So… where were we?

Ah, yes.

The fear of failure re: half marathon.

The looking forward to vegging out and feeling healthier (oxymoronic though that may seem).

The long distance that I hoped to close – and the potential for things to go spectacularly wrong.

…

I didn’t fail. I completed the half marathon in < 2 hours. 1:49:55, to be exact. Position #553, and 50th female across the line.

So that was one thing.

I have barely exercised since (unless ascending & descending 102+ stairs every day counts), but plan to change that (gradually) starting soon, as I still feel the same as before.

I closed the distance. I got a job in the city (bleh, the city), and moved in with Him. Unfortunately the job contract is temporary, ending Christmas. Fortunately I have interviews for more permanent ones coming up, and a decent chance of being kept where I am if those don’t go well.

‘Bleh, city’ has been basically the only downside in all of this so far. There have been no catastrophic fuck-ups yet. Ok so I don’t really feel like my work (Social Research) can ever contribute more than 0.00000000000001% to anything that really matters in this world, but hey; I’m not dead yet. I’m not even old, yet. I’m not even not-that-young, yet.

Here is a photo of myself and my brother in the garden back home, wearing our medals and t-shirts and pretending to be cool a couple of hours after the race;

Hope you guys are all good :)

~xx~

Even As I Write This I Am Cringing At Myself,

but… whatever.

I spent some time thinking, late last night. I was in a small amount of pain as a result of my most recent half marathon training effort, in which I managed 2.5 miles – for the majority of which I genuinely thought I was going to die. And this pain led me to panic to no small extent about the real thing. I have six weeks to go from thinking I am dying during a 2-mile run, to surviving 13 miles. And there it was; fear of failure.

This maybe isn’t the best example of what I’m trying to say here, because it didn’t take me all that long to come to the conclusion that, hey, how many people ever get this far in the pursuit of a fitness/exercise related goal? How was I to know, when I started out, that the regular exercise we all believe to be holy and divine and to have the power to transform us into our very best selves, was in fact going to destroy my health inch by disappearing inch? How many people have ever been in that “enviable” position of neither needing nor wanting to lose any weight or burn any more calories than they did before they started running 20 miles a week? That place where running 20 miles a week will leave them feeling wiped out all the time, weighing scarily less than they used to and bingeing on all the junk they can find (whilst at the same time trying to fit in the recommended amounts of healthy stuff every day) in a desperate effort to feel alive and get some kind of a figure back?

No; all things considered, it wouldn’t really be a sign of failure if I were to heed my body’s sage warnings and end this madness. I could do something less potentially life-threatening in aid of the charity people donated money to in my name. Although the whole point of my doing this was so that I could feel like I’d achieved something at the end of it, I was labouring under all of the universally held assumptions surrounding physical exertion. I still have every intention of continuing to train, of completing the race, of achieving the aim; I am just massively looking forward to vegging out and returning to a healthy weight and not-feeling-like-a-zombie when it’s all over and done with.

From that train of thought I guess I finally figured out what He meant when he said I need to fuck up more.

There aren’t that many everyday fuck-ups that are impossible to get through, to survive and recover from. Whether I run the race and come out of it hideously unhealthy or pull out and find something else admirable to do for the charity, things will work out and everything will be ok in the end. At the very worst, at least I know a kick-ass way to lose weight should I ever need to.

And yet, with most of everything I do (or want to do, could do, should do but don’t) I am held back by the crippling terror of it all going horribly wrong. The reason I am so afraid is because I’ve so far never allowed anything to go horribly wrong enough in my life. I haven’t experienced the outcome of that, that recovery from that crash, that new door opening because an old one closed. I haven’t taken the calculated risk, because I got too scared during the calculation.

Except in one area of my life; the one He became a part of as a result of my past fuck-ups. Relationships. Having been messed with in all imaginable ways by past partners (I know that makes me sound like an old woman at the tender age of 21; there have been less than a handful of past partners, just enough to teach me most of all I’ll ever need to know) I have reached a position of relative fearlessness where my current one is concerned. Ok so a sizable portion of that may just be due to the fact that he isn’t an asshole like the others were. A sizable portion may be due to the fact that I knew that about him all along, even before I chose to ignore all rationality and spend a stupid amount of my precious time with one of said asshole others. A sizable portion may be due to the fact that eventually giving in to common sense felt like going home from a long vacation in several cities where I could never belong.

But. But.

Of course I still have worries, I still have doubts, nobody is perfect. But the thing is, I know now that whatever happens, I will be ok in the end. I will survive, I will recover. After my very first proper relationship failed when he cheated on me for the second time (with one of my good friends, no less) I didn’t think life could go on. I thought I had lost the love of my life (ha. ha ha ha). I was devastated, heartbroken. Nowadays I am embarrassed to think that I ever indulged in such emotions for his sake; really, he was never any good to me. I am baffled as to why I never figured that out at the time. Perhaps I did, maybe I always knew we weren’t right together but was just too afraid to admit it and let go. And so he trampled all over me and… I survived. I learned. I learned to look at things differently and realised that things turned out for the best on all sides. Ok so I took a longer and more dangerous route than I should have to get to where I am now, but I made it; I am still here and I have developed a backbone and I will never put with that kind of bullshit in a relationship again. As one half of a couple, I now have self-worth. In the event of misbehaviour on His part, we both know that I will be ok. I will survive, I will get over it,  I will maintain that self-worth. Sure, he could hurt me… but I could heal. And this is why, despite the long-distance nature of our relationship, we have managed so far. This is how I have the strength to trust him, to believe him and believe in him, to back off when he needs me to and to never be jealous or clingy or have ridiculous expectations of either of us. I have no intention of hurting him, and I believe him when he tells me he would never do anything to hurt me. Oh, and we’re both smart enough to realize and take responsibility when our actions have unintentionally harmed each other. Without speaking too soon, I think this really, really works.

Now I just need the courage/stupidity/naivety to throw more than my whole self into something work-related and be prepared to watch it go gloriously tits-up (as the saying goes round here), in the name of closing that long distance.

;)

~xx~

Killing the past won’t solve the present or the future,

but as I write this I find myself, yet again, contemplating the possibility of having all of my hair chopped off. This time, though, I’d properly 100% go for it. Sinead O’Connor/Natalie Portman style. Maybe I could do it for next year’s charity fundraising efforts? It would be a whole lot easier than running 13 miles, for sure.

Which brings me to the subject of the half marathon.

I’ve had a lot of time off from training recently and am now left with just over 8 weeks to pretty much bring myself up to race standard from scratch. I was doing really well; I’d managed 8 miles whilst keeping up my best pace of around 8mins 30secs per mile. Then I got a cold, and the frequency of my training efforts took a nosedive.

Then I felt better for a week or so and started to get back on it… and promptly caught another cold/got attacked by a second round of the first one. Second time round it came with the most horrendous cough I’ve had since I was a kid, and so that put a full stop to training for more than a week. Then once I felt better I ran a couple of short distances in the days before I had to go under general anaesthetic etc. to have all of my wisdom teeth taken out.

That was a week ago. At least one of the teeth still hurts a bit, but I plan to run tomorrow. I anticipate doing so with trepidation. For the entirety of the 2.78 miles I ran just over a week ago I pretty much thought I was going to die. I mean to the point where I genuinely considered stopping, in the middle of a deserted road, and just sitting on the ground crying like a baby.

That feeling of being utterly overwhelmed by the task I faced really made me think. At the time I was thinking much more poetically than I feel capable of today, but I mostly realized that this whole marathon thing is kinda just my life in miniature (I avoid talk of ‘metaphors’ because the word is overused and I just don’t like it).

Try hard, make progress – make amazing progress – get knocked back to a lower low than the one from which you started in the first place. Get up, try some more, claw your way up a little, lose your grip, fall back down (further still) and then…?

Well. I would like to make it quite clear that I am not, I am NOT going to give up. On June 30th 2013 I am going to run 13 miles. It is GOING TO HAPPEN, just like all those other things I am struggling to achieve. I’d take the burning muscles and straining lungs over the burning of abject terror in my blood and the straining of huge chunks of my mind hanging on by a thread, any day. Unfortunately, as I have lately come to realize, I am at some point going to have to just take the lot; I cannot keep avoiding it. Perhaps the rest won’t seem so hard after the 13 miles of lung and muscle punishment?

Here’s hoping.

And Here also, for your enjoyment, is a picture of a baby and a cat on a swing;

(Source)

much love

~xx~

Twenty.

Your Fears. 

1. People. Especially the ones I know least, and the ones I know (or would really really like to know) best. They Are Going To Hurt Me, and It Will Hurt. 

2. The Future. One Way Or Another, It Is Going To Hurt. 

3. Myself, and the part I will play in both of the above. I Have This Funny Way Of Always Making Myself Hurt. 

~xx~

十六，十七

Something you always think ‘what if’ about. 

Something you are proud of. 

~

The what if thing is really easy.

When I was little I always said I was going to be a vet when I grew up. This ambition was very simply premised on the fact that I adored animals, and found all of them fascinating without exception. I also liked how they never required me to be polite and come out from behind the sofa to say things to people; things like ‘Hello’, and whatever the appropriate answers might be to the questions *insert relative’s name here* might care to ask me by way of small talk.

Anyway, the point is that I lacked confidence. Everyone who tried to instil it in me over the years must ultimately have failed, because I still lack confidence. Painfully. While such character flaws are mostly acceptable in doe-eyed, cherub-blonde four-year-olds, they are a little less forgivable in  tired-eyed twenty-one-year-olds (with hair of god-knows-what-colour).

But up until the point where it started to matter, I aced everything I needed to ace in order to keep my early ambitions a possibility.  Then for some reason I lost all faith in my ability to continue my education in the sciences, and chose to study English, History, Classics and Philosophy to A Level. Which in turn killed all potentially lucrative options when it came to possible University courses. Despite the fact that I went on to do well in all of those things and my eventual university degree, I now very much doubt that I will ever become a Veterinary Surgeon. I lament my decisions from time to time… vets make a lot of money; I’m sure that’s almost worth the horror of having to stick your hand up cows’ backsides every now and then. Having made the choices I did back then, and followed them up in the way that I have, I often wonder nowadays if I’ll ever be able to make money out of doing anything I vaguely enjoy. Not to mention the fact that the confidence has waned still further as a result; simply not being terrified of anything I might possibly decide to do seems like an unattainable Holy Grail nowadays. I’ve backed myself into a corner so that I pretty much can’t avoid living a lie, and I’m tearing my hair out in my efforts to figure out which lie would be best to go for.

~

Something I’m Proud Of.

Hmm.

My little sister loves me?

.

Here is a picture of a stumpy dog and its owner walking in the sea at Filey:

~xx~

Quindici

Your Zodiac/Horoscope and if it fits your personality. 

Ok. My zodiac sign is Virgo. So, according to my.horoscope.com that means all this;

Symbol: The Virgin.              Element: Earth

Group: Intellectual                Polarity: Negative

Favourable Colours: Brown, Green

Ruling Planet: Mercury     Cross/Quality: Mutable

House Ruled: Sixth              Opposite Sign: Pisces

Lucky Gem: Sardonyx        Period: Aug 23 – Sep 22

Personality:

With an acute attention to detail, the Virgo is the sign in the zodiac most dedicated to serving. Their deep sense of the humane leads them to caregiving like no other, while their methodical approach to life ensures that nothing is missed. The Virgo is often gentle and delicate, preferring to step back and analyze before moving ahead.

Strengths:

Practical, loyal, hardworking, analytical, kind.

Weaknesses:
Worry, shyness, overly critical of self and others, all work and no play.

Charismatic marks:
A certain, reserved manner marks the classic Virgo. Virgos are generally medium to slight in build.

Likes:
Cleanliness, animals, healthy foods, books, nature.

Dislikes:
Taking center stage, rudeness, asking for help.

Best environment:
Virgo is most at home in the company of animals and close to nature. Virgo likes power and enjoys being the sidekick or indispensable assistant.

~

How accurate is that? If you know me well, you’ll probably have decided that for yourself. For the rest of you…

• Lately I’ve cried a lot of tears over the way that intellect is just about all I have (and I don’t even have a remarkable amount of that). No matter how many times I tell people people that I’m a people person, I am just not a people person.
• You have seen how my outlook on life is usually dominated by negativity…
• I like to wear green, and I think it suits me. Not so much brown, mainly because I often like to wear black, and brown and black don’t go.
• Mutable? That means changing and changing and changing. I’ve done a lot of that, but am still daily frustrated by how little I’ve changed. (I know, just try making sense of that…)
• I like the word ‘sardonyx’. Apparently this is what one of those looks like:

(I have never been a fan of orange and don’t tend to wear it, but I do think that stone is quite pretty).

• I do tend to step back and analyze, to the point of near-death, before moving ahead. It is killing me slowly right about now. Attention to detail – have you heard me talk about the appropriate use of grammar? ;) Not so sure about serving, gentle, delicate or caregiving though. I often worry I’m far too selfish and careless to ever hold on to anyone or anything good for any length of time (or to even want to, for that matter).
• The worry and the shyness and the over critical are bang on. They have been holding me back since the day I was born, and I have known it since the day after (yet apparently not been able to change all that much). I’m not so sure about over critical of others, though; I am stupidly forgiving, to the point of accepting blame for other people’s f*ck-ups from time to time.
• Reserved; Yes. In real life, anyway. I’m a little different in writing…
• Medium to slight in build? Skinny biatch right here; would be glad to gain a few pounds in the name of a more feminine figure.
• I like all of the ‘likes’ listed up there. But I also love junk food…
• I love taking centre stage when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m going to wow my audience. To this day that has only happened once, but I long for the day it might happen again.
• Who doesn’t dislike rudeness???
• I think I’m pretty balanced when it comes to asking for help; I rarely need it, but when I do I ask and I massively appreciate.
• I like animals, I like nature. Give me green space over the city any day, but that might just be because of where I come from.
• Power. Hmmm… As with the centre stage thing, I enjoy power as much as anyone else, so long as I know I’m getting it right. The thought of being the indispensable sidekick makes me grin like an idiot, but at the same time I’d hate to be underestimated…

~

Unfortunately, accurate or not, I think the stars have very little to do with my personality. I prefer to think I get most of it from my mama, a little from my daddy, and the rest from everyone else who ever played a major part in my life.

(This blog post has been therapeutic. I had just about convinced myself, yet again, that there is no place in this world for the likes of me. But every story needs its tortoise as well as its hare, right?)

~xx~

Challenge Day 5

Things You Want To Say To An Ex. 

I’m loving the fact that I can think of (almost) absolutely nothing, here. No matter which ex (of which there is technically only one) or which technically-not-an-ex-because-we-were-never-really-properly-together (of which I would say there are one and a half).

One thing I would say, to anyone who ever threw me away; if you could see all of your own flaws the way I can picture them now (and cringe a little as I do) you might just begin to regret treating me like… well, like I wasn’t worth very much, I suppose.

I’m not ruling out the idea that perhaps you were right and I wasn’t; in which case thanks for the the things you made me learn about myself and about life, and for the way that  by making me learn said things, you helped to make me a better person in some ways than I was when I met you.

I’d also say that Yes, you were right; I can do better.

(I’d also love to say that you were right when you called me amazing/beautiful/sexy/awesome/brilliant/adorable/perfect, but that would require a bit more of an ego than I currently possess. So instead I’ll just quietly hope that you meant those things when you said them).

I like to think that not only could I do better, but that I will do better.

I like to think that some day I might mean the world to that ‘better man than you’ that you once told me it would take, to stick around with someone like me.

:)

~xx~

Essentials In Life:

Someone To Love.

Something To Do.

Something To Look Forward To.

~

Thus read a plaque I saw in a tiny, crooked little gift shop in Boscastle, Cornwall, when on holiday there with my family 2 years ago.

(From where my mother acquired a gargoyle to add to the extensive collection of Green Men distributed around the external walls of our house).

 

I think I treat the people I love pretty badly, most of the time. Where this doesn’t make them disappear pretty quickly, my efforts to make up for my failures usually only end up making things worse – and making them disappear eventually instead. (I would add here that in my case the Someone to Love would probably have to be loving me back for me to be Happy. Not sure if everyone would agree there, but Heck I guess I’m just needy). Family can’t very easily disappear all too permanently and are more forgiving than other people, so I guess I’m managing about half for the first one.

[‘So if Heaven is where the good people go, Up There, (pointing) and Hell is where the bad people go, Down there (pointing) …where the Hell is Heck?’ asked once my eight-year-old self, of my ‘Hell is a swear-word’ Grandmother – thinking I was being so damn clever. I eventually came to the conclusion that Heck must be where bad animals go when they die].

 

My job is (very) part time, and I’m so useless at it – despite it being pretty much the most mind-numbingly simplistic job ever – that whenever I ask for more hours I’m generally offered about 4 more per week for 2 weeks in each month. (I’m a nice girl who means well and they don’t really want to upset me, but damn why am I so useless?)

I’m not complaining. Every little helps and all that. But the fact remains that there are 4 days in most weeks during which I have absolutely no obligation to do anything at all. My friends all live somewhere between pretty far away and really far away. I haven’t really made any friends at work, yet; I try, and small talk is mostly better than no talk, but being there still tends to make me feel pretty lonely. Even the old friends that aren’t all that far away are still far enough that visiting regularly takes its toll on my fuel tank and consequently my bank balance. I’m trying to keep some moneys safe so that moar university remains a viable option where my not-too-distant future is concerned. So my masses of free time these days, even when spent doing actual stuff, tend to be mostly spent alone. I need ‘Me-Time’ (and I hate that phrase) but not this much of it. Finding another job that would leave me with less of it is proving difficult, mainly because there don’t seem to be any available that I could really get excited about. I invariably get halfway through an application before realising that I could never find the enthusiasm required to convince an interviewer that I even really wanted the job, never mind showing I could actually be good at it.

Maybe I’m just being pathetic. Maybe I am just pathetic. Because I’m pretty sure I’m as terrified of change and as useless at people right now as I have been all my life. As for alternative mind-numbingly simplistic jobs, I would appear to be living in the actual middle of actual nowhere; there just aren’t any within a 30-mile radius, and I’m probably quite lucky to even have the one I’ve got. (I thank my lucky stars for my manager in York thinking I was ‘a really good kid’, and for my manager here thinking I ‘sounded nice on the phone’). I want to write for a living, because although I may not be all too great at it, I find it a damn sight easier than out-loud real-life verbal communication.

(Have you ever had that thing where someone says something to you and it takes you so long to process what they just said that by the time you’ve come up with a proper response you’ve already awkwardly laughed and mumbled some kind of non-response and looked stupid and the conversation’s moved on/ended? Have you ever been concentrating so hard on making sure you’re smiling and making eye contact as much as is socially normal that you weren’t concentrating hard enough on what the person was saying and so the response you gave to their question just came out sounding really dumb? I guess all these things are excusable if you manage to prove yourself to be witty, charming and socially capable later on. Or perhaps if they’re male and you’re pretty and flirty and trying really hard. I tend to fail repeatedly, get angry at myself for my repeated failure and shut up, so as not to make things even worse. Where pretty is concerned, the best I could ever hope for was ‘cute’. And skinny. Unhappy really really ain’t cute, and skinny is only acceptable when proven accompanied by healthy).

 

As for the future I suppose I can say I’m working on it. Not knowing what’s next in my life – because nice as the people I work with may have been to me thus far, I really can’t stay there much longer without properly, irrevocably  losing my mind – is probably what’s killing me most. I’m beginning to think that applying for jobs that really don’t appeal to me that much but would require me to move to an unfamiliar city far from home all by myself  might not be the best course of action for me. (For Me, Y’ hear?).

So I’ve decided instead to apply only for the ones that really do appeal, when (if) they come up, and otherwise maybe – if there’s any possibility of anyone lending me the money to do so – prepare myself for Postgraduate study next year in a subject area that I know I could really fall for. I go crazy if I try to follow the dreams and goals that everyone else would approve of, so maybe I’ll give following my own a go. If that doesn’t work out, what I’ll have lost will be more money; I’ll have an even more Heckish debt on my shoulders. What I’ll have gained? More/more impressive letters after my name, more pieces of paper saying I’ve learned some stuff, some work experience in the big city if I’m lucky, some time to figure things out a bit more (and maybe become less scared) if I’m lucky, and perhaps even some of the people skills that I’m told I lack so sorely but cannot ‘go anywhere’ in life without. Or, perhaps the skills with which to go somewhere in life all by myself with bare minimum people skills. Or perhaps the courage to say fuck it all and take myself somewhere completely new and far away and just take my chances.

 

Anyway, Who Cares? If you’ve read this far I imagine I’ve done a pretty good job of boring you to death. That’s what I don’t understand about blogging; people talking about themselves and their lives and the things they know and care about. Nobody likes to hear other people talk about themselves, do they? Yet everyone likes doing it. I read a post yesterday where someone was essentially complaining about people complaining in their blogs. You have nothing to legitimately complain about unless something really, genuinely tragic has happened to you. Fair point, but… But I think in reality perspective is something of a Holy Grail at times. I try to always apologise for my unnecessary negativity, but I often wonder why I should. This is my blog and surely I can write what I want to write. Often, what I want to write is all of the nastiness away; writing this stuff is like therapy. People don’t like me writing or talking it at them – they’re not my therapist, and they have their own lives to live – but I feel so much better for writing it all somewhere, and naturally I find myself wanting to feel better wherever possible. The answer is simple; if you don’t like what I’m writing, stop reading.

Humanity is stupid.

Sometimes, I really regret not asking for the number of the skydiving instructor I fell 15,000 feet with, when afterwards he said to me; ‘So, Sociology… That’s all about how humanity’s basically fucked, right?’
We could have been ‘happy on the inside’  jumping out of planes for a living together. (And he was cute. And he kissed me on the cheek when I left. And the mind wanders when it only has itself for company).

…Photo?

Here is my favourite among Mum’s Green Man Army;

 

.

His name is Steve. He was named after me, because my sister and I decided to name one Green Man after each member of the family. This one definitely had to be Steve, since he kinda resembles Steve Martin, the actor. Right?

(We’re all mental to some extent, here. That’s why for now I call it Home).

~xx~

Inspirational Quotes,

In times of uncertainty,

Have Only Ever Served to Terrify Me More.

There, I said it.

 

You know the kinda thing I’m talking about;

“Happiness depends more on the inward disposition of mind than on outward circumstances”  (Benjamin Franklin).

 

 

Yeah. Um…

…Incredibly cute baby deer thingy!

(Source)

~xx~

Not How the Story Goes

…And so Cinderella, no longer able to sing like the wild birds whose company she preferred, no longer able to let down her hair, wildly afraid of the beast she was supposed to have fallen in love with and frustrated in her realisation that the waking world could never meet the expectations built up in her hundred years of beauteous slumber – no matter how handsome the prince whose kiss had awoken her – took James Bond’s revolver, pressed the cold steel of the barrel hard against the delicate flesh beneath her chin and threw back her head, her glorious blood-red curls shining in the moonlight as they tumbled down her back.

Do you believe in God? written on the bullet; and Cassie Pulled the Trigger.

~xx~