Super man lives

So it would seem that, upon further investigation and the reading of multiple profiles, that men feel they have something to prove.

Hobbies and past times vary between white water rafting, yeti wrestling and great white shark baiting.


It seems to me to be very dull to be interested in a man that likes to watch a movie with a bottle of wine and a bucket of popcorn or go for a walk in the woods, kicking the leaves as you go. 


Quite obviously, that is just not exciting enough for most women and I will find myself turning (even more) into the mad old cat lady.


When did 'ordinary' become a dirty word?

Step 1, you find a girl/boy to love

I am coming to the rapid and unpleasant realisation that I'm getting old.

Having done the deed, taken the first step and actually signed up with a dating site, my age has moved into the next bracket.  The men that I might actually be interested in are in that bracket, or worse, the one above it.


When did I get to the stage of planning dates with someone my dad's age?  Ok, so he's not really 10 years old than me, but surely I'm too young to even be considering men of 50 as suitable/possible/potential options for dinner, drinks and we'll see what happens next?


It's not so much depressing as worrying that I'm running out of time, the buzzer is about to sound and I'll be put out to pasture as being past my prime, unsaleable or, worse, unwanted.


I have even sent out some mails, pinged a few pictures and shuddered at others.  I don't know what I was expected just 3 days in, but more than this was definitely on that list.  


Do people really expect to gain interest from potential partners when they've cropped a picture of themselves with their latest ex, or with a post coital cigarette hanging out of the side of their mouths?


Am I missing something important about basic good manners, or do I just want the unachievable dream?

Liar, liar, pants on fire

It would appear that Hollywood has been lying ot us all these years.

Men do not hang around on street corners or in libraries or coffee shops, randomly waiting to meet the girl of their dreams.


Apparently you have to work at it.  You have to make an effort and go out there stand in front of people, either face to face or on the interweb, looking for emale order men.  


Internet dating has, of course, lost much of its sordid and hushly spoken reputation of a few years ago, but it does still seem like a last resort of the lonely, pathetic and vaguely miserable.


There are multiple tales of success.  Most sites proclaim on their home pages how they lose customers every day, becaase they've found love.  Peddling the dream that love is out there for all, but these days it's a direct cost that's lining someone's deep pockets.


I know people around me who are happy and relaxed and have made achieved the twin goals of marriage AND children.


I just want a nice man, which is harder to locate than the eponymous needle, it would seem.

Doctor heal myself

So, it’s got really bad over the past few days (ok, weeks, who am I kidding?) to the extent that walking up stairs was wiping me out.  Having a conversation was a joke because not only could I not really concentrate; I’d be out of breath just saying hello.

I haven’t run for 10 days and can’t see a point at which I’ll start again – worrying and upsetting in equal measure.

I took myself off to see the Doc this morning for a formal diagnosis; please tell me it isn’t sinister and I can still dive on holiday? Is it asthma, hay fever, an allergy to something else, too much coffee (unlikely as I’m all but caffeine free these days)?

Of course, because I like to be consistent, it’s stress. My peak flow is ‘respectable for someone my age’ (way to make a girl feel good Doc) which rules out asthma. A lack of other symptoms suggests it isn’t an allergy or hayfever, so let’s just go back to that old chestnut, stress.

This was a new Doc, an older guy but full of bright ideas.  Doc Smith, where have you been all my life?

Slow down, smell the roses, breathe in and out – quite literally as it happens.  Six breaths in, six out; Count them.  Enjoy them.  Feel them.  Then start again.

If you get to 13 you’re not concentrating on breathing and your mind is off with the fairies or work or stuff, as usual.

I’ve been told to slow down, do one thing at a time. But if I had time to do one thing at a time I wouldn’t need to be on a conference call, running reports and typing this at the same time!

Have you ever tried it, to stop in the middle of an email or reading a document, preparing a presentation and breathe?  Six breaths in, six breaths out, six in, six out.

But it works.  Amazingly just one six in, on six out (I managed to concentrate for a whole 30 seconds or so!), and my heart has slowed, my breathing easier and my mind, if only just a little, is slower.

That and a long cuddle with the new puppy.

Therapy in one wiggly bundle.

Off the beaten track

Apart from the obvious physical and mental health benefits of running, or any type of exercise for that matter, there are many, many other ways that it can improve your life.

Last year I travelled to Brussels for work, a week of hotel living, back to back meetings and evening dinners with barely an hour or so between the end of the day and the start of the evening social activities.

Instead of laying on my bed or staring at the TV, I ran.  The hotel gave me a tourist map and a bemused look and I headed out.

There was the major benefit that the weather was great and the sun shone late and bright, but it gave me the opportunity to see, albeit briefly, parts of the city that would encourage me to at least plan to head back one day.

I ran through the city, past the parliament buildings, past the seats of power, through the valleys of buildings, along the impeccably clean streets, through parks and to historic landmarks.

I briefly sat in the sun under the trees that were beginning to turn to autumn; I breathed the air that wasn’t air conditioned and I relaxed.

This past weekend I was in Cardiff, a girlie weekend with shopping and eating.  And running.  I found the castle and the park and the trees and the time, again, to breathe.

Runners and writers

I’m still not in 100% good health; it would seem that the last bout of lung related nonsense has reinvigorated my childhood asthma, alleviated only by sucking on sabutamol at semi-regular intervals.

Checking NHS Direct for possible causes of my dry, hacking cough symptoms, I might have hayfever, a cold or possibly HIV or lung cancer.

Anyhow, feeling that sitting back and doing nothing for the next 3 weeks, is really not an option and particularly as the weather has been so fanastic, I pulled out my kit and got back to running.

It was a gentle, 2 mile start on Saturday which has risen to daily 2.5/3 mile jaunts around the village, during which time I don’t cough, wheeze or otherwise feel debilitated by my lung problems, except when I can’t get the breath down to my diaphragm and have to stop to stretch.

It’s just that I can’t seem to keep my pace down.

Prior to getting sick (this time at least…), I was pacing at around 10:15 – 10:30 minute miles, but even though I am making a genuine effort to keep my pace slow and steady, my widget is now showing me as pacing at sub 10:15. Which is weird; either my widget is badly calibrated or I need to change the way I judge my speed.

What I have noticed is that, since I was ill and unable to run, I have had absolutely no desire whatsoever to write, to notate the minutiae of my daily existence.

But now, even though I’m still under the weather, my brain seems inspired to write.

Maybe there’s more to this running thing that meets the eye?

Green with envy

I'm on the injury/illness/sickness bench, at least for the next few days. I've struggled but finally managed to spend a whole weekend of peace and sunshine without donning my kit, although trust me, it was tough.

I'm prone to chest infections, even with the merest hint of the common cold and, with a tendency to completely ignore it and go maternal martyr on the world, I find it really difficult to take to the sofa instead of just getting on and 'doing'.

Last week I 'Ran to Green'.  If you don't have a Nike+ thingamy whatsit in your shoe, then perhaps you don't know what this is?  I bought one because I thought I had to have the latest gadgetry to keep me going. 

I was only half-right.  The gadget itself doesn't keep me going, but the measuring and tracking does.  It roughly measures (having recently run a verified 5miles that computed as 5.75 on my widget, I know it's not perfect) how far and how fast I run, although it doesn't measure altitude, so it can't take into account the seemingly vast amount of 'up' I run, compared to the minimal amount of 'down'.

But, it works.  And I love it.  And having just 'Run to Green' (hitting 250km since logging in), I feel revived and with renewed vigour to keep going.  The next distance, Blue, is some 450 miles  I'd love to hope that I can actually make it by the end of the year, but in case there were any doubts, I have a new power tool in my arsenal. further along my digital pathway.

I've got an iPhone. It's a completely amazing piece of kit in its own right (less phone and more digital playground); I can synch my Nike+ sensor to it; I can play music as I run and, if I've worked it out properly, use a GPS tracking App that I downloaded which will accurately show me exactly how far I went, rather than the vague approximation.

So it's now so much less about how physically fit I am and more, how mentally adept I am at programming my iphone (or at least letting the kids teach me how to work it) and how much more fit I'm going to be, carrying all these electronic extras.

Now we just need someone to design running kit with iPhone sized pockets.....