If two’s company, how many’s a crowd?

I have a thing, a cold or virus or a whatever it is that is breeding inside me causing me to be ill.  Having already had two bouts of bronchitis this year, I really don't want to have to resort to antibiotics to clear it up, although the process of deterioration seems to be following a similar path.

On the other hand, I am being sensible enough this time (it had to happen eventually I suppose) and am not running.  As it happens, I’m barely doing anything, or at least not at any great speed; I did cut the lawn last night for the first time since October although it was less ‘cut’ and more ‘hack’, as the blades on the mower are a little blunt and the grass more than a little too thick.

The most annoying thing is I want to run.  I had a pre-brunch running buddy date set up for tomorrow, but I’ve canned this in an effort to actually get better rather than attempting to sweat the beast from my brow, as I have done in the past.

Youngest is out with his friend and eldest is avoiding his homework, so we wandered slowly up to the pharmacy and the café for a little light relief; I am now medicated and caffeined to the max and he’s still not doing his homework, but we enjoyed each other’s company.

The café has only been open for a while; the owner trying hard to keep the village shops and her livelihood alive.  The food’s a little expensive for regular visits, but Eldest tells me that the burgers are fine and I can attest to the quality of the cappucino and the vanilla milkshake.

They also have a variety of activities set up to encourage people in and to help bolster the village community spirit.  It’s admirable and welcome in what is becoming a sleepy dormitory village, inhabited by commuting dads and stay at home mums who lunch and play tennis (ok, so I’m being a little unfair, I’m a mum and I do commute but don’t stay at home or play tennis….).

But they’re also playing host to a running club.  I only found this out today when I was browsing the literature and menu.  There are daytime clubs and evening clubs and, as it happens, I could make at least one of the evenings each week, germs and viruses aside.

I’ve always run when it suits me, when the mood takes me.  If I start running to suit other people, does that mean that I’ve actually become a ‘runner’ instead of a plodder?

Run run as fast as you can

So, I’ve been running for over 2 years now. It took over 12 months before I was kicked (politely) in the butt to sign up for a race and now, a year later I’ve just finished the same 5 miles for the 2nd time. And I’m still alive to tell the tale.

Having finally got my mental demons under control and started to persuade myself that, actually, it is ‘only’ 5 miles (*coughs* and then reminds self that 5 miles is NEVER going to be ‘just’ five anything, it’s a flipping long way), I was some 5 minutes faster this year than last.

On top of that, I really felt like it wasn’t a feat of endurance that I had to suffer to reach the finishing line.

I didn’t enjoy the first couple of miles, not so much for the running itself but because I generally run solo, elbows as far stretched as I feel necessary. But with some 5 or 600 other people cramming their feet onto the footpath, it’s necessary to match your pace with the people all around you (including behind, because otherwise you’re at risk of having your heels stomped on). To counter this I would normally run down the middle of the road, but that was full of volunteering jobsworths (that’s a little unfair, most of them were great, but still, perhaps you understand?), yelling “Keep on the path”. Which quite obviously wasn’t possible.

With words of wisdom ringing in my ears, I kept my pace down for the first couple of miles, quietly moving along at some 11 minute miles but, finally, when the field cleared, I could stretch out (a little – I’m no Paula Radcliffe you understand?) and just keep going.

I love the lack of thought that’s needed to run. The only consideration being, putting one foot in front of the other, avoiding pot holes and curbs and trying not to grind my teeth at the guy behind me who had every key and piece of loose change in his possession rattling and jingling away in the leg pocket of his combat board shorts.

The other runners were friendly (I can’t say as much for those at the front of the field because quite frankly they were sipping cappuccinos long before I reached the 3 mile marker), the families and supporters who turned out to cheer on their loved ones were great, as they clapped and congratulated everyone mad enough to want to turn out at 9am on Good Friday.

But I did have another motivation, other than finishing and heading for a tall, skinny lifestyle coffee.

There was no way I was going to be beaten by the 6’ Dalmatian with a hangover.

down

Time doesn’t always heel.

Time brings more pain, more hurt, more experiences that will make us stronger.

I think, for now, that I’m strong enough.

Bring me some up now please.

The butterfly effect

How life can change on the beat of the wings of a bird, the drawing of a breath.

The snow has all but left us. Small patches of white remain, yet to melt into the earth.  The soil below stretches up to the sun which is now shining upon us, warming the branches of the trees, preparing the ground for the spring flowers that will push through the dirt and smile at the sky.

As if the humans themselves have been hibernating, the streets are becoming busy again, faces smiling or determined, with long lists of chores and requirements that have been happily foregone over the snowed in days.

The temperatures have risen, the air clement enough to see people out without hats, scarves and thermal wrappings.

Snow boots are all but abandoned as fashion dictates our footwear now, at last.

Clothing choices are made by what we want and not what is most appropriate for the freezing conditions.

Rain has fallen on the garden and now the previously frozen ground is sodden and welcoming to sinking footprints.

For a while longer, at least, the grass and shrubs will remain strangers to my visitations.

Meteorologists have warned of further flurries and drifts to come, more turmoil and chaos to visit upon the Earth, or at least this currently green and pleasant bit.  Foreboding messages of doom that it isn’t over yet – and we haven’t even got to February when the weather normally descends into panic.

A new year, new butterfly wings have rout  new effects, new horizons open ahead, Mother Nature rises before us.

All is good.

the end of the world as we know it

So, there’s some snow.  There’s probably going to be a lot of snow.  Of course the kids are in 7^th heaven and I’m quite bored with it all right now; I have things to go and places to be that don’t involved wading through over a foot and a half (50cm in new money) of snow, however much fun it might be.

There are plans for social events on Thursday and Friday evenings that are likely to be snowed off, and I have to be in Madrid next week for work: three days in a fancy hotel for meetings, dinners and greetings; the usual new job, networking bollocks.  Not that I’m complaining you understand.  Lima Bean has just moved to Madrid, so I’m flying out on Saturday morning and spending the weekend on her sofa.  How cool should that be?

I’ll let you know if I get there, but it snowed there the week before Christmas too.

Possibly, there is a replacement for my old/current job, ready to start on 1^st Feb. We live in hope.  I have more work in each job than is reasonable and I’m not doing either of them effectively right now.

I’m supposed to be in Swisscheeseland at the end of January, but can’t yet get a sitter for the kids.  And going back in February for a week or so to do handover/training with the new person – if they’re in place and ready to go and the kids can spend their holiday week with my mum or dad.

My dad has decided to spend some of our inheritance; but I’m not complaining.  The boys and I are off to Thailand for three weeks in the summer.  Obviously I’m terribly disappointed at his decision as are the boys *grin*

New Years resolutions are for those that know they’ll give up before the end of January; all the good intentions in the world won’t see the pounds fall off or the house redecorated, as a rule.

But this year I haven’t done it.  Haven’t made any life changing decisions that won’t change anybody’s life, let alone mine.  But I have had a thought.  A little seed of an idea to make 2010 a more thrifty life.  To spend less money on ‘stuff’ and more money on memory makers.

That seems to me to be a much more worthwhile investment than even the best shoes and handbags in the world.  Unless they’re in the sale, of course.

shadows

It’s been full on, 24/7 with the kids.

I’m coming down with something akin to man-flu, only real. Or maybe I’m just finally letting all that stress seep out of my pores.

We’ve adventured, visited, watched, sat, played, eaten. And now it’s enough.

Today, Boo!’s behaviour has been nightmareish. He’s tired and hungry and has had too much excitement to be reasonable.

I can’t even be bothered to get angry with him anymore. After a final, final warning, he was sent to bed without tea, sobbing into his pillow because, finally, he realised that I meant it.

I’m tired. Christmas has been a curates egg of times and experiences. So much good with so much indifferent. So much the same and so much as before.

It feels ungrateful to suggest that it just isn’t enough. That at the end of the day, with friends and family wishing me well, all the best, a wonderful life, that there’s something missing; something that would make the days better, or at least the evenings when even the arguing noise of the kids has gone quiet.

The candles are lit, the TV is showing something bland, but with a happy ending.

Too many happy endings. That’s the problem.

Real life never comes wrapped in expensive paper and tied with a ribbon. Unless you do it yourself. 

And then it doesn’t count.

sunshine on a rainy day

I woke up with a headache. I went to sleep with a headache. It had followed me around for most of the day.

The day was spent with the boys, hunting and shopping for an appropriate outerwear for Spoog (who knew that senior school would bring out such attitude and willingness to get freezing cold and soaking wet to avoid having to wear a coat??). And I needed a new outfit. Note the inference on 'needed'. Had to have. Must acquire. I'm a girl, I have a black tie invitation for New Year and I'm sure as hell going in something amazing and beautiful and new.

So I thought that the boys would be willing accomplices to the hunting and trapping of such a prize.

Ok, to be fair, at the beginning they were, but then it was coffee o'clock (their call, not mine), then Boo! had a hypo, then it was lunch time, then I got bored trying things on, then we couldn’t find 'just' the right thing for Spoog. Then Boo! got pissed because we weren't shopping for him, then I got bored not being able to find 'just' the right thing (that I could afford) and nearly succumbed to the £250 dress/shoes/bag combo until a flash of sense ran through my brain and we picked up our small bags and left.

But the headache came with me. I hate those niggling ones that sit behind your eyes and periodically will have you believe that they've gone away only to pounce when you relax.

We went out for dinner, for Spoog's birthday. Voltar was our waiter. He was great, really respected the kids and treated them as adults. I was proud of their behaviour and our conversation (although I balked at the mechanics behind the internal combustion, boxters and Wankle rotary engines. That's one subject I'm happy to delegate to the XS.

We smiled and laughed and ate fantastic food. The pain squatted behind my eyes and pushed forwards, as if trying to force my eyes to fall out.

We left and at home all changed into PJs and curled up on the sofa to watch Shrek 3. It was funny; really, we laughed a lot. The boys gave up asking to stay up any longer when their bodies were screaming for sleep.

I curled up again on my own and rested. My head pounded.

I smiled at the day's adventures.

With very few hunting opportunities remaining, I may have to rely on a staple from the wardrobe that will look amazing but not have the nuance that something new has. Like the smell and shine of a new car; it makes it special.

And my head hurt.

It hurt when I got up. It hurt when I shouted at the kids for making (another) mess.

I gave up and ran.

I should have done that yesterday.

I smiled as I ran. As I ran through the rain; through the puddles; into the wind; through the drenching of cars driving too fast through puddles.

I smiled up the hills and down the road.

I positively beamed as the sun escaped its grey cloak and shone upon the road.

And as the sky cleared, so did my head.

Maybe I should just wear a smile when I go out?