New Year's Peeve,

 I used to love New Year's Eve, but I have to admit that there are a few things about it that just get on my nerves. It's not the fireworks, because I do actually kind of love that we celebrate the idea of the world making it around the sun again by filling the sky with pretty lights; I just wish they didn't scare the shih out of my dog when they happened, because she turns into a total basket case and I don't like to see her scared. Or more scared than she is of the world on a daily basis, the poor kid. It's not even the drinking. I love that it's such a celebration and people get a bit drunk and a bit daft and in the morning, there's all these different places where people do a dip in the FREEZING COLD sea (or lakes where there is no beach close) and it tends to be for charities. I love having a Prosecco (or six) and feeling in the spirit of it. 

But mother of God, I hate the new year, new me bollox, because things do not change that quickly. The previously mentioned fireworks and drinking mean I will be staying at my mum's so the dogs can feel a bit of solidarity in their terror, so I won't be waking up in the same house I live in all year, but some time during New Year's Day I'll come back and all of the same laundry that's sitting waiting to be done will be sat here, and everything will be just as I left it. For a few years, I spent New Year's Eve doing SO MUCH cleaning because it felt imperative to start the New Year with a clean slate, or if not, at least a pristinely clean flat. It didn't matter that everything would be everywhere again in a few days time because cleaning means tidying and tidying means moving things and moving things means I can't find anything, because it was all about New Year. 

One year, I can't remember if it was before I went to university or after at this stage, but it was probably a couple of years after, I chose to do Veganuary and I regretted my life choices by the middle of the month because there was so much that I just couldn't eat and I threw a few wobblers about why I was doing it. I stuck to oat milk in coffee and tea for a long while afterwards (I'm not sure I made it a full year, but it was a while) until I struggled to get my hands on the one I liked, went back to 'normal' milk for a bit and then tried to just switch back straight onto oat milk and couldn't cope with the taste of it. Honestly, one of the big reasons people "fail" Veganuary is it's too much, too soon and it's too strict. I'm not specifically saying I'm going to try and use less animal products next year, because I'm not really a big resolutions person, but I've been vegetarian for over nearly 18 years and whilst I have oscillated between being pescatarian (still eating fish) and vegetarian (no meat, no sea meat, nothing) with occasional steps into veganism which I have never intended to be permanent, I have always tried to be more aware of the impact of what I eat, drink and consume in general, and *surprisingly* that's going to continue in the New Year. I'm interested to see the new plant based products that all the supermarkets are going to come out with and I'm really interested to see which ones make it past February before being discontinued.

In a similar way to Veganuary, I understand why people do RED January (Run Every Day) but it feels like the same sort of thing to me: too much, too fast. I know from experience that if you want to improve with running you need to commit to it and commit hard, but at the same time, you need to give your body time to rest, especially if you're not stepping up from your previous running and you're actually just starting afresh. I briefly considered thinking about RED January, but I've done it before, and it did not go well. My knees didn't thank me for it and I don't need to do anything to make them worse. Also, when I think about it, I'm not a hundred percent sure I WANT to get back into running. It was never something I did for the love of it, but I did love the community of park run and I loved pushing myself at the end of park run to sprint the last bit. I loved the sprinting, I was just crap at it. I didn't love the number of times I needed to find a tree to 'slightly' spew up under, because I pushed myself a bit too hard. One thing I do want to do - though I wasn't waiting for the New Year to do it - is go back to spending more time outside. With events of this year being what they have been, I've spent all together too much time inside which hasn't been good for my head and hasn't been good for my health either. I'm still not going to go running every day though, because that is a recipe for disaster (for me, at least).

Sadly, that brings me to my next peeve: the gym. Honestly, I haven't been to a gym for a long while and part of that is not having felt comfortable in one for a number of reasons, and partly it's because I really liked my old guy and pool situation and the pools around here are cold. I did briefly flirt with the idea of getting into wild swimming this year, and yes, I realise that's even colder, and that's the reason I didn't do it. Cold makes me hurt. Cold causes pain for me. I don't know why, I don't really care why, I just deal with it, but it does mean I struggle a bit with swimming. I quite like it even though I panic in the water sometimes, and even though I'm slow. But as soon as New Year rolls around, everyone starts going to the gym and swimming and things, and it annoyed me the few years I was training for half marathons and such, because suddenly there were more people around and it was harder to get to the equipment I needed, and things got broken more often. It's highly unlikely that I'm going to be going back to the gym in the next few weeks, but I am probably going to see all the New Year, New Me crowd on Facebook and Instagram and by the middle of the month, or if not, by March, suddenly the gym selfies stop and life "returns to normal".

I guess my big gripe with everything about New Year is tied up in this idea of what I have always loved about the holiday. It's this idea of starting the year as you mean to go on. I have always wanted to spend it with the person I'm in a relationship with, seeing, whatever terms people are using these days that I struggle to understand, because I want to start the year as I mean to go on; being with them. I guess if I were to take that to it's extreme I should be at least tipsy all year (another thing I don't really understand is giving up all alcohol through January and then binge drinking all the way into August, but I did try Dry January once and made it to pretty close to my birthday before realising that I actually like having a drink and that form of self limiting just didn't feel good anymore). Given I have no intention of spending the whole year vegan or running every day, I would rather start the New Year being realistic, both about who I am and what I can do to change the things I don't like this year. 

This year is different because I have my ADHD diagnosis and one of the biggest things with that is realising that there are reasons why things like Dry Jan/RED Jan/Veganuary don't work for me (or work for a little while and then I get bored). This year, 2023, I have spent some good time trying to come to understand myself better, and that's something I'm planning on carrying on. I mean, even if I didn't plan on it, it's something that happens to us all anyway, but I want to intentionally try and understand myself better, so I can try and make things easier for myself, be more the person I want to be and feel less hemmed in by the things I struggle with. 2024 is already shaping up to be a good year, with Green Day tickets already booked, heading back to Red Rose 20 years after I went as a child (Christ, that makes me feel old) and The BIG Finish - Mr Big's final world tour, which I'm sure I will be a total weeping mess after, but I am thankful for one thing with it - at least I know it's coming. There are plenty of times that people don't know that the last time they see a favourite band live will be the last time, so I am so very thankful for that. 

By the way, none of this is to disrespect anyone who does Dry Jan/ Red Jan/ Veganuary. I appreciate that not everyone feels the same way that I do towards it and many people find all of them helpful in some way or other. I guess many people's livers do thank them for Dry January after the excesses of Christmas and New Year all in the space of just over a week, it's just something I am peeved at from my own perspective because for me they don't work.

I hope everyone enjoys New Year's Eve and doesn't feel too sore on New Year's Day, and I hope one of the things I do in the New Year is start pressing 'publish' on a few more blogs, rather than leaving everything sitting in drafts. Again. 

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.

Over It,

I realise it's been a while and I'm sure with the multiple blogs on here about my struggles with my mental health you can guess why it's been so long, but this blog isn't about that. For those who haven't experienced one of my rants before, now might be the time to get yourself a cup of tea and settle in, because this could be a long one. 

We, as in society, seem to have become pretty good at calling out phrases like 'man up' as toxic for mental health, but there is a phrase, or a collection of them, which relate to grief and the recovery from grief which I think need to swiftly take stock of their belongings and vamoose out of the door. Granted, our understanding of grief really needs to change, too. 

A few years ago, a friend spoke to me about thinking of the loss of a relationship as much like the way we think of losing a loved one when they pass. No, not because we had both been through terrible breakups (we had) and we wished the other parties in those breakups would shuffle swiftly off this mortal coil (I'll make no comment either way) but because it's a loss of a person you were close to, or a loss of who you thought a person was, or who they would be to you. It's the loss of hopes, dreams, and delicately made plans. You can no more step back into that environment, the one where the instinct to call that person with the good, the bad and the downright hilarious doesn't need to be resisted with all of the willpower you can muster than you can call the friend or family member who is no longer with us. It is a loss of an irreplaceable person and should be acknowledged as such. 

When we're grieving though, be it for a relationship, a family member or a friend, occasionally a novel or something of that ilk, we seem to get a few days or perhaps weeks depending on the perceived significance of the loss, in which we are given some room to understand this grief and then, urgh, get over it. 

We talk about getting over it, getting around it, getting past it, dealing with it, burying it, letting the past lie and all of these other phrases that seem to rely heavily on the idea of grief as a linear structure. You start at the widest part of a cone and as time goes on it diminishes, but surely experience should tell us that isn't true. 

A few months ago, Roundtree's brought out a bag of Fruit Pastels - just the red and black ones. I grabbed them, shoved them in my cart and reached for my phone to call my nana, and my heart broke in the middle of Sainsbury's. My nana passed away whilst I was at university. It's been quite a few years, but it hit me all over again that day because she loved black fruit pastels and I love the red ones and this was the perfect sharing pack of sweets for us. She didn't eat the other colours, I prefer eating the ones which I love, but sweets are sweets and I eat them anyway. I still bought the bag of black and reds, but it took me a couple of days to convince myself to open them. 

There are things that still hit my mother and me now. It's things like not having her scone recipe written down. Her scones were incredible, and she had spent so many years perfecting the recipe, but we never asked her to write it down. There are cardigans that she knitted me, my brother, and my cousins when we were babies, long since puked on beyond repair, but even the patterns are gone - we thought we would never knit them - and the names never remembered, because I was a baby and my mother was raising one. There's some that we find in charity shops - probably the same fate that her's went to and perhaps due to another family suffering a similar loss. It's wonderful to find her in such moments, but it happens with a pang of sadness. Her loss provoked us getting rid of them, or losing the scone recipe, and that momentary triumph can be slightly eclipsed by a sense of loss that is no longer all-encompassing or everpresent, but I don't imagine will ever truly be 'dealt with'. 

I called her the day I got my A-level results to tell her I got into Heythrop, but I never got to tell her I graduated or show her a photo of me getting my degree. I couldn't share the stories of my mum having to help me dye my hair the night before because it was so many shades of - I think it was red - that it looked ridiculous, and the photos of this event would be hanging in my mum's living room for years, or the pride that, despite wearing some really incredible heels (stiletto-heeled boots from Killa Heels) I got up the stairs, across the stage and back to my seats without incident, but after the reception (and a lot of fizz) I was a bit wobbly on them, so walked barefoot down Kensington High Street when we were leaving. I didn't get to share the moment of sheer panic that they read my name before my friends name, despite her's being first alphabetically, and the slight chaos as I tried to hiss 'I'm not graduating without her' at the person reading the names (though they'd simply got us switched on the list). 

My mum recently sponsored me for her and my grandpa for the London Marathon, and when she told me she was going to, I had to give myself a minute. I get emotional about running anyway. I cried at the end of London Landmarks Half Marathon this year, and the painkillers had kicked in so it wasn't the pain in my knee. It was half relief that I had done it, and half sheer bloody pride that I had made it through a half marathon. I can only imagine how I'll feel after the full one, but it would really have been something to be able to tell them that I had done it and to show them the medal that I had been training for.

My point is, it doesn't matter the amount of time which has gone past. Moments of grief can creep in quietly alongside moments of happiness. Sometimes they are more than moments. There are times and places or activities which can bring up that emotion so acutely, and the phrases get over it, I thought you were over it or one day you will be passed it don't help. What can help, for me, is to acknowledge it, face it, give it its moment in a way, and see if it passes on its own, but if not, choose to feel it alongside the other emotions the only way I know how.

Carry Me Home (That Night),

When I woke up on the morning of London Landmarks Half Marathon, I was pumped, I was fired up, I was ready to go. Oh, and my hair was green. 

I'd spent that week trying to bleach my hair into submission (a white-ish blonde colour) to make sure the green went over it properly, and then put the green on the day before. Unfortunately it came out a bit more like turquoise, but it was close enough. I had Macmillan sweatbands on my wrist, green socks, green hair, green shirt and a green water bag, too. I looked more like a walking highlighter than at any other time in my life. I was in the last wave, but I wanted to be there early and it was a good job, because the queue for the loos and for the bag drop was pretty long. Plus, getting there early meant I could actually do one of the Equinox warm up sessions that they ran for the earlier waves (but not for the snails...)

This was my first race, and I was so excited. My knee felt good - so good that I forgot to pick up painkillers - I felt good, the weather was good. Seriously - everything was GOOD. We were setting off from Fleet Street, right near where the original bowler hat was made, so we were walked forward by stewards in bowler hats, and then when the klaxon sounded and we were released onto the course, they took them off and waved us off with them. I don't know if it was choreographed or not, but it was beautiful. Finding out that across the 2 editions of LLHM over £10million had been raised for 180 charity partners had me on the edge of tears; that was very nearly it. If I were to list all of the times I nearly cried during the whole of it, writing this would take the whole of the bank holiday weekend. 

Past all of the above, I don't remember a great deal about the first couple of miles. I remember smiling, being happy about being there, the feeling of setting off with another group of runners - that was pretty spectacular. I remember snippets of landmarks, like the hotel where I went to my first summer ball with university, the samba band that I was surprised no one was offended by (all Irish pale but wearing "traditional" dress - I mean, honestly...), that first bit out on Embankment... Oh, and the giant Bagpuss. That was pretty awesome. A lot of it has slipped though; most of what I remember was being in pain, the ending (because I knew the pain was approaching the end), the magnificent lady who gave me painkillers and Alex, who is just a bit of a legend in her own right. Oh, and the Tower of London looking beautiful, plus the pub The Hung, Drawn and Quartered. 

It's a bit of a strange one as to why I remember the Macmillan cheer station. The first cheer stations were really early on in the race, and I was looking out for the characteristic green that I soon learnt is almost the exact same green as NSPCC and another charity, I believe, and I got to just past mile 6 - in agony, and I couldn't help feeling like Macmillan had forgotten to turn up. It felt very much like they had sacked it off and decided to stay in bed. Half way around and they were still nowhere to be seen. It was only when we were either just approaching mile 9 or just after mile 9 that suddenly they came into view and that was another point where I was on the brink of flooding London with my tears. I did actually ask them "Where the hell have you been?" and one of the volunteers said back (in a friendly way) "We've been here the whole time!" and I did actually say, trying to make it sound like a bit of a joke, "But we needed you a few miles back that way!" There were a few of Team Macmillan providing the party at the back for that race, but there were points before I saw them that I was genuinely on the edge of quitting, because why had I turned up if they hadn't been able to be bothered?

Saying that, I love Macmillan. Really, I do. Working with them as a Cancer in the Workplace trainer is wonderful. Fundraising for them is a breeze, because cancer affects so many people (not a good thing) but the work that they do is so amazing and has such an impact (which is the good thing). They offer a lot of support, they couldn't be more helpful and the fundraising support team are just the other end of the phone. I think I was just upset that I'd seen every other charity out at a cheer station, except mine. Also, I get really ratty when I'm in pain. 

It was a gorgeous day for what ended up as more of a stroll/power walk around London for me, but I ran over the finish line, and when they gave me my medal, I would love to say that's the point I finally let myself have a little cry, but that would suggest that I had some control or choice in the matter - I did not. I burst into tears, but was told I wasn't the first crier of the day, so it was okay. 

Mostly, I loved London Landmarks, but one thing that really sucked was how far away the bag drop was from the finish line. Whether you've walked it, run up, hopped it or whatever, it takes a lot out of you and the last thing you need to be doing is going on a trek through the City of London to collect your belongings and head back home, but there we go. Also, the loos were revolting by the end and there was so much plastic waste and crap by the end of it that it was slightly turning my stomach, but I rant about plastic enough, so I'll avoid that today. 

When I was done, I managed to haul my ass back to my flat for long enough to find a swimsuit and more painkillers and then headed over to my gym and put myself into the spa pool (hot tub, but not mega hot) for half an hour to try and recover a little bit. I treasure my medal, and the photos even though I look like a fat dork on most of them, and the memories that I do have, but I cannot wait to do another run like that when I'm in better shape/health. It's also good to know I can cross a half marathon off my bucket list, and I never actually have to do it again! 

Catch you later. 

What's In a Name,

I'm not talking about roses or anything sweet. 

It has taken a damn long time for people to accept that my name is Charlie and not Charlotte, and I still encounter issues with it. My old landlord had this exceedingly rude habit of calling me Charlotte, not Charlie, but didn't have a problem with calling Christopher, Chris. It made him more comfortable.

Since when is my name about other people's comfort? 

Okay, I get it. People I'm romantically involved with don't always like calling me Charlie because it's traditionally a male name. I, sometimes, give them a bit of room with that because the likelihood is that they're going to get somewhere in the region of 19 pet names and I will expect them to respond to every one, but for anyone else, I'm sorry, but that's my name. 

People wonder why I make so much of a fuss about it. It's not like I'm transgender or have some sort of heinous name that doesn't bear uttering, and I know that. There are occasions where I have to be called Charlotte - it happened when I graduated, it happens at job interviews, it'll probably happen on my wedding day - but there is something different about it. I'm "Charlotte" in formal situations and mostly that's because I don't have a choice. It's not a name I really identify with a lot, and it's not something I often answer to anymore. Being Charlie is as much a part of my identity as a different name is for anyone and it's neither fair, nor right, nor anyone else's place to try and tell you what your identity is...

So, why am I bringing this up? 

Recently I signed up with Macmillan to run the London Landmarks Half Marathon in March of next year. I'm looking forward to it, but there was one thing that did upset me and it hasn't been the training. When I ordered my running shirt I was told that I could only put 6 letters on it. Charlie is 7. Charlotte, well, thankfully that also don't fit, but I spent a long time pondering over all sorts of options (Chuck, Chucky, Lucky, Peanut would even have worked...) but finally decided that I would go with my childhood nickname of Lotti, but I was far from settled with it. In fact, I was dreadfully upset. It's ridiculous really but I resolved, after much upset, to take it to a t-shirt printers and get Charlie put onto it myself in whatever lettering would fit. And then the thing arrived...

When I opened the parcel last night, a C-H-A-R-L-O and 2 Ts dropped out. Clearly, provided there is space for your race number, they don't mind how many letters you put on it, so I was straight on the phone requesting an I and an E wondering why this had to be such a drama from the start. 

In other words, panic over, crisis averted, but my God, did they have to wind me up in the first place?

Ouch,

What with one thing or another cropping up, I haven't yet managed to go out for my second run of the week, but I got home tonight with the intention of "suiting up" and getting out there, before realising that I had left my running water bottle at work and one of my feet was covered in blisters across the toes due to ill-fitting shoes. Great. 

Not wanting to put to bed the, I can't bring myself to say good yet, mediocre work that I put in on Sunday, and also the power walk and stair climbing I put in yesterday, I decided I was going to force myself into doing something tonight. I don't think I ever realised how many fitness videos there were on Youtube! I mean, seriously!!

One of my big issues with all of this is, I'm a writer. I tend more towards couch potato than runner/pilates and all of that sort of thing. I am kicking my own behind into this because I was annoyed about my horrendously expanded waistline, though it seems I have very quickly reached the point of needing a belt so that certain pairs of my trousers don't fall down! (RESULT!)

The great thing about YouTube is that it means that people like me, i.e. people with absolutely no idea what they're doing, can be easily inducted into the world of exercise without having to feel like utter muppets, because dance cardio does feel a little bit more like glorified twerking than anything else. (I'm not saying it is that, I'm saying that's what it feels like). The only problem with it though - well, no, not the only problem, but one of the ones on the list - is the sheer lunacy of the fact that I still don't know if I'm doing it right. 

Now, that might not sound like that much of a problem for some people, but here is the problem in simple terms: 

How do I know I'm doing it right? 

You'll feel it working.

What does it feel like? 

Essentially, your muscles hurt.

Well, how do I know if I'm doing it wrong? 

You'll injure yourself.

How will I know I've done that? 

Essentially, your muscles will hurt.

Can anyone else see the problem there? 

I love running and exercising when I get back into it, but I can't help but laugh at how pathetic I know I am, so this is just going to be fun. 

Catch you later. 

Oh, Well This is a Novelty,

I went into John Lewis today in order to admire the pretty laptops and, well, to pine over another new techy thing, though this one would have been completely unnecessary.

For the past I can't remember how many months, my beloved and beautiful PC has been sat in the corner of my room doing nothing because, and this is the very honest answer, I could not be bothered faffing about on the floor trying to figure out why it had disconnected itself from the internet. Again. However after pinning for a new, and completely unnecessary laptop, I came home, fought off the dust bunnies and sorted out my old pal. 

Granted, this does throw up the issue that I will need to clean the heat sync on the CPU and reapply the thermal paste, however I am not doing that right now. Partly because I haven't bought new thermal paste yet.

ANYWAY, it has brought about the rather disquietening feeling of sitting at my home desk and looking out of the window of my room (there isn't much of a view aside from the roof of my neighbour's kitchen). 

It is not the first unfamiliar feeling today though as it was only this morning that I was pulling on compression pants to go for a run for the first time in, probably around two years? 

The good thing is, I don't hate running. The bad thing is, I'm not overly sure I like it. Or enjoy it rather. The thing is, I find running quite weird because essentially the best part of it, or so I have been told, is the bit where you can feel your body saying, can we slow down a bit, can we walk for a minute, there's a bench there, can we sit? And rather than giving into that voice that is asking to stop, you push on and you achieve, and you strive to get further and further each time you go, or faster and faster before you give in to the feeling of needing a rest. I mean, what is that? 

It almost sounds like an exercise in self-denial and why would anyone want to do that to themselves? I don't know, I cannot tell, and we'll see if I stick at it better this time. Catch you later, when my legs stop hurting. 

Running With It,

I'm starting to wonder if running in the mornings is detrimental to everything else I do in day, because it seems as though I'm so knackered that all I want to do is crash on the sofa watching television for the rest of the day. It's gruesome, because I spend only half an hour running and then it becomes something which takes up my entire day. I'm glad that I only go running once every two days, or I would get nothing done. 

I've just had a look over the old blogs, because I knew that when I had got through formatting the latest novel, I had put down a provisional date (two, in fact) as to when it would be released, the first of which was going to be on the two year anniversary of the CharliesWrite blog (7.3.13) the second being my 20th birthday (19.3.13) neither of which actually happened - obviously. Anyway, for those of you not connected on Twitter (@charlieswrite) or Facebook (search: Charlie Yarwood Author) I'm now not working to any sort of provisional dates, BUT the initial formatting is now done and so is the first edit where most of the problems have been ironed out. All that needs to happen now is a little bit of moving words around and then a proof read and then it will be arriving onto the Kindle AND Amazon.com AND Amazon.co.uk (+++all of the European Amazon sites!!) Everything is designed and ready to go when the content is ready! 

Anyway, I'm going to make myself another mug of tea and start work on something different, because I would rather avoid having a typo on the front page of the first edition this time, because that would upset me...