Bum Bags and Knitting Patterns

I ventured out yesterday for a practise pre-run prior to beginning my running training properly on Monday (it has to be Monday; it says so in the running book and I'm not going to mess with the running book). What I wanted to do was to make sure my Achilles tendon was really okay and not merely pretending, and that my new running shoes weren't going to nip/ pinch/ chafe/ rub/ blister or any combination thereof.

All was well. The running shoes were good 'n' bouncy, the ShockAbsorber A+ ensured my bosoms remained good 'n' unbouncy, the jogging bottoms remained up, the jogging top remained down and the only problem encountered was getting hit in the face with my front door key. That's because I had no pockets upon my person so had to thread the key onto a chain around my neck. What I really need, I thought, is a bum bag for all my running accoutrements.

The book suggests taking the following with you when you go for a run : keys (obviously), mobile phone, cash for a bus or taxi in case you sustain an injury or go so far you can't run back (very unlikely at this early stage in my training), loo roll (again, in case you get caught short on a long run), spare pants (????), plasters and,if you are a lady, an alarm in case you are attacked. Although I guess if you are a male pacifist and don't fancy fending off an attacker you could carry an alarm too.

Well, it seems rather a lot of baggage to be carting around on a run, especially as in my case I'm not planning on being out for more than half an hour at a time, my modus operandii being to work myself up to spending more of that half an hour jogging than walking. Yesterday's effort yielded a 95:5 percentage ratio in favour of walking so I've still got some way to go. And as such I think all I require to take with me is a door key and a bottle of water and a tissue up my knicker leg in case I get a runny nose. So no bum-bag just yet.

I couldn't find a small water bottle to take with me yesterday so ended up emptying the remains of a one litre bottle of squash into a jug and refilling that bottle with water. It was a might cumbersome I have to say, carting a squash bottle around with me, so today I bought one of those natty bottles-with-a gripping-hole-in-the-middle. They came in two sizes - 500ml and 250 ml. 250 ml is no good to anyone. I'd polish off 250ml in two gulps. I went for the larger option.

And whilst in town I found I could no longer resist the urge to start knitting something cheerful and artisan for Baby Bug Grandchild. Personally, I was very pleased with my choice of pattern and colours of wool. However, when I showed Heather she stepped back and put on her sun glasses. 'Cor Blimey!' she said, or words to that effect, but I don't care. I like the pattern and I like the wool. They are bright and individual and, in the mind of this nearly 44 year old granny-in-waiting, very funky. And if other people react like Heather, then, well, I shall just take Baby Bug Grandchild out myself. We'll go for a jog. In the dark. So no-one can see us in our lovely handcrafted jumpers and bum bags.

Honestly, some people have no sense of style...

Re-Run

You may remember a few months ago I was all keyed up to start running. Not because I was being pursued by a bear, or the Kelly Gang were after driving me out of town, but because I was having 'the urge' to run.

And that I got as far as purchasing a ShockAbsorber A+ 36F bolster holster and assorted lycra wear and a couple of pairs of rather cute white socks with 'minimal seams to prevent chafing'. And that I'd had a couple of preliminary dashes between the trees in the park, stopping to pick assorted foliage for the chickens along the way. I'd even joined an on-line running group for tips and advice.

Then, just as I was about to get running in earnest, well, the 'run for sixty seconds, walk for three minutes' malarkey, I did a heavy digging session at the allotment and then came home and topped it off with trying to wrestle a particularly stubborn rose bush from the front garden and I tore my Achilles tendon.

Well, it has taken all that time for my tendon to mend itself. I was warned it might take up to six months to repair so I count myself lucky I am mended sooner. I've been pain free for three weeks now and my mind has turned back to learning to run. I bought a book called 'Running Made Easy' (by Susie Whalley and Lisa Jackson from Zest magazine) which is fab - inspirational, practical, entertaining and it's even got a section in which to record progress. I thought, now I need to sort myself out some proper shoes and not a cheapo pair from the bargain shoe shop. I don't want to enflame my Achilles tendon now that it has been rendered an official 'weak spot' in my physique. (How ironic to have one's Achilles tendon as one's Achilles heel!)

So yesterday I researched the interwebbly to find a place that would fit me properly for running shoes. And I found a sports shop that is about a 45 minute walk away from Much Malarkey Manor that had a gait-analysis machine. I thought, I'll drive over at the weekend and get some running shoes sorted. And then I thought, NO! The sun is shining, it's only a 45 minute walk there and a 45 minute walk back. And the book says that you should have running shoes fitted in the afternoon when your feet are at their biggest. GO NOW! CARPE DIEM! SEIZE THE FISH!!

And so I did. I cut across the park, ignoring my instinct to turn left and thereby ending up where I started, and managed to find my way to the main road with the help of some directions from Heather. (Past the first ice cream stand, down to the lake, past the boat house, not as far as the second ice-cream stand, turn left, follow the path, listen for the road traffic getting louder, you'll be fine), and I arrived at the sports shop puffing because a lot of the journey had followed a bit of an uphill.

The assistant in the sports shop was very helpful. I explained my whole situation to him - funny urge to run, allotment digging, Achilles tendon, pain, walking like an old granny, going to be a granny, heat expanded feet, walked 45 minutes at a brisk pace to get here, please don't expect me to spend £100 on running shoes as I don't have that kind of money to spend etc - and to give him his due he didn't flinch once.

'Right,' he said, 'here's a pair of running shoes. Hop on the gait analysis machine and we'll see what you need.'

The gait analysis machine turned out to be a running machine attached to a video camera. Great, I thought, he's going to video me running. But up I hopped, glad it wasn't a Saturday when the shop would no doubt have been full of lithe young running bods who would probably find an overweight, middle-aged red-faced-from-walking woman highly entertaining.

'I'm starting the machine,' said the assistant.
The machine started. I started jogging. The assistant turned up the machine, which ran faster and I ran faster to keep up with it. Visions of Bridget Jones shooting off the end of a running machine flashed through my head.
'A bit faster?' said the assistant.
'Nooooooooo!!!' I said. 'Have...puff, puff, puff...reached....puff, puffpuffpuff....limit....sweat, puff, pouufff!!!!'
'Right,' said the assistant. 'I'll go and start the camera.'

Blimey! I thought the camera, like me, was already running. But no. Joggity run I went (and remember this is on top of my brisk 45 minute yomp.)

Eventually, the assistant returned, slowed down the machine slightly less quickly than I would have liked, and I just about managed to prevent myself being ricocheted off the back and ending up in a slithery puddle on the floor.

We examined my running gait.
'You've got a mainly neutral strike,' said the assistant. 'But with a slight pronation which is more pronounced in your right ankle than your left. Also, you tend to turn out your toes on your right foot. See?'
'Uh-huh,' I said, more transfixed with how fat my calves were looking from the back in running shoes and perhaps I should wear stilettoes instead, to give the appearance of a longer leg.

'I'll get a couple of pairs for you to try on. Ones that will support your arches and prevent later problems with hips and back,' said the assistant. What?? Problems with hips and back? My hips and back are fine.

Anyway, the assistant returned with two pairs of running shoes ideal for my gait. I tried on both pairs. The first pair fitted well and I did some experimental running around the shop (with the emphasis on mental). The second pair felt less bouncy, sort of flat and less supportive.

'I like the first pair,' I said. Well, mostly I liked the first pair. There was one problem. They were silver and green. And whilst I am very keen on silver, I don't and have never worn green. I don't mind looking at green, indeed my kitchen is painted green, but I have a thing about wearing green.

I looked at the assistant. I thought, can I be really girly and ask what other colours they come in? The look in the assistant's eye suggested not; that I should take his advice and buy these shoes because they were the best for my feet. Besides, he'd been very nice and encouraging and had even given me a book about running.

I bought the green running shoes.

And here they are. With my mostly-neutral-slightly-pronating ankles.

Running - here we come!!

Two go jogging

How to start jogging:

1) Eat evening meal. Home-made meatballs and tagiatelle are good. Make too much because daughter is home from university, I've only just got used to cooking for 2 and can't remember the quantities for 3 so I make for 4, just in case. Meatballs for protein, tagiatelle for carbs, veg for 5-a-day. Have yogurt for pud even though I feel quite full. It's good for digestion and bloating (adding to or taking away, I get confused which).

2)Start watching telly. Say (nonchalantly) to Andy 'Shall we go for a walk? It's such a lovely evening.' Find carrier bag to gather greenery for chickens.

3)Andy agrees. Wearing totally unsuitable footwear and trousers that are a tad too tight (see point 1) set off for park at a brisk pace (aka 'warm-up'.)

4) Notice park is VERY BUSY. Full of people playing football, dog walking, mucking about with remote controlled cars (I mean, how long exactly can a bloke be entertained by a remote controlled car?? YAWWWWN!), and joggers (fools). Panic a bit. Am I brave enough to jog in public in view of other people? Is it dark enough yet?

5) Maintain brisk walking pace. Stride purposefully to where path ends suddenly in middle of the park for no apparent reason. Admire lovely trees full of blossom and think 'I wish I'd brought my camera.'

6) Yomp across grass to area in park where smooth grass turns to rustic wild-life area. Glance around furtively. No-one in sight. Pick a patch of dandelion leaves for hens, all the while checking vicinity for other signs of life with the potential to laugh. (This includes ducks. Ducks laugh. Trust me, I've heard them.)

7) Say to Andy 'Shall we run across this bit of lumpy grassland?' 'Yes,' says Andy.

AND OFF WE GO!!!!!!! Jog,jog,jog,jog, mind that pot hole, jog, jog, keep a look out for people, jog, jog, joggity, puff, puff, puff, gasp and...

8) STOP! Bend over, puffing. 'Ask, 'How long did we run for? A minute? Two minutes?' Try not to feel disheartened when Andy says 'About 30 seconds.' Carry on brisk walk. Reach bottom of gentle upwards slope. Say to Andy, 'Let's run up this gentle upwards slope.' 'Okay,' says Andy. AND OFF WE GO!!!!!!

9) STOP!!! People! Resume brisk walk. Loiter in bushes on pretext of picking more dandelions until people have disappeared from view. Seek out suitable tree not too far in distance. Make a dash for tree. Have a laugh because the jog is turning into an episode of 'Secret Squirrel.'

10) Andy says, 'I'll time us to run for a minute.' A MINUTE??? Meatballs, tagiatelle and yogurt settling nicely in stomach now. 'READY?' says Andy. 'GO!' says Andy, missing out the 'Steady,' bit, most unfairly I think because I need to build myself up to these sudden bursts of energy. Jog, jog, joggity, jog, jiggle, bounce (must get a sports bra), joggity, puff, gasp, haven't we done a minute yet, jog, jog, 'KEEP GOING TO THE NEXT TREE! yells Andy, jog, jog, jog, 'AND THE NEXT TREE! yells Andy, 'WHO DIED AND MADE YOU THE PERSONAL TRAINER? yells me, jog, jog and...

11) That's a minute! The longest minute in my life. The minute where my entire life would have flashed before my eyes if I hadn't been concentrating so much on staying vertical and breathing.

My skin is pink and itchy, my heart is pounding in my ears, but my knees are intact and we are laughing so much I wish I'd had a wee before we'd set off. We do a few more surreptitious dashes between trees until we reach the busy part of the park where we slow to a brisk walk (warm down) and then more of an amble up the hill towards home. We have been out, larking in the park, for an hour, covering just over 3 miles. We have a cup of tea and a flapjack each (oats, good for the heart, sugar, good for the soul) and feel v. pleased we have started running together.

I have HUGE admiration for all those people who run long distance without the aid of strategically placed trees and without stopping every minute to catch their breath.

One day, that'll be me and Andy!

The polytunnel cometh and Denise and Andy runneth...

On Monday, I was fired up and ready to phone the polytunnel company and ask, all casual-like, that as it's been 4 weeks since I placed my polytunnel order with them and 4 weeks since they took the money from my credit card, WHEN WERE THEY GOING TO DELIVER THE B****Y THING BECAUSE THE TOMATOES/AUBERGINES/PEPPERS ARE TURNING INTO GREENHOUSE TRIFFIDS???? However, they beat me to it and called immediately after breakfast to say my order had been dispatched and would arrive on Wednesday.

'Morning or afternoon?' I enquired. The office lady didn't know but said if I wanted to call back on Wednesday morning they would be in a better position to tell me. What position would that be, I wondered. Organised??

Anyhow, it transpired the question was irrelevant because the polytunnel arrived yesterday. A very small delivery man with a single front tooth appeared at lunchtime in a very large lorry and carried many long parcels, bendy parcels and big boxes into the backgarden, arranging them artfully over the garden furniture, before getting me to sign his clipboard and disappearing toute de suite.

I have no idea if all the right parts have been delivered because I could find neither an invoice nor a piece of paper saying 'This is what should be in your delivery'. It looks like it's all there. There are wooden bits (the doors), shiny bendy metal bits (the hoops for the main frame), straight metal bits (the crop bars and side braces), square metal bits (base plates) and polythene (cover). There is hot spot tape to protect the polythene from frying on the hoops in the summer and repair tape to mend the holes in the polythene your husband made with the scissors in his eagerness to open the delivery box. (Actually, he didn't damage the polythene, but it was a close call).There are also many screw bits, poky bits, twiddly bits and a booklet entitled 'It's All Yours Now, Good Luck, We're Off!'

Andy was very keen to open boxes and read manuals when he arrived home. This is unusual for him as he isn't a great believer in the reading of instructions, preferring the 'chuck it all on the floor and see which bit goes where' method of construction. But no, he's made a list of all the tools needed to construct the tunnel and this morning, over breakfast, issued the first instruction.

'We need to clear the site of weeds,' he said.
Was this the real 'we' or the Royal 'we', I wondered.
'We'll go to the allotment this evening,' he said. 'And start clearing the site.'

Operation Polytunnel is underway.

Meanwhile, I am psyching myself up to start running. I purchased a health and fitness magazine yesterday which had a special 'Anyone Can Run' feature. I also purchased 'Organic Garden and Home' because it had an article on ethical burials and eco-friendly coffins. It's odd, isn't it, how ideas can link together in sometimes sinister ways...

Anyway, the running article was very informative and provided an easy to follow programme for building up towards a 5K run.
'How far is 5K in proper money?' I ask.
'3.107 miles,' says Tybalt.
'How did you know that?' I ask, very impressed at his mathematical prowess.
'I used the conversion feature on my mobile,' he says.

Right. So just over 3 miles. I can walk that in under an hour if I get a shift on. I try and think where I walk to and from that would give me a more tangible idea of how far 5K is and whether I could run it and remain vertical. I decide it is the distance of a round trip to the allotment.
'I could run to the allotment and back,' I say.
'Why would you want to do that?' asks Tybalt.
'It would be quicker?' I say. I realise how very feeble this reason sounds. Unless, of course, I was being chased by a bear in which case it sounds a very excellent reason indeed.

'And which coffin would you like?' asks Tybalt.
'That one there,' I say, pointing to a nice slim willow number with flowers woven in the top.
'You're far too fat for that,' says Tybalt, because tact is one of his better qualities.
'I won't be after I've been following my running programme for a few weeks,' I say.
'True,' said Tybalt. 'Are these two topics related in any way, perchance?'
'I wasn't planning them to be,' I say.

But who can tell in the Great Adventure that is Life? Who knows what is around the Corner of Fate, up the Cul-de-Sac of Co-incidence, along the Avenue of Chance, on the other side of the Fence of Frisson?

Sometimes, you've just got to go with the flow and not think too hard about these things. Because sometimes, if you think too hard, you can think yourself out of some pretty amazing life-changing decisions.

(This last thought was brought to you by 'Psychic Mentor, part of the 'Message From the Other Side' Upstairs Crew who sometimes chuck their thoughts in with mine for no apparent or sane reason. I hope therefore, it makes sense to someone out there who reads this today. If it doesn't, I apologise for my lunacy and promise to keep taking the tablets...!)

Keep on running...well, start at least...

'Sometimes,' I said to Andy yesterday, 'when I am walking briskly, as is my wont these days as walking is my main mode of transport since we sold our second car to buy the Eglu and...'

'Get to the point, darling,' said Andy, hands poised over his computer keyboard because I have interrupted him at a VERY IMPORTANT point in his virtual reality 'brave adventurer-creeping-round-a- sinister-castle-trying-to-avoid-monsters' game.

'I'm just providing a bit of back story for any readers new to my blog,' I said.

'Ahem,' said Andy, and I think he gave a slight nod towards his computer screen, but I might be wrong, could have been an involuntary tic like the time he told me to 'Sssshhh,' during an episode of Doctor Who. I mean, it was Christopher Eccleston too, for heaven's sake, not even David Tennant. Even I would have 'ssshhhed' me if it had been Tennant. But Eccleston????

Andy was, by now, staring at the ceiling and whistling.
'You'll never get off the ground with those little wings,' I said, pointing to his virtual reality computer character. 'I'd go for much bigger ones if I were you. More Archangel than Cherub. Anyway,' I continue, because although Andy is the most patient person I've ever met, even I could see he was getting a bit twitchy at my procrastination, 'sometimes when I am walking briskly, I feel like breaking into a bit of a run.'

Andy stared at me.
'Is that it?' he said.
I stare back.
'Isn't that enough?'
'I suppose,' said Andy.
'Cup of tea?' I asked.
'Ssshhh,' said Andy. (He didn't really say this. Wouldn't dare, not after the Doctor Who incident. I just added it for comic effect.)

Anyway, Andy appeared an hour or so later. I didn't ask if he'd overcome the monsters in the sinister castle because apparently these virtual reality games can go on for YEARS before any satisfactory outcome is achieved. A bit like real life only without bills, death and having to empty the bin when it's full.

'Let's go running together,' said Andy. He is clutching some sheets of A4 in his hand.
'What? Now?' I say, thinking his timing was very inconvenient as I was, by now, employed in IMPORTANT activities myself i.e watching Goldie Hawn and Bette Midler on the telly in 'The First Wives' Club.' Bette Midler and Goldie Hawn are two of my favourite actresses. In fact, I would like to have Midler's wit and Hawn's figure. Then I could be Bette Hawn. Or Goldie Midler. Or Boldie Hitler. Or Gette Hawnier...

'Well, not NOW,' said Andy, interrupting my silent ramblings, which was a bit unnerving to say the leastbut probably saved me from myself. 'In say, a month's time when I've got myself a bit fitter. I've found a beginner's training programme on the Interweb. I'm going to laminate it.' And he waves the pieces of A4 at me.

'Okay,' I say. 'Let's start running together.'

The rest of the afternoon is spent in a flurry of extensive research into running programmes (walk a bit, jog a bit, walk a bit, jog a bit more), avoiding injuries (don't start running in the first place), running shoes (stand in wet feet on a bathroom carpet to discover your foot type. I am 'normal arch', or in running parlance 'transitional'), support bras (hammock-sized moulded capsules), what to eat, what not to eat, calories burned, Aertex fabric, heart monitors (HEART MONITORS????) etc etc. It's a whole new world!
And I was very excited to discover there is a running programme called 'Fartlek!' It seemed quite complex so I think Fartlekking will have to wait a while. Or at least until we can make it down the hill to the park without collapsing in the gutter.

'Shall we register for next year's London Marathon?' said Andy, as he stood in the kitchen laminating his training plan ready to take to the gym.
I narrowed my eyes in thought (and imaginary pain.)
'Maybe the year after?' I suggested.

We looked at each other, both cuddly and amply curvacious, both a bit too fond of homemade cake and sitting on the swing in the garden reading books.

'Yes, maybe the year after,' we agreed in unison.