't be on the sixteen twenty seven so my poor long suffering husband was waiting, like a tool, at Merthyr train station. Images of a lemon had sprung round my mind whilst I tried to text as rapidly as possible that I’d be on the next train. I added way too many kisses to feign innocence.

In my defense  on a pretty much daily basis I always let Scotty Boy know what train I’m going to be on; granted that train is usually the sixteen twenty seven but he always gets a customary text. Is it my fault he’s become to diligent?

The cock up in timings then meant I had to tackle Twyn Hill after a half hour train journey, a full day in work saving the homeless people from their sins, an eight mile run with a very heavy kit bag.

I believe the kitbag was heavy having not eaten my planned tin of soup at lunch. I mean, no one wants to carry tins of soup up Twyn hill, right? The two handbags, old trainers, boots and work outfit had nothing to do with the kit bag strap digging into my shoulder it was solely the tin of soup.

So, I’m spending the night catching up on the various administration that comes with trying to write a best seller…actually writing and watching Scotty Boy get excited over fully grown men kicking a ball round a very green pitch…TWICE! (That’s two games of the ‘beautiful game’ to me and you!)

Happy Thursday!!

PS; don't forget to sponsor us!!! 

https://www.justgiving.com/account/your-pages/hannah-phillips-0 

lost and found???

I am jaded.

Well, technically I’m Hannah Phillips but I have well and truly lost my running mojo. (If I ever had one! Get out the violins!!!)

And believe me I’ve been looking for it far and wide. On Saturday I even trekked Pen-Y-Fan to try and find my bloody motivation to no avail whatsoever.

I got cold ears, stronger calf’s and a massive feeling of satisfaction but no real urge to get my trainers on!

And talking about trainers have you seen my new daps?

Pink and orange.

Need I say anymore?

Yes I do need to say some bloody more because I’ve bought new trainers, have less than two weeks for this half marathon and I’m meant to be keeping bloody audio diaries for the BBC and I no longer want to run.  

What a kerfuffle!

Anyway, let me go back a few days. I completed the thirteen miles and felt bloody epic. Better than epic I felt amazing. Thirteen miles is quite a way after all.

I let myself have a few days off to get everything rested and back on track and then I stupidly set out in one bra.

In the words of Julia Roberts; ‘Big mistake! Huge!’

The one bra jaunt only lasted two miles because my tits did not cooperate one bit, or two bits, however you want to look at it.

But later that night it wasn’t my boys that hurt, oh no, my neck, my chest (bit above the boobies) and my poor, poor shoulders were in agony and I mean agony.

And those of you shaking your head right now need to know that I have a huge pain threshold, ask my husband, he’s bent my pinky (not a metaphor, I’m talking about my little finger) back so far that he thought it would snap off before I gave in and told him to stop. I’ve also got myself into various scrapes without complaint. (The falling over the pumpkin debacle and breaking my wrist without realisation. The loosing in cards and kicking the chair breaking my toes without realising! I’m a tough little bastard.)

I tossed and turned in bed and moaned and groaned, and no I wasn’t pumping, I was in pain. Full on, horrible pain.

I will never, ever go out in one bra again.

FAILURE.

Then came the Pen-Y-Fan stroll which to be fair might as well have been a run because Scotty Boy practically frog marched me up informing me half way, as I panted and sweated in places I didn’t know existed, ‘No one can overtake us mind!’ And they bloody didn’t, even the army clad muscle machine with a back pack the size of me hanging from his rear didn’t stand a chance. I married a Gurnos boy, he has fast feet. Trained in legging it!

When Sunday rolled round I felt more than ready to tackle a four miler which I completed but didn’t enjoy. Although to be fair, I think the lack of enjoyment came from the fact there was a weird bloke in the bushes half way through.

Now, I know I have an overactive imagination, I will never try and deny that, and I know I often convince myself someone in my close proximity is a serial killer but this bloke was seriously creepy and it sort of puts you off then. Everything looks like a threat.

That was three days ago and I have since made up every excuse under the running sun not to actually run.

I did walk for an hour and a half tonight but that’s no good is it?

I need to get back on track, back in the game, back out on the bloody road.

So, tomorrow id D day and I mean that. I am taking my vast amount of kit, complete with brand spanking new tub of Vaseline (see what I did there) and I’m getting my groove back.

I also need to start getting some sponsorship…and like my groove I need it bloody fast!

So, here’s the link to my Just Giving page and feel free to donate!

http://www.justgiving.com/hannah-phillips-0

Anyway, I’d like to wish my father a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY and wish myself GOOD LUCK!

Keep posted. 

Radio GAGA!!!!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01mzkvw 

Yo! It’s me…famous but very nervous broadcaster (well it made me laugh out loud!). Here’s the link to my stint on the radio today although it wasn’t all that impressive. Nerves and I mean, real nerves, shaking hands, sweaty arse, perspiring lip, nerves kicked in quite badly the minute I got to the studio.

Not like me. Not like me at all really, although I have been somewhat under the weather since the weekend so I’m going  to happily blame my giggly nervousness on that. (This is the part where everyone assumes Scotty Boy has knocked me up. I have to quash this immediately and would like to remind everyone of the copious amounts of raw alcohol I consumed over the weekend.)

And it fears me much to admit but I probably sounded like a complete weirdo live on the BBC today. Boo hoo. But that’s enough of the wallowing. I’ve got to concentrate on diary entries via the microphone, after I’ve run, for some future work. HOLY SHIT! Even more sounding like a weirdo live for the nation. GO HANNAH!

Anyway, I haven’t run today but I really wanted to. And I’m not just saying that because there was no way I could afford the time to run today, I have actually driven past joggers/runners in their snazzy waterproofs and really wanted to be out there in my daps, in the rain.

Funny how it gets to you, ey?

Anyway, tomorrows another day and if I’m going back to the plan (Am I? aren’t I?) I’m due a nice little four miles tomorrow, which quite frankly, sounds like a piece of piss given my adventures on Saturday.  Piece of piss minus the geese that is.

I do have to comment on the weather at this point, or I have to comment on the weather warnings, that’s more apt. The blackberry has warned me on several occasions today that the weather is looking particularly grim over the next few days. By grim I mean its bollocking cows and sheep over Wales. (Dogs and cats just don’t cut the type of rain we’re getting at the moment.) So, my haste for pounding the pavement tomorrow could very well be cut short due to drowning!

‘I’m so sorry Mrs Evans.’ The paramedic will tell my mother, ‘There was very little we could do given the depth of water Hannah fell into.’ My mother howls, cursing Merthyr Tydfil’s puddles and Scott is overly concerned that he’ll have to pair his own socks from now on. The funeral will include ‘Keep on Running’ and everyone will drink Guinness. And they can play the disaster that was the BBC recording of my radio interview.

Anyway, I really have had enough of wallowing now and would like to get back on track.

So, four miles in the rain tomorrow. Cool.  I’m thinking I’ll run to Cyfartha Park, say hi to the ducks, run round the pond twice and then home. That’s a perfect four miles, that’s a perfect run in the rain, which will be the perfect start to my Wednesday.

Off to lick more wounds now.

Not literally.

Wild Goose Chase!

The number 13 is a Fibonacci number. It is the natural number after 12 and before 14.

It is the smallest integer. It is the age at which children officially become teenagers. It is also the number of miles my fat arse covered on Saturday!

Yes, the girl done good and legged it all the way from Merthyr Tydfil to Pontypridd.

13 miles. That’s pretty impressive if I do say so myself.

To be totally truthful I think I covered just over thirteen miles because when I hit mile three, I got chased by geese! Yes, Geese, I shit you not there were ten of the angry bastards and they chased me back up the Taff Trail until the owner, a somewhat relaxed idiot, herded them up and sent them flapping!

‘I’m terrified of them.’ I told her, she did nothing to boost my confidence in her by admitting that she hated the bloody things too.

See, I know that geese are nasty. I don’t know how I know this; I think it’s installed into you as child along with the fact you’re not allowed to swallow chewing gum or lick TV screens.

It was fate that took me to those geese and as the bloody things started hissing and flapping towards me in an angry manner, I literally saw my life flash before my eyes! In a split second I had decided what colour plaster cast I’d be having and what flavour water I wanted by my hospital bed.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Were some of the choice phrases I muttered as I was forced back the way I came. Hoop twitching.

Luckily, this ordeal did not deter me from completing the run, and when lax a daisy bloody Dora moved her winged creatures back behind bars I was able to continue. The one good thing about being chased by the geese, if you have to be optimistic about these sorts of things; was, it did encourage me to stick to what I know and run the old road way to Ponty therefore narrowing the chances of being attacked, or put off by any more wildlife.  

I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank the brain dead moron who found it necessary to hang his head out of the car window and shout ‘Tits’ in my general direction. You are nothing short of being a wanker and I hope you break all your toes in some sort of weird fishing accident, one that will make people more aware of your twat status; you will not get sympathy for your feet.

For your information, not that I have to justify the boys and their movement but believe me, I’m fully aware I have breasts and I’m fully aware that they tend to bounce I don’t need goons like you to point it out.

Anyway, let me tell you about the run. It was a beautiful day Saturday and I left the house not long after half past ten. I definitely had my head round doing a big run, although, I never thought I’d actually make the thirteen. I had a ponytail, copious amounts of Vaseline and a need to get out.

I ran the old road, only cutting on the Taff trail briefly to avoid the mind numbing bit of road that runs alongside Hoovers. I don’t know what it is about that stretch of pavement but I hate it. I’ve given up a few times on that particular part. It wasn’t getting the better of me Saturday; I had Geese to do that for me.

Then when I hit the nine mark mile at Abercynon I knew I had to push myself. It was only four miles, if I looked at it as a new run from there surely I could fly it?

Fly it, I didn’t but I did trundle on and as the sun literally got higher and brighter I knew I was going to complete the thirteen. If only Pontypridd would hurry up.

Cillfynedd broke my heart several times, as it’s the last stretch before Pontypridd, it seemed to be never ending. I’m sure in the car that left turn is nowhere as far as it was on Saturday?

When I got through he gates of Ynysangharad Park I actually wanted to weep with joy and had I been more hydrated I probably would have. But I was too tired to even muster emotion.

When I got to the hostel I nearly cried again. It was all a bit overwhelming plus half my foot was missing. As I peeled my sodden trainers and trainer socks off I realised that most of the skin of my left foot was actually in my dap. Nice.

‘Need water.’ I mumbled to Andrea who had been minding her own business doing her shift when a chubby, red faced, smelling me turned up.

I got the train back home much to everyone’s disappointment. ‘You should have run back too.’ I actually envisioned violent thoughts to this human being. Run back!

Then it hit me. Next May that’s what I’ll be expected to do. Run to Ponty and then back. CHRIST ON A BIKE! Twenty six miles is pretty epic. It’s also pretty exciting.

I felt brilliant after I’d caught my breath on Saturday, like I’d achieved, like I’d done something worthwhile. It’s been a gruelling nine months but it’s finally paid off. I can run thirteen miles and I can run it comfortably. How brilliant would I feel after a marathon!

Saturday night was spent saturated in deep heat and vodka alike. I deserved it though, right?

What I didn’t deserve was Sunday afternoon, again saturated in deep heat and this time Coors Light. There is no way I can justify my complete gluttony for alcohol yesterday. But in the laws of Karma I have suffered immensely for it today. Yuck.

And I wanted to be on top of my game today, practising radio voice and all. Instead I have wallowed in self-pity and Comedy Central.

So, I’m in work now, completely unprepared for tomorrow’s interview and feeling not unlike shit warmed up. Nice girl; can’t drink anymore.

So, my evening will involve sweet tea and a lot of Googling.

Valley girl who runs, valley girl who runs and can’t handle alcohol, valley girl who runs and can’t drink alcohol on the radio tomorrow!

Yee Ha!

Keep on running kids.

Cheers!

Right, there’s a few things that really grip my shit about running and I need to get them off my chest. Firstly, I’m no waif like, tiny human being that people can’t hear. I’m heavy footed, I pant and apparently every now and then I make these weird groaning sounds so if you’re walking ten or so paces in front of me, you can, I REPEAT; you can hear me coming. So why the fucking hell do you not move out of my way? Twice today, not once or nearly, twice I was forced to divert off road thus putting my ankles in grave danger of twisting. And do I get an apology? Do I fuck.

Secondly, when you’ve been training for nine months, that’s it, nine months out of twenty seven years, it’s not ‘just’ a half marathon. It’s fucking thirteen point one miles! Thirteen miles and a bit not ‘just’ thirteen miles. What makes this little nark worse is the people who say this to you are always two stone overweight and lose their breath just tying their laces, even making the decision to put a pair of trainers on results in a huge perspiration breakout! BACK THE FUCK OFF!

Now, I apologise for my language, my attitude and in general my lack of sparkly chat. I also have to apologise to the poor Jack Russell who’s brain dead, moron of an owner allowed the dog on a longer lead to chase my departing daps today.   

You have any idea what happened?

Well, I kicked the poor little bastard in the jaw. She yelped, I tripped, and the owner laughed his stupid nano brained head off.

So to all the fucking idiots that have or are about to grace my presence in the next few days whilst I’m trying my damned hardest to build stamina, mileage and in general a positive outlook. WATCH OUT! OK? Compredez?

Anyway, on a lighter note I went to play Bingo last night. I didn’t win a penny! But, I am still in complete awe to how I have never attended Bingo before. The only way to describe it is like Disneyland with numbers and bouncier carpet. Seriously.

I’ll be brutally honest…I didn’t have a bloody clue what the hell was going on. There were a lot of things and numbers and drinks flying around and a man on a microphone speaking so fast I actually thought he was speaking in Russian at one point.

But I loved it and I can’t wait to go again.

The second good thing that happened today/last night was when I got ready for my jog today I could actually put my hair in a ponytail. Now, we’re not talking a long flowing plait down my back but we’re definitely talking hair in a bobble! Granted there were a few clips and a lot of hairspray but nevertheless my mop is on the move.

I didn’t make my run last night, there was an issue with logistics which meant I had to pick Scotty Boy up from Ebbw Vale (Gods Country) so by the time I got back I had to glam up straight away for Bingo, technically that only involved cleaning myself and putting fresh clothes on but all this is god damn time consuming when you’ve got somewhere to be.

This morning I woke, still sleepy but determined to crack the half way mark with the bestseller and by god did I do myself proud. In the past ten days or so I have smashed out an impressive 40,000 words and if the plan goes to, well, plan, I will have the first draft of my new book done and dusted by the end of the month and, and, and I’ve got a feeling this one will be good!

So, I smashed the word count out of this universe and then got the trainers out. I’ll be honest; I was not looking forward to running today…not in the slightest but I’ve come to the conclusion I’m currently in a state of treading water. I’m writing, blogging, training, working not to mention being Wales’s top wife. There’s a lot going on and without sounding pessimistic I’m flipping knackered!

I managed a three mile run today averaging at way under nine minutes a mile so I got the old heart rate well and truly up so I’m not going to beat myself up about the lack of miles.

 I lapped Cyfartha Park today and I always do reasonably well over there.

I was a bit uncomfortable with the old running attire today because that’s exactly what it was; old.  

And, I may have or not have mentioned that I’ve lost a bit of chubber since I’ve been running so, these particular running leggings are a tad on the big side. When I say tad, these were the trousers that got me the beeps from the motorists when my arse was hanging out!  BEEP BEEP! They simply don’t fit and I really need to bin them.

Anyway, I finished my run, got clean and came to bollocking work.  But to make coming to work a little easier it was a nice surprise to get  briefed via email this afternoon by the lovely producer from BBC Radio Wales on what my broadcast will entail next week and its right up my street; literally!

The Valleys! God, what can I say about the valleys, ey? I’ve been racking my addled brain with regards to everything I know, love and hate about where I’m from. I’m wondering whether my slot can go on for a month nonstop because they probably couldn’t have picked a more patriotic talker. Woo Hoo! So, bear with me over the next days as I dig deep to indulge myself in all the things to do with and about my country.

I’m a tad nervous I may divulge a little too much on air though, you know, mentioning naked gardens, naked taxi’s, naked anything that has always seemed quite acceptable in the Valley’s. I really need to disconnect brain and mouth next Tuesday and hope for some sort of reasonable yet entertaining approach to life as we know it up here.

Right, back to the running; I know I say this every Friday and I know everyone’s really bored of my false promises but I will be, drum roll, attempting a mother fucker of a run tomorrow. Whether I’ll complete or even begin the bloody thing is beyond me at the moment but today it’s in my head to do it! I hope nothing dramatically changes over the next few hours. Really now.

First weekend off in quite some time tomorrow so I’m hoping for a nice lie in followed by a nice big run followed by an even bigger, even nicer piss up!

Here’s to the freaking weekend!

Free bird, Free falling, Free picnic; Bollocks!

Forgive me readers for it has been two or three days since my last post. And forgive me further because I haven’t run…unless you count running after Fizz during an attempted escape?

Yes, my darling step-dog thought it would be a reasonably good idea to bomb out of the front door again and disappear. Thank goodness for mine and Scotty Boys nerves this time she only made it as far as the next street over. Luckily, there were no police, neighbours, random passer by’s involved for a first.

Like master like dog, ey?

Yes, having married a Gurnos boy it comes of no surprise that the police seem to be frequent visitors to the Phillips household. If it’s not the dog it’s the husband and all that jazz!

PC whatever his name turned up a few days ago and Scotty Boy had to go do a voluntary interview or what not last night. I’ll have to admit my hoop got a bit twitchy when he hadn’t arrived home by eight but thankfully all is well in the land of the newlyweds and the husband will not be sent down, won’t have to go to court and has not added to his criminal convictions.

I have, however had a pretty normal week of it and I have been to work and written a further chunk of the future bestseller! (One is still dreaming a substantial amount!)

And dreaming is leading to all sorts of trouble, like writing my resignation and then tearing it up as sanity creeps back in.

Work is killing me slowly. Literally, every day another bit of my soul gets chipped away by the daily grind and it does make me wonder, frequently, if truth be told, is it really bloody worth it? ‘Dear Boss…I’m done!’

Take today for example, I have wished the past three weeks away to get to here, today; payday, and having doled out my hard earned cash that I have already, technically spent, I am once again with pauper status.  

I am in a state of permanent depression with regards to my finances and I’m told running elevates stress!

I suppose that’s unfair because while I’m out and I’m legging it through Ponty or Merthyr I am as free as a bird…a chubby bird, with a stiff wing but nevertheless, there is a freeness of troubles as I clock up the mileage.

Tonight I will be attempting the ‘bastard’ slip road again. Yes, I’m braving it and determined, more than ever, to have less walking involved this time.

The boob situation, touch wood of all kinds, seems to be under control at the moment. Literally, under control, they have stopped moving, stopped bouncing and are currently on best behaviour as they just sit under the scaffolding that are my two bras.

I’m then going to play Bingo! Yes, now I’m a wife and I cook and pair the socks and do general wifely things (cue 1960’s hairdo) I am off for a round of house with the girls from work and quite frankly…I can’t wait!

‘House!’ the last time I played bingo was in the canteen of Rassau primary school and I won a compact mirror and a set of Christmas tea-towels, I hope to god I’m more successful tonight.

So, slip road running in the rain then bingo to make my fortune. Sounds like an ideal Thursday to me.

Obviously having made all these idiotic plans, the novel will be shelved on the backburner tonight but I am determined to get up with the larks tomorrow and bang out a good 3k of incredibly witty and charming prose. Wish me luck, please. Early rising is not my forte, unlike Scotty Boy who always needs a wee first thing, if you know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge. (I’d be grateful if no one mentioned this to hubby dearest please. He’s still miffed that I keep re-telling the whole ‘husband got arrested on honeymoon' debacle.)

So, this was just a little note to keep you all in the loop today and I hope to inform you of some more substantial running/writing/wife duties tomorrow or Saturday.

Happy Thursday!

Pimp my blog or book or boys for that matter!

OMG let me tell you all about my run today…I set off from work and got run over!

Ha, only kidding but I did come close to bonding with a Stagecoach bus as apparently, regardless of the road closures in Pontypridd, buses have priority over pedestrians or runners alike.

So, after my dance with death I jogged (as I do) to the park, stretched and made my descent to failure once again.

Now, did I tell you about the amount of hormones I’ve had banged into my by the lovely GP? If I didn’t, there you go. I have been rammed with hormones and swabs and tests blah, blah, blah. I was told I had loose stools to look forward to and not that I wanted to shit myself or anything but if you’re told something’s going to happen you sort of gear yourself up for it, right?

Nothing happened to my stools other than; they arrived like they normally do. You don’t shit, you die and all that.

Now, what the lovely, smiley GP didn’t warn me about was the horrendous wind I would experience.

I was practically projected round my first lap of Ponty Park this afternoon. Not that I’m complaining…well, technically I am. Because as you know, I run with headphones in, I block out the world and its not like I don’t feel myself farting or anything but I certainly don’t hear it; unfortunately for me, other people did.

How do I know this, you ask?

Simple; the look on the poor, innocent, passer by’s faces.

I wanted to shout; its not me it’s the effin hormones, its not me its that bastards prescription, its not me, its my effin tummy!

And as if my seasonal wind wasn’t bad enough, when I hit my third mile, my right ankle did this weird wobble thing which sent a bollocking horrific pain up my calf.

Not another poxy injury, was my first thought. My second; ‘Yes! I can give up now.’ And then it hit me…I was doing that thing, you know, that giving up thing.

‘You are a knob.’ I told myself, out loud. ‘You are not only a knob, you are a lazy knob! Get a grip.’ I swear I saw a squirrel punch the air at that point.

I carried on. I found what I can only describe as a beautiful rhythm and carried on for a further two miles, giving me a nice mileage of a five miler.

I was pleased. Five miles for me mid week is kind of good going, if I do say so myself.

On the other news front, my novels been put out there into that wonderful world of the Kindle. Yes; Scrums and Bananas, as from about midnight tonight will be on Amazon for a measly £1.85! Bloody bargain if I do say so myself and a bit of a hoot to boot! (See what I did there?)

For those of you who’ve read it…get on Amazon and write a bloody review please! (Nice ones will be rewarded in heaven I’m sure.) For those of you who are yet to experience the delight that was my first novel…DOWNLOAD it now. I have a husband and a step dog to feed and a bit of a Guinness habit that I’d like to maintain after this bloody half marathon is dunzo!  

So, I was kind of bouncy as well as kind of pleased today for at least an hour, anyway.

I’m still not loving my being employed situation, not that I’m not grateful for the wage at the end of the month and all that jazz that comes with job security, just feeling a bit jaded by the whole process. You see, what I want ideally, is to be at home, writing, day in, day out. But only readers can make that happen. Believe me I’ve tried the whole praying thing, the wishing thing, even the think positive thoughts thing but nothing puts a plan into action like begging, or pimping I suppose, so buy the book kids!

Back to the running/jogging, you’ll be pleased to know I’ve abandoned the plan completely and am now going to concentrate solely on building stamina and mileage at my own pace and sort of my own time.

Obviously with the Cardiff half looming the ‘own timing’ thing has a bit of a pressure timer on it; but with four weeks left I should be in with a chance.

Shouldn’t I?

She says with a tremor in her voice. 

Ship Ahoy.

OMG! Where the hell to start?

How about yesterday then…I was due to run nine miles yesterday morning. I managed six. I managed six and felt guilty and shite and just damn right rubbish. In exactly four weeks time I have to more than double that! MORE THAN!

Now, without desperately trying to justify my lack of commitment yesterday, I’d like to offer a few explanations to with I epically failed.

Firstly; I didn’t want to run. My heart or my head wasn’t in going anywhere yesterday. I wanted to stay in bed, I wanted to write the novel and I wanted to cwtch my husband. I should have gone with the gut feeling and not even bothered putting my trainers on because the guilt of not doing the nine miles is far worse than running a lousy six.  

Secondly; I was going out yesterday afternoon. I had to be in the Baili at twelve and my first drink was on my mind. That first drink and whether my head was still going to be ridiculously red.

Thirdly; I didn’t want to run!

Anyway, I left the warmth of my abode and headed for the hill! Twyn hill that is.

And like I’ve said when I hit the six mark I stopped and that was that.

‘It’s OK.’ Scotty Boy said as I panted and chastised myself. ‘You’ve got four weeks.’

I felt sick.

Four weeks. That’s twenty eight days. TWENTY EIGHT DAYS! My hoop is literally talking to me as I process this.

I practically necked my first drink blaming ‘panic.’ I just rushed my second drink out of greed and that’s pretty much how the entire day panned out.

I was in Brecon yesterday. Food at the George hotel and then the afternoon on a barge dressed as a sailor! Yes, ship ahoy indeed!

I’m told we were in Brecon rugby club after the boat but I’ll just have to take my butties word on that!

It’s the Great North run today which I’ve had a peek at. (Quite apt really as my Cardiff Half marathon pack came through the door yesterday. Eeek!)I was hoping to be somewhat inspired but instead I actually feel like shitting myself. Yes; Shitting myself! It’s also made me panic about my timing. It turns out I don’t really run…I jog! Which I suppose is still OK but I think I need to change gear a little bit. Watch this space.

It’s also made me cry. There are some really inspirational stories being told by the runner. Like the girl who finished her last bout of chemotherapy on Thursday and is doing a 13.1 mile run on the Sunday! Wow! And the boy who’s got a fridge on his back; if that’s not dedication I don’t know what is.  I’ve become considerably emotional over the past few weeks anyway so nice stories are just a bit of an excuse.   I blame the considerable amount of hormone nonsense I’ve had rammed into me to.

Talking about emotion and nonsense I received the phone call yesterday to confirm that I will be on BBC Radio Wales on the 25^th to talk about MTV’s latest show The Valleys! I loves it! Can’t wait!

I think I’ll also be doing future stuff with regard to the training/Blog/running; so, lots to look forward to, along with becoming an international bestseller! One can only dream!

Happy 30^th Blog anniversary to Keep On Running today! It all started thirty posts ago…Oh how time flies.

So, I have completely scrapped the plan and put a new one in place. It goes like this; just bloody run and keep running. Stop worrying about mileage and timing and run.

I’m not going to bother with rest days either. Obviously, I will have the odd day off but only if I’m not feeling up to running. What I am determined to do is remove any type of pressure and get back to enjoying what I’m doing. Running, writing, laughing, eating…NO pressure, No panicking!

So there we go.

Happy Sunday Readers. 

99 problems but the blog aint one!

As the title suggests; I’ve got 99 problems but the Blog aint one!

Yes, I have a niggle in my right calf, my left knee is swollen I now have a bout of joggers nipple but I’ve got readership!

Woo Hoo! Go readers.

Yes, some of you may be aware that I unashamedly ‘pimped’ my Blog on Wednesday and boy did it work. It annoyed most of my social network friends and followers but bollocks to being annoying…I’m famous! Well, sort of.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yes, after the slip road I had a three miler which I completed yesterday back to not bad timing.

Now, going for a run these days consists of nothing short of battle preparation. I’m serious, whoever flippantly says, ‘I threw my trainers on and went for a run’ LIED!

For me, it’s no longer a case of throwing some sporty looking clothes on and heading off into the sunlight, no…I have to Vaseline pretty much all of my chest now. Yes, not only do I have to be cautious of the two bra rubbing or the two boys bouncing, I know have to watch the old joggers nipple! Yes, for the first time this week I experience joggers nipple. And there’s me thinking it was a myth!

So, Vaseline on, then comes the knee strap, which is a work out in itself, dragging it up my calf and sliding it, with much difficulty, to the right position. (You know, knee poking through hole etc.) After the knee strap is the very precise picking of socks. Anyone who knows me will know I have extreme issues with socks, for those of you who don’t I won’t bore you with the credentials of the whole sock process but lets just say it’s a long and tedious task that has to be endured at least twice a day when I’m training.

Then, after all that nonsense its time for the clothing. Yesterday seemed dry but cold so I donned the long sleeve black top and Adidas leggings. I think I would have felt good, in fact, I know I would have felt good, its one of my favourite outfits, IF ONLY I HAD WASHED IT FIRST!

Yes, I committed the ultimate ‘smelly’ crime and went out in previously worn running clothes. There is actually nothing worse…apart from Cherryade pop, going out in stale, smelling, still slightly damp running clothes is possibly the worst thing to do.

I was sure even flies avoided me as I jogged on towards the horse track.

The horse track is what it is…a circular track for horses; 3 times round is just over a mile and to get to the track is half a mile. Now, I will patronise you by confirming that I ran to the track, ran 6 times around it and then ran home. 3 miles.

The plan is back in action.

Now, the worry creeping into my poor little low confident brain is; I’ve got to do 9 miles on Saturday. But, not only have I got to do 9 miles, I’ve got to do 9 miles and then go on the piss all afternoon. The words disaster and recipe come to mind.

I’ve decided to run to the Abercynon roundabout first thing tomorrow morning which means no wine for me tonight, no late night and certainly no justification contracts to be made this evening!

But, I’ve got to do it because on Sunday there will be a mere 4 weeks until the race. FOUR WEEKS! My arse actually twitches every time this thought crosses my mind.

So, 4 weeks, a running club, a worthy charity and this Blog all to consider when I’m dragging my trainers and thinking I want to give up.

I also have to remind myself that I believe that running is 99% in the brain 1% in the legs, if I keep this thought at the forefront of my mind I appear to not do too badly when I’m out on the road.

Also, also, also…I’ve had an email suggesting that BBC Radio Wales may be interested in tracking my training for the marathon…now; I must state that this is only at the very beginning of the pipeline but fingers crossed or laces, whichever you prefer.

Now, between full time work, full time wife duties, training, pimping and Blogging, I am also in the process of writing a new novel. I’m very nearly a quarter of the way through and I have a good feeling about this…in fact, I’ve got a very good feeling, so fingers firmly crossed on that front.

In other news, I had my fringe trimmed yesterday and my eyebrows waxed so I seem to looking far more human today and still a bit Lily Allen. Yee ha.

Have a good weekend. 

Bears, Bras and Beasts!

The girls got her groove back and damn is it funky! I apologise for my total lack of coolness with regards to my opening statement but I ran last night and totally smashed it.

Well, I sort of smashed it.

Last night I ran the…drum roll…I ran the slip road! Yes, that beast of a hill that links the bottom of Merthyr to the top and I ran it!

Now, I’m not saying it was an easy task, in fact, it was bloody difficult. After all, I am famous for being the girl who’s very like a cow…I don’t do uphill! Well, I didn’t do uphill now I’m like Yoda of the incline.

I’d had yet another shitty day in work just to add to the shitty days I appear to be collecting at the daily grind and vowed that I’d be donning the trainers immediately; which I did, just after I’d given Fizzabeth a cwtch, had a wee and popped an ugly looking chicken in the oven.

As I stretched my way to confidence I gave a silent little prayer that I wouldn’t disgrace myself on such a public road and that the chicken didn’t explode or come out soaking wet again.

I started off the run making my way through Merthyr which is just pleasant because it’s firstly all down hill and secondly flat until you get to the base of the slip road.

Down hill running for a chubby girl is not much fun! Its no fun in fact as my cheeks, belly, thighs and even my ears wobbled as the gradient did the work. I have to be careful how I land running down hill too, one wrong move and I’m pretty sure my knee would participate in its popping out trick.

Now, everyone bangs on about the slip road for stamina so I was pretty nervous in the two miles leading up to the beast. I say pretty nervous, what I mean is bricking it and as my body and brain connected I can now proudly add Twyn Hill to the unusual places that my hoop starts to twitch and I need a shit!

Yes, well done body. Normal people get flight or fight mode I get shit or lie on the floor and pretend your dead mode.

Thankfully the moment passed and I was able to concentrate on how bloody tight the two bra invention was and how at one point I wondered whether I could breathe without it hurting?

Scotty Boy always says; ‘You’ll hate the slip road. It’s boring. Its all uphill and the cars are coming from behind you so you cant see what’s happening.’ I thought this a silly thing to say seen’s as I’d much rather not see what’s going on.

Then it hit me. I couldn’t see them but they could see me! But not only could they see me, they were getting a spot on, top notch view of my fat arse as I waddled up the bloody thing!

Of course, I only came to this earth shattering, confidence breaking conclusion four paces into the hill.

Too late to do anything about it.

Shit!

Holy Shit!

I figured the best way to tackle the hill and its bendy incline was to run to the road signs. You know? Just get to the ‘bend in the right’ sign then to the ‘pedestrian’ sign then the ‘beware of bears’ sign. I shake my head and realise my eyes are fuzzy and I’m actually hallucinating as the rise takes its toll on both my calves and my imagination.

Its at this point I have to admit, I did have to in cooperate a few seconds of walking every now and then…it was technically a must as the damn thing gets steeper and steeper and then flatter and then steeper again.

By the time I got to the top only a mere two honks from massive lorries that made me jump like a chubby jogger that had been honked at, I was elated! I’d done it and I’d done it in good timing and the only complaint I had was my nipples were a bit sore but I think that’s down to the tightness of the tents, I mean, bras.

‘That wasn’t too bad.’ I actually vocalised out loud to myself and then shook my head wondering if insanity had finally kicked in somewhere between the Forty mile per hour post and roundabout approaching?

As I make my descent back on normal stomping ground a tall Gurons boy and Staffordshire bull terrier come into my view and I wonder whether the plot has been lost or was my husband walking my dog?

After he waved I realised it was in fact Scotty Boy and Fizz, not an oasis. I jog my way to them shaking my head.

‘Good God girl,’ Scotty Boy said, ‘Your tits are bouncing well there.’

I’m considering three bras today?

What do you think?