OK - so, hands up - I admit it - I bailed out, I chickened it, I froze in the headlights of physical activity. I didn't do the half marathon. And what a goddamned relief that was too!
I had a moment of clarity one morning when I was running UP Muswell Hill - which, so, I know its not exactly a Scottish mountain - but its pretty bloody steep - and I was sweating and thinking I can do this, I can do this, only another 1/4 mile to go till I'm at the top... and then I got to the top - huge sense of satisfaction - but then, I realised if I want to get FIT for this thirteen-fucking-miles (which was what I'd labelled it in my head by then) then I'd have to carry on running for about another hour - at least! and not just once a week - like, 3 times a week.
Well. I realised another thing. Life is too short to get worried about getting fit for a half marathon. So. When I got to the top of Muswell Hill, I did in fact carry on and run for another 1hour and 5minutes. And when I got home I said to myself: Mother, you did good. You know you can do it if you really want to or if someone came into the house with an AK47 and demanded I run it - yeah, you could. But frankly there are other fish to fry right now in this life or yours - namely - essays and children. Neither to be eaten and mainly to be handled with a lot of care and tenacity.
So. I'm afraid I (with great relief to all parts of me - physical mental emotional spiritual musical political biological pedagogical) I sent an email to my Brother In Law and resigned.
Now, I just do 'nice' runs of about 1/2 hour. Around Finsbury Park, where I comment out loud to no-one how disgusting the people are who leave chicken legs and cans of high-alcohol beer strewn around the park.
People really are disgusting.
And onto something very different. Did you know how Michael Jackson REALLY died?
Well I do now, now that Liz (aged 4.5) has told me the truth for real life.
"Mummy, when I get an ear reflection (infection) and I take a lot of mendicine (medicine) you know I have to be careful because Michael Jackson (OW!) is dead because when he was ill he drank too much mendicine, you know? How much calpol can I actually have anyway for real life?"
I must get in touch with those Lawyers. I think that murder trial can be put on hold.
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
long distance driving
We drove to Scotland for the half term.
Alarms rang at 6.15am on Saturday morning. Into the dark grey rain by 7am, onto the M6 by 9.25M... Great motoring.
So what does one take in a car to keep the children occupied for 7 hours of tarmac joy?
Well.
Food first and foremost.
Liz & I spent Friday pm boiling and mashing and mayonnaising eggs for the essential egg-sandwich travel munch. (Liz promptly refused to eat any the next day. Insisting on 'ham, cream cheese and cucumber, MUM, like I always have?' - where did she get the question mark dialogue from? Its like, yeah?) Egg sandwiches always bring a smile to the face - just when the back passengers get a whiff of the freshly opened egg sandwich container... If small children were allowed to swear, there'd be a major kick off: FUCKING HELL MUM YOUR SANDWICHES ARE TWATTING RANK. Or something. I think we have a few years left of not having to endure such language. (I'll keep you posted though.)
Crisps. Essential for dropping down the booster chairs and emptying on to the violating all public health measures car carpet (which are then eaten about 1 hour later when Liz or Mol remembers they're down there).
Chocolate. Great for bringing on huge life threatening thirsts. And for smearing all over car seats and faces. Liz usually gets it in her hair. A good look for the start of a holiday when you're never sure when the next hair wash will be.
Fruit. Especially tangerines. Peel. Everywhere. Pips galore.
Sweets. Great for causing huge fights in the back seats. How many have you got? How many have you had? How old are you anyway? Do you deserve these? Mum, Mol has got 4 and I only have 1. etc.
So, food over and done with, there then have to be activities.
Activities are best if they don't involve the front passenger having to double-twist around in order to facilitate.
Forgetting that Liz cannot read, magazines (of the pink and fluffy animal variety) were purchased and given at 7am. By 7.15am, Liz had thrown hers on the floor (not yet covered in food debris) and sworn (not in an adult way) that she couldn't ever do it and it was smelly and a poo.
So, in reserve, having subconsciously been aware that this could be the case, a large pad of paper and a new set of Sainsburys cheapest felt tips were available.
Paper is great. Not only can you draw on it but you can also rip it into tiny little pieces. Hundreds and hundreds of them. And then drop them all over the discarded magazine (2 hours later - where's my magazine?) sticking to the freshly licked chocolate smears and generally scattering like dandruff from a Dulux dog.
Pens with lids are good too. Because the lids are always lost and fall on the floor or down cracks and then Liz gets the chance to shout (again) at Mol for being STUPID and the pens will all dry up if there are no lids and then Liz gets the chance to hit Mol and call her a big STUPID poo (for the 8th time).
Finally, cd's are a good thing to have. Especially when the boot of the car is SO full up that the back speakers are blocked by bags and tangerine peel, that the children demand it to be LOUDER (in union at this point) so that the adults who are admiring the views off the M6 and wondering how many miles to the gallon the old X-reg volvo really does, have to listen to Josephs Technicoloured Dream Coat full blast, for the 50th time.
Its quite good to try to get lost too - this adds a brilliant distraction to the rear-seats, who zone into parental gunfire - but on this journey we were too into the M6 to get lost.
Anyway. So, 7 hours later, the car in need of some sort of fumigation process, the children needing to be sent into a high-pressure-hose to remove tangerine peel chocolate pen lids cd-covers etc from most parts of their body, and parents in need of a high alcohol transfusion - we made it to Scotland.
Where it rained for 7 days.
Alarms rang at 6.15am on Saturday morning. Into the dark grey rain by 7am, onto the M6 by 9.25M... Great motoring.
So what does one take in a car to keep the children occupied for 7 hours of tarmac joy?
Well.
Food first and foremost.
Liz & I spent Friday pm boiling and mashing and mayonnaising eggs for the essential egg-sandwich travel munch. (Liz promptly refused to eat any the next day. Insisting on 'ham, cream cheese and cucumber, MUM, like I always have?' - where did she get the question mark dialogue from? Its like, yeah?) Egg sandwiches always bring a smile to the face - just when the back passengers get a whiff of the freshly opened egg sandwich container... If small children were allowed to swear, there'd be a major kick off: FUCKING HELL MUM YOUR SANDWICHES ARE TWATTING RANK. Or something. I think we have a few years left of not having to endure such language. (I'll keep you posted though.)
Crisps. Essential for dropping down the booster chairs and emptying on to the violating all public health measures car carpet (which are then eaten about 1 hour later when Liz or Mol remembers they're down there).
Chocolate. Great for bringing on huge life threatening thirsts. And for smearing all over car seats and faces. Liz usually gets it in her hair. A good look for the start of a holiday when you're never sure when the next hair wash will be.
Fruit. Especially tangerines. Peel. Everywhere. Pips galore.
Sweets. Great for causing huge fights in the back seats. How many have you got? How many have you had? How old are you anyway? Do you deserve these? Mum, Mol has got 4 and I only have 1. etc.
So, food over and done with, there then have to be activities.
Activities are best if they don't involve the front passenger having to double-twist around in order to facilitate.
Forgetting that Liz cannot read, magazines (of the pink and fluffy animal variety) were purchased and given at 7am. By 7.15am, Liz had thrown hers on the floor (not yet covered in food debris) and sworn (not in an adult way) that she couldn't ever do it and it was smelly and a poo.
So, in reserve, having subconsciously been aware that this could be the case, a large pad of paper and a new set of Sainsburys cheapest felt tips were available.
Paper is great. Not only can you draw on it but you can also rip it into tiny little pieces. Hundreds and hundreds of them. And then drop them all over the discarded magazine (2 hours later - where's my magazine?) sticking to the freshly licked chocolate smears and generally scattering like dandruff from a Dulux dog.
Pens with lids are good too. Because the lids are always lost and fall on the floor or down cracks and then Liz gets the chance to shout (again) at Mol for being STUPID and the pens will all dry up if there are no lids and then Liz gets the chance to hit Mol and call her a big STUPID poo (for the 8th time).
Finally, cd's are a good thing to have. Especially when the boot of the car is SO full up that the back speakers are blocked by bags and tangerine peel, that the children demand it to be LOUDER (in union at this point) so that the adults who are admiring the views off the M6 and wondering how many miles to the gallon the old X-reg volvo really does, have to listen to Josephs Technicoloured Dream Coat full blast, for the 50th time.
Its quite good to try to get lost too - this adds a brilliant distraction to the rear-seats, who zone into parental gunfire - but on this journey we were too into the M6 to get lost.
Anyway. So, 7 hours later, the car in need of some sort of fumigation process, the children needing to be sent into a high-pressure-hose to remove tangerine peel chocolate pen lids cd-covers etc from most parts of their body, and parents in need of a high alcohol transfusion - we made it to Scotland.
Where it rained for 7 days.
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