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? 

POUND THE ALARM!

I’m writing this playing naked living room. I’ve just bollocked a 3.7 miler in this ridiculous sunshine and to say I’m tepid would be an understatement.

Yes, the girls back and the ‘serious’ training is underway. Well, the sort-of-serious training has began. After nearly a week of skinless boobs and bad food choices I’m about to stir this shit up! (Gangster mode.) I have just over five weeks to get this arse into thirteen point one miles fit and to be truthful I’m kind of scared.

I started yesterday with a brand new, no impact, no movement, all in all wonder bra! Not literally, obviously, I haven’t needed a Wonderbra since I was twelve when I desperately trying to pull off the Marilyn Monroe look at a school disco. (I should mention, I had limp brown hair and a retainer to boot, here.)

Anyway, like I’ve just mentioned…it’s boiling! Proper summer sunshine, which was predicted seen’s as the schools started back this week.

And you all know how sensible I am, I wore head to toe black and decided to embark on my outing as soon as the sun was at its highest point. After all, where’s the fun in an easy run, ey?

By the way, I’m jumping forward a bit here. Let me take you back to the beginning of the week. After weighing and becoming highly hysterical in Boots after the discovery that I had ungraciously gained three pounds, Yes, my heftiness is desperately trying to make its comeback, I dragged my feet to the leisure centre where I managed a depressing half a mile swim in just under thirty minutes. I probably could have managed a good half hour more if it wasn’t due to the absolute miserable bastard of a girl they had life guarding that day.

Now, I’m not one to moan…at least not much…but seriously this girl must have gone to the school of pure misery and graduated with a first in slapped arse rudeness. For the first time ever I learnt what hate at first sight is and I’m considering voicing my disgust via a letter or at least a shitty review. Watch this space.

Anyway, moodiness aside, my half a mile got me thinking about statistics in general, or should I say MY statistics. So, here’s a little table for you to ponder.

Activity	Time taken
Walk a mile	15 to 20 minutes (depending on footwear/ hunger level/ drunkness level)
Run a mile	9 to 10 minutes
Swim a mile	55 minutes
Drink a pint	10 minutes
Drink a shot	10 seconds

I gained so much perspective by this table its unreal. It actually made me consider massive lifestyle changes. For example; I should definitely NOT walk home from the Baili, I should always walk after tea (three courses if possible) and I shall definitely not consume any more pints. Its wine all the way from now on.

Right, so that was Tuesday…on Wednesday Scotty Boy bought me a new MP3 player. Having survived with my Nano for quite some time I decided I needed something simpler. You know, something that I could choose what songs to put on without Apple dictating what Itunes it thinks I should endure.

So, bringing my shiny new blue thingy home I was mortified to find it took me just over four hours to work the bloody thing out and even now I’ve only got 44 songs on the bastard thing.

Oh , but before we went to purchase my new toy I had to take a visit to the GP! Oh yes, it was smear and hormone imbalance time.

Firstly, I was given some hormone tablet things to get my menstrual cycle as normal as humanly possible for half a boy! (That’s a joke, I have boobs and a vagina, three vital signs I am definitely a woman)

‘You have bloating and loose stools to look forward to.’ The GP told me trying to hide the glee from her ‘I earn one hundred grand a year for this fun’ face.

‘Great.’ I said.

‘Now pop along and see the nurse for some swabs.’

‘Great.’ I mirrored with my, ‘You earn a hundred grand a year to be a bitch’ face.

‘Legs open then!’ Now, any females who’ve been through a smear, swabbed, blah, blah, blah, unpleasantness, you’ll know that these situations are not fun for anyone. For ANYONE!

‘Right Hannah, give us a cough.’ She said, to which I obliged.

SNAP!

BANG

‘Ooh!’ she said. ‘Well, in thirteen years this has never happened before.’

‘What?’ I said panic literally flying through me.

‘You must have bionic vaginal muscles, you’ve snapped the thing!’ She didn’t use the word ‘thing’ she used some technical, complicated phrase.

Now, I’ve blushed many times throughout my life, like the time I told a random boy that ‘I like grass’ or the time I farted in aerobics during the stretching when everything was eerily quiet, but to have something snap inside me was a whole new ball game.

‘So, Eric’s an athlete.’ I added, nervous giggle and all, and then literally wanted to die.

Obviously the nurse had no effin idea who Eric was and I should have been quiet at this point, like completely silent!

‘You know, with strong muscles, haha.’

‘Mmmm.’ She said inserting a new whatever.

I left the doctors that day vowing to never return and I mean it!

Then came the new bra which I modelled for Scotty immediately. Bouncing in every possible way.

‘How does it feel, Span?’ he asked to which I nearly burst into tears. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘It’s good. Full of support.’ I said sadly.

‘So?’ he said, confusion spreading across his face like the twelve o clock shadow.

‘So, now my belly feels like it needs to be strapped.’ Naturally husband dearest pissed himself and then suggested I lay off the chips and maybe do some sit ups?

My answer consisted of something along the lines of; ‘fuck off!’

Yesterday the bra, MP3 player and a tight vest under my top to keep the belly in place made its debut up the field.

‘I’ll try a little one to get everything going.’ I tried to justify.

‘You’d better do something you’ve only got five weeks.’ The human calendar squawked at which point I wondered why the hell I’d married him.

I managed a mile and a half. And the bra seemed fine. I say fine because they all seem fine until I take the bloody thing off. The MP3 player was slightly disappointing as it’s a tad Bjork; Oh so quiet!

‘Back in the game…sort of.’ I panted on my return.

Me and Scotty boy then embarked on a seven and a half mile walk which would have been marvellous if I hadn’t begged him for chips, cheese and beans in some grotty Kebab shop on route, which I quaffed in about three nano seconds. (Should have added that to the statistics table!)

I’m no snob and I’m even well in favour of the ten second rule when food hits the floor, I will eat absolutely anything, but seriously this shop was dodgy. I didn’t tell Scotty Boy but there was an actual poster declaring that some foods may contain Sulphur! Yes SULPHUR! Fair play, we know how to live.

Back to today. Three point seven miles! I’m quite proud although when I think that in five weeks I will have to double that route and some in front of people, I feel slightly queasy.

It was a comfortable run today and I did note that the boys did not move. They were as still as statues and as I’m spread out, not unlike the day I was born, on the living room floor, I have no cuts, no blisters and my rack seems remarkably in tact.

Halleluiah!

Apparently, the key to not getting beeped at by passing cars is to keep your breasts in one place. Oh and to ensure your joggers are not below your arse! (That was an embarrassing run.) So, all in all I have, along with sweat, a massive amount of positively radiating from me.

I should mention that I did have about a minute walk right in the middle of the route today. As I’ve said, the new fandangle MP3 player is not the loudest and on a stretch of road that seemed to be attracting every single ray of sun I heard this funny groaning noise which both startled and confused me. That was until I realised the noise had come from my own throat. Know, like those annoying tennis grunt things? I did one of those! Highly embarrassed and slightly shaken that I was capable of sounding like a complete twat, I slowed to a walk to get some normal breathing on the go. Oh the shame!

But that was then and this is now.

So, it’s Friday again and I have a full weekend of work to endure this weekend! Boo Hoo! Husband is taking me on a date tonight which is quite exciting. Well, as long as he remembers to pick up shampoo on the way home or it’ll be a night in a baseball cap in front of the telly for me.

I’m hoping to go to Brecon for a wander and possibly some food without sulphur.

We’ll see.

Have a good weekend! 

justification...my big fat cop out!

Neglect.

When you look up the word neglect in the dictionary the description given is; TO PAY NO ATTENTION TO; DISREGARD OR SLIGHT.

Neglect should be my middle name this week, although to be fair, or to justify my laziness I have only failed to neglect my running, my diet and my blog!

My quest to write a bestseller is going remarkably well as is my wifely duties (Scotty Boy doesn’t read this!) and I’m like a demon in work at the moment. If I don’t get employee of the month there is something seriously wrong!

The running has been a no go and there is only one reason for this, or two, two bloody F’s that’s the problem. And if you’re about to judge me…run a mile in my bra before so please. I have never known pain like I have the past few days. When one removes a bra after a full day dealing with the homeless and half the skin from your tit appears in the cup, screaming is obviously expected.

I’ve had raw, open wounds on both the boys for the past week.

Life or the tits are not too peachy!

The bed sheets have been tainted by my injuries along with Scotty Boys t-shirt that I lul about in and the various bras I wear.  Not the most romantic imagery and for this I apologise whole titfully!

The diet. Where do I start with the diet? If I listed what I’ve consumed this week, I reckon I could give the holy bibles word count a run for its money. To say I’ve been badly behaved with nutrients this week would be like saying ‘I wasn’t aware there was an Olympics in London this summer!’

I can’t wait to get on the scales tomorrow!

Anyway, let me tell you about what has been going on. I went to a baby shower yesterday for my very good butty Gemma. It was interesting and that’s all I’ll say on the matter. Oh, I will add that Mammy to be is looking glorious and truly in blossom. I can’t wait to meet the baby although she is due on the exact same day of the Cardiff half. I directed a hint in the general direction of Gemma’s belly that Auntie Hannah will be a tad busy that day so if she wouldn’t mind holding on…

The bestseller (no one can accuse me of being pessimistic when it comes to my writing) is right on track. Well, at least the plot and plan have come together in my little brain and I have a protagonist called Emily who I am slightly in love with. I’ve even got a title…a normal, nice straight forward title that shouldn’t confuse or scare prospective publishers! I’m actually back to being excited about writing again. It’s just trying to fit it in with training, full time work, being number one wife and, and, and, sorting my damned body out. Yes, the time has come where I have to see the GP regarding my very strange system. I’ve been prodded, pricked and examined and that’s just by Scotty Boy! Hopefully pretty soon they’ll throw a very complicated medical term at me, prescribe some normality tablets and I can be on my way. I’ll keep you posted.

Last night, me and the husband went for a nice little walk which rounded my nice little weekend up a treat. The only problem being the nice little walk took its toll on my nice little dog and poor Fizzabth is now stiff as a…board. So, its light duties for my poor puppy for the next few days. Which brings me nicely to taking it easy! See what I did there?

I’m only kidding…sort of anyway. This week the training begins again even if I’ve got to lube the boys up so thoroughly that I’m, going through factory size pots of Vaseline. There are 5 weeks until this race.

Five! Less than six more than four!

I’m screwed.

Fundamentally screwed.

OK, now you know you’re not supposed to start anything on Mondays so this evening I will do my chores (I know, historic or what?) possibly go for a walk with the husband and then indulge in some writing. Some lovely, lovely time to make pretty things on paper.

So, wish me and my boys luck for the week ahead.

We’re going to need it and don’t forget…

‘Your bras need you!’