I have recently spent more time reading blogs than writing them.
I have lost my inspiration. I can’t remember the reason why I started all this in the first place, or even if there was one.
I know, I get bored, often. If you are a regular reader you will know we have been here countless times before. I can’t help it. I genuinely think there is something wrong me. I am never satisfied, which is half the bloody reason why I ended up here in the first place.
It was a whim, a fantasy, something else to do. I wonder what will happen if I start a blog?
One thing that did happen, was a realisation that little changes. Looking back over the last year or so, it is clear that while I may be a little better at punctuation (debatable), I am largely still writing the same old stuff. I suppose this is normal, as it is real life after all, not a fairy tale and in real life, most days are much the same. Much to my disgust.
I wonder when I will finally grow up?
Probably never. It is not something I fancy.
I struggle to maintain the facade of an adult. This will never change I fear, as I am just a little girl at heart. I struggle to make grown up decisions, even about the smallest things. This year will likely be no different.
I am jumping on everyone else’s New Year’s resolutions as I can’t be bothered to make any of my own. I never stick to them anyway.
For women the New Year is always about weight loss, getting fit and achieving that ever illusive bikini body before the Summer. I have never had a bikini body, not a Bo Derek one anyway and I am not likely to get one this year either. If I could buy one I would, but to actually put in the effort required to get one, well that is quite simply not going to happen. I know myself. I have spent a long time with me, 46 years in fact and I know for sure that I don’t have the staying power.
However, I can easily be persuaded to try most things. Another thing that I should really take in to consideration this year. It really is quite ridiculous how easily I can be talked in to something. Many of the scrapes, I narrowly avoided in 2018, came about because I kept saying yes instead of no.
I convinced myself that any adventure is better than no adventure, but this is not always the case. It did however, teach me the difference between exciting and downright dangerous!
I say kind of, because I still can’t say NO! to anything and this inability to say, NO! lead to me signing up to do the park run yesterday. For those of you who know nothing about anything outdoorsy, like me, this is a 5km run/walk/jog or crawl (in my case), hosted by volunteers in local parks up and down the country. It is a massive thing by all accounts and it is for just about anyone and everyone. Quite literally.
As usual, everything with me seems like a good idea at the time with the added bonus that in theory it would help to shift the tub of Quality Street or three that I consumed over the festive period, but what I failed to remember is that I don’t do any exercise, therefore there was every chance this could kill me.
Yesterday I set my alarm early and it’s a good bloody job I did, because I had also failed to realise that in order to go running, you need a pair of running shoes! Yes, yes, I know! I’m an idiot.
I had clearly not thought this one through. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind that you can’t go running in jeans, 4 ins heels and a leather jacket, you need gear, something proper to wear. Lycra!! Or at the very least a track-suit. A pair of leggings? Anything marginally more practical than jeans really.
As I sit on the edge of my bed, at too fucking early o’clock, in my extremely unflattering vest and shorts ensemble, looking at myself in the ginormous mirror opposite (every time I look in this mirror, the one that is directly opposite my bed, I wonder why I did this to myself), I am imagining myself in Lycra, it is not a pretty image! Does anyone look good in Lycra? Does anyone over the age of 35 even wear Lycra?
Luckily for me I have a teenage daughter, sadly she is a two sizes smaller than me but we do share the same tiny feet. Cobbling an outfit together and trying to avoid every mirror in the house on the way out, I went for it. A hat on my unwashed hair, no make-up, green trainers and blue leggings, with an over-sized grey jumper I probably looked like I had stepped out of a dustbin, but really who was going to notice?
Luckily out of the hundreds of people who seem to enjoy running at god knows what unearthly hour it was on a Saturday morning (who knew there would so many people), no-one paid any attention to me, or my complete lack of style and as we came breathlessly towards the finish line, last of course (well we did walk most of it), nearly everyone including the marshalls had buggered off home.
We congratulated ourselves and were very relieved to have earned a sit down in the cafe, you would think we had climbed K2.
In the cafe I got chatting to a guy who comes every week and has been coming since it all started, apparently. He shared a few tips about not over doing it, to begin with at least. I wonder how he knew I was a novice? It couldn’t have been my stylish running gear surely? “Build up slowly” he said. I assured him that he was in no danger of me overdoing it. I am more couch to armchair, than couch to 5K. “Well I hope to see you next week,” he said as he left with his freshly brewed, revoltingly smelly, herbal tea.
God! I hope I don’t have to become too healthy! I am NOT giving up Vodka.
This new borrowed endeavour of mine has got me dreaming about one thing though… the possibility of running in to (or more likely after), my future husband? 😉
Time to get a pair of glass trainers, just in case!