emo racer

At one point during my run yesterday, I almost cried.

I had just finished the 10km loop track through the forest, complete with hills and tree roots and long stretches of sand. It's a pretty technical trail at some points and can be slow going at times.

I had started off again in search of the 4km marker. I was determined to run 18km. And a few kilometres into my second stretch I just suddenly thought, man. This is what I'm doing. This is my body, running. This is my body which used to be so out of shape. A body which never exercised, which was overweight and unhealthy, which felt the strain of just walking a few blocks. And I am running. I am flying through a forest and I am sweating and I am puffing and I am in pain and I am exhilarated and my back is dripping and my face is hot and there is music in my ears and I am doing this.

I have a feeling this is something I'm going to keep coming back to every time I increase my distance, every time I run a race, every time I push my boundaries.

I mean, given where I've come from? I honestly believe sometimes, as I'm running, as I'm running - something I dismissed a long time ago as an activity I would never consider attempting - that I can do anything.

It's similar to the feeling I had when I first started dancing. When I first learnt enough moves that I could dance an entire song with a partner; I could allow him to lead me around the dance floor, and I could follow, and this goofy grin would break out onto my face because I was dancing. Me! Me!

But 18km wasn't enough. I ran another 10km this morning which brings the weekend's total to 28km. I am astounded sometimes at where I am now. At where I am, given where I used to be.

The reality of what I'm doing keeps hitting me with every new goal that I achieve. And I am overwhelmed.

banishing the grinch

How am I kicking off another year of being alive?

For two nights in a row my girlish tendencies were allowed to flourish; Saturday night I had plans for dinner with wonderful old friends, and Sunday found me on a double non-date with someone I'm not actually interested in romantically. Both nights I departed the house in a flurry of activity, leaving a pile of tried-and-failed dresses on the floor in my wake, makeup still fresh and perfume trailing its scent behind me.

I relish evenings like that. They were a good end to 25; a year which brought more heartache and crushed dreams and closed chapters than I would have liked, than I could almost deal with. But 25 didn't break me completely and I am beginning to live again.

26 started with slothfulness, but only in the early hours of the morning. Midnight saw me quietly ushering in my birthday by watching old episodes of One Tree Hill online, in my absent flatmate's bed. I still don't have a room after returning from my working holiday of fail, but that is okay. A solution is pending, maybe, perhaps, possibly.

Defying the late night, come 10am I was pulling on my Mizunos and a few minutes later I was running energetically through my favourite forest. I took it gently, gently, not pushing myself too much, being kind to my body and just taking some time out to enjoy the scenery. I'm gearing up for another week of running followed by a 15km attempt this Saturday which is going to take all the strength and determination I possess, and then some. This half-marathon training is really calling on stores of energy and motivation that I didn't know existed within me.

After cooling down and showering I was straight back out the door for my next task. I downed some water, I gathered my thoughts, I filled out some forms, I answered probing questions, I had my finger stabbed. And suddenly I found myself in a familiar old chair, a pressure cuff around my arm and a squishy red ball in my hand, a nurse poking at my veins and frowning at their evasiveness. But we pushed through together and my body complied just enough to deliver another 488mls of blood into their care.

Though it's not the only day I donate blood, it has become my birthday thing.

The rest of the afternoon has been quiet but productive so far. If you consider purchasing large quantities of t-shirts online to be a productive thing. But there were also more important achievements amidst all the consumerism! Such as filling out an application to study, an application for a student loan, and scheduling a School of Engineering tour for tomorrow morning.

Yes. I am contemplating study. I joke about how I don't think I can stand the thought of becoming a student again, especially at 26, but it only requires a year to be qualified for an entry level position, and besides, after the disaster that was my last year I figure that I can handle almost anything these days.

My obligations for the afternoon have been tended to, so all that's left is fun. I never plan celebrations or events; I typically like to let the day slide by as unobtrusively as possible. I'll spend some quality time in the kitchen to create a culinary masterpiece (or rather, meat and three veg meal) for my flatmates for dinner, and in the evening I'll be found at Ceroc to dance the rest of the night away.

I imagine a well-deserved beer will be on the cards when I get home.

Not too bad a day for a birthday grinch, huh?