Another update on the running.
I ran/walked the same 5km circuit yesterday. Guess what?! I shaved 2 1/2 mins off last week's time! My first attempt was 45mins on the nose; yesterday my time was 42:28mins. I am determined to get my time down to 35mins by July.
***
And now for an unashamed plug for sponsorship and donations for my Race For Life run in July. I have attached a widget thing on my sidebar where you can click and sponsor me. It's secure payment. You can use a credit or debit card. You can also go directly to my web page - through which you can also donate/sponsor. The web address is: www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/gypsydee. I'd appreciate donations however small or large. Research into the causes and cure for cancer is vitally important. The number of people diagnosed with cancer every year world wide is on the rise. Chances are, most of us at some point in our lives, will end up knowing, supporting or caring for someone ... a friend, a family member ... who has been diagnosed with cancer. There has to be a cure. There just has to be.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Friday, April 13, 2007
Urgh
My stomach is so bloated. It's been this way for almost five days now. And I have no idea why. It's a terribly uncomfortable feeling. I remember feeling this way prior to taking medication for endometriosis.
But after I started the medication, I ceased having a period and never experienced the bloating thing again. Until now. Two years later. I have been having a few gynae issues lately. I really must find myself a gynaecologist here in London. Probably due a check up.
I feel like crap. My weight has shot up. Shut up. I know I said I was going to take the focus off the scales but with this bloating I wanted to keep tabs on what was happening.
I can't even take anti-inflammatories. Strict band rules ... unless I want some eroded stomach lining.
Urgh.
But after I started the medication, I ceased having a period and never experienced the bloating thing again. Until now. Two years later. I have been having a few gynae issues lately. I really must find myself a gynaecologist here in London. Probably due a check up.
I feel like crap. My weight has shot up. Shut up. I know I said I was going to take the focus off the scales but with this bloating I wanted to keep tabs on what was happening.
I can't even take anti-inflammatories. Strict band rules ... unless I want some eroded stomach lining.
Urgh.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
And?
My application for a Highly Skilled Migrant Permit was approved!
One huge relief ... yes. But in typical UK beauracratic style, I now have to apply for Leave to Remain in the UK which is not necessarily granted even though I have HSMP status! It's a complete farce. Anyway, I sent off my application, passport and 350GBP to the Border and Immigration Department.
All up, I will have coughed up 665GBP plus all the postage costs for this visa.
So there will be no way that I will accept a permanent position at any hospital in London after outlaying that kind of money. I only recently found out what a permanent therapist earns .... 1130GBP per month. I earn substantially more than that. And when my rent is 600GBP per month ... that kind of money wouldn't stretch far at all. I'd rather go out on a limb and set up a private practice than work for a pitance.
Saying all this, I'm still to find out what is happening with the position in the Middle East. Apparently it's still in the pipe line. The delay is down to licences and red tape. Pfft. I'll believe it's real when I see a contract and an airline ticket.
In the meantime, I nervously await the return of my passport ... and final approval and a visa for me to remain in the UK. Joy.
One huge relief ... yes. But in typical UK beauracratic style, I now have to apply for Leave to Remain in the UK which is not necessarily granted even though I have HSMP status! It's a complete farce. Anyway, I sent off my application, passport and 350GBP to the Border and Immigration Department.
All up, I will have coughed up 665GBP plus all the postage costs for this visa.
So there will be no way that I will accept a permanent position at any hospital in London after outlaying that kind of money. I only recently found out what a permanent therapist earns .... 1130GBP per month. I earn substantially more than that. And when my rent is 600GBP per month ... that kind of money wouldn't stretch far at all. I'd rather go out on a limb and set up a private practice than work for a pitance.
Saying all this, I'm still to find out what is happening with the position in the Middle East. Apparently it's still in the pipe line. The delay is down to licences and red tape. Pfft. I'll believe it's real when I see a contract and an airline ticket.
In the meantime, I nervously await the return of my passport ... and final approval and a visa for me to remain in the UK. Joy.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Hold the phone ...
there's an outcome on my visa application.
Although I am yet to find out what it is. A decision has been made by the assessor but the Home Office could not tell me whether the decision was favourable or not over the phone.
Apparently a package containing the all important decision letter and my certificates were delivered to the house today but as I was not there to sign for it, I have to go collect it from the delivery centre. Tomorrow. Yeah, you read it right ... tomorrow. Why? Because the delivery office where my recorded signature package is being held only opens between 7am & 1pm. Dead convenient for those of us with regular jobs.
So I now have 14hrs to dangle on tenterhooks. Gulp. Keep your fingers crossed for me peoples.
Although I am yet to find out what it is. A decision has been made by the assessor but the Home Office could not tell me whether the decision was favourable or not over the phone.
Apparently a package containing the all important decision letter and my certificates were delivered to the house today but as I was not there to sign for it, I have to go collect it from the delivery centre. Tomorrow. Yeah, you read it right ... tomorrow. Why? Because the delivery office where my recorded signature package is being held only opens between 7am & 1pm. Dead convenient for those of us with regular jobs.
So I now have 14hrs to dangle on tenterhooks. Gulp. Keep your fingers crossed for me peoples.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
My arse had it's own postcode
Oh my gawd.
I found pictures I took of myself the day before my surgery 9 months ago. They are positively hideous. I wish I was exaggerating but I’m not. I wish I could be brave enough to post them for your viewing pleasure. But I just can’t bring myself to do it for the shame of it. Maybe after I’ve shaved a couple more kilos off my frame and I may very well find the courage to do so. We can all but hope. They will frighten you. Guaranteed. Let’s just say there was no bloody wonder I felt awkward in my body and definitely would explain why I could only fit a few articles of clothing in my wardrobe … I was positively bursting out of my body seams! Let me try and paint you a picture. I stood there in only a pair of knickers and a bra for one lot of shots; jeans and a tight fitting t-shirt for the second lot. I had doughy, deathly white, deeply dimpled thighs. My legs were huge … I don’t recall it but I surely must’ve waddled instead of walked. My arse was wide, flat and had it’s own postcode. My gut protruded out much farther than my boobs. I looked all squished together in the trunk and hip area … rather like I had been concertinaed together … I had absolutely no waist to speak of. I had massive rolls of fat on my back – just above my waist – big lardy handles which were an obvious indication of my gluttony. I wish someone had used them to restrain me from walking down the confectionery aisle of the supermarket. I had a significant double chin. My cheeks were chubbier than a cherub’s. I looked miserable. I remember feeling miserable. I also remember standing there as the self-timer mode went off on the camera praying that the surgery would end up helping me successfully lose weight. I couldn’t stand myself.
**Ching ching – 9 months later**
I am now a definite size 14. Consistently. In every high street shop in London. It still surprises me. I started out as a size 18-22. Nowadays, when I hold up a pair of size 18 jeans it shocks me. They look huge. How did I ever let myself get that lardy? It took a helluva lot of material to cover my arse back then!
I bought my very first ever full length mirror a couple of weeks ago. The main reason was because I was having trouble noticing and appreciating the changes that are happening with my body. As I’ve mentioned before, I still sometimes think I’m 96.4kg. Since the purchase of “The Mirror”, I now make a point of looking at myself at least once a day … whether I be naked, in underwear or fully clothed it doesn’t matter … I just find that I need to stand there for a minute or two to appreciate and acknowledge the changes that have and continue to happen to my little bod. I’m sure it will take me quite some time to really believe I am smaller than I see myself in my mind’s eye. But before you panic, I can assure you I won’t ever become as deluded as an anorexic who stands there with bones clearly poking out of her skin thinking “God, I’m fat”. You see, I love my curves. Just want to downsize them another size or two. Okay, two if we’re being honest.
I found pictures I took of myself the day before my surgery 9 months ago. They are positively hideous. I wish I was exaggerating but I’m not. I wish I could be brave enough to post them for your viewing pleasure. But I just can’t bring myself to do it for the shame of it. Maybe after I’ve shaved a couple more kilos off my frame and I may very well find the courage to do so. We can all but hope. They will frighten you. Guaranteed. Let’s just say there was no bloody wonder I felt awkward in my body and definitely would explain why I could only fit a few articles of clothing in my wardrobe … I was positively bursting out of my body seams! Let me try and paint you a picture. I stood there in only a pair of knickers and a bra for one lot of shots; jeans and a tight fitting t-shirt for the second lot. I had doughy, deathly white, deeply dimpled thighs. My legs were huge … I don’t recall it but I surely must’ve waddled instead of walked. My arse was wide, flat and had it’s own postcode. My gut protruded out much farther than my boobs. I looked all squished together in the trunk and hip area … rather like I had been concertinaed together … I had absolutely no waist to speak of. I had massive rolls of fat on my back – just above my waist – big lardy handles which were an obvious indication of my gluttony. I wish someone had used them to restrain me from walking down the confectionery aisle of the supermarket. I had a significant double chin. My cheeks were chubbier than a cherub’s. I looked miserable. I remember feeling miserable. I also remember standing there as the self-timer mode went off on the camera praying that the surgery would end up helping me successfully lose weight. I couldn’t stand myself.
**Ching ching – 9 months later**
I am now a definite size 14. Consistently. In every high street shop in London. It still surprises me. I started out as a size 18-22. Nowadays, when I hold up a pair of size 18 jeans it shocks me. They look huge. How did I ever let myself get that lardy? It took a helluva lot of material to cover my arse back then!
I bought my very first ever full length mirror a couple of weeks ago. The main reason was because I was having trouble noticing and appreciating the changes that are happening with my body. As I’ve mentioned before, I still sometimes think I’m 96.4kg. Since the purchase of “The Mirror”, I now make a point of looking at myself at least once a day … whether I be naked, in underwear or fully clothed it doesn’t matter … I just find that I need to stand there for a minute or two to appreciate and acknowledge the changes that have and continue to happen to my little bod. I’m sure it will take me quite some time to really believe I am smaller than I see myself in my mind’s eye. But before you panic, I can assure you I won’t ever become as deluded as an anorexic who stands there with bones clearly poking out of her skin thinking “God, I’m fat”. You see, I love my curves. Just want to downsize them another size or two. Okay, two if we’re being honest.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Run baby run: Part 4
Whoever suggested that exercise curbed your appetite was either anorexic or had never run a day in their life. My appetite has been gigantic since taking up the running gig. Strangely enough though, all this pushing my body to it’s limits has developed a new respect for it ... I want to look after it, nurture it and thank it for all it does for me. I have been fueling my body with good quality food as frequently as it demands. Which, at the moment, is every 2 hours. Not exactly the recommendations Bandsters are advised to follow … but what the hey. I am trying to listen and become more attuned to my body. I am going to try to take the focus off the scales for a little while.
And now, let me bang on about the actual running thing. I know. You lucky, lucky devils! On Sunday I ran/walked a 5km circuit. The time? 45 minutes exactly. Okay, not a pocket rocket time but that did include walking the hill sections and the pedestrian footbridge over the train line with 45 stairs each side. At times, the running was not always comfortable but I persisted … and although the time was slow, I was pretty proud of myself. Think about it, folks ... in spite of my weight loss, I am still 15-20kgs overweight (depending on whether you want to follow my recommended BMI or a weight range like WW) and I have a severe congential scoliosis. So, to drag my partially disabled bulk around the full circuit at all is amazing. I hope to get my run/walk down to 35-38 mins by race day in July. Here's hoping.
I have already devoured the two books I bought on running. They will now be my bible, the sacred reference books on all things running. Both books were interesting, informative reads and quite inspiring. It was through reading these books that I learnt that I should only tackle one running element at a time ie. build up endurance before running hills or speed workouts, that is unless I fancy sustaining an injury or experiencing physical burn out. So that was the primary reason for not running the hills on my Sunday run … not because I didn’t want to try but I because I don’t really want a whacking big injury before I’ve barely beguan!
I really do believe that running is going to change me – not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well. Weird you say? Have a read of what John Bingham writes in “Marathon Running for Mortals”:
“Crossing the starting line may be an act of courage, but crossing the finishing line is an act of faith. And faith is one of the most powerful emotions you can experience. Faith is what keeps us going when nothing else will. Faith is the emotion that conquers fear. Faith is the emotion that will give you victory over your past, the demons in your soul and all of those voices that tell you what you can and cannot do and can and cannot be.”
How can you not be inspired to run after reading that?
And now, let me bang on about the actual running thing. I know. You lucky, lucky devils! On Sunday I ran/walked a 5km circuit. The time? 45 minutes exactly. Okay, not a pocket rocket time but that did include walking the hill sections and the pedestrian footbridge over the train line with 45 stairs each side. At times, the running was not always comfortable but I persisted … and although the time was slow, I was pretty proud of myself. Think about it, folks ... in spite of my weight loss, I am still 15-20kgs overweight (depending on whether you want to follow my recommended BMI or a weight range like WW) and I have a severe congential scoliosis. So, to drag my partially disabled bulk around the full circuit at all is amazing. I hope to get my run/walk down to 35-38 mins by race day in July. Here's hoping.
I have already devoured the two books I bought on running. They will now be my bible, the sacred reference books on all things running. Both books were interesting, informative reads and quite inspiring. It was through reading these books that I learnt that I should only tackle one running element at a time ie. build up endurance before running hills or speed workouts, that is unless I fancy sustaining an injury or experiencing physical burn out. So that was the primary reason for not running the hills on my Sunday run … not because I didn’t want to try but I because I don’t really want a whacking big injury before I’ve barely beguan!
I really do believe that running is going to change me – not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well. Weird you say? Have a read of what John Bingham writes in “Marathon Running for Mortals”:
“Crossing the starting line may be an act of courage, but crossing the finishing line is an act of faith. And faith is one of the most powerful emotions you can experience. Faith is what keeps us going when nothing else will. Faith is the emotion that conquers fear. Faith is the emotion that will give you victory over your past, the demons in your soul and all of those voices that tell you what you can and cannot do and can and cannot be.”
How can you not be inspired to run after reading that?
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
The reading matter of Bandit Girl
I was curled up reading my newly purchased book on "Running for Women" tonight when it suddenly occurred to me.
I love books (okay ... that part didn't just occur to me!). I surround myself with them. Library books. Purchased books. Borrowed books. Free books. Thick books. Thin books. Reference books. Fictional books. Love 'em. Every one of them.
Prior to my band I owned a swag of weight loss books. And I mean a swag. Everything from the psychology of eating self help books, diet specific books, books on super foods, calorie counting books, intuitive eating books. On and on the list went. My library of such material grew to mammoth and rather ridiculous proportions (in hindsight, of course!).
However, over the past 9 months since surgery and with the slow but steady success of the band, I have pared down my collection of these books. And I am left with but one. Good ole' Gillian McKeith's "You Are What You Eat". And now? Well, let's just say there is a definite sea change! I have oodles of books on fitness & health (not dieting) - yoga books, a book on anatomy for strength and fitness training, weight training books, books on running, beauty books (make up application and hair styling) and photography books. Gone are the Weight Watchers and Slimmers magazines; replaced with Practical Photography, Bravissimo catalogues (lingerie) and fashion magazines like Red & Grazia (I don't buy these often but when I plan for a lazy weekend they are the bomb!).
And as for the matter that covers my fridge. Previously, it would be on the calorie values of some of my favourite foods and 'diet' sayings to try and prevent me from eating (as if that was going to stop me! Ha!). Now I have magnets that have inspirational sayings (basically affirmations acknowledging how far I have come); a flyer from the local organic food store; a yoga time table and snippets on travel locations/hotels and an article on the newly opened Sex Academy.
I guess some would shrug and say, "Big deal, Bandit Girl". But to me it is a big deal. It's a monumental change. I have, without even being completely aware, moved from being focussed on food, calorie counting and weight loss to being far more interested in health, fitness, my hobby and learning to look like a gorgeous goddess. I really love this change. I love feeling like a normal, healthy human being. Not an obsessed, hung up, waiting-for-my-life-to-begin-when-I-lose-40kg human being. Sweeeeet!
I love books (okay ... that part didn't just occur to me!). I surround myself with them. Library books. Purchased books. Borrowed books. Free books. Thick books. Thin books. Reference books. Fictional books. Love 'em. Every one of them.
Prior to my band I owned a swag of weight loss books. And I mean a swag. Everything from the psychology of eating self help books, diet specific books, books on super foods, calorie counting books, intuitive eating books. On and on the list went. My library of such material grew to mammoth and rather ridiculous proportions (in hindsight, of course!).
However, over the past 9 months since surgery and with the slow but steady success of the band, I have pared down my collection of these books. And I am left with but one. Good ole' Gillian McKeith's "You Are What You Eat". And now? Well, let's just say there is a definite sea change! I have oodles of books on fitness & health (not dieting) - yoga books, a book on anatomy for strength and fitness training, weight training books, books on running, beauty books (make up application and hair styling) and photography books. Gone are the Weight Watchers and Slimmers magazines; replaced with Practical Photography, Bravissimo catalogues (lingerie) and fashion magazines like Red & Grazia (I don't buy these often but when I plan for a lazy weekend they are the bomb!).
And as for the matter that covers my fridge. Previously, it would be on the calorie values of some of my favourite foods and 'diet' sayings to try and prevent me from eating (as if that was going to stop me! Ha!). Now I have magnets that have inspirational sayings (basically affirmations acknowledging how far I have come); a flyer from the local organic food store; a yoga time table and snippets on travel locations/hotels and an article on the newly opened Sex Academy.
I guess some would shrug and say, "Big deal, Bandit Girl". But to me it is a big deal. It's a monumental change. I have, without even being completely aware, moved from being focussed on food, calorie counting and weight loss to being far more interested in health, fitness, my hobby and learning to look like a gorgeous goddess. I really love this change. I love feeling like a normal, healthy human being. Not an obsessed, hung up, waiting-for-my-life-to-begin-when-I-lose-40kg human being. Sweeeeet!
Monday, April 02, 2007
Run baby run: Part 3
I hurt. Everywhere. My back. My knees. My ribs. My boobs. My eyes. My arms. Any movement seems to elicit pain. Not uncomfortable pain. But rather the type you get when you know you've pushed yourself hard and you feel a certain sense of satisfaction.
I went out hard today and feel a great sense of achievement in spite of pain and the exhaustion from a long night vigil for my family.
I literally had to pick my arse up by it's cheeks and drag it to the gym this morning at 6am. To my pleasant suprise, I found that my usual Body Pump class had been increased from 45 min to an hour. Yesss! I lifted heavier weights. I completed more repetitions than usual despite the screaming protests of my muscles. I worked hard. I even had the sopping wet t-shirt to prove it!
I took a little more time and care with getting dressed and made up and felt like one hell of a classy chick cutting up the pavement on my way to work. I may have even 'minced' into the foyer of the hospital.
Then, after work I went on the much feared run with the running group. I ran for almost an hour .. I may have walked for a total of 15mins. Admittedly, at times my running was barely faster than walking. But I would like to point out that the Oxford dictionary defines running as: moving at a speed faster than a walk ... albeit just! My back was killing me. And at times I thought I would pass out ... but maybe some of that had to do with the lack of oxygen I was able to inhale due to the fierce constriction of my new running bra! But I just kept going.
You know what? I kind of enjoyed it. It was complete hell but the fact that there were 10 women of varying abilities, shapes, ages and running ambitions made it a hoot. We did split runs (fast/slow), fast relays and a fun, fiesty game of 'tiggy'(tag) on the way back to the hospital. I loved it. I loved the camaraderie. I loved the support ... these women encouraging me, supporting me, cheering me on yet being understanding enough to jog at an almost non-pace when my back pained too much to run. I think I may be hooked. It's social. It's outdoors. And dammit, it may just end up being more fun than I could imagine.
So here's to uber sore muscles tomorrow and pushing the boat out of the harbour of comfortable and familiar.
Must. Read. One. Chapter. Of. Running. Book. Before. Falling. Asleep. Maybe not.
I went out hard today and feel a great sense of achievement in spite of pain and the exhaustion from a long night vigil for my family.
I literally had to pick my arse up by it's cheeks and drag it to the gym this morning at 6am. To my pleasant suprise, I found that my usual Body Pump class had been increased from 45 min to an hour. Yesss! I lifted heavier weights. I completed more repetitions than usual despite the screaming protests of my muscles. I worked hard. I even had the sopping wet t-shirt to prove it!
I took a little more time and care with getting dressed and made up and felt like one hell of a classy chick cutting up the pavement on my way to work. I may have even 'minced' into the foyer of the hospital.
Then, after work I went on the much feared run with the running group. I ran for almost an hour .. I may have walked for a total of 15mins. Admittedly, at times my running was barely faster than walking. But I would like to point out that the Oxford dictionary defines running as: moving at a speed faster than a walk ... albeit just! My back was killing me. And at times I thought I would pass out ... but maybe some of that had to do with the lack of oxygen I was able to inhale due to the fierce constriction of my new running bra! But I just kept going.
You know what? I kind of enjoyed it. It was complete hell but the fact that there were 10 women of varying abilities, shapes, ages and running ambitions made it a hoot. We did split runs (fast/slow), fast relays and a fun, fiesty game of 'tiggy'(tag) on the way back to the hospital. I loved it. I loved the camaraderie. I loved the support ... these women encouraging me, supporting me, cheering me on yet being understanding enough to jog at an almost non-pace when my back pained too much to run. I think I may be hooked. It's social. It's outdoors. And dammit, it may just end up being more fun than I could imagine.
So here's to uber sore muscles tomorrow and pushing the boat out of the harbour of comfortable and familiar.
Must. Read. One. Chapter. Of. Running. Book. Before. Falling. Asleep. Maybe not.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
If only it were April fools
It's 11:40pm Sunday night in the UK. I have just got a frantic text message from my mum saying a tsunami warning had been issued for Cairns. I text her back and said, "Are you sure it's real and not a belated April fool's joke?". Unfortunately, it isn't. I've logged onto the Bureau of Meteorology website and sure enough there is a massive warning for coastal towns of the east coast of Australia from the northern penninsula to Brisbane for a Tsunami strike.
I have received a message from a friend who's parents and their catamaran (which they lovingly built from scratch) were moored in the Solomon Islands. She has told me that her parents and the boat are okay but the island of Gizo is completely wiped out.
I cannot believe it. Only yesterday did my mum tell me with much excitement that she was coming to visit me in the UK for two weeks in June. This is huge. My mum has never travelled outside Oz before. I sent her a text message a week ago asking if she'd consider coming over to visit me but I figured she wouldn't have the cash, the time or the desire to visit me overseas before Rob and I headed back to Oz to build a little nest. But to my great suprise and joy, she has decided she is going to take the plunge and come in the next lot of school holidays (as she works at a school). I have been on cloud 9 ever since she told me.
Now I'm in a state of panic. I'm trawling the internet. Calling her. Texting her. Texting her again. Gawd, I can't believe this. It's completely nuts. I cannot do anything to help. I feel rather helpless. There is no way I can sleep till I know everything is going to be okay ... or not. Please keep my family and friends in your thoughts and prayers.
I have received a message from a friend who's parents and their catamaran (which they lovingly built from scratch) were moored in the Solomon Islands. She has told me that her parents and the boat are okay but the island of Gizo is completely wiped out.
I cannot believe it. Only yesterday did my mum tell me with much excitement that she was coming to visit me in the UK for two weeks in June. This is huge. My mum has never travelled outside Oz before. I sent her a text message a week ago asking if she'd consider coming over to visit me but I figured she wouldn't have the cash, the time or the desire to visit me overseas before Rob and I headed back to Oz to build a little nest. But to my great suprise and joy, she has decided she is going to take the plunge and come in the next lot of school holidays (as she works at a school). I have been on cloud 9 ever since she told me.
Now I'm in a state of panic. I'm trawling the internet. Calling her. Texting her. Texting her again. Gawd, I can't believe this. It's completely nuts. I cannot do anything to help. I feel rather helpless. There is no way I can sleep till I know everything is going to be okay ... or not. Please keep my family and friends in your thoughts and prayers.
Run baby run: Part 2
I think I need to lie down. I can't believe I'm planning to do some serious running. Am I completely nuts? Trust me, I'll keep you informed!
I now own two books on running. "The Complete Book of Running for Women" (Claire Kowalchik) and "Marathon Running for Mortals" (John Bingham & Jenny Hadfield). I have already devoured half of the Claire Kowalchik's book in one day. It is so full of information and inspiration. Just reading makes me want to run! I have trawled the internet for a load of websites on running for women and bookmarked them into my one of my favourites folders labelled "Health & Fitness".
I am also the proud owner of a contraption of sorts. A sports bra with bells & whistles, hooks & velcro. It feels a little like a chastity belt for my boobs ... I am not yet convinced that prolonged wear won't induce an asthma attack! To say it's a little firm would be an understatement of sorts!
And, I even contacted a friend of mine who regularly goes along with the running group formed by a bunch of people that we work with ... and I have kinda committed to going along tomorrow night. Gulp. A couple of the running club members run marathons every couple of weeks ... for fun! Ha! This is going to be interesting. Fingers crossed I make it home ... without suffering a coronary or a bra induced asthma attack!
Bandit Girl is going to become a runner ... okay, clearly not the stereotypical tall, lithe, lean, long striding runner but one day soon you'll see me out there doing something a lot like running. I would like to think it will be in a manner that will not draw public smirking and finger pointing! But that is a very real possibility.
Who knows ... maybe one day those internet websites on running may have their very own folder labelled "Running". Maybe.
I now own two books on running. "The Complete Book of Running for Women" (Claire Kowalchik) and "Marathon Running for Mortals" (John Bingham & Jenny Hadfield). I have already devoured half of the Claire Kowalchik's book in one day. It is so full of information and inspiration. Just reading makes me want to run! I have trawled the internet for a load of websites on running for women and bookmarked them into my one of my favourites folders labelled "Health & Fitness".
I am also the proud owner of a contraption of sorts. A sports bra with bells & whistles, hooks & velcro. It feels a little like a chastity belt for my boobs ... I am not yet convinced that prolonged wear won't induce an asthma attack! To say it's a little firm would be an understatement of sorts!
And, I even contacted a friend of mine who regularly goes along with the running group formed by a bunch of people that we work with ... and I have kinda committed to going along tomorrow night. Gulp. A couple of the running club members run marathons every couple of weeks ... for fun! Ha! This is going to be interesting. Fingers crossed I make it home ... without suffering a coronary or a bra induced asthma attack!
Bandit Girl is going to become a runner ... okay, clearly not the stereotypical tall, lithe, lean, long striding runner but one day soon you'll see me out there doing something a lot like running. I would like to think it will be in a manner that will not draw public smirking and finger pointing! But that is a very real possibility.
Who knows ... maybe one day those internet websites on running may have their very own folder labelled "Running". Maybe.
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