hangover + 5 miles = yuck

Cider is actually the drink of the devil. It’s official. In fact it’s as official as the fact I’m currently dying of a hangover.

Unfortunately I took ‘rest’ day to the extreme and rested my legs in the pub!

It was my first rest day and I took full advantage. I also didn’t eat anything, well apart from some porridge, two welsh cakes (I was actually poisoned by a cleverly disguised coconut one and overwhelmed by a chocolate one!) and a small bowl of tinned macaroni cheese. I consumed my two litres of H2O which resulted in me pissing like a racehorse through out my eight hour shift. I think I  actually burnt the calories, gained by the welsh cakes, off, just by going back and fore to the toilet.

And then came Wetherspoons with Andrea. And then came the Baili with Scotty Boy and then came…well…I’m not sure, memory is a bit fuzzy.

So, I drove to work this morning, which should never have happened given that I breathalysed myself upon arrival and the figures didn’t look good. I ate my weight watchers curry and some micro chips by eight thirty and have since wallowed in my own self pity considering the five mile run I have to complete after my shift.

Five miles suddenly seems quite a distance.

Who am I trying to kid; five miles seems like an actual pilgrimage with this hangover.

I’ve got a few routes in mind but none seem very appealing at this precise moment. I could head down the Taff trail or just meander Dowlais way? I figure if I keep going over it all in my head it may become more bearable. I may even convince myself that it’ll be an easy enough task or that I might enjoy it?

The weather is shit today too which is not helping the cause. It’s raining profusely (word of the day) but is still incredibly sticky!

I’ve washed my long sleeve-super fast top but as I discovered Thursday the sleeves make even my inside elbows sweat! Attractive.  But its actually my favourite garment of clothing at the moment, the thought actually crossed my mind that I should put it on to see the rest of my shift through but I don’t want to over wear it. Don’t want to get tired of it, see?

Thursdays attempt at shopping didn’t go to well on the running gear front. In fact, it didn’t go very well full stop. I did see a ‘I RUN CARDIFF’ t shirt which I wish I’d bought now but apart from that Scotty Boys card did not have the hammering I intended for it.

I did, however, discover frozen yoghurt which made me a happy girl, I’m not sure how I’ve managed to avoid it for so long to be honest. It was like a dream in a pot and even though I had goose pimples because the wind picked up I relished every spoonful.

I’ve sadly given the biscuit tin a hammering today, knowing full well I’m off to Mexico in thirty days! Swapping bikini body for that of a biscuit one! Dedication doesn’t seem to be in my vocabulary today and the thought makes me more pessimistic than I thought possible.

Five bloody miles.

I’ve found myself staring blankly at the training plan for the best part of ten hours. As if staring at it will magically change the fact I have to complete a five mile run TODAY!

I think I’m going to head over to Bryn Bach Park after work, it means lapping again but I feel I need to lap today, really not brave enough for an actual route plus Scotty Boy and Fizzabeth can attend and stroll around the lake. Bit of bonding thank you please.

Five miles.

I’ll feel better once I’ve done it.

I’ll enjoy it.

Five miles.

Five bloody miles.

HOT!!!

Humid be f***ed! But let me tell you about yesterday before I jump onto today’s run.

Well, four laps of the park was on the itinerary and I managed to do it in my lunch break.(When I say lunch break, what I mean is, I scarified my half hour at ‘lunch time’ until an hour before I was due to clock out and then legged it to the park.)

So, I limbered up and scared the shit out of the town crier, who happened to be wandering in the park and underestimating how powerful my headphones actually are, was surprised by my ‘HALLO!’ (By the way, my ears appeared to have put on weight because my headphones have molded nicely to me lugs now! At last!)

Anyway, I stretched and set out, feeling reasonably positive. It took about a minute into a KT Tunstall track before I remembered how much I bloody detest LAPS!

It can’t be the repetitiveness of them because a mile is quite a distance and you’re guaranteed to look at different things each time. Also, I’m a repetitive kind of girl, if I like a song it’s constantly on repeat until I actually feel sick at the sound of it! (It’s currently an Amy Macdonald track for reference.)

I’m not sure whether psychologically lapping reminds me of when I first started running, with minimum confidence in my ability my theory was something along the lines of; if I’m lapping, I can give up when I’m tired! There’s no really pressure in lapping apart from the constant nagging in my brain. ‘This is bloody boring Hannah.’

Anyway yesterday I had to run past a gang of adolescent boys, who were innocently kicking a football about before kindly telling me, quite loudly, how much they appreciated my tits! This made the remaining three laps slightly embarrassing. Not to mention slightly infuriating, the piece of scaffolding that is my sports bra cost Scotty Boy a small fortune for Valentines Day and I think it does a reasonably good job of keeping the boys in place!

I also had to play witness to a gang of my service users knocking back what looked like a million gallons of white cider. Tricky, when they live in a dry hostel and will feel the wrath of the breathalyzer as soon as they return for their tea! (There would have been some empty beds last night, I’m pretty sure.)

I managed the four anyway, with a few blind eyes and a forged ignorance whilst bounding past the football team and when I got back to work I was red, sweaty and tired but pleased, I’d battled the laps. I get a lot of support from my colleagues and the majority of service users who have to witness me crawling back through the door sweaty and panting. I’m grateful for the encouragement.

‘Fair play Han, you’ve got a sweaty arse but you’re fit as fuck!’   

The diet didn’t go so well yesterday after I sent Scotty Boy for low fat ice cream. An indulgence that made me sleepy and feel sick not to mention sorry for myself! Will power is certainly something I’ve got to address.  

Today I’m off work and have just come back from my three mile run and like I said earlier; humid be f***ed! On the route I took today I ran past a building that proudly showcases the time and temperature and it only registered at eighteen degrees but it feels much hotter. There have been storms all morning and the air is heavy and so was my heart for some reason. To be truthful I would have liked nothing more today than to have curled up with the dog on the sofa and finished the low fat, low taste, ice cream. I’m going to have days like this, I’m not naive to think I’m going to feel like donning my daps and hitting the track every single day.

I don’t think the fact I saw a squirrel get squashed helped the cause, I did shed a little tear for a few paces and my stomach lurched as I imagined the crushing sound as the poor bugger got caught under the wheel of a Renault Clio. Poor thing.

Now I’ve been, I’m glad I went, which is usually the case, right? My motivation has been awarded a gold star again and I treated myself with an ice cold glass of water as soon as I came back through the door. The drink came after I marked three miles off the chart mind; I even put a little smiley face next to it.  

I’m due a rest day tomorrow and because I’m trying to lay off the old alcohol for a bit I’m wondering whether Scotty Boy fancies a splash about in the pool as an alternative? We’ll see.

We’re off to the city today to try ‘take two’ on the purchasing of new running gear and some holiday clobber.

‘Cant go to Mexico looking scruffy, babe.’ And who am I to argue with that theory?

Saturday I have a five mile run to complete and then a sixty minute walk on the Sunday and that will be week one done! Week one into the twenty one week plan. I’ve planned my route for the Saturday, not too sure about the Sunday though because it’s the Euro cup final or something or other and I’m tempted to participate in a few ‘social hours’???

What was I saying about Will Power?

Seems like a nice fella. 

Four is the magic number (today).

Four is the magic number (today).

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7iypCOIGCk

Last night I dreamt of trainers and otters. The trainers probably because you can actually see my big toes through the netting of my once very expensive daps and the otters…well, I have no idea why there were giant otters wearing baseball caps legging it through my mind, probably that bloody mini magnum, I’m now gutted, I consumed?

I had some good news in work yesterday too. Having worked for the company for an appropriate amount of months I’m now entitled to a staff welfare grant. What’s that I hear you ask? Basically, in a nutshell, my company will wing me a hundred pound cheque to spend on things I deem appropriate for combating stress!

Stress; working in a homeless hostel?

So, me and Scotty boy took a little trip up to the retail park where I scoured the sports shop for some running gear.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no Gok Wan, and whatever Scotty boy likes to think, he’s not either, but the gear on offer is slightly dire to what I was expecting, and it’s probably not best to get me started on the prices of the bloody crap that is run wear!

I took approximately three million items of various black lycra, that all looked ridiculously, well, ridiculously shit if I’m honest.

‘I look like a chubby kid in a tracksuit.’ I told Scotty boy sadly as I paraded up and down a very narrow, very unflattering corridor. Scotty boy found this very amusing so in the end I showed him my, still white from holidays, arse! 

In the end I settled for a thirteen pound long sleeve top that is, wait for it, reflective and quite flattering.

‘Pop your pin in please?’ the ‘retail not so assistant’ kid said. To which Scotty boy had a full on panic forgetting the code to his new card. To say the shopping trip was unsuccessful would be a slight understatement. I think my poor fiancée burned off more calories than I managed in my three point thirty seven miles.

So, back to the plan and today is my first four mile run which I’m going to complete straight after work in the pretty settings that is Ponty Park.

I’ve brought my stuff to work and as I was faffing about panicking last night about the bloody knee strap and water bottle, I forgot to put my trainers in Scotty’s humongous kit bag.

Forgetfulness resulted me in lumbering back down my estate for the bloody daps at stupid o clock this morning, very nearly missing my lift to work.

I’ve often run in Ponty Park after work, the ten K (six miles) I completed in March for Sport Relief was six laps of the park. (I managed that comfortably even after indulging in way too many Jack Daniels and Cokes the night before)

It’s a nice lap with only a tiny, and I mean tiny, gradient at the one end. You’ll often pass squirrels and service users alike on the route. It’s always nice for a homeless person to witness me bounding up and down, not unlike a chubby idiot in a tracksuit, after you’ve spent the day telling them not to take drugs!

Now, I’m not overly fussed on lapping, my brain starts to play little tricks on me. For example; on my fourth lap, my so called smart matter will attempt to convince my legs that I’ve actually only run three laps. Or, another risky little game it will play, is to try and convince my legs that they have had enough, ‘Go on, give up, go on, give up!’ it’s a battle of wits with the lapping system I tell you!

I’m feeling really optimistic today though and to tell the truth I’m all ready feeling the benefit of having a structured plan in place. I love a bit of structure, me!

I also got wind, via the pain in the arse that is social networking, that a bitch of a girl I know from way back when is participating in the Cardiff half in October. I’d like to complete the run looking better, fitter and faster than the mare, if possible.

I believe this is what’s known as incentive? Or could possibly be spitefulness? The lines of judgement are slightly cloudy as I tie my laces up.

DAY TWO

Day 2

Epic fail on the ‘whatever I do today is a bonus’ outlook. By the time I completed my womanly chores, edited two chapters of my possible bestseller (Optimism never killed anyone as far as I’m aware) and sorted Fizzabeth (my step dog) out I didn’t feel like running anywhere.

Myself and Scotty boy decided on a walk so I at least got to write; WALKED 6 AND A HALF MILES, on my state of the art chart I’ve tacked to the middle of my fridge. Mainly as a diversion tactic in an attempt to avoid the Aero Bubble chocolate bars Scotty cruelly sneaked in our Tesco trolley last week. Bubbles my arse the things are impregnated with bloody calories.

Yesterday also turned out to be a glorious day so a massive hurdle I had to overcome was popping to the Baili Glas, mouth; parched, arse; sweaty, desperately wanting an ice cold Magners but having to settle with a can of diet boring Tango. The only thing that made this dire situation slightly bearable was the fact the can read; ‘better than liposuction.’  Oh and Scotty boy passed me a straw. When in Rome and all. 

The walk itself was nice, a few slight gradients, a few hair raising estates to pass and a big fluffy beast of a dog lodging its nose up Fizz’s arse but, all in all, pleasant. I will remember the route for one of my six/seven milers.

Anyway back to day two which is technically day one on the running front as Mondays, as I’ve all ready said, are rest days.

The diet went reasonably well today and when I say reasonably I mean I’ve managed to stay under the 1000 calorie barrier.

Tuesdays are also weigh in days and having put a whopping five pound on during the previous fortnight I was happy to have lost three pounds even in jeans!

The run, well, what do I say about the run?

Firstly, I sent Scotty boy out on his posh mountain bike with his even posher app which states exactly how far he’d cycled, whilst I was still in work, to do a recci.

He came back with a lovely 3.37 mile route, which is a tad over what is on my training plan but I 

figured the extra can do no harm.

‘At one point I did nearly twenty seven miles per hour!’ Scotty said waving his fandangle application at me which made me feel quite sick.

‘I hope you wore your bloody helmet!’

I decided to do his route in reverse though as the slight gradient (I say slight, the bike glided down it at nearly thirty miles an hour!) on the latter part of journey would build the old stamina up. (Stamina is a word that gets thrown at runners constantly; I’ve noted in the short six months I’ve been pounding the pavements.) Plus, it’s always nice to get the hills out of the way first.

As a treat, a few weeks previous to D Day I purchased a running belt, which basically consists of a strap with two pockets, one with a zip, one for a water bottle.

Now, the water bottle, to me, is a mystical object I carry with me on every run, filled with water, always in my right hand. However, I never, ever take a drop of liquid whilst I’m running. So in affect, the water bottle for me is what a comfort blanket is to a baby!

I left the house, Ipod on, belt done up and water bottle in the pocket.

I lasted about three foot before I had to remove the bottle. And this is where I made my first mistake, on the first run of my first ever training plan. I left the bottle in my front garden!

I was about half a mile in when psychologically my right hand started crying out for something to hold, which was brilliant really because it stole all the attention from the fact I’d forgotten to put my knee strap on!

‘The Knee Strap’ my sweaty brain screamed. ‘You’re bollocksed.’ 

My knee has been a niggling worry of mine since I was eighteen and I fell off a wall in Blackwood after a night on pints of Murphy’s. Yes, an old drink injury had played a big part in messing with my so called fitness ability but the knee strap took all that away, plus, it made me feel professional.

How the hell was I going to face the ‘slight’ gradient without the bottle and the strap?

My top lip began to really bubble mainly from panic but partly from the run itself.  

To restore order I forced myself to listen to the same Fratelli track on my Ipod for the whole three, point, three, seven miles.

When I turned back into my estate, the tension from my shoulders began to seep out of me. I’d made it, without the bottle, without the strap. Today was a good day.

‘Warm out?’ Scotty boy asked as I came smiling through the door.

‘Bloody boiling.’ I told him happily.

‘Just a bit over half hour.’ He told me which activated some sort of triumphant grin on my face. 

‘Well done.’ He added.

As a reward today I treated myself a Magnum mini for my effort.

Tomorrow is a four mile run.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

Tomorrow will be easier again… 

Not bad for a chubby one!

Not Bad For a Chubby One

25.06.12

So, D day has finally arrived. Its not that I’ve been putting this day off, I haven’t even really dreaded it until I woke this morning with one word spinning around my brain. Bollocks!

Training begins today; 25/6/12.

Training.

Running.

I started running back in the dark month of January. After a day out with the boyfriend just before Christmas I noticed that a fat girl in the corner of a bar, we were at, had the same top on as me, after closer inspection I realised she had the same jeans on as me too and then to my complete shock horror she appeared to have an identical haircut to me. Yes, that fat girl was indeed my reflection!

Something had to give.

Then came Christmas Eve and I found myself staring at Scotty Boy down on his knee with the prettiest heart shaped engagement ring.

‘Well then?’ he’d said all doe eyed and perfect.

‘Of course I will.’

I didn’t want to be a fat fiancée and I certainly didn’t want to be a fat bride!

So, it was decided, between me and my painfully honest brain that the diet and the running would begin in January.

It was January the 6th when I first laced up my neglected daps and braved the cold for a ‘wee’ jog. And ‘wee’ it was. I managed a feeble lap of the Oval (a park near my abode) which measures in about a third of a mile and I had walk fast’ish in parts of that.

Shit.

As I panted and prodded my stitch, I was frankly, mortified. What the hell had I been doing to myself?

I was unfit, unbalanced, chubby as hell and one lazy twenty six year old.

My head felt like it was about to explode in my bobble hat and my legs wobbled in my too tight leggings.

‘How did it go?’ Scotty boy asked, amused, as I sort of fell through our door. I plopped myself on our hallway floor, unable to speak. I resembled a sweaty, sports clad, fat, starfish!

‘I’m doomed.’ I managed between heavy breaths. ‘Doomed.’

After I composed myself and consumed around two litres of water I started with the excuses. It was cold, getting dark, a little frosty, it was only the first attempt, I’d go further tomorrow, my knee niggled, and there was a serial killer behind me.

‘If you don’t want to do it,’ Scotty Boy had said reasonably, ‘don’t do it?’

And it was there I made the choice. I would do it, I would show Scotty Boy, I would show the world! (I have a tendency to over dramatise, I won’t apologise for that.)

The next day I was stiff and awkward but I managed a bit further and so my running story began.

By March I completed my first 10K for Sport Relief and I was, with no doubt, absolutely hooked. I lost twenty one pounds, in weight not cash, and was feeling healthy, happy and ready for more.

In the April I ran from Abercynon up to Merthyr which measured in about eight miles. As I turned the corner to see Scotty Boy, who was waiting patiently for me, I was hit full force with such emotion I began to cry.

‘What’s up Babe?’

I felt such a sense of achievement I was overwhelmed by something I hadn’t felt before. Pride. I had completed an eight mile run, off my own back.

It was time to get serious.

I signed up for the Cardiff half marathon that is held in the middle of October and then running before I could, well run! I signed up for the Edinburgh Marathon that is in May next year.

‘Go on girl!’ was the general response, but then for some odd reason because I signed up for these runs, I stopped bloody running!

OK, so it wasn’t as black and white as that, I had a few social events which sadly put me back a few weeks. There was my birthday, then a wedding, then Royal Ascot, oh and the cheeky week in Zakynthos! Although in my defence I did do a few three milers out there! (Struggled.com)

So, the training plan was devised via about three million websites and as many books.

The twenty one week plan, should, and I say should in a dubious voice, have me marathon fit by 

November the 21^st.

This is probably a good time to mention I work full time as a support worker at a homeless hostel, I’m attempting to write my fourth novel and, and, and I am a full time fiancée! This is going to be fun.

I have decided to document this journey for several purposes; to track my ongoing progress, or lack of, to have an outlet to vent emotions, plans, and anything I think worthy of noting. But overall, I want to share my experience and make it clear that if I can achieve these goals, any bloody body can!

Back to D day; Now, I read somewhere you should never start anything on a Monday, apparently, your setting yourself up to fail. My training plan specifically indicates that Mondays are rest days, so the way I look at it, is anything I do today will be a bonus.

I’m actually off work today but also have a list the length of my nearly toned leg, of menial things I have to attend to. E.g; register with a new GP, clean the abode, walk the dog, edit three chapters, catch up with Big Brother, wait for the delivery guy, clean myself, blah, blah, blah.

I have set a little amount of time aside for a possible three mile jog but we will see….