Category: Pizza

Shamed Into Blogging

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The Running Goth has outed me at least three times in different places over the last couple of days for slacking, so before she finds anywhere else to shame me,  here’s an update.

On looking at my Running Free Online calendar, it’s not as bad as I thought. Okay, so the blogging perhaps maybe kind of a little titchy tiny bit slightly got a tad slack but I have sort of done some exercise. Look.

rfo-19Jan I think the 10 minutes last Monday must have been some kettlebells, the 4 miles on Wednesday was, in fact, a 6 mile walk in the countryside (my Garmin doesn’t like pausing too often and when it does it robs me of my mileage. Stupid Garmin). This countryside, to be specific.

countryside

The bike ride on Friday was cycling to the station before I went pizza-making with Helsbels where we put in further Janathon effort by kneading the dough for our pizzas. It counts. Shut up.

waitrose-pizza

The bike ride on Saturday was me cycling home after the pizza-making class, after midnight.

Okay, so I was slack last week – I admit it and I did annoy myself by being so slack but after such a promising start to Janathon where I had an immense amount of energy, that energy just seemed to disappear last week.

I promise to do better this week.

Crisis Square Mile Run 2008 race report

5 comments

Well it’s that time of year again when I get a free red t-shirt and run through the City of London with 1,999 other similarly attired runners. Yes, it’s the Crisis Square Mile Run which was my first ever race two years ago and therefore is my most favouritest race ever ever ever.

I decide to do another experiment and run without my iPod and “soak in the atmosphere”. My experiment lasts for approximately 100 yards when two girls next to me start screeching and I switch my iPod on to drown them out with my new favourite band, Black Kids.

We get under London Bridge and the race has come to a standstill as 2,000 people attempt to go up the stairs single file and we’re held up for ages and I look at my Garmin and it says we’ve gone .85 miles in 17 minutes which isn’t very fast really and I think we’re going to be a bit longer than the 35 minutes I said I’d be and Bernard the official bag looker afterer and beer getter inner will be getting bored and cold and there’s a man in zebra print and then there’s a dickhead dressed up as a doctor carrying a huge plastic hypodermic needle which he is perilously close to spiking people with, the twat, and we go past a lot of pubs and I have a brainwave and think next year, we could walk round and get a quick half in each pub along the route and then even lightweights like Bernard can join in instead of looking after the bags and getting the beer in although looking after the bags and getting the beer in is obviously a very important job and we get to the Millennium Bridge and have to do another lap and I do another lap and get back to the bridge and go up it and people are still just finishing their first lap and I think ha, I’ve lapped people, there’s a first time for everything and I get to the finish line and get my banana and water and go and wait for Kate to finish and I see her coming over the bridge and I start cheering and clapping and then Bernard says, er, that’s not Kate and I think oh shit I should have worn my glasses and I’ve just cheered and clapped a complete stranger and then a man on a spacehopper comes over the bridge and ha ha, Kate’s going to be beaten by a man on a spacehopper but Kate overtakes him and I make sure it is Kate this time and it is so I cheer and clap and then we go and rehydrate with beer and then go back to Paternoster Square to claim our goody bags

and I go and find Womble to say hello to and Kate and Bernard have picked up a goody bag for me then we go to the pub and near the pub is this nice building

then we go to Harry’s Bar to get pizza as Harry’s Bar does the nicest pizza in the City and when we’ve finished our pizza they bring us chocolates with the bill and they owe us 2p as they haven’t got any change so we say ok, we’ll let you off the 2p but you have to give us more chocolate and they do and then we go to another pub which is really crap and then I go to get the train home and at the station is a sign with a number you can text to grass up fare dodgers and for some reason I find this really funny.

Route

Splits

Stats
 Distance: 3.32 miles
Time: 44:37
Pace: 13:26 m/m
Calories: 282
Time spent under London Bridge: 15+ minutes
Men dressed as zebras: 1
Dickheads waving spiky plastic things around: 1
Pub crawl ideas: 1
Kate lookalikes: 1
Men on spacehoppers: 1
Music
Black Kids
THE 100 MILE CHALLENGE
 Miles completed so far
47.85 out of 100 / 12 days left

3 miles in 30 minutes

5 comments

As Warriorwoman has impressively spent two days chasing tube lines, after cleaning my embarrassingly dirty kitchen, I enter three races and this sufficiently motivates me into venturing out into the Bank Holiday sunshine rain to keep up with the challenge within a challenge (although I am quietly confident that it won’t be long before Warriorwoman slacks off with pathetic excuses like exams/broken backs/flowers to water, etc.)

I go round the marshes and get soaking wet and I do my 3 mile route in just over 30 minutes and therefore it’s looking likely that I will do my sub-30 5k at Sunday’s RfL if I don’t get stuck behind too many pink-lycra-clad women walking really slowly whilst eating pies and therefore can claim my free beer and pizza. Hurrah.

Stats
Distance: 3.01 miles
Time: 30:05
Pace: 10:00 m/m
Calories: 303
Races entered: 3
Sunny weathers: 0
Rain: lots
30 minute marshes: 1
Free pizzas on the horizon: 1
Music
The Beatles
The The
The Smiths
Bobby Conn
Mika
The Mission

Miles completed so far
6.49 / 100

Nike+ Sportband review

13 comments

Contrary to popular belief, I haven’t retired. I have been resting. Resting my finger that is, and my finger needs resting because last Saturday I had a few friends round for dinner for a celebrate-me-getting-a-new-job thing and while I was being the hostess with the mostest, instead of rinsing the rice, I rinsed my finger with boiling water and then it looks like this:


Ouch.

I ice it with the runner’s obligatory ice-pack-in-freezer and after that goes warm, it’s replaced by a packet of frozen Quorn mince. Then, ignoring my friends’ pleas to go to the hospital, after dinner I drink more wine and watch Sex and the City and then my finger feels better. Until the next day when it hurts like fuck.

I eventually get myself down to the Minor Injuries Unit at Barts after work on Monday (yes it was two days later but I’d rather walk around with a huge blister than go and sit in A&E and queue up for 5 hours behind 20,000 immigrants who are using it like their local GP’s practice) and my blister gets drained and dressed and then I look like some weird alien pointing thing. Cool.

And that is my excuse for not having run this week. Although I did run last Saturday morning but haven’t blogged it yet due to it being necessary to incorporate a review of a cheesy 40 minute workout MP3 I was sent which will mean having to listen to it again to remind myself of it and I haven’t been able to bring myself to do that yet because – unsurprisingly perhaps – it contains no Bobby Conn or Cardiacs, only the likes of the Birds Eye Peas or whatever they’re called. [Update – it is blogged now, see post below]

So this morning I decide to have my comeback. And I decide to ditch the marathon training and concentrate on getting my 5k and 10k speeds up. This has nothing to do with the fact that londonjogger is getting seriously speedy and we’re going to be doing the same 5k soon. Honest.

Also motivating me to get out of the door and stop being a fat bloater is the Nike+ Sportband that I was sent to try out


and as I’m getting dressed I realise my trousers are Nike, as is my t-shirt. If anyone had told me a couple of years ago I’d be wearing head to ankle Nike, I’d have laughed. Then punched them.

As I am only head to ankle Nike-clad, and not head to toe, I haven’t got any of those Nike shoes with the holes in so, following the lead of Joggerblogger, I undertake the Joggerblogger bodge job and tape the Nike+ link to my shoe and now with my weird alien pointing finger and a running shoe covered in masking tape I am going to go outside and look like a freak.


I am slightly disappointed by the fact that I seem to have been sent a sub-standard Sportband that only shows half the display but undeterred I go outside and press the button down for 3 seconds and it tells me to walk so I do as I’m told and I walk and after a few seconds it’s ready to begin recording and I press the button again and start to run. I have already been confused by how it can know how far I’ve gone without GPS and even though it goes by footstrikes, how does it know how long your stride is? I quickly realise that it’s going to need calibrating when, after my Garmin (which I have faithfully strapped to my left wrist) says I’ve gone half a mile, the Sportband reckons I’ve done almost a mile. Oh. As the Sportband ticks over 5k, I glance at my Garmin and it says 27 minutes. Ha ha, very funny. The Sportband is obviously lying.

After my week of eating pizza, chocolate and crisps, not visiting the gym or going running, I am feeling very fat and unfit and the wrong side of 9 stone and this is reflected in today’s run which has me stopping after my dubious 27 minute 5k for a bit of a walk. And there was me thinking I was going to come out today to break all land/speed records. Ho hum.

I walk/run the rest of the way and as I’m going through a particularly deserted bit there’s a young lad by the railings crouching and looking at his phone. I’m deciding whether to be scared or not and I decide not to be scared as it’s a gorgeous day and loads of people around and he walks towards me and I think he’s going to ask me the time or something and I must have my worried look on my face (in fact, I think that’s probably my usual look) and he puts his hands up and says “it’s ok, don’t be scared” and I smile and say “it’s ok, I thought you were going to say something” and I carry on walking/running and I get home after doing the slowest 10k ever (although the Sportband has registered this as 7.2 miles) and I’m going to need to speed up as I’ve got a 10k race in about 3 weeks. And a 5k in about a month. And it’s about time I managed a 5k in less than 30 minutes.

 

Back to the Sportband. Did I like it? Hmm, yes and no. The display is small and a bit hard to read, although this is because the band is small and cool, unlike my Garmin which takes up half my arm and is neither small nor cool. Also, because I am so used to the Garmin telling me on one screen my distance and pace, having to press a button on the run to scroll through the different units might take a bit of getting used to. Saying that though, distance is the default and that’s the only one I’m really interested in while I’m on the move so I’m probably being picky.

Set up was easy as was uploading the data. Stick the link in a USB port and you’re done. Your run gets automatically uploaded to the Nike+ website and there you can view some pretty graphs and get the code for a widget on your blog/website/social networking page. There’s lots of other ways to waste your time on the Nike+ website too that I haven’t fully explored yet.

Pros:
No need to stand around for three hours waiting for a satellite signal
Looks cool
Doesn’t take up half your arm or make you look like a Star Trek extra
Can get pretty graphs from the Nike+ website

Cons:
Needs calibrating
Small display
Fiddly button while on the move
Need Nike shoes or pay extra for a pouch or use masking tape and look like a freak

Summary
Looks cool, might work well when calibrated, probably won’t be taking over from my Garmin but would wear on a treadmill

Stats (Garmin)
Distance: 6.22 miles
Time: 1:15:14
Pace: 12:05 m/m
Calories: 601
Huge blisters: 1
Weird alien pointing things: 1
Nike+ Sportbands: 1
Fake 27 minute 5ks: 1
Stats: (Nike+ Sportband)
Distance: 7.19 miles
Time: 1:15:14
Pace: 10:28 m/m
Music
 Jeff Buckley
Secret Machines
The Ruts
Jamiroquai
Muse
The Go! Team
Lush
Jane’s Addiction
Marc Almond
The Cooper Temple Clause

Fame at last

23 comments

At the last London Blogger’s meet up, I get interviewed by a journalist and a few days later an email from the meet up’s organiser arrives to let us know that the article’s due to appear in this morning’s Metro, but there’s none left at the station and I’m wondering if I grab one out of someone’s hands will I get a slap and I decide I probably will, so I wait until I get to Liverpool Street and grab one there and flick through it to see if it’s time for my 15 centimetres of fame and woo hoo, there I am (or at least my name is) in the middle of the paper which is the nearest I’m ever going to get to being a centrefold, then like a complete saddo I go and grab three more copies, who for I don’t know, as I won’t be giving one to my mum because then she will read my blog and then she will tell me off for drinking and swearing. 

 

And as I’m walking to work, I’m wondering if fame will change me and how soon will it be until I’m offered interviews on late night chat shows or maybe even my own chat show and shitloads of cash and there’s a girl walking along carrying a Metro and I resist the temptation to tap her on the shoulder and say “oi, I’m in that” and I’m thinking that as I’m quoted as saying people have said I’m an inspiration, then I’d better inspire myself and do my running commute home, although I am also quoted as saying I decided to give up smoking and run a marathon when at the time, my ambition was simply to get round the block without collapsing in a heap after coughing up a lung.

While I’m at work hoping that the annoying bimbo in the office next door hasn’t read the Metro this morning and developed a sudden interest in jogging blogs and found out that I called her an annoying bimbo, a girl who is also leaving comes over to me and asks if I want to have a joint leaving drinks thing.  Uh oh.  I was planning on making a quiet exit and would rather have rusty nails hammered underneath my fingernails then spend my lunch hour with some of the annoying fuckwits in here, so I say yeah, great, when? I can’t do Friday and she says on Monday, her last day and I say cool.  Bollocks.

I set off for my running commute and as I’m going down Essex Road I pass a pub that has a sign outside saying pizza two for one.  FREE PIZZA?!  Woo hoo.  I must investigate as free pizza sounds almost as good as free alcohol and outside the pub is a man smoking in a wheelchair and it reminds me that on the way to the Post Office this morning there was a man smoking in a wheelchair and it occurred to me that I didn’t think I had seen anyone in a wheelchair smoke before and wondered how he got into smoking and then I wondered why I wondered that and why shouldn’t people in wheelchairs smoke and maybe he started smoking before he was in a wheelchair.    

And all the lights are on red this evening so I get back quite quickly and I see the same man walking over the marshes that I saw last time but he didn’t murder me last time so I assume he won’t murder me tonight either and my assumption is correct and I get home without getting murdered.  Hurrah.

Stats
Distance: 6.13 miles
Time: 1:07:28
Pace: 11:00 m/m
Calories: 616
Claims to fame: 1
Men smoking in wheelchairs: 2
Leaving drinks arranged: 1
Music
Jesus & Mary Chain
Cardiacs
The Mission
Primal Scream
PJ Harvey
Jamiroquai
Nine Inch Nails
The Cribs
Foo Fighters
Devo

Roding Valley Half Marathon race report

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HILLS!!! There were hills. No one told me about the hills. Loads of them. And mostly uphill ones too. Did I mention the hills? Fuck. My shins are never going to talk to me again. (And yes they did used to talk to me, before you say “what? You have talking shins?”. And no, I can’t tell you what they used to say. A conversation between a girl and her shins is confidential.)

Anyway…

Actually, I need chocolate. To be specific I need a Peanut Butter KitKat Chunky. I have had pizza, garlic bread, twister fries (or whatever they’re called), wine, beer, Deep Heat, more wine, a hot bath, voltarol, more wine, procastination in the form of Scrabulous on Facebook and now I’m going to procrastinate some more before writing this blog in the form of going to the shop in the quest for a PBKKC.

Yah.

I think I need some crisps too.

Angela is harassing me on Facebook to write my blog.

I’ll be back.

In a minute.

After the Peanut Butter KitKat Chunky and crisps emergency.

I am back but Peanut Butter KitKat Chunky-less. Bah.

Right then, proper race report time.

I get up mega mega mega early at 5:30am (that’s 5:30 IN THE MORNING ON A SUNDAY, you know, the time people are getting out of clubs, pah) and look in my Ladybird book of How To Be A Finely Tuned Athlete and it says on race day to eat 800 calories for breakfast. WHAT THE FUCK? 800 calories for breakfast? I don’t even eat 800 calories a day on a non pizza day. Blimey. I decide to go against the grain of the not doing anything new on race day rule and have some toast and peanut butter and also an energy bar and then I think fuck, if there’s a don’t do anything new on race day rule then I might as well have gone out and got pissed last night as I can’t remember the last time I did a long run without a hangover, bollocks.

And then I waste some time on Facebook and check my emails but of course no one is emailing me at 5:30 IN THE MORNING ON A SUNDAY so I mooch around for a bit and check the bus times and I decide to go for the 7:13 bus to Leyton and I leave the house at 7ish and the bus is early and there’s no traffic and it zooms me down to Leyton and I get to the tube and it says the next Epping train will be in 17 minutes. 17 MINUTES? What the fuck? Blimey. I do have lots of time but I don’t really want to be standing around in the tube station for 17 minutes so I play on Facebook and check my emails on my phone but still no one is up because it’s only 7:30 IN THE MORNING ON A SUNDAY and the tube eventually comes and I get on it and get to Woodford and the girl opposite me is wearing running gear and looks like a proper runner to me and I reckon she’s doing the half so I wait for her to get off so I can follow her and she gets off so I follow her but she stops outside the station and I can’t see any other runners about which thwarts my plan of following everyone out of the station so I ask the lost looking girl if she’s doing the half and she says yes and she says do I know the way and I say no, I was hoping to follow you and she says I think it’s this way and so we walk off the way we think it is and there’s two guys behind us following us as they think we know where we’re going and we do find the playing fields and the clubhouse without getting lost and she goes to get changed and I go and sit in the corner and hide and hope no one outs me for being a fake runner and then I think hang on a minute, I’ve got this far and I’ve trained for this, I’m not a fake runner, I’m just a bit slow, and I venture out of my corner but only make it to the next chair and I sit down and hide again and I don’t know if I can leave my stuff here and I’m looking around and can’t see anyone with an iPod and I wonder if it’s a no iPod race and then I remember that I did read the race pack carefully and there was no mention of no iPods and I go to the loo and there’s a woman queueing with an iPod and I say ah, I’m not the only one with an iPod then, I thought I was and she says no, you’re not the only one and I say I thought maybe they weren’t allowed and she says why wouldn’t they be? and another woman behind her says because they’re dangerous and you can’t hear the marshals and the traffic and stuff and I think ooooooooh nooooooooooooooo, it’s one of those anti-iPod people but then I realise she’s also wearing an iPod and I’m pleased to be around kindred iPod spirits and I go outside and wait for my Garmin to get a signal which, being in the countrysideish, only takes a few seconds as opposed to being in the West Endish where it takes a few hours and I see the iPod wearing woman so I go over and say hello and she says I can run with her for the first few miles and I say cool, when actually I’ve just come out in a cold sweat at the thought of running a few miles in a race with someone else but I don’t want to look unfriendly so I stick with her and I say my name’s Cathy and she says she’s Gill and then I go to ask if it’s with a G or a J and then I think if I do that she’ll ask me if my name’s spelt with a C or a K and it’s just going to get complicated and it doesn’t really matter anyway and we make our way down to the start line and Gill says we have to do a lap of the track first, then there’s a smaller lap of about a mile and then there’s two big laps of about six miles with lots of hills and I think LAPS? HILLS? can I go home now? Fuck.

The gun goes off and Gill says to me that if I want to go faster than her then to feel free to just leave her and I say it’s fine, you’re faster than me anyway (having already had the what time are you looking at conversation in the toilet) and we do a lap of the track and then go to go outside the gate where already there has been a collision of runners, leaving three of them on the ground but they don’t look badly hurt and we continue for the first small lap and then there’s a hill which is the first of many and Gill says there’s a lot of hills and I think DON’T TELL ME THAT, I DON’T DO HILLS and about three miles and twenty six hills later Gill says what do you think of the hills and I say they’re not that bad really, not as bad as I was expecting and she says you must be better at hills than you thought (as we’d already had the I don’t do hills conversation) and I’m just thinking that I’ve just done a really slow 5k and I decide I want to speed up a little and just listen to my iPod and I leave Gill and feel a bit bad but think I need to run this race for myself and not be at another person’s pace and especially not for 13.1 miles and so I go off on my own and there’s no water for miles and miles and I’m glad I’ve got my sports drink although it is almost gone seeing as I drank most of it on the way there and I’m quite impressed for getting the hang of using the squirty top thing and that’s another don’t do new on race day thing that I’m doing and the sun is shining and it’s bloody roasting and a few miles later I’m going up ANOTHER HILL and a there’s a woman with a little girl and the little girl has a banner saying GO DADDY and I think aaaaaaaah, sweet and she’s going towards a man and a bit later I go past the 11 mile marker that I will see on the second lap and it reminds me I’ve got about 7 miles to go and I think fuck and I go to go past the man who’s daughter had a banner and he says hello how’s it going and I say I could have done without seeing that 11 mile marker, two miles I could cope with, I’m not sure about another 7 and he starts chatting and I say was that your daughter with the banner? and he says no, she was for someone else, I have all sons and I say ah, I thought she was yours, it was sweet and then I think oh shit, he might think I’m checking him out for kids and eek and I don’t want to run and chat to him for another seven miles and I’m wondering if I can lose him and I get my chance when he says hi to another runner and I speed off and the laps gets to the finish and I think shit I’ve got to do that again and there’s eventually a water station and I grab a bottle of water as my sports drink’s about to run out and there’s ANOTHER HILL and I think that’s unfair and there’s a girl walking and I wonder if it would be patronising if I try to give her some encouragement but she catches my eye and I give her a big smile and say come on and she starts running and we’re chatting and she tells me she left her proper running shoes at work and had to borrow some trainers from a friend and I think ouch and I ask her what other races she’s done and she says this is her first and I think ouch and I ask her if she’s done lots of training and she says a bit here and there and I think ouch and she says she’ll let me go as she’s had enough and wants to walk again so I leave her and go UP THE HILL and these bastard hills are killing me but then I get to the nice scenic downhill bit and my Garmin ticks over the 10 mile mark at 1:45 and I think fuck that’s quick for me and only three miles to go but at 11 miles my shins are burning like someone’s set fire to them and I don’t think I can carry on but I am determined to NOT WALK AN INCH OF MY FIRST HALF MARATHON and so I carry on and I get to the bit where the lollipop marshals stop the traffic but the lollipop marshal doesn’t seem to be stopping the traffic for me and I’m a bit dazed and confused by now so I go up to the marshal and he says just cross when the cars slow down and I think AREN’T YOU GOING TO STOP THE TRAFFIC FOR ME?  DON’T MAKE ME MAKE MY OWN DECISIONS.  Fuck.  And so I have to cross the road on my own and I manage this without getting run over and I’m looking at my Garmin and it’s going so so slowly and I think my shins are going to leave me and get a taxi home and then at 12:9 miles I’m stuck behind two pensioners on crutches and there’s railings on the side of the pavement and I can’t get around them and I think fuck can I kick their crutches out from underneath them? and I think probably not and I eventually get around them and back to the playing fields and Ben, Sheila and Eleanor are there and they give me a big cheer as I get round the corner and I don’t know where the finish line is so I keep going and then I think I’ve finished and I hear someone call me and I look round and it’s Bernard and I think yay my friends have come to see me and I stop and say hang on a minute and I go and get my medal and my goody bag and then I go back down to see my mates and inspect my goody bag which consists of a bottle of sports drink and a Mars Bar and I have hated Mars Bars ever since I had one when I was five years old and promptly threw up afterwards and say who likes Mars Bars? and Bernard and Eleanor both say I do at the same time so I give it Eleanor what with her being 12 and that and then we try and find something to eat while I try to walk and we fail hopelessly at finding something to eat due to it being Mother’s Day and everywhere being booked and I fail hopelessly at walking due to my shins having left me and getting a taxi somewhere around mile 12, so we end up at Ben and Sheila’s eating delivery pizza, garlic bread, twister fries and lemon drizzle cake.  Yah.

Today’s route

Racing bling

Stats:
Distance: 13:15 miles
Time: 2:19:44
Pace: 10:37
Calories: 1272
Hills: Twenty six million
Mars Bars: 1
Shins leaving me to get a taxi: 2
Music:
The Twang
Hole
Faith No More
B52s
Bobby Conn
Arctic Monkeys
The Music
Muse
The Damned

A slight change in half-marathon plan

4 comments

I am tempted away from going to my personal trainer open evening by an offer of wine and pizza so this morning I get up not very bright and not very breezy after four hours’ sleep and think oh shit I’ve got to do a running commute tonight and before I leave for work I email the organisers of the Brentwood half as I haven’t got my number yet and I’ve heard from others that they have so I ask them if they’ve all been sent out and if so, can they check I’m entered and I keep checking my email and I get a reply from the organiser who says that they have no record of my entry. Fuck. But I’m sure the cheque has been cashed and will have to check on the cheque situation when I get home but in the meantime I decide to enter the Woodford half instead which is on 2 March. As in A WEEK ON SUNDAY. Oh my god. It’s only a week before Brentwood but I’ve been following my training schedule diligently which finishes on race day which is 9 March not 2 March and it also means I’m going to have to drop out of the Heathside 5 but I must be destined not to do the Brentwood half as first I had problems entering online and now my postal entry has been stolen by a postman with a half-marathon postal entry form fetish. Just my luck.

And while I’m at work muttering “bastard half-marathon postal entry form fetishistic postmen” a lot, an email comes through from HR asking if anyone’s interested in getting corporate gym membership and I think hell yeah, and I email Kate and say woo hoo, I’m getting free or cheap gym membership although I really really don’t want work people in the gym when I’m there and she emails back and says yes, I wouldn’t want to have to make polite chit chat first thing in the morning and I email back and say yes and apart from that, I really really don’t want to see people I work with naked, seeing work people with no clothes on is JUST PLAIN WRONG. Very very wrong indeed.

5:00 eventually comes around and I go to get changed and go to do my running commute and my right knee and left shin are niggling a bit and I think why niggle now? you’ve been fine for two days and I’m hoping they don’t get any worse and my running commute is uneventful apart from nearly getting run over by a motorbike when I lose concentration due to turning up my iPod to an ear-bleeding volume when David Bowie starts asking is there life on Mars and when I get home my right knee and left shin are no more painful than when I started out and I think yay and I check out the chequebook situation and the chequebook is new and the first used cheque is dated after I would have sent off my Brentwood entry and I think shit I can guarantee I would have thrown away the stubs from the old chequebook and so I go online to check my bank statements but the website is down.

I am jinxed.

Oh and Phil aka sorelimbs is back in blogland, hurrah. Go and check him out.

Stats:
 Distance: 6.31 miles
Time: 1:10:12
Pace: 11:07 m/m
Calories: 593
Changes in half-marathons: 1
Postmen with a half-marathon postal entry fetish: 1
Motorbikes nearly running me over: 1
Music:
Courtney Love
Plain White T’s
David Bowie
Faith No More
Graham Coxon
Scissor Sisters
The Strokes
Black Wire
Charlotte Hatherley
Elliot Smith

Cat pizza

6 comments

What is it with cats and boxes? Here is my cat making a futile attempt to stop me eating pizza. Ha, dumb cat doesn’t know I’ve already eaten them.

And here she is crammed into a box smaller than she is. Can I get her to go in her basket to go to the vets? Can I fuck. Yet she will happily squeeze herself into a tiny box just for fun.

Angela has kindly(?) tagged me to do some answering questions thing. I am going to have to make stuff up otherwise I am going to sound incredibly dull due to my life consisting solely of eating pizza and not leaving the house. And I can’t have that. But in the meantime I will put off doing it by taking pictures of cats in boxes instead which has the added bonus of taking my mind off the fact that I’ve got to spend all day on the tube and go to the other side of London later. I mean, zone 4? That’s practically abroad. Eek.

Pizzathon no. 4

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I haven’t blogged for ages because I haven’t done anything for ages, except sit outside pubs getting insulted by drunk men with no teeth who tell me I should be at home cleaning chickens although that was only once and not an everyday occurrence thankfully because although it was very funny at the time I can see it getting a bit tedious if it did happen every day but I did go to the gym last Thursday and I’m going to the gym tomorrow and in the meantime I made this pizza.

Since I discovered Sainsburys Pizza Base Mix is very very very nice indeed, I have become addicted to making homemade pizza. This creation consists of spinach, feta, capers, olives, red chili, cheddar, veggie parmesan and yes, that is an egg on the top. It was very nice although not as nice as the one Bear made last week which I’m not happy about because I really can’t have him out-domestic-godessing me. But that just means I’ll have to put in some more pizza making practice. Life’s a bitch sometimes.

Stats:
Exercise: 0
Pizza: 1