Trying to run

My legs hurt. Every part of them, from top to toe. Mostly, it's my calves, but if  I move the wrong way, pain flares in my shins and thighs, and all the other parts I have no name for because I have done my best to ignore them over my whole life.

Legs are for getting from A to B to C at a nice brisk pace. They are not for running. Only lunatics run. Except that secretly I have always wanted to be a runner, jogging along looking fit and fluid as I get in 'the zone' and discover those things called endorphins.

But the only way to become a runner is to run. And running is painful. It's agony. It makes my lungs shriek and my legs scream. It is torture and I have avoided it whenever and wherever possible. In the last couple of years I have questioned my body's ability to be able to do it at all after 15 years of running retirement. Except when I watch The Biggest Loser I see people running who are far older than me - and obese as well! Surely I could still do it. I bought new runners at the end of last year and have been thinking about it ever since.

This week I stopped thinking and started running. For the last 4 days I have been out running. It is still agony and it still torture but I am determined to persevere. Right now I'm doing the Couch to 5km program which is supposed to get me fit in 8 weeks. Week 1 involves running for 60 seconds then walking for 90 seconds - repeat 8 times each session, three times a week. It sounds so simple yet I'm finding it really hard. However, I am determined to stick this out. It has to get easier, doesn't it? If I keep going then surely it will hurt less. Surely I can run further each time.

It is still torture. It is still agony. I'm hoping I can make myself go out again tomorrow. This feels like the hardest and stupidest thing in the world - making yourself do something that hurts so much!

Boots of gold

Last week I spent $80 on soccer boots for my little boy.

I hadn't planned to mention that to anyone but my husband spilled the beans. The other soccer mums were horrified, pointing out - quite rightly - that I could have bought boots for $40. What happens if they don't fit next year? they asked. What happens if he doesn't play soccer next year? 

Fair comments but they missed the point entirely.

For my little boy's entire life we have bought him only the cheapest of everything. Or we've made him go without. Or wear shoes with holes in them just a few more weeks. Or struggle into pyjamas two sizes too small. And, of course, 95% of his clothes have first belonged to his brother.

So there we are shopping for soccer boots and, finally, things are better financially, not wonderful, but better.

And soccer boots are amazing. Sure, there are some plain ones, but many of them are bright, multi-coloured explosions. My seven year old's eyes got bigger and bigger. 'I love those,' he said. 'No, those ones!' Finally, he settled on lairy gold boots with black pumas leaping across the tops. He tried them on, clomping delightedly across the floor. Done. I paid for them and he carried them out of the shop with a huge grin on his face.

If they don't fit next year, it doesn't matter.

If he decides not to play soccer next year, it doesn't matter.

For once, he got exactly what he wanted. At the next soccer training he pulled them on joyfully and ran across the pitch. He was still grinning. And so was I.

The love of Stalker Cat

We were anxious tonight because Mishka was late. She hadn't dropped by this morning and she wasn't waiting impatiently in the driveway when we got home in the afternoon. As night settled she was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn't until after dinner that we saw her familiar shadow in the darkness. We opened the door for her and in she strolled, taking her pick of the four laps waiting for her. Our beautiful Mishka.

Except she's not ours. She's the stalker cat, the one who peered through the window and miaowed so insistently that we let her in. Time and time again, she came until we realised tonight that she hasn't missed a day in the last seven months.

Once she's here, she curls up on our laps and sleeps for hours. Or she sits on a chair in the kitchen and pounces on us as we pass. We don't feed her. We provide nothing for her. She comes here just for the love.

Mishka has a home and owners who love her very much. But for some reason, that's not enough and she feels the void with us. And in the meantime, she has filled the void in our lives. It's been a very difficult year and she turned up at just the right time. Beautiful girl!

Love is to be cherished in all its forms. Thank you, Mishka.

My Stars

My Stars
On the day I was born,
The unalterable stars altered.
If I decided to sell lamps,
It wouldn't get dark till the day I died.

Some stars. Whatever I do,
I'm a failure before I begin.
If I suddenly decided to sell shrouds,
People would stop dying.

Abraham ibn Ezra (1029 - 1067)


With the Christchurch earthquake this week, many questions arise about fate. Does it come down to what is written in the stars or is it blind luck?

A few months ago, at a conference, a presenter told us to be careful about 'your story.' She suggested that the same things happen to you over and over again because it's 'your story' and you have to be careful about the tale you choose to tell. So if you're story is that you can never get anywhere on time, then the world will conspire against you so that you will never be anywhere on time, no matter how much you try.

Seems like a defeatist attitude to me.

Surely,I can ignore the stars and write my own destiny.

The boy emerges

Five days felt like forever when we were waiting for Keegan to arrive. An eternity. Every night, I would go to bed still pregnant, and every morning I would wake up - still pregnant. It was interminable. It felt as though we had missed our window of opportunity and that this baby would never come into the world.

And then, of course, the contractions started and within a surprisingly short time, I was holding a baby. Four beautiful days with a boy sleeping in the cot next to my bed. Just the two of us getting to know each other.

They are the days you wish you could pour into a bottle and relive whenever you want. Where is a pensieve when you need it?

Nine years later and my boy is almost up to my shoulder. He asks questions that show he's starting to make connections with the broader world and he is becoming increasingly more balanced in his emotions. He's bright and quick and funny - deliberately funny. He hugs us, loves and, and - mostly - gets along well with his little brother.

I couldn't imagine this boy nine years ago when I looked into the eyes of my brand new baby. It feels like the world's longest 'hatching,' watching my boy break free of his first shell and grow into a man. In another nine years, when he turns 18, I'm sure I'll look at him and marvel that I couldn't see this man hidden behind his nine year old eyes.

Happy Birthday, Keegan. Thank you for coming into our lives.

A confession

A few weeks ago, when I was visiting my parents they found a humongous caterpillar in a bush.

They set it aside to kill and, when they weren't looking, I released it back into the garden.

I know they eat up beautiful plants but without caterpillars there are no butterflies.

Plus, I hate to see any creature die. Hope it made the most of its freedom!

Shh! Don't tell!

The gift of Good Fortune

Just before Christmas I was given a Fortune Plant. The rules are simple:
1. You can't buy one for yourself but have to be given one.
2. Put it in a sheltered place, water and fertilise it and...
3. As is grows (slowly), so too will your fortune.

Ruth and Randolph gave it to me before they moved to Brisbane - just in time for the floods! Luckily, their good fortune held and they moved into a house that was high and dry.

In the time they had the plant, it seems to have done very well for them so I'm hoping that if we love and nurture it, it will do well for us also. Please don't let me kill it!

The interesting thing is that a Google search shows there are many different types of plants that are known as Fortune Plants. From the sound of it, many cultures have been keen to bring wealth into their homes any way that they can!

I'm certain a feng shui guide will tell me placing this in my hallway will cause all my fortune to escape out the front door. However, I'm keen to believe it's going to attract fortune, causing it to stream up the steps and into my life.

Thank you Ruth and Randolph. May your good fortune continue in Brisbane. And Fortune Plant, please thrive and prosper in my home!