Don't be like that

As you may or may not be aware, many exciting things have been happening on planet LBTEPA. I have shed The Boot! Matching shoes will catch on, I just know it. And *squeals and girly handflaps* I have resigned from my job !!!!!! and will be striking out solo in the new few weeks. I always thought Having Your Own Business was something Other People did so I am finding this all quite disconcerting - but in a Good Way. I feel very happy about it.

I am writing today about something else that happened. It was on effbbee, that great revealer of true natures (alas). There's a bloke I've known for years who I've been pleased enough to call 'friend'. We used to run together, I'd see him around at races, he seemed really positive to the back o'the packers such as myself - generally a good bloke.
He is, alas, prone to posting  on the aforementioned social media site those postcard thingos dissing the unfit and the lardy. The wording on his most recent one was 'You're fat. I'm not going to sugar coat it 'cause you'd eat that too'.
I thought that wasn't very nice.
So I messaged this bloke privately to say that before he posted fat-dissing posts, he might like to think of how hurtful they could be to his lardy friends (such as myself and the Mighty Emma), and that I hoped to see him around at a finish line sometime soon.
I received no reply. Not long afterward I happened to see that he had posted the following:
"someone" sent me a private message, saying they did not like what I post on my facebook page?????????????? it is ''my facebook page'' and ''I will post on ''my'' facebook page what ''i'' like to post on ''my'' facebook page"
There was more in that vein, followed by 36 comments basically flaming me for having the manners and the guts to call him privately on his nasty bullshit.


Effbee is so convenient.

But I was also a little bit sad. I'd thought better of this bloke. As I said, I've known him for some years. And I'd paid him the respect of assuming he had been inadvertently offensive and that he cared about me as a person. So there you go.
Shaming and dissing a fat person isn't going to make that person want to stop eating sugar and take up ultras. It's going to lose you a friend and make the world just the tiniest bit sadder. Classy, gracious people - such as you, my five faithful readers - say sorry when they realise they've hurt someone. They live by their values and show their big hearts. I love having such people in my life. They (you)  make me try to be a better person.

I think this is the moral of the story.
More anon, treasures

Two shoes!

No more boot - only a brace! It's a happy day!
Now to head to the pool and walk across it a few times whoopeefrickendonoIneversaidthat
Physio says, LBTEPA does......

More anon, snail-pacers!

Lots of love on mother's day

I don't think you have to have given birth to be a Mum. If we're lucky, we've had someone in our lives, at some time, who's made us feel safe and valued and as though, although the world is big and scary, it's still full of joy and beauty and adventure that we can be part of if we work hard and are brave (and CLEAN UP OUR ROOMS).

This is for all those women.

 

I told the Spousal Unit that what I wanted for mother's day was a push around the Mother's day Classic course so I could have my "10 year streak". I thought he would laugh or roll his eyes or something. It sounded pretty stupid even to me. I think I was just so sad that the prawns were going to steal my 10-in-a-row as well as everything else they've taken.
A digression: I know I can't blame crustaceans for my weight gain and depression and lost fitness, every action was my decision and I should have tried harder, but sometimes I do. I think the saddest thing I've learned about myself since I broke my ankle is that I'm not as iron-willed-invincible as I hoped I would be if something like this ever happened. If I'm not, if I'm so lame as to get myself into this mess, then how will I be able to get myself out of it? But (as I mentioned) I digress.

The Spousal Unit borrowed a wheelchair from work

We signed up, got a posse together, including my awesome Mum, and off we went. It was very odd to be completely in someone else's hands. Especially since, as my mum put it, J didn't so much push the chair as drive it! Gosh he's strong.
I noticed strong feelings of shame arising as I sat there being pushed along. I think the shame was 'I'm not this fat person who can't run! I'm not!' But I am, that's the fact of it. It is what it is, and I have to grapple with the meaning I've assigned to this fact. Weight gain and physical weakness are NOT failures or faults. How I am right now has to be ok. It usually is, but today was pretty confronting.
I was also confronted by the fact that the mother's day run last year was when I realised that my ankle was actually quite buggered. It's now a full year since I've run around the lovely river track near my house, or indeed anywhere much at all. I felt quite irritable a lot of the time, but I don't think anyone noticed becuase it was such a beautiful day and everyone was in such a good mood.  Mum got talking to a woman who'd had foot surgery 6 months ago and wasn't walking properly yet OMG my head nearly exploded; if I'd been able to run away I would have. shedidn'thavethesamesurgeryasmeI'msureofitlalalanotlistening
So overall a funny-sad-confusing-happy day full of love.

    

I don't know why that woman is staring at us like that.AND I DON'T CARE.

  

(Noddie came too, but instantly found some friends she liked better than us and went around with them. They went really fast, she said, and we told her we were proud of her.Then we went to the pub for lunch and bubbles with the in-laws and some other friends, and then we had a Very Quiet Afternoon).

 

I have ten of these now. One for every year I've been a Mum. Thankyou J, for not listening when I said it was a stupid idea and it ws too much trouble and I wasn't going. This is the best mother's day I've ever had.

Do you have a stupid idea? Maybe it's not very big, but you really want it, right inside your heart, and you'll be really sad if it doesn't happen? That you don't want to admit to becuase other people will laugh? Well listen to me, my five faithful readers: let it out, into the daylight. Give it some air - tell people you want it. You'll see that even if they do laugh, or they're dismissive or their eyes glaze over, the little dream is still sparkling there. It's your dream. It's your heart.  And that makes it perfect.

And they might not laugh. They might cheer you on. Or even help you.

More anon, streakers!

two steps forward

Mobile eftpos machine, business cards, bank account - tick
Medicare number, practice management software, rug - tick
Charming print of zen garden, new (serious business lady) boots, clock - tick hahahahahaha see what I did there?
Weights, exercise bike, core work - tick
Suddenly extremely sore and tender ankle, rush trip to Melbourne to see the surgeon and two weeks extra in the boot - tick. Boo! But all turned out to be well and I bought a new dress so no worries.

 In other news, a woman I work with was going on about how she told someone she had gained 10kg and they just nodded and said mmmmm instead of no! that can't be true! and she was all upset. I took her aside and shared the LBTEPA Secret Method for Gaining 10kg (if you must):
1. Buy some bigger clothes so you are comfy and look nice.
2. Wear Fabulous Lipstick At All Times (especially important if you are temporarily unable to wear fabulous shoes), and, most importantly,
3. DON'T MENTION IT. Extensive research by the LBTEPA Institute of Living Well Is The Best Revenge has shown that people are far more likely to focus on kindness, charm, and fabulousness than on lard.
Trust me.


More anon, hoppy-go-kickers!

squeals and girly handflaps!!!

Well.
This isn't really a 'my life' blog but since you, my five faithful readers, have borne so much bleating about the Masters That Ate My Life etc etc over the years, I feel it is right to share some Brilliant News now that I have some.
After a, shall we say, somewhat unsatisfying conversation with my employers regarding an appropriate change in my remuneration following the hard-earned acquisition of all my Official Bits Of Paper, the Spousal Unit and I combined a nice lunch out with a bit of a cruise of local office spaces. An exploratory exercise, mind you. Just looking. And then we were in The Perfect Office. High ceilings, big windows, huge passing foot traffic, good price. Not horrible paint. And then we went back to look again after my physio appointment (of which more later). And then I was saying it's great, we'll have a think about it and ring you back this afternoon
and then the Spousal Unit started shaking his head and mouthing no, we'll take it now.
and I was all what?
and he was all no, let's just do it
and I was all really?
and he was all yes!!!
So we did!
And then we bought a laptop and a phone and professional indemnity insurance and business cards and some nice chairs with flowers on them and organised an eftpos machine and applied for a new medicare number.I should be open for business by the end of this month. It's really happening! I can't believe it, but the chairs are being delivered next week so it must be true.
*fans self*

In other, even more ace news (if that's possible), my physio is very happy with my ankle and that means I am too. I engage diligently in fun exercises such as pointing my toes up and down and turning my foot outward. Turning it inward is a treat to be anticipated, but that happy day will come, my pretties. Oh yes it will. My spare time is now filled with standing on my right leg with my eyes shut - quite tricky - working on my core and upper body with my home weights, and joy of joy, a bit of sweating on the exercise bike!! Yay!! Part of me is horrified and deeply saddened by how (I was going to say lame hahahaha) pathetic these small steps are, and how frighteningly far there is to go, but there it is. I must walk the yellow brick road one step at a time, no? Wearing pretty shoes and in the company of friends (however hairy, creaky or flammable they might be).

More anon, ruby slipper dancers!

The boot

The LBTEPA Press Office has released the following report:
LBTEPA is finding this whole return-to-weight-bearing thing rather more painful and upsetting than expected. She is sleeping quite poorly becuase the boot keeps getting tangled in the sheets and deciding in the middle of the night that it wants to cut off circulation to her foot. LBTEPA feels like crying a lot of the time, but is, for the most part, maintaining the stiff upper lip that we would expect let's please not mention the broken guitar string sookfest. She is adhering conscientiously to physiotherapy protocols and is fully aware that that This Will Pass.
LBTEPA would like to thank the Spousal Unit for his tremendous support, and for passing the cab sauv when necessary.
Physio on Tuesday.
More anon, hoppy-go-luckies!

All the answers

I have been meaning to write for a while but then the bombing at the Boston marathon happened, and there was nothing to say.
Then I went to Melbourne to see the surgeon and get the plaster off and get a 'boot' fitted'. I'm doing everything as per instructions, of course, but struggling a bit emotionally becuase I want to be All Better Right Now and strangely enough that's not happening. Very odd.
I have a much longer post to write about What The Surgeon Said (not very reassuring) and My Plucky Response (in short: **** you, sport, just watch me) but it's 11.30pm and I've been putting off going to bed becuase these boot/weight-bearing shenanigans have been quite a lot more painful than I expected and I'm hoping that stronger drugs+ really tired might get me a longer stretch in the land of nod. I'm perfectly ok but not terribly cheery.
I do think that you, my five faithful readers, will be proud of my current Plan. As has already been demonstrated, responses from acquaintances with regard to my hoppiness have not been uniformly supportive (and my word there has been some gold medal tactlessness since I came back to work on crutches, you wouldn't believe it). That's indubitably their stuff, but in my state of weary, worried sookiness I'm not up to dealing with it. I have developed a set of responses to the most common instances of unbelievably intrusive rudeness enquiries as to my health which are not untruthful but do not render me quite so vulnerable to careless nastiness. I think they're good.
1. I broke my ankle last year and it didn't heal properly so I had to have a bit of surgery
2. I. Was. Buying. Prawns. Yes. Buying prawns. No. Not running. There's a certain type of rather fixed smile I use with this one that is quite effective in getting people to STFU
3. It's a bit sore sometimes but not too bad.
4. Metamucil and plenty of water is doing the trick. I kid you not, I have been asked about this more than once
5. It's too early to tell yet, we'll see when the boot comes off. I hope so though.
6. Don't be an arse, it doesn't suit you. It is absolutely essential to smile pleasantly and refrain from striking the person when using this

I want this t-shirt

So what have you been up to? Tell me all!
More anon, slumber-seekers!

Happy New Year

It was exactly a year yesterday since the Great Prawn Disaster of 2012, (it hardly seems like a minute, does it? *laughs bitterly*) and the LBTEPA Institute for Truthfulness in Blogging hereby states that yes, our heroine did indulge in a day of sookiness and self-pity. She did not, however, indulge in excessive amounts of adult beverages nor energy-dense foods, which is something, although the lustre of these achievements is possibly somewhat dulled by the facts that she is unable to move about easily nor carry stuff , and that something about the post-hospital medication regime is making her a bit sick most of the time. But there you have it, and credit where credit is due we say. Here's to a new year, free from the curse of the prawn!
I would like to share with you, if I may, a conversation I had with some work colleagues on the day before I went on sick leave. We were speaking of a(n absolutely charming) bloke in our little country tri club who came 29th overall at Ironman Melbourne (!!!!!!!!!!!), qualifying for Kona in the process (!!!!!OMGWEARENOTWORTHY!!!!). One of my colleagues (who CLEARLY has his own issues) has been camping with this chap and his (equally delightful) wife and was going on about how "every five minutes one of them would be going for a 10k run or a 2k swim or something like that". I made some wistful remark about how I missed being strong and fit and how fun it was to be able to exercise whenever I wanted, and how I would get back there one day. I would. I was probably being a bit over the top, I do that sometimes - but I didn't expect their responses:.
No you won't
Don't kid yourself
You won't get back there.

????

My first response was not my best, I admit: I showed them my upraised middle finger and told them there'd be one each for them at the finish of my next marathon. My next reaction was to burst into tears and run out of the office crying I didn't need to hear that today. Well done LBTEPA, I hear you say. You're all class. What can I say? These things happen and it's no use pretending they don't. I did accept the apology offered by one workmate (and have noted the echoing absence of 'sorry' from the other and adjusted my opinion of him accordingly).
Look, I might be a bit of a drama queen and a whinger and a catastrophiser and an unseemly seeker of sympathy from the interwebs, but I'm not stupid. Of course I've worried the surgery won't work. Of course I know I've lost five years' worth of fitness and gained a stupid number of bad habits and a stupid amount of weight this year. Of course I know it's going to be stupidly difficult to rejoin the ranks of the effortlessly active. I. KNOW. And over the last few months I cannot understate the amount of effort I have directed toward NOT thinking What They Said.
So thanks, boys. You're the best.
However, given that it would be beneath the LBTEPA Centre for Having the Awesome Life You Want to say f--- off and die, losers, LBTEPA's message to her work colleagues is this: I am not interested in your small and unkind thoughts. Unlike you, I dream big. I take responsibility for my health and my future. If I was happy here on Planet Sad and Unfit (with Bad Shoes) I wouldn't have had the surgery. Life is about pushing limits and I can't do that with a dodgy ankle.
I will be back. I will get fit and strong again, and run and swim and ride in races, and wear heels, and, ....just claw back the part of my life that the prawns stole.
Only ten more sleeps until I'm out of plaster, and then, my five faithful readers, IT. IS. ON. 

("ON" being a boot with gradual return to weight-bearing)

More anon, hoppy chicks!

off we go

it's been almost a year since I broke my ankle. That's a long time to be in limbo, but the end is finally here. I'm knocking off work early today to catch the lunchtime train to Melbourne becuase my surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. Who me, sad and scared to the pint of teariness? That, my five faithful readers, is not the LBTEPA way (on the outside, at least. Please don't be even the slightest bit unkind to me in the next 24 hours; I reckon the veneer is quite thin).
After that, there will be 3 months of doing exactly what the dr and the physio say...and then the LBTEPA quest for world domination will re-commence!
I'll get the Spousal Unit to post how it all goes.

More anon, upper-lip stiffeners!

sumimasen

My apologies, I got so flat out getting ready to go away that I forgot to post that I was going away (giving priority to my non-virtual existence, how could I?). So here we are in Osaka, shortly to pack up and move to Kyoto. Having a great time, wish you were here etc etc. No, really, I do wish you were here. You'd love it.
mata aimasho, ne?

(see you soon, eh?)

LBTEPA how-to #296

Welcome to the latest in the fanstastic series of LBTEPA how-to tips, sworn by by the fabulous and at by grammarians!
LBTEPA how-to #296: how to be bad-arse at the gym when you're overweight and middle-aged.
1. Don't be friendly. At our gym anyway, this is a rookie mistake. Make the minimum eye-contact for politeness (ditto smiling). Don't take this personally. It's becuase this is a Serious Gym - and you're Serious too. Oh yes you are. So it's all good.
2. Cover the elliptical machine readout, plug in your music and just run (ellipt? I dunno what it's called). You are bad-arse - you don't clock-watch, you just sweat until the job's done. Hold your form. Look as though you're enjoying yourself, in a purposeful way even though on the inside your legs are jelly and your determination-muscle is weak and sooky. You know what you're doing: you've been here before. Often. Wipe the machine after you've used it, becuase a) you've sweated up a monsoon and it'd be disgusting to do otherwise and b) good manners are bad-arse.Trust me.
3. Stretch. Gumby is bad-arse.

4. Cut the sleeves off your el-cheapo dri-fit shirt. For my darlings, you must wear dri-fit or coolmax or some kind of technical fabric when you exercise. Especially if, like LBTEPA, you glow like an absolute racehorse at the slightest exertion. But I digress. Cut off the sleeves of your ill-fitting, baggy this-thing-is-hideous-but-I'm-not-spending-lots-of-money-on-new-exercise-gear v-neck and you are instantly bad-arse. You wear a muscle shirt. You don't care what you look like becuase you have come to the gym to work out, thankyou very much, but it's also hot and you're jolly well going sleeveless (exposing your overweight middle-aged upper arms, quelle horreur!) and you're not apologising to anyone.
Bonus points if you cut the sleeves off one of your marathon finisher shirts; clearly you have so many that you don't care about them that much, and are obviously only on the elliptical becuase you're injured.
Any more to add?

More anon, hissy-fitters!

Watch this space

This post is about our heroine's well-documented predilection for a few too many sherbies a bit too often, and the latest plan to Smarten LBTEPA Up.
I have come to terms with the fact that there are those who will curl their lips contemptuously when they read of an otherwise quite functional 46-year-old who struggles with the siren call of the stress relief, anger management, personal space, comfort, celebration and ritual that is a nice chardy. You know what? They are more than entitled to do so: they have their reasons, I expect. I own my shame and guilt but I don't own other peoples' judgements. Their putative thoughts about me are not a reason to avoid stuff I need to explore. Part of me hopes that my story of I'm not perfect, and I'm sorry about that, but I'll never give up trying to live a better life might be helpful to someone else. You never know.
So. What's the Plan? Relying on self-restraint, shoulds, focussing on my weight or future health hasn't worked very well. Training for Very Slow Marathons worked, but it's clear I need something for when I can't, and quicksticks, too since my ankle  surgery is in a month ewwwwwwww.  Abstaining For Charity last July was ok, but I was very aware that it was short-term, and re-embraced my old habits afterward with unbecoming gusto.  So what to do?
I'm trying to be more realistic this time. Let's face it, I'm not giving up the demon drink altogether any time soon and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. This may cause another round of lip-curling, but again, that's not my stuff. The trouble with being a functional drinker is that it's easy to keep kidding yourself. I stopped that quite a while ago, but it's been hard to work out what I need to drink in a different way means.
I still don't know, but I do have A Plan. It involves watches.
If knowing oneself is a sign of maturity, then I'm all grown up now and happy to admit that it is all about the extrinsic rewards for me. Gimme bling or I'm not interested, but make the bling nice enough and I'll give it my all.  The Plan Is This: once I have recorded fifty alcohol-free days on the kitchen calendar (with star stickers!) I will buy myself one of the lovely watches pictured below, which I have coveted for some time. The Plan also takes into account the ol' LBTEPA tendency toward 'bugger it I've had one that's blown it I might as well have another couple' with the One Glass Rule: stopping at one glass and only one earns a dot on the calendar. Three dots equals a star sticker. Moderation is good!
I'm pretty excited about this. It feels like a good thing to do. I'm not going to make it a big part of the continuing story of LBTEPA or keep a tally in my sidebar or anything - just one day I'll post a photo of me in a brand new watch. You'll see.

In obligatory exercise news, I am working very hard at getting to love the elliptical machine at the gym. It's as much fun as it sounds. But in a good way.
More anon, tickers-off!

Traps for young players

In which LBTEPA faffs on about triathlon and blogging.
First, some race tips, numbered for your convenience, and traps for young players.

1. A bit of this before a race never goes astray

 

2. It's all good fun until you smack yourself in the face with your handlebars getting your bike out of the car. By mid-week it was a full-on shiner. Tres embarrassing.

3. Pretending it's not happening and that you've just met for a coffee is a good strategy

 

until the zombies arrive  

(these are my  irritatingly skinnyfast friends. They swam in those shirts (!!), re-applied their gore in T1 and deservedly won the costume prize)

Trap for young players #1: PUT YOUR CHIP ON. DO NOT LEAVE IT IN YOUR BAG.
Trap for young players #2: should you happen to have failed to achieve Tfyp#1, DO NOT DROP THE F- BOMB IN A LOUD VOICE IN A PUBLIC PLACE. That IS. NOT. CLASSY. Trap for young players #3: should you happen to have failed to achieve both Tsfyp #1 and #2, you must Keep. Going. Get out there and ride your bloody heart out and hope with all that's left of it that by some miracle it will all have been sorted out by the time you get back for the run.
Best thing about small country triathlons: the marshall at the end of the bike leg (T2 to us uber-triathletes) calling LBTEPA, LBTEPA (I know him from the tri club), here's your chip!! and handing it to me so my teammates would have their splits and a total race time since I started in the first wave.

4. Always race in sunglasses.They make you look cool as you EMBRACE THE SUCK.

5. Put your fast bloke last. Fast blokes make you all look good and it's nice to watch them run.

 

6. EMBRACE THE HAPPY.

Trap for young players #4: decide that since you have staggered through four weeks' preparation for an extremely short triathlon you can now train as much as you want, including two two runs, two rides and two murderous sessions with the tri club swim squad, most of whom are five weeks out from Ironman Melbourne and who think 16x50 fasterfasterfaster is something you do more than once in a session *fans self*. It's either flattering that the coach thinks I'm up for what he's throwing at me or he is trying to kill me. It's hard to hold back in the pool becuase I'M GOOD. I'm strong and I know what I'm doing and  even though I'm old(er)+heavy+very unfit I can pretty much keep up with the other bloke in my lane; if he's over 30 I'll go he for tiggy. STEP AWAY FROM THE EGO, LBTEPA, JUST STEP. AWAY I hear you say, and how right you are. DAIS, NAID, my friends: old(er)+heavy+ very unfit+over-ambitious = a niggly right foot (not the bastard one, the other bastard one) and a sore shoulder which I will have to confess to murderous coach Rob becuase the last thing I need is another chronic injury.

I have gone off uber-fitness blogs a bit in the last year, for fairly obvious wallowinginselfpity reasons but today I came across one that really struck a chord. Why do I blog? Clarity is good. I like to write. I like to have somewhere to bleat (see above). I want to connect with people who think it's normal and fun and exciting to be fit and strong and do hard scary things and have adventures, and who will give me a HTFU when I deserve it as well as a you can do it and a well done. I'd be pleased if something I wrote inspired someone to wade through the I can'ts and have a crack at something scary or new. (Note to self: comment more. Install a blogroll).
Why do you blog?
More anon, zombie-hunters!

SSDD

Exclusive! Paparazzi release notes from a crumpled up piece of paper at the bottom of the bin in LBTEPA's study!
-  not shifting any lard. Feeling bad about that. Ineffectual and undisciplined are two words I struggle with. It was my birthday on Sunday and I told the Spousal Unit this year will be different but I can't see how just now. Sticking with it though. What else can I do?
- not helped by new haircut that everyone really likes and I think makes me look ugly and old.
- six alcohol-and-evening snack-free days in the last 2 weeks and nothing changes on the bastard scales grumblegrumblegrumble must not give in to why do I even bother pass the chardy
- running on the treadmill at the gym is SO SATISFYING - now up to 20 minutes non-stop at 7.5km/hr (don't laugh. You have to start where you are and don't think I don't mourn and regret my lost fitness every. single. bloody. day) and clanking a few machines afterward as well. When I am dripping with sweat in my black dri-fit I AM INVINCIBLE rrrrrooooaaaaaarrrrr!
- SO EXCITED WE ARE GOING TO JAPAN IN FOUR WEEKS!!!! and getting our new camera this weekend!!!
- SO EXCITED ABOUT THE TRI ON SUNDAY!!!! my first race since mothers' day last year! except for how hard it's going to be becuase I'm so unfit and heavy and everyone will sneer at me and feel sorry for me BUT THAT'S THEIR STUFF. I'll be wearing this so they will know Who I Am.

My Plan is cruise through the swim, mass start schmass start I say, ride like I'm tied to a tree including whinge and grind my way up the bastard pinch hill right at the start, then lumber through the run. Hand off the chip to my patient team-mates and spend the rest of the day grinning. Sounds good.
jeez this will be the most boring post ever better write another one later I'll be down to four faithful readers if this gets out
(paper is ripped off unevenly at this point)


but seriously folks
One of the nicest, kindest women I have ever met, and one of the strongest athletes as well, was knocked off her bike on Tuesday and will have spinal surgery today. If you could send up some uplifting thoughts, or request whatever support you conceptualise as available from the deity/universal energy of your choice, I'd be really grateful.
Ta
more anon, ironsides!

Don't try this at home kiddies

Firstly I must say that I have the BEST KINDEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WORLD who make me all blinky with their magnificence. Operation 10-in-a-row is Officially On.
Now my five faithful readers already know that the following is Not The Way to Do Things Properly  I am sure, but clearly the boffins at the LBTEPA Insitute of Experiential Learning cannot allow a chance to do things the hard way slip by.
1. Gain 9kg
2. Be extremely enthusiastic about the fact that after a totally rotten day at work the pizza and shiraz fairy popped by.
3. Wake up stupidly early (see 2) and get so distracted mucking around with photos that you forget to go back to bed and are short 2+ hours sleep.
4. Have an Overtired Child who takes twice as much cattle prodding and gritted teeth concentration, kindness and time to get to school
5. Schedule 'go to the gym' fairly late in your massively elaborate task-and-errand-maze
6. Get halfway through (5) and get some UNBELIEVABLY GOOD AND COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED NEWS - it's official, I am officially registered as a psychologist at last I still can't believe it, I almost emailed them back because I thought it must be a mistake - and completely lose track of what you were supposed to be doing
7. Re-start errand-maze but actually wander up the street vaguely looking in windows, laughing at nothing and getting nothing done
8. Whilst in the chocolate shop on a legitimate errand (both my supervisors luurrrvvve chocolate) surrender to the enticing suggestions of the charming lady behind the counter.
9. Feel a bit sick
10. Notice it's got quite hot
11. Realise the afternoon has slipped very pleasantly by and it's TIME FOR THE SCHOOL-LITTLE ATHS-FOOD SHOPPING RUN (see 7) aaarrrggghhhh
12. Heave yourself into running gear, drop offspring off at little aths and lumber uncomfortably off along the river in the bright sunshine (see 1, 2, 3, 8and 10).
13.Note that while it is pleasing to now be able to run 3 minutes walk 1 for 24 minutes, it's pretty tragic compared to running 3 songs walk 1 for 6 hour. Oh well
14. Complete run, do food shopping all red-faced and dripping, pick up kid on time.

15. Assume legend status

DAIS, NAID kiddies.Do as I say, not as I do
More anon, conquerers!

Everyone laughs

See this? This is what I do on Mothers' Day. 

 

 

 

I get up early and I go outside and I raise a sweat in the company of lots of other women in aid of an exceptionally worthy cause, and I get a medal

 

See these? Count them. There are NINE. 

Now as you all know - and if you don't it's not for want of my bleating about it - the Trashed Ankle is utterly smegged, refuses to fix itself despite every encouragement and now requires surgery, which has been scheduled for April 3rd. It has just occurred to me that this is only five weeks before Mothers' Day. In the absence of some muscular lunatic kind soul willing to push 80+kg of LBTEPA around a muddy, potholed river track in a wheelchair,  I WON'T GET MY TEN YEAR STREAK.

No, I've never been on the podium and never will.
No, I don't get anything special for finishing it ten years in a row. There is no special award.
Hardly anyone will know, other than my long-suffering nearest and dearest, and of course you, my five faithful readers.
No-one except me will care.
I am seriously considering delaying the surgery until the third week in May.
What's six more weeks in the big scheme of things?

 Stop laughing!

Who I Am

In my last post I wrote that, clearly They Don't Know Who I Am. It's a good thing I DO.

(although sometimes I nearly forget)



That Is All.

And that's enough.

More anon, shame-slayers!

*in which my five faithful readers are provided with helpful instructions as to the appropriate manner in which to respond to each of the following startling pronouncements*

The other day I was running on the treadmill at the gym
On the treadmill!!! No way!! At the gym!!! with all those humiliating mirrors! Good on you!!!
when the chick who's in my team for the corporate triathlon in three weeks
 you're doing a triathlon in three weeks? Wow! That's brave, especially since you've sat on your backside wallowing in self pity and gaining weight for so long! (I'll pay that: harsh but fair)
(whom, as I mentioned in my last post, I introduced to multisport whereupon she prompltly lost heaps of weight)
oh her
hopped on the treadmill next to me and said, you're running! Good on you!
well spotted captain obvious, also I'm sorry but our condescension meter may have just given a little blip. We'll keep you posted
is it hurting you? It looks like it's hurting you
Of all the cheek! But perhaps she was just expressing concern?
No, it's fine. This is just how I run
- ten minutes pass -
Well it obviously isn't hurting you, you're still going!
*there are so many insulting implications in that remark that we are speechless*
Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is the fact that I Know Who I Am. Clearly no-one else does.

They've remodelled the gym so there aren't so many mirrors, which works for me. Don't tell me I shouldn't have issues about how I look after gaining 11kg in 2 years: I just do, ok? If I hate myself for having issues about hating my appearance then it's a double helping of shame and sad and one is enough.
Apart from the mirrors and the morning show the thing I hate the most about the gym is the kind good on you for coming in here smiles I get from the very trim older ladies. They mean well I know but I hate them. I've become one of those 1p0d people so I can pretend I'm not actually there.
When I run on the treadmill, though, I feel strong and determined and amazing - I almost almost feel normal again! I cover up the numbers and I just run and run and sweat and sweat and I just want to keep going and going but I'm being very careful about not injuring myself as I'm sure you will understand.
In other news: LBTEPA vs ebay: epic fail. But in a way not - I'm keeping my eye out for groovy flat shoes so that the eternity I must spend in post-surgery heel-less purgatory won't also be in Frump City...ok ok that doesn't explain the red strappy sandals...ok let's just call it an epic fail and be done with it.

Not so LBTEPA vs the Demon Drink! Progress to date is steady but far too boring to describe in detail; suffice it to say that the LBTEPA Liver Preservation Society is very pleased with me.
Must go, chums: I'm on a 30 minutes tiresome jobs/ 30 minutes fun stuff schedule today and the stove beeper has just gone off. The washing awaits!

P.S. this has been going the rounds of effbee so you've probably seen it but I thought it so funny I had to share. I may have to make it my new header.

 More anon, jugglers!

and another thing...

- in which LBTEPA stomps off, muttering sulkily -
....the other person I introduced to multisport? Has lost 9kg and is feeling better about herself than she has in years. Which is good.

More anon, humbuggers
PS - no ebay = epic fail

But I press on.

So far so hoopy

So far the score is LBTEPA 100000000, sloth, whingeing and self-pity 0, although there have been some epic tussles I can tell you. The only reason I got out of the house for a ride this morning was becuase (after quite few minutes justifying remaining horizontal) I remembered that my 2013 motto is WORK HARD. Not "be lame and make excuses".
I've been (ahem) 'running', (2km non-stop so far coo er go me), riding my bike (oh 2009 power-to-weight ratio, wherefore art though?), walking and even swimming. Since last I wrote I have scarfed down six bowls of muesli, three salads (I'm having them during the week), only two pieces of bread and no diet coke. A big tick for three alcohol-free days, and no ebay either! Go me! Tres boring for you, my five faithful readers, but even more boring for me....no, that's not right. I just want to look after myself properly for once and not give up becuase it's hard or a bit of a pest and then make excuses. I want this time to be different. Le sigh....

I must say I do find it a bit annoying that everyone I introduce to endurance sport instantly starts running sub-six minute kms and winning age-group prizes.

MOre anon, Svengalis!

The Plan

As part of Project FOC (Fear Of Crutches, aka fear of having to literally drag my (currently) lardy arse around with my (currently) weak and puny upper body after the surgery, which, I believe I have mentioned, is in early April) I am going to give up
- bread (mostly)
- diet coke
- alcohol at least 3 days a week
- ebay
and eat muesli for brekky and salad for lunch.
Waddya reckon? I reckon it's a ripsnorter. We'll see what happens.
The other week I cancelled my gym membership in a fit of I'm so fat I'm so ashamed of myself not the mirrors noooo! - come on, don't tell me you've never been there - but I was too disorganised to do it in time for the end of month processing so after a lot of bullying encouragement from my skinnyfast slavedriver good kind friends I have managed to un-cancel it. Bring on the big clanky things!
The surgeon also told me that overloading my foot might hurt it (pain schmain, I say) but won't damage it, so in an unexpected and frankly unwelcome resurgence of the ol' LBTEPA spirit I have signed up for the local corporate triathlon. In four weeks. 9kg heavier than the last time I did it. With no training. It will be unbelievably horrid why do I always think I have to confront ALL MT DEMONS AT ONCE WHY WHY WHY??? the Best Fun Ever.

More anon, mousketeers!

Update

I'm having ankle surgery on the third of April. I have A Plan, but I must go to work now and earn some money to pay for all the retail stress management I did.
More anon!

Operation 2013

So...these new year's resolutions.
They're good and I like them. I fully intend to pursue them with vigour and pep.
However, they've been discarded in favour of uncontrollable crying and an overall feeling of intense weariness for a moment - a short moment, I hope - while I get my head around the phone call from the sports doc telling me that my ankle isn't going to get better by itself and will only stop Hurting All The Time after some (I hope highly trained) bloke has a rummage in its innards with sharp implements and I spend 3 months rehabbing it Very Carefully.
Three. Months.
Feel free to wince, goodness knows I am as I see the words I've just typed.
Maths aren't my strong point but even I can work out that even if I could have the op done in the next few weeks (thankyou, incredibly fortunate set of life circumstances that have enabled me to afford private health insurance) that won't leave three months before we go on holidays to Japan where we will be doing a lot of walking (did I mention we're going on holidays to Japan in March? Sometimes I think I should just rename this blog 'sooking about first world problems' and be done with it) which leaves us in April, which plus three months leaves us in July, which given that I've barely raised a sweat in anger in the last year pretty much leaves 2013 f***ed, athletically speaking.
It's sort of a relief to have the verdict. There will be no more hoping and pretending to be optimistic and pretending to be fine about being so unfit and so heavy and pretending not to be bothered by the pain and pretending not to be so worried and sad and pretending not to be so angry and pretending everything is ok and pretending and pretending. Sort of a relief. But actually Not Really A Relief At All In Any Way. The axe has fallen and here we are.
I've got nothing today. No 'ok, this is how it's going to be, I'll...(insert impressive, gritted-teeth plan for intense and dedicated self-improvement) and everything will be fab. Nothing. I'm tired and I'm sad and tomorrow the sun will come up and I'll do something.
And as I said in a message I left on the mighty Emma's phone this morning, we'll run together again one day. We will. 
More anon, friends!

P.S. Hey, I've just realised that this date last year was when the Goofy challenge was run! Yay for January 9th!!
NOT.
PS please don't say anything along the lines of oh well, at least now you'll be getting some answers etc etc. I can't look on the bright side today. I'll do it tomorrow, I promise. Or the next next day

Resolute

I don't usually make New Years's Resolutions, but 2013 is the year of not doing the same thing over and over again so I had a think about it and these leapt to mind:
Stop whingeing so much
Lose some of the 11kg I have gained in the last 2 years
Drink less alcohol
Exercise near-daily
Stop using self-pity as an excuse to not exercise.
Stop using un-dealt-with anger as an excuse to stuff my face
Stop using ebay to self-soothe
Be nicer to Noddie and J
Do more stuff that I like
Grow veges
Be a better friend
Work harder
Next post: what these new behaviours will actually look like (I need a while to think about it all).

Do you make resolutions? How do you usually go with them? What are yours? Maybe you should run my life.
On that note: should I buy these shoes?

More anon, dancers!

and a happy new year

with a little help from my little friend

It may not surprise you to learn that I am often quite strict with my poor dear Noddie. One of her jobs is to clean the bathrooms, and our Saturday mornings are often enlivened with the sounds of
Those bathrooms need to be done before you go to your firend's house 
I don't wannnna.
You don't have to want to, you just have to do it
I'll do it laaaaater
If you'd started when you were asked you'd be finished by now
Oh Mummmmmy you're so meeeeean
Can't I just get a drink
No! Just go and do it! 
(huffy flounce)
etc etc
The other day it struck me that I was doing exactly the same thing (without the lame bleating, I mean, calling me mean, she has No Idea how mean I can get, foolish child) with my exercises. Mangled ankle or not - and let's not go there, the world didn't end last night, we're all in a good mood - I could still do my core work, stretches and weights if I wasn't wallowing in self-pity. Clearly the LBTEPA mojo needs some help. To this end I have summoned the LBTEPA Behaviour Modification Unit (Junior Division). You said you were going to do your exercises
I don't wannnna.
You don't have to want to, you just have to do it
I'll do it laaaaater
If you'd started when you were asked you'd be finished by now
Oh you're so meeeeean
Can't I just get my 1p0d?
No! Just go and do it! 
(huffy flounce)
It's working a treat. My core and arms hardly know themselves, and Noddie thinks it's hilarious More anon, comrades!

South Africans vs Kiwis

About this time last week I had applauded my darling Noddie playing the piano at the school concert, taken my peer support committee to lunch as a thankyou for the tremendous work they do and was on the train to Melbourne finishing my Christmas cards. By this time tomorrow (but last week; do keep up) I was about to wake up, catch the train into the city with my sister's partner, have a happy look at the Myer Christmas windows (which were just charming), enjoy a funky little breakfast at a funky little laneway cafe and head off, full of coffee and trepidation, to the sports physician.
AND THAT'S WHERE IT ALL WENT HORRIBLY WRONG.
I think it's the difference between optimistic cheerful Kiwis and dour tell-it-how-it-is South Africans (see? South Africans: no nickname! Says a lot). Spunky Dr  Andrew (in whose bin I threw up last time as you might recall. Awkward) was all don't worry! This will work! And if it doesn't work the next one will work! You'll be running by Christmas and lining up for Melbourne next October! whereas Dr Tony was a bit hmmm, well...this should work, but the next step if it doesn't is surgery (SURGERY??) to remove the bone chip and when I asked in a very small voice whether that would be a keyhole procedure yes, it's keyhole but all foot surgery is pretty complicated and takes a while to recover from. But we'll know in four weeks (FOUR WEEKS???) whether it's worked and I'll be able to refer you to a surgeon before I move back to New Zealand.
New Zealand appears to hold a strange attraction for sports physicians. Bloody place must be crawling with them. No wonder they're so good. But I digress
That, my five faithful readers, is when the old LBTEPA Stiff Upper Lip had a Red Hot Go at kicking in, but ultimately failed as you will see. I'd had it in my head that This Would Be It. The Long Tiresome Slog that began in April would be all done, all finished thankyou linesmen thankyou ballboys. I even had an appointment on Friday with the owners of the Prawn Jetty of Doom to sign off on all the out-of-pocket expenses. It was all going to be over, before Christmas, with time to get better enough to wear my pretty heels to my nephew's wedding and fit enough for the corporate triathlon in February  and now it was all Not Like That At All.
I do know that this is all no big deal in the big scheme of awful things in the world but it was a big horrid shock and discouragement, especially since handsome Dr Andrew had blithely tossed off the comment no, you won't need surgery AND I BELIEVED HIM. I was so happy to believe him. I was so sad to hear it might not be so.
I'm getting teary again writing this. What a bloody la la.
So. A shock.
Off I trotted next door to the radiology clinic. I'm good like that. I do what has to be done.
The lovely reassuring John the radiologist sat down with me and explained everything, then went into the big machine room where UmmIforgethername the not very reassuring Ummnotsureofherjob freaked me out saying they were going to put the Big Horrid Needle into a completely different place than I was expecting, nowhere near the pain and right through a bruise I got from moving the coffee table. Umm went and got John, whose capacity for reassurance proved somewhat limited when I asked how many of these have you done? and he answered we do loads and loads of these with all the joints in the ankle but this one is really unusual so no, we don't do them very often, no, but we do all the joints in the ankle all the time so don't worry...
That's when the Come on LBTEPA Don't Cry switch broke off.
I won't go into detail about being able to vaguely feel a Big Horrid Needle being poked into your ankle and hearing two people who do this all the time only actually they don't saying things like almost got it, just a bit that way, that's the spot: suffice it to say it was horrid and they need more tissues in the room. And it hurt. I cried. I cried on the machine and in the wheelchair and in the recovery room while I was being told by an annoying Irish nurse that no one had ever reacted like that before and while I drank my tea and ate my bikkie. I cried becuase I was so sad that this was happening, and when I was finished crying I paid them a lot of money and limped to the tram stop and went to pub at the station and had a sadly-not-all-that-restorative chardy and read my book for an hour and a half until my train came and then I went home. 
It still hurts. It hurts all the time unless I don't walk on it at all, the week before Christmas (insert hollow laugh here).
I'm not optimistic about this. Dear time: please prove me wrong!
There's always chardonnay I suppose. And mince pies.

Mmmmmm....mince pies.....


More anon, bravehearts!

Sorry

Hi There All!
Lots of apologies, firstly for being even more AWOL than usual with lots of time-consuming dance concert/bedroom painting/Christmas stuff, you know the drill, and secondly for having to install one of those prove-you're-not-a-robot thingys. Poor dear Casa d'LBTEPA has been attacked by some exceptionally distasteful spam. This will not be tolerated!
I head off to Melbourne tomorrow for what I hope will be the very last episode in this interminable Saga of the Mangled Ankle. If all goes well the sports physician on Thursday will agree with the one I saw last time (who has buggered off back to New Zealand, filling me with confidence. NOT), organise a fun-filled injection right into the middle of all those complicated little foot bones ewwwwwww (there is a brief pause while LBTEPA turns pale, feels faint and is given smelling salts by her devoted attendants) and send me off home all better at last, the end, all done, all finished thankyou linesmen thankyou ballboys.
Hey, a girl can dream.

More anon, optimists!

Simple, not easy

It's simple. In order to be an athlete one must
- exercise regularly
- pretty much organise one's life around exercising and good health
....sounds pretty simple
and it is
but not easy.
The Streak has been great - 12 days, 9 days, looking good for the win not that I'm competitive hahaha  - because I'm remembering how much I miss working out and feeling fit, but it's still a bit of an afterthought.
Things do get in the way. 
- the bike is still put away in the shed from the holidays
- The Spousal Unit's shifts are, as always, all over the place
-  this week we have at least one thing, sometimes two, on every single day, from school concert rehearsal and performance via dance concert photoshoot (rolling eyes), stop-start, dress rehearsal, matinee and evening performance all the way to the Sunday School concert, with a couple of work things in between. Cross your fingers for us that the weather's not too hot.
- December the first = Christmas tree day! With bonus nativity setup, carols-on-shuffle and domicile be-tinselling! Must fit in some senselessly time-consuming Christmas letter action as well... and present-wrapping! what, you haven't finished your shopping yet?owowowstophittingme.

- housewifey sh**, you know, minimal hygiene, food, clean clothes etc etc
- oh, and work
- J's been quite down. It's important that I spend time with him. Noddie also is requiring extra patience and concentration. We've had to move on to some pretty serious treatment for her psoriasis and it's knocking her around a bit, poor little lambie.
- the mangled ankle hates sand. It's still sore from the holiday. Walking is good but I do so miss running.
- sometimes I get really down about being injured and lardy and mojo-free. I took my marathon medals off the wall the other day. Noddie asked where they were and I realised I was being a bloody sook so I put them back up. I hate the thought of another steroid injection, onto the bone ew ew ew and what if that doesn't work? ohdearohdearohdear but it has to be done
- AND I HATE THE MORNING SHOW ON TV AT THE GYM and I hate wearing headphones
Jumping these little 'hurdles' used to be automatic. Now sometimes it takes me a couple of days to even notice them! Dealing with them has changed from 'part of exercising' to 'another job I have to do before I can work out'.
Well, my friends, as of today it's changing back.
I've written A List. Lists Are Good
- get the **** bike out of the shed!
- check J's roster. If he's not on an early shift then work out in the morning. Life has a tiresome habit of eating the evenings. We know this.
- don't eat anything between 5-6pm. Arsenic hour, that sad, tired, hold-your-temper-for-dear-life breathe-in-breathe-out what-needs-to-be-done-what's-for-tea-Mum???? time, is when the majority of the mindless scoff-fests which have created such irritating wardrobe limitations tend to occur.
- suck it up that gym - mindless tv noise = headphones. Princess.
- vacuum the damn study and damn well get down on the floor and stretch.  It is the idea you fear, grasshopper, not the reality
- try and remember that I like swimming. I don't know why I always feel as though I don't and never want to go. It is the idea you fear, grasshopper, not the reality....(there is a brief scuffle/pause while ancient sage is dragged off). Yes, I think we got that.
Simple stuff. 
So, my five faithful readers, waddya reckon? Will this help? Am I kidding myself?
What are your practical tips and strategies for living an athletic life? Share! Share!
I'll let you know how all this goes. What I'm doing now isn't getting me what I want, and it might just work. You never know.

More anon, tinsel-towners!