Girly girl...

So, I was running along the Cairns Esplanade last Friday for Boot camp. Boot camp means running, sweating, pain and swearing a lot. The last three I do really well. Anyway, our perennially perky, super fit trainer ran a bit with me and she was impressed I was light on my feet – but apparently I run strangely. Of course I do. Doing it normally would not be me.  I’m strange. Peculiar. Different. Anyway, I listened to what she said and took her advice on board because she’s the expert, I respect her words and I'm always determined to do better.

Today at the gym I made a concerted effort to run less strangely. It was hard. Very hard. It then it occurred to me, after much looking at the way I ran in the mirror and almost falling over, that was the way I was supposed to run. I run like a girl. I'm a girly, girl. I’m damn proud of it. Try and keep up with me will ya?  

Pre-eclipse...

So, I went for my usual 2.5km run before boot camp this morning, along the Cairns Esplanade. The Solar Eclipse is on tomorrow and Cairns, Far North Queensland – FNQ – is one of the best places to see it as it will be the total eclipse. This morning, as I ran, I noticed something different. Sure there were the normal tourists wandering along the Esplanade looking at the beach and scoping out the ocean, no doubt hoping for the odd croc to wander out looking for breakfast – but there were other people – very pale skinned people dressed in khaki and beige and carrying whiz bang cameras and laptops and talking about the angle of the sun and the distance from here to there and multiplying that by their ages and dividing by their shoe sizes then subtracting their waist measurements. They were quite fascinating to watch and while I don’t agree with stereotyping people, they were scarily the archetypal nerds.

What will tomorrow bring? The end of the world? Nah. We need Mothra to turn up for that. Rain? Probably. It is the wet season. Bugger of a time for Mother Nature to shock and awe us but you get that.    

Weekend Warrior-ette…

So, I signed up to do Weekend Warrior. It’s a Saturday morning extra to the boot camp I do every week. No, I’m not completely insane. Only partially. The thing is I want to be better, faster, fitter and stronger. To do that you have to put in maximum plus effort and there is pain. A lot. I expect that. I accept that. The crew that are doing Weekend Warrior are interesting. Everyone has a story. A reason. No one is looking to be the body beautiful. Everyone has hang ups. No one gives up. It’s good to be with real people. 

Thinking of doing something similar? Just do it. Yeah – you can. And yeah, it will bloody hurt and you’ll have to force yourself but then when did anything good ever come easy?       

Pumpkin heads....

So I walked into the office this morning to be told that everyone is cooking something made of pumpkin and bringing it into the office. I’d just come from boot camp where I'd had my arse kicked, after the night before having my arse kicked at boot camp. Arse kicking makes me less receptive to pumpkinhead suggestion. These are all blokes. Blind Freddie can see they're just wanting food to be cooked for them and despite my bootcamp be-draggled arse ( yes, Jill Noble, that's not a word, get over it) feeding them is way, way, way, way, way, way x 567 ways far down on my agenda of things  to do. I said - 'Fine, go ahead and cook.' This was the wrong answer apparently. Strangely enough I specialize in wrong things to say when I think people are stupid. 

So there we all were. Ten of us. On the Cairns Esplanade. Dressed in exercise clothes. Lying on our backs, legs up in the air – wide open - and our hands on the inside of our thighs pulling them further apart, laughing hysterically as we did it. Those who passed us looked at least three times to make sure they were seeing what they were seeing. I heard a dim echo of my mother’s voice from years ago when I was just a little girl of 4 or 5. ‘Sit with your legs closed. You’re a lady.’ Of course Mum was right. You have to learn stuff like that so when you get older you can lie on your back with your legs wide open, laughing your arse off and thinking ‘damn it’s good to be a lady.’

Bizarro world....

So, I got asked to run in this du-athon thing. Huh. I looked at them in surprise. Why me? Why not you? I pointed out that I generally come in last on a run. “So?” they said. “This is about fun.” Riiight…running. Fun. Huh, again. They also added it’s a ‘team thing.’ Well, fuck…fancy willingly being in a team? I don’t do teams. I am a solo artist who enjoys individuality and I make no apologies for it. So running in a team for fun? Was that legal? I did contemplate the idea that at that moment I had stumbled into a parallel bizarre world universe where everything was the opposite of my own. But no. They were and are serious. As for me? Jeez, I don’t know. While I’ve been running at boot camp for fitness and yes, I’ve been killing myself trying to improve my time – which I have through sheer bloody minded determination - I just can’t see me running for fun...in a team of people...who take running seriously. Triple huh...

The things people ask you…

Get back in your box...

So, I was a boot camp and we had to pair up with someone else to run through a course. The pairing up did not depend on being of equal fitness nor did you have to do the same thing at the same time. It was more about balancing numbers and everyone having an equal chance to do a particular exercise. Sounds simple? Sounds fair? Well no, of course it can’t be if you are a so called pretty or cool girl and you are paired up with one you perceive as being less than magnificent than yourself. What am I talking about? Yesterday, I experienced something I had not come across since high school. Someone tried to dismiss me as not worthy of being in their presence. Oh fuck off, I say. That person? A skinny, angular chick who considers herself too beautiful to be around anyone less than her supposed equal. When paired up with me she made it clear I wasn’t in her league. What is it with these women? Why do they never grow out of that high school mentality? Are they frozen in time and too scared to move on fearing that if they do not maintain that plastic, bitchy edge then they have nothing? I tend to believe that is the case. Lordy they’re sad, pathetic creatures. And being in your league? No thanks. I’d rather eat bark.

Anyway, I stepped away from exercise Barbie and paired myself up with an ‘uncool’, dishevelled bloke who was standing all alone. No one should be discriminated against when it comes to exercise or sport because the thing with sport is that it’s universal. It matters not who you are, the colour of your skin, your weight, how you look or if you have the longest legs or the shortest shorts. It’s sport. It’s sweat. It’s effort. It’s determination. It’s about having a go. Frankly, I don’t give a crap if you deem yourself too damn beautiful to associate with others and I'm sure as hell not going to fall apart if you don't like me.

For the so called ‘cool’ girls who think they are just too perfect? Grow up or get back in the box you came in. We need real people not the simulated kind. We have enough of those in politics.

Determination…

On the Cairns Esplanade this evening, it was pouring down rain, I was sopping wet, my hair was plastered to my skull and neck, I was covered in sand from boot camp exercises and other people had given up and dropped into a walk because it was wet and hard to do. But I ran ‘til the end. Why? Because I could and four weeks ago I could only run a bit. But now? I run to the end and feel damn good within myself when I do. One woman asked how did I get so good? Determination baby. Never, ever give up. I like that about me. I like it a lot.

Go on - you can do whatever you want...

Not too shabby…

So I was a boot camp this morning and we were all lying on the grass at the Cairns Esplanade with our legs in the air, stretching calf muscles, hamstrings and doing leg things that were torturing our abs. Anyway, in between sweating and grunting, I looked up at my lycra covered legs and I thought to myself, ‘you know, you’ve got good, straight pins for a chunky gal.’ I was quiet impressed with myself as I had never considered my legs before. They look pretty good at that angle. I must consider viewing the world like that more often. See? In the midst of pain and sweat there’s always a bright side.

Ah, Inspiration…

Yesterday, at boot camp, I was lying flat on my stomach. I was dirty, sweaty, hot and the grass I was lying on was saturated because it was raining. On either side of me were two nicely built, hot gentlemen who was very polite and smiling and we chatted as we waited to launch into 10 push ups and then a sprint, that we would have to do ten times in a row. I thought to myself “This isn’t so bad…"

See how she runs...

So, I went to my first boot camp this evening and I ran. A lot. I’m not usually a runner. I have to have some impetus like being shot at or being chased by a dinosaur to run. But, tonight I did. I like to think of my running style as a plucky jog – a lot of heart but no style whatsoever and like a train wreck you just have to watch it. So we ran and squatted and did tricep things along the Cairns Esplanade in the late, tropical arvo heat. I was sweating like a pig and was quite happy when we were directed to run to the Esplanade lagoon – that was until burpies were mentioned. What’s a burpy? It's the devils way of making you pay for excess carbs. It’s doing a push up and jumping up then going back down for another push up and then jumping up. Basically on the pukeability scale it’s a 15. After those we jumped in the water to run back and forward across getting in and out of the pool doing burpies continuously.

Will I do it again? Yes, I’m going tomorrow at 6am before work because I like to do things to excess. How do I feel? Crapacious – but as I always say cellulite rebounds and I’ll have another go tomorrow. It's hard to keep a good woman down...though, it depends on what she's going down for I suppose...