Chai Pants

It's been a while since I published anything on here even though I have been writing. I feel like the pandemic and the lack of social interaction has made me more easily confused than I was before, I go on a lot more tangents and I can't focus or follow a point as easily anymore. In fact, I find it really hard sometimes. It is almost like the way I feel after taking Diazepam but without the calmness, which is awful. I feel like I have lost a lot of confidence in my writing because of that, but I am trying to get myself back to something that looks like 'normal' or at least, normal for me. 

Since being off of this I did something I have been wanting to do for a very long time. I finally got my dog. She is a bit of a funny looking spaniel, because she's actually a shih tzu. When it came to it, my garden wasn't right for a spaniel. I had to look at getting a smaller dog who couldn't hop the fences with a short bound, and it just so happened that at the time that I was looking for a dog, my little girl was looking for a new home. 

She came from a breeding farm, peed all over the carpets and crawled her way into my heart when I wasn't looking, but she's wonderful - except when she is barking at three o'clock in the morning, at which point, she's a lot less cute. She petrified of everything, but getting braver, meeting the family and starting to have a life that doesn't involved producing and looking after puppies, and I couldn't want any more for her.

Oh My God, We Get to Run Again, (and the different tones of voice we use when we say that)

Firstly, I'm going to apologise to everyone who saw this title or opened the blog and immediately thought, oh God, she's talking about running again. This blog was never created for me to talk about running. It was kind of a writing, mental health and me thing, so whilst running fits in the latter two, the former it has absolutely no relevance to, and for that I do apologise. However, it's important to me, so here we go. 

When COVID struck mass participation events dropped like flies and we moved to virtual races which were incredible in some ways - doing the virtual London marathon I had the opportunity to pee and visit my water station in the porch roughly every point eight miles which was really helpful. I didn't go on every loop, but it was helpful to know that if I needed to, it was there - but in other ways it sucked because no running buddies, not crowd, no kids with high five for power up signs and no desire to touch them even if there were because that just sounds like a pit of germs and nastiness to me right now. As we moved into 2021 it was almost like there was a promise that it was coming back: the feeling, the events, the crowds, the cheering, the charity work and everything else that comes with mass participation sporting events. But in the same way, the pages of the calendar turned over and we were, and are, still wearing masks, still taking tests, still getting briefings about scary numbers of people infected with a virus that has decimated populations of vulnerable people and also killed innumerable people deemed to be fit and healthy and at a lower risk. 

Runners like me have struggled to get back into training because the belief wasn't there that it was coming back. We can't even go to parkrun yet, with most venues being under a thousand participants, so how on Earth are we going to get to London to share a start line with thousands of other runners - around fourteen thousand for London Landmarks Half Marathon and fifty thousand for London Marathon - in just weeks. There's been a part of me that has been screaming IT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN!! Well, boo to that, because in two weeks time, London Landmarks is happening, and in less than eighty days, less time than it took to Phileas Fogg to circumnavigate the entire globe (I brought writing nerdery into it somehow!!) London Marathon is happening, and I am not the only one who is not ready.

On the Facebook groups for all of the races I'm involved in this year, there's a lot of people coming to the realisation that training has been horrendous, people have had COVID, been pinged to self-isolate and whilst a man in, I think it was France, managed to run a marathon on his six meter balcony, not everyone has a six meter balcony, or a six meter garden, or six clear minutes where their kids, whose bubble have been sent home from school due to a positive COVID test which may or may not be due to a TikTok "hack" to be able to just run around the garden or spend thirty minutes running up and down the stairs like a loon in place of training. Gyms are open, but a lot of people go to the gym where they work and are currently working from home. This year has still been complicated in terms of training - somewhat more and somewhat less than last year. There will be people who have had extra time to be able to run and are fitted than they predicted they would be and I wish them so well on the road to their PBs, but there will also be those of us who wanted to be in a better position than we are right now and are bricking it about how we're going to survive to the end of something SO LONG. 

I've spent the last few days saying hello to a lot of the folks who are worried that they won't finish, because they have never joined the back of the pack. The back of the pack is potentially going to be a lot bigger this year and it's something I am so here for. If more 'casual athletes' learn that being at the back of the pack doesn't suck as long as we're together, hopefully it can stop some of the utter crap like saying that London marathon isn't a walking race, and we shouldn't be allowed seven and a half hour pacers. Let me tell you, a long marathon time is not easier to achieve than a short one. Yes, Kipchoge is an utter legend for running under two hours - and that's something I'm not getting into a debate over, it was a feat to stay at that pace for so long - but it's two hours and then you can go and get a sports massage or get your massage gun out, you can get in your hot tub or whatever your recovery protocol is, you can get on that. For those who are on for a seven, eight hour or longer time, that's three and a half to four times as long on your feet. That's longer that your back has to keep you upright and moving forward. It's a lot longer to keep your head in the game and not let that self doubt tell you that you can't do this. I'm not trying to devalue speedy athletes and fast runners - I really admire them - but my hope is that if there are more of us at the back of the pack this year, I hope the experience changes things. London Marathon 2019 changed things for the back of the pack and I'm glad it did, but we are still not at the point where there is the respect for "slower runners" that they deserve from the feat of endurance that they go through, often for charities, but also to prove to themselves that they can. For myself, I have to battle all of my own demons, so to have someone else telling me I'm fat and slow is just unkind. 

My sincere hope is that this year sets the scene for a return to mass participation events, but not a reset to how things were before. I hope we come back kinder, and come back stronger and with more unity. I would love to see anything which encourages those bringing up the rear to keep going - from the party bus that was proposed for last year to keep the music going to the option for faster finishers to rejoin the back and keep everyone moving. If it's not about the winning, it's about the taking part, it's about all of us taking part, not just those who finish in an average time or those reaching for a PB, especially not this year. Let's just be happy to be out, in a crowd and back to doing something we love. (Even if we don't love it so much on the day because it's hard and it hurts.)

The Disappointment of Falling for You,

From the moment I knew I was buying the house, I knew I was going to get a dog. To be completely honest, I would have an entire pack of dogs if I could, but at the very least, I want a single dog. I have been writing to a lot of rescues and applying for lots of different dogs and it has been difficult because lots of people are applying for the same dogs and it has been very disappointing. And then I saw a pair of dogs that I fell a little bit in love with. They were nothing that I had asked for, but they were sweet and they were beautiful and I was besotted. 

One of the girls was an old girl in a toy breed. She is in a bit of pain due to arthritis, but otherwise well, which is baffling due to her age. The other girl was a cross with a breed I would never have considered (think pug or Jack Russell or similar) cross with another one that wouldn't be my first choice (lurcher, greyhound, whippet sort of idea) but the pair of them together melted my little heart. I contacted the rescue constantly, and they kept me in the loop with medical issues and tests so that I could let them know that none of it was worrying me in terms of adopting them. Okay, the little old girl needs a comfy bed to sleep on (she can have a memory foam bottom one for the living room and she's probably going to sleep on my bed upstairs) and regular vets visits, the younger of the two is a bit of a live wire and needs good exercise (so she can run like a mad hatter all around the garden as well as have a few walks a day where her sister can either plod or be carried in a puppy bag - I'm not a big fan of puppy pushchairs personally). Everything was going well and I was due to meet them ahead of getting a home check done on my place and then being able to go and collect the girls and bring them home to live with me. 

Unfortunately, it seems that was not to be. 

I'm going to emphasise that the rescue did nothing wrong. They were asked to care for and rehome a pair of dogs belonging to a person who became seriously ill and was no longer able to care for their pets. A family member surrendered the pets to the rescue, the rescue explained that this would legally transfer ownership to them, and that was that. They cared for the girls. However, the owner has recovered from their illness, which they were not expected to do, and is understandably fuming with the actions of their family member. 

Although I know that the best thing for these girls is to go back to the home they know and the person that they know, it is utterly heartbreaking when you've started to plan for welcoming a particular little personality into your home and your life and then you find out that, for whatever reason, they are not coming. It's devastating because you get excited about these things, and you imagine what your life will look like with them. 

I think the important thing that this raises as well though is to make plans for your pets. Very often we take on a pet with the knowledge that the span of their life is likely to be limited, and we will likely go through the pain of losing them, but it's important to make a plan for what happens if you are unexpectedly taken ill or if, heaven forbid, anything happens to you before your pet. 

For me, I know my parents would take on my dogs if I took ill, or if anything happened to me, but we also know that we like different dogs, and the mad spaniels I am besotted with might not fit into their lives overly well, so one of the things they know about is which rescue my dogs came from, so where they should be contacting if they need support, or if they needed to rehome. They know which rescues I have contact with and have worked with, so where I would want my dog(s) to go to. 

Whilst I am really disappointed and still quite upset that I won't be having the girls come and live with me, I trust that the rescue will only return them when they are well assured that the girls will be properly cared for, and that at some point very soon, someone with four legs and a big heart will come padding into my life, and it's going to be fabulous when they get here. Until then, I will keep looking for them, and making sure that their home is ready when they are.

If It Makes You Happy (It Can't Be That Bad),

 Okay, so I expected this to be a Facebook post with photos before it was a blog post, but when does anything go to plan? Well, not when you are buying a house. Yup, that's right, homeownership isn't something simple, would you ever believe it? 

This story began in earnest at the end of 2020, when I decided that, instead of waiting to be able to afford to buy a flat in a very particular development just south of where I worked in Croydon, I was going to look for a house in Manchester. The main reasons were space and family. 

In terms of space, I was looking at potentially a two-bedroom flat where the second bedroom was big enough for an office and a hobby room, but if I ever met someone and procreated, we would need to move when the kid needed their own room, or, and this was the more realistic one, a one-bedroom flat which would be big enough for me, but God help us if I ever met someone and wanted them to be able to move in with me because there was no room for that to happen there. Either of these options would have been Share to Buy - though without a rent bill on the side which was part of what made them affordable. Anyway, compare this to buying a house on the outskirts of Manchester where I was able to afford a three-bedroom property, the decision seemed to be one that could be made before your morning coffee. No real contest here - a house in Manchester is a good option. 

So I started looking, and there was this house that I kind of hated, but I also loved. Between Christmas and New Year I took two viewings of the property - roughly an hour and a half apart from one another - made an offer and it was accepted pretty quickly. So far, it all seemed plain sailing, but then they survey came back, and I was crushed, though it was better to be emotionally crushed by the news than physically crushed by a very problematic roof or by the financial burden of sorting out each of the pretty major things which made me realise it was a nice house, but it was not the house for me. 

By the point I came to this realisation, the market had gone MAD. Properties in the price bracket I was happy to look at with the kind of space I was looking for were getting thirteen to fifteen viewings on the first day they were listed, and it seemed impossible to find something that would be right, especially because I suck at painting. I can do the twiddly edge bits and things, but the middle, thoroughly suck at it. I was looking for somewhere that I was able to live in for a decent period of time before having to actually repaint. One of my parents was effectively saying that we can paint anything, whilst the other was pointing to their own house and saying it hadn't been painted in ten years, so there were a lot of places that had to be discounted because of the serious need to fill dings in the wall and then repaint the place. 

I had just decided to give up looking for a bit when the details of a house went online, but even by the time I called there were multiple viewings already booked in, and I called then as soon as I had seen the advert which had been online for less than an hour. 

That was February. I saw the house, I liked the house, I wanted the house and with a bit of back and forth with the estate agent, I got the house, or the offer accepted at least and was told it would be about June before I got the keys, what with conveyancing and all of that sort of thing. 

It wasn't too far wrong. I got my keys on the last working day of May, but even that wasn't simple. There had been a multitude of delays, chasing paperwork around, emails flying back and forward, then on the day everything was supposed to be done, I was waiting for the houses up the chain to complete because the owners of my place couldn't move their stuff into their property to let them release the keys to mine. To me, if I would have been doing last-minute cleaning to make sure I wasn't leaving a mess for someone else, but that's not everyone, clearly. 

A very short list of things was: pee in the downstairs toilet was left unflushed because the downstairs loo did not flush, there was dried spaghetti over the kitchen floor - like snapped up pieces, but quite a bit of it, there was dust on everything, and sticky handprints on a lot, too, the backdoor wasn't locking properly, the door handle on one of the bedrooms was hanging off and they had taken out a couple of light bulbs from fittings in different rooms. I get taking your light fittings because I would probably have changed them anyway, but the light bulbs? Oh, and when I looked in my oven, it looked like the shelves were missing, though I happily found these in the dishwasher, and couldn't help but wonder if they knew that the dishwasher isn't really the best way to clean greasy oven things. Granted, that was not a patch on finding that the bottom of the green bin stank worse than anything you could have imagined because there was rotten food practically ingrained into the bottom of the thing. 

But all that aside, my neighbours, or a lot of them, have popped over to say hello and introduce themselves, and generally to welcome me to the street which has been lovely. My parents have done a lot already to help me to move in (though that might also be the self-interest of the sooner I'm in there, the sooner I'm out of my childhood bedroom and my stuff will be leaving the rest of the house, as well) from washing down the inside of all the cupboards, wardrobes and essentially cleaning anything in the house or that was moved in, to changing my locks, taking a small piece off of the gate so it opens properly, jet washing the bins (I should really buy him an entire vat of beer for that one because that was a vomitous task) and also driving backward and forwards between their house, my house, the storage unit, B&Q and everywhere else I've needed to go pick things up from as I still don't drive. 

Anyway, last night was my first night in the house and it was blissful, aside from realising some of the unique oddities of the house, like most of the doors opening over the light switches, so having to step into a room and shut the door before you can switch the light on, or the bit at the top of the stairs where there is skirting board on the landing, skirting board on the stairs and a four-inch gap where the two should meet that someone just painted skirting board coloured, because why the hell not, so yeah, aside from that, I realised that my house is a comfortable, cosy, wonderful little home and I love the place already, even though I haven't really spent a whole lot of time there. It's a proud moment for me and it's also a really fun moment, because now is the time where I get to come up with all of these ideas of how I want it to be and what I want it to look like, and it's mine, so I can do what I want to. Hell, be crazy, paint the ceilings purple! Except maybe don't because purple ceilings would be properly weird, possibly a bit oppressive, and really difficult to paint back over when you realise it's not the best look for the place. But still, it's mine, it's the place I can be weird and I can make wonderful and just enjoy this experience of being an adult, even if it is way more complicated than I could ever have imagined before I found that first house listing just over six months ago. 

And with that, I'm going to take myself off to have another sip of prosecco in celebration of what is probably the biggest thing to happen since coming back to Manchester to sit out 2020 with some company.

Was It Everything You Dreamt It Would Be?

 Over the past couple of weeks, one thing that has been on my mind a lot and has therefore been something I have talked about a lot, both in person and online, has been the Reunion 5K at Kempton Park. The race had already changed a lot, or it felt like it had, from the original announcement of a Reunion 10K at a park in Hertfordshire, to be half of the distance and somewhere the opposite side of London, but hey, whatever, organising one of these things is effectively a logistical migraine, so if that's what it needs to be, go with it. 

When first announced, the 5K at Kempton was aiming for 3,000 runners in 3 races - what actually happened was around a thousand runners in two races, so again, a lot of changes. Originally I thought I was going for an afternoon run and it would be an earlier start than I was used to but nothing inhuman, and a potentially late night, but the change meant everyone was running in the morning and I had to be up at four, our by four-thirty and got to the train station at five in the morning. Had I been coming straight back to Manchester after the race, that would have been getting home at maybe six or seven in the evening, so not too horrendous overall, but I had a pit stop at the new house of a friend to have tea in the garden - weather be damned!! - so I didn't get back into the house until about ten in the evening and it had been an exceptionally long day. The obvious question on the minds of my family and friends: did you have a good time? Was it worth it? 

The simple answer was, oh my God, yes. 

When we first got there, everyone seemed, to me at least, to be nervous of the fact that we (runners) were back (together/ at an event/ in close proximity/ etc) and it was as though no one wanted to believe it. There was one lone guy doing his warm-up circuits around groups of other runners, but people were in ones and twos, maybe a few smatterings of people who were about a handful, but they seemed like they could be families. Even running the warm-up laps we went for seemed to be a bit distanced - when it wasn't the chaos of getting into the loop at the right point and then also being able to slingshot out of the loop to go to the bag drop or the loo. But then we were asked to move across the field and people started to need to move closer together, and there were quite a few who seemed to be shying away from being so close together. And then something changed. 

The atmosphere of parkrun and of races came back and people were chatting and laughing in bigger groups. The announcer that had previously seemed to be trying to rile everyone up and not getting anywhere got the crowd going and it was like being back at the beginning of London Landmarks in 2019. I was getting a bit emotional if I'm honest, and then we were all walking up to the start line, and that was it. It was happening. There was a lead bike out in front like when we had parkrun, there was a bunch of people running so fast you could be exhausted watching them and there was a back of the pack group that were supporting each other, sexy pacing the heck out of it and just enjoying the day. 

The whole thing was organised beautifully, with time to finish, plenty of staff to support, a swift moving bag drop, ACTUAL toilets as well as portaloos and runners who were just happy to be there. The changes in races meant that a few of the people I had been hoping to meet there couldn't make it, but even without them, it was a hell of a day, and the first wooden medal I have ever had, so that's pretty cool. 

Picking up your own medal from a stand instead of having someone put it on for you was one of the things that had needed to change because of COVID (as well as the 'fun' of lateral flow and PCR tests) but it worked, and we were all glad to still get a medal, and everything with the train station had been organised well to make it easy for the many of us who weren't driving. 

That isn't to say it was easy. I have never felt, or I don't remember feeling, quite this done in by a 5K. I honestly look at it and wonder how there was ever a point where I was running one of these every weekend. Both of my knees hurt yesterday, which wasn't a good sign, as did my calves - rock solid calves do not help me run well at all!! - and then today everything hurts. I even stretched at the station, so as much as I know I brought this on myself, I am a bit cheesed off that I'm in so much pain. However, there is a good thing with it. It has shown me that I really need to get my ass into gear for the training plan, because the start of the sixteen-week plan that included two half marathons isn't far off, and then it will be London Marathon. Also, if this weekend was anything to go by, and I hope it will be, this is it. Races are coming back and they are coming back in person, all together, taking to the streets of London (all my races are in London, but in theory, all races should be coming back!) and there is no hiding from it, or walking it at whatever pace because there is no cut off time. There is a cut-off time and I want to be way ahead of it. 

So honestly, it was the best day I have had since March 2020 and I know that I am not alone in that thought. And the last thing I have to say on the subject is: roll on the next one! I am not ready now, and in truth, I may not be ready on the day, but I am a hundred percent ready to give it a go, raising money for Macmillan, and trying to get a bit fitter and a bit healthier along the way. 

What Changes in the Week Before a Race?

 I wrote a blog yesterday about what a week before the race meant, and a big component of it was the fact I'm not drinking beer (or wine, or anything alcoholic, but I have beer in the house and that's what I have been drinking recently). I kind of felt like I was focusing a bit too much on that and there went on a tangent about snacks because I was hungry, so this is attempt number two. What has changed this week? Why is this week different?

This week I am more concerned by how much water I am drinking, the food that I am eating and being as healthy as I can be whilst not being completely in control of what I'm eating - yay for living with my parents - I'm cutting out things like booze that I know have a negative impact on my heart rate and my sleep quality and I'm trying to sleep better. 

Today, I went for a good long walk at a faster pace than I have been going out at, I got my running backpack out of storage - it's one that normally had a water bladder in it, but since it's a five-kilometer run and that would be ridiculous, it's just having all of the stuff I need for the trip to London and back - and started thinking about what I was going to wear. I also got my test kits (PCR tests for Saturday morning and 5 days after the race) and made sure I actually knew what I had to do with them (before realising the process is very similar to the process used for the lateral flow tests which I've currently done one of). 

The big things for tomorrow are taking the lateral flow test and making sure I use the short form of my name when registering the result (because I didn't think about that when I registered for the race, used the short form of my name knowing that it would likely be printed on my running number and then read in the instructions which have been sent out since that the race number name and test result names have to match, which is very logical, but still difficult when you don't use your legal name for anything because you don't like it) packing up the rest of my stuff into my run bag and making sure I know where everything is for the morning and heading to Lidl to grab myself some things to eat and drink on the two and a half hour train to London, the twenty-minute tube and then the hour train from Waterloo to the actual venue of the run. Oh, and then also get an early night so that waking up at four in the morning doesn't feel quite so despicable. 

Saturday morning, thankfully I just need to get up, get dressed, take the test and leave the package on the dining room table for my mum to post when she's awake at a much less unGodly hour, and then jump into a taxi into town, because there are no buses until about ten minutes before the last train I can get on which would get me into London at the right time. I also keep forgetting that I can't have caffeine tomorrow, which is going to be horrendous, but worthwhile. I also have a few other errands to run, so this is going to be a hell of a day. 

I'm partly writing this for those who are interested in what's happening on the day, but it's mostly because it helps me get it straight in my head what I need to sort and organise and what I need to do. I hate trying to be organised because I don't feel good at it, but I love writing lists and I love writing narratives of this is what I need to do and this is how I am going to do something to try and convince myself I've got it all in hand, and there's nothing to worry about. That being said, I have anxiety, I will worry whether I plan to the nth degree or not. 

So anyway, that's my Saturday and my Sunday will likely be about recovering from how exhausting my Saturday was, and I am a hundred percent okay with that.

Why This 5K Is So Important,

  The most exciting thing that has happened today is that I signed up for a race I have been wanting to do for a few weeks, and the best part is that it's only ten days away. It seems crazy that it is that soon, but at the same time, it's kind of cool. It's a short distance, nothing more than a parkrun, and there's not a huge amount of time to pick up injury beforehand that would stop me from being able to do it. I'm ecstatic, and not just because it's an excuse to be back in one of my favourite parts of London. The main reason I am so excited is because this race is unlike any other race I have ever done before and that is because at it's heart, it's not a race - it's a science experiment. Well, it's a data collection exercise. 

At the moment, the government and events industry are trying to get people back to large scale events, but the paramount concern is safety. Can we safely run concerts? Can we safely run sporting events? Can we safely run mass participation sporting events like London Marathon? Is it possible to run them and have the participants behave in the way that they're familiar, or do we need to ask runners, people who are used to being shoulder to shoulder, who are used to carrying others over finish lines, hugging each other in celebration, to keep to social distancing? Can we really ask kids spectating at the event not to come along with signs that say High Five for a Power Up? Can we create an atmosphere of encouraging sport if the crowds aren't actually crowds but small pockets of people, who can't pass out sweets to the runners, who can't hug their family member or friend as they're on the last leg of the race? If we want to get back to the mass participation events of the past, and I have a feeling that's where most runners would prefer to be, we need to prove that it is safe. We need to prove it to runners, we need to prove it to be public, and probably most important of all, we need to prove it to insurance companies, because we need them to back races, or races can't go ahead. 

So this race, it's only like a parkrun, but I've not been able to parkrun for over a year, so even that would sound amazing right now, but this race is potentially key to getting every other race I want to do this year green lit and back on track. This race, and the data that comes from it, could be the difference between waiting weeks and months for the whole of parkrun to come back, or having that data to back parkrun making it's comeback now, and if we can prove that it's safe, everyone who started running during the lockdown, everyone who realised that they needed to do something to support their heart health and their lungs' health or needed to do something to support their mental health, all of those people who realised that the second you lace your shoes up and go, you are a runner, they automatically have a home, and they have a community and they have their people, and they know where and when to find them. 

Across the globe, parkrun is already making its comeback. Junior parkrun is back, and we're getting to the point where particularly the smaller events can get back to going, and whilst I get a little flutter of happiness every time I see a Tweet or a Facebook post to say another team is getting ready and they will be back soon, I won't be truly happy until it's possible to go for a run with your barcode, and then get a coffee and cake afterwards with the other parkrunners, because that is what this community means to me. We desperately need all of the data being collected that is saying we've done it. Everything we have done over the last fourteen months has been worth it because we can see the light at the end of the tunnel and it's getting brighter.

I have found a lot of things about lockdown overwhelming, and knowing we're coming to the end of it is a huge sigh of relief in many ways, but also a worry in many others. Like a lot of people, the life I have now is very different from my life all of that time ago. I gave up my flat, I moved out of London, I focused on other things. I'm not even going to be doing the same job for too much longer, so exactly what life post lockdown looks like, I'm not sure, but I do know that running and the normality of training, is something I need to keep myself balanced. I honestly get confused over what day it is at the moment, and a lot of that is because every day is the same. Getting back to structuring my week around activities is going to be so beneficial. 

The last thing though is that my last two races have been virtual and it has sucked. London Marathon in the streets of where I live was the weirdest thing I have ever encountered and whilst my neighbours and friends were as supportive as they possibly could be, nothing compares to the landmarks in London. Nothing compares to the crowd. I have crossed Tower Bridge precisely once in my life, at least to my memory, and that was one the back of a motorbike. I am determined that the next time, it will be as part of London Marathon, and I'm determined that it will be this year, and not having to wait another six months or more. 

So this race is important to me. 

Yes, I'm a suitable amount of worried about the travel. I'm a suitable amount of worried that entering into an environment without social distancing will mean that I could contract the virus, particularly because I haven't had a vaccine yet (not through my own choice, I might add) and I'm a suitable amount of irked about the tests, because I don't find it pleasant, though who does, sticking a swab into my throat, or up my nose, but if it's what we need to do to provide the data that let's running make a comeback, if we need to test different models and make sure that there is one that works, that's what has to happen, and I'm over the moon to be able to be apart of it, even if appropriately anxious. 

Thoughts on a day that sucked less than I thought it would...

 It's twenty to eleven in the evening and I just dried my eyes from tears of relief, but also disbelief. 

From the day it happened, I would consider myself having been a part of a very large group of people who believed that the person who knelt on the neck of a man until he died was guilty, in some description, of causing his death. The fact that this was ever potentially in question has irked me, but no more than it has irked many others. I say irked because I'm trying not to swear. There have been, and rightly so, many impassioned opinions, towards the murder of George Floyd, and though the verdict today was, in my opinion, the right one and my initial reaction was one of relief, and a feeling of victory in a system I wasn't confident in, a little bit of distance from that moment - and it is only a very little bit - I can see why there is a lot of cynicism towards the verdict. It is a victory, and in some ways, it is a massive and monumental victory, and in other ways, it is a very small victory. It is a band-aid on a severed arm when it comes to trying to heal the anger towards what happened and also towards trying to solve the problem. 

As a cis, white female living on a different continent, this verdict is something I could feel pretty good about and then think of 'the issue' as put to bed, dealt with, done and something we can move past, we as a world, as a global society, as angry people on Twitter or other social media, but a big issue with doing so is that doing so is part of the larger problem. 

Derek Chauvin knelt on the neck of George Floyd until he was dead. As a police officer, Derek Chauvin felt empowered to use whatever force he felt was necessary in order to subdue a potential criminal. George Floyd was powerless to fight back. The crowd were powerless to fight back. The brave young woman who filmed the events was powerless to do anything other than document what had happened to George Floyd, who at the very heart of it all, did not deserve to die. There will be those saying that it was Derek Chauvin's fault. He made errors both as a person and as a police officer, grave errors, and he needs to be held accountable for those errors. There will be those who say that the police are institutionally racist and that the police's use of force is disproportionate. There will be those who say that society is racist and that this contributed to George Floyd's death. I don't think any of these statements are wrong, and to try and state one as the reason that George Floyd is no longer alive is disingenuous. If we choose just one of these points, the others are ignored and there will be more deaths at the hands of police officers. There have already been more. I believe the number was 63 during the course of the trial. 

I don't believe that Derek Chauvin got up that morning and decided he was going to kill someone. I don't believe there was an active process in his mind that said 'this man is black, I should kill him' when he knelt upon George Floyd's neck but was the fact Floyd was black a factor when Chauvin was assessing how aggressive or compliant with the arrest Floyd was being, almost undoubtedly, was the fact that many of the crowd who gathered around the incident were also black a factor when Chauvin assessed what would happen with the crowd, I believe it would be naive to think otherwise. Was there more that the other police officers could have done? Of course. Is Derek Chauvin one bad apple, I seriously doubt that. 

There is no answer at the end of this blog. There is no answer at the end of the trial, yet, and I think only history will be able to judge what this day came to mean, but if I can offer a bit of advice: Be Present. Wherever you are in the world, be aware. If you can only follow the example of Darnella Frazier and film something happening when it doesn't seem right, do it. If you can use your privilege to protect someone or to shield them, do it. People are more than the sum of our differences. 

Reasons I Don't Want To Write During Lockdown

 There have been a few reasons why I haven't wanted to write during the current UK lockdown and surprisingly one of them has actually been a lack of time. Juggling life (or dealing with the lack of one), work and assistance of other people as well as socialising with the family I live with and a few other things, it's somehow felt busy despite not actually knowing what I have been doing for the past year, but it's not even that which is currently making me not want to write. Currently, it's my completely scrambled vocabulary. 

I occasionally, in the non-COVID affected normality, make some great gaffs where I use a word and then either think it was the wrong one or completely forget the meaning of the word I just used. I thought it was mainly when I was speaking, but no, it happens regularly when I'm typing as well. Previously they were an odd but amusing occurrence and they were, probably at most, weekly. These days, it is not even weekly, but hourly that I completely lose the word I am trying to get to and can't recall it, or my mind is reaching to recall a word and it kind of does a Groot from the second movie; if it's in the vague vicinity, we'll give it a shot. No prizes for guessing what the last word in that sentence turned into, though I think that was just a bog standard typo.

An example of what I mean was the quiz I was a part of this evening. The answer was wrong anyway (it was actually Pulp Fiction) but I was trying to think of the name of the film Reservoir Dogs, but what my brain spat at me was Riverside Dogs. It's close. It is body of water-related, has similar letters and is a similar length, but no, the film is not called Riverside Dogs (especially not because we were talking about Pulp Fiction, but even if it was Reservoir Dogs...) 

With this happening a lot, I'm assuming it's because my brain is under stress. There's a global pandemic going on; stress feels like an appropriate response. I have a few 'life goal' things happening, and still, stress feels like the appropriate response. Writing, though often cathartic, is likely to lead to me putting more stress on my poor, fragile, broken little mind and I am worried about what that kind of stress is doing to my body, and to my mind. It's certainly not helping my anxiety levels, but I know stress contributes to other things as well, so when I feel like writing, I write and when I don't, I don't get too up my own butt about it, because there's a lot going on that I need to be stressed over, or I can't help but be stressed over, and I don't need to give myself anything extra. 

I have set myself a goal for this month of around 10,000 words and quite frankly, I'm not too worried if I don't make it. Whilst it would be nice to add to my NaNoWriMo lifetime total, I'm most concerned about keeping myself happy and healthy for the moment and everything else needs to come secondary to that. If it doesn't fit with the goal of being happy and healthy, it has to be less important, or it might have to go.

You Are Not Serious...

 Dear Camp NaNoWriMo, 

You sneaky little thing, where did you come from? How did you get in here? We're still in January, aren't we? 

No, no, we are not and with the world waking up to April the first, and the errors in comedy of April Fools day, writers the world over will be waking up from their hibernation since the end of November - because it takes that long to recover - and starting work on Project [INSERT NAME HERE]. In usual NaNoWriMo style, I have no idea what I am doing but did muse another blog everyday challenge before realising I have attempted these for the last few camps and I have failed to an epic degree because consistency is not one of my strong points. I know this, I appreciate it, it's a part of me and I accept it, even if it is a giant pain in my ass. 

Something that is great though is *it's not NaNoWriMo*. Well, it is, but it's not, but it is, whilst it's also sat there being, well, not. 

Camp NaNoWriMo evolved from a couple of events really and so it's possible to write a novel, but it's equally possible for it to be a short stories month or for it to be like the old Script Frenzy and be the perfect time to write - get this - a script, but it's also a space to edit, finish writing, redraft or whatever you want to do and the goal is set by the participant, which makes it a damn site easier as well. Fifty thousand words is an incredible goal and it is a phenomenal task, but there are pros and cons to that, so the flexibility of goal in Camp can often appeal to those who find the prospect of a full NaNoWriMo a bit daunting. 

Personally, I put myself under a lot of pressure in November and I do stupid things to make sure I have as much time to write as I possibly can, even though I have fallen over myself in recent years to try and finish more and more quickly. Part of me would love to do a dry run now for November of yet another silly challenge for myself, but I'm still residing with my parents due to Coronavirus, and I have work projects that kind of need my attention over the Bank Holiday weekend. (But mainly the parents because my sleeping pattern would be way out of wack, which then interrupts my eating pattern and there are enough issues around mealtimes etc in this house without me starting something for a writing challenge.) 

Camp never feels like the same level of pressure, or at least not to me. I don't know if it's because there are two of them or because they're not the OG competition, but they just don't and that makes life sooo much easier in terms of fitting writing around life. 

Anyway, if you need me, I will be in my bubble. (No, not a social distancing bubble. My writing bubble. AND ONLY I AM ALLOWED IN IT!) 

You Only Write When You're Avoiding Doing Something Else,

 There's this weird, geeky nervous laugh that's not quite a giggle and it is always the nerdy/geeky oddball guy in American high school TV dramas, but in all seriousness, I wrote the title for this blog and that nose happened in my brain completely unprompted. We have the measure of us by now, me, myself, and I, and the truth is I want to avoid doing something, so I thought, ooh, blog. 

Let's see what's happening over there. A few people have liked the tweet I made about rambling to myself (which was actually more of a reference to my Twitter or my real life than the blog, but whatever) so maybe it has had a few people read it whilst I've been ignoring it, and honestly, it was a bit of a confidence booster that it is tied for 3rd on my most-read posts. Then I re-read it and couldn't for the life of me figure out why. It doesn't even really come to a proper ending? (Though endings are what I have always sucked at writing, since junior school and everything...) But hey, there's a saying about gift horses and stuff so should probably listen to that. 

There are two things that I should be doing right now and neither of them is this. 

One is being an adult, reading over some highly dense information, and the cliff notes version of that information prepared by someone a lot more, borrowing a Kingsman phrase here because it's not my favourite movie for nothing, 'well versed in their... shit...' and taking a couple of actions, making some decisions, and probably signing a few things. (Can you get through any part of adulting without signing for something? It is starting to feel like you can't!) It's making my head feel wobbly, so I moved onto the other thing. 

The other is applying for my job. Yep, you read that right. I'm sure that the organisation I work for isn't the only place to do this, but when someone from my unit - not quite my team, but works very closely with my team - went on loan to a different team, I applied to be loaned into their position, because it was doing something different, I would get some different experience and (yeah, there are reasons other than me B.S.ing it was all about development) the person was more senior, so I got a bit of extra money for covering at a higher grade. That person has now moved on permanently, so officially, the job is vacant. The way it works around here is that the next permanent occupant of the job needs to get it through an open competition, so it's my job that I've been doing for six months but as a loan from my previous team. I have to apply to get it and if I do, happy days, and if I don't, I just go back to my old team. Slightly less happy days.

One of the good things about doing the job temporarily is if you can write a decent personal statement, you're fine. There generally isn't an interview for you to have a complete and total meltdown in, but this time around it is open to more people, potentially people already at this grade looking to widen their experience set, and you have to interview. I do not interview well. I tanked my last interview because right in the middle of it I had a panic attack that was so bad I couldn't remember my own name for a few minutes, let alone convince someone I could competently do the job I was applying for, which at the time was my dream job (caveat: for that point in my career). My anxiety is good at convincing me bad things will happen based on little to no evidence, but right now it has a wealth of evidence to point to and say 'THIS WON'T END WELL.' Knowing that, in the best-case scenario, that's where I am heading means that trying to get myself to write an application for 'my job' or any other job as a backup option, rather than get to the end of this process and go straight back to what I was doing before, is nigh on impossible. 

People tell you 'try this', 'try that', 'mindfulness changed my life' and honestly, I want to scream that I know myself well enough by this point that if I'm saying I tried it and it didn't work, trust me, not going to work. It isn't me thinking negatively, it's being aware enough of myself and having dealt with this for so long that I am not going to waste my time on something that is ineffective, here's the important clause in this, for me. 

Writing has always been a catharsis. During the time that I have sat here and scrawled/ semi word vomited this my anxiety level has plummeted from somewhere at the level of planes for all the people definitely not going on holiday currently (anything still in the atmosphere* is an achievement), (*and I didn't have to Google to check that planes fly in the atmosphere...yeah, I did, I'm currently cerebrally struggling for unknown reasons) to something more like helicopter flight path level. And it was a ploy. Giving me something else to focus on for a bit other than the thing that causes me great stress, was a big ploy. Cute dog videos can also work, but only if they can hold my attention. 

Anyway, number two is a bit more urgent, and it's not going to write itself.

There Is Life Outside Your Apartment

(It's an Avenue Q reference)

When I left my flat, almost a year ago, I never imagined that a year later I would be sat in the study come junk room in my parents' house typing this blog. At the time, I was convinced that COVID 19 was going to go the same way as SARS and the other viruses that have happened over the last few years. It was going to be a whole lot of panic and then it would turn out to be nothing. Thankfully, I was quick to admit that I was wrong. 

Although there have been times in this year where I have wanted somewhere to escape to - the dog snores really loudly, we all get on each other's nerves at the best of times and it's been a year with everyone else on furlough for a stretch - except for the times I went back there to pack down, clean up and generally get ready to let go of the flat, I haven't really missed that specific place, and so it makes me feel as though the time was right to leave it, even if I feel the universe kind of forced me into it. Universe, to note, next time, smaller signals are fine, okay? 

There have been points in the pandemic where I have looked over Rightmove and seen a couple of flats in my brother's building up for sale and thought about the idea of buying one, but I also looked at some of the studios set out as a one-bedroom flat on Salford Quays and thought about how I could squash all of the things I actually needed into them. Particularly when you were allowed bubbles. The idea of being able to see my family but also get a bit of distance from them was a blissful thought, but it was a thought which ended up coming to nothing because the simple fact of the matter is I have too much stuff and I need too much space. 

On the night before I left 'Old Flat' in Surrey, I managed to hand off three large pieces of furniture which I no longer needed to someone whose son had just got his first place and was stuck for furniture. It meant that it was less to pack into the van, less to store, and no need for a trip to the tip or a bonfire - I wanted the bonfire - to get rid of the ugly as anything sofa which had become a focal point for my rage and dissatisfaction with the world. I cannot tell you how much better I felt when that sofa was out of my life. Even with all of that stuff out, there was a lot of stuff in the van and then subsequently in my storage unit, which will then have to go into another van before it finally finds a fixed abode back with me. Thinking about how to fit all of that stuff into a flat gives me nightmares and heart palpitations, so the plans for an apartment have needed to either be scaled up, or scrapped. Now that we're getting to the stage where things are reopening and life can restart, I'm having to look at options because I can't just be working from home at my parents' house forever, so some serious decisions need to be made, and I need to start being a fully-fledged adult again, and quite frankly, that is terrifying, but it is life, everyone does it and everyone finds the things that they struggle with, and there is only one way to do it, and that is to just do it and get through it. 

Where Is My Mind?

Well, it's certainly not been on writing, has it? 

That's not really true; it has and it hasn't. 

At the end of last year, I decided that my 4thewords streak was going so well and I wanted to commit to it further so I bought myself a year-long subscription and thought that would be enough of a kick up the bum to get me writing more regularly. 

The truth is though, I needed a bit of a break because the world feels like a lot at the moment, life feels a lot, work is a lot and the last thing I really need is to be heaping more pressure on myself, and yet I am doing in other areas, so writing had to hit the backburner. Yes, it is very often cathartic, and I know that's a common experience among writers, but when it's also something where you put pressure on yourself, whether it be to write a number of words or pages a day or to make a project come out beautifully, anything really where it is forcing yourself to do something, it adds an extra layer of pressure that is not necessarily healthy. 

A lot of people in the UK have been furloughed, whether that was during the initial lockdown or whether it was the flexi-furlough where people have been on reduced hours, but that's not been my experience. The industry I work in very quickly told those of us not tied - figuratively - to an office space that we should work from home for the foreseeable future. At the time, we thought that was likely to be maybe a few weeks, then maybe three months and we're now nearly twelve months on from that decision and we haven't been asked to go back in just yet. 

Whilst that has meant I haven't had to worry about my job security like a lot of other people have experienced, and I do count myself as exceedingly lucky given the number of people who have needed to start using food banks and other support just to make it to the end of the month and get their next paycheck, it does mean that work has been a bit relentless. I've had odd days of leave here and there, and I have gone through most of my entitlement for the year, but I haven't had the same kind of break I would normally get from taking some time off and going to somewhere that is away from work and I haven't had the masses of time to fill that others have described. I know of a lot of people who have actually enjoyed the furlough scheme, for their own reasons, and whilst I am really glad, as mentioned, of not having to worry about job security, I can't help but be a bit envious of the ten weeks plus that others were away from their jobs on a fairly decent proportion of their wages. I'm not saying I would have written any more if I had have had that time because that's something I will never know, but it is something I'm curious about.

Something that definitely has factored into my lack of writing though has been my almost complete and utter inability to self-censor. 

I'm having to get a lot better at this, but it's something I find really hard! What I'm talking about is things like, I want to share how difficult I have been finding certain things to do with, for example, putting clothes on ebay which were my previous size. (I have been finding this difficult, but it's not something I really want to talk about!) Whilst that in itself can seem harmless, it's often the reason why I'm doing certain things is the reason I want to talk about the thing itself. Following the example, I might say something like finally admitting I'm more likely to gain more weight rather than lose enough to fit into the things that no longer fit. I'm not ready to talk about it yet, but that's the conversation that is prompted by the talking about the ebaying... All will become clearer in a few months, honestly. 

So, that's kind of it for now, because otherwise I will fail epically at the self-censoring.

2021

 I was really excited about not writing a blog for a while because I had this fabulous reason and I was really excited to get to the point where I could share it and then have all of this stuff to talk about because of said reason. I'm rubbish at keeping secrets. I even have a bounce that people can tell I'm holding onto an hiding something, or I just accidentally blurt it out without thinking, so more people knew about this than I originally wanted, but that wasn't so bad. Until today. 

Today I got some news about the new house I am in the process of buying and it's bad enough that I'm looking at all of the bills I have already paid out for and wondering if I should just write it off as a lesson learnt and walk away. It's an expensive lesson, and the few people I have talked to about it have said that oh so useful phrase of 'it happens' but it's that whole thing of trying to avoid the 'sunk cost fallacy' - I've already paid out money I won't get back if I don't do the thing, so I should do the thing even if it causes more stress or costs me more money. Honestly, it's probably the reason people go through with ridiculously fancy weddings - you know, when the world isn't going to crap because of a horrid virus - and then get divorced a year later. They're too deep in the hole already. 

Unfortunately, the nature of the system does mean that you pay some of your solicitor's fees, a broker fee if you're using one (based on my experience, I would say don't) and for a survey, and that survey can throw up all sorts of issues that you never would have imagined, which either puts you back to the start with price negotiations, or it puts you even further back to the start of things by pulling out of a sale and trying to find something new. 

In the least snobbish way possible, the people I know work in offices. My family, my friends, friends of my family - the majority of people I know and trust work in an office doing office-y things and not building or renovating houses. That's not a conscious or intentional choice; in fact, I would prefer to change that because having mates in trades normally means you can get issues solved more quickly, even when you don't believe in asking friends for discounts on their labour. Looking around at houses, I don't know what I'm looking for in terms of issues. I don't know how much things will costs to change. I am the definition of a newbie to all of this and that makes it really difficult. 

At this point, I am still waiting for the full report to come through so I can figure out what on Earth to do, but even if I can get my head around to doing all of the work, and we can sort out the financial side of it, it doesn't feel like the same house anymore. I don't feel the same way about it, because I'm scared that a lot of the things I loved about the place will need to go and it will effectively become an absolute money pit, which I definitely wasn't signing up for. So maybe I should just go back to writing about literally anything else.