Whose bright idea was this?

Two weeks in to half marathon training and it’s already old and worn and ready for the bin. What possessed me? Why didn't I do something in-between 4 and 13.1 miles? And why, if we can establish that I was possessed for a valid reason and that there was an equally valid reason for the choice in distance which I don’t think we can, did I decide to do it all in 10 weeks?

Jeremy.

"Why not sign up for another race?" (answer - because it's another race) 

“Why run 10 when you could run 13.1?” (answer – because it’s 3.1 miles less)

“Why put it off?” (answer -  because then it’s longer until I have to do it)

“You’ll never just do the running without a goal. You need a goal.” (answer, to unasked question -  bog off)

My mean and horrible husband got me into this. And at the end, if there is one and it doesn't involve tears or death, I’ll most likely say it’s all because of him and thank goodness he pushed me blah blah blah. Dear future me – you don’t have a half marathon to train for because you've already run one so shut up.

I have three miles to run tonight. And five to run tomorrow. And all I want to do is drink wine after not drinking it all week. Never get married. 

I wrote that on Friday. Since then I've ran three times, including the five mile run which was the furthest one I've yet to do. And somewhere in there I realized that each run goes a little like this: 

Before - "I'm an idiot for doing this and Jeremy's a sod for thinking it up. I really just want to sit down with wine. What? It's a no wine night? It's a no wine night and I have to run? I actually am insane. Everything is tired and heavy and I think if I move too fast I might die. Bleurggggggh"

During - "I'm an idiot for doing this and Jeremy's a sod for thinking it up. I want a shower. Ugh I hate being sweaty. Is there such a thing as running knickers, cause if there is I think I need them. I want water. My ankle itches. Why won't Jeremy slow down. Are we half way yet?* I'm definitely having a heart attack"

After - "Wow. I'm amazing. Jeremy, thank you so much for helping me do this. I feel so great. I can definitely do this."

Aaaaaand repeat. 8 weeks of this and 30 runs remaining. It's gonna get repetitive. 

* Like every horse I've ever ridden, I magically speed up as soon as we hit half way.  

Resolute

I don’t normally make resolutions. I know myself too well. I am not exact good at self deprivation / control and any resolutions I might be inclined to make would usually be eat / drink less, exercise more. Bollocks.

 Except that last year I actually managed to successfully train for and complete a four mile race. Me - who previously had never maintained an exercise schedule for more than two days (that’s not an exaggeration) – I managed to run four miles in under nine minutes per mile. Yes it had a lot to do with Jeremy appointing himself my personal trainer - and it's hard to escape a personal trainer you're married to, but still, I did it. That seemed to me to be something of a life pivot moment. And then I spent the whole month between thanksgiving and new year eating and drinking as if it were an obligation (this is an issue over here, the holiday season begins and ends with total gluttony and with very little respite in between). Seriously – at the slightest hint of hunger or just not-too-fullness, I was compelled to eat more. So that when New Year came around, two things had occurred:

1.       I believed myself capable of exercise and general self control

2.       I felt so full and gross and lumpy that I wanted to do something – anything – to feel healthy and sleek and slim.

These two things are clearly a dangerous combination. Had I just moderated my eating and drinking for a few weeks maybe what next possessed me wouldn’t have happened. Maybe I’d have signed up for another 4 mile race and left it at that. But no. Instead, I allowed Jeremy to talk me into the idea of our making joint SMART New Years goals. You know, Specific/Measurable/Achieveable etc etc. Here they are:

 1.       Eat vegetarian a minimum four days a  week. This isn’t that hard, although I think fish should count as a vegetable.

2.       Go alcohol free a minimum of three nights a week. That we have to make this a resolution makes us sound like total lushes. But the thing is we’ll often just have one drink here and there, not drinking to get drunk but just having it with dinner or because it’s there and tastes good and that didn’t seem like the healthiest way to be, or it seemed like it could well become a slippery slope. Two weeks in and I’ve already had to not drink at times when I usually would because there are other things coming up with other people where sharing a glass of wine seemed more important. So, as a resolution, it’s working. It’s also an easier way of cutting calories than not eating.

3.       Eat vegan one day a week. We gave up on this within a week. In fact I don't think we ever actually attempted it. Cheese is too tasty.

4.       Cook a delicious and fancy meal once a month. This is my favourite resolution. We did this yesterday (see pics below)… actually Jeremy did it and I finished off my book and sent it to my agent, which is crazy scary but at the end of it I got to eat rack of lamb with roasted red bliss potatoes, harissa, cucumber mint and tomato salad and a fancy olive thing on top, so that helped.


5.       Exercise for a minimum of an hour a week. Bearing in mind that prior to October I’d consistently not been exercising at all, ever, this is a big deal. A bigger deal is that the other aim that’s not an official resolution but has been put into action, is that I’m training for a half marathon. I know. It’s hilarious. It involves running four times a week and building up slowly (but not slowly enough). The schedule we’re using has me running 10 miles in four weeks time, which is terrifying because four miles totally had me almost dying this weekend.

So that's it. Not crazy hard for a normal person with a normal amount of self discipline (beyond maybe the whole half marathon thing, but that's not an official resolution), but I definitely have below average amounts. However, if we actually manage to keep it up I think it could well lead to a sleaker slimmer healthier me. And there's nothing in there about ice-cream or sugar or butter or bread, so that's awesome. I do also want to blog once a week, but I might already have failed in that so we can casually forget about that one and just make it an intention rather than a resolution.

Jeremy plating deliciousness

YUM. 

The year of the adult

I prefer reflection to planning. So much less to get wrong and so much more potential for wisdom. Hence why this first post of the New Year is about the Old One. Resolutory (not a word) posts about goals and delusions can and will come later (one resolution is to blog weekly rather than bi-monthly).

Twenty Twelve, I decided this morning while reading UK Glamour magazine and drinking coffee by the fire, was the Year of The Adult. The most adulty year of my life to date. For the first time, in twenty-twelve, all the adult things of my life so far converged into one whole year of living them. It involved being married to my husband and living in a house, an actual house with stairs and furniture, driving myself to work every day in a car that I own. And I only sort of crashed once. It wasn't even a crash as much as a moment of utter brainlessness that led to my license plate leaving an imprint on the parked car in front. I left a note (very adult) and met the guy on a street corner to give him a cheque to cover the damage (kinda dodge and unadult, but we didn't want my insurance to skyrocket). But anyway, the point is I drove my car to work  mostly without incident and when I got to work I spent the whole day working. Working. There was a lot of working, every day in fact, although I'm pretty good at squeezing the American System for every last drop of vacation remaining within it. There was a fair amount of grocery shopping. At some point, I wrote a book - which at this very moment is being critiqued by my most critiqueiest reader, a thought which terrifies me. I had a kitty to look after, and we even gave him a name after a while, or a name kind of stuck to him and refused to un-stick. Tronald. Jeremy's name creation, of course, which I have shortened to Tronky. If this were the McCarthy era, we'd probably be brought in for questioning - I definitely think of communism every time I call him (I know Tronky is not Trotsky, but it's similar enough). We grew vegetables. I took to using 'we' even when I had sod all to do with the actual process. And I finally accepted that I no longer have the eat-whatever-I-want-and-sit-down-all-day resistant body of my early twenties and I started running. I didn't stop running. OK, I stopped for an entire month between Christmas and Thanksgiving, but then I took it up again and have sort of maybe said that a half marathon might be in my next quarter's future.

I feel the need to go and do something utterly irresponsible. Or maybe I'll just go shop in Forever 21.

Tronky lying down on adultly folded napkins