Cheers-giving

Quickie Complaint

I like to live like the natives: frizzy scarecrow hair, an alarming number of scarves and pashminas and a penchant for the occasional whine. Today's tutting has to do with my disappointment in the severe paucity of bank holidays. I mean, sure... I got 25 days paid vacation. Prospectively. With no prior work experience. Whatever. Wait, I digressed. I forgot I was going to complain specifically about the need for a "Thanksgiving" here. There is no buffer between Halloween and Christmas, thus immediately after Halloween (and often, just before) stores begin selling and suiting up in Christmas gear. It's horrifying. I am barely finished mourning the loss of summer and seeing the light of day before and after work and here they are... throwing Christmas cheer in my face. I love Christmas because, thanks to Thanksgiving, it is a rare little jewel that is unearthed for a very pleasant and moderate amount of time from the end of November to the beginning of January (maybe that is just in my house...because Mom takes down the decorations December 26th). Now it's not just a season...it's like a bloody semester. Anyway, I just can't help but wonder: can't they give me a long weekend at the end of November to thank the colonials for curry or something? I mean, the least you can do if you are going to oppress whole people groups and steal the best bits of their culture is take a day or two off work in their honour. My goodness. Have they no decency?

10 killin' metres

Note: A month from tomorrow I turn 26, after which I will be come a responsible adult and my posts will be amazing, insightful, mature and, more importantly, regular…because I will have my whole life sorted by then. Obviously.

Until then, my life and posts will remain erratic and shallow.

Epilogue…

Many moons ago I ran a 5k with people from work to raise money for breast cancer. I did without any training and it was a breeze…ish. So, like my other mistake (with the wardrobe), I took a simple task, overestimated my abilities and agreed to take on a more difficult task: a 10k. (Side note: when I was young and unemployed – ie 2 years ago – I had time to train and ran one easily…this was so feasible.) Not only did I agree to the 10k, I organised it: another run to raise money to support cancer research. Magnanimous.

Last Sunday I ran this race. I trained for it….lemmesee…1 time. No, twice: the 5k I ran mid-July and then one time when I ran for 20 minutes in Hampstead Health, got a cramp and decided instead to enjoy the lovely scenery, fresh air all the people walking their dogs…at a leisurely pace. The race was…well, 10 kilometres. I ran it in an hour. Which I thought was good considering there were so. many. hills. Especially at the very end, when I had just about enough ATP left in my body to not die. Let’s blame the course: Like my tidy rail, it was poorly designed. You couldn’t see the finish line until about the last 50 metres. The last km was killer. Probably because I’m pretty sure it was longer than a kilometre and someone had accidentally switched to miles when they were measuring it. It was also up hill. And you were all alone (no fans cheering, no friendly faces, just the odd volunteer wishing you a half-hearted “you’re almost there!” Wait. I take back the exclamation point). Suddenly, after lots of trees and grass, a dinosaur park, etc., you were running along on what resembled a highway on-ramp. No finish line. Just some empty promise that this was the last kilometre. Normally, (and when I say “normally”, I am drawing on the wealth of experience I have gained from the sum total of 2 races I have run) I speed up the last km and then sprint…ish the last 500m. Not this time. I felt like I was going to die on this on ramp alone right before the end. But I finished. Flo, who came 10 minutes late to the race, caught up to me and ran 7/10 of it with me, abandoned me at the end and beat me. We all rewarded ourselves with some Moroccan beer and so-so French-Algerian food.

Flashback: Saturday night before the race. To prepare for the big day that not one person in my office had actually prepared for in the physical sense, we performed the following recommended ritual: Met at my local wine bar (my choice…because the laundromat is next door so I could simultaneously bond, hydrate and wash my sheets) and prepped for the 10k by drinking 3 bottles of wine and then going out for noodles at a Korean place nearby at 11pm. Race started at 11am the next day and we had to leave our houses by 9am to be there.

Success? Indeed. Bring on the marathon...