This time last week, I was in possession of all ten of my toe nails, my most recent half marathon time was 02:13 and hubby was planning his next round of golf with his beloved set of clubs.
1. Toe-ing the line
As I type this I am wondering if I will ever have the guts to present my beaten up feet to a beautician for a pedicure again. A punishing run/hobble down Knysna's Simola hill has rendered my feet a little worse for wear. It's only a matter of time before the deep purple toe nail on my right foot bids me farewell. Gross, I know, but just be thankful I resisted the urge to post a picture!
2. The PW (personal worst)
My feet aren't the only thing that took a bruising last Saturday... My ego got a tad 'klapped', too. After a promising start, the Drill Sergeant and I launched out of the starting blocks at a comfortable, well-trained pace. It would later emerge that our pace was somewhat impressive as the boys (The Great Dane and 'Brenda') confessed that it took 5km's to catch us.
Alas! The first half of the run was not to be repeated...
although my mind, chest and legs were willing, my right knee was weak. My old nemesis, ITB '(illio-tibial' band syndrome for non-readers of Runners World) made it's grand, painful entrance at the 17km mark and any hopes of achieving a personal best vanished faster than a vintage Chanel bag at a Charity shop.
I hobbled over the finish line in 02:29, the last of my 'team' to complete the 21.1km route. Thankfully, there were pancakes, mini doughnuts, ice cold beers and lots of friends to cheer me up... Oh, and sometimes you really do need somebody to lean on.
3. Join the club...
A few years ago I had the misfortune of being hijacked on the way back from the airport. I'd just arrived from London for my 21st birthday celebrations and a trio of very kind locals decided to relieve me of all my luggage, including one rather large bag containing ALL of my shoes, and the last drop of homesickness I had been carrying around with me since my move to the UK. Being the victim of theft just plain SUCKS, which is my heart really aches for hubby. A couple of nights ago his golf clubs were stolen out of the boot of his car. His wallet and spare cell phone were also taken, but it's the 'loss' of his golf clubs that really adds insult to injury.
You see, as any man who plays golf will tell you, building up a set of clubs doesn't happen over night... And it's not a cheap exercise. Ever since I've known hubby, he's been saving up for a special putter, getting excited over winning a golf umbrella at a golf day, using birthday gift vouchers for that golf bag he's had his eye on for six months, and window shopping at The Pro Shop as lovingly as I do at Jenni Button. Sure, you can replace stuff. I know that. But it just doesn't seem fair that something you spend so long building up can be swiped so quickly.
You can lock your car, you can turn on the alarm, you can keep your handbag on your lap in a cinema. You can be prepared... However, it seems that as South Africans we are often just preparing for the inevitable. Cos while you're beeping your car 'locked' some opportunistic low life is blocking the signal with a remote in their pocket. I love this country. I really do. But sometimes, it's all too glaringly obvious that all the sunshine in the world can't buy you security.
(On the bright side, at least birthday/anniversary and Christmas presents for hubby for the next few years are sorted)
1. Toe-ing the line
As I type this I am wondering if I will ever have the guts to present my beaten up feet to a beautician for a pedicure again. A punishing run/hobble down Knysna's Simola hill has rendered my feet a little worse for wear. It's only a matter of time before the deep purple toe nail on my right foot bids me farewell. Gross, I know, but just be thankful I resisted the urge to post a picture!
2. The PW (personal worst)
My feet aren't the only thing that took a bruising last Saturday... My ego got a tad 'klapped', too. After a promising start, the Drill Sergeant and I launched out of the starting blocks at a comfortable, well-trained pace. It would later emerge that our pace was somewhat impressive as the boys (The Great Dane and 'Brenda') confessed that it took 5km's to catch us.
Alas! The first half of the run was not to be repeated...
although my mind, chest and legs were willing, my right knee was weak. My old nemesis, ITB '(illio-tibial' band syndrome for non-readers of Runners World) made it's grand, painful entrance at the 17km mark and any hopes of achieving a personal best vanished faster than a vintage Chanel bag at a Charity shop.
I hobbled over the finish line in 02:29, the last of my 'team' to complete the 21.1km route. Thankfully, there were pancakes, mini doughnuts, ice cold beers and lots of friends to cheer me up... Oh, and sometimes you really do need somebody to lean on.
3. Join the club...
A few years ago I had the misfortune of being hijacked on the way back from the airport. I'd just arrived from London for my 21st birthday celebrations and a trio of very kind locals decided to relieve me of all my luggage, including one rather large bag containing ALL of my shoes, and the last drop of homesickness I had been carrying around with me since my move to the UK. Being the victim of theft just plain SUCKS, which is my heart really aches for hubby. A couple of nights ago his golf clubs were stolen out of the boot of his car. His wallet and spare cell phone were also taken, but it's the 'loss' of his golf clubs that really adds insult to injury.
You see, as any man who plays golf will tell you, building up a set of clubs doesn't happen over night... And it's not a cheap exercise. Ever since I've known hubby, he's been saving up for a special putter, getting excited over winning a golf umbrella at a golf day, using birthday gift vouchers for that golf bag he's had his eye on for six months, and window shopping at The Pro Shop as lovingly as I do at Jenni Button. Sure, you can replace stuff. I know that. But it just doesn't seem fair that something you spend so long building up can be swiped so quickly.
You can lock your car, you can turn on the alarm, you can keep your handbag on your lap in a cinema. You can be prepared... However, it seems that as South Africans we are often just preparing for the inevitable. Cos while you're beeping your car 'locked' some opportunistic low life is blocking the signal with a remote in their pocket. I love this country. I really do. But sometimes, it's all too glaringly obvious that all the sunshine in the world can't buy you security.
(On the bright side, at least birthday/anniversary and Christmas presents for hubby for the next few years are sorted)
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