One of the interesting things I have discovered about my newly refreshed love of running, is that the pace I go is often dictated by the music playing. If the music is up-tempo then my pace quickens. If the song is a slow one then inevitably I find myself slowing down with it.

Tomorrow I have a date. Not with my husband. Being the sweet man he is though, he has given me his blessing to go on this date. In preparation for said date I have groomed myself appropriately. I have clothes freshly laundered and laid out in anticipation of my date.
One downside is that I won't be wearing make-up. My date will have to accept me as I am, dark circles under eyes and all.
Every time I think about the impending date (which is alot) I get very nervous.
Did I mention my date is with a Handsome Man? (who from now on will be referred to as HM) And he (legend has it) has a wonderful, ahem, physique.
But his looks mean nothing to me. No, really, they don't.
I want something from this man. Something that Husband can't give me.
Yes.
You guessed right.
I am starting group training with some other lovely ladies under the supervision of HM for my half marathon later this year. Whilst training for myself and Husband is going well and we are both motivating and pushing each other to do better, I've hit a hurdle.
I can't go fast.
I can run quite a long way. 12 km was my most recent distance. But being built for comfort rather than speed I can't up my pace.
And so, a sweet friend told me the secret.
HM.
He apparently trains women JUST LIKE ME.
And they end up winning marathons apparently.
Now I have absolutely no intention of a) running a full marathon b) winning anything.
But I would like to finish the forthcoming fun-run and half marathon later this year, before the organisers have reopened the streets to traffic, or I've endured the shame of DNF being printed in our local paper.
So tomorrow my sympathetic parents are minding Mr Small and I am going on a date with HM.
It won't be romantic at all.
But I am promised an increased heart-rate while on my date, and lots of rushing adrenalin. Which is almost as exciting.
But not as exciting as the possibility of kicking my husband's proverbial in the half marathon in August.
I haven't told him that bit though.

So yesterday, as I stood in my swimming costume at our local pool with a few surly, bored teenagers and a big beefy man (henceforth to be referred to as BBM) I wondered what the hell I was doing there.
I'm 34. I've had 3 children. I'm overweight.
There are a million reasons why it was sheer insanity to be at the pool yesterday morning.
And in view of the challenge I faced I am sure you will agree with me.
I remember saying to you a while ago one of my goals in 2010 was to fulfill a lifelong dream of becoming a surf lifesaver.
I'd attended a meeting about this in November last year and then pretty much let it slide out of my mind.
So on Friday night at about 6.30 pm there was a phone call saying to be at our local pool first thing Saturday morning for a trial swim.
In order to even start the Bronze Medallion course you must be able to swim 400 metres in under 9 minutes.
So, having set myself this challenge, and even worse, having blogged about it, I had no choice but to be at the pool yesterday morning to at least try the swim.
The surly teenagers and I stood in silence.
BBM started telling us about his gym sessions and his swimming training for this. And then he turned to me, looked me up and down (and can I just say how much I HATE it when people do that) and said in a condescending tone: "Have you done any training?"
I mumbled something incomprehensible and lapsed back in to silence.
As luck would have it BBM and I were the first ones to be selected to do the swim. We were sharing a lane.
He elected to go first and they gave him a 40 second head start.
Then it was my turn.
I won't bore you with the details, only to modestly say I lapped BBM on the third length.
And I finished it in 7.53 seconds.
And BBM?
He didn't fulfill the time requirement and stormed off from the pool. (9 minutes and 40 seconds was HIS time)
And afterwards I started chatting with the bored and surly teenagers, who, like the thousands of teenagers I have taught over the years, were in fact delightful and chatty. Like teens the world over, surly and bored is a great cover for being nervous and shy, which they were.
Like me, they were and are enthusiastic about doing the course.
And me?
Well, my cat got the cream smile was quickly wiped off my face when I blithely told the instructor I was heading home now to lie on the couch for several hours to recover only to be told I now had 2 hours training down at the beach learning how to do tube rescues.
So for now, the half marathon training is on hold. Between 2 beach runs during the week, and a 2 hour training session every Saturday morning for the next few weeks, my plate is full.
But you have to walk before you learn how to run.
Or in BBM's case, swim. :)

It appears that I have been overdoing things. I have succumbed to my first illness in nearly 3 years. I am rarely sick, so when it happens, I morph into a blob and bellyache my way through the day. It is possible to relate my overall sense of well-being by reference to my hair. Today's hair looks like it was mauled by a wild boar. Yesterday morning I woke up feeling like crap. My nose was

It's been a busy day in the household. First, I went to work, as usual. After a day of working on something of vital international importance (I jest, sort of) and fielding questions about the latest issues to arise in the world of preventing people getting their just deserts, I did some Bookcrossing, and then went to my new class.Arsetanga Yoga, so-called not because it is arse, but because it

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Since the dawn of time, Cowboy's younger brother has been mildly pestering us to go on a skiing holiday with him and the girlfriend, whose company I don't enjoy. Cowboy has wanted to do this for the past six years. I have always resisted, coming up with excuses ranging from "We can't afford it" [lie] to "Oh dear. We've just booked flights to the States, so we can't go this year" [true]. It was

Resolutions are something I always make, and without fail I break them too. This year, I'm taking a different approach; one that is more in line with my new policy of not becoming overwrought with despair at the notion that I have once again not done something I said I would do for myself.This year, I am merely recommending to myself that I will follow certain new pathways to enlightenment.

Two illustrations with my crash test dummy character design for a new project.

More at Sevensheaven.nl

As I predicted in a previous post, my gym instructor (the one who harrangued me for not having children at the barren age of 30) lasted about fourteen weeks at the gym! Cowboy and I had our suspicions after we both, on four separate occasions, heard other patrons either complaining directly to her face, or bitching about her in the changing rooms, that it would not be long before she was

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