Tuesday, July 31, 2012


In what is possibly the Most Boring Post Ever - apart from all the woe is me I am so sad this is so hard ones - so ok possibly nowhere near the Most Boring Post Ever, but certainly not very interesting to anyone except me; but then it is my blog (but I digress) I have finally realised why I literally dread the thought of going swimming even though I always enjoy it when I get there.
You see, I used to be a very good swimmer. People think I am still (I had an irritiating argument with my dear Spousal Unit on that topic just the other day) but I know I'm not. I'm a good swimmer technically and also compared to non-swimmers, but I am so far from my notion of good swimming shape that I can only just see it on the horizon at noon if I squint . The problem is that I can see it, and that I know exactly how far it is from Here to There (a bloody long way, to use the technical term), and that distance is what I see when I think about going to the pool. Not the half an hour immediately ahead of me, but the weeks and weeks and weeks of feeling unco-ordinated and unfit and finding time around J's shifts and the lane-hogging local swim-squad to fit it in. Another job. Another failure to suck up. Another Bloody Slog to get back something I've lost because I was SO SLACK (aka I am a real person with a real life with priorities and frailties aka I Hate Myself Because I'm Not Superwoman). Le Sigh....
At this stage I don't know what I'll do with this new-found insight, but I always think change is easier when you actually know what you're dealing with.

More anon, philosophers!

Friday, July 27, 2012


I don't know what the physio said on Wednesday that has Changed Everything, but a switch has been flicked, from Injured and sad and bleaty and a burden to others to Getting Ready To Run Again. Seven or eight more weeks of swimming and deep water running and bike-on-the-rollers and core work and weights and stretching and standing on one leg which is quite tricky and no heels?


Except the heels. That's not good. But then I'm going to Melbourne next week, for a prostate cancer conference. Don't I have the best fun? There could be some fab flats there, if such a thing exists. In Melbourne. Not at the conference. Please try to focus.

More anon, dollfaces! And stand back.....

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Question, questions

Where have I been? It's been nearly two weeks and really...I've been nowhere, done nothing. I feel as though I'm floating aimlessly, whilst simultaneously moving in ever-decreasing circles.
Will I ever be able to establish an exercise routine again? God I hope so. I feel sad and flabby and dispirited and a failure
How good is feeling strong? I remember it. I remember feeling motivated and organised and happy. I just can't quite work out how to get back there from here at the moment.
Isn't it funny how it's the idea of a daunting task that we fear rather than the task itself? Doubting your own ability to do something new is so tiring but it's hard to overcome until you actually get stuck into things... *slaps self on head for faffing on* that was a long-winded faux-philosphical way of saying, this sobriety thing isn't as hard as I expected. I've even managed an unaccompanied 300km round-trip with my mother-in-law without succumbing to the siren call of the port barrel. You can still sponsor me though. It hasn't been that easy. Just click here! You know you want to!
Will I ever get to go outside, by myself, for a pleasant sweat again?
Will my ankle ever get better?
Will I ever run again? I do so want to run again. I drive up the hill I used to steam up and I say to myself, I will do that again. I. WILL.
What will the physio say this afternoon?
Was buying this on ebay an over-reaction to a major blue with my dear Spousal Unit?

I think we all know the answer to that one...
More anon, sonic screwdrivers!

Thursday, July 12, 2012

it's not luck

I've finally got in to the new physio who is a) not leaving town, or so she says, b) kind and c) straightforward, and got the (ahem) good oil (as it were) on my poor sad ankle.  It seems that becuase I couldn't get anyone to listen to me or help me with how to look after it while we found out what was wrong with it ( will resolve in 6-12 weeks, no appointment necessary anyone? BASTARDS), I now have ligament damage as a result of the untreated fracture not being immobilised.
Short version part 1: minimum 8 weeks before I can think about starting to run again.
Short version part 2: ....whimper.....sniffle....
Long version:
Step 1- strap it and stay off it like it was my job for 8 days then go back to the physio to see if that helps.If it doesn't,
Step 2 - 2 weeks in a boot to try and settle things down. If that doesn't work
Step 3 - don't think about step 3.
The physio remarked it's lucky you've got swimming and your bike on the roller and your strength and core work to do. I regret to say that my rather curt rejoinder was it's not luck, mate. It's work. The stuff I have put in place is there becuase no matter how dismal and despairing and frightened and abandoned I might feel, I will Do What I (physically and emotionally) Can. I Will Not Give Up (or not for any great length of time anyway).
I am sad. Sad, gutted, forlorn, despairing. These emotions will pass, I know, but until they do...

WHAT NOT TO SAY TO AN INJURED ATHLETE, especially one who has just had bad news
NB These are all actual things people have thought appropriate to say. I have added my (mostly) unspoken reactions for your reading pleasure. The LBTEPA Publishing Division would like to assure readers that no capital letters were harmed in the writing of ths post.)

I told you exercise was bad for you, and you can't even drown your sorrows LOL
You still get to go to Queensland, and you'll come back refreshed!
There's always Pilates you know
That'll fill the void. not.
You just have to see this in a more positive way
We all have our little setbacks in life
There's always next year's marathon
Well at least you can still swim
I don't know why you want to run anyway, I hate running
Do you think your body is trying to tell you something?
Have you thought about what you'd do if you could never run again?

Look, I know that in the big scheme of things this is extremely minor. No-one has died, no-one is hungry or homeless or has cancer or lost her job. But it's my lost self and lost joy and my grief. If I can give you one thing to take away from this post, it would be this: don't tell other people how they should feel. You are more than welcome to have any sort of opinion about how valid their feelings are and what la-las they are with their lame first world problems (not that any of my five faithful readers would harbour such unkind notions) but keep them to yourself. Nothing says I'm not listening to you louder than you'll feel better when you (do what I say/agree with me). And nothing will make the person feel more lonely and as though no-one understands.

Oh no. That's awful.
How are you coping? (only say this if you actually want to know. The athlete will be so overwhelmed at your understanding and sensitivity s/he may actually tell you, and this could take quite some time).

But out of the darkest clouds comes the silverest lining, and you will be very proud indeed to note that I remained steaddfast to my vow of abstinence* despite what even the harshest critic would describe as rather provoking circumstances. On the way home from the physio I drove past a pub; my knuckles may have tightened slightly on the wheel, but I kept on going! Go me!

More anon, tiger-tamers!

*If you did feel inclined to sponsor me for Dry July, please click on the logo in my sidebar. It's for a great cause. Thanks!

Sunday, July 08, 2012

A new phase

You will no doubt be pleased to know that the LBTEPA family has returned intact from a week in the licentious and sinful northern climes. I crewed for the mighty Emma at a tough day at the Gold Coast marathon; nobbled by the heat, the marshalls directing her off road and a #$*&ing #$*&!#$*& of a spectator tripping her up, she retired hurt at 30km. DNF = Did Nothing Fatal but her heart was broken after working so hard. It was stinking rotten foul horrible filthy luck and we were very sad. But as she has said, her last marathon will not be a DNF. She'll be back.
Oh, my five faithful readers, how I wanted to be out there! But it was fun to spectate, especially when I walked along the far leg of the course cheering on the back-o'-the-packers. Looking strong, looking brave, looking determined, I yelled to them. Just a bit more pain and then the bling is yours! And it was nice bling too. Emma and I sighed over it at the post-race rehydration session, in which I participated with gusto (that's what friends are for, no?). Proving how gorgeous our running mates are, one bloke offered Emma his medal when she told him her story. *wiping eyes* Proving also that we are All Grown Up now, Emma and I gave our unfinished mumble mumble not telling how many bottle of bubbles to a Patsy-esque (?)octogenarian called Loretta.

Loretta's hair and makeup were just like this! Her outfit was red and purple and I want to be her when I grow up 

Clan LBTEPA screamed on scary rides at Dreamworld despite it being clear that Disney World has ruined us for faintly dodgy amusement parks. We went out on a boat on a hugely windy day to see whales and proved by our failure to succumb to seasickness that the LBTEPA clan is made of sterner stuff than approximately 80% of our fellow passengers. So very glad I wasn't a crew member that day. But! we saw whales!! Breaching, right out of the water!!! Less than 100m away!!!! Highlight of my life, right there (as was returning to shore. There is only so much the LBTEPA vestibular system can take). We drove south to Byron Bay to see what all the fuss is about, and took Noddie to surfing lessons, at which she seemed both quite adept and to thoroughly enjoy, to the point where she would have gone every day, had she only been able to organise to become Boss of The World. While she was riding the waves I swam in them. It was cold in the water but it was warm and sunny so I bobbed and splashed and bodysurfed and tried not to be run over by the surfers, eaten by a shark (eek!!!) or towed out to sea by a rip. Too. Much. Fun.

So in short, pretty much - apart from Emma's stinking luck, and BOOO to the race gods, I say. BOOO! - as I expected. Also as expected, most of the week was spent in a haze of sadness and worry about not being able to run and about the damage I might be doing to my ankle by walking as much as I did. Crappy holiday for the family becuase Mummy wants to spare her ankle versus pain and possible exacerbation of the injury? I didn't know what to do so I HTFU and carried on. It's bloody sore now. I'm sad and worried but I'm used to it. I'm seeing the physio on Tuesday. I hope she can help me. I don't want to rely on Dr Google but when your GP writes a note saying calcaneal fracture, will resolve in 6-12 weeks, no appointment necessary then waddyado? *headdesk*

So. We have floated down from our 9th floor absolute oceanfront apartment and back to Chateau LBTEPA for the next phase. Big things are afoot, my friends, oh yes they are! The astute among my five faithful readers will have noticed in my sidebar that I am participating in Dry July. Yes, I, LBTEPA, emotional drinker and extreme excuse-maker, am taking a month off the booze to raise money for cancer support services. Surprised? I certainly was when the thought came to me, very strongly and wouldn't go away. I suspect the LBTEPA Institute for Behavioural Modification has been sneaking about behind my back.
Now the deed is done. I have a donations page and I have told everyone I know. It's happening.

The LBTEPA Think-Tank has come up with a couple of goals, outlined below
Goal 1. (not negotiable) not touch a drop of alcohol from July 8th until August 8th.
Goal 2. (fingers crossed) raise $1500 through sheer irritating persistence.
If you would like to help me with number 2, please click the link in my sidebar! If not, any and all kind words, mockery, derision and/or cans of HTFU (with or without spoon) will be appreciated. I'll keep you posted!

More anon, abstainers!