Blame it on the Beetle

The Long Jog to Comrades 4 Comments

AKA My Comrades Marathon Conundrum

I was hoping the practice I’ve had at moving in recent times would make me more accomplished at this moving house malarky. After all, this time was merely interstate, not extra-continental. But nope.  I learnt that moving with pets adds a whole new curveball. And they turned out to be the least of my problems. Throw into the mix two suddenly single 17 year olds, I’d like to say unexpectedly, (but not that unexpected really. When work, mates and alcohol are relentlessly prioritised, one might foresee trouble in one’s maternal crystal ball), and things get a whole lot more interesting… As it is, I’m waiting with baited breath for the call to say I’m the winner of the 2015 WART* award.  I’m already working on my acceptance speech…

In the end, we got shifted. So Twin 1’s antibiotics got packed accidentally, and the TV stand (weighing a miniature16kg) got left behind, but all in all, I think it went pretty well. (Thank goodness for Qantas Freight.) I had a small** panic when the pet movers phoned the day before to tell me the collection time had been changed and the animals weren’t going to be picked up until after we’d flown out of Whyalla. If I’d had the energy, I’d have been furious, but I got all Frozen about the situation and “let it go”.

Exhaustion has it uses.

Besides, Gracie and Dexter seemed to cope pretty well (Adaptil, you are a wonder pheromone), and Oscar survived, even developing a new fragrance, a little late for the Christmas market admittedly, of “eau de piss”. He wore it all the way home with pride.

But in amongst all that, there was an incident.

A bit of big one.

The thing was, Herbert basically moved out and relocated next door for a couple of nights to avoid the chaos (a.k.a. Mum being foul AND allocating tasks to Herberts), the girls decided to have their own camping trip – in the house – “so that the puppies weren’t left alone over night” (a.k.a. away from foul mothers), meaning that I was abandoned. The result, I was left alone in an apartment across town. With just a cockroach for company. One that looked like it had just flown in from Queensland. (Whyalla beetles are much smaller than their northern cousins, I swear.)

So when Jackie, my Comrades inspiration and super-athlete friend, happened to be staying in the same block, and invited me over for some food, I was obviously grateful to accept.

And as she’s my Comrades inspiration and a super-athlete (she finished as the 55th female OVERALL in Comrades, people!!), of course we got round to talking Comrades.

And 2016 will be Jackie’s 10th run. Green number year. So yes, she and her family might have just relocated to Australia, but of course she’s going back in May.

And 2016 will be my 2nd run. Back-to-back medal year. So, I might have just relocated to Queensland, but of course I’m going back in May.


Job? No. Money? No. Any running recently. Erm, no.

But of course I’m going to South Africa in May. I’ve given my word now.

So, I’m dressed in my singlet and shorts, wearing no-longer-white compression socks, (so sexy), because something is niggling on top of my foot, but it’s happier with compression. I think it’s about time I reintroduced this body of mine to the concept of running. And salads. I’ve cut back on the sugary snacks to a more moderate level since I had my dalliance with sugar quittery, but when I checked on My Fitness Pal, I was a little concerned to find out how big a proportion of my daily intake now comes from fat. OOPS.

At least I have my words for 2016 now: consistency and balance.

Hum, well, I’m dressed to run, so I guess I ought to run. I’ll sign off now, but I’ll be popping back. Reading Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project has given me an idea of my own for 2016:

The Jolly Running Project.

Who’d have thought!

PS. If you have any contacts with the Qantas sponsorship team, could you just let them know of a fabulous opportunity available to sponsor a super-athlete and her jogging-blogger pal; that would be lovely.

* Worst Adult – Responsible for Treachery Award

** potentially the understatement of the century

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