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!