Just another day

At the end of last year The Boy, formerly known as MFH, stopped working for the institution. This wasn’t the first time that he stopped working for the institution. He’d bid his adieus the previous year, told us that his contract had come to an end and that he was officially unemployed. All of this was said as casually as if we were discussing the weather. A few weeks later, and he was back, this time in a different capacity.

Last year however his announcement was tinged with anger and bitterness. From his long rant, I was to understand that he would not return, under any circumstances. This would be the last time that I would see him. Truth be told, I wasn’t sad to see the back of him. We’d shared many laughs, especially in the last two years of his employment (before that, my existence barely registered), but near the end his snide remarks had gotten to me, and he was beginning to pervade my nightmares.

So yesterday, as I was returning from the kitchen, toast in hand, I was surprised to spy him entering my lab. My initial reaction was to stop and consider retreating. But where would I hide? I entertained this ridiculous thought for all of two seconds, before continuing on my journey to the lab. Toast in hand, wary smile on lips.

Looking back, I guess I was afraid. Afraid that things might be awkward. That we’d look at each other and have nothing to say. Or worst that he’d say to me in anger, “I hear that you’ve been talking smack about me. Telling everyone that I’d been difficult to work with. That you’re having nightmares about me.”

But none of this came to pass. He saw me entering the lab and stepped forward.

“I was going to give you a hug, but that’s probably not appropriate.”

“No, no that’s probably not appropriate.” But what I actually meant to say is, “I don’t like hugs. Never have.”

“Do you still run?” I asked.

And just like that, we settled into our old routine of swapping tales. I’d tell him a short anecdote, and then I’d wait 5, maybe 10 seconds, watching as his face, as the cogs in mind whirred away recalling some distance memory. My patience was always rewarded with an outlandish tale – his cat peeing on his toothbrush, nipples bled raw during some marathon …

Anyway, the lesson that I’d like to take from this experience is whenever I’m feeling socially awkward, the best way to get someone talking, is to ask them about something they love. Sounds like common sense right? Yeah well, common sense isn’t exactly my strong suit.

Rapunzel I ain’t

People, I have a HUGE problem. It’s my hair. It’s in a dire state. It has reached that point where comparing it to straw would be a compliment. It’s so coarse and dry that I am too ashamed to leave the house without the cold comfort of a cap, or a wig. Yes, I’ve reached the point where synthetic fibres are preferable to my locks.

But don’t worry I’ve called in the experts. I have an appointment with the hairdresser tomorrow, for a cut and blow. I have a feeling that she will need way more than conditioner to turn me into Rapunzel. A wand, perhaps?

And in other unrelated hair news …

Langebaan

My friends and I will be heading to Langebaan for the weekend. Where some of us will be running the Weskus half marathon and others will be doing things that don’t end in tears or regret.

Scholarship and Argus Cycle Tour

This weekend was rather boring, and most of it was spent in front of the computer filling in an application form for a grant. If successful the grant will cover some of my expenses to attend a conference in California. The application form asked such relevant questions as, “What is your GIS expertise?” and “Are you willing to sleep in a tent.” I kid you not!

Unfortunately my dedication meant that I missed out on Juan’s participation in the Argus Cycle Tour. Sad face. Apparently the girls had gone to great lengths to support him. Special cheerleader outfits were created and trains were taken on the day.

Sandboarding

I will also be going sandboarding later this month. I’d promise to upload lots of pics and provide a full detailed report. But considering that I have yet to report back on my shark cage diving, stand-up paddle boarding and ziplining adventures, maybe it is best if I don’t make any promises?

 

That’s about all folks! What’s been happening with you?

We can tick that off the Life List =)

I did it! I managed to achieve my goal. I ran a 10km race in under 60 minutes. 55 minutes to be exact. That’s an entire 8 minutes of my previous personal best (PB). 8 minutes! Do you have any idea what a huge achievement, this is?

I have wanted this for so long. And I’ve always assumed that when it happens I would be completely shattered. That I’d have pushed my body to the very brink of exhaustion, and that tears would stream down my face. Turns out I was wrong.

I’d run the race at a comfortable pace. And when I crossed the finish line, there was nothing but joy and laughter. This is in part, due to my running “nemesis”. I’d spent most of the race keeping behind her, making sure that she wasn’t more than three steps in front of me. And when the 9km mark crept up, I tried to make I move. But she wasn’t about to make it easy. She matched me, stride for stride. And that, the fact that she simply wasn’t going to roll over and let me take something that was important to her, that made me laugh.

Anyway, even though 8 minutes off my PB is amazing, I know that I’m not done yet. I can’t help thinking “What next? What else can I achieve? How much further can I push my body? Can I run a 10km in 50 minutes?”

*

I’m running a 21km race next week. Hoping to run it in sub 2:15.

*

 Picture of me ziplining. Photo taken by Fahiema.

Oh how I hate those car guards

If you’ve spent some time in Cape Town, you would have born witness to the strange phenomenon of car guards. They are essentially men parading around in fluorescent bibs, whose mere presence is supposed to ward off any would-be car thieves. Considering that they are neither intimidating; can hardly remember where you parked your car; and feed off a guilty conscience, they are nothing more than glorified beggars. Oh yes, the car guard is much hated right here in Sidsville. Yes, I just named an imagery village after myself, deal with it.

 

Please note that not all car guards are hated. There are some whose very presence is much appreciated and rewarded with a financial contribution. I appreciate the men in Long Street, who assist me with my parallel parking. I appreciate a guy who is willing to spend 6 hours of their night, standing in the cold, watching your car. That deserves recognition.

 

I do NOT however appreciate the guy, who unequivocally states that parking in a public space will cost me R10. R10? Parking in a secure shopping mall is cheaper than that! And do you know what they call a mandatory payment for social reformation? Taxation! And that I do enough of.  

I do NOT appreciate that you following me to my car, especially when I’m in a residential area, parked in front of someone’s house. Every second you spend walking behind me, is a second spent wondering if you’ll rob or attack me. You, my friend, have managed to rob me of my sense of security. Thankyouverymuch! For that, you get R2.   

 

I do NOT appreciate you guiding me out of an empty parking lot. I do NOT appreciate nipping into the shop for 2 measly seconds, only to find your expectant face at my car door. AND I most certainly don’t appreciate you throwing water in MY face, simply because I refuse to pay you.

And I’m afraid to sleep because of what haunts me

And I’m afraid to sleep because of what haunts me,

Such as living with the uncertainty

That I’ll never find the words to say which would completely explain

Just how I’m breaking down

Sleeping Sickness – City and Colour

(This is what happens with I write with out direction.)

There’s so much that I’d like to say to you. With my regular indulgence in a late night cuppa coffee, comes the inevitable caffeine induced insomnia. Tossing and turning, the words and thoughts come easily. Too easily, when all I want to do is shut the world out.

I think about how I could be spending THIS time productively. I could be reading a book. Fear and loathing on the campaign trail? To kill a Mockingbird? I must have read this book half a dozen times already, yet it never fails to captivate me.

Of course, instead of reading a book, I could be writing one. THE ONE, as I often jokingly refer to it.

None of these thoughts actually spurn me into action. Instead, my fingers will nimbly reach over and locate the iPod on my dresser. Adjusting rapidly to the eerily glow cast by the iPod on the darkened room, my eyes will search for the City of Angels soundtrack. For the first few minutes, I’ll focus all my attention on following the crescendo of the violin. Classical music will lull and calm me, and sleep will come. Or at least that’s the idea.

But before long, various scenes from the movie will flood my head. I’ll think of the scene just before Meg Ryan dies. Meg riding her bicycle, head turned up to the sky, hands spread out wide. Meg hopeful.

I’ll think of Nick Cage’s monologue: “I rather like one touch of her hand, one smell of her hair, one kiss of her lips, than living in eternity without it!

I’ll think about the scene where Nick’s character, Seth asks her to describe the taste of a pear. And as I think about this scene, I’ll wonder if Meg ever read a passage from Earnest Hemmingway’s novel to him. I’d never been a huge Earnest fan but there’s something so incredibly … sexy about someone reading to another. Or at least to me, it’s sexy. It’s sexy because there’s a type of vulnerability and hopefulness attached to it. Hope that THIS someone will simply get it. Will get just why you love THIS book, THIS passage. That occasionally you’ll find yourself reading something so beautiful, it leaves you wistful, awed and defenceless.

And I’ll think about all this before sleep ever arrives.

Runner’s World – teen defies epilepsy

In this month’s Runner’s World there were three articles that attracted my attention: Marathon Des Sables, It’s About Time and Human Race.

According to the contents page Human Race is about a teen who “defies epilepsy and dramatically improves his health through running.” According to the article Jaundré (our teen hero in this tale) used to suffer up to 14 epileptic fits a day, “despite heavy doses of anti-convulsive medication”. Since taking up running, he can go weeks without experiencing a seizure. “At most he has four seizures over a period of three months”.

Enter a heavy dose of cynicism from my side. I won’t deny that there are health benefits to exercise; I just need a little more than the anecdotal evidence of parents to believe that running decreases the number of seizures to such a degree. I want the opinion of five qualified medical doctors. I want to know if his diet has changed in anyway. I want to know if he’s switched drugs. I want bar graphs!  

Anyway, at least the parents aren’t advocating that others swap epileptic drugs for exercise. That my friends, smells a little too much like a certain Scientologist mocking a celebrity for “indulging” in anti-depressants. Postnatal depression is real, you fucktard!

What did however impress me about Jaundré Niemandt was the fact that he managed to complete a 10km race in 68 minutes. 68 minutes! Do you know how incredible that is? Seriously? Do you have any idea how hard I have to push myself in order to beat a time like that? Do you have any idea how many pep talks I have to give myself? It takes a lot of mental energy to force myself to continue at such a speed and here’s this boy who needs two people to hold his hands while running, and his kicking my ass. If that’s not inspiring, I’m not sure what is.

Invention of lying, Amsterdam, Croatia, Rome, Spain, Morocco

Busy. Always …

Quote from the movie, “Invention of Lying”.

Jennifer: No. But I enjoy the end result of the job which is money. And the hours are pretty good for the amount of money I make, which I spend on things I like, such as clothes, hiking, drinking – even though I know it’s bad for me. (PAUSE) But I’d rather just get all the money and not work for the results.

This is the quote that popped into my head as I thought of travel destinations. Right now the list of cities/countries that I’d like to explore has grown exponentially.

The original desire to explore one city/country in each continent BEFORE revisiting a continent has waned. I guess I’d always assumed that I’d only ever have money to travel to five destinations and that I’d better make those good choices. But with two promotions in as many years, there is no pressing need. There’s suddenly this belief that there’ll always be time … there’ll always be money.

(Of course there’s also the fear that I’ll spend so much time vacillating over a destination that I’ll never travel).

After seeing this picture I’m currently in love with Amsterdam. More pictures of awesome European destinations available HERE.

*You can find the script for the Invention of Lying here. And yes, occasionally I read the sections of TV/movie scripts even AFTER I’ve already watched the movie.  Sometimes the dialogue is just too good not to indulge.

Running, running, As fast as we can, I really hope we make it

The daily journey to work should have taken me no longer than ten minutes. But I’d left the house late and now I found myself sitting in traffic.

Sitting there, hands clenching the steering wheel, lips chapped and attempting to sing along to The Postal Service, I noticed her running by. And instantly I hated her. I hated her and everything she represented. I hated her freedom. I hated the fact that it was nearly 8 in the morning and she wasn’t rushing off to an office with fluorescent lighting. Her fingers would not be gliding effortlessly across a keyboard, in an effort to update the latest database. I hated the fact that she had the luxury of spending her mornings exercising, her legs pounding away rhythmically. I imagined experiencing the exertion of my lungs, the cold air on my face and I hated her. I hated her pert ass and blonde ponytail swinging to and fro.

And as sat there thinking up a list of imaginary wrongs incurred by the young woman, I had what others would refer to as an “epiphany”. I realized that a few months ago my opinion of the woman would have been different. I would have looked at her in complete and utter awe. I would have admired her willpower. The discipline that it took to wake up at the crack of dawn and run anything further than a block, was beyond my comprehension. And this feeling of awe would soon be followed by one of dejection. I’d never be capable of any of this.

And now … Now all those things I’ve admired in other runners; all those things that I always I assumed I was incapable of doing, are easy. I’ve finally reached a place where I can run 8km comfortably. I’ve finally reached a place where running is actually enjoyable. I’ve finally reached the point where I can bite down and tell myself, “You’re not done yet. Dig deep. Find your inner strength.”

And as this realization hit me, I couldn’t help but smile.

A simple kind of life – No doubt

On Sunday I was looking at babies.

In the whole history of Sid Kane, this is an unprecedented event. My usual stance of “Oh holy mother of fuck, why would anyone do THAT to their vagina” was replaced by looks of yearning, looks that has heretofore been reserved for hooker heels and men with really broad shoulders.

I’m talking about desire. For a baby. I Sid Kane, who previously duct taped a nappy to a kid’s ass and has often referred to kids as “rugrats”, am overcome with the sudden desire to have a little one.

 And all I wanted was the simple things

A simple kind of life

And all I needed was a simple man

So I could be a wife

It got so bad that while lounging at La Perla, I ignored any hot men in the near vicinity. Noting my fascination with the little buggers, Cazz finally commented, “You want a life altering experience? How about having one of those?”

Me: I did think about it but to be honest with you Cazz, I don’t think the parents would be too happy with me abducting their kids. Parents are kinda touchy that way.

I always thought I’d be a mom

Sometimes I wish for a mistake

The longer that I wait the more selfish that I get

You seem like you’d be a good dad

*Sigh*

I’m not quite sure what else to tell you guys. I guess I just don’t really want to tell you guys that for the longest time ever I’ve had this image in my head of me standing in front of my bedroom window, watching my husband and kids play soccer. Of course as the years have passed this vision has evolved to include me holding a camera, which has now become as much a part of me as my appendages.

Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life

How’d I get so faithful to my freedom?

A selfish kind of life

When all I ever wanted was the simple things

A simple kind of life

(Just reread this and can’t believe how girly and honest I am. And on a public forum no less. God I want to puke.)