I'm a marathon runner. Who'd have thought? by simonedumergue

Arghhh - after typing a really long post I went to add a smiley face and the whole post was lost. Grrrrrrr.

So here's another attempt...

I haven't blogged for ages but I have been researching running related angles from the front line of my own little world. Here are my findings:

Fancy pants hairstyles are rubbish for running:

I've kept my hair long for ages (longer than in my profile pic) as it is so darn easy putting it up in a pony tail for running. My hairdresser finally persuaded me that cutting off the long hair that was starting to resemble brown curtains circa 1975 and trading it for a sleek, grown up bob would be a good idea.

It was. I feel rather glamorous and terribly grown up.

However, my first run post haircut was not good. It was akin to running with an overly excited puppy on my head. Or my hair doing a mexican wave on it's own.

After several experiments with a range of hair accessories, I have settled on the Small Hairy Protuberance At Base of Neck solution. World's shortest ponytail coming in around 3cm I estimate. I now just look like a lycra clad step in the evolutionary timeline just before our tails ceased to exist.

One Size Does Not Fit All:

With winter training rearing its dreary head again, it brings the onslaught of running in the dark. I thought I'd splash out and get a High Viz vest this time. I've managed to train for two marathons without getting squished like roadkill but I feel my card could be marked.

Hmm. I think they forgot to put on the label that they mean "One Size Fits All Except Women with More than Fried Eggs at the Front" or "One Size Fits All Except for People over 4'10"

Ridiculous. It's so small it comes half way down my torso. Making me look like some weird mother who has raided the kid's PE kit or someone who is really bad at laundry and put everything through a hot wash.

Probably explains why other normally high viz clad runners give me a slightly quizzical look as we cross paths.

Then again, it could be the hairy protuberance.

One Day You Lost That Loving Feeling:

Having dragged my running gear over to Dublin last Friday I felt duty bound to use the damn stuff after sacrificing half of my carry on hand luggage capacity for it and having to endure the patronising request to "please place your bag in the cage to see that it fits". Amazing how skilled one can be at appearing to nonchalantly place the luggage into the cage thing whilst applying at least one ton of brute force to ensure the jolly thing 'fits'.

So, after decided that navigating the home bound office workers in the centre of Dublin was not that much fun, I thought I would give the hotel gym a go.

I lasted 15 minutes.

I used to be a gym bunny in my 20's and 30's. Lived in the gym. Used to wonder at the time why there were no people in their 40's in the gym,

Now I am in my 40's I know. We are so damn time poor that we run instead. Then we get hooked on running. And we get hooked on fresh air and the wonders of nature.

So, as I sat there on the exercise bike looking at those irritating flashing red squares that tell me how far I have moved without actually moving, I started dreaming of clinics in Switzerland.

I got to the point (after only 15 minutes mind) that I simply couldn't take it anymore.

So instead of buying a plane ticket to Switzerland I went to the pub instead.

Never Underestimate the Clown Fish:

Last night I was out for just a little four miler. As I was disco funking my way down the road to Disco Inferno, I felt a small rush of air and a Ninja Seal went sliding by me. Male runner - dark hair, dark running clothing and even black trainers.

I could sense his smug sense of satisfaction that he had passed me - the Clown Fish, resplendent in my pink running top and my lemon piece of fabric masquerading as a high viz vest.

On my return two miles I spot Ninja Seal on the other side of the road.

"Eat my bubbles Ninja Seal" I thought and decided to show him what this little Clown Fish was made of.

I kicked it down a gear and steamed home, keeping him in my wake :-)

I flop over the threshold of the door like a little clown fish that has fallen out the tank. But I beat him back.

Go me.

Just over two weeks now until the Great South Run! Long run tomorrow.

And of course, I shall be shouting at the TV very loudly on Sunday morning. Go All Blacks!!!!!