Saturday, 26 November 2011

water water everywhere

There must be a little masochist inside me.  A cranky, self-flagellating man, Silas from the Dan Brown books if you will.  Because I am laying here, desperate with thirst, dry lipped, sore throated, enfeebled and headachy in a flat with working taps and many bottles of Evian.  None of these happen to be within arms reach.  So it is probably safe to assume that my masochist is in cahoots with the lazy bastard who keeps my arse welded to the sofa.  This is how people kill themselves slowly.

Thursday, 10 November 2011


What elevates us above the other primates is our ability to think philosophically.  Who am I? What is real? Why am I here? Our ability to ask these questions is both a blessing and a curse.  We are blessed that we have the capacity for existential thought, but we are cursed in that the questions we ask have had no satisfactory answer for thousands of years.  It is unfulfilling and possibly pointless, but our nature ensures that we will continue question.

I feel that today I went some way towards answering the unanswerable "Why am I here?" by realising my purpose; my overall reason for doing the things that I do.  Why have I studied?  Why am I continuing in this career?  What are my plans for the future?  All of these questions now seem, in my head at least to have some kind of unifying answer, and I feel that I may soon be on my way to living a Purpose Driven Life.

I'm not a Christian in any sense of the word, and I haven't read the book of that title, but the phrase perfectly encompasses how I am feeling right now.  Once there is a purpose that drives you, your actions are automatically imbued with special meaning, unconsciously pushing you to greater effort and greater success.

In my career I feel that there are two main priorities.  To help people, and to make money.  As a slave cannot serve two masters, everyone has a slant towards one or the other and some are wholly entrenched in one camp.  I do like money, I like the doors that money can open, and a life without money worries is an easy (easier) life but I want to help people.  The feeling when a dental phobic patient tells you that they trust you is indescribable.  I want that to continue.

I'm sitting here and I was compelled to write because I'm feeling so inspired right now, but you'll realise that I have yet to state my purpose here.  This is because it isn't yet in a form that lends itself easily to description.  It's a feeling, an idea, a thought, a spark of something special that is not yet alight.  I know that for dreams to be realised their airy insubstantial nature has to be solidified with specifics and time frames but I'm not ready for that yet.  I'm inspired, and I want to enjoy this feeling.

Saturday, 29 October 2011

no es bueno!

I went on a date last month with a guy that I am pretty sure is the only hottie in the small town in which I currently find myself.  He was a sexy brown skinned mix of Cubano and Brasileiro parentage, raised in France with a slight Brummie twang.  He had bright green eyes, captivating and cheeky, and a smile to match.

We're both new to the area.  So we picked a pretty central place to meet, outside a local bar.

So far pretty standard stuff right?

We were both late, which is a pretty sad way of determining a potential soul mate, but whatever works.  When I walked up to the bar to meet him, he hugged me, then proceeded to circle me, the aforementioned green eyes raking me from locs to toes, with noticeable pauses in various areas of my anatomy, letting out a long and extended;



I felt a little bit violated.

Gentlemen this is not a good look.

Objectification at its finest!

Sunday, 18 September 2011

So much has changed...

...and yet so much is unpleasantly familiar.

I'm trying to remember that sometimes people need to stick with the superficial, for peace and a simple life.  Sometimes buried stuff should stay buried.  Its easier.  Less hot, sweaty, digging up of the past.  If I thought that opening up would benefit me in any way, I'd do it.  But I have nothing new to add to the discussion.  Just "what's wrong with you?" and "what's wrong with me?", depending on the day's confidence level.  I still don't think I've heard the complete unvarnished truth, and I don't think I will, because I'm staying superficial. I'll save my depths for the more deserving.

Thursday, 16 June 2011

Thats Dr Eva!


Four years of life and I have finally reached the day that made it all worth while.  Last friday I opened an envelope while my heart pulsed in my mouth and then cried as I read Final Grade - BDS (Hons).  These weren't pretty tears.  They were snotty, red eyed, honking sobs of gratitude and relief, since I had managed to convince myself that I had failed at least one of the exams.  I hadn't quite composed myself when I called my parents and they were sure I had failed until I managed to get the good news out.

So now I'm a doctor (ish).  A doctor of teeth. And I couldn't be happier.

Results weekend fell on the weekend of my 26th birthday so it really was a celebration, presents included a stack of cash, a kindle (can't wait til Amazon finally delivers this), jewellery and a holiday to the Dominican Republic (although technically this was less of a present and more my Dad trying to get rid of his airmiles).

I am walking around London with a ridiculous smile on my face.  I'm a clown.  I look like I have been botoxed this way.  I don't care.

Back down on earth I still have patients to finish off and bureaucracy to navigate so I can move to Oxford with a clear head.

Sunday, 22 May 2011


I was perusing twitter, as you do when the biggest exams of your life are on the horizon and the pressure is turning you into a crazy person, and I found that someone had tweeted:

 ----» "The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank" | Dante Rossetti"

I #facepalmed, because this is about as deep as.... simile engine has failed me, it's just not deep at all.  According to google Rossetti was a painter and poet and more interestingly, he is Cristina Rossetti's brother.  Google also says that during the course of his life he turned away from the anglican christian doctrine of his upbringing, so it's interesting that this quote is attributed to him.  Unfortunately my five minute search couldn't find any context for it so I'll have to accept it as read. which makes it a bald faced lie.Admittedly there are certain times where any one raised in a Christian household, whatever their current religious affiliation, is going to need to call god's name in vain.  Some examples:

During a lottery win "OH MY GOD!!"

During sex: "OH GOD!" (doesn't really have an effective replacement, swearing is a little more vulgar and "OH DARWIN" is a passion-killer if your dude's name isn't Charles)

During labor: "OH GOD!" (apparently pushing a human out of your body is painful, who knew? Again swearing is more vulgar, but I guess in this instance you could substitute "god" with whoever knocked you up)

But these are just commonly used literary/ verbal constructs.  When something goes well for an atheist and he is thankful, he can thank all the people that a theist would thank in addition to god, his parents, his significant other, his dog! Whoever he felt made a positive contribution to his success.  He can thank himself and all the hard work that he put in to make something happen. If he's a young american he could even thank his haters (but that requires a post all of it's own).

So I guess this is just to say, thanks for the concern Dante, but I think we'll be just fine :-)

why you shouldn't thank your haters

Because you probably don't have any!

Yes there may be people in your life that don't like you *shrug* not everyone is going to like you. 
Yes there may be people at your job who don't agree with your method of completing a task *shrug* not everyone is going to agree with you. 
Yes there may be people on the street who don't smile at you *shrug* not everyone is happy for you.

These are not haters, these are people to whom your life is irrelevant, a very different concept.

Just to confirm that my stance was correct, I went to the urban dictionary to get an up-to-date definition of exactly what a hater is:

[NB: there are 17 pages of definitions]

1. A person that simply cannot be happy for another person's success. So rather than be happy they make a point of exposing a flaw in that person.  
2. Overused word that people like to use just because someone else expresses a dislike for a certain individual.

All of the other 117 entries are variations on the above.  From my tone you can probably sense that I am in agreement with definition 2.  When it comes to people liking you and being happy for your success I say *shrug* not everyone is going to like you or be happy for you, and that is their right.  The only time that this should ever be a problem is if their negative words or actions have a tangible negative effect on you life.  The English language already has words for this, libel, slander, bullying.

I hate (ha!) the word hater even more when it is used to describe a person who has no interest in a particular celebrity.  Case in point, my response to the hijaking of all terrestrial television channels by kate and will's wedding.  My facebook status made note of the fact that I had no interest in anything but her dress, and when I finally saw that I was disappointed, I thought it was quite boring.  I may have also said that from some angles she looked like tiffany from eastenders (who I actually thought was quite pretty at the time).  The cries of "HAAAAATER" came in thick and fast.  Short of sending a wedding gift, I had no way of quieting the rabble.

When did expressing a negative opinion become hating?  What happened to balance?  As with many things that are wrong in the world, I blame america.  Maybe that makes me a hater? *shrug*

Saturday, 21 May 2011


Three weeks ago (tomorrow) I gave up on chicken.  Since I already didn't eat pork or beef (except in lasagne - yum) and lamb was a very rare thing, I decided to do a month of vegetarianism, just to see if I could, and if it would have any effect on my wellbeing.  After the first week I was craving tuna, so I adjusted my goal to pescatarianism, and this may actually become a permanent lifestyle choice.

First things first - PLEASE don't tell my Dad.  He has been pushing his meat-free lifestyle on us for a very long time (he's also dairy-free, egg-free, shellfish-free, but eats fish - as with most things he supercedes classification).  I've told him that I'm doing this for a month, so we'll see if he notices that it continues.

I miss mum's roast chicken.  Sunday lunch is a staple in my house, at 3pm we're all around the table while Mum dishes out crispy roast potatoes, vegetables, my mac and cheese and either succulent roast chicken or a vegan tofu based concoction for Dad and J.  Now I am sure I can be pescatarian without ingesting the gelatinous white mass that is tofu - bleugh, but it will make Sunday's difficult.

Today I had the best soup (store-bought) I've had with no chicken.  Tesco's Finest Puy Lentil and Tomato - delish, it didn't even need the extra kick of hot pepper sauce that I added (I cried like a baby).  Please try it - and thank me when you see me.

When exams are over and I actually start cooking again I have soooooo many recipe ideas that I want to try and hopefully I can put them up here with some photographs - call it an early draft of Mama Eva's cook book.

[Just to clarify - NONE of these food choices have anything to do with having a particularly human attitude to animals reared for meat.  In that regard my attitude remains firmly carnivorous.  I will still eat eggs, fish, shellfish, wear leather shoes, sit on leather sofas, and if someone buys me a fur coat I'd wear that too, and woe betide any PETA activists that attack it with red paint - grrrrr!]

Monday, 18 April 2011

papa don't preach

Something you should know about me:

I am a Daddy's girl.  Everyone who knows me, will pick up on the fact, very soon into conversation that I hold my Pops in very high esteem.  Everything I know, I owe to my Dad.  He emphasised the importance of learning and equipped me will the skills to find and critically analyse information.  Because he did shift work, my Dad was the parent that came on school trips in primary school (where everyone thought he was my older brother - but his secret stash of youth fountain water is another story entirely).  I once really upset my Mum, by declaring that "Daddy's are the best because they do things with you" and to this day she hasn't let me forget it!  

He is also my physical inspiration.  Blessed with good genes that convert excess food to heat not fat, he finds it near impossible to put on weight, but he isn't lazy.  His upper body strength even when he isn't training is phenomenal.

He can do this:

Yeah watch it - and feel the burden of inadequacy (and reluctant admiration and grudging inspiration) that comes from having a father that is physically fitter at forty-*ahem* than you will ever be!  He can fix pretty much anything, occasionally he reads instruction manuals, but not often.  I remember the slug-like keloid scar on his arm that he earned putting together the fitted kitchen in the house I grew up in.  To be completely honest, he is probably the reason most guys don't live up to my expectations - they definitely broke the mould when they made him.

Is he perfect?  Ha! Far from it, but who in life is?  The two flaws that I believe destroyed our relationship when I was a teenager, controlling and patronising behaviour, are funnily enough two flaws that I see in myself today.  They say you become your parents but I guess I was expecting my Mother's influence to weigh-in a little more.  I find his well worn parenting phrases in my mouth often (some of which I am sure he stole from Furious Styles - but apparently this wasn't intentional).  He is also solider for Patriarchy which, as I am an intern for Feminism, leads us to disagree...

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

sunshine in greenwich park

Today I had a perfect day.

I spent the morning studying and watching Archer - animated series that is just WRONG! Get on it if you aren't already! Thanks for the heads up my friend. Also had some issues with some meat - but the less said about that the better.

But today was a B-E-A-utiful day.  The sky was cerulean, the sun was actually warming the world for the first time this year, and since I had a rare day off there was no way that I wasn't going to enjoy it.

So I took my self down to Greenwich (one of (if not) my favourite places in London) and sat in the park by the lake soaking up the sun. I'm still as pale as ever, but I'd like to think I have a glow, and I hope it lasts at least until tomorrow.

I stayed in the park until the sun started to set, then walked over to Ben and Jerry's for a scoop of double chocolate fudge brownie *droooooool* but it was closed! Yep, I didn't get my ice-cream, but today was still perfect.

So I thought I share some of the music that made today special - and if you had a sucky day in an office somewhere I hope these songs bring a lil bit of my perfect day to you.

brokey mcpoverty

Studenthood begets brokeness

Brokeness begets stupidity

Stupidity begets hoping the meat that was frozen and defrosted and refrozen when I left the freezer door open accidently, will still be edible and cooking it up in a pot to check.

Not sure I actually want to eat it though - are times really that hard?

internet dating - a eulogy

To be completely and 100% honest, I have been involved in some form of internet dating since the age of 17.  Blackpeeps, MSN and Yahoo messenger, Face-pic, Hi5, Myspace and even POF.  I am currently single and I have never been in a relationship with a guy I have met on-line.  I have made a couple good friends who I am very grateful to have in my life, and I have made some stupid mistakes that lead me to count myself lucky that I am not one of any number of negative statistics.  

What was my stupidest moment?  

On meeting The DJ for the first time in person (after we had been talking on and off for about a year), I jumped into his car (no note of the registration number, no destination to text to a well meaning friend) late at night and was whisked to his home in that borough that claims to be part of South London.  Luckily I was wined and dined and returned home at my request.  He was a perfect gentleman.  The outcome could so easily have been very different.

My excuse:
Restricted childhoods create reckless individuals unable to adequately process risk - read "book smart, street stupid".

My corroborating evidence:
The vast number of Asian girls who go into halls in the first year of university and lose their damn minds to cheap alcohol (racial stereotyping? yes - but my blog, my rules!)

Anyway so I've come to the conclusion (after 8 years - I am really THAT slow) that internet dating does not work for me.  At ALL!

I just can't take it seriously.  I can't get excited about being written to by a profile picture and some well meaning text.  Trusting someone to accurately describe themselves online is like trusting homeopaths to put an accurate description of the contents of their remedy on the jar (read - placebo).  

The men are cheesy.   Many lack shame.  I have been messaged on more than one occasion by men older than my (grand)dad.  They tend to tell me that age is nothing but a number.  I tend to block them.

My flighty Gemini tendencies mean I get excited when a guy with hot pictures messages me, but then illiteracy and text speak turns me right off.  Is it too much to ask for, a sexy guy that reads? That knows that slang isn't appropriate for all situations? 

Ah who am I kidding, He could be Morris Chestnut with a personal library (*drools*, *daydreams about the many ways Morris and I would enjoy that library*, *drools some more*, *regains focus*, *ahem*) if the chemistry, physical attraction and compatibility aren't there then what's the point? And those are the things that I find impossible to judge online.  Which means I usually don't give a damn about meeting up.  Which generally defeats the entire purpose.

So on that note I pledge my allegiance to traditional face-to-face methods of meeting and greeting, and hereby declare my current POF page closed until further notice.  Internet dating will only be reattempted:

1) If my biological clock ever makes an appearance
2) If the pickings in Banbury are slim-to-none
3) If I get bored while studying and require some help with my procrastination.


Tuesday, 5 April 2011


"Studying" (and yes the quotation marks are intentional and informative) tends to form the bulk of my existence.  The thought is depressing.  But in the past 4 years every person in my life has told me...

..."It will all be worth it"

Bleugh! - clearly I am a slave to instant gratification because that well meaning platitude does nothing but irritate.

It is now 2 months until my exams.  The final exams.  The ones that will determine if my lazy, work shy attitude and perpetual lack of attendance have had any lasting effect on my ability to drill teeth (or pull them out - which is infinitely more satisfying).

I actually have nothing to say right now, this is just another procrastination attempt that I thought I would share with my reader (singular - also intentional - you know who you are my darling!)

Life updates:

I have a J-O-B! Which is obviously conditional on passing my exams and obtaining or qualification - or I would probably just go now. This j-o-b is in a country town called Banbury, seriously, the epitome of middle England.  My dental practice is in a grade 2 listed building near Banbury Cross (and if that sounds familiar, go back to your book of nursery rhymes)

Following on from that I have handed in my notice to my typing gig in the Palace - ecstatic about that.  It will free up a lot of time.  And recently it hasn't been pulling in the big bucks like it used to.  My last day is next friday and I will be attending for a lil Krispy Kreme doughnut party (going out in style).

My little (significantly taller than I) brother is turning 16 in a couple of weeks.  Six-freaking-teen! I don't even know how to process that in any useful way.  In my head he is still a lil fat-cheeked ball of fun (he'll never read this, it's okay), but the facts show that he is fast usurping my "golden child" reign.  He volunteers, he Dukes of Edinburghs, he Wu Shu Kwans, he gets straight As, and he has great skin.  He's lucky we are related and the bonds of siblinghood are strong or I would be plotting his downfall as we speak.

I hate my flat.  This antipathy was born of searching for flats in Banbury (see above for reasons) and realising that for what I am currently paying, I could be living in a 2 bed, 2 bath, top floor flat, rather than the box I'm in right now. London weighting is a joke.  It's hardly as if I am paying for location.  On leaving my flat on the way to work recently I was confronted by dried blood speckles tracing a route to my bus stop - nice.  You may call me an ungrateful bitch but while I appreciate the many benefits of living alone in London, I will fight for my right to bitch about the price.

Tuesday, 8 February 2011

Just something I liked...
"When I do marriage counseling, I ask couples if they have the following feelings about their spouse:
1) They won't hurt me intentionally 
2) They love me unconditionally 
3) They have my best intentions at heart 
4)We're in this together
If one of those is missing, I know I have a lot more work ahead of me. But when those things are there? It's worth it."
- Jayme C on Black and Bougie

Friday, 4 February 2011

on the way home...

The Meeting Place - St Pancras Station, BBC Yorkshire

Descending the escalators we were confronted with a man and a woman entwined as if one body.  Fierce in embrace and placing tender, heartfelt kisses on noses, upper lips and chins, the intensity of their affection parts the hoards of departing fans.  To the averted eyes and whispers of "get a room" the entwined couple remained blissfully oblivious, lost in each other.

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

Running part 2

For the first installement, please click here

I was at home today preparing for next week's interview and I felt stagnant and lazy.  I had taken up permanent residence on my sofa.  A true couch potato.  And my body was unimpressed, my hips and low back and shoulders were sore, as though I slept in an awkward position.  I had to get out.

Finally the trainers were laced, the i-pod charged and the sports bra located.  The ground and the air were damp from earlier rain and felt fresh.  I did some dynamic stretches because my underused muscles felt tight and stiff, drank some water, and left.

There is a park less than 1 minutes walk from my flat.  I really have no excuse for my prolonged period of inactivity.  The park is ringed by a path, and I jogged aroud it twice dodging cracks, potholes, uneven cambers and dog shit.  All of these things preferable to running like a hamster on a treadmill surrounded by sweaty, grunting people.  I think I'll try again on Thursday morning, let's see if I can get my ass in shape for Salvador!

Sunday, 30 January 2011


Uurgh I'm annoyed with myself and embarrassed at this most recent show of blinding insecurity. 

I may have possibly spent the last 10 minutes doing an attractiveness comparison with an irrelevant chick's facebook photos. 


In my defence, she should really have better privacy settings.  Seriously, who has their facebook page, wall, info and photos open to any Tom, Dick and Harry with a broadband connection?

In case you are curious, today I was hotter than her.  I'm not being bitchy, she's pretty, with gorgeous skin.  But whatever, Sunday's always leave me in a warm, self satisfied mood so sod it, I win this round!  In the harsh grey light of Monday morning I may come to a different conclusion and those emotional scalpels may leave metaphysical scars. 

Maybe I'm a masochist. 

Wednesday, 19 January 2011


By the skin of my teeth I was lucky enough to get tickets to see Fela! last week.  I'm not going to review it.  There are reviews, professional and otherwise, the length and breadth of the internet and they are universally positive.  I don't have anything to add.  Just go and see the show and you'll understand. 

But it did raise a few issues for me that I'll be addressing in the next few weeks, when I actually find the time and mental accuity to write something.  I have no idea why I'm so exhausted right now.  I'm going to suggest that I should probably stop being a bum and do some exercise since I'm doing everything else, taking my vitamins, sleeping a lot, eating right, drinking water, but running never actually materialised.  I think if I focus on the endorphin rush which I loved last year, I might be able to kick start something this weekend.  We'll see.

That was a bit of a tangent.

Yes Fela! (and I feel like the exclamation mark is important and should always be included) gave me ideas, so look out for them in the next few weeks.

Spike Lee - "The african butt shaking, hehehe" - seriously - these chicks were not playyyyyyying.  I've been doing my clock daily (Fela! joke - go see it!)

Saturday, 15 January 2011

Chico and Rita

Originally I heard about Chico and Rita back in November and I was intrigued.  I made plans to see it at the Picturehouse, but unfortunately those plans fell through and I wasn't really in a cinema mood for a while after that.  When I finally looked for a cinema that was still showing the film, I was so disappointed to find I'd missed it.  I couldn't find it anywhere.  I couldn't even find it online *shh - I was desperate*! 

Thank God for facebook.  After an impassioned plea Film Chick came to my rescue and pointed me towards a little cinema off Leicester Square for film lovers.  It shows films that have finished their general release as well as some old flicks and preview screenings.  They were showing Chico and Rita until the end of the week.  So today I took myself to Green Park, strolled down Piccadilly and settled into my leather seat in Leicester Square, hoping that all the effort had been worth it.

Check out the trailer:

How beautiful is that?

It was definitely a readjustment, remembering how to appreciate hand drawn animation.  The imperfections, the movement, the facial expressions all added to "el espíritu de la película"**.

Visually the film was a treat.  Musically it surpassed even that.  Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie made two of many jazz musician cameos.  There was a little Casablanca, a little Josephine Baker and the song - Beseme Mucho.  I don't know who sung it originally, but Nina does it justice below. 

The film was never silent.  40s/50s jazz played a starring role with its own moods and the characters seems to act in accordance with the music rather than the other way around.  The film could have been a music video - and that is meant in every way as a compliment to the way that the images and the music combine for a truly sensual experience. 

Sadly even after all of this I left the film spectacularly annoyed!


Thursday, 13 January 2011

love and other drugs

Directed by:
Edward Zwick

Jake Gyllenhaal as Jamie Randall
Anne Hathaway as Maggie Murdock

I watched this film just as 2010 ended.  I was in the Picturehouse with maybe 6 other people, embracing the peace and sweet popcorn that comes with a solo cinema trip.  I didn't have great expectations.  I had just watched The Tourist and seen how two actors, who individually are amazing, can suck the life from a film if they lack chemistry.  Save your money, The Tourist shouldn't even be bought on DVD.  Rent it if you must.  But don't say I didn't warn you.  However my girl-crush on Anne Hathaway and straight up lust for Jake Gyllenhaal meant I had to give this film a chance, and it didn't disappoint.

The film seems to consist of parallel plot arcs.  The first is an expose of the seedy, morally bankrupt drugs industry.  We're shown ostentatious displays of wealth by pharmaceutical companies, the greed of the drugs reps, and the unscrupulous doctors who push drugs from the company most likely to get them to Hawaii that summer.  The characters in this plot are almost uniformly obnoxious with few redeeming qualities and their lavish displays of wealth are nauseating.  Sadly we don't see any redemption for these characters and their excess makes them increasingly irrelevant as the film progresses.

The second arc is the love story and this is the reason this film touched me.  I didn't realise how accustomed I'd become to seeing teenagers fall in love on the big screen.  Boys with floppy hair and piercing eyes (Zac Efron and Robert Patterson, I mean you!) serenading a pretty, smart, ethnically ambiguous girl the night before the big game (thank you very much Disney).

But Maggie and Jamie are adults and this is grown-up love, admittedly through the eyes of two very emotionally stunted people who connect physically way before any emotion is involved.  The much reported nudity isn't explicit or exploitative.  It's really natural and fresh, almost European in its approach.  And a definite two fingers up to the typical Hollywood post-coital scene with the duvet demurely above the level of the breasts of the actress and pubic hair of the actor.

At first glance Maggie and Jamie are pretty cliche.  The slacker, turned smooth talking drugs rep with the ability to charm his way into any and all knickers, and the beautiful but terminally ill artist, with a spiky wit that keeps people at arms length - you have definitely seen these characters before.  But Jake and Annie (yes, we're cool like that) breathe life into these characters, flesh them out and actually make you care about their journey.

Unfortunately the love story is marred by the addition of Jamie's younger brother.  An unnecessary purveyor of masturbation, porn and voyeurism humour which stands out rudely from the overall tone of the film.  I wish that Zwick had left this character on the cutting room floor. 

Rating - 3.5/5

The best romantic comedy I have seen in a long time with some unfortunate, unnecessary additions.

Wednesday, 12 January 2011

Tuesday, 11 January 2011


Definitely not me - not today...

This morning I laid in bed and thought about running.

On an earlier trip to the bathroom I'd opened the blinds and noted the damp, puddle stained tarmac. I squinted at the grey on grey landscape examining the air for raindrops. It would be nice to explain my failure as the result of weather.

It wasn't raining.


I disengaged my phone from its nightly charge and crawled back into bed anyway. The morning routine of Facebook, BBC news and Guardian mobile was over quickly. Predictably the world had changed very little in the eight hours I spent unpluggled. But an informed runner is a better runner...right?

Whatever you have to tell yourself.

Last night I had all the necessary motivation. I located my underused sports bra (although it would probably be easier just to bandage the ladies down). My running shoes were clean and left by the door. I even sourced some bass-heavy house music from my current music teacher and superstar DJ friend.  I was ready!

Now I'm frozen with indecision. I'm not tired.  I'm in bed because it is the warmest, most comforting place in the flat and leaving it means I have to start my day. Starting my day means deadlines, requirements, patients, lectures and pressure, all of which (along with cold) are repelled by the almost magical qualities of my duvet. Adding running to the morning clearly is not an attractive prospect.

Why must I torture myself? I'm currently at the lowest weight I have been for years. With very little effort on my part (spending my money at rather than I'm happy with what I see in the full length mirror ~85% of the time. I have a genetically pre-determined tendency to carry weight on my legs not my belly (thanks mum!), which is apparently healthier (subcutaneous rather than visceral fat) but makes rocking a skirt problematic. But I lack fitness. Running for buses reduces me to a hot, sweaty, wheezing mess.

Maybe I'm not built for running?

It's time to get up...

...It's raining!

Monday, 10 January 2011