Little streak of misery

Okay so all of yesterday's 'hooray I'm running the trail' enthusiasm went out with a little fizzle this morning when I whipped back the curtains to discover that our promised 17 degrees and sunny looked more like flippin' cold and foggy. Any other day I'd have wimped out and resigned myself to the gym, but having made arrangements with Rob and won my fight with the Frenchman to run before lunch I couldn't see any way to worm out of it this time. Damn.

It was freezing - cold enough to see breath - and the only t-shirt I had to hand was rather small and not very warm. Arms looked like corned beef after just five minutes and I've brayed like a donkey all afternoon. Why is it only running outside that leaves me with a cough? Managed about 3kms at a mixed pace - was passed by a few stampeding turtles (see photo!) and the odd racing snail but at least I was trying. Was quite disappointed that I had to keep stopping to catch my breath, that never happens on the treadmill. Rob was actually pretty useful, even if he did keep telling me I'm a little streak of misery...I know, but I don't need to keep hearing it!

Lunch went by the by, as none of the participating restaurants were actually aware they were a part of the Independent's 'eat out for a fiver' deal. I didn't mind though. Last night the Frenchman strode purposefully into the kitchen to inform me that *assumes 'allo allo' accent* he would not be waiting for me to have my run before going for lunch, and neither would Nick, so I had better think twice about running if I wanted to eat with them. I felt like telling him he could shove his lunch, but I knew very well Rob was running with me and Nick would wait, therefore I'd won the argument without even opening my mouth. If there's anything that annoys an arrogant, narcissistic only child more than waiting for me to finish my run before lunch, it's losing an argument. Take that Frenchie.

Photo's courtesy of this site by the way; http://mfrost.typepad.com/cute_overload/

What have I done?

If my body is a temple then last night I ransacked the altar and overturned a lot of tables. Drank the sacrificial wine too if the hangover is anything to go by. To make things worse, despite only crawling into bed at 02:30, I've been awake since around 06:00 - alarm call courtesy of my housemate talking to his family in Nigeria. Any louder and he wouldn't have needed the phone.

I'm a disgrace. Last night was only supposed to be dinner and a glass of wine at Kate's - a quiet girly evening to remind me what it's like to be in female company. I spend so much time with guys here that I'll soon be scratching my butt in public and leaving the loo seat up. Anyway, quiet girly evening turned into getting shit-faced drunk and talking about men - one in particular - which is only ever going to end one way. Skippy is in Paris right now with his best friend's girlfriend. Sounds like an issue worthy of an article in 'Take a Break' magazine I know, but if I'm honest it's actually quite innocent. She's nice and there's nothing going on, but I object to the audacity of the girl asking my then boyfriend to go on holiday with her, and even more so to him accepting after turning down my offer and going on to dump me a month later. He got flu two days before the flight and he left for France feeling like death. Karma's a bitch ain't she? Anyway, time to put the voodoo doll down and leave the poor boy alone. He's kind and honest. It's just me who's bitter, twisted and suspicious.

So, aside from getting ashamedly drunk and weaving my way home through an imaginary chicane in the wee hours of the morning, what else did I get up to yesterday? Not an awful lot really. I loafed better than bread itself all day Thursday, leaving it 'til 23:00 to get started on the presentation due the next morning. Somehow I'm gifted with the bizarre knack of pulling projects out of my ass at T minus 2 seconds and getting good grades - yesterday was a shining example. After delivering 8 pages of basic powerpoint and 15 minutes of related dialogue by the seat of my pants, I'm approached by my lecturer and offered a reference should I be considering a PhD - Dr. Warwick...has a kind of kinky ring to it, don't you think?

Eight solid hours in a darkened room watching powerpoint presentations on the sunniest day so far this year had me screaming for a run 10 minutes in though, and run I did - like my usual herd of turtles, admittedly, but the peanut butter's thinning. Settled into my pace really quickly, and instead of my usual lower-lip-sucking-grimace, I ran with a smile on my face. It's not true what they say about 'smile and the world smiles with you', by the way. They just think you're simple. Anyway, did 3kms easily and had to force myself to stop, too much too soon is likely to result in a loud snap and a long spell in A&E, but I'm building steadily by half a Km or so each time. The body-busting combination of having a hangover and being on my euphemisim means the only running I'll be doing today however, is between here and the cupboard where the chocolate is kept. To think I lost 2lbs this week too. That'll be returned with interest by the time I'm done feeding the painters and decorators. I'm stuffing my face with a vanilla slice as I type.

So, if not running, what's on the agenda for the rest of today then? Answer; not much. Have another assignment due Monday, but the fact that I'm blogging rather than slogging suggests I'll be pulling another mammoth all nighter sponsored by Doritos and Cadburys tomorrow. Can't wait. Terrorism module starts Monday and, true to form, the lecturer has managed to spread seventy hours of lectures in such a way that they're going to feel like a hundred and forty...it's going to be a tough couple of months!

Procrastinate now. Don't put it off!

A double bed really is a terrible thing to waste, so here I am, under the quilt, propped up on cushions in a fashion reminiscent of grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - he only got out of bed for chocolate too. Snuck, stealth-like, down to the kitchen at about 10am to raid my stash for a Fudge bar - only 115 calories and a bit of fat - I reason it's less than a bowl of cereal and therefore a perfectly viable breakfast. One cup of Te Rojo and a glass of Robinsons no added sugar apple & blackcurrant cordial later and my staple dietary requirements for the day are well on the way to being complete. Disaster Management presentation due tomorrow is, however, far from it.

We've had some nice weather recently - 'nice' in the British weather vocabulary meaning 'not wet' and 'above freezing'. It's slightly overcast today but the damn wind has finally blown itself out and all is strangely peaceful. Nothing but the sounds of people mowing their lawns, the birds chattering in the trees and a flock of pigeons flying themselves dizzy in circles round the house. God, I crave summer like a fat kid craves cake. Have been sleeping with the window open the past few nights for the simple fact that I can - finally - without dying of hypothermia in my sleep. Just 3 days of 12 degrees and watery sunshine and already I wake up covered in mosquito bites - god I love scratching them. Reminds me of summer.

Study's not going too well. Somewhere between New Year and now I lost impetus, then interest, and finally the will to live. Okay, so it's not that bad, but this course can be pretty tough when you have nothing and no-one to take your mind off work. (Cue the violins...) I need a hobby, a release of some kind.

In a period of extreme desperation a couple weeks ago I decided to brave the treadmill while the gym was deserted and no-one could see me sweat. Lo-and-behold I discovered not only that I can run (previous attempts had resulted in something verging on heart failure) but that I enjoy it. For a blissful 20 minutes the only thought to cross my mind was where the next lungful of oxygen was coming from - a welcome respite from the usual 'does he, doesn't he?', assignment deadline panic, and job application fear. My personal best is still only 2.5kms in 16.5 mins - I know, herds of turtles have been known to stampede through peanut butter in better time - but I'll improve with practice and the correct motivation, ie. anger, frustration, and chocolate. For those of you who don't know, I was always the kid bringing up the rear in gym class (no, not the chubby asthmatic kid, the one behind him), so this will be no easy journey, but should keep us all entertained nevertheless. Now all I need is the courage to ask one of the on-site army PTIs to help devise a training plan...