Summer Evening

It was Auckland hot in Wellington today - sunny and still.  By late afternoon the weight of the mercury began to push a few drops of rain from the sky, falling straight down onto our roof.  Sitting in the lounge with every available window open I heard the swollen drops on the tin, but I could also smell the moisture as it filtered into the soil.  

By 8.00 the rain had stopped and the light was calling.  I didn't take my camera with me, reasoning that I didn't want to put anything between me and the evening.  Indeed, as I walked along I noticed a yriad of small things.  A flour outside a neighbour's house I hadn't seen before, a cicada crawling its last inches in the grass.  A glass sculpture in a window.  

Thankfully I took my cellphone, so was at least able to snap a few PXT.  For as I rounded the rise to the top of Tawatawa Ridge the sheer beauty of the evening overwhelmed me.  The harbour was perfectly calm, black against the grey cloud above it.  Yet the dry grass was pure gold, caught by the sun hanging just over the top of the mountains.  The wind turbine was also caught by the sun, a pristine white against the wet darkness.  And yes, we do have horizons in this city.  There was one in front of me, with two
ferries beneath it. 




At the top of the ridge I was greated by a man who looked a little like Billy Connolly but spoke more like an elf.  He and I exchanged a few pleasantries and then he called his dog to him and disappeared off down the Southern Walkway.  I sat under the stone man for a while watching the light disappear, then made my own way
home.

Working on my cycling tan

45km clocked this morning sans sunblock.  Oops.  I should have known better.  I've got a nice watch mark as well!

What a great ride though.  The wind disappeared overnight and this morning saw me cruising easily around the bays with a big grin on my face looking out at the glassy harbour and, once again, thanking whatever karmic history got me to this point in my life on this beautiful day.  

Ouch

Ouch
Ouch
Ouch
Ouch
Ouch

On Thursday morning I did 40 minutes on an exercycle on a hill setting.  Duck then took me through a heap of walking lunges, one legged-squats, squats down onto a bosu ball (leaning
back on the ball into a boat pose), and a few other functional exercises I don't know the name
of.  This morning I did RPM with Dee.  Despite keeping the dial lighter than I've done in a
year or so my glutes are KILLING me.  The buns of steel better be worth it ...

Like Curly Su I'm going to have to declare this the year of the bike.  In fact, if I could borrow 
(steal) her masthead and get away with it I would!  All that talk of Cortisone injections 
was what it took to finally get me out of my running shoes.  After my ride on Saturday I did 
another RPM on Sunday afternoon, then somehow managed to follow that up with RPM on 
and Tuesday as well. That made for seven days in a row on my bike or in a spin class, with
Balance and weights thrown in.  It seemed prudent to take Wednesday off, especially with
Duck on Thursday morning.  

Which leaves me here on a Friday night pondering spending a couple of hours on my bike in
the morning, when I can barely sit on the sofa right now.  Duck mentioned that she might possibly ride with me, but her plans now involve an early morning run and a few hours of work, so it looks like I'll be on my own.  This is a good thing in that it means not killing myself by trying to keep up, but a bad thing in that it means I'm likely to decide that I'm too sore to do any real hillage.

The plan at the moment is to ride around the Bays, nip up to the prison, then ride home again 
via Happy Valley.  There, I've said it now so I'll have to do it.  On the other hand, it's a long 
weekend here, so I've got Sunday and Monday to pursue incline.  

In the meantime ... ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.

Totally Optional Prompts: The Magician

The Magician
The darkness was still
and silent, it was absence
that held her, not warm
nor cold, just waiting.

Then there was a sound,
a flick of a switch,
then nothing again,
and she was still waiting.

Then there were footsteps,
a hard surface underfoot,
an echo, someone walking,
someone coming nearer.

She was blind, she could
not see, but there was a hand,
skin brushing cloth, a
reaching in the dark.

There was the rustling of
a body settling then for
a few seconds more there
was silence and expectation.

Then there was someone’s
solitary whistle and the
movement of air currents
and a sense of momentum.

At once there was something,
not any named thing, solid,
just an object in the darkness
and her sense of it there.

Then there were more things,
some close, some distant,
and the whistle nearing,
growing faint, turning, occupied.

Then there was the hint of
something, a light but yet
not brightness, a kind of dawn
without promise of daybreak.

There was a warmth and a
rising of damp and a
dry papery crackling beneath
fingertips and a softness.

There was a humming then
a singing and a swelling
to a crescendo and then a
heralding bell ringing.

Then there was an orb,
a light and a hand and the
light expanding and a
seeing of things created.

And there he was, at first
holding light then throwing
light, first owning then
giving light up in offering.

The light was a world, greater
than the bringer of things out
of darkness, the master
of all realms, the magician.

In memory of Hone Tuwhare, the first poet to truly inspire me.  May your spirit rest in all New Zealand's harbours.  

More poems on the theme of magicians here.

Read Write Poem: Travelling Companions

Tinky's Famous Pies, Collingwood, January 2007

On the Way Home

Murray was a guy with a thumb
standing on the side of the road.
Murray was a hemp shirt and sweat.
Murray sat in the back seat
all the way to Picton
smoking defensively out the
window, wind blowing ash from
his roll-your-owns into our hair.

Murray knew a story or two but
he’d left them all under a Rata
in Kahurangi. He thought he’d found
his own personal Bodhi Tree
but instead he discovered sandflies
and an attachment to homebrew
that finally grew too strong to
be ignored so he tramped
a couple of days to get out and
that was where we found him,
Murray, the guy and his thumb.


They say people come into your
life for a reason but we never
quite worked out the purpose
of Murray. We gave him passage
and he gave us a little of his
last crop rolled up in a scrap
of yellowing newspaper.
We left him outside a greasy
fish and chip shop and he waved
goodbye and there may have
even been a smile underneath
that dreadlocked beard.


Five hours later we were back in
our Wellington villa but the car
still smelled of bush and sweat
and hops and the particular
aroma of Murray.



More travel tales here.

Ouch

Ouch, my neck and shoulders are killing me.  Well I drop my head when I do sprint starts, so I guess it stands to reason that I drop my head on my bike when I'm getting tired.  Oh well, at least my legs feel fine!

Yesterday's ride was great for my psychologically.  Today I found a great women's cycling forum, and now 
I feel ready to develop a new obsession.  If only the weather agreed.  I'm not going to apologise
for not riding today in the gales that are blowing past our lounge window.  I had a lazy start
to today, lying in bed till late.  Hamish cooked up some chicken bacon served on a fruit muffin (yum) for breakfast, and I made some curried kumara soup for lunch.  By 3.30 I was ready for some exercise, so I took off down to Extreme for an unscheduled RPM.  As has become the
norm of late, I sweated buckets and left a pool underneath my bike.  

Ironically my ankle's feeling good again.  So I'll stay off it for the rest of the week and see how it goes.  I want to start riding into work as the weather allows, so that will help add to my weekly exercise tally.

Kate, I'm meeting my trainer Duck on Tuesday to talk about my new programme leading up to the Grape Ride, so once I know what I'm going to be doing I'll drop you a line.  You're welcome
to join me if you don't mind my total newbieness!  

Back on the Bike

It seems I've been deluding myself in thinking that my ankle is ok, when my physio yesterday started talking about cortisone injections and booking me back in to see the clinic's sports doctor.  I went back to my desk and spent the rest of the afternoon fighting off injury depression.  I wanted to run, and I wanted to run badly.  However I knew that it wasn't so much not running that was the problem, it was losing the ability to exercise at a hard core level.  It didn't help that Duck's training for Coast to Coast is going well, so she was full of excitement and tales of mammoth runs around Mt Taranaki when we met up for our first session of the year on Thursday.  Jealously is not an attractive emotion!  

By the time I got to Dee's RPM class on Friday morning I was fed up and not feeling terribly fit.  I had 
a difficult class and felt pretty cruddy during it, a feeling I know was more psychological than
anything.  To make matters worse, Dee was keen to find out how all my non-existent cycling
was going.  I was starting to doubt my decision to sign up for Gearshifters.  To say I'm a
nervous cyclist is a bit of an understatement.  It's not that I'm afraid of cars so much as I'm
afraid of the bike.  I have no clue 'how' to ride, as in the technical aspects of gear changes,
cadence, etc.  I also find my SPD clipless pedals incredibly fiddly and am always half convinced
I'm going to come to an unsightly end at any moment.  I love my Lola, but we have a comp-
licated relationship!  But then, if I put as much time into riding as I did into running I know it would be a different story.  I didn't know how to run a couple of years ago, so why do I think I
can just go out there without any training and ride well?  

Thankfully by Friday afternoon (and after a good Balance class) my feelings underwent a bit of a sea change.  A colleague had organised leaving drinks for one of our team members.  After a
couple of Margarita slushies I found myself down the Eastern end of the building doing my first
ever handstand (admittedly assisted), and then following that up with three somewhat messy
handstand push-ups.  I also talked about meeting up with my workmate, who has recently
started teaching Impact, to do a little one-on-one boxing training.  The view from the window
revealed a beautiful, warm still evening.  The harbour was mirror calm and the sun slowly
setting behind us.  Through my alcoholic fuzz I discerned two things:  yes, I was rather strong, and yes, this would have been the perfect evening for a bike ride. Note that my thoughts turned to my bike, not to putting on my trainers and going for a run.   

Luckily I'd organised to meet with Sarah this morning to finally go for the ride we've been
talking about for weeks.  Everyone else made plans to head off to a bar, but I decided to call it a night to ensure I was fresh enough to actually be able to join her.  Although at one a.m this morning I very nearly thought I was going to
be spending today in hospital. Clearly something I'd eaten wasn't agreeing with me, leading to 
a rather unpleasant hour in the bathroom.  Thankfully I didn't get as far as vomiting, although
it did occur to me that it was really time to update my emergency supplies of Solucortef and 
needles.  If things had continued to deteriorate I would have had to get Hamish to take me off
to Emergency.  The last thing I wanted was an Addisonian Crisis.  

As it was, things eventually calmed down.  When I felt well enough I shuffled to the kitchen, swallowed a couple of Hydrocortisone just in case, and then climbed shivering into bed.  Funnily enough, I now felt even more determined to
meet up with Sarah.  When the alarm went off at seven I felt well enough to down a small bowl
of Special K, grab my gear, and lug Lola up to the road.  

Hamish was working and needed the car, so I was going to have to ride into town from home.  It took a couple of deep breaths to get me riding down our street, and I was praying 
that I wouldn't have to stop for traffic when I got to the top of Farnham Street.  Thankfully the 
road was clear and I was soon riding down Mornington Rd towards Ohiro.  I made myself ride faster than usual.  At Ohiro I had to stop for traffic, but unclipped and clipped ok, and thankfully the lights at Brooklyn were green.  Again I made myself ride faster than usual down Brooklyn Hill, and then I was on Willis.  I swear I hit every single red light down that road, but I eventually made it to the Terrace gym, still intact and with no nasty car or SPD incidents.  

Sarah arrived at the gym just as I was pulling up.  We decided to ride around the Bays with the aim of making it back in time for 10am Balance.  It was a good morning for riding, although the Northerly was picking up rather earlier than I'd hoped.  There wasn't a lot of traffic on the road and we caught the lights all the way around to Te Papa.  We hit the wind as we moved further around the Bays, as expected.  The crosswind on Cobham Drive was quite nasty.  Once we passed the cutting at Miramar though the wind got a lot more extreme.  We put our heads down and pushed the whole way around to the old Naval Base.  I decided that was far enough for my first ride since May, particularly given that we needed to get back for Balance.  

I'm glad we turned around when we did because the return trip was a constant battle into the headwinds.  They didn't let up until we got back into Oriental Bay, although I got blown sideways riding around Te Papa as well.  I stuck to the waterfront all the way to the Shell Station.  When I went to cross Jervous Quay my bike shorts got hooked on my saddle as I mounted.  I was unable to unhook them and unable to clip in properly with my right foot because I couldn't get far enough back in the saddle.  I limped across the road using my left foot only for propulsion, knowing all the cars at the lights contained people who were laughing at me.  Thankfully I finally managed to get my shorts to unhook, got seated properly, got clipped in, and from there I caught green lights up Bowen and into the Terrace.  So, despite that one hiccup I made it back to the gym in one piece.  I even managed to get through Margaret's Balance class without any major disasters.  

So it was a short and pretty much flat ride today.  I was really happy with how it went though.  I'm pretty certain I was a lot faster today than I was at the start of the year.  I was also using
a much lower level of effort, so could have gone a bit faster if I'd actually focussed.  However I was trying to keep in touch with Sarah, who has a hybrid and no clipless pedals, so didn't want to go too fast.  However I really need to change my saddle from the standard unisex one it came with.  I'm not going to last more than a couple of hours on that puppy!  To add to that, my right knee was a bit sore, so I should really get a proper bike fit done.  Oh, and my hips and glutes were REALLY tight in Balance.  My body was letting me know that I haven't done any cycling in far too long.  On the postive side though, I was able to get some good practice in clipping and unclipping, and only pedalling with my left leg.  

Oh, and this is going to sound ridiculous, but I stood in my pedals for the first time EVER.  It didn't even feel that weird, and I didn't feel like I was going to unbalance.  I was even able to mess around taking my left and right arms off the handlebars at various points during the ride, and look behind me on both sides, without anything disastrous happening.  All this functional training has really helped my balance.  I know most people who know how to ride a bike already know how to do this stuff, but I never really had the chance to learn when I was a kid.  I guess I'm making up for it now.  

Did I mention that I felt fast?  Did I mention that it felt good overtaking people?  Or that I only got overtaken by two really fit-looking women?  Did I mention that I had HEAPS of fun? Did I mention that I want to ride 
again tomorrow?

Yeah, I'm totally going to ride again tomorrow.  Leonie - come home - I need a riding buddy!  

Totally Optional Prompts: In the Ear

Ede asleep in front of the view on a fogless day.

I loved the Sylvia Plath poem that was one of the works highlighted in the Totally Optional Prompts entry this week.  The technical brilliance of the poem really appealed to me, (particularly the alliteration and repitition of sounds) as did Plath's dazzling vocabulary.  I don't have 
the same extensive knowledge of the English language, however the prompt did inspire me
to finally write another poem that's been floating around in my subconscious for some time.  Sorry - it's another Wellington poem. Still stuck on a theme!  Although we live high on a ridge we are enveloped in fog several times a year as warm air currents meet cold air flowing in from the Strait.  Last year the airport below us was closed for a week.  

Silence
The silence signals the fog
before we even open our eyes
to a grey dawn haze
circling the single bulb
hanging from the ceiling
over our bed.

Outside no planes are circling,
no roar of slamming brakes
or surge of wing on updraft.
Instead, the thick sound of
soup or sound waves through
muslin hanging still.

The cool wind of the South
does not howl. It sends
out a slick hiss under
its breath as it pushes
into warm mist air
from the North.

The North air sighs and
subsides, spreading itself
to blanket this city and
the fog horn begins.

Writer's Island: Over the Horizon

The Writer's Island prompt for this week is 'over the horizon'.  It was intended that we consider what our future might hold, however I took this prompt in a different direction.  This is a poem that has been sitting in my subconscious for a few years, ever since I moved to this city of steep hills and gullies.  At first I felt that the lack of expansive lines of sight also translated to a narrowness of thinking, however I later learned that was not the case at all.  Sorry, it's another Wellington poem!

Beyond Horizons

You can not rely
on horizons here.

Sure, the sun rises
over the mountains
to the East, light
appearing first
in prelude, but
Westwards she disappears
behind the ridge late
afternoon in summer,
earlier in June.

We can not take cues
from a line where
water meets sky, where
distant grass blends blue
into hazy light.

Instead we have to consider
the exact shade of pink on
the side of a scree slope
at dusk, the form of
clouds scudding by
overhead.

We, who lack the
privilege of broad
vision become crafty,
investigators of clues
left on the landscape and
observers of narrowed
lines of sight.

Singing in the Rain

Yesterday I decided that I was going to try running on the footpath today.  All day of my very slow first day back at work I looked out the window at the wind and the rain.  Was I daunted?  No, I spent the day thinking that it was a great day to go outside.  So I skipped out of the office early at 4.30 and walked the few metres to the Terrace gym next door.  

This was just a tester to see how my ankle would cope with a run outdoors and I was a
bit unsure of my fitness levels (having not run much since injuring my ankle in November).  I told myself I would run to Freyberg and back, which wouldn't take me much more than 20 minutes.  The second I set out I was drenched.  Only one or two other runners were braving the elements, all wearing the same mad grin and exchanging the same smile of acknowledgement.  Around Te Papa I found myself at times having to run with my eyes closed as the rain blew horizontal needles into my face and threatened to rip out a contact lens.  However all too soon I was at Freyberg and turning around.  

If the outwards leg had been slightly wind assisted the return was war.  I'd been waiting for this 
all day and I was more than ready for the weather to bring it on. It was a bit of a battle to get 
back around to Frank Kitts, but from then on it was 
fairly sheltered and when I got back to Jervois Quay I had to be quite stern with myself 
not to keep going. I did, however, allow myself to run all the way back to the gym, even up 
the small incline of Woodward Street and the steps on the other side of the underpass. 
Unfortunately as I jaywalked (or jayran) the pedestrian lights adjacent to Midland Park I stepped in a 
huge puddle, which sent a tidalwave of water slashing over the legs of the people waiting 
on the footpath.  Oops.  

I know this was only a tiny run today, but it was mad fun.  I was also extremely happy with
how good it felt.  I had told myself to run slow, but I couldn't keep the speed down.  I set
myself a fairly fast pace and, because I was trying to keep my feet light to spare my ankle,
I was running with excellent form. Cardiovascularly this was also a very positive run.  If
missing consecutive days of cardio, combined with a bit of spin and the occasional Attack
class does this to my fitness levels then I'm going to have to seriously reconsider my training
programme!  

I will be honest and say that my ankle was a bit sore afterwards, but I iced it when I got home and it's feeling a lot better now.  I will have to see how it feels in the morning.  I'm not planning to run again until after my physio appointment on Thursday.  

Happiness

Happiness today is remembering the Kawakawa tea I found when I was cleaning out the pantry (thanks Leonie), and the teddy-bear shaped tea strainer my host mother gave me back in 1990 (forgotten in a kitchen drawer and now refound).

Happiness is putting a Fly My Pretties CD into the CD player and hearing Module's piano playing coming through the speakers Hamish borrowed from Soundline some years back.  Happiness is curling up on the sofa with my music and my tea and reading some more of "A Million Little Pieces", which I bought at Ferrit secondhand books yesterday, and which kept me on the sofa all afternoon while Hamish was painting the roof (and while I should have been gardening).

Happiness was a good, relatively painfree half hour run on the treadmill this afternoon, during which time my body purred with pleasure.  Tomorrow - the Bays!  Happiness was following the run up with Balance, even despite the realisation that I have a lot of work ahead to get back to where I was before Christmas!

Back to work tomorrow and the house is clean, the kitchen cupboards tidy, the roof painted and the garden mostly weeded.  I feel like I'm only just starting to slow down, to the extent that I didn't wake this morning until 9.30, after weeks of being awake with the dawn.  There were things I didn't do, but there were unexpected things that more than made up for them.  

Hamish and I spent an amazing night in Ohariu Valley at (Groovin) Pete and Kathy's new house on a lifestyle block.  The night before Sarah and I were supposed to have cycled to Makara Hamish and I lay in bed in the Ohariu guest room and listened to gale force winds threatening to blow the house away.  Not such a good day to go cycling to Makara then.  Instead I rode Kathy's beautiful horse Willow around and around their arena until the poor creature nearly fell asleep with boredom (Willow, not Kathy).

A night or two later we celebrated Siobhan's birthday with her on a lovely warm evening in 
Titahi Bay.  Summer has arrived at the exact time it was supposed to, and the rain is coming 
only now as we prepare to return to work.     

I guess it would be foolish to wish for winter to arrive so that I can wear my fabulous vintage coat then right?  

Happy New Year: The Big Drop Off (Wellington 2007/08)

It's 3.00p.m on 1 January 2008.  I'm sitting here on the sofa, barely awake, with a very dead cat asleep on my lap.  I've had six hours' sleep, but it feels like two.  Yes, last night was epic.  

We arrived at The Big Drop Off at around 10.00p.m, just as the hoards started to pour in.  We stood in a queue for around 10 to 15 minutes, shivering in the cold Southerly and laughing with the people huddling together around us.  Every now and then loud catcalls would echo down the line, signalling yet another clutch of cute young, skimpily dressed girls on their way to try their luck with the bouncers at the head of the queue.  Most were turned away, at which point they would begin chatting up similarly aged boys as close the entrance as possible, with the aim of jumping in.  A few were successful, others had to suffer the humiliation of the long walk to the back.  Oh well, at least it wasn't raining.  

Inside, Shed 1 was decked out.  Geishas served tequila, vodka and Red Bull from a bar flanked by large inflatable angel wings at the back of the room.  A large parasol overhead and a few Japanese lanterns played on the theme.  There were two other bars, one near the entrance, and one in a small outdoor area, next to a pizza bar, enroute to the portaloos.  Thick black drapes provided some acoustic improvement, and a couple of large sculptural lamps hung in the large space.  Two video screens were hung on the left and right-hand walls, halfway down the hall.  However the only real centre of attention was the stage, with black curtains that later pulled back to reveal the full-length video screen behind.  Obviously the video screens caught our attention, but neither Hamish nor I were overly concerned with adornment.  Word was that our $100 entry fees had been spent on sound. Big, stupidly expensive sound.  

A quick scout confirmed the absence of any party pill vendors, and a sign advertised that there were to be no pass outs.  The scantilly clad kiddy brigade were already staggering around the shed.  Things had the potential to get very messy.  I quickly bumped into a random acquaintance from work, and into another gym bunny.  The latter was working 'undercover', providing security for some diplomat's teenagers, the aim being to 'prevent them from appearing on the front page of the Dom in the morning'.  Nice work if you can get it.  We started off the evening with a rather dry and odd tequila cocktail, which sounded good on paper, but didn't really work in reality.  Still, the tequila put me in my happy place, and I stayed there all evening.  

Ladi6 started some time after
10.30.  They're not really my thing, but they put on a good performance.  We 
moved to the sweet spot, just in front of the sound desk and almost between the two screens, and stayed there all evening.  Coincidentally we ended up next to the two 
guys I'd met up with earlier, and the rest of the people around us were all lovely as well.
Hamish bought us the first of our two Vodka Red Bulls of the evening, and I was away.

Fat Freddy's came on at 11.30.  I'm sorry, but this won't be a detailed examination of 
their set list.  I can remember snatches of songs, and everything I can remember was good, but don't ask me to tell you what they actually played (although I can tell you that they didn't play Midnight Marauders, which is no bad thing as it's kinda their 'Don't Dream it's Over' equivalent now).  This is a review about general impressions.  As the band started the place started to fill up, really fill up.  Standing where we were people tended to try to get past on their way to the front, the bar or the toilets.  Oh, and this was a sold-out gig.  Let's just say things got a little crazy for a while there.  Struggling to stay upright as yet another large guy tried to squeeze his way between me and the guy in front of me, I started to tip sideways, put my arm out, and ended up groping the rather cute young, muscly guy next to me.  Not that he minded, in fact he told me a couple of hours later that he loved me.  By that point I wasn't going to argue!  

Oh, but the sound.  Full credit to the sound crew, the sound was excellent.  Waves and waves of beautiful music surged around us, clear at both ends of the spectrum.  And then the bass kicked in.  Now that's where our money went!  Friendly people, good sound, Fat Freddy's, a stage high enough that I could see them, and two video screens either side of me projecting close-ups.  I was riding high on vodka and Red Bull and I was happy!  Enthusiastic swaying within the close confines of my little square foot of dance floor ensued.  The first track segwayed into an almost Little Bushmen-like psychadelic riff, going places I haven't heard this band go before.  I liked it.  I liked it a lot.  

It seems like a long time ago now that Hamish and I first danced to a large band on a small 
stage at the Grey Lynn festival.  We had no idea who they were, but their music sounded like 
a revolution. This is a different band now.  Back then they were laidback and slightly shambolic - a bunch of guys 
up there having a good time and cruising along on a wing and a prayer.  By the time we saw 
them at the next Splore they'd expanded somewhat in sound, but they were still obviously just
jamming it, albeit with a familiar, well-rehearsed riff and considerable joy.  

The Fat Freddy's I heard last night are a different affair all together.  While some of their concerts post the release of their album felt a little tired, they seem to have responded by
lifting their game.  This is a professional gig, a group of talented musicians who somehow manage to combine a polished performance with the original spontaneity that we loved.  The new material reflected this new-found (and very positive) slickness. And Dallas is still completely the man.  

I guess a little bit of me will still miss the former almost random meandering from one track to another, the unexpected reprise of a song played an hour ago in the middle of a completely unrelated number (heck, the tracks that lasted an hour).  However this feels like a band remaining true to its artistic values whilst finding itself a bigger, more commercial audience. That's not a criticism, it's a tribute to their greatness.  

New Years came and went, Fat Freddy's wrapped it up.  No encores, just thank yous and departures.  Hamish disappeared off to the bar, and didn't return for over half an hour.  I started talking to a friendly visitor from Taupo.  The music started.  Shed 1 turned into one giant mosh pit.  I got elbowed, I got stood on.  I elbowed, I stood on people.  I jumped up and down, I got lifted up and down.  I danced with a big huge grin on my face.  I waved my arms in the air.  I wooped loudly.  And the bass, that thick band of sound that I could almost reach out and touch as it surged overhead?  It seems the sound engineers had been holding out on us.  

Let's say that I'm not a fan of Drum and Bass in general.  However I love that particularly melodic New Zealand form typified by Shapeshifter (and Concord Dawn).  At that same Splore that we listened to Fat Freddy's in a geodesic dome, I waited in a queue in darkness to get our car into the event.  Hamish had taken our bags and walked on ahead to pitch our tent.  Unfortunately he had also taken my torch, and, having never been to the site before, I had no idea where to find him.  Walking blindly along bush-lined paths, past coffee and food stands and dance floors, I discovered a path leading gently upwards, lined with chains of multi-coloured lights.  Half-way up the opening bars of Shapeshifters' Tapestry wafted out into the night air.  I felt like I was going somewhere, and obviously in the right direction.  At the top of the path there was a huge stage in the middle of a big field, and there was Hamish right in the middle.  The first Shapeshifter track of any gig has always meant arrival for me ever since, both literally and figuratively.  Last night was no different.  No other music gets me so up and ready to dance.  

As I write this now, all I can remember is stomping and waving my arms ever more frantically as Shapeshifter told us all that we shone so bright.  I've already said last night was epic right? I don't really need to write about how tight Shapeshifter were, because 
they always have been.  However the little vocal rootsy number towards the end of the set was 
a nice surprise, and the way in which they picked the pace up again afterwards revelationary.  

Which took us to about 3.30a.m, by which point my feet were finally starting to hurt in my high-heeled boots (a girl's got to have her small vanities) .  Five hours at approximately $20 per hour, excellent value. Three drinks each at $10 a pop, not so much (but not unexpected).  The entertainment continued in DJ form, but Hamish and I were done and out of 
there. Hugs and kisses all around, to both old and new friends, and we were back out onto the 
Welly waterfront.  

While we were dancing the wind had died away.  It was still cold, but it was a stunning evening.  
We walked to the  new sculptures outside Te Papa - three separate installations of trees and 
grasses made from fencing wire.  In the white white light of the spotlights they still gave off a 
sense of being blown by some absent Wellington gale.  The night was eerily still and quiet, and 
stayed  that way until we turned the corner into the zoo that is Courtney Place.  We dropped in on Paul and Siobhan at Vespa for half an hour or so, then it was home for a chilli and cheese pie and dawn over our mountains.  We went to sleep to the sound of the dawn chorus at 5.30 a.m.  

Not bad for two oldies in their mid 30's!  Thanks Wellington for a fantastic New Year.  Welcome 2008!

The Year in Review Post

Mad Dog is back and hitting the gym big-time.  I ran again today!  More precisely I ran half an hour, slowly, on a treadmill.  I felt great the whole time, though my heart rate again got up higher than I would have liked.  My ankle ached a bit, but it didn't get any worse and I didn't feel like I needed to stop.  Puzzingly, the pain in my ankle has moved to the inside ankle bone, having started out at the front outside edge then moved into the tendon that runs up to the shin.  I'm not sure what's going on, so I will have to continue taking it easy until everything works itself out.  The most positive indication is that I still have a full range of motion.

I followed the run up with Margaret's Balance class.  We did release 37, which is a goodie, but I was all over the place and it was clear I haven't done Balance in a few weeks.  Of course, the 'hitting the gym' bit meant that my legs were a little sore as well!  

If there's one thing that everyone in the blogosphere seems to do, it's the 'summing up my year' post, so I though I should probably chip in.  In short, this year was absolutely amazing.  If this is what it means to get older, then I can't wait for my forties.  Let's get the ovious out of the way first...

Running and all things fitness
Or, the year in which I discovered the Mad Dog.  If last year was the year I discovered running and fitness in general, this was the year I lived it.  This was once again a year of training well then running badly on the day of the event.  It was also another year of injuries.  I started off the year with Round the Bays.  Afterwards I ran two 10km events and two half marathons.  One of each I was happy with.  I had planned to run at least another couple of half marathons and the Rimutaka Incline, but an abductor injury, then an ankle injury, put paid to those.  I did the SPARC duathlon again (last year the Special K), and inspired my mother to take part.  I spent much of summer in a wetsuit in Oriental Bay, then stopped swimming as soon as summer came to an end.  Poor Lola has sat unused in the study (bar one short ride with Nic and Leonie) since the duathlon.  However all year I have faithfully gotten up several mornings a week, skipped out of work at lunchtime, headed off to the gym after work, spent Saturday morning working out.  All year I've maintained a combination of disciplines, from swimming to biking, running, RPM, Balance and weights. There have been times when I've trained for up to 13 hours a week, but ten seems to be reasonably sustainable!  Despite the injuries I know that I've finished the year fitter, and I know I have 
muscle.  I'm a LOT stronger than I was before.  I'm also a little heavier at the moment, but I'm working on getting that off again and I was probably too thin at my lightest anyway.  All of this means more to me than it is possible to eloquently express.  

I hesitate to set goals for this year, because it all depends on whether I can stay injury free.  On 
the list of possible events are the SPARC duathlon again, the Shewoman triathlon, the Grape Ride (a cycling event in Marlborough), and the Harbour Capital half marathon again in June.  I was planning on doing the full marathon, but I think that would be too much to focus on if I want to up my cycling.  It would still be nice to think I could run a full marathon this year, but perhaps in October (perhaps the Auckland).  Other triathlons are a possibility, but it's all about the swim. Obviously I need to sort that out first. 

Work
I started out this year as a business analyst, fairly quickly got bumped up to a senior BA role, and shortly I will be taking over management of a fairly large project in my department.  I agonised about whether to return to my old organisation (I'd been away for two and a half years), but it was obviously the right decision.  I went back knowing where I wanted to go once I got there, and that clear-sightedness obviously worked in my favour.  I got to where I wanted to be much more quickly than I'd anticipated.  

Writing
 My writing continued to new levels this year.  The highlight was NaPoWriMo, and I was very nearly successful in posting a poem a day for a whole month.  Looking back some of those poems were actually rather good.  I also started to read a lot more poetry (and books about writing poetry), and I attended poetry readings.  I contributed to several poetry communities.  Unfortunately my writing has tapered off dramatically over the last couple of months as the stresses of a busy life have taken hold.  I'm hoping to address that in the new year, by
timetabling my writing the way I timetable my exercise.  

Volunteering
After monitoring Hihi every weekend last summer I burnt myself out a little and barely went into the Santuary over the winter.  Thankfully they took me back, and although I originally said I'd only go in once a fortnight this season, inevitably I've ended up there every Sunday.  I still love being up there in the trees with my birds, although the inevitable deaths are as difficult as always.  However, just when it seems to be all too hard - an afternoon spent shivering in the 
cold rain, an abandoned nest - a fledgling takes its first leap from the box in front of me, or a male sits a metre from my face chattering, and I realise it's still all worth it.  

Life in general
Last year New Years began shivering on a hill in Golden Bay.  This year I will be in Shed 1 dancing to Fat Freddy's Drop.  Music has continued to play a part in our lives, though not as large as it once did.  Hamish has continued working with Theatre Militia, and there have been the odd few big nights out (notably dancing for six hours in high heeled boots on Sandwiches' concrete floor).  This year we're looking forward to Luminate, a five night festival at Canaan Downs in February.  Hopefully it will be a bit warmer!  

This year everyone went off overseas, and those who were already overseas dropped by for quick visits.  I started thinking about trips to India and making megabucks as a project manager in the UK.  Who would look after the cats though?  We have a great life here, and it seems unlikely we will leave Wellington long-term any time soon.  And yes, I do still love this city.  

Hamish's year has been a bit stressful at times with big changes afoot at his company.  However things seem to be working themselves out there, and the general environment seems to be more positive.  I've spent a fair few weekends zipping up and down to Taranaki to see my parents.  My mother had problems with her diabetes, my father with a slipped disc in his back.  Both seem to be fairly stable right now.  My own health continues to be excellent, with no issues with my Addison's other than a brief, unfortunate bout of campylobacter, which I managed without the need for hospitalisation or injection with Solucortef.  

We still haven't done much around the house.  Unexpected repairs to the roof dominated late in the year.  I contemplated moving to a smaller, new house in Northland, but in the end it just didn't feel right.  I still come home and count my blessings that we bought this house when we did.  

We've enjoyed some great meals.  Maria Pia's stands out.  Flying Burrito Brothers continued to be as consistent as always.  Scopa was good, as was Hope Bros.  Piccolo Pizzeria continued to be a reliable standby.  Ernestos was great for brunch, as was The Matterhorn.  Midnight 
Espresso won out for its cheesecake at 3a.m.  Mavericks did great fish and chips and pizza.  
Chow was still the best place to take Auckland visitors. Tinakori Bistro won for being BYO friendly (essential when your father-in-law owns a vineyard in Central Otago). The Majestic overwhelmed us with its banquet.  The Duxton however was notable for the crushing awfulness of its vegetarian food service at 
the Chapman Tripp awards.

All up it was a good year.  There were definitely more ups than downs.  The goals for 2008 then are really to keep moving in the same direction.  

And that's my year.  It's now just after 9pm on New Year's Eve.  Time to put those boots back on and head off to hear Fat Freddy's.  Love to everyone and have a great night!  

I'm Back

I'm back in Wellington, happy to be here, and preparing a series of proper blog posts.  In the meantime, the Mad Dog has returned.  Today I did an RPM class with Dee, then followed that up with Body Attack.  I cruised through Attack, never really feeling as though I was over-exerting myself.  Afterwards I ate a nectarine in the car on the way home, showered, ate a lovely smoked chicken and feta salad for lunch, then spent five hours gardening and doing housework.  I am incredibly grateful to this body for being strong and fit. I am thankful for the things I am able to do.  If I were the type of person who counted my 
blessings, my health would be top of the list.

If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?

Yay! A twist of fate saw release 30's tape missing tonight when Steve went to do Track 4. We had the choice of Kryptonite or Paradise City. It's not that I don't like Paradise City, but I've heard it far too often lately, and I LOVE Kryptonite. In my opinion it's one of the most under-rated RPM tracks out there.

I've been feeling so grumpy lately, and I know that's partly to do with the time of year, but I'm convinced it's also to do with the lack of running. A major study published recently claimed that it's not how thin you are, but how fit you are that determines whether you are likely to live to a ripe, healthy old age or not. When I started exercising it was the increased fitness levels that got me motivated. The weight loss didn't start to kick in until I'd already been training for several months, and when it came it was a pleasant side-effect. Later I became determined to get my weight down to lower my training, but I never intended to end up five kgs below my goal weight, and I never thought I'd end up in my doctor's office asking how I could put weight back on again.

I've said this before and I'll say it again. Exercise makes me feel great. Exercise makes everything bright and shiny and crisp. Before exercise I was plagued with low-level depression and a borderline anxiety disorder. Being diagnosed with Addison's Disease helped, but it wasn't until I started doing prolonged sessions of intense cardio and weights that I discovered the true secret of mood elevation.

We are not sedentary creatures. Once we were hunters and gatherers. Our main defense against predators was our ability to keep moving for long periods of time without stopping. We were genetically programmed to be marathon runners. So what do we do now? We sit at computers all day under fluorescent lights. We feed our children additives and colouring, corn oil and salt, then make them sit in a classroom all day. When they get out of control we diagnose them with ADD and feed them more chemicals. We are so far away from what we were supposed to do naturally that we don't actually know what it means to be normal anymore. We are all convinced that we have a condition that sits somewhere on the DMSM, when really we just need to get back to basics and get moving. Would I be dependent on corticosteroids if I'd discovered this secret in my teens when I first started suffering from anxiety? No, I don't think I would.

When I started this post the point was to express my joy at a ten minute run on a treadmill followed by an RPM in which I was actually able to stand on my pedals without my ankle screaming. Touch wood all seems well. We'll see whether the inflammation returns overnight! So now I'm sitting on the sofa in post-workout bliss, experiencing that particular deep relaxation that only comes from a good workout.

This feeling takes a lot of effort and time. At full pitch I can be doing some form of exercise for around 13 or 14 hours a week. that includes a mix of yoga, weights, running, RPM, swimming and cycling. I would like to be running six days a week, but until I manage to stop injuring myself I'm best limited to four or five. I'm learning about periodisation. I'm learning about active recovery, and learning that an easy flat run should be an easy flat run. It's there for a reason!

I'm not suggesting everyone go out there and work out for a couple of hours a day either, but for me this works. Find your own endorphine trigger, then go for it.

I finally stopped putting it off!

Today I got back in the water for the first time since the end of last summer. Boy do I suck at swimming! In fact, I didn't really swim at all today. I did some lengths of aqua jogging, some kickboard, and some side swimming with a little buoyancy thing. Earlier this year I was doing little half-lengths of Oriental Bay, but that was in a wet suit in salt water. Put me in a swimming pool and I magically transform into granite.

So, in the pool there's the flotation issue. On its own I could work that out, but at the same time I'm trying to not suffocate. How on earth do you people swim and breathe at the same time? Perhaps I'm just expending so much effort trying to keep on top of the water that I'm getting too out of breath to breathe properly.

Oh well, I'll go easy on myself and just be happy that I finally got back in the pool. I'll keep going now and I'll get back to where I was at the start of the year again soon enough. I think though that swimming is the hardest thing I have ever tried to learn to do. It all feels so completely foreign to me.

I loved being back in the water again. It felt wonderful and I remembered why I enjoyed my lessons so much. However I just can't seem to work out the mechanics of it all. My sessions with Duck lately have made it clear to me that I learn best by doing, not by watching, and I usually manage to work out most physical activities by making little adjustments to the way my body moves and noting the result. Swimming feels like it should be easy. I understand the theory of it all, but I can't get the knack.

I'm on a roll now though, so I'm sure that I'll either be back at the pool tomorrow or on my bike. My ankle's also feeling healed enough that I'm contemplating trying another run some time this week. It would be nice to think I will be able to run around Cornwall Park while I'm up in Auckland over Christmas.

Still Here

There just doesn't seem like there's much to say at the moment. I'm not really writing anything I would want to publish, and I'm still not running. My ankle continues to niggle. It settles down, then as soon as I get on a treadmill it flares up again. I worked out that RPM wasn't helping, or at least, standing up on the pedals wasn't helping. So I've done the last couple of classes in my seat. 45 minutes of grinding. Yep, it's not fun.

Thank heavens Duck continues to come up with new ways of torturing me, and thank heavens RPM instructors Steve and Mike continue to be loud and vocal, and to play good tracks. I finally got to hear Underneath the Radar today, and it was fun. I also did the latest Balance release on Saturday. I found the tracks a bit insipid, and there's no way I can ever see myself being able to do anything even closing resembling the splits (curse bendy Sarah). Mind you, I was hung over from a staff Xmas do the day before, so shouldn't really have expected to enjoy myself.

Duck's going to write me up a training calendar for the New Year, and I think that will help me get out of my current end-of-year blah. Training for long-distance running is on hold for the time being, so it's the Shewoman triathlon in March, the SPARC duathlon in April, and the Grape Ride the week after that. I miss running though. I miss running soooo badly. I'm becoming a terribly grumpy cow.

But good things have happened. Dinner at Maria Pia's Italian Restaurant in Thorndon with Hamish's company on Saturday night was quite possibly one of the most divine eating experiences ever. I scored myself a huge great slab of crispy slow-roasted duck. It was good, and I ate it without irony. Yes, ducks are friends and not food, but sometimes they also just taste good.

The next morning I got rid of the second hangover in two days by spending several glorious hours drinking in the warm earthy air of the Sanctuary. I spent a lot of time following three young Hihi fledglings around the bush. The sun shone and I felt myself filling up and relaxing.

Perhaps I'm not grumpy because of the lack of running, but simply because of the lack of fresh air. Sun, sea, sky, mountains, trees. These things have been lacking in my life the last few weeks. Normal service will soon return ...

Shameless small furry creature linking

Just go there ...


And in other news, it occurred to me that the reason my ankle was feeling better as because I wasn't doing anything to aggravate it. So I didn't run today, and I didn't go to the gym. I feel like a big fat blob, but I'm relatively pain-free. I have another physio appointment tomorrow so I'll see how that goes.

I had my exam today as well. It was open-book, although I answered most of the questions without picking up the course text, as recommended. I had half an hour left over to flick through the book to correct some of the answers I'd been unsure of. I did well enough to pass. I'm fairly confident of that.

The exam was, ironically enough, held at the Duxton. Today I got my risotto, and it was okay. I'm still amazed at the standard of Sunday's meal though. Time to let it go.

Sorry about the inanity of the last few posts. Normal service will resume shortly!

Tomorrow

My ankle feels good. I may try to run tomorrow. Any takers on ten minutes?

I also have an exam tomorrow. I don't feel at all confident, even though I did well enough in the practice exam today. All I need is 50%, and I'm never going to know my score, only whether I pass or fail. I keep thinking I should have put more study in, but when I look through the manual it all looks familiar.

I feel hung over, tired and heavy after last night. I'm sure I would feel better right now if I'd been able to go for a run or do an RPM class today. I went for a gorgeous long walk around Vogeltown this afternoon in the sun, but it just wasn't the same. And lunch tomorrow means running the gauntlet of the Duxton kitchen again. Don't even get me started on the fiasco that was the Chapman Tripp awards ceremony dinner last night. Let's just say that a few steamed vegetables, some mashed potato and some fried rice with a few corn kernels, does not a vegetarian meal make.

Which isn't to say that we didn't have fun, because obviously we did. But the food was appalling.

Right. Off to see if anyone else has played their turn in Scrabulous!

Ever have one of those nights ...

where you just somehow knew that life was good, and that you had created this world for yourself?

Theatre Militia were up for three awards at the Chapman Tripp awards tonight. We didn't win anything, but we were up against some heavyweight nominees. The lighting designer lost out to Maui. His budget was around $100. Maui had a TEAM of lighting people, and needless to say, the budget was somewhat larger.

Oh, and Hamish looked HOT in his floral shirt from Mandatory. Eleven years, still all good. Love you babe ...

Ouch

Bits of me hurt. Specifically, my hamstrings are at that particular stage of soreness that makes it extremely painful to sit down on a toilet seat. Too much information, I know, but hovering isn't exactly an option right now. I'm not so sure I can even blame this one on Duck. I think I've done this to myself.

I'm still not running again, but as Sarah and my physio both observed, that just means I do everything else harder. After spending Sunday hauling myself around in the bush at the Sanctuary, on Monday I got up and did my usual lower body weights workout. After work I jumped into Steve's RPM class and got shouted at because I supposedly wasn't going hard enough. Well, it felt pretty hard at the time! At least our RPM instructors hassle us from the safety of their bikes. I'm not sure I'd want an instructor wandering around randomly turning up my dial.

On Tuesday Mike was typically brutal in Balance. After work I was brutal to myself, spending fifty minutes on a x-trainer. Well, my ankle didn't like that, and neither did my sanity. All up things were feeling a bit niggly afterwards. Unfortunately though, there's only so much RPM a girl can do in one week without emptying her bank account, and the songs keep turning up in my dreams.

I was brutal to myself again on Wednesday. I couldn't get near the cable machines, so I mixed things up a bit, doing four sets of hovers, chest press, shoulder raises, upright row, tricep extensions and a couple of sets of pull-ups. I was already hurting from Mike's Balance the day before (I'm always overly optimistic about how many tricep push-ups I can do in one class, and my face was firmly fixed in a grimace during the standing strength track), so I was feeling satisfactorily fatigued at the end.

On Wednesday night Mike's replacement turned out to be a Westie chick who usually only teaches RPM out at the Hutt. We got shouted at again as she picked on our technique and exertion levels. Honestly though, I went really hard. Too hard, given that I was fairly confident Duck would be attacking my legs again in the morning. I was fairly confident she wouldn't do two interval training sessions in a row. I was picking we'd be doing some more lower body weights.

I'm fairly certain that my session with Duck is responsible for a fair proportion of today's soreness. She's just completed a functional training workshop and was keen to try out her new skills. We did some great cable work on one of the new machines, featuring two vertical cables side-by side. I got to do lunges (front and side)with a weights belt around my waist, so that I was lunging against the resistance of the machine. I got to do lots of them. When I first tried I unbalanced and nearly fell over each time I dropped into the lunge. It took my brain a little while to work out the logistics of the whole thing, but by the end I was lunging against those plates like a pro. I had heaps of practice though.

After endless sets I had that mastered. Turning to face the machine I took a handle in each hand and jumped from side to side, allowing the machine to pull me into the air and landing in a squat. As I landed I alternated sets of pull-downs and wood-chopper movements. I ended up gasping at the end of each set, but it was a lot of fun. As I got more confident I was able to jump higher and higher, using the weights to take me up.

Not so much fun was turning around and jabbing with my arms (ouch - those upper body weights from the day before were looking like a bad idea) while stepping from side to side. Functional training? This was the gym equivalent of rubbing my stomach and tapping my nose at the same time. Something to work on then.

And then, the finale. Picture me in a plank pose, with my hands resting on two 6kg barbells. I had to start with an upright row from the plank position, then move forward two steps in the plank position, then do the upright row with each arm again, then move forward again, etc. After I'd done enough of them I had to do one full press up, then a press up with my left arm out to the side, then my right arm, then my left arm forward, then my right arm forward, then another full press up. We did two sets of those. The upright row was the hardest. If I lifted the weight with my right arm my left leg would threaten to lift right off the ground. There were times I didn't think I'd be able to lift that darn barbell again. But quitting wasn't an option, so I just told myself to get hard, and each time that barbell would somehow raise itself into the air. And you know what? When I finished that session I felt strong, strong and co-ordinated.

And then I got up this morning and did RPM with Dee. And it was soooo not on. My quads hurt, and there was no way I was going to manage even the vaguest hint of a hover. But I still went hard, which is why I don't think I can blame Duck for the ouch factor. I'm supposed to be going for a bike ride in the morning. Um, yeah, right.

I'm feeling so much more bike fit though. I can really feel the difference all this RPM is making with each stroke. I'm pushing and pulling much more consistently, and I'm isolating the power in my legs much more effectively. I'm also holding my upper body much more still. There's a reason why I need to increase my leg weights.

Plus, there's the muscle. I can feel the difference in my quads, particularly the lower quads that take up the effort on a hill climb. My upper body's changed for the better lately as well. My shoulders are much more defined. The pull ups are getting easier. I still hate them, but I can do them!

To add to that there's the co-ordination. I've always said I didn't have any . Then last week I managed to save myself from a nasty accident. I was walking down a steep flight of tiled steps when the cuff of my jeans leg got caught on my right boot heel. As I was tipping forwards I was looking down that long flight of steps thinking "this is not good, this is going to hurt, and this is going to take a lot longer to get over than an ankle inflammation" (apparently the fact I was thinking about how this was going to interrupt my training is a sign that I'm completely mad). Then somehow, and I still don't know how, I managed to get my left leg forwards enough to rebalance. I landed very heavily on my left foot, jarring it badly. I had to limp the rest of the way to the bus, but at least I was alive. So, it seems I need to get better at my tailoring, but I might have a little agility after all.

All of which is stopping me from feeling too upset about the weight I saw on the scales this morning. Some of that must be muscle right? Gluttony. It had to catch up with me at some point ...

Totally Optional Prompts: One Small Fluffy Moggy

A rough draft this week, and not a poem I'm happy with, but I wanted to get something published this week. I'm looking forward to reading everyone else's efforts.

Love Song in a High Pitched Meow
Tissy is in the hallway
announcing she is home
and that she has brought
with her a conquest,
perhaps this time a sock
from the drying rack, a
skink hooked from under
the flax bushes, a weta from
beneath the house or a
mouse from the blackberry.
Once it was a Tui I found her
rolling around on the sofa,
still beautiful but horrifyingly
and inexcusably dead.
I love my small fluffy
hunter but I do not love
her predatorial instincts.

More animal poems here.

Read/Write/Poem: Eat Drink

Untitled
Bare feet running between
rows of grapes land
with abandon on
old vine cuttings still
lying on the ground.

The scent of
ripening fruit hangs
heavy over the valley
and we are chasing
birds, timing our
sprints to the explosion
of the cannon that
they have learned
to ignore.

It is April and our
parents are harvesting.

Beyond the grapes
Feijoa trees are dropping
their fruit. We
race to collect
them before the
centipedes move in.

At home bunches of
Muscat in a brown
paper bag are
sitting on the bench
sweating juice.

Our plucking fingers
are sticky, our mouths
prickling at their
sharp sugary taste.

More feasting here.

Writer's Island: Dream

This week's Writer's Island prompt went in a strange direction. What are the thoughts in your head that you hope others can't see?

If I could explain myself
to you, film reel the
grainy close-up of my
internal musings, would
you recoil from the
villain I would reveal,
the selfish motivations
and double-crossings?
Or would you recognise
yourself in the frame,
the murmered dialogue
an echo of your own
soundtrack, a love song
played backwards? As
we lie so close at night is
it a small grace that we
cannot interpret
each other’s dreams?

Sunday Scribblings: I Carry

Better late than never ...

I Carry

I carry Karekare sand

between my toes,

Opanuku silt in the

pores of my skin.

This hair hides

silvered fern snagged

in passing through

Waitakere bush,

supplejack has wound

itself around my bones.

Take me from the land

but the land will find

ways to travel with me.

Concrete and glass

have not found such organic

purchase in my soul.

More Sunday Scribblings here.

I Am That Woman

It’s been an insane week. I’ve been on a project management course since Tuesday, with the first of two exams tomorrow. I took time out for an RPM class on Tuesday night, but by Wednesday the amount of study I needed to get done was starting to stress me out, so I traded my usual run for three hours at my desk swotting instead.

What with the lack of exercise and the stodgy hotel food at the venue where the course is being run I was decidedly twitchy by this morning. Duck has switched our sessions to Extreme, which is good in that it means we have a lot more gym equipment to play with, but bad in that it leaves me with almost no time to warm up if I catch my usual bus. I had to do a bit of mental balancing between the need for enough sleep to get me through today's course in a minimum state of awareness and the need for a bit of cardio. In the end I decided to catch an earlier bus into town, leaving Kingston at 6.30am (the first run of the morning).

I got to the gym at 7, with my session not till 7.30. Not wanting to test my ankle on the treadmill I jumped on an exercycle and set it to a hill programme. Thirty minutes later the bike switched into cool-down mode, and five minutes after that Duck arrived. By that stage I’d finished the cool-down and had switched to manual control. We talked for ten minutes, until I finally realised that I’d now been on the bike for 45 minutes and that it was probably time to do some weights. So we headed off to the main weights floor and worked my upper body and core for an hour.

Yes, that’s right. I worked out for nearly two hours BEFORE spending the day at a training course. I am that woman. I am the one who is always at the gym, no matter what time of the day you are there. I am the one you see doing weights in the morning, Balance at lunchtime, and heading out for a run at night. I am the one who knows all the trainers and gym staff by name. I am the one who also knows half of the other gym members by name and who hangs out at the front of the class with the other regulars. I am either your worst enemy or your biggest inspiration.

I am Mad Dog, hear me squeak!

Rocking the RPM

Just call me the crank-room spin diva. Heck, if I can't run in the sun I'll sit on a bike in the dark instead. At least I'm getting to go to a few classes with some new instructors, and as a result I'm learning a few new tracks. Tonight Steve played 'I like to Move It', which a certain Auckland blogger is a fan of, but which I hadn't heard before. Steve also played 'Painkiller', which is a fantastic track five. Today I went a bit nuts, regretted the diet softdrink I'd quaffed earlier that afternoon, and spent the interval between each track desperately gasping for breath. Frustration can get me a long way it seems. Mind you, so can an instructor who continually yells that he's about to catch up with you and you'd better crank the dial before he gets past. I dearly wish I'd been wearing a Garmin so that I could estimate how many calories I managed to burn my way through.

On Thursday it was a new instructor, Chris, who played stonking house tracks and got lippy. It seems I like my instructors vocal. On Friday I was back in the Friday morning house of pain with Dee at the wheel, then at lunchtime I was trying and failing to do tree pose on my dodgy ankle. Despite the best intentions I spent the weekend eating and doing family duty in Taranaki, visiting my mother who was in hospital supposedly recovering from an operation. In reality she was spending her recovery time going for walks around the hospital and begging anyone who would listen to allow her to go home. In the end she was discharged two days early, and as a result I didn't get to make use of my running, cycling or swimming gear.

I bounced into my physio appointment today, confident the x-ray wouldn't have revealed any stress fractures. It seems I have a slight visible stiffness through my tibia, but nothing too problematic. She is pleased, but not pleased enough to give me permission to run the Rimutaka Incline this weekend. So I will again revise my targets, breathe a sigh of resignation and aim for Korokoro on December 9. We're talking an intense half-marathon through Belmont Park with a climb to a trig station at over 400 metres. Even Duck admitted that she'd be walking the really steep bit, and Sarah the hill muncher thinks I'm mad.

At least I have a new pair of (pink) glasses arriving from the optometrist this week and our roofing guy is arriving tomorrow to repair said roof. So there are exciting things happening, none the least of which appears to be the amazing ability of my ankle to rid itself of inflamation. It's nice to actually be healing faster than expected for a change!

Sigh ...

If I weren't such a determined runner I swear I would have given up by now. The latest? A self-diagnosed synovial impingement. The OSH woman doing a ergonomic assessment of our new EA's desk set-up had a quick look and agreed with my suspicions this afternoon.

I have a crease of pain running horizontally across the area where my foot connects to my tibia (across the front of the very base of my shin). It hurts when I push my foot upwards, and it hurts when I flex it downwards. It hurts if I compress everything by running on it. I have a reduced range of motion that makes it difficult to walk in flat shoes. Essentially, I am again bung. And of course, the last two days have been PERFECT for running.

I should have been able to fend this off. I know that I have a tendency to stiffness across that area. In the past I've been able to keep it sufficiently mobile by doing ankle rotations and crouching down and rocking on my feet while holding on to a pole. I think all the hills I have been running lately have simply been too much. I knew I was slightly stiff on Sunday, but not sufficiently to set off any alarm bells.

On Monday I was undeniably sore. Pretending it was still just a bit of stiffness I completed my scheduled forty inutes on the flat, and ended up running closer to fifty. Ironically, I was feeling really fit, but I knew I was in pain and my reduced range of motion was making it difficult to run with any real technique. I wanted to go faster and I should have been capable of going faster, but my foot wouldn't let me.

I had a terrible day at work on Tuesday. I couldn't do Balance because someone scheduled a meeting over the top of my out-of-office time. I got really grumpy, and wanted badly to run to let go of some of my aggression. Of course, it was a beautiful evening. Frustrated I went home, ate way too much Chana Masala from Khana Khazana and drank a huge glass of red wine. This morning I felt lumpen as well as sore!

A good weights session this morning at least made me feel slightly more active, and after work I decided to give RPM a try. Turns out, my ankle can handle the spin. The instructor did well at maintaining momentum in a mostly empty class, and I managed to burn off a little of that curry. Mike was worried that I would hurt my ankle, but he commented that I was stubborn, like him. That's me - stubborn enough to run on an ankle that was already hurting, and stubborn enough to keep exercising, even if it meant sitting in a dark crank room on the most beautiful spring evening yet. Darn. It's just occurred to me that I really should have gone for a spin on the long neglected Lola instead.

I'm dreading telling Duck in the morning that I'm injured again. I was really looking forward to running my second set of treadmill intervals today. Hopefully I will be right in time for my sixty minutes on Saturday, but if need be I'll hold off until the inflammation has died down. I know I'm going to be able to do the Rimutaka Incline as long as I don't worsen any injuries. It's not my fitness levels that are the problem!

On the positive side, this is the last niggle that has finally turned into something more than a nuisance. If I deal with this (and I'm getting smarter at dealing with each issue that arises) then hopefully I'll emerge even stronger. I can only hope. I can't face the thought of just quitting.

Writer's Island: Unforgettable

Writer's Island this week asked us to think about the unforgettable events in our lives.

When I was 17 I left New Zealand to spend ten months in Holland on an AFS student exchange programme. I had grown up in a small town on the outskirts of New Zealand's largest city, lived in the same house all my life, and up to the day I got on that Singapore Airlines plane the only other overseas travel I'd experienced had been seven days in the Cook Islands with my family. My host mother later graciously described me as having been 'young for my age'. In fact I was extremely sheltered and had very little knowledge of the world outside of my little West-Auckland valley.

I remember how strange it felt to say goodbye to my parents for the last time. I remember walking into the Customs area, looking back to see them standing there forlornly, then turning with a grim finality towards the gate, acutely aware that I had just looked on them for the last time in what then seemed like a very long time.

Not long after I sat with the four other young Kiwis flying to Holland that day. As the plane geared up for take-off I whispered "I can't believe I'm doing this". "Neither can I," said the boy sitting next to me. "No", I countered, "I REALLY can't believe I'm doing this". I was telling the truth, I really couldn't believe I was leaping off that cliff. I was a home-body. Other people's lives made me nervous. I was a picky eater, I was shy. I really wasn't quite sure what I'd thought I was doing when I applied.

Of course I survived. I survived my first host mother, who decided she didn't like me the very day I arrived, simply because I didn't drink tea or coffee. I spent three months wondering what I might have done that would next bring her wrath down upon me. Once it was leaving my towel on the bedroom floor. Once it was putting my jeans in the wrong washing basket. Once it was not eating my liver. On the day I left it was her discovery that I had been overwatering a pot plant in my bedroom. I survived that, I survived the family's trip to a nudist colony, and I survived cycling twenty kilometres per day to school and back, even in the middle of winter. When I left it was because of the tragedy that was my sweet host father's worsening cancer, not because of any admission of defeat on my part.

If those first three months felt like an exercise in survival the rest of the exchange was a wonderful adventure. Joosje worked in a literary bookstore and at home had an English language library full of contemporary novels. She was worldly, considered, and had a remarkable instinct for guiding a naive young New Zealand girl through the world. I learned to get on well with the one host brother who still lived at home. We were the same age, and once I learned that he didn't understand my Kiwi sarcasm we got on just fine. I ended up dating one of the other two brothers, although I never got to know the oldest that well, and my host father and I never really quite got up the nerve to work each other out either. Nevertheless, I had a deep respect and admiration for all of them.

I know that I would not be the person I am today had my parents not made sacrifices to ensure that I was able to get on that flight. Those ten months of my life, although so long ago now, were truly unforgettable.

NB: If you want to read a poem about an unforgettable experience of a completely different kind, check out my last post. After publishing it I realised I had written this poem three years to the day after the event. The subconscious is a powerful thing!

Random Poem: The Cleansing

The Cleansing
When it left
there was no final struggle,
no climax of battle.
When it left there was
only a gentle subsidence,
like the outwards tide
at Pakawau, a slow
exhale of breath.
I had to stop for a moment
to listen for its silence,
to ensure that it was
really gone.
It took some time
to unwind myself
from its absence,
to quietly explore the
exposed tidal pools
and to wade amongst
the sea anemones I found
waving their rose-coloured
tentacles in my soul.
Although it took from
me its volume it did
not leave me smaller.
It removed only excess,
and afterwards I was
more precisely crafted,
and therefore stronger.
It took a while to know
that it was really gone,
but once I was truly
certain I could not
mourn its passing.

It's a Miracle

Hamish came across this cosy scene and had to take a photo, knowing I'd never believe him if he told me. Yes, in this scene Ede is actually leaning slightly on Tissy's back leg. Three cats, all snuggled up together, and they didn't even need the services of the cat shrink to get there!

Running on Rocket Fuel

Oh dear. I knew what I was doing and I did it anyway. Yesterday was Hamish's birthday. It's also Day of the Dead, a Mexican celebration. For the last three years that's meant dinner at the Flying Burrito Brothers on Cuba Street. Two things were certain. There would be tequila, and there would be chillis.

My office started drinking at 4.30, so I was already one large glass of bubbly and some French bread with cream cheese and hummus ahead by the time I met up with Hamish at 5.30. After that we spent a couple of hours at a friend's place, where I ate too many corn chips and managed to get through two bottles of cider. It was after 8.30 when we finally made it to FBB and there was an hour and a half wait on a table. So it was off to the bar for a Margarita and a tequila tasting plate.

Hamish enjoyed some crab cakes to start, and I ordered the crumbed, stuffed Jalapenos. Both were delicious. We followed that up with a rabbit and lentil stew (Hamish) and chicken mole enchiladas for me (with more Jalapenos). There may also have been another couple of Margaritas.

By this time it was after 10.30 and we were in the mood for dessert. So we adjourned to Midnight Expresso for strawberry cheesecake and the cafe's divine vegan chocolate cake. We got to bed around midnight, and when I woke at around 4a.m. our cat Gaffer had still not come home. With this being the first day of firework sales, and with it also being a Friday night, the thought was there that he may have been disturbed by some going off nearby. So I had a very disturbed sleep until he finally walked through the cat door at 7.15.

Which would have all been fine, had I not been down for 90 minutes of hills this morning. Let's just say that ordinarily eating a heap of chillis, drinking a heap of tequila, and getting very little sleep would not be part of my pre-long run game plan. I don't think I woke up until about ten minutes into my run. I limited the damage as much as I could. My stomach rebelled when I tried to drink water before leaving, and I couldn't face eating anything more than a small apple. I waited twenty minutes or so before leaving home.

I wasn't in the mood to run up into the town belt again today, so I just ran straight down Farnham and towards Island Bay. As I rounded the coast towards Owhiro Bay I was hit by a stiff Northerly that was going to make things interesting. In fact I ended up running into a strong headwind all the way up to Brooklyn. Lots of things should have been bad about this run, but in fact it was pretty good. I ran steadily the whole way down to the coast, felt fine, enjoyed the views to the Kaikouras, then gritted my teeth and faced the long climb.

Half-way up I slipped into a higher mindspace, where I wasn't really aware of anything much more than that I was continuing to put one foot in front of the other. I wasn't feeling any pain, I wasn't feeling any tiredness or any shortness of breath. I was just moving forwards. Each milestone passed me by, and each time I was surprised. Already I was at the entry to the landfill. There was the first house on the right. There was the 50km sign. There was the Masonic Centre, the first street off to the right, the new housing development on the left. Taft Street, the petrol station. There were the shops. I got there without having to fight myself to keep going.

I continued to the top of Brooklyn Hill, then dropped down into Central Park, choosing a gravel trail that dropped reasonably quickly towards the stream at the bottom. It was only halfway down that I finally got hit by a wave of nausea that thankfully passed reasonably quickly after a quick stop to drop my head a bit nearer my knees. After that I was able to pick up the pace and weave my way through Te Aro and down Taranaki Street to the gym. Ninety minutes, pretty much on the dot.

I even followed that up with Balance. I had enough time to buy a Replace drink and a banana. I sat in the changing rooms slowly alternating between the two. My stomach wasn't overly enthusiastic, but I knew I needed to get some energy in before the class.

Mike filled in for Margaret, taking us through release 31. The ab track consists primarily of plank pose and side-plank. The back track includes a fairly grueling animal pose sequence. My shoulders are still feeling quite knotty after the weights I've been pushing the last couple of weeks, but my hips really appreciated doing two classes in a row. My back's loosening up now in the twists too since I've been focusing on those.

Finally class was over and I was dashing into Subway for some real food (well, realish), then into the supermarket for a few groceries. It was such a relief to get off the bus and into the shower at home. I'm feeling remarkably good now, and still haven't been able to surrender to a Nana nap. I may regret that later as it's another big night tonight, with Singstar at Sarah's then Hamish is performing at San Francisco Bathhouse. There's also a very good German minimalist djing at Sandwiches.

My whole week of training has gone well actually, and my energy levels continue to remain high. After Monday's treadmill intervals I did Mike's Tuesday Balance class, following that up with some more leg weights after work, then Duck's RPM class. This time the leg press didn't leave me with rigid quads the next day. Perhaps I may also have been a bit lighter in the dial in class. Whatever, I felt fairly fresh on Wednesday. I modified my usual upper body/core workout slightly, not being in the mood for as much cable work.

At lunchtime I was scheduled to run for half an hour at a easy pace. Instead I ran up to Kelburn then floored it back down through the gardens in an attempt to better my last time. Then it was Thursday and Duck stuck mainly to my core and upper body again, with only a little leg work. I was down for twenty minutes at an easy pace at lunchtime and was a bit stuck for routes that wouldn't involve spending up most of that time at traffic lights. Outside the wind had dropped ahead of a Southerly change and it was pleasantly cool.

I headed off up to the top of Molesworth, then dropped down onto a trail that runs alongside the Terrace side of the motorway. It's a bit of an agility course, with lots of small inclines and flights of stairs, a bit of mixed terrain and a few quiet roads to cross. I got back to the gym with five minutes to spare, so looped back to Bowen Street and ran back up to the trail again, pushing the pace through the cemetery and back down Aurora Terrace.

Other than another Balance on Friday (Margaret standing in for Clare), that was my week. I'm spending part of my 'rest' day tomorrow in the Sanctuary. Next weekend I'm going to be in Taranaki, so goodness knows where I'll be running. After that it's Rimutaka Incline. I'm also eying up new places to run. I'm looking at heading up towards Melrose, and Kate's also put me onto a series of Scottish runs. I'm feeling good, really good.

There's a post coming soon on how much of a difference running and being fit in general has made to my life. In the meantime I'm off to find some food. I'm suddenly starving!

Totally Optional Prompts: Work

My first Totally Optional Prompt post and my second poetry post this week. There's not much I really want to say about this one. Like the last it is rough and pretty much unedited. Perhaps in a year or two I might be able to pick it up and refine it, but not yet.

The Ballad of a Man
It has been claimed
that when he was young
he worked for a circus and
looked after the elephants.
When he’d had enough of
that he disappeared off into
the bush to become a good
keen man and to hunt
deer. Barry Crump was
out of it by then and the
glory days were gone and
he eventually emerged and
sashed and set off to
Auckland to make his fortune.
Instead he met my mother,
tried to leave but made the
mistake of returning one last
time to discover her standing
in his empty flat, crying tears
into her long blonde hair.
Then came work as a sales
rep, weeks on the road
selling blocks of toffee and
salt and vinegar chips,
until I was born and threw
another spanner in the works.
So there was bar work and
then bar manager work
and nights in a tuxedo playing
host at the old Mandalay
in Newmarket, the Sunday
Cotton Clubs, the Polynesian
weddings and the ballroom
dancing competitions.
Eventually the fat lady
sang and the curtain
closed and it was time
to move on again.
There was warehouse
work, then the recession
of the early 90s rolled in,
so there was time in the
fields, then the economy
improved and there was
more warehouse work and
ascending and descending
levels of seniority and
eventually there were only
a couple of years to
retirement and the
cold hard fact of being
unemployable, even
in this time of low
employment.

At first all he’d wanted
was freedom and after that
all he’d wanted was for
his family to be secure
and fed and happy, and
in the end his family would
say that he had lived his
life well and unselfishly
and that throughout he
had always done
good work.