Reflecting on my year as a non-slob

All-in-all, I've been running for about 10 years. It started when I won my year 7 cross country and WAS IN THE NEWSPAPER (the article was later taken off the wall of the headmaster's office after I got caught sneaking out of school to buy some sweets... but that's another story), and ended when I was about 16 and thought that getting off with my permanently-stoned boyfriend was much more productive than running round a track...

I started it up properly again about a year ago; the Bristol Half Marathon was looming and I also had an aim to complete at least one cross-country race that season (a very strange aim, I am well aware). Since then I've spent, well... bloody loads of hours, to be honest, pounding the streets, thinking about times, distances and whether I am STILL running like a hunchback after many, many back massages. This has also given me a bit of time to think about what my half-life-long hobby has taught me about myself... *LIST KLAXON*

I am more determined and committed than I ever thought possible
Last night at the track I was struggling with my 400m reps. Instead of sulking and/or giving up, I went to the toilet (gluten problems, hahaha) and when I came back out asked Dave to put my watch back to 84 seconds (per lap). I had it changed up to 86 after the first five reps but after a quick chat with myself in the loo (spending some quality time with myself) I was determined to prove I could do it faster. Back when I was a teenage knob I would've pretended I had a stitch and sat out (sorry Dave) but NOT THE NEW EMMA. I am now one of those annoying people who loves to 'push themselves to the limit' and will probably be paragliding off Everest, if you give me a couple of months.

Me being a sulky little teenager and Soph looking concerned that I'd act like that forever 

I don't need to get drunk both days of the weekend
Sooo many times this year I've gone for a lime and soda instead of a quad-vod - something that I used to (and still do) consider "BORING, OH YOU ARE SO BORINGGGG". I unashamedly love to get drunk and dance like a loon, but I also love running and have learnt that unfortunately I can't go out on the Friday and expect to get a PB on the Saturday. It's actually really hard choosing to be sober when I could revert to my party animal ways and sometimes I feel like the most boring person in the world, especially when my times aren't even that great. But luckily my friends don't take the piss too much. Which leads me onto...

I have the BEST friends
Never, ever, everrrrr have any of my close friends complained about me running/talking about running/not coming out because I'm running. Well, not to my face anyway hahaha (no girls, I'm sure you never would). Every time I have a race - even if it's just Parkrun - I can count on a text from AT LEAST Rosa and Simone, and if they are up early enough then Mott, Robyn and the rest of the girls are pretty on it as well. And they always like my running photos on Facebook. Which, obviously, is what friends are for.

My wonderful friends (most of them)

I don't like yoga
Running isn't for everyone, and yoga isn't for me. I tried it once as a way to relax and whatnot, but I just don't feel like it does anything. I know people have told me that it does loadsssss for you and makes you really strong and flexible blah blah blah, and I'm sure it does. But I like the feeling after a run of being absolutely shattered, covered in sweat (sweat fetish, its the new thing dontcha know?!) and knowing that I've worked my absolute ass off. Yoga just doesn't do that for me. I wish it did, so I could be all lean and long-limbed, but it doesn't. Soz yoga babes. 

I am easy to spot in a crowd
This may not be scientifically true, but bloody hell, my family have got amazing eyesight. They spot me EVERY SINGLE TIME I race. Especially hard in events like the Bristol Half, where there's 15,000 people running, Dad and Rach have been squashed against a railing for nearly two hours and Mum has just ran to meet them (after finishing it herself). EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. And they always tell me I'm looking really good even if all four of us know that I look like utter shite. 

The year we all did it and Dad was left as head cheerleader

My feet are disgusting
I have been told on many occasions that my feet are 100% my worst asset. I'm fine with that, as it means my banging personality is shining through and no one is noticing how badly I need to get my roots done. My main defence of my grim feet is 'but I run loads...', as if this excuses the black toenails and weirdly stumpy baby toe. But on top of this, I also have to deal with blisters. The bane of my life, as I'm sure many other runners will tell you, is a big bulbous blister. YUMMYYYY. It's so unfair, trying to do something good and being rewarded with a puss-filled lump, ready to explode at any point. And that could be on your way to work, while you're on a long run or - even worse - when you're in the bath. IMAGINE, bathing in blister puss. Mmmmmmmmm.

I AM SO SORRY

I am really hard on myself
Every time I do a time that I think is too slow, I cry. And if I think I haven't trained very well, I think about it loads and punish myself by doing a hill session like some sadistic weirdo. So I suppose, running this year has taught me that I'm actually a bit of a perfectionist and need to be nicer to myself. Looking at how messy my bedroom is, my mum would definitely disagree (it's like a graveyard for half-empty glasses and dirty clothes), and maybe I need to convert some of that perfectionism into the rest of my life... But yes, I have been told more than once to not be so hard on myself and I'm finally realising that it's true. I've knocked 9 minutes off my 10km and 5 minutes off my 5km this year AND have reached my 8 stone goal, so I think deserve a little pat on the back from myself. 

After a workout, I don't look half bad in lycra and my abs sometimes say hey
This is quite contradictory to my previous point, oh well. The other day I did a 6km run and straight away did my 7 minutes app (it really is my saviour). I saw myself in the mirror afterwards and decided that (this is SO bigheaded I don't even know if I can type it)..... I actually looked alriiiight (oioiiii). I took a photo of this momentous occasion because I'm one of those selfie twats and realised that I've worked really hard this year and now I look at that photo quite a lot. AND NOW I'M GOING TO SHARE IT ON THE INTERNET (sorry mum, dad, the twat police).

Excuse the barnet

I have become an 'organised sports activity geek'
Since I quit running for Bristol and West AC when I was 16, I'd become one of those cynics who thought organised sports teams were a bit weird. WELL, I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT THEY ARE NOT (well they are a tiny bit). Bristol and West is one of those clubs that welcomes absolutely everyone, and since I've started getting my times down people have been so kind and supportive. Running folk are the nicest people in the world. And it's fun to be part of a club, so THERE.

I AM A RUNNER
I had a blast from the past while I was out the other night (I was drunk as well, proving that it is still possible!!!). We were having small talk, and he said 'aren't you, like, a runner now?'. I laughed and said 'kind of'... and as I walked off I realised, I ACTUALLY AM A RUNNER. 

It's been a good year.

'WOW!! She's definitely a runner'

TRY-ATHLON

I am so puntastic. 

As someone who is never, ever, ever satisfied with what they have (until I get a Chanel 2.55, obviously), I decided to take on another little challenge. Working on the editorial team of a triathlon magazine* and being a former competitive swimmer (haha, such a twat) it was only a matter of time before I entered my first one**. Fourty-two quid (yes I'm paying that much) later, I had signed up for the Bath Multi-Sports Sprint Triathlon. WHY? WHO KNOWS!!!!

*I actually work on the special editions team, but we mainly work with 220 Triathlon magazine and so I've worked on loadssss of issues.
**This will actually be my second triathlon, I did my first one when I was 13 and came 8th... out of 9. I tried to drop out halfway through and my parents forced me to continue. Dad has a photo of me giving him the middle finger, charming chid. 

Anywaaaaay...

From now on some of my blog posts may be taking a sliiiightly different view, e.g. not all about running; this will be great for those of you who can't help but click on the link despite finding my incessant running chat boring and annoying, although I can't imagine cycling and swimming are any more thrilling or endearing. Shoutout to the stalkers, soz 'bout that. 

This should be a BREEEEZE...

Having worked on 'The Beginners Guide to Triathlon' (available in all good book stores), you'd be forgiven for thinking that I'd be an absolute PRO at being a triathlon beginner. I have to point out, as an editorial assistant I don't get to do THAAAAT much and instead checked a lot of website names and made sure that certain swimming cossies were still in stock... But I did catch onto the absolute importance of transitions between each activity. The seconds from swim, to bike, to run are apparently well vital so I started off my OFFICIAL TRIATHLON TRAINING PLAN at 6.30am on Friday morning by practising just that...

Transition training, for those not in the know (aka, moi) is known as 'brick training'. I don't know why, but it seems to make the white middle-class men of triathlon sound extremely pompous and more profesh. Whatever keeps ya happy, I guess. I was supposed to be doing a 'brick session' of swim to bike - I was going to go for a swim and then ride my bike home straight afterwards. Ever the morning-person, I slept in my £6 ASDA swimming costume (already sagging at my non-existence tits) and when my alarm went off at 6am I was just like 'NAAAAAHHH'. With motivation and commitment at an all time high, I instead went for a 6km bike ride (I think that's super short but it was half past bloody 6), chucked my bike down on the drive and ran back up the road for about 8 minutes.

I may or may not have edited this... #expert

I'd read (actually edited some copy, ooooh) about the 'jelly legs' that you get from running off the bike, but bloody hell I wasn't expecting that. My legs didn't even feel like my legs... Is this normal? I actually felt quite drunk which initially was GR8 although odd on a workday morning... but it quickly became a bit weird and wooooozy. Remembering I wasn't running towards the kebab van on a Saturday night, I checked my watch and it said 3 minutes 30-something... about 10 seconds later my legs came back to life and I metaphorically sobered up. I only have to run 5km in my triathlon so every minute counts - I have a feeling that me and my 'drunk legs' are going to become eveeeeen more well acquainted...

With that done, this weekend I decided to buy a bike helmet (because crushed skulls aren't cool, kids) and also a PULL BUOY. This is a fascinating piece of swimming kit that I used to use when I was 12, had a six-pack and swam over 16 hours a week. A 12 year-old girl with a six-pack looks exactly how it sounds... disgusting. Anywho, the pull buoy is an oversized polystyrene peanut that you whack between your legs (oi oiiiiiiii), meaning you can only use your arms and therefore get massive biceps and asked by an international swimmer how your shoulders got so big (childhood scars). In all seriousness though, I do need to use this pull buoy ting as I need to save my legs for the bike and run. Also 'Dentist Dave' (my mum's workmate) does triathlon and told me to get one.

Helmet and between-the-legs buoy

OHHHH and also as a little note that may be of importance/interest, a sprint triathlon is:
400m swim (16 lengths of a 25m pool)
20km bike
5km run

WISH ME LUCK AND LETS HOPE MY SHOULDERS DON'T GET ANY BIGGER!!!

Leaving the label on, don't want to get too attached...

Sweaty betty on tour

I went on holiday to Majorca and so did my trainers. I know, I know, 'have a day off' and all that, but bikinis are daunting and letting standards slip just ain't my thangggg.

With a very important 10km coming up (as well as a triathlon - more on that later), I was quite conscious about not being a total slug for a whole week. I realise this is COMPLETELY ridiculous and probably really annoying - I can see the eye rolls from here - but girl got aims, ya feel meeeee? I only went for two runs while I was away, and ate plenty of food to make up for it so you don't need to cart me off in a straight-jacket just yet. Running abroad was actually amazing (lolz, totally Ghandi) and here is why:

You get to wear basically nothing
My friends know that I love nothing more than stripping off and generally being quite 'spirited'. Running in 30 degree heat is a great excuse for this. Sports bra and short-shorts and you are GOOD TO GO! No one gives a shit if you aren't wearing any clothes because its bloody hot and fair play to you sisterrrrr. MOVE DAT ASS. Allow the inner exhibitionist in you to run free (literally) - but not so free that you give yourself two black eyes. A bra is, unfortunately, always required.

NEARLY ALWAYS

You have NO IDEA where you are going
I've heard a few people talking about 'naked running' recently. I'm afraid this has nothing to do with my previous point (sad face) but is when you run without music or a GPS watch, meaning you just 'run how you feel' and don't obsess over minutes per mile and whatnot. As someone who is always chasing PBs and loves a good split breakdown, it was well weird, but nice, to run along a completely random road*, not knowing how far it was or how fast I was going. 
*for the benefit of my parents - this road was 'random' but also was a MAIN ROAD and there was no chance I was going to get into any trouble. Plus I was running welllllll fast so eat my dustttt potential attackers.

Foreign people
TAKING OUR JOBS. Haha, no no I am joking, the Daily Mail is a pile of shite and if people have the skills then by all means give them jobs. Anyway that's for another day... I love people who aren't English!!! They are so friendly. During my first run, which was a steady 35 minutes, I overtook a German man (getting them back for the football I suppose...). If he was English, it would've turned into a 2 and half hour race along the main road, with the middle aged bloke unwilling to give up and just LET A FEMALE WIN. Well, not this wonderful German man. He laughed, said something beginning with 'Ich bin....' and then tucked in behind me as we ran up the hill. I thought it was a bit weird he was running soooo close, but nevertheless as we got to the top he cheerily thanked me for pacing him and ran off down an alley. What a babe. 

(I just realised I wrote that a man 'tucked in behind me' - running lingo for my non-running friends)

Beautiful Majorca...

Wearing 'contraband'
If you watched I'm a Celeb this year then you'll know that contraband is very much frowned upon and use of these banned items is taken VERY SERIOUSLY by the general public. I still love you Amy!!!! My version of this televised scandal comes in the form of a pair of Nike Free Runs. I bought them in New York last year, wore them 4 times and then realised they were killing my very weak c-ankles... So now they live at my boyfriend's house and came with us on holiday. YAYYYYY!!!! My 'Mizuno Waves' went out the window like a discarded teddy bear and I got to run in my pretty grey and mint green Nikes <3. Since starting running properly again my ankles have got loads stronger, which not only means less falling down stairs in clubs, but also that I don't have constant club foot. I always slag off Free Runs - hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that - but I felt really light when I was running so they can't be that bad. Back in the box now though, until the next secret dalliance...

The two mistresses... and some beefy thighs

Tan?
If, like me, you spend a week lying on your back, slowly turning the colour of watery tomato ketchup, then this tanning malarky may not be for you. But then again, red legs don't go very well with pink shorts and that didn't stop me. For those of you who glow like a Greek goddess, then definitelyyyy run abroad. You can get a tan without even realising it, AND without leaving a sweaty outline of your body on the only towel you've brought for the week. 

It happens to the best of us, Kim

No one knows who you are...
...And therefore you can convince yourself you are a professional athlete. In my all Nike gear, doing my intervals, with sweat dripping down my back (and my front, LUSH) I felt proper fit. Like, properrrrr. In my head I was thinking 'I bet these holiday makers think I'm on a break from the Commonwealth Games and am gearing up for the European Champs'. UMM WHAT?!?! This thought would never enter my mind in the UK, and won't be happening again. Apart from when a little Spanish boy said 'Hola' and waved at me, which makes me think that Paula Radcliffe probably gets this all the time, and must spend her life constantly close to tears of joy.

THAT SMUG FEELING.
Oooohhh yeah. Pass me the Milka.

Smug git