Running with Swinton Ladies...

A few weeks back, When my friend Louise suggested I join her in her women's club race, I happily agreed, knowing it would be a great way to get me out the house, and running, on a Sunday morning. Thankfully, being far more organised than me, when I had still failed to sign up for the race come Thursday, Louise made sure I had a place, even offering to drive me there.

So, as I had made no effort myself to find out about the race, enter myself or even identify what distance the race even was, it was a lovely surprise to discover that I would be racing the Swinton Running Club's City of Salford Women's Race. A lovely 5.25 miles. Why so Lovely? because this is one half of the Swinton 10 mile race; trust me, having run the the double lap of the course, it truly does feel lovely to only run it once!

However, there was - of course - more to the race than that so, here is a brief account of my race experience:

Arrive... Rain... Rain... Rain... Cold now... Start... Run... Run... Run... Pass friendly marshalls... Run... Run... Run... Up hill... Down hill... Rain stopped... Up hill... Down hill... Sun coming out... warming up... round a corner... flat hill... Past Hope Hospital and more friendly marshalls... Up hill... Overtaking people - WOOP!... Busy road... Under pass... Passing more people - woop woop!... Up hill... Friendly marshalls... Up hill... Finish line in sight... Death hill... Sprint, sprint, sprint... Breathe!

Still panting, I collected my goodie bag (including a Freddo - yum!) and jogged back to force Louise into running faster up the death hill.

An official time of 46.24, suggests that all my hard work at Curves and BMF is paying off, now I just have to find a way to make it to club more often!

Oh... And to top off a brilliant race, I also won a spot prize...

...big thanks Swinton Running Club... A well organised, friendly and enjoyable race; I'll see you again next year!

Curious Adventures

Curiosity killed the cat; hopefully it does not hold similar ramifications for the runner. My last two runs have been curiosity fuelled, with the latter of the two being more successful - depending on how one views success; if success can be attributed to 'getting lost' then perhaps the former was actually the more fruitful!

When I moved to the pleasant parish of Prestwich last June, I knew that the beauty of Heaton Park would offer a welcome change to my running routine from pounding the urban highways of Harpurhey. What I wasn't aware of at that time, was the wealth of running routes offered on the other side of the 'Village'.

For those of you that know nothing of the area, Prestwich is a town situated about 3 miles north of Manchester. The oldest part of the town, known as Prestwich Village, holds many delights such as an artisan cheese shop - nom, nom, nom, Marks and Spencers' food - nom, nom, nom and a several little independent tea rooms - nom, nom, nom. In comparison to this, the place in which I used to live, housed several kebab shops, a Lidl and a Maccy D's... Prestwich is no Didsbury but it is, for us, a super-normous step up in the world!

So, with all these delightful places to shop and eat, it was all the more important that I significantly increased my running and found some new routes to keep myself entertained. 4 months on and that is exactly what I've finally managed to do. On Thursday, I was due to meet my friend Lisa for brunch. Lisa is a feeder. Yep... a proper feeder. She's super-skinny (even though she only gave birth 2 months ago), doesn't seem to be overly tempted by every sweet treat that ever existed (I'm not envious, really I'm not), yet she bakes sweet treats until they're coming out of her ears, which she then FORCES us to eat. Lisa FORCED me to go to Slattery's with her... honestly... FORCED. And so, with my arm tightly twisted behind my back, fearing what would befall me if I dared try to duck out of the chocolate fest she had in store for us, I needed a plan... a cunning plan... I would go for a run.

The plan was to run 6 miles. I ran 7.25. Why? Because I got lost. Well, I say lost... I had my Iphone on me, so I was never really lost, but as I didn't have a clue precisely where I was for most of my run, I think that an accurate description of my predicament was: lost.

The plan was to run to Phillip's Park, which I discovered the existence of at last weeks' Apple Day (don't ask). However, when I emerged from the autumnal wilderness of the Clough, I stumbled upon a cycle track... in fact, several cycle tracks... actually... more cycle tracks than you could shake a stick at. Cycle tracks to a lake, cycle tracks to a field, cycle tracks to woods, cycle tracks alongside the Irwell, cycle tracks over the Irwell, cycle tracks under the Irwell... cycle tracks everywhere. I had stumbled upon a cyclist's haven... nay... a runner's heaven... my heaven! It was so much fun! I ran and ran and ran. Until I realised I had no idea where I was, that Lisa would be arriving any time soon and that I was potentially MILES from home. Thankfully, despite my twisting and turning down all the different paths, my natural sat-nav had somehow managed to keep me heading largely in the right direction; a quick check on my phone enabled me to plot a cursory route home.

Despite the 'change of plan', ultimately that day all went according to plan... a swift two mile walk to the chocolate, a two mile walk home again, and a 30 minute gym session that afternoon, not only served to foil Lisa's feeding - although she did try again later that night with a HUGE portion of fish and chips! - but proved that curiosity pays - in calories if nothing else!

Of course, I couldn't leave my new discovery there, with so much still uncharted. So, today, I laced up my trainers and trailed out again to the other side of town. Desiring a threshold run, rather than a slower paced one, I didn't stray quite so far this time, but my run did take me out down some lovely country roads and into the world of the dog walkers, covering 4.2 miles in total. An added lunchtime jaunt around the park, with my dog, has set me up nicely for a couple of glasses of wine on my night out with the girls this evening. Something tells me, it won't be curiosity that kills the runner, rather the wine and rich foods which the runner feels the need to 'run off''!

As for those of you that scrolled through my extensive ramblings and thought 'no chance mate'... here's a pictorial tour of my curious adventures:

Through Prestwich Clough

Past the lake

Via Thirteen Arches

Into Phillip's Park

A quick "Heya" to the weasel.

Back out in the sunshine over the fields.

Loving the Spam

I have a spam filter.

Well, not me personally - although I'm not the biggest fan of spam (the meat variety, rather than the digital type) - but my blog (the digital type now, not the processed meat!) has. Phew... that was a little more complicated than I first thought. Let me start again.

My blog has a spam filter.

This is a shame. The benefits of it, of course, are that the comments section of my blog posts are not overrun with general diatribe (I can do that on my own!), germ ridden links and apocryphal advertising... it keeps us all safe - so to speak. The shame of it though is that only I get to read the funny (sometimes let a little giggle out kind of funny, but not usually LOL style funny and most definitely never the ROFL kind of funny) and entirely unrelated comments that might otherwise appear at the end of my blog posts. Instead, these are emailed, for my eyes only, to my google box!

So, with all potentially virus-ridden links removed - and at the risk of more spam detectors picking up some spammy key words and spamming me further, here are some of my favourites. At this point, one must remember that I blog about pointless, meaningless and, quite frankly, completely useless bumf:

Spammy Comment #1:

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Spammy Comment #2:

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Spammy Comment #3:

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And finally, my favourite - Spammy Comment #4:

This web site truly has all of the information and facts I needed about this subject and didn't know who to ask. Also see my webpage: spamcakes

... I have always thought that my blog contains all the information and facts that anyone would ever need to know about this subject. And now you know, that if you didn't know who to ask before, you do now!

Forget Google... I am the new oracle!

RUNNERS BEWARE!

Please read and share with runners...

A new craze seems to have hit the streets whereby people, in their cars, seemingly noshing on McDonald's, drive past health conscious runners and lob barbecue sauce pots at their heads!

This is not a joke... it's really happened... Yes... flying barbecue sauce hit me in the head!

It is not clear yet why these people are choosing to pummel runners in the head with half eaten barbecue sauce pots from well-known multi-national fast food chains. It may be that ill-gotten points are to be gained from this scenario - much akin to the points one may gain from knocking a cyclist off their bike, or running an old lady over on a zebra crossing - or perhaps it is simply a dirty food protest from Maccy D's munchers.

Whichever, I think the irony of throwing filthy fast food pots at a runner's head was probably entirely lost on the thrower, but it certainly wasn't by the throwee...

Runners... BEWARE!

Maybe that's what they were trying...

The End...

I'm having my last little cry of 2012. I say 'last' as I can't imagine that anything will be able to move me to such emotion, over the remaining months, as the Olympics and Paralympics have over the past few weeks. Of course, I'm watching highlights of the Athletes' Parade. Well, I say 'of course' but if I was amazed at how involved I became in this summer's sports, it was nothing in comparison to the surprise of those who know me well...

Right now, sitting in front of my telebox, I feel like I've watched the best reality show - ever. There's been drama, action and emotion at every turn, not to mention the 'characters' I've come to love. Right now, Boris is announcing to my living room that these athletes stood behind him are our 'greatest team' who have 'bought athletics home', causing 'tube train passengers to break out into spontaneous conversation' which, as we know, really, truly is a great achievement! And (for once) he's making sense!

I really don't know what I'm going to do now... start saving for a holiday in Rio, I guess...

Bring on the Superhumans...

"Are you excited?" My friend asks me. We're standing in the stands of Old Trafford watching Team GB play Senegal in the Olympic Games.
"Excited?" I query. "What, about?"
"The Olympics!" She replies in a manner which I can only describe as excited.
This seems a strange question; why would I be excited?
"The Olympics?" I offer back, trying to hide any form of incredulity in my voice and failing miserably.
"Yes!" she replies, in a manner which, I decide now, is undoubtedly one of excitement. "I can't wait... why, aren't you excited...?"

But, despite my friend's evident enthusiasm on that day, I just couldn't conjure any kind of similar emotion. Was there something wrong with me? Should I be more excited? It's not that I didn't want the games to be in London and I certainly wasn't one of those nay-sayers that were so prolific in the British media pre-Olympic Games. No, I was simply apathetic. I neither cared, nor didn't care. I imagined I would catch a few events on 'the box'; that The Games would affect me rather in the same way that football does each season: I enjoy watching it live and when it's showing 'live' in the corner of my lounge, I'll glance up occasionally to see what's caused Mik to swear profusely and leap up and down with excessive arm gestures.

How wrong was I.

The game at Old Trafford was pre-Olympic Opening Ceremony. It turns out that, for me, the Opening Ceremony was a turning point. I was entertained. I was moved. I was proud. And I can use those three words to summarise the whole two weeks. The Games continually entertained me, surprised me even. I felt tears well in my eyes when the National Anthem accompanied our athletes standing atop of the podium.
A whole new world of exciting sports had been revealed to me; who'd have thought I'd enjoy watching weight-lifting, would be engaged by equestrian or would find myself leaping up and down and screaming at swimmers? Certainly not me. But I there I was, fully affected by these people and their sports. Their effort. Their achievements. And, frequently, over the two weeks, as we worked our way further and further up the medal table, Mik would look over at me, shake his head and ask "You having another cry?".
"No." I'd assert, looking away and surreptitiously sweeping a tiny tear from the corner of my eye.

But, the Olympic Games have ruined me. I want more... I expect more.  No longer am I satisfied with the weekend offerings of our television companies. X-Factor? Red or Black? Celebrity Big Brother? Boring. I'm spoilt; I want more. After two weeks of watching people with real talent, doing something that takes real hard work and real dedication, they just appear anaemic and inadequate. I need more.

So, I can't wait for the Paralympic Games to start this week, and I know I'm not the only one, am I?...

Bring on the Superhumans!

How Very British

The tube is rattling along at a pace of knots and I'm doing my best 'stare at my feet and pretend I have no idea that I'm snuggled as close as is humanly possibly beneath the closest stranger's armpit' look. I'm on my way to Notting Hill. That's the posh, swanky, sloaney bit of London with cute painted houses and vintage shops selling second hand clothes for extortionate prices - for those of you who aren't posh, swanky or sloaney enough to know this already.

I'm here to meet up with my friends Ellen and Louisa for a day of very British, middle class fun. We're having a very British, middle class picnic, bought from apt British middle class stores such as Waitrose and Marks and Spencer's, - other apt and British middle class stores are available - and we're going to drink British, (though possibly French, but we'll make sure we drink it in a very British manner) middle class champagne whilst sat in the beautiful (British) surroundings of Royal Kensington Gardens, - how very British and middle class.

I mistakenly look up momentarily and accidentally catch the eye of the armpit bearer; we both shift uncomfortably and resume our respective staring at nothing, relieved to re-assume our very British, middle class tube roles.

Later, we're going to drink fruity Swedish cider that contains elderflower, of all things, in a British bar on the Portobello Road, after which we will complete the day supping wine in the theatrical surroundings of Regent's Park where we will be entertained by a group of 'players' performing A Midsummer's Night's Dream. Seriously, I think to myself, can you GET any more British and middle class than that?

The motion of the tube begins to slow as we approach the station. The strangers around me begin preparing themselves, picking up bags and shuffling closer to the doors. naturally, I politely disengage myself from the gentleman's elbow as he prepares to alight from the train, moving a small boy - eight? Nine maybe? Yes, nine, definitely, - moving a nine year old boy in front of him as he does so. I wonder briefly what plans they have for the day, Madam Tussaud's perhaps, The London Dungeon's or just shopping on Oxford Street; certainly nothing as British and middle class as my friends and I have planned for the day. The doors open. I shift aside.

"Here we are," the gentleman says to the nine year old boy as he nudges him gently towards the doors, "this is our stop, off you get Moriarty."!

Labels

I'm lying on the beach, In Ibiza - not the clubby bit, the other bit; the non-clubby bit ...there's an 18-30's only rule in the other bit and I think you might evaporate or burst or turn into a pumpkin if you're tempted to dip your little toe into the place past 31 years old... We're taking in the sights and sounds of the 'real' Espania.

I've recently become distracted by two groups of people in front of me. I've labelled them: Posh English Girls and Chavvy Spanish Family. But this has disturbed me. Why have I labelled them in this way? Have I become a labeller? When did I become so judgmental about people to a point where I give them perky little labels... Full on titled names? I think that this is something I've always tried to avoid, labelling people, it's something I often tell Mik off for. In fact, I can see his smug grin now when he realises that I too, have become a labeller. I decide not to tell him. But, as I lay here, with the sea lapping at my feet and the sounds of sweet childish laughter lilting on the air, I become more preoccupied as to why I have labeled each group in the way I have. I try to look for the obvious distinctive features. Ponder whether everyone on the beach, no matter their nationality, would perceive them in this way. Or whether it's just me.

Posh English Girls are sweet. There are five of them in the group. Three are left here at the moment as the two Chanel glasses-wearing ones have apologised for being boring before leaving to enjoy their balcony away from the 'awful sand'. They've just been given a couple of inflatables by some Dutch holiday makers who are going home - they didn't say they were Dutch, that's just an accurate guess, but they did say they were going home - they are now planning on how to surprise the other two girls in their group with the inflatables (Posh English Girls not the Dutch) which seems to involve the inflatable turning up on the balcony doorstep all of its own accord, whilst they hide, in fits of hysterical hilarity around the corner. Perhaps this is how I know they're posh; in my world, inflatables do not posses the capacity to do this. Listening in to their conversation, it is relaxed, soft, quiet. They discuss what 'Daddy' does for a living in between their reading of 'Fifty Shades...' and 'Grazia' magazine.

Beyond them, in the sea, Chavvy Spanish Family are loud and brash. Not speaking much Spanish past the essentials of 'hola', 'gracias' and 'mi casa est blanca', I'm unable to ascertain if they are shouting to each other a critique of the protagonist in 'Fifty Shades' or, if they are musing over their fathers' successes in life. I assume they are. They are certainly enjoying life. Splashing about - a lot - dunking each other, demonstrating the sort of overt affection that I, as a typically reserved English lady, find a little too excessive for the public arena. Their zealous and exuberant behaviour calls to mind that poster from back in the 80's... You know, the one that used to don the walls of every public swimming pool: 'no bombing, no diving, no heavy petting'.
'They'd be thrown out of an English swimming pool if this was the 80's' I think to myself as I glance at the beach lifeguard... He's watching them closely.

I look from them, to the Posh English Girls quietly quaffing their Evian, and back again... No, I just can't pinpoint what is is about them that has caused me to label them in such a way. Perhaps it's just intuition. Perhaps it's just me. Internally, I chastise myself. Who am I to pass judgement on these groups of strangers? To label them like some prejudiced, judgmental labeller? Suddenly I feel ashamed. The Posh English Girls are just quiet, lovely girls with well-pronounced words and dads they're proud of; and the Chavvy Spanish Family are just fun-loving, ostentatious, beach-goers, enjoying themselves in a loud and overly boisterous manner.

As I look back from them fooling about in the sea, I vow to myself to never again enter into such flippant, flimsy labelling and, most definitely, never mention my foray into this sordid world to Mik, who would surely mock me for these foolish ways.
I catch Mik's eye. He raises his eyebrows at me and smirks.

Julie!

Past experiences have taught me that alcohol is not the best fuel for exercise; it does not make for a pleasant work-out experience the following day. Needless to say, having consumed a fair amount of birthday alcohol yesterday, I was not looking forward to my Curves session today; so imagine my surprise when I superseded all previous workouts, smashed my target and burnt 430 calories! Gold medal for Maggie!

Having achieved my planned early(ish) morning work out I spent the rest of the day with my lovely friend, Anj, and her even lovelier 2 1/2 year old son whirlwind of energy, Zain. We lunched at Wetherspoons (where they now do a very tasty and super-healthy 'Superfood salad), we played in the park (Zain testing my newly developed arm muscles with persistent swing pushing), and... we changed my name. Why? Because it was easier...

"Hello Julie!" Zain beamed as I entered his house;
"Maggie... this is Maggie". His mum gently corrected.
"Julie push me." Zain insisted as he sat poised on the swing;
"Maggie." His mum and I gently corrected.
"Thank you Julie" Zain politely thanked me on receiving his ice cream;
"Maggie." His mum and I gently corrected.
"There's Julie's car" Zain excitedly exclaimed as we left the park;
"Maggie." His mum and I chuckled, in gentle correction.
"Bye, bye Julie." Zain smiled as he waved me off;
"Bye, bye Zain" I smiled back.

2 1/2 year olds are particularly stubborn... it's easier to change my name!

Tipsy turvey!

Well... tomorrow is gonna hurt... that's for sure!

Right now, admittedly, I'm a little tipsy. I have spent a fantastic night out with a great group of girls, where I spent the entire night eating pizza and drinking wine... actually that's not strictly true, I also treated myself to an Eaton Mess! Mmmmm...

Anyway, in my new leaf promise (that I made only yesterday), I am due at Curves tomorrow morning where I will inevitably die!

So, this is goodbye. Farewell friends. It's been good and we've had a (relatively) long life together. I never thought the turn of my 34th year would also signal my penultimate day in this world but at least it's been a good one! Tomorrow, I will endeavour to fulfil the fitness promise I have made myself and, let's face it, it's not gonna be pretty. If - and that's very unlikely - I live through this experience, I'll see you on the other side; if not, it's been fun...

Au revoir world...

Maggie.

PS... on the plus side: I painted my kitchen this morning and it looks muchos nice! :-)

Ooooh... pretty!!!

Back in the game

Sshhhhhh...

We all have to stay as quiet as possible, so I'd appreciate it if you'd read this in a whispered voice; which is due to this little man:

Who is in my care tonight... I know... poor him!... whilst his parents have some well-earned quality time together. Of course, this leaves me with very little to do, so what better time could there be to catch up with all of you whilst my nephew is snoring away (and he really is snoring quite loudly!)?

Needless to say, however, that 'catching up' could take quite a long time as it's been several months since I have posted on this blog. So, to avoid a mass-exodus of readers at this moment in time (all 3 of you are very important to me), I shall now provide a brief, yet comprehensive, account of my past 3 months:

June: 
- moved house - family visited from USA - family caught virus and threw up all over new house - unpacked into new house - ran SOTOS 10k, in Fleetwood, after a whole day out drinking alcohol and nearly died - recovered (almost) - Went to Stone Roses concert (in the park opposite my house...woop!).

July:
- end of school term - ate - drank - ate - drank - got fat - joined Curves gym - started diet - started running on my own so I didn't die when I returned to running club having not been for a ridiculous amount of time! - ran - Curves - ran - Curves - ran to Curves - still too scared to go back to running club - watched the Olympics - went to lovely friends' wedding - got less fat (woop!).

August:
- watched more Olympics - Curves - painted kitchen - babysitting nephew (in present tense because it's actually happening now!).

Ta daaaa! ... Ooooh, a bit loud... sorry... whispering again...

And now that you're up to date, let's move on to more important things... what happens next. Well I intend to start blogging more again. Let's face it, I've been pretty poor recently and I still owe the lovely people at UnderArmour a proper review of their T-shirt they sent me... watch this space! In conversation with a friend last week, I realised the close connection that exists between lack of blog posts and lack of exercise:

Friend:  I seem to have missed your blog posts recently, are you still posting on facebook when you write one?
Me: Oh, that's because I haven't written any blog posts recently... actually, for quite a while if I'm honest... Oh my word, for like, a quarter of a year or something mad like that...
Brain: Yes, you Orca, that's why you got fat and unfit... you can't blog if you haven't done anything to blog about! Oops!

Well, today is new leaf day. Tightening the belt and intensifying the exercise a few weeks back has meant that I am already successfully on my way to being able to actually tighten my belt! And who can fail to be inspired at the moment with all the excitement and hype of the Olympics?! But it's not just the 'elite' athletes who are inspiring me to get out there are run; if you haven't read about Team Fools Rushing's amazing achievement at TR24 last weekend, then hop over to Fortnightflo's blog to read her account... absolutely crazy fab!

Anyway... best go... the little man is waking... who shouted??!!!

Catch up again tomorrow, when my (birth)day begins with a run in the park with a couple of friends who have just taken up running. :-)

Whatever happened to Juneathon?

Juneathon: you might think I have given up.

You'd be right.

I have.

In fact, last week I achieved a new height of Juneathon uselessness (for me); taking my sum effort from 'shoddy' excuses and 'invented' exercise to 'completely and utterly non-existent': No running, no exercising, no blogging.

I have never reached such lows.

Actually, that's not strictly true: there was the Janathon 'effort' that mainly involved exercise of the 'imaginative' kind; there was also a huge portion of time last summer when I didn't even bother to invent exercise, choosing instead to eat chocolate and 'exercise' my waist line in a different manner; and then of course one shouldn't forget the episode (or maybe one should...) where I ran a half marathon then threw up all over the steering wheel of my car whilst driving along the motorway at 50mph... That was pretty low!

Thankfully, although my Juneathon 'attempt' is most definitely over, there are some lights at the end of the tunnel... Some 'optimism', so to speak... Perhaps some 'redemption', one might say:

1. I have been running - Unfortunately, not with club, but running all the same... The knackered, sleeping dog at my feet is proof of this!

2. I have a Curves appointment booked for tomorrow evening as part of my 'do more than run to get fitter and tone-up' summer strategy.

3. This blog post has more inverted commas than any other blog post I've ever written... I wonder how many I would need to win a 'most used inverted commas in a blog post ever' award...

4. I have used the phrases 'one shouldn't forget' and 'one might say' which is excellent use of Standard English and consequently should redeem my use of the words 'ergo' and 'twat' in a previous (and possibly best forgotten) post.

5. Today I managed to wear my 'Under Armour' t-shirt - sent to me for review by the lovely people at Under Armour and designed to protect my delicate body from the harmful rays of the deadly Manchester sun - in actual real-life, warm, deadly sun! Wow! Which also means I can now write a proper review! Yay!

6. Finally, I have been enjoying reading lots of Juneathon blogs, even if I haven't had time to write them... Oh yes... I have been a silent, yet active, participant. And have been equally pleased to see that I'm not the only one who is 'inventive' with qualifying exercise!

Good luck to all those still in it... As for me, my next challenge is the Sotos 10k, in Fleetwood, this Sunday. And, as I would rather avoid adding another 'low' to my list, I have my fingers crossed for cooler weather than last year's 30 degree death run!

Juneathon Day 9

It's Juneathon Day 9 and the tide has turned. Oh yes. No excuses. No fake exercise. No hyperbole...

Today, I ran.

I round the outside of the inside of Heaton Park (if that makes any sense!). And when I say 'I', I actually mean 'we' - and not in the royal sense - as in me and my old (original) running buddy, Paula (not Radcliffe). It probably isn't, but it feels like years since we ran together, it's certainly been a good few weeks since we last caught up, so for the entirety of the run, the running was accompanied by chatting... No change there then!

I have to admit, I've no idea how far we ran but I'm going to guess at about 3 miles. The dog came too so we've a very peaceful night on our hands as she's zonked out on the sofa; something tells me it won't be long before I'm joining her... But first, some chinese takeaway and maybe a small(ish) glass of wine...

Juneathon days 5-8

Ok... So I'm clearly NOT doing Juneathon properly. I should make it clear, before we continue with this charade, that I am not (THAT) stupid and realise that the point of Juneathon is to run, or exercise, everyday of June. It is day 8 of June, and I have not done this; ergo* I have not done Juneathon.

Despite this, I am now going to continue this post with a few completely acceptable (poor) excuses and pretend that the exercise I have done is a more than valid contribution to Juneathon.

Juneathon Day 5: a very British - wet and windy - walk along the sea front, with the family, at Lytham St Anne's... Plus a cheeky cuppa and a cake on the exceptionally windy pier whilst we watched people perambulate beneath with the sand seeping freely between their toes, despite the freezing conditions!

Juneathon Day 6: Another (unfortunate) trip to Ikea... Yes, I'm still counting Ikea as exercise! If you've ever been on a bank holiday, you'll understand!
PLUS I supervised some building of furniture!

Juneathon Day 7: Does a walk around The Lowry art gallery count? How about a trip to Argos? A walk across town? Ok... One of them must count! This post has now become interactive.. Make your pick... Now!

Juneathon Day 8: The dog came home from holiday! Yay! Actually, that makes it sound rather like she turned up on the front step with her suitcase having jumped out a taxi... It didn't quite happen like that... Obviously! I did actually go to pick her up. But, wait for it... Once we'd returned home, we went for a walk! Woop! Proper (almost) exercise! Also - mega bonus - whilst I was picking the dog up, my mother -in-law taught me to knit!

I made this (*scroll to bottom of page to see photo as blogging on stupid iphone app!*) it's either a baby's thong (yes, that is a little bit wrong!) or a dog's eye patch... Make your pick... Now!


* However, I have seemingly made myself sound like a complete twat** in my blog by using the word 'ergo'.

** I've now also used the word 'twat' (twice)... This is a new low point between me and my blog!

Juneathon days 2-4

Well, it's been eventful.

Juneathon day 2: Ikea trip. Say no more. If you've ever been to Ikea, at the best of times let alone a bank holiday, you'll understand how that is definitely exercise. And, if that east enough, I also built a wardrobe!

Juneathon Day 3: a proper run. 6.30am. I've no idea how far I went but I ran for about 1/2 hour and it was great. Next time, I'll get up later and run in the park that doesn't open until 8.

Unfortunately that night I came down with a very violent stomach big. I will not go into details, you don't need that in your life, but needless to say Juneathon Day 4's 8am run went right out the window. However, a walk around the park to 'get some fresh air' wore me right out and Weill therefore count as my exercise for the day.

Fingers crossed that Juneathon Day 5 will be a little less... Ummmm... Messy!!!

For now, I'm enjoying the Queen's Jubilee garden party... I wonder if I'll get a party like that out the front of my house after 60 years of work... One can only hope!

Juneathon Day 1: moving day

Juneathon day 1 and what did I do?

None of your bunny-like gym routines.
None of your fish in the water swimming gubbins.
None of your easy-peasy jogging options.

Oh no.

I went hard... went strong... I moved house!

Seriously! That is unbelievably hard work and I'm not even finished yet! Somehow, I have to magic all the boxes from my old house into some sense of liveable space in my new house!

Oh... And we've lost the cat!

Juneathon day 1 activity: moving house
Time: 10 hours and counting
Feeling: exhausted but happy!!

Run for Cake

I ran the Bupa Great Manchester 10k today... here's a picture of me, and my friend, lovely Louise, before the race...

In a state of frenzied dementia earlier this week, I had set myself a target of 53 minutes for the race! I don't know why I thought I could achieve this as my last 10k time was over 56 minutes!

I didn't.

But... I did have a good time, which is the main thing. And... I definitely ran faster because of my target; and because Coach Pete jumped in and sped me along for a bit on the way out, and the way back; and because Paula cheered me on; and because a random person shouted my name in encouragement with 400 metres left to run (thank you, if that was you!). Of course, I was a little gutted as I have run it much faster than this in the past; but...realistically, I am not up to full fitness at the moment, and I am not running as much as I was when I hit my speedier times. I'm on it though, and I'm trying to exercise more, run harder and eat better - except for today... ignore today... because today, I ran for cake...

this cake...

As for my friend, lovely Louise, it was her first ever 10k race and, despite her nerves at the start, - I tried to tell her I still get those but she was muttering some rubbish about me being a pro! - she smashed her target of 1.15, hitting 1.01 instead! A well deserved medal for speedy Louise...

Something speedy Louise noticed - once she'd recovered from her speedy antics and was watching the coverage at home - was a little sneaky me: on the TV, bombing plodding past Jonathan Edwards' shoulder... look... teeny, tiny, three second me...

Go Mum... Go Mum...

Running is catching...

... But you and I already knew that...

;-)

Hunt Lane Death Laps

There's no better feeling - for a runner - than realising that there was a point to all the pain!

Having set myself up, like a right plonker (still a en vogue word right?!), in my previous blog post for Coach Pete to 'push me' in training, I worked VERY hard tonight. The session - 4x hard efforts around a 0.84 mile loop - left my lungs gasping for breath and my legs struggling to stand throughout each 3 minute recovery period; Combine this with the screaming muscles, inability to breathe and near-death experience of each hard effort, I had little confidence that I had run well. I finished the session disappointed.

Thankfully, Pete is better at maths than I. Which is a good job as he was able to work out from my splits that my slowest lap (6.46) had seen me running the loop at a 7.40 min/mile pace! 7.40? Wow! Who knew I could do that?

Needless to say, by the time we'd completed the cool down and returned to base, my confidence,that I can complete the Manchester run this Sunday in 53 minutes, had returned... And that's all I need right: confidence? Well, that and a strong pair of legs, a lot of will-power and hell of a lot of stamina... But that's all? Yes?

Yes.

That's all!

It's time...

My times are on the up again! I have just achieved 26.53 at the Littleborough 5k; in March I ran the same race in 27.01. It's a small, but significant, reduction!

But, it's time to do better. It's time to cut the excuses. It's time to shape up! I need to lose the fat and improve the fitness; lose to gain, so to speak.

So, I am now banning biscuits, buns and booze for the next two weeks. This will make me less blimp-esque and more brawny-esque! I will then run the Bupa Great Manchester run in 53 minutes... Then, quite possibly, gorge myself on sweet, tasty carbs in celebration for the rest of the day...

My goal: to return to sub 25.30 5k times and sub 50.30 10k times.

All I need to do now is apply a little bit of PRB - positive running belief - can I do this? YES I CAN!