Next year

Next year, my pretties, next year...is when the healing and strengthening of this year are combined with more fitness and less lard - and more blogging! I have a feeling about 2016....and what's more I have INTENTIONS and PLANS and ENERGY to work hard at them. It could well be epic. We shall see.

In the meantime we are GOING TO PARIS TOMORROW!!!!!!

and then to Malaysia! We are beyond excited.

Stay safe over the break, if you get one, and hug your loved ones.
More anon, globe-trotters!

Is there anywhere you'd rather be?

This race report has taken so long to get done! I did start it about a week after the race, and it was a complete ripsnorter if I do say so myself, but the blogger ate it and  I was all discouraged and then life got crazy and somehow I didn't even want to remember it at all for some reason. Maybe I was in an 'all too hard' headspace? I do go there sometimes...but seeing as I'm doing another half next Sunday (!!??!!??!!) which I have entered purely on the strength of how magic this one was, I am going to cement this in my memory right here and now. ONWARD!

The 2015 Melbourne Half Marathon was one of the great ones - just a really, really good day.Of course as seems always the case it was a bloody drama leading up - I got so very sick I was just staying upright and utterly dreading race day. Luckily we live in the 21st century, despite efforts of medical providers in my town to have us believe otherwise. Picture your heroine at 5.40 a.m. g00gling 'Melbourne CBD walk-in clinic' before hopping the train, in the faint hope that a Big Smoke dr would take pity on her - then picture her relieved delight when she found a clinic near the station with facilities to make online appointments! Up yours, neo-Luddites! The wonderful, kind, perceptive doctor looked at me and, in stark contrast to what I would have got from the I'll-make-you-beg-for-antibiotics-becuase-you've-already-had-some-this-year neanderthals at home, said you look shocking, here, have some medicine. We might have to move back to the Big Smoke. I heart that doctor so much.
Armed with my magic pills I made my way to the hotel and took myself to bed. After an afternoon watching travel and cooking documentaries I was sufficiently revived to both meet the Mighty Emma's gorgeous new beau, and to partake of sustenance. Things were looking up.
Next morning all was even better. I could pretty much take a full breath whenever I felt like it and my head wasn't aching. It was a nice cool morning and I was filled with delight to be in a starting crowd again. The Mighty Emma and I did our usual alternating oscillating between ohshitohshitwe'reallgoingtodieeee and ohmygoshi'msoexcitedthisissoawesome, luckily refraining from actually killing each other.
The gun went off and within minutes it became clear that any plans I'd had about (ahem) 'running' were Not Happening. I tried run 1 min walk 3 for the first couple of km with the only outcome being increasingly nauseated dizziness and a stupidly niggly calf (of which more later). I cracked the sads for a bit and even contemplated bailing. Luckily for me, and for the five faithful readers of this race report, I had a good hard look at myself and essentially (ok, literally, aloud) told those thoughts to F--- Off - they were no use to me. So I talk to myself when I'm racing, whoopee do. If I was walking this half, then I was walking it the absoulte best I could. It. Was. On.
I trundled up St Kilda road telling my story to anyone who slowed down enough for me to catch them. Steroids make me chatty but they all seemed understanding.  It was a lovely morning, cool and sunny. I have so many pleasant memories of all the places on the course that it was one joyful recollection after another fuelling my pace. I kept re-focusing over and over. Form form form. Effort effort effort. It started to get painful around Albert Park so I got a bit creative with my self-talk. I am Godzilla crushing this race, rooooaaaarrrr!!! Pain? I don't fear pain! I charge at pain! I trample it! On and on I strode. It was nice when we got back on to St Kilda road again with all the buzz of the full marathoners on their way. My (almost) favourite part was when we turned left behind the National Gallery to do a little loop around the Concert Hall and under the Arts Centre. As a Slow Marathon runner we get sent on another course, so I'd never been there and I was So Excited. I was just so excited to be out there, to be feeling strong, to be in the sun surrounded by My People all sweating together working hard. I felt fierce and happy and determined which is the Best feeling Ever. I missed it so much before so I soaked up every second.
Mind you I did crack it for a bit when we were sent straight into the 5k runners. 'Just stay on the left' the marshall said. 'You shouldn't be here' a charming member of the oncoming hordes screamed at me. 'YOU'RE ON MY COURSE' I muttered furiously to myself.
I also could have done without being run into by the junior 3.5km runners and their parents, awesome consideration of the slow runners again but this is the Melbourne Marathon and they're about quantity not quality, and without the steep pedestrian bridge at 20km.

I was getting pretty tired by this point and only realised by the glares around me that I was saying I don't know who the **** William Barak is but I ****ing hate him out loud.... ooops... hashtagsorrynotsorry.

Now this terribly sentimental song here could have been written about my group of uni friends. It reminds me of such happy times and sums up so much of why Melbourne is my town. At 2.15 ish there's a line 'is there anywhere you'd rather be than with me at the MCG?

.....and would you believe it, that's what was playing when I ran into that great stadium! The sky was blue and there was that fabulous buzz from loads of happy excited people and I was running, becuase I'd sworn I was going to run around the 'G even if I didn't run another step, and Weddings Parties Anything were playing and I had tears in my eyes because I was strong again and it was all just perfect.
My time? 3.34 off my face on steroids and antibiotics and with a bung-ish leg, just three minutes slower than well and intact in July. I got a medal. It's all very good.
The End


Since then the calf has been giving me curry so I have been working diligently to strengthen it and to modify my gait. A playlist for Sunday has been prepared with exactly three hours thirty minutes of music on it, for that is my goal. It's three days out and I'm not even sick, so things are looking very promising
More anon, trotters!