I am not the fastest

I may not be The fastest girl in the room, but I sure as heck got around that 10k in (my own) record breaking heel-smokin' speed.
And after a refreshing drink of gatoraid (pink, not orange, flavour? not sure) I was pretty much restored to Mother, Ruined - not by kilometres, but by Husband forgetting to bring my spare change of dry, fresh, clean, non-sweaty clothing. And after a small domesetic with Husband (whilst Brother tried to calm the situation, tragically with no real effect) amid 22,000 sweaty over-achievers, it was clear that it wasn't a practical joke that I had no non-sweaty clothes to change into - and that yes, I would have to spend 25mins getting home clad in salty-stinky-sweaty-sodden-shorts and feet with toes covered in pulsating callouses with no flip flops to slip into, and that it was, yes, still, likely that all the people on the Piccadilly Line would look at me like I had just wee'd all over myself, my vest, my shorts, my legs, my shoulders and my hair - and not see the great glorious medal that was swinging between my ancient-sagging-post-natally-abused-flop-mungous-boobs and realise that in fact I hadn't wee'd myself and that in fact I was, too, a victorious over achieving 10k-runner, fresh off the field glazed in real hard-earned LEGAL sweat.
So the run was superb.
And the after-run could've scored higher.
But the best thing about it all was that I had a ball, and I raised lots of money for P2B (about £8000, which means 76 children can go get counselling next year, for a whole year). And that was what I'd put myself through all this for in the first place. yeah?

Every cloud I realise has a silver lining. Like seeing Husband, liz & mol on the Embankment when I ran up it and then 6km later when I ran back down it; like standing on the underground in soggy running gear and thinking how very lucky I was that Husband Liz & Mol even wanted to come watch me doing something which really if you think about it is quite boring (mum, running?); and like, Husband making me just the best cup of coffee I could ever have had after possibly the nicest most comforting and cleansing shower I had ever had, and my feet, slipping into their £3 flip flops - ah, warm and fluffy feelings of glowing halo and family yum.

But next year, I'll put my non-sweaty clothes ON husband so that he can't forget to bring them down for post-race-urgent-change-requirements...

thank you all very much for supporting me on this run. you're all just brilliant.
x (see, you even get a kiss, and that doesn't come about very often...)

count down

Only a few more days before The Big Run.
I have been practising, as promised, but possibly I could have been doing more.
But it's very hard to do more when my days have consisted of school runs (not running to school literally, I'm slow but even my kids wouldn't be able to keep up with me) going to work, coming back from work, doing the school run in reverse (I mean not like walking backwards because that would be weird and would embarrass my children and I'd probably fall down in the poo on Poo Passage) and domestic chores (there seems to have been a lot of cake baking lately, I'm a bit caked out) and shopping and doing baths and ballet rehearsals and more school runs and sleeping a bit lightly in this delightfully hot weather.
You know, there's always a little excuse around the corner for NOT donning the old Addidas and setting fire to the pavement with my speediness.
But, I'm quietly confident that given a good headwind and healthy elbow tactics, I'll probably win. There are only about 20,000 other people "racing" too, so, piece of piss really I should think. I'll probably be back home before Husband has managed to get Liz into a pair of pants without the world thinking a nuclear bomb is attacking. (Screams of terror if Husband attempts to dress Liz...)
Do your nearly-4-year-olds have strange selective memory issues?
Every day in our house is like groundhog day. We wake up. Liz has a tantrum and refuses to talk to Husband. Then about 40minutes later, just as he's off out the door to work, she suddenly remembers that he's a GOOD MAN and can be approached - without caution, even - and suddenly, screaming with excitement she launches herself at full speed at the front door, manically hoping to get a kiss off this man who overnight she forgot was in fact her Dad.
It is a bit odd.
Every night I go into her room and sometimes she's hanging off her bed, or is completely off her bed, and I wonder if she bangs certain bits of memory out of it upon landing? Specifically the bit about The Man who comes into her room each morning and says MORNING BETH and linking it with the bit that notes That Man is DAD - not to be feared unless caught with fag / absinthe in hand.
Hm. Food for thought perhaps.
Talking of food, that reminds me, I have a new cheesecake recipe I need to test out, I wonder if cheesecake is good pre-10k-run-fodder?
Hm.
Cheesecake really is the dogs bollocks.
So. Tomorrow. Wednesday. Again.
Then its Thursday, and I guess I should do a run.
And then its Friday and Saturday. And then Sunday.
So that gives me 4 more nights of "training" (I am fiercely competitive, I will win! I will lead! Conquer! Bow to me you slugs of slowness!) and strange dreams about not being able to tie my trainers laces, or get to a portaloo, or in fact move my legs at all (have been having anxiety dreams about a non-competitive 10k, Oh Dear, get out more Mother)...
Watch this space.
I'm going to smash records on Sunday. After Cheesecake.

oooh. home grown.

I have strawberries
I have tomatoes
I have basil
I have parsley
I have marjoram (not sure what to do with it mind you)
I have peppers
I have apples
I have lillies
I have sunflowers (hm not very sunny or flowery, yet there is hope).

N8 and the Good Life? I think so.