Shoes that Run

A funny thing happened when I was out training (and no, it wasn't just that I was out training).

As you know, we had to put running shoes out to pasture and bring in another pair. Granted the new pair aren't brand new (I think I bought them in 1992 on special for $15 at Big W) but the great thing is that these running shoes still have their sole in tact. Unlike super keen, but over-the-hill, ex-running shoes that took "your feet need to breath" literally by letting me know, through holes, what surface I was training on. There was talk of mutiny from socks if I didn't do something about it.

So with new (well, old but useable) running shoes on, we (me, body, socks, professional sports attire and big butt - it is a huge team to get me in shape for this marathon) all set out for our 10km walk. The planets were aligning and new running shoes were fitting in with the gang quite nicely.

When we got to 5km, I had to explain to running shoes that whilst we may be doing a marathon it does not mean we have to run and training is for walking only (hence why big butt is still allowed to come or there would be richter scale readings). So in the middle of the track, running shoes decides to have a massive tanty and threatens to leave the team. None of us seem to mind too much and socks say they can pull it off alone and running shoes make them claustrophobic anyway.

Body and butt, as usual, took a break and welcomed the distraction.

So with chaos ensuing and no resolution forthcoming, I wondered if my marathon days were over.

Then it happened. A marathon miracle. We all saw her in the distance and it shut us up instantly. She was everything we wanted to be. Firstly, she was running and I could easily stop there because being able to run is a miracle. Yet that wasn't all, as she was also so fit and toned (butt ran into the bushes at this stage from shame) and had on the perfect running outfit (my attire was drooling). She had on short black running shorts, her running shoes were glowing with experience, and her long pony tail swayed perfectly from side to side as it came out of her low-key but very stylish baseball cap.

As she jogged passed us we all saw it at once. On the back of her running top was the inscription Run for the Kids 2010. She was wearing the official t-shirt of the marathon we were competing in.

Without a word, we all regrouped (almost leaving butt behind, who I knew wanted to stay in bushes) and with running shoes coaxing us along we started to run. There were no aches and pain, no resistance from anyone (look, butt is never going to be included in any of these statements but let's just pretend for now) and all in all was a great running experience.

Sure the marathon miracle girl looked around quite often, to see why we were following her, but we were not going to let her get away that easy.

(Note to self: look up Marathon Miracle Girl in white pages to start stalking process.)

Coveting the prize

We all want to win the "prize". Whatever that prize may be. It comes in many shapes and forms and we covet it because it gives us purpose and direction.

Some of us know exactly what "prizes" we want: a new job, winning the lottery, a smile from your crush or lover, fitting into skinny jeans or maybe just having a full nights sleep. It can be big or simple. Prizes are infinite. Well, all except one and this one is the most important prize of all:

You.

Now hear me out (and no I haven't been reading too many self-help books...well maybe a couple but it is not the point!)

When we covet the prize we focus all our energy and attention on getting it. It is important to us and at no stage do we want to "change" the prize because the prize is perfect. So why is us as the prize any different?

If someone wants you as their prize they will come and get you. You don't need to beg, to call, email or text (maybe even fax just in case), you don't need to start riding a bike, you don't need to tell them you love them - for the umpteenth time because maybe they didn't hear you the first time - in fact you don't need to do anything because you are the prize.

It is tough to be the prize because it involves patience and second guessing. Just remember that the prize doesn't need to change, it is "perfect" the way it is, and some people (okay let's be honest: guys) take a while to work out that "prizes" don't come around very often...if ever again.

Now, yes he (or she) may be your prize and be what you covet, so shouldn't you then go after that prize? The answer is no. You already know what you want (and that is the hard part over and done with) now you just have to wait for your prize to catch up and work out if they want to claim you as their prize. If they don't then they just missed out on the best damned prize that was ever on offer and that, my friends, is so their loss and not yours!

So today is all about being the "prize". Can't wait to see who claims you!

(This post is dedicated to all of my friends who are second guessing, doubting themselves, texting one too many time and have forgotten that they are the prize. Now put down the phone and go put a bow around yourself for when you get claimed - clothes are optional.)

Pedal Pushing

Once upon a time there was a princess called Paula. Paula fell in love with a prince called Booger Brains. It was a match made in heaven, until one day the prince told the princess that she was perfect except for one thing. The princess thought that this one thing must be major if it was to be a deal breaker. What could it possibly be?

She waited with baited breath for her one flaw to be revealed. The prince told her in the nicest way possible that she wasn't marriage material because...

"You don't like bike riding."

The princess at first thought maybe she heard wrong and laughed at his "joke". Only the prince wasn't joking. So with much confusion, a broken heart and a desire to visit her oracle (therapist) the princess walked off into the sunset alone.

As the moons came and went and time passes, the princess moves on and decides to run a marathon. With achilles tendons sore and hurting, the princess decides to change her training to give her tendons a break.

The training? A two hour BIKE RIDE!

Hmmm, maybe the princess is not the only one confused at this point?

(Note to self: if you see a prince called Booger Brains be sure to tell him to "get on his bike." Silly prince.)

Overcoming pain

There are two types of pain, in the past day, that I have taken on.

Well, I am not sure if I actively "took on" both but apparently everything happens for a reason.

I would like to start by saying I have my first official marathon injury. That means I am a real athlete! Not that having an injury is fun, by any means, but now when I catch up with "running colleagues" I too can talk about my injury. Exciting times.

Well having both of my achilles tendons hurting like buggery is actually quite painful but I figure if I give them the silent treatment and ignore their constant whingeing they will stop their tantrum. Only problem is that running shoes may have to go back to therapy after I talk to them about injury being from their age -have a feeling running shoes are too old for marathon (also have a feeling body is too old for marathon but as yet haven't found a shop to buy a new body).

When it comes to another form of pain - one that is inflicted by someone else - I figure I will treat it just like my achilles tendons. Silent treatment. Ignoring constant whingeing and cries for attention and, most importantly, recognising I don't have to put up with child like behaviour. Getting angry and throwing darts at ex's picture also helps. Definitely had my cranky pants on. Great news about pain making you angry is that you no longer seem to care about that person anymore. Could it be that instead of still being in love with two men I now only love one? Could it really be that easy? Might have to get back to you on that one because I am a woman and it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind.

(Note to self: must make friends with running colleagues to discuss - and brag about - my achilles injuries.)

VD the new STD?

So what's the deal with Valentine's Day? A form of torture or a necessary evil?

I propose that Valentine's Day should also be combined with: "Free All You Can Drink Margaritas Day." Sure it is a mouthful but with free margaritas on the table no one will be care (or remember).

That way if Valentine's Day does not quite work out the way you planned you have a very good (and preferable) option.

I am yet to find anyone who loves VD.

It is usually a lose - lose either way.

Firstly is the obvious, if you are not in a relationship. If that is the case then VD is a day to remind you of how you don't quite cut it as a desired mate and may very well end up alone FOREVER! (See, at this point margaritas would come in handy.) Who needs a day to remind you of that when you remind yourself at five minute intervals already?

Secondly, is if you are in a relationship. Now this should be easy...right? Well not always. In fact, I think VD is even worse when you are actually in a relationship and VD still lets you down. Excuses like: "VD is too commercial and is a waste of time." "We have been going out for too long to need to worry about VD." And the classic, "I don't need a day to tell you I love you." To which you reply: "Well actually you do because every other day you forget, so at the very least can you give me this one f***en day!"

Oh VD how we love you for making us feel so special and so loved.

Only I may just have to go with Door Number Two if you don't mind: Margaritas. (Now they never let you down!)

(Note to self: VD does not give you an excuse to skip training and re-enact scene from Bridget Jones's Diary where she is in pyjamas, drinking vodka and singing "All By Myself.")

Tall, Dark and Handsome

So I was 11km in (still walking, no running in sight) and I spot him.

He was very handsome there on the trail, the trail I walk every day (almost).

We both checked each other out and I swear there was a connection.

I wonder if I really need this in my life, after all I am already trying to "eternal sunshine of the spotless mind" two of my ex's and I don't need another one to mess me up further.

So we stare at each other, both of us wondering who will make the first move and I know if it his him I will get hurt (again!)

He sticks his tongue out at me and I think: how rude.

All I know is, I am not walking 11km back because he is in my way. I wonder who is braver. I decide I am and think (quietly so no one can hear me) if I do get hurt, by being brave yet again, then I won't have to do the marathon. It is such a dilemma.

I needn't have worried, just like my ex's, he scurries away like the coward he can be and no doubt to his own man cave.

Marathon still on, heart in check, no pain...maybe it is a good thing.

Wonder what kind of snake that was. Must look him up. He may come in handy if I need an exit strategy from marathon - or any of life's problems really.

(Note to self: must get his number if I see him again.)

Nipping it in the Bud

Walked 12km today, most of it in the rain. Felt fantastic afterwards but beforehand...not so much.

Apparently we have to be "careful what we wish for." Although, if I wished for a life time supply of pizza I am not sure how I could go wrong. Sure, I would not be able to move - let alone do a marathon - but like that is going to be bother me!

I digress.

My dilemma is this: what if you are desperate to hear from not one but two men you still love and all of a sudden, in the space of days, they are back?! (Now when I say "back" I mean they have come out of the man cave but are still not sure how to communicate except for a few grunts).

So I must be skipping for joy and making wedding dress appointments (and running a marathon is just like Bride Boot Camp) because we all know that a grunt from a man is just like a wedding proposal. The getting down on the knee is actually so we know what is going on - otherwise grunts can get confusing.

Only that doesn't happen. Instead I get melancholy and have to go for my walk. I walk so far I feel like I can't stop. It is raining. I have sad music on. I am officially in the scene of the movie titled: "I am sad" (and the only way to truly represent "sad" is by walking in the rain).

But I also realise I have a training technique that is flawless.

Melancholy=Marathon Machine.

I am the Duracell bunny that will not stop. Yay for my ex's!

(Note to self: get cut outs of ex's for finish line. Possibility of coming 1st looking likely. Also have somewhere to direct nauseated vomit on completion.)

Run a Mile

Is it okay to run a marathon without the running?

(Note to self: do whatcha wanna do, be whatcha wanna be...yeah!)

Oops a Daisy...

Yes, well, best laid plans and all that.

No training at all on weekend. Had weekend away with friend at her property and there seemed to be a great deal of exercising our mouths instead. Exercising of mouth happened in two stages.

Firstly by "girl therapy". A two-day therapy session where we try and figure out the ridiculousness of a man's brain and his actions (or more like inactions). No progress was made on this front and we are still none the wiser.

The only way to get through "therapy" is with copious amounts of wine and beer, followed up by hot chip sandwiches. So mouth is well and truly exercised.

Due to alcohol abundance, drunken emails and texts are sent to ridiculous men - without thinking - and then more therapy ensues.

It is a vicious but necessary cycle of life.

(Note to self: you are an idiot.)

The Emperor's New Clothes

So we up and running...literally!

Trained in new attire and feel fabulous. Whilst running tights may not be a good look for my thighs, they don't fall down when moving and that is far more important. Grandma panties are sad - they seemed to enjoy the exposure. Naughty panties. Hopefully no flashing at marathon goes down. (Might have to go commando.)

New found respect for runners as training continues. Not sure how to sustain running for long periods of time (2 minutes) and brain seems to be allergic to the thought.

Thinking of being a very fast walker instead. If Jane Saville can do it, so can I!

Seems to be a few doubting Thomas's when it comes to me running the race (and I am not just talking of myself) and to those people I say, "Why don't you join me?"

Silence...

(Note to self: wear taekwondo black belt over running attire for kicking doubting Thomas's ass.)

Ho hum

Still have not got proper running attire. Hate shopping with a passion and would prefer to actually run than shop. Would it be gross to order sweaty running tights from eBay? Hmmm.

Might take Brother-ship down's advice and wear my Wonder Woman pyjamas on marathon. Elastic is good. Wonder Woman can take over if I get tired (we can also fly in invisible plane to finish line) and I am ready for nap o'clock when need arises. Yes Brother may be on to something there.

Got bib number is mail yesterday. Felt very official. Came in red, which is the colour of us slow going runners. Also the colour of "stop" - so wondering if there is symbolism there.

(Note to self: must look at neighbour's clotheslines in case they have sporting attire I can "borrow".)

Running with scissors

So today was the BIG day. There was a pep talk at Camp Paula for the big event.

Today was the day that we would actually start running.

Body and I were reluctant but knew, like ripping off a band-aid, that it had to be done and running shoes was so excited I almost had to get the nappies out (yes there was pee involved).

So after a few km in, I told the gang it was time and the running began. At first all was well. I was singing the Chariots of Fire theme song in my head and imagining big things, there was just a few minor problems...

Now at all previous training sessions there has only been walking and as such training attire was perfect: tracksuit pants, t-shirt and semi-sports bra. It worked...well until I started to run and then all hell broke loose!

My tracksuit pants wouldn't stay up - apparently the elastic wasn't quite up to the challenge of any sudden movements, so I looked like a sixteen-year-old boy with my underwear hanging out (not a pretty sight given I wear Grandma panties). T-shirt seemed to be up to the challenge of running but underneath was another story. Bra straps were constantly falling down and I felt like I was going to knock my eyes out at any moment and turn up to work with two black eyes (imagine explaining that one). I don't think my poor boobs had had so much action in years.

So after a great deal of yelling and screaming it was decided that tracksuit pants and bra were no longer part of the marathon and would have to cheer from the sidelines (more therapy needing to be booked).

(Note to self: Must get proper running attire but NOT silly little running shorts - butt will make a guest appearance otherwise and I don't want to scare the children.)