Recovering….

The last two weekends have been grand fun, very amusing, and insightful.

Lovely K got married on 20th June. The protests about the anti-austerity march conspired to make the bride extremely late, but she looked utterly lovely when she did get there (and her hair mostly stayed put throughout a somewhat sticky day. All Hail Elnett!). Beautiful service, a highly personal reception (the favours were in coconut shells, carried over by African Swallows), lovely flowers, and a radiant bride and groom. You couldn’t really ask for anything more, except a dang good disco, and that’s what we got.

  
   

 Sunday, I ran 12 miles. This went rather better than the previous Sunday’s 10 miles – I didn’t fall over for starters. This is just as well. Over a fortnight after falling over, and I’m just about in the position where I feel comfortable showing my knees in public again. I am very pleased that the dress I chose for Ascot covered both knees and the arm bruise – by the wedding, I was so desperate, I was buying theatrical makeup to cover up the mess (this was reasonably effective and also reasonably cheap). I’ve gone through almost an entire tube of arnica. No idea if it’s helped the healing process, or if the mere action of rubbing the cream into the bruises made the difference (it’s all clots under the surface, is bruising, so it stands to reason that if you can bear to rub the bruise, it will dissipate more quickly). Oooh! I can show the Ascot outfits. Mum and I had a lovely day last Tuesday. We saw the Queen twice, but didn’t really win anything. Got chatted up by someone who turned out to be the manager at Mum’s local supermarket. It was excruciatingly awful, and I couldn’t escape until after the race we’d gone to watch was run. My Mother was No Help At All, as she expected him to give up after my first polite brush off: he was a persistent blighter, and I think I’m old enough to be his mother…

  
This weekend just gone, I spent three hours in Girlguiding Safe Space training, and realised that when I was bullied as a child, I wasn’t supported very well. I was left to get on with it, told to ignore them, told that they were scared of me (really?), and I only remember one intervention by a teacher, which was reasonably effective. By that point, though, I’d been bullied in one way or another by various people for 9 years. I was utterly inured to it. Nothing particularly physical (apart from the horrible child who used to pinch me when I was six, and the one who tried to scratch my eyes out when I was nine). Mostly emotional. By the time I was 14, I didn’t really pay much attention to it: I just thought it was normal…it was a shock when a friend pointed out that, really, what people were saying to me wasn’t on. This was quite the realisation for a Saturday morning. I’m still processing. It was a really good training, and I do recommend it. Worth the mild anxiety attack.

Sunday I attempted a 10km race. This was about as successful as can be expected on a hot, sticky, humid day. Asthma doesn’t like being asked to run about in those conditions. I started really well – sub 8:30 minute miles. Then had to grind to a halt to wheeze. Then decided that, actually, it wasn’t worth another wheeze but it was worth finishing, so set off again at something closer to a 9:30 min mile. Overall, 8:50 min mile. Annoyingly, it rained about an hour after I’d finished, and oh! The aftermath of the downpour would have been perfect.

I am not sure that this week’s training plan will quite happen the way it’s supposed to. Tomorrow is intervals. Then a ploddy run. Then a less ploddy run. There will be yet more early mornings. On the plus side, I am sleeping really well, and not waking up with the dawn. On the minus side, I actually want to be waking up with the dawn so that I can go running before work. This is something of a dichotomy, as well as being immensely frustrating.

I have finally finished knitting the sweater I cast on in February (it got interrupted by wedding knitting). I am down to the heel of the second sock of the pair I started I don’t know when. I’m knitting mittens for R, and they are going beautifully now I’ved decided green-on-purple is much better than purple-on-green. I love stranded knitting. It goes so fast, partly because of the excitement of seeing the pattern come out row by row, and partly because the excitement keeps you up knitting well past bedtime. There will be a photo. But I’m yet to take it.

xxx

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