Afternoons Well Spent

One week of no Internet access at home has felt like an eternity! Thankfully I haven't been home much, so there wasn't time for too many withdrawal symptoms to set in. Unfortunately I've realised I've left my Poetry Thursday homework saved on my work computer, so I won't be able to post it until Monday, but I do have a meme prepared.

In the meantime then, here are some photos from the Thorndon Fair on Sunday. Hamish and I had a fantastic time wandering through the hoards on one of those (incredibly rare of late) Wellington good days.

The Thorndon Fair is held very year in a heritage suburb a few minutes' walk from the city. Although I still miss the Grey Lynn festival in Auckland, Thorndon Fair certainly does seem to have lifted its game. There were a number of stallholders this year who were selling excellent, locally made gourmet goods. We spent way too much money on good quality olive oil, rock salt, fruit wine and olives. Hamish also bought a particularly attractive vintage coffee grinder. I fell in love with an old picnic set, complete with little plastic thermoses (with cork stoppers), tin sandwich boxes, little glass bottles, and plastic handled forks and knives. Lucky I did not have the $155 cash needed to take it home with me.

This tickled our fancy - a children's playground set up in the grounds of Premier House, and mothers lounging around on the lawn in the shade watching the merry-go-round spin.

Eventually Hamish and I retreated to the Speights Alehouse for beer and cider. This photo's for Leonie - finally a Pip in a Pink Hat on this blog! The woman in the blue top standing outside the window had just bought some delicious looking antipasto. As soon as we went back out I spent $19 on a container of stuffed olives - garlic, almond, blue cheese and chilli. Every mouthful is a small heaven.

Towards the end of the day we discovered this lovely man's stall, set back from the main road. Ian is one of those rare true craftsmen. He told us he spent 40 years working in government administration, and I think it's a shame it took him so long to get around to doing what he so obviously does best. Ian will be attracting a lot of our custom over the next year or so.

We're starting with one of these spice cupboards, which will look perfect on the yellow and scarlet walls in our kitchen. After that I'm going to get him to make us a kitchen table, then a hall table, and finally a free-standing wardrobe for the bedroom.

Eventually we staggered home and feasted on the fruits of our fair-hunting. A fine way to spend a Sunday afternoon, topped off with a swim at Freyberg to cool the (extreme) sunburn. Nice!

Within an Hour

Late this week thanks to our Net connection going down at home. It's amazing how bereft we've felt being disconnected to the outside world!

Anyway, I'm posting this clandestinely at work, so here it is, my Sunday Scribblings post:

A baby is born. An elderly man stops breathing and dies. An earthquake causes a huge wave that will eventually wash thousands away. A plane crashes into a building causing damage that will lead to its collapse. In a garden somewhere a flower unfurls. In a nest high in a tree a chick hatches from its egg. A woman completes her shopping and drives to the local school to pick up her son. Another woman finishes sewing her thirtieth pair of running shoes of the day and wipes the sweat from her brow.

A man plants a tree in an urban park. Another man chops down a tree in a rain forest. A fallen trunk is painstakingly carved into a canoe by a group of young men who are taking part in a community probation project. A tramper pauses while crossing a river to roll a smooth, cool pebble between their fingers. Rain falls on the coast. Drought-stricken farmers brush dust from their eyelids.

A student finishes their homework and logs onto Myspace. A swimmer takes off her goggles and cap and heads for the showers. A body builder flexes his muscles and readies his mind for another deadlift. Someone decides at the last moment not to mug the old guy standing at the cash machine. Another is overcome by the heat of their anger and beats at their partner until she stops moving and lies pale on the floor. A cat licks at the kittens suckling at her belly. A horse nudges her foal to its feet as it squints at the world in which it has just found itself. An insect unfurls its wings and flies into a spider’s web, where it hangs, frantically buzzing.

An asteroid burns up as it enters Earth’s atmosphere. On the ground a young child points to a falling star. A ceasefire is broken. A car bomb explodes. A man with little intelligence and even less understanding of what he is done is led to an electric chair. A woman who has swallowed ten small balloons filled with a bitter white powder is stopped as she walks through border control.

A young boy kisses a young girl. Two teenagers wander gossip about a film star who has been admitted to an eating disorder clinic. A department-store worker hangs up sale signs. An admin assistant accidentally hits ‘reply all’ and creates a major diplomatic incident. Another hits save two seconds before his computer crashes.

Big things happen. Little things happen. Momentous decisions are made. Inconsequential decisions are procrastinated over. Historically important events are witnessed by millions. Significant ones pass unnoticed. The minutiae of everyday existence continues to ebb and flow without anyone particularly paying any attention. Life happens in an hour.

Can't Argue with the Universe

Oh my God, the following message just popped into my inbox from the Universe:

You're going to miss the slow times and quiet days, Pip. Your anonymity, stealth, and small circle of friends. Plodding along at your own pace, working in spurts, and wondering where your next break will come from. Even your uncertainties, doubts, and fears will be missed. It just works like that once massive dreams start coming true. You'll manage just fine - The Universe

Thoughts become things... choose the good ones! ® © www.tut.com ®

Oh, there can still be slow times, quiet days, and all the rest, Pip, but you might have to buy a wig.

The walls have words

Ok, this one already felt like cheating, given that I've been writing about 'home' all year. We've been told several stories about the previous inhabitants of our villa, but I've never felt like the house itself has ever given up any of its secrets. Without our neighbours this house would have no history, hence my sense of it being 'pure'.

If These Walls Could Talk

If these walls could talk
I would know about
the butcher who
built this cottage
two years before the war.
They would speak
of the old woman who
hated Presbyterians and
who died bitter and
alone other than the
company of her
idle son.
They would tell me
who it was that stashed
empty beer cans and
bottles at the bottom
of the garden,
who left nails sticking out
all around the house.
They would talk about
the whale skeleton that
once hung in the hallway,
the back door that was
once the front.
They would remember fondly
the English woman who
installed central heating,
a new kitchen, breathed
life into aging crossbeams.They would tell us
who it was that cleansed
this place so that
when we walked in
there was nothing to
trouble us,
only the welcome
of clear air and
a sense of home.

More writers with their ears pressed up against walls here.

Lola, la la la la Lola, la la la la Lola....

So I lied when I said I wasn't going to blog about the fitness stuff quite so much. I'm sorry, no, actually, I'm not sorry at all. I'm going to yell and scream about tonight's Women's Multis session, because I'm just so damn proud of myself.

A few years ago I got into RPM at Les Mills in a major way, and got it into my head to buy a road bike. I went to a niche store that catered mostly for hardcore roadies and got talked into buying a rather nice bike with several bells and whistles. At the time I hadn't actually ridden for over ten years, but I didn't want to admit to that fact and as part of the deal was sold clipless SPD pedals.

The inevitable happened. Put together an anxious woman with little confidence in her physical dexterity, an unfamiliar bike and the daunting prospect of clipping in and out of a set of pedals, and you get Pip taking her bike out a couple of times, crashing out, bruising herself up badly, getting terribly overwraught about the whole thing, putting the bike away and trying to deny its existence.

Not long after Addisons came along, and in the recovery process I focused my attention elsewhere. My poor, sexy roadbike got left in the study gathering dust, but I never quite forgot her.

Thankfully Leonie got me into duathlon training, which got the bike back out of the study, and Duck provided me with a pair of ordinary pedals, which got me back on the bike. That took me up to April, which was when the duathlon took place. After that the pedals went back to Duck and the SPDs went back on. I got caught up in training for a half marathon and the poor roadbike gathered dust again in the study. But I didn't forget her, oh no. And I spent the winter using my shoes in RPM, getting used to clipping and unclipping and aquainting myself with roadie culture.

Over the last few weeks I should have been carting poor Lola (because she's red and she goes fast, like the main actress in Run Lola Run) up our 46 steps and practicing using my pedals. So what was I doing? Procrastinating. RPM classes, running, swimming, anything to avoid having to actually deal with my nemesis (hey, this is a Sunday Scribblings post after all). Poor Lola, she didn't deserve the neglect. I've treated her appallingly.

However today I could procrastinate no longer. Lola and I walked to the gym to meet up with the Women's Multis squad. What I didn't realise was that we were meeting at Freyberg, not at the gym. If I didn't bike at least part of the way we were going to be seriously late.

There was no way I was going to try the SPDs for the first time on busy Taranaki St, so three of us walked our bikes out to Te Papa. No Duck, no Ingrid, no support system. It was time to confront the demons, time to be strong, time to just bloody well get over it and do it. I clipped my left foot in, boosted myself up onto the bike seat, and before I knew it I'd clipped the right foot in and was cruising down Oriental Parade.

This is a happy story. I unclipped at Freyberg, allowing myself a small victory cry. First stage of the mission accomplished I clipped in again and we cycled to Evans Bay, unclipped, and ran a couple of kilometers. From there it was back on the bike and a case of putting the pedal down and going for it. On the return leg I overtook all of the girls except for the one other woman on a road bike. However I wasn't that far behind her. We had a horrific headwind on the return leg, but I ground through.

So, yay me. The SPD nemesis is well and truly conquered and Lola and I are back in a committed relationship.

I've been typing this while Hamish and his father talk digital cameras beside me. I'm being terribly rude and I need to rap this up to go jump in the shower and crash. While the alcohol we consumed over dinner at Hope Bros is still coursing through my brains I'm going to record this. Life is good. I am amazed at what I can do, and what I am able to do for others. Gratitude and Joy. These are the words that resonate for me right now.

Lola, la la la la Lola....

Strong Hearts

It's been too long since any quality posting. No Poetry Thursday, no Sunday Scribblings. I've been carried away by the king tide that is my life at the moment. I haven't been writer's blocked so much as writer's flat-tyred. The wish to write has been there, but the mind-space hasn't. The energy I usually send in that direction has been seeping away.

Right now I'm trying to run, cycle, swim, volunteer at the Sanctuary, maintain a social life, write, spend some time with Hamish and continue to perform at work. Let's not even mention the total lack of housework or gardening. I'm stretching myself thin and not giving any one area the attention it really deserves, particularly the writing.

However when I take the time to read posts like Michelle's on her nemesis marathon run, or search for Wellington poetry readings, I realise that my muse is still there, surviving independently of my main flow of attention. I just need to reprioritise my time a little!

So, one more gym-obsessed post before I start focussing a little more again on the creative mission that this blog was originally designed to carry me on. I made a commitment to provide distraction from a friend wrestling with their own exercise-goal induced nemesis, so here goes! The Strongheart 24 hour fundraiser...

Let me preface this by saying that for a long time I wasn't terribly socially assertive. I was never the leader in any social group, tended to keep only a small handful of friends close to me, and found it difficult to put myself out there. Organising the Jog Squad team for Strongheart was something that I was happy to volunteer for, but that I found more than a little stressful.

On Friday night, after a barbeque for Sanctuary volunteers, a couple of glasses of wine, a cider and a great episode of Heroes I was feeling rather euphoric. I had a good team put together for the relay and my knee was holding up well. By 6.30am on Saturday morning however I had a severe case of nervous-runner's belly and anxiety-induced insomnia.

By 8.30am I was at Les Mills on Taranaki Street sticking yellow ducks and a Jog Squad "I thought you said this was going to be an easy flat run" sign to 'our' treadmill. We were one of five treadmill teams. The team to our right - "Dorks that Walk" looked to be easy competition. The team to our left - "the Black Eyes" were the clear winners before they even pressed the 'quickstart' button. Predominantly tall, strapping and athletic looking men, I was glad our little team of intermediate and beginner runners had never entered this for the glory of a podium finish!

In front of us were three exercycle teams. Cruising along at low RPMs while idly reading magazines, there were many times the Jog Squadders decided we'd chosen the wrong event to sign up for.

At the front of the room was a whiteboard, to be used for recording our distances. The rules were simple. A team member had to be on our treadmill at all times. Distance recordings were taken during scheduled ten minute breaks at 3pm, 9pm, 3am and 9am. We could choose whether to run or walk - we just had to keep moving.

9am rolled around and I kicked off the event for our team with a quick couple of kilometres on the treadmill. After that a succession of wonderful women swapped stints. I stressed about women not turning up, about everything going pear-shaped, about not being a good organiser. Wonderful Caro dealt with Angsty Pip and kept me motivated through those early self-doubting hours.

Looking back there were so many amazing moments over the next 24 hours. Apart from having a real chance to talk to Caro (who looked at our timetable, identified when we would need her, and came back later that night to fill in some valuable time in the schedule), I also got to meet Prue, who, despite claiming not to be a runner, clocked up the bulk of our kilometres by pounding away at impressive speeds for sustained periods of time. Prue came back in to fill the hours to 3am, for which I was incredibly grateful.

There was steadfast Harriet, who put off student reports to come back into the gym at 7am on Sunday morning, when we really needed fresh runners. There was Tracey, who scared me at first with her need to timetable everything, but who slotted herself into valuable half-hour slots during the difficult times after 3am. There was Jacqui, whose hot-pink halterneck stop and faultless make-up despite high-rotation group fitness classes deserved special mention. Pregnant Megan, who, as a Les Mills employee was also flat-out helping keep the event going. Megan, true to her word, slept for a couple of hours then came to life at 3am, killing some valuable treadmill walking time. Caroline - another employee who jumped from one team's treadmill to ours for half an hour at 1.30am. Felicity, who was bullied into running half an hour, poor thing. Ingrid, who did two hours despite a rotten cold. Allie, who stayed far longer than I expected (thanks Allie), and provided me with some much needed distraction.

Last, but by no means least, there was thirteen year old Claudia, one of Duck's clients. Claudia put in huge amounts of pluck and energy, and displayed a strength of character well beyond her years. Having her around was like indulging in my own daughter fantasies for a day. All night she went from treadmill to Body Balance class to Combat, until 5am when she finally began to crumble. We took it gently on her from that point on, and from 7 till 9 she lay bleary eyed on a beanbag in the corner.

Gary stayed on reception, bright eyed despite probably having to continue working until 5pm Sunday night. Vernon remained his usual relentlessly cheerful self. Soli continued to look like he'd just stepped out of a fashion shoot. The RPM guys tried to give me beer when we were approaching the 11 hour mark.

Personal highlights/lowlights? 9pm was hard - knowing we still had twelve hours to go. I got extremely tired at around 10pm, and started to doubt I'd make it through. The period from 3am to 5am also seemed daunting, until some of the other team members stepped up. 5am to 7am were pure madness and total fun. 7am till 9am were absolute joy. Hamish made the rest of the gym howl with envy by showing up at 6.45am with a pie. Aviel stood there looking most bemused, having gone from feral psytrance party at the tattoo museum to fitness-bunny central in the course of a few minutes.

I ran until my knee started hurting after around twelve hours, then fast walked the rest. I remember major group fitness instructor eye-candy in the middle of the night on the Combat stage. I remember glow-sticks and UV lighting at 2am for one of the most spiritual Body Balance classes I've ever participated in. I remember dancing two Attack tracks before regaining my senses. I remember chocolate, Jellybeans, Airplanes, two cans of Red Bull. I remember caffeine jitters and running to the bathroom as a result. I remember a burst of euphoria and energy at around 6am after dawn and a dose of cortisol. I remember Underworld's "You Let Light In" at 8.45am, so beautiful I had to dance or I'd cry, and I had vowed by that point not to cry.

So when I had thought there would be tears, there was only the warmth of a team spirit and women who genuinely cared enough to be there supporting us.

Harriet jumped off the treadmill and I jumped on with just under 10 minutes to go. I ran the last five minutes, amping the pace up to 12km per hour to squeeze out every last bit of mileage. We counted down the last thirty seconds and everyone cheered.

In the end we came third, although we came second in the 3pm to 9pm slot after some team-rousing by Ingrid. I was extremely pleased with our result, given that several of us were carrying injuries. It was also amazing to hear that, by the end of the event, we'd already raised $21,000. The goal for this year is $24,000, and I'm confident we should achieve that easily.

A quick shared breakfast in the reception area, then there were lots of hugs and we all headed for bed. I was a little worried about driving home, but thankfully stayed alert for the ten minutes necessary to get me up the hill and between the sheets.

Fatigue does interesting things. In particular I noticed my ability to engage in complex analytical tasks bottoming out completely. Mental arithmetic took three times as long as usual. I struggled to remember who was on the treadmill at any one time. I know my reaction times were much slower - the second most dangerous aspect of driving home, with falling asleep at the wheel the big risk. Once home I slept solidly till 2pm, then fell asleep again til 4pm. After that I spent the evening in a dressing gown on the sofa, getting to bed again at 10.30pm and sleeping through till 7am this morning.

In the usual aftermath analysis - my knee feels oddly fine. My left shin is aching, as is my left quad and hamstring. Perhaps the podiatrist is right and I am now overcompensating for my right-sided injuries. I felt ok today, just stiff and drained. I avoided both a Jog Squad run and swim in favour of cider and chocolate at home. My diet has become quite shocking this week!

My only break from the gym over the whole 24 hours was the quick scheduled trip to Newtown Park so the podiatrist could film me running. It was a gorgeous afternoon and a real pleasure to be on a proper track. I immediately vowed to return again for some proper training. I haven't had a detailed analysis yet, but John did comment that I wasn't using my gluts when I was walking. As I said - no surprise there! I concentrated on my gluts when walking on the treadmill that night, and they were achy this morning, so hopefully I can retrain myself.

In the end the biggest surprise for me in organising the Jog Squad team was that it went so well, and that the girls wanted to help and support me. I'm not used to thinking of myself as being that kind of motivator. I even decided I would be prepared to organise a team again, maybe.

Duck and Ingrid are taking me out to lunch to thank me, but I don't really need the thanks. I got more than enough out of just being there. Besides - my kitchen is filled with chocolate and lollies. What more thanks could a girl possibly need?

Everything's coming up rosy

My little snooze in the sun yesterday became the source of great amusement today. I should have worn something high-necked and long-sleeved, then people wouldn't have been filing past my desk all day to check out the sunburn. Admittedly - it looks very impressive, but it doesn't really hurt as much as it looks like it would.

At 3.30 our group manager wandered around telling everyone to go home and enjoy the gorgeous day. Most of us heeded her word, and by 4pm the office was looking decidedly empty. I wandered around town for a while checking out clothing stores, looking at clothes that fitted me that I couldn't afford to buy because I'm giving all my money to personal trainers, swim coaches, physios, spin instructors and podiatrists. Sigh...

Six o'clock came around and I was kitted out in running tights, Jog Squad shirt and pink hat. I decided that tonight I would try a little experiment to see how well this knee would really cope with some pavement running. It felt unbelievably good to be out with the girls again, running with Harriet and Allie at a good steady pace around the Bays.

Tonight the squad did some quick intervals along the sand at Oriental Bay. I, on the other hand, ran slowly along the beach and slowly back down the pavement, then up and down the pavement again. After the first beach lap I figured it wasn't worth the potential knee damage. After that we ran up Carlton Gore Rd, up the side of Mt Victoria, for 200m or so. Again, I took it slowly, wasn't panting that hard at the top of the hill, and cruised back down at non-knee-injuring pace. Then it was a gentle jog back to the gym.

So my knee feels fine, and I'm feeling much more optomistic about my running future.
Once I realised that I had to stop being so hard on myself, stop obsessing about training for events, and just go with the flow for a while, things just snapped into place for me. Exercise makes me feel so much happier and more mentally balanced than any anti-depressant ever could. People who meet me now only know this Pip - the small fit one.

I'm in charge of the Jog Squad relay team for the Les Mills Heartbeat Challenge this weekend. We're raising money for Heart Children. At 9am on Saturday we start running on a treadmill, and we keep going for 24 hours. Organising it has been a bit of a nuisance when I've been so busy, but I'm glad I've done it.

I'm popping out briefly on Saturday afternoon to meet my podiatrist at the Newtown track. He's going to film me running. I'm already guessing he's going to say I'm not using my gluts when I run. No surprises there. He did confirm something for me though. My Addidas shoes are indeed the devil's spawn. Despite the salesperson assuring me the new model was exactly the same as the old model, they apparently have a much greater area of support. This means I have potentially been running in a shoe with more support than I really need. I should have trusted my instincts and ditched them right at the start.

This is NOT what I'm training for...

No... seriously! Watching too much of this sort of thing makes me want to go back to lying around with a pile of books beside me ...

Large Man

He was a large man
even in death, his
barrelled chest now
still but solid lying waiting
on the bed for the
undertakers.

We felt the need to
rest our hands on his
ribcage in hope of
understanding the mystery
of death, that someone
could be there and still
not be with us, that
a heart could really
stop and blood
run cold.

When he was cremated
the weight of his presence
resisted the furnace’s heat.
The small box in which he was
returned to us possessed a
startling heaviness, a
big man squeezed into
a cube of rosewood.

One spring afternoon
we embarked on
a clandestine mission.
We trespassed the scout
camp where we had been raised,
took the path to the outdoor chapel.
Birds and insects watched
as we scattered him,
soft grey dust
billowing in warm air.
We lay him down under the
trees he had tended,
and on the grass
he once had trimmed.

When we got home
we found he was lodged
under our fingernails,
encrusted in our skin.
We wondered about etiquette
in such situations then shrugged
as we washed him off.
Earth and water, man of
elements returned to the
place of his making.
Our large man
at last reduced.

300m by the end of January

That's the goal. I checked out the triathlon programme, and I'm aiming for early next year. The More FM triathlon sounds about right - a 300m swim, 10km cycle and 3.5km run. The 10km cycle and 3.5km run will be sprints for me by that point. They're the same distance as the Special K duathlon back in April. So all my energy needs to go into getting the swim down.

I'm not quite sure where I'll be doing the event yet. Hamish's father is planning to have his 60th birthday in Bannock Burn at the end of January, and the Porirua triathlon is on 28 January. If we do end up in Central Otago for the Porirua event I'll do the Wanaka event instead, which is on 3 February. The only thing I need to get my head around is swimming in the lake. It's not the lake itself that scares me. I'm sure a calm lake will be easier than a rough Porirua Harbour. It's the idea of being in the freezing water that gets me. I'm thinking a wetsuit may definitely be needed, but I don't want to have to waste that time in transition.

In the meantime, I headed back to to the pool today for another practice, dragging Hamish along with me. We got there around 5, and to my delight the aqua jogging lane was completely empty. Not wanting to waste my opportunity I skipped the aqua jogging warmup and did six lengths with a kickboard before practicing my new drill - swimming on my side with one arm on the board.

I swam backwards and forwards between the half-way ladder and the shallow end of the pool, first one side, then the other. It still felt weird having only one ear in the water, and I had to keep reminding myself to look forward. Every time it started to feel awkward I told myself to drop my head to lift my mouth out of the water. Invariably, if I also dropped my shoulder and relaxed my arm on the kickboard then my hips would lift and suddenly I would start to fly down the lane.

I'm not going to say this stuff feels natural yet. Although my kicking style's quite good I can tell that I'm going to have to work really hard to get my breathing right. Lesleigh and I have another lesson some time this week (yet to be organised). Once she's taught me how to actually stroke I'll be at the pool every chance I can get.

I had to get out earlier than I would have liked today, as Hamish was sitting there waiting for me. I joined him in the spa for a while and we had fish and chips for dinner. Grease - an essential part of every budding triathlete's diet!

Heroes

Like some of the other Sunday Scribblers I've been browsing through this week, one of my favourite programmes at the moment is the American series "Heroes". Although I like all of the characters, my favourite is probably the Japanese man who can stop time. I like the fact that he doesn't always get it right, but still tries to do his best. I like that he has failings.

It struck me that most 'superheroes' spend a lot of time trying to keep their identities secret. They keep their deeds separate from the image they present of themselves to others. They often face internal anguish and wrestle with moral and ethical issues because of their powers.

I believe that the real life heroes are also often the quiet ones. They are too busy doing to try to talk up what they have done. A few days ago there was an article in the newspaper about a New Zealand man who tried to save the life of a woman who had been set alight by her husband. Although he put the fire out she eventually died. He was so moved by the experience that he retrained and became a police officer so that he could continue to try to help others. Now that is a real hero.

I admire those people who make huge shifts in their lives in response to some kind of calling. Another woman I admire lived a comfortable middle-class life until she discovered Buddhism. She sold her home and became a Buddhist nun. She now teaches meditation practice in an inner-Wellington Buddhism centre.

For me it is a lack of selfishness that marks someone as a hero. It is not that they have some kind of super strength, that they are somehow morally superior, or that they never make mistakes. It is that they are prepared to put themselves on the line for something they believe in. However even as I type this I realise that some of the worst kinds of religious extremists would fall within my definition. I therefore add one more criterion to my list of things I regard as signifiying a hero. I believe it is important that, in pursuing what you believe in, you should also pledge to do no harm, or as little harm as possible.

In other words it may be preferable to kill one man than to allow him to live and let him sink the ship he is piloting, thereby killing 100 people. Or, to use a Kiwi analogy, it is better to kill one possum than allow that possum to kill a forest.

Trigirl!

Well, I tried and completely failed to post a Poetry Thursday poem, because this week's task was to choose something and lie about it. Turns out I cannot tell a lie...

So what does a girl do when overburdened by honesty? She heads to the gym for some cross-training. Let's start with ten minutes on a treadmill (head down in the hope that the girls who had promised to slap me if I ran before Christmas wouldn't see me). Let's call that ten measley SLOW minutes at a 10kph pace, and I'm alarmed at how high my heartrate got, despite my breathing feeling fine. The knee felt ok as well, though I wouldn't have been wanting to run for an hour on it. Let's see what the podiatrist says on Tuesday!

Let's follow that up with 45 minutes of RPM. I haven't done one of Stephan's classes in months, and I'd forgotten how good it is to have a technically proficient instructor at the front of the class reminding me about technique regularly and hitting all the cues in the music. I had a great, sociable class chatting to the people next to me (in between dying), and opted for speed today, while still amping the dial up on the last few tracks. No jumps - my poor gluts couldn't have liked me very much if I'd succumbed to the temptation. As I was leaving Stephan asked whether I was doing Lake Taupo this weekend. I wish - I'll just leave that to Nic and Leonie this year!

A few minutes talking to another injured Jog Squadder, then it was into the shower, and then out into the showers (Wellington's in the midst of torrential downpours) to drive to the pool for my lesson with Lesleigh.

I was ten minutes early for our lesson, so got in some aqua jogging first. I've finally nailed the technique - legs straight down and fully extended. However, the striking feature of the last two pool sessions has been the lack of fear instinct kicking in. Previously, even though I knew I was safe, some primal part of me would over-ride my rational mind and amp up the adrenalin. Thankfully my rational mind was stubborn enough not to give in, and it seems the primal self is rolling over and going back to sleep. I'm having too much fun now to give in to the fear factor.

Today Lesleigh had me do a couple of lengths with the kickboard. We switched to some larger flippers, and my feet stopped cramping. She then had me holding onto the kickboard with one arm and swimming on my side. We were practicing the freestyle breathing position. It took me a couple of tries to get what I was supposed to do, and it felt weird to have only one ear under the water. However before long I was swimming along quite happily on my left side. My right side took a little more practice, but by the end of 20 minutes I had the technique down. Ironically I may yet turn out to be a good swimmer!

Out of the pool, a quick trip to the Swim Shop to buy some flippers, a dash through the supermarket, and home by 11.30. Hamish got out of bed at mid-day, but then, given the weather today, I had told him to stay there!

Out again to lunch with an American friend-of-a-friend, Dara, who has just moved down here and is looking for work. We ended up sitting in The Matterhorn for over two hours talking. Then off home again.

All in all a good day, and it's only 7pm. We're supposed to be going out to a vj friend of Hamish's party tonight. It's still pouring out and I may yet spend the night on the sofa...

Oh, and a new low this morning - 54.6! Not that I'm counting ... in fact as I type this I'm eating Dark Ghana, so no fear of an eating disorder anywhere around here...

Phlipper...

Hamish emailed me some photos of my new obsession today, so you get to have some cute animal gratification as well! We present Louis on the stairs for your viewing pleasure...

I fought my way to the pool tonight for another lesson with Lesleigh. Given the gales and rain I decided to catch a bus, but it's quicker to walk at that time of night.

I had to guiltily admit that I hadn't been to the pool against since the last lesson, but it really didn't seem to make a difference to my progress. Tonight was one of those golden break-through nights. I aqua-jogged through the hoards, I floated, I kick-boarded to the ladder. Nothing was too difficult.

As a final treat Lesleigh got me to put on a pair of flippers, and I flew down the pool with my kickboard extended. I was instantly in love. This was great fun! I would have continued, but there was a log-jam in the lane and there didn't seem to be much point in trying.

I had decided that I was going to ask Lesleigh about speeding up the pace a bit and getting into some real swimming. However Lesleigh was as in tune with my readiness as ever. We've arranged to have another lesson on Saturday when the pool is a little quieter. We're actually going to start some real swimming - with arm movements and everything (she says, with eyes wide open). I'm so ridiculously excited. Perhaps I really will be swimming with the Women's Multis squad on the 21st. It may be a bit much to expect myself to swim a whole length, but if I work really hard perhaps it will be possible. It's unlikely we'll be in the pool that first week anyway.

I was replying to a meme my sister sent me last night. One of the questions was "what is your biggest fear"? Once it would have been going underwater. I had to think really hard, but I couldn't come up with anything that I was truly afraid of. Um, yay!

After that golden lesson everything seemed good. I walked back to town against the strongest galeforce winds I can remember with a pair of flippers in my hands. I was blown sideways at every step. I laughed myself stupid the whole way. It was ridiculous fun. Some days life is perfect in the oddest ways.

I Don't Want to be a Passenger in My Own Life

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt was the above quote by writer, poet and naturalist Diane Ackerman. It immediately struck me as a truism. Who really wants to be a passenger in their own life? However I'm sure a large number of people are. I saw my parents get carried along on a tide of passivity for many years until the purchase of their house by their local council provoked them into action. Up to that point they didn't do things, things happened to them. Avoiding decisions was in itself a kind of decision, with its own consequences.

It's accurate for me to say that I don't want to be a passenger in my life. I've always wanted to be in control. However there's control for clutching, fearful reasons, and there's the kind of control that is assertive and positive, and takes you to the kind of place you want to go. For a long time I acted out of a need to protect myself. I'm taking larger risks now. Freedom is a good thing, and trying to predict every eventuality doesn't lend itself to freedom that easily. The proverbial happens sometimes. Deal with it!

I'm grateful for this week's Sunday Scribblings post because it led me to Diane Ackerman. I started out thinking about the prompt by trying to find out a little more about the writer.

So what do I know about Diane Ackerman? I know she was born in Illinois. She has an MFA and a PhD from Cornell. In her non-fiction she explores neuroscience and the poetry of the brain. She describes the natural history of her garden. She writes about play, creativity and transcendance. She also writes about endangered animals. However this is only part of what I know about Diane Ackerman. I find it difficult to write about what I know here, because my reactions to her writing are centred in my gut and difficult to put on paper (or iBook screen). My reactions are based on things I know instinctively and not borne of the rational mind. Diane Ackerman writes about nature with the same relish and juiciness that I admire in the writing of Barbara Kingsolver. This is a woman who loves. This is the kind of woman who is wise enough to describe herself as an "earth ecstatic".

When I read:

Look at your feet. You are standing in the sky. When we think of the sky, we tend to look up, but the sky actually begins at the earth...

I am reminded that all things are connected, that the binary distinctions we make between things (in/out/up/down/good/bad/real/unreal) are arbitrary at best. The sky is not separate from the earth. My body is not separate from the earth either, nor is it separate from that of my husband, my neighbour, my cousin. We are all of the same matter - the same floating particles combine to create us all.

When I read:

If a mind is just a few pounds of blood, urea and electricity, how does it manage to contemplate itself, worry about its soul, do time and motion studies, admire the shy hooves of a goat, know that it will die, enjoy all the grand and lesser mayhems of the heart?"

I am reminded of the time, as a nervous forteen year old, that I pondered the nature of existence right into my first panic attack. I could not fathom how the ethereal mind, thought, the soul, could possibly be connected to the physical brain, particularly mine with its acqeductal failings and surgical corrections. Surely we must be more than just our flesh, but how is the flesh and how is the mind/spirit? Where does one start and one begin? These are questions that still puzzle me. Binaries again fail to compute.

I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.

Self-explanatory - I want a rich and broad life - not a life lived on the narrow line.
And finally:

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies within.

The world or this life. Both have their peaks and their chasms, their deep oceans and gentle streams. I can't explain either, but I want to continue exploring both, and to mine their secrets from their deepest seams.

To end - a Diane Ackerman poem. Again, the writer has said it all for me. This is my mantra made into the ink flowing from another woman's pen.


School Prayer

In the name of the daybreak
and the eyelids of morning
and the wayfaring moon
and the night when it departs,

I swear I will not dishonor
my soul with hatred,
but offer myself humbly
as a guardian of nature,
as a healer of misery,
as a messenger of wonder,
as an architect of peace.

In the name of the sun and its mirrors
and the day that embraces it
and the cloud veils drawn over it
and the uttermost night
and the male and the female
and the plants bursting with seed
and the crowning seasons
of the firefly and the apple,

I will honor all life
—wherever and in whatever form
it may dwell—on Earth my home,
and in the mansions of the stars.

Poem from I Praise My Destroyer. Vintage Books.

A Former Jafa in Auckland

On Thursday Hamish and I drove to Auckland for his mother Ruth's 60th birthday. The little halterneck dress went with us. The drive up the island, normally a pleasure, turned into a series of torrential downpours. There was snow on the Desert Road (although we always drive through National Park, so we weren't affected), in November!

However in the end we made it to Papatoetoe, to Nick and Damon's bungalow. Cue the start of a weekend of decadence. Random thoughts as follows:

• Bubbly, white wine, red wine, bubbly, white wine, red wine, bubbly, white wine, red wine, vodka... STOP!!!
  
• If I have to eat another cafe chicken burger/chicken focaccia sandwich with mayo I'm going to turn into a chicken and be served up at KFC.
• Auckland has sold its soul to the shopping and car Gods. I no longer know my way around the Auckland arterials, and I am sooooo keen for it to stay that way.
• Mt Eden v Carlaw Park v the Waterfront = WHO CARES - I just don't want to pay for it!
• Sometimes you can go back - but there's nothing there and you're not upset by that fact.
• Sometimes people can resent you for being successful.
• Sometimes people you know are very successful and you love them even more for that fact.
• Sometimes people you love make choices you disagree with, and you smile and make approving noises because that's the 'right' thing to do.
• Getting up after a night of hard drinking to spend the morning at the gym WILL make you feel better. Lying in bed thinking you should be at the pool then not actually getting there WON'T.
• It might be warm and sunny and perfect running conditions, but that does not mean you should run, and your physio WILL know.
  
• Catching up with friends, even if it means driving from one end of a congested city to the other IS worth it. Really!
• Spa pools are pretty damn fantastic at 3am.
• Nick and Damon's bathroom is the nicest I will ever shower in, and huge kudos to them for that.
• Sometimes you can open the door of a friend's house and fall in love with a Chihuahua. Louie we love you ...
• Sometimes Cerocing to Elvis Presley at your mother-in-law's party just makes sense (nearly eight years since the last dance, and yes, we did suck).
• Sometimes you can walk into a Trade Aid store and find the perfect necklace for $20.
  

Thanks to Nick and Damon for Thursday night, and David E and Sophie for Friday and Saturday nights. Thanks Deb for meeting up at Diablo, and to Nicole for a great lunch and Chai at Lagos (anyone want to buy a cafe?).

And the debut of the little halterneck dress? Lots of flattering comments - only one dirty middle-aged man oogling the cleavage. All in all a success.

Diary of a Recovering Runner

This is installment number one in the ongoing diary of a broken and in recovery runner. I've been off the pavement for a week now and, dare I say it, the knee is looking good.

I saw Helen on Friday for a good telling off, some ultrasound and a little tape. I then followed that up on Saturday with two RPMs and a Body Balance and spent a few hours standing around in high heeled boots that night. Even worse, I ended up tramping around the Sanctuary on Sunday, so by rights my knee should have been shattered.

On Monday night, after a morning upper body weights session, I messed around in the pool again and discovered that it was possible to launch myself off in the middle of the pool and not sink. In fact, I even managed to kick a little and imagine that I was almost swimming. I just needed to add the arm movements and I would have been away.

However my newfound optimism was fading a little by Tuesday night. After a go-nowhere-in-particular session with Lesleigh I began to feel like this swimming thing was taking too long, I began to obsess about losing my fitness again, and I felt the nasty drifting feeling that always hits me when I don't have a goal to work towards. It may have been my body still coming down off the thyroid high, but I was thoroughly over myself.

So here's the new goal. Stop worrying about achieving the goal and simply enjoy being.

Thankfully my session with Helen today went well. More ultrasound, more tape, and distinct surprise that I made it up and down ten flights of stairs after yesterday's fire drill with no pain. Stupid Pip would be wanting to try running again as soon as possible. The Pip who actually listens to her physio and friends knows that she needs to get her biomechanics sorted out and stop injuring herself. God - even the RPM instructor told me off this morning for going too hard.

So after our Auckland holiday this weekend I'll be booking a session with John Sloane, the Wellington podiatrist famed for fixing broken runners. I'm NOT to run again until then.

I want to get to the gym while I'm in Auckland. It would have been so much easier to have just been able to pull on a pair of running tights and head out the door, but it won't be that much more of an effort to get to Victoria Street instead. I need to find a pool in town with a shallow end to it as well, as I'm assuming Newmarket will be deep at both, given that it's olympic.

The little dress is hanging in the closet, and there's a new little pair of gold sandals in a box on the bed to go with it. My hair has been slashed back into a cute little bob, and I'm as ready for Auckland as I'm ever going to be...

Traditions

I’ve been thinking a lot about traditions this week, and specifically about the traditions we recognise here in New Zealand that are not our own, or that in reality have little significance for us.

Guy Fawkes is one of those celebrations. I guess that, as someone of English ancestry, I should feel some affiliation with an event that marks an unsuccessful attempt to blow up parliament. However I know little about the history behind it, and nor do I really care. It does bother me that I have to lock my cats up at night for a week to save them being scared out of their fur coats by some moron with a sky rocket.

It also bothers me that we are increasingly celebrating Halloween here. The Pagan origins seem pagan enough but the modern version just seems like a marketing ploy, another chance to sell product. I never remember to have anything at home to treat with, and even if I did remember it was Halloween I doubt I’d buy anything anyway. Last year I sat in the lounge and tried not to listen out for the door.

There are other celebrations that have little meaning for me, but which do have significance for people I know, and I’m happy enough to join in their own rituals. One of our friends is married to an American woman who loves to entertain. Every year they fill their entire house with trestle tables. Each guest brings a plate, and everyone marks Thanksgiving with this generous woman.

Some traditions we mark because they coincide with other important dates in our lives, and because it’s fun to do so. Hamish’s birthday falls on the Mexican Day of the Dead, so for the last two years we have had dinner at Flying Burrito Brothers. This year, thanks to an inspired suggestion from Leonie, we attended wearing sombreros and ponchos. It’s probably the Mexican equivalent of turning up in flax skirts with plastic Tikis around our necks, but no one seemed to take any offence.

Likewise we celebrate Valentines Day only because it’s also our wedding anniversary. We didn’t chose that day because it was Valentines, but because it fell nicely between the anniversaries of a number of people who were close to us.

I’m getting to an age where I want to claim my own traditions. Christmas holds no real meaning for me and I resent the overt commercialism involved. However Summer Solstice, and the celebration of the Earth it implies, is something I value and provides me with an opportunity to join in with the festivities on my own terms.

As we were watching the fireworks display in the harbour last night I commented that it was sad we don’t feel enough pride in ourselves as a nation to do something similar on Waitangi Day. Since being in Wellington we’ve spent every Waitangi Day in the Hataitai Velodrome listening to good roots reggae. The multicultural audience dances in the sun and celebrates both Bob Marley’s birthday and our shared culture.

Over time this country will develop its own celebrations. I can see a strong sense of culture in members of my generation, and in many of those who are younger. The increased tendency to recognise Matariki is only one indication of our maturity as a nation.

Ouch

Today has consisted of a series of ouch moments. The day started with my weekly session with Duck. We're still focusing on my upper body in the lead-up to Ruth's 60th birthday and the debut of the little halterneck dress. As I've said before, I asked for pain, and I received it.

We were particularly brutal to my shoulders today. After eight sets of shoulder weights I was definitely feeling the burn. The final insult to my poor deltoids, however, was the sets of hovers on the bosu ball. For once it wasn't my abs giving in - it was my arms refusing to hold me upright.

A perfect day and over-optimism led to me sneaking out of work at 11.30 for a scheduled one-hour run. I wanted to avoid the interruption of too many traffic lights, so headed back up Molesworth, Tinakori and Thorndon Quay. I turned around at Spotlight as a Northerly hit me in the face.

I was running quite slowly, but feeling relaxed and my breathing was calm. It appears that the 15 minute "I want to stop" moment has morphed into the 20 minute "I want to stop" moment. It wasn't that I was feeling particularly bad, just that my mind was telling me that this was all too much effort.

I distracted myself to the 30 minute point, and it all started getting easier after that. Ironically, as I approached the 40 minute mark, I was starting to feel really good. I was lulled into a false sense of security.

I stopped by the railway station to cross over onto the waterfront, and had to wait a couple of minutes for the lights. As I went to run off my knee just absolutely gave in on me. I felt a huge pain, and I found myself unable to put any pressure on it. I walked to the footpath, stopped for a second, then tried to run on. I quickly realised that this time I was not going to be able to run through the pain. I finally saw sense and quit before I did myself any further damage.

Cursing I hobbled back to Capital Sports, grabbed an instant icepack, and iced my knee while making an appointment to see my physio tomorrow. Then I hobbled back to the gym, moaned to Gary and the others on reception for a little bit, showered and hobbled back to work.

A couple of hours later I was being put through the third 'ouch' inducing session for the day - a one hour sports massage with Dale. My back felt fine, but my right quad is REALLY tight, and both gluts were pretty locked up as well.

To Dale's credit I am walking on this knee okay at the moment, and feeling only a little pain. At its worst after some of my previous runs I would not have been able to bend it. However I realise that Foxton is pretty much a no goer. I'd cry bitter tears of frustration, but there's not really much point, is there?!

Instead I'm going to get to the pool for a swim tomorrow before work, and get out Lola for a ride on Saturday. I guess it'll be swimming and cycling probably until Christmas. My life as an athlete is not over - it's only parts of it that are going to be curtailed.

On the plus side, it's a gorgeous evening and there's Margharitas to be drunk. Happy birthday Yetimon!!

Karori Sanctuary #1

Deep in the valley the
North Westerlies are waging
a campaign of mass destruction.
Up and down its slopes young saplings
are rippling in unison like a
Len Lye installation.

We are huddled under an
adolescent Beech tree.
As it sways we feel the earth
creaking and groaning beneath us,
roots tearing at the fabric of Papa’s soil,
fighting to turn tendrils to the sky.

The kinetic force of the weather
exerts its pressure on
all living form. We are
slapped into awareness of the
world, shoved sideways
by gusts swept in by the wave
of a Taniwha’s tail,
swept away by the rage of
Rangi’s sky-borne tears.

We are small and we can
try to hide, shelter in our
drafty villas, shying away from
fingers poking through
cracks in floorboards and
under sash window frames.
We can turn coward but
how better to raise fists at
Rangi, plant feet into Papa’s
rain-slick side.

We are part wild.
We are Karaka berries.
We are lurking eels.
Rain falls on us and
on flax leaves alike.
We shake feathers and
turn faces to the hanging
sky. We smirk
at the wind.

Back on the pavement again

After two and a half weeks of forced, grudging rest, I've hit the pavement twice this week for short test-the-knee runs. The first was a half-hour route up Molesworth, down Tinakori, along Thorndon Quay to the waterfront, and then along the waterfront a short way back to the gym. Tonight I ran with the new, enlarged Jog Squad (there's a HUGE number of us now). I ran near the front of the front pack, up Taranaki Street, along Wallace Ave, down Adelaide Rd, around the Basin, up Elllis Street, along Austin, then back down Majoribanks and Courtney Place to the gym.

I wouldn't say that either run was at top pace, and I can definitely tell I haven't run for two and a half weeks, but I'm feeling pretty good. I've showered and am icing my knee as I speak. Hopefully I'll fit in an hour run tomorrow night before dinner at Flying Burrito Brothers for Hamish's birthday, and then 80 minutes on Saturday. I'm still debating where I'll run on Saturday. I think the route I had planned to do is closer to 90 minutes, but I may be able to shorten it.

Of course, this is assuming the knee holds up. God I hate being a runner with knee problems. What a cliche!

Of course there's always swimming, and with my body suddenly deciding that, not only can it float, but its natural state is that of flotation, that's looking more and more possible all the time. I didn't want to get out of the pool at the end of my session with Lesleigh. I could have kept messing around with a kickboard forever.

And there's always Lola, sitting in the spare room waiting for me to pull her out and ride her. There's another cycle training squad starting in January for a ride in Martinborough and another in Taranaki. It would fill a gap nicely between New Years and the next Jog Squad starting up in February.

Bedtime Stories

This week's Sunday Scribblings theme is Bedtime Stories.

My father will tell you that when I was growing up I would refuse to go to sleep until he had read through a whole book of nursery rhymes. I remember that book - it was huge. My parents always read to me, and it's something I'm really grateful for. There were the usual fairy stories, and there were large numbers of Golden Books. Apparently I was able to remember the stories long before I could read them, and would complain if Dad tried to change the storyline.

I remember that I refused to let Dad leave when he finished reading. There must have been many a night when he lay cramped and cold at the end of the bed with only a thin woollen blanket for comfort, waiting impatiently for me to sleep. I could never work out why he wasn't there the next morning.

When I got a little older we developed a ritual where he would slowly creep down the hallway and slowly close the door at the end, waving to me the whole way. When he began working at a reception lounge he would come in to check on me at 3am in the morning. I would sit up and chat with him, but I would never remember having done so.

My childhood was full of books. I loved The Very Hungry Caterpillar because of the colours and the rhythm of the tale. I loved Winnie the Pooh - because my Nana would sing Pooh songs to me when I stayed overnight there. I remember the momentous day when my Dad took me to the library and told me that I was old enough to choose books from the shelves, rather than the boxes of picture books. I even remember the first book I chose. It had a pink cover and was about a witch's cat.

As I grew older I graduated to Trixie Beldons and books about little girls with horses. Our school teacher would read us Roald Dahl or the Hardy Boys, one chapter at a time. The only book I can ever remember disliking was The Wind in the Willows. It just seemed too silly. Toad was obnoxious, and I have never read the whole thing.

My books are gone. All those Golden Books were taken to a second hand store when my parents moved to Taranaki. The Trixie Beldons were kept, but every time I think of a book that is no longer with me I feel a little grief.

Now I buy books for my nieces. I only hope that they leave their Nintendo machines, DVDs and computers long enough to read them.

Inspiration. You have been warned...

So I spoke at the Jog Squad/Women's Multis info session today. It's hard not to sound evangelistic about something that's changed my life so radically, but I did my best to control the enthusiasm. It was a miracle that I was there at all. I got soaked in the Sanctuary this morning with little result, got home, showered, got warm and was not in the mood to go out into gale Northwesterlies and pouring rain.

With Duck on one shoulder and Lesleigh on the other I made it to the pool before 6. Things didn't exactly go smoothly. I still can't work out how to breathe using the kickboard without ended up gasping for air, and the earplugs just refused to feel comfortable. There were a couple of girls messing around with the aquajogging toys and generally getting in the way, and I seemed to be having my usual panic-after-a-breakthrough pool session.

I could have just given in and taken it easy on myself, but I perservered and spent quite a bit of time holding onto the side of the pool practising my breathing. Every time I stick my head under the water it gets easier. Time and time again I tried relaxing while resting my hands on the side of the pool and trying to float. At first, as with previous attempts, I sank like the proverbial stone. Float, damn it!

Finally, I drew break, dunked my head, lifted my torso, relaxed my shoulders, drew my legs in slightly and held myself still. And guess what? I floated.

Let me say that again... I floated!

At the grand age of 33 and a half I floated for the first time ever. I am the starfish queen. Everybody now together... do the Pip celebration dance. Wohoo! Women's Multis starts on 21 November. I WILL be swimming with the squad!

In other momentous news... as I stepped from the shower my greenstone necklace came unclasped, fell to the ground and broke in half. For a few minutes I felt absolutely bereft. However it doesn't seem to me to be a coincidence that I've lost my pendant just as I've internalised the strength and determination I always felt it represented to me. I want more than ever to have the mako tattooed on my shoulder now, so that I always remember what I am carrying inside me. I guess it broke because I didn't need it any more.

Cure for a Hangover

A housewarming party at Julia's with the girls from work turned a little debaucherous last night and I found myself in the back of a cab at around 12.30am having drunk over a bottle of red wine. A chilli and cheese pie soon followed.

I woke at 7.30am with the words "Oh my God" echoing through my head. A litre of water and an apple later and I was feeling no better. I dozed while listening to National Radio until the 9.00am news, then started crawling around the house in preparation for RPM.

I'm keeping off my knee until Monday and am a little more hopeful it will be ok. I was almost tempted to go for a short run today, but thought better of it and stuck to the RPM plan. I was still horrifically hung over, but desperate to sweat out a few toxins.

I got to the gym just after 10am and did 20 minutes on a crosstrainer before grabbing an RPM bike. At first nothing wanted to work. My body felt sluggish - the remains of last night's overindulgence sloshing around in my veins. Every time I tried to ease off something in my head said that there was no point being there if I was going to waste my time. In short, I ignored my headache and queasiness, turned up the dial and went hard. Very hard. Every time I thought I was gong easy on myself I cranked up the dial. This was penance.

I took a quick break, grabbed a protein shake, then it was into Body Balance. Sarah was there, as was an equally hung over Louise. Ingrid and several of the jog squadders were also in attendance.

Body Balance went well. I felt strong, if not completely supple. Some of the back stretches made me feel more than a little ill. My balance has, however, improved hugely, although my right glut still aches. My Warrior poses felt firm and my knee held up well. We did a release that I was not familiar with, but I really enjoyed the Tai Chi. I left the class feeling a little cleansed, if still slightly hung over. I also left feeling grateful for the lovely women who were at the class who I count as my friends.

Duck has asked me to organise the Jog Squad team for the Heartbeat Challenge. I'm a bit nervous, but it should be fun. I am truly a gym junkie...

No swimming though. Louise and I checked out Zigarat for second hand clothes instead. I'll go tomorrow after the Sanctuary.

Water ran through it

I grew up in Henderson Valley beside the Opanuku Stream. When my parents moved there they were told the house was located in a fifty-year flood zone. The first flood arrived when I was only a few years old. The house was raised onto poles and my parents kept on with life. Over the years the floods grew steadily more frequent and ever more deep. They began to sweep down the valley in a wall of water. My neighbour once saw a flash flood rushing towards her as she stood in her garden. One day I narrowly missed being beside the streambank when a wall of water came crashing down.

Eventually the council was forced to admit that subdivision on the ridgeline had increased runoff and worsened the problem. The council bought the family home and after over 30 years my parents packed up and moved to Taranaki. My mother had never lived anywhere other than West Auckland before, but had fallen in love with the mountain.

Now there is only bare land where my house once stood. Oddly I don't feel sad at its loss.

Opanuku Flow
The flood waters came
Ever more frequently and
Ever higher until the counsel
Called time on the house
In the valley where my
Parents lived frozen in
Time and place.
Two cars, a swimming pool
Several fences and
The odd sheep claimed
Over 30 years.
One mother in wet
Cotton nightgown rescued by
Chubby middle-aged fireman in
Jockeys underwear making
Primetime news.

So my parents chose a
Mountain as their new
Place on which to stand and
Moved to Taranaki.
The house stood empty except for
Clandestine visits
Using unsurrendered keys,
Souveniring lost artefacts
From empty rooms.
We got used to being able to
Return at will, grew complacent
That home would always
Be there.

One evening
We received a phonecall
From old neighbours.
The house was on a truck and
Was being removed in the
Morning.

We mourned from a distance
And when I returned there
Was only dirt where once
There were walls and doors.
I found old jars of preserves
Buried in the clay, bits
Of my first bicycle
Strewn in the grass.
Half ripe Christmas plums
Still clung to the trees my
Grandfather had planted.

It seemed wrong to abandon
These small fragments of
Memory so
We scooped hard fruit into
Supermarket shopping bags,
Dug jars from the earth and
Collected blue sections of
Bike frame.
I grew dizzy looking at
The empty space where
Home had once been.

Now home is a villa on a
Ridge looking out at the mountains.
Horses graze on unmown grass
In empty spaces
While record of human occupation
Is covered by bush.
The water rises and
Steals the final remnants of
Childhood memory.

My Inspiration

Today is Thursday, which must mean poetry. As of 1.00pm today I hadn't written anything at all, but was driven by a desire to do something other than work, train or socialise. I haven't been giving my creative self enough attention lately.

Thankfully this week's prompt involved me writing from a place where I gain my inspiration. I'm embarrassed to say (especially when I know people from work read this) that most of my writing takes place at my desk. So I decided to choose something I could see from my desk to write about. I looked out of the window and spotted the wind turbine in the distance, spinning away in the seasonal wind.

While slightly OT, my other inspiration at the moment is my yeti husband. Hamish snuck his way into this poem without asking for permission. I was surprised to find him there, but decided to let him stay.

In the end I did get to see him before he got on the ferry, but only because he called asking me to come and pick our car up from the terminal. The storms we have been experiencing all year resulted in 9 metre swells and a 10 and a half hour journey (the Strait crossing normally takes around 3 hours) for some unfortunate passengers a couple of days ago, and Hamish is by now about to leave Wellington harbour on the very same ship.

Me, I'm sitting here with a weekend alone, an array of group classes at Les Mills, an IBook and 5 girly DVDs stretching out in front of me.

Afternoon at the Office
The wind turbine is
Facing North West today,
Its eggshell-coloured form
Barely visible against
Low cloud racing across
The sky.

I am thinking about you and
Your leaving and not about
The Word document opened
In front of me. I keep you
Minimised at the bottom of my
Screen to entertain me.

The paper debris of too many
Projects lies windblown, scattered
By a breeze risen from
These turbulent thoughts.

Tonight you sail,
Shake hands with the gales,
Make a pact for safe passage.
You don’t know how far
You will go or when you will
Return and a quirk of timing
Means I will not see you
Before you leave.

The turbine will act as
My scout. I will breath
Warm whispers in its direction
Until it turns South to
Face your return.

My sentry can stand and
Keep watch until you
Are safe in harbour and
On your way back
To me.

Like a Fish

I'm slowly plugging away at the swimming thing. I'm making small steps, but every little bit of progress leaves me so ridiculously proud of myself. A few weeks ago I turned up for my first lesson quivering with fear. It took three lessons to get my ears under the water. Lesleigh dropped my lessons down to 20 minutes, because I was nearly dying of cold by the end of 30. I spent one lesson holding onto the side of the pool kicking and getting my ears under. I followed that up with another session on my own, messing around with feeling comfortable under the water.

On Thursday the kickboard, the flotation device I had been dreading, arrived in my life. We marked out the length of the pool I could swim to without going out of my depth - a pitifully small distance. Then, with bravery born from a determination not to quit, I launched myself, face in the water, towards the end of the pool. I emerged at the other end grinning and laughing like a kid. A small boy bobbed and dived around me - just like a fish.

I was torn today between needing to practice before my lesson tomorrow and wanting to have a day at home with Hamish. The perfect compromise seemed to be a trip to the pool together, with a spa as the reward at the end. I did my obligatory couple of lengths of aqua jogging, then donned my lilac cap, pink goggles and ear plugs, grabbed the kick board and off I went. I can't say kickboarding completely gelled with me today. Getting my head deep enough to lift my torso was a challenge, and breathing often enough to avoid ending up gasping somehow eluded me. However I happily did my little laps up and down my 'safe' length of the pool for some time.

I was aware that I needed to be seen to have made progress, so I turned around, summonsed up all my courage, and kick-boarded my way to the ladder half-way down the pool. Well over my head I hugged the wall, and snatched at the ladder railing when I finally got there. I paused briefly, then, without giving myself time to think, launched myself off with one arm and kicked for home. The grin on my face at the other end nearly split my face...

A little more time kicking and immersing my head while holding onto the side of the pool, and I felt justified in calling it quits. A little while ago I wrote about longing for the peace that I imagined I would feel if I could suspend myself under water. Today I held my head under, held my breath, and there it was. Everything was quiet and calm. It was beautiful. How could I have lived a whole life without this?

Hamish had managed 10 lengths of the pool before stopping - a bit comedown from his former 1km distance, but a good start given his complete lack of physical activity over the last few years. We retreated to the spa, which we shared for a time with two big young German guys before they left and we had the space to ourselves.

I'm glad we've gotten to the 10 year point in our relationship on such a high. Things are really good with us right now, and with life in general. Now, all I need is for this knee to hold up for long enough to get me through the half marthon in November. I think if I can fend Duck off long enough to get away with not running this week I should be ok.

If I finish this half marathon I'm getting the Mako design on my greenstone tattooed onto my shoulderblade. By then I will have earned a permanent declaration of strength and determination. There, I've said it, and unlike my post declaring my intention to give up alcohol for a month, this one is something I'll actually go through with.

Cat Burglar

It was a soggy day in the Sanctuary today, and I was definitely living in my head. My mental processes were ticking overtime, whether to block out the general discomfit, to resolve some issues, or just simply to allow myself some pleasurable distraction, I'm not sure.

Despite it being a quick visit it was productive. Over the course of three hours I identified that one of our females is still incubating her eggs, another has just laid her second egg, and a third nest is still ready and waiting for laying to begin. I was about to sit down to start some feeder observations when I looked down at my pink hands, so cold they could barely hold the pen. My notebook was so damp I couldn't really write in it anyway, and the water had seeped through my polyprop leggings. I had one of those 'what the heck am I doing' epiphanies and hightailed it back to the car.

A hot shower, some curried kumara soup, and time on the sofa with a newpaper and my IBook seemed in order. The rain has continued steadily all afternoon, and the temperature guage in the hallway was sitting on 12.5 until the central heating kicked in 45 minutes ago. Someone forgot to tell the weather that it's not winter any more.

Tiss has provided the day's entertainment. She's developed a fascination with my clothing. Last night it was my expensive Elle McPherson bra. At 5am she was running around our bedroom with something, and this morning I discovered my good Asics running tights half-dragged into the little space under the climbing post. All day she has been bringing in a succession of clothing. I've rescued my favourite Pagani top, my good Orca running singlet and a series of other choice items. I have to hand it to her, she has good taste.

Right now Tiss is sitting in front of the TV watching the sports news. It appears our little moggie is a fan of rugby. The Burmese are far too high class for that kind of carry-on.

This was supposed to be a rest weekend, but Friday night's Jam class and the Attack class I treated myself to yesterday put paid to that. Hamish and I have been together for around 10 years, give or take a few weeks. We usually celebrate our 'anniversary' every Labour Weekend. There's a bottle of bubbly chilling in the fridge, but really this celebration has been pretty low-key. If the weather stays the way it does I hope to celebrate by spending most of tomorrow in bed. It's Hamish's turn to cook breakfast. I might have to drag him down to the pool in the afternoon though, or I'll get in trouble with Lesleigh. Mmmm.... spa!

He swears he does read this, so I guess I'll take the opportunity to thank the Yeti for 10 great years. He put up with a lot over thanks to Addisons lurking around in the background. He hung in there through the bout of depression and the general health issues that kicked in not long after we were married, and didn't complain (that much). I'm really glad to have him in my life, and I'm glad that I'm in a place right now where I can give back some of that love. Here's to the bottle of bubbly in the fridge and weekends in bed!

Good

I am Good 1294-0987-098. My mother was a breeder class B, my father a producer class E. I am 35 years of age. I am on official record as being 90% gene potentiality recognised.

My sister was born two years after my entry into public manifest. Her post-birth scan detected a rare and statistically improbable genetic defect, small, but enough to delist our parents from the register of public Good. My parents were retired to the outfields. My sister was classified as a wombhost class D - suitable for carriage of the likely lower classes of workers, no higher.

I got lucky. My sister's defect did not lead to my being retired. My breeder status was retained, although dropped to a lower level. At the age of 19 my first girl was born, all fingers and toes, perfect in my heart, official records notwithstanding. It was three years before the birth of my son, leading to a reforecast of my potentiality, but no drop in standard. My position in my Patron's household remained intact. Since then I have given my patron further Goods every other year, raising my status again and ensuring favourable standing for my female offspring.

When I am not in confinement I enjoy walking the boundaries of my Patron's precinct. Various labourer Goods defer to me as I pass. Outside the fence I can sometimes glimpse those Goods whose predispositions have led to assignments in roles involving pressed shirts, ties or high heels. I wonder how it would be to sit behind a desk for ten hours per day, and whether the professional Goods have more space for thought than I, whose inheritance was the ability to grow life within me.

So little space for anything other than my main self in this world where we are all defined according to what we can best contribute to the collective. No room to explore that small part of me that could have been a painter, a poet or explorer. Society decided that my place in life was to provide offspring for the ruler Good, and that is what I will continue to do.

However there is nothing against the Good in my being a dreamer, and so that small part of me is allowed to continue. The sadness of this small freedom makes my life both bearable and bittersweet.

My son, Good 2003-5427-2032, stirs within me. I turn back to my quarters and prepare for his emergence.


More Sunday Scribblings here.

Running Chick Fan...

After flunking out of the half marathon last week I read Running Chick's post about running a qualifying time for the Boston Marathon and got a little weepy. This is one motivational runner. She set herself a goal, put an action plan in place, and then on the day totally nailed it.

Pip in a Pink Hat is in awe...

Analysing the Half Marathon

I have been trying to work out why I threw up at the 10km mark on Sunday. It’s possible I pushed myself too hard over the first 10km. I was going a little fast for the first 5km, but I think I slowed to a reasonable pace after that. There’s also the possibility that I drank too much water too fast, or that it was the gel shot. I drank one small cup of water at the 5km mark, and possibly around the same or slightly less from Jo’s drink bottle. As I said in my last post, I spent the next 5km obsessing over water.

When I got to the 10km mark I drank another small cup of water with a gel shot added, then another cup of water after that. Almost immediately I started feeling nauseous, spitting out bile. I threw up a couple of minutes later, and it was all water. So it is possible the gel shot or water triggered it. However I’d already had a couple of bilious burps running up the hill to the drink station, so it’s more likely the gel shot simply tipped me over the edge.

It’s also worth noting that I had a stomach full of pills. I ate an average-sized bowl of Hubbards Nice and Lite at 7am, and accompanied that with three 5mg Hydrocortisone pills, 2 Thyroxine tablets, .05 of Fludrocortisone and 15 mg of DHEA in two capsules. I would normally have only taken one Hydrocortisone pill, so that may have had something to do with it. I’m not sure how to get around that one, other than to get up earlier and eat more.

I’m not sure how serious a problem I had with overheating and dehydration. I was a little sunburned afterwards, but I was dressed a lot more lightly than some. One of the symptoms of Addisons is heat intolerance, although it’s never been a problem for me before now. However most of our training took place in freezing cold or mild temperatures, so I certainly wasn’t used to the conditions.

Ultimately I can make a few assumptions about what happened, but I won’t ever know for certain and will simply have to treat future long runs as an experiment. My plan of attack is as follows:

∑ Start running in the heat
∑ Buy a fuel belt and carry water and an electrolyte drink with me
∑ Wear a hat
∑ Drink even more water the day before and on the morning of the event
∑ Carry medication – pills and Solu Cortef

The last is the most crucial point to note. I would have kept running if it weren’t for the fact I didn’t have any medication on me. If I’d thrown up again I could have ended up in Addisonian Crisis and in serious trouble. If I have Solu Cortef with me at least I can inject myself with extra cortisol. I will also have to carry some clear instructions with me on what to do if I collapse. If I’m going to get into endurance sports I’m going to have to take my health seriously.

Note: Having talked to some of the jog squad girls on Wednesday night, I’m now REALLY glad I didn’t continue. I realise now that my memories of the actual course are very hazy. Jo says she’s never seen anyone drink as fast as I did when I took her water bottle off her. Even worse, some of the other women were apparently there when I was throwing up, and I don’t remember them at all. So I must have been more badly affected by the heat than I thought. I’m a little unnerved….

I’ve looked at the Foxton course and there’s around 7 opportunities to take on water. So I probably won’t carry water with me, but I will still take medication and something in writing to make it clear what needs to be done if I’m found unconscious. It’s unlikely to happen, but there’s no harm in being cautious and a lot of harm in being stupid.

Stopping Time, or Pip Scores a DNF

Time started and a few hundred stop watches clicked in as we stepped over the startline. The first 400 metres was a quick out-and-back to the end of the street. Time stopped again at the 1km mark - 5.08 minutes. Too fast...

Trying to settle into a stride. Sarah running with me - what on earth are the others doing out in front? Over a bridge. God it's hot. Off the main road, past paddocks, past cows. God it's so damn flat.

God it's hot.

Time ticks over again at 5km. 26 minutes. Holy heck - that really was too fast. Sarah's gone. There's the awaited for stitch. Nope - it's gone. Settle down. Water - I need water.

6km. Water - I need water. I need water. I need water. I wonder if that spectator's got water. There's Jo. I thought she was behind me. Jo's got water. Thank God.

Running with Jo. What part of this is supposed to be fun? This is hell. Very scenic hell, but it's so damn hot, so damn flat. I need water. Although this is a lovely road. Why's Jo not ahead of me? Jo's in hell as well. What the heck is that woman in front of us doing running in a long-sleeved polyprop. She stops. I suggest she run in her sports bra. She doesn't agree. Heck, I wouldn't have hesitated to strip off in her position. We leave her behind us.

7km, 8km... this is getting a little better. Slower now - mile eating pace. Still feeling awful. We leave behind a whippet thin veteran with a long scraggly beard and the tiniest little shorts. He's a marathon runner on his second lap and he's losing the plot mentally because the nozzle on his Camelbak has just broken. Did I mention it's hot?

9km. A hill! A marshall tells us there's water at the top. The road winds up in a series of tight corners. It's only 400m but it feels like eternity. 10km! Water!

The clock ticks on at 58 minutes. I yank a gel shot from my tights. Raspberry! I stop, empty it into a cup, down it. The gel shot has collected in a jelly at the bottom. I shudder, grab another cup. This doesn't feel right.

I wander to the side of the road, bend over, spit. This really doesn't feel right. I sit in the shade beside the marshall's 4WD. I vomit. Everywhere. The marshall looks at me. "I don't think you should go on".

The clock stops at 58 minutes. At 1 hour 15 I briefly consider starting again as some of the last of our team jog slowly past. I give in to the lack of medication and the serious possibility that I could end up a crisis case on the side of the road if I vomit again. I am given a ride back to the start line by the nice marshall and then two anxious St Johns ladies.

The clock stops for Speedy Karen at 1.47. She comes third in the open category on her first half marathon. The clock stops for Duck at around 1.53. She's got cramp, had to slow right down, and she's pissed off as well. Sarah's clock stops at 2.07. She was aiming for under two hours but got slammed by the sun and wind. Jo makes it over the finish in 2.11. That could have been me. The clock continues to stop for a series of my fellow running girls, and I cheer them all on. On the way home with Hamish I see the funny side of things.

This is NOT how it ends.

Oh well, at least I looked good...
Just ignore the first two (Pip's hair in a gale) photos...

Strangers

I was sitting here reading other posts to Poetry Thursday when I was suddenly gripped by an amazingly vivid flashback. I felt myself physically return to a time when I was filled with fear and anxiety, and I felt my legs stiffening and the vertigo starting to grip my head. I felt that way for only a second, and then I snapped out of it again, but it was enough to just briefly throw me for a six. I used to feel that way all the time. I feel so sad for that scared creature. I wish I could hug her and make her believe that everything will be ok, and that, in fact, things will end up being pretty fantastic in just a few years.

I said tonight that I was still getting to know the new me. I'm not so sure I recognise the old me either.

Thursday's Breaking News

This week's Poetry Thursday challenged us to seek inspiration from a newspaper or magazine. As I read this I looked up at the unread newspaper in front of me. The front-page headline screamed North Korea and nuclear tests. This poem followed immediately, without me even having to read any further.

Age of Uncertainty

For all my recycling,
My tree-planting
My volunteering,
Someone could still drop
The bomb tomorrow.
Birds don’t breed well
In a nuclear winter.

I could be quietly
Going about my business
And some president could
Get uptight about some dictator
And there could be some
Kind of retaliatory fire and
Suddenly we’d have WW3
And my Hihi might still not
Have fledged from their nests.

Nothing is certain and that
We will all live to an old age without
Someone deciding to
Destroy us all is no more certain
Than that we will wipe ourselves
Off the face of the planet.

Tell that to my breeding males
As they defend their territories from
Feathered invaders and my females
As they line their nests
With fern. I will sit with them
Rather than worry about
Newspaper headlines and
Broadcast updates.

Writing when I should be working

I’m sitting at my desk watching a guy abseiling down the side of the Axa Building. In a parallel world I think it would be fun to work as a high-rise window washer. A few months ago a seagull left a huge mess on the window right in front of my workmate’s desk. She was so repulsed she left the curtain down for weeks. When the window washer finally arrived she stuck a Post-It note on the glass to thank him. The stuff was so ingrained that he had to get out a scraper to attack it, but they gave each other a merry thumbs-up when he’d finished, and everyone cheered. Working in a public service job you sometimes have to take your amusement where you can get it …

I had my third swimming lesson last night, and things went a little awry at first. For a start a power surge had thrown out the heating, leaving the water a little cooler than I would have liked. I’d also had a big session with Duck that morning doing 14kmph sprints on the treadmill, followed by an upper-body and core workout, so I was extremely tired. The pool was busier than I was used to, with swim squads back in action, and I was all rugged up in ear plugs and goggles, so was feeling a bit uncomfortable. I got in the water to do my usual aqua jogging, and somehow I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t float, and I ended up clutching onto the side of the pool again in a panic.

Thankfully Lesleigh is very patient. After a little while getting familiar with the water again she got me to put on some flippers and got me to kick while holding on to the side of the pool. I put my face lower and lower in the water, until eventually the momentous occasion arrived and I put my ears under. Only my ears, not my entire head, but with water coming in as far as the ear plugs, even that was a big thing. I was seriously weirded out, but I managed to stay calm.

After 20 minutes we called it a day, as my teeth were chattering so hard I thought they might break and my whole body was shaking. The walk around the pool to the spa seemed to take forever, and it took a while for me to thaw out again. Thankfully I had the spa to myself for most of the time, so was able to stretch out and immerse myself.

The whole logistics of learning to swim are a little more complicated for me than I’d realised. For a start, I hadn’t thought about having to learn in a pool that was over my head for most of its length. Plus I’m so utterly unfamiliar with being in the water that I need to spend some time simply hanging out, getting used to having my head under and getting to the point where I feel comfortable. I need to stop freaking out every time my ears get near the wet stuff. I want to get to the point where, if I do go under unexpectedly, I don’t end up having a panic attack.

However it did occur to me last night that I can’t remember ever actually failing at anything I have set my mind to achieving. Nothing has ever been so hard for me that I haven’t managed it at the end, and sometimes I end up being quite good at it. I never thought of myself as an athlete-type until I started running, and now it’s a huge component of my identity. So I have to believe, as far as swimming goes, that I can do this.

I got up early this morning and ran a quick 30 minutes around the Bays, my last before the half-marathon on Sunday. I got the stitch again after 20 minutes. It could have been because I hadn’t waited long enough after eating breakfast. I had a little can of creamed rice, which was also heavier than my normal pre-run cereal. It could also have been dehydration – not drinking anything that morning. However I also wonder how much this cramp is simply a psychological, pre-race nerves thing.

I don’t know that I’m a taper kind of person. Although physically my body’s enjoying the chance to recover, mentally as soon as I stop running the high mileage something in my head loses confidence in my ability to do it. Seriously though, it was only a week and a half ago that I ran over 20km. My fitness can’t have dropped off that quickly …

In other things-that-have-been-bugging-me news, I’m still losing weight. Things are sagging damn it! I’m going to have to have a serious talk to my doctor about my Thyroxin medication. I’m now four kilos lighter than my previous goal weight. I’m not exactly skeletal yet, and I still have a healthy BMI, but it is a little concerning that I’m eating plenty and still dropping.

Thanks as well to everyone who responded to my txt last night after I left the pool. It was really encouraging to get such a great response. I’m lucky to have friends who are truly supportive of my attempts to deal with this swimming thing, and to get over the fear that I’ve held onto for so long.