Jem Publishing

This week I have been feeling a bit crapola.

Not tooooo bad … just … well, like I said, a bit crapola (must I repeat myself?).

It can’t be the alcohol because I don’t drink. I gave that up last year. It was not so much of a decision as it was a “cellular urging”. My body decided it didn’t like it anymore and made me make the drastic, potentially life-changing decision to stop drinking.

Some didn’t like it. But I did, and that’s all that mattered.

In the months and weeks prior to this big decision, I had been thinking about it. It was playing on my mind. But I just couldn’t bring myself to call it quits on the grog (not that I drank much anyway). Then I reached that wonderfully magical headspace – you know the one – where the tough decision all of a sudden become really really easy.

As I said, it wasn’t so much of a decision … I was compelled by my body.

In the last few weeks, and especially this week, I have had the same little nagging thoughts. It’s playing on my mind … and my stomach. It’s my diet.

It ain’t real flash. I have been consuming too much sugar, too much fat and not enough green leafy stuff. I think they call it “salad”. It might as well be a foreign word.

And water. Don’t get me started. I’m having a great deal of trouble getting in all the water I need to run my body smoothly each day, let alone exercise with any intensity.

I’m about to hit that magical headspace once again. I can feel it closing in on me. This time, I shall get a jump on it in two simple steps.

1. Remove emotion from my impending “challenging” decision. Check.

2. Make the decision. Check.

With diet so vital to survival and quality of life, it’s important I learn to manipulate it to my advantage. I also feel a level of guilt that I live in such a fortunate and nutritionally abundant country and, by eating rubbish, I am effectively choosing malnutrition. Just because it tastes nice. It’s body abuse, plain and simple.

It’s time to stop.

This week (and for the rest of the weeks of my life), I will be making a concerted effort to make better dietary decisions, choose better foods, choose to drink the water I need, choose the salad, choose the fruit, ditch the TimTams, ditch the Coke, ditch the chips, ditch the junk.

I feel better already.

( ) x

Last triathlon season has only just finished and my training for the next has begun. Being very unfit and inherently un-talented, I need all the training and practice I can get!

I’m two days into it. Thankfully, I’m not sick of it yet. Go me! If I can keep this up, there may just be some hope for me. Hmm … we’ll see! Either way, I think it’s going to be a long winter!!

In an effort to keep myself focused, I have set some season goals. I am familiar with the “goal-setting” concept, although I am not so familiar with the “goal-achieving” concept.

The first goal on my list comes around in October … it’s a little event we have down here in Tassie called “The Burnie 10″ (see the link in the sidebar on the left). It’s 12km … okay I’m joking, it’s 10km. I have run it more times than I care to remember (once I ran it in the hail on my birthday!) … maybe 10 or 12 times? Not sure. My PB is around 52mins. Set 50,000 years ago – when I was at high school. And fit.

My challenge, should I wish to accept it (and I do), is to kick 52mins’ arse. You heard me. It’s going down.

So yesterday I went for an easy run. And it was easy, I didn’t challenge myself to run fast – I just chugged along at a sustainable pace. The distance was 4.33km (hey, that 30m means a lot to me!). I got home in 28:54mins.

Riiiiiiiiiight.

My 10km goal is looking more than a little shaky. Yesterday’s run pace was 6:40m/km. 6:40! I could probably walk faster than that.

I have to admit, I’m very embarrassed.

So, can I go from 6:40 pace to less than 5:00 pace in seven months? Dunno, but I’m gonna find out.

x

Lately my triathlon training has been more than a little hit-and-miss. Hey, I get busy okay?

But I can’t use that as an excuse. Basically, I’ve been lazy. I’ve been sleeping in, making excuses and sitting on the couch. Not good. I’ve been embracing the whole rest period concept.

Not anymore.

Next week marks the start of my prep phase. Base season is about to begin. And, being a newbie to the sport, I need all the training I can get. I need to swim, cycle and run. I need to drop weight. I need to learn skills.

I also need to believe I can do it. It’s been the missing link for a long time. But now it’s time to stop being a big-girl’s blouse and just get in a do what I need to do. I have goals that are begging to be achieved!

I’m pumped and ready to roll!

Got myself an indoor trainer a couple of weeks ago. It means I can train at home on the bike while my little guy has a sleep. It’s brilliant, if not a tad boring.

So here I go. A full base season leading into the next competitive season. I’ll blog about it. My goals, my training, my nutrition. It won’t always be pretty, it won’t always be positive, but it will be real.

Wish me luck.

X

Nice topic I’m sure.

Glad I’m not eating … oh wait, I am. It’s all I seem to do at the moment.

So, yeah, sweat.

Yesterday I went for a long run … 12km. It was a tad ambitious of me considering: my hydration levels, my fitness and the weather. Frick it was hot yesterday … sticky, humid with a hot wind.

Nonetheless, I figured I’d just plod along, there’s no hurry!

But I thought I’d better take my phone as I’d be travelling quite a distance from home, on quiet country roads. Just in case. Anything could happen.

Problem: where will I put my phone. I don’t want to carry it, I HATE having things in my hands when I am running. Ooh, I know, I’ll stick it down my crop top. I have a fabulous tight, flattening crop top which holds the bazoombas in well, the phone won’t bounce out of there. It’ll be perfectly safe.

What a cunning plan.

If only it wasn’t so hot. I sweated all over my phone, didn’t I? 

When I got it out of my crop top, it wasn’t working. Bugger. I opened up the back and all this (let’s call it “water” … much more becoming) came out. Oh crap. I don’t want to have to get a new phone, that one was perfectly fine. For two hours, I dried it out on the window sill. Put the battery back in, no go. Crap. Double crap. Hubby suggested the “water” had shorted out the battery and maybe it just needed a jump start. Plugged it into its charger and it was away.

Hooray! It lives! It’s a miracle! See, that’s why I only have Nokias.

Lesson learnt. I am now off to buy myself a Fuel Belt. A very handy option for long runs and it means I can carry the all important phone. Maybe I should write to Nokia … they might be able to create the “Sweat Phone”. Think of the gimmicks … it could come with a little Pat Cash-style sweat band!! Brilliant.

( ) x

Remember Eric The Eel from the Sydney Olympics?? Wasn’t he great?

We Aussies just love an underdog, don’t we? A battler, a struggler, a straggler?

Yeah.

Well I was all of those things on Australia Day.

You’d have lurved me!

January 26, 2010 was a special day for me. It marked the longest triathlon I have ever done. The furthest I had swam, cycled and run back-to-back. It doesn’t really sound that far … but 400m swim, 16km bike and the 4km run was a long way for me!

I had two goals: to finish and to finish in a time of 1hr 25mins or less.

Tick and tick! Achieved. How proud am I?

I finished in 72nd place. That’s stone cold, stinking, dead last - by a loooong way.

The man at the run turn actually picked up the witch’s hat and ran with me for about half a kilometre after I had turned at 2km. He then got picked up in a car. I wanted a car. A course marshal on a mountain bike rode with me, egging me on and allowing me to “draft” behind him!

I wasn’t alone!

The winner, Jonathon Hitchens, recorded splits of 6:18mins (400m swim); 24:06mins (16km bike); 13:11mins (4km run) to finish in a time of 43.35mins!

Here are my results … it’s quite amusing.

It’s alright really, there’s no need to feel sorry for me!

The upside to that sad state of affairs is I can’t get much slower. It’s all up from here!

x

It’s fair to say that the Em From Jem operating system has undergone a pretty significant upgrade of late. Yeah, I’m a whole new Em.

Well, that’s not entirely true … I’m the same old Em, just a bit shinier, fresher and I “run” a bit more smoothly. Oh, and I have a few more bells and whistles. That’s bells … with an “e” … tch!

Yes, Em From Jem 98 has been upgraded to Em From Jem Vista! Minus the cool desktop sidebar you can fill up with widgets – I’d love one, but I’ve nowhere to put it. And who needs widgets anyway?

In all honesty, my harddrive was full of viruses and glitches. Ran like shit and was terribly temperamental. It had this terrible habit of hanging onto files I had thrown in the trash. They just wouldn’t delete! And don’t even try to upload some shiny, new exciting files – it just wasn’t having a bar of it!

Thing is, I had tried many times to give harddrive an overhaul. It just never worked before.

It seems my built-in file clean-up wizard was shit. The program didn’t work and for this major overhaul the big guns were brought in. Commercial cleaners, or something like a huge, hulking Reg-Cure for my overcrowded C: drive.

Reg-Cure marched into my harddrive and broke me down – quite swiftly and expertly (and without warning in what I thought was a rather vicious attack) – connections were cut, wires were uncrossed and you know how you always have a funny little cord and you don’t know where it goes? Well, that was finally plugged in.

Helaleujah! I am reborn! I have seen the light! I have been awakened!

Oh, sorry, that’s right … I’m going with a technological metaphor.

My bad.

After I was so rudely broken down and left in pieces, I discovered something amazing. Hidden away in a dusty old folder at the back of my ROM was a program file which allowed me to rebuild myself.

Yeah, did this upgrade all myself. And what’s more … I am now self-powered! Oh yes! Or should that be, empowered? … or should that be EM-powered?!! Oh, yes I like that. Hey, I just invented something!!

Needless to say: those useless, negative files which were dragging me down have been kicked to the curb once and for all and the C: drive is a much tidier, organised, clutter-free place. It’s much more peaceful in there.

The system is still not perfect, wires sometimes want to return to their former connections (understandable after 20 years), and sometimes that funny little cord falls out but mostly I can rectify these issues. Wires are bossed around and that cord doesn’t stay out for long! I also have greater faith in my anti-virus … it’s gonna have to fight to get through my defences!

Yeah, I’m running much sweeter these days.

(I realise I may have misused some of the technology terminology … but hey, it’s poetic license and you’ll get over it!)

The other day, I had the honour (or not, depending on your view) of meeting a well-known, high-powered politician here in Tassie. (So a nobody then? Glad we sorted that out.) Actually, I met a bunch of them. All the sitting members of a particular party. The big wigs. The movers and shakers. The connected. The suits.

I felt right at home in my cargo shorts and singlet top.

These were powerful men and women … and they knew it. And I was little old me … and I knew it.

Now, without opening the whole political can of worms, I will say this group of politicians represented a party I tend to lean away from. I find it a challenge to agree with their doctrine … and a couple of specific policies I am vehemently against. But, hey, in essence (especially at a State level) I am a swinging voter … so I’ll hear what everyone has to say!

So here I am, sitting at a laptop in a small room with a colleague working on a project. The bunch of suits wander in – they don’t all fit, the room is too small. One or two are just poking their heads in the door. If they weren’t so serious, stuffy and stuck up I would have laughed out loud. It looked comical.

They knew my colleague and shook his hand. I was introduced to everyone as “Em”. That’s it, just “Em”.

Riiiiiight.

So, I don’t matter? Strangely, that’s fine by me because I don’t really want to matter to these people. Not on a personal level.

I imagine the lack of elaboration on my name or my role was a protective thing because my surname (not me) is rather strongly associated with the other major political party in Tasmania and that would have just been awkward, right?

I shake the hand of the party’s Big Guy and do you know what I get? Barely the ends of his fingers! Like a tiny little bit of hand, not a proper handshake at all.

What’s with that??

I figured I must have had Other Party written all across my face and he didn’t want to get any on him.

Seriously?! Why do some men do that? Blokes will give other blokes nice firm handshakes. Proper ones, that actually say:

“I am pleased to meet you and to show you how much I respect you as a person I will now share with you the full force of the germs on my hand.”

With women though it seems to be:

“I’m a big powerful bloke. If I shake your hand in the regular way I may crush your dainty bones with my amazing masculine strength. So here, have a floppy fingertip shake.”

Yuk.

In all honesty, my suspicions were confirmed and I was suitably unimpressed.

… Not to be confused with my AC/DC life which really only applies when I have had too much to drink …

No need to elaborate.

two lives

Twice this afternoon, in the space of about half an hour, I removed one of the dog’s bones from the sofa. Nice. In my ‘BC’ days (that’s Before Child) finding a dog bone inside the house would have kinda grossed me out. Also, I would have wondered how it got there … Hubby wouldn’t have put it there and Toby the Wonderdog is not in the habit of bringing them inside.

Now, it’s barely a surprise. I am well aware of how it got there, I just shrug and chuck it back outside. But it got me thinking about how much, not only my life, but my attitudes, expectations and habits have change since Small Child arrived on the scene.

The thought hounded me as I vaccuumed the floor … with said Child in tow. A momentary aside: Child is obsessed with anything that goes around – washing machine, clothes dryer, fans – and of course we have a cyclonlic vaccuum cleaner. Hence, I have a shadow whenever I vaccuum.

Where was I? Oh right, vaccuuming the floor and thinking about the things that would have bothered me before this small person with a loud voice and penchant for repeating phrases came to live with us.

While I won’t say I was obsessive about the state of the house (probably far from it), I did have my routine and that suited me just fine. Before Small Child came along, spills on the carpet would piss me off; the dog was inside and awful lot for an “outside” dog; the house was always “reasonably” neat and tidy; I had always showered by bedtime.

Now, spills are a part of everyday life, and I’ll get to them when I fricken get there, okay? Not long ago, Hubby up-ended a big bowl of spaghetti bolognaise all over the carpet … all we could to was look at each other and laugh our heads off.

And then clean it up, obviously. We’re not pigs, you know.

Poor old Toby the Wonderdog (is there anything you can’t do? Running, jumping, making us laugh. Toby we love you!) doesn’t spend nearly as much time inside the house as he used to. The poor little hound gets terrorised. He’s chased around and has things thrown at him. It’s just easier to keep him outside, and he’d rather that too. It’s too loud inside!!

Nowadays, when I clean the house, I’m really happy when it’s still that way 20 minutes later. When that happens, I’m amazed!! I get the last job done, think to myself: “Yep, time for a coffee”. Turn around twice and it looks like Chechnya all over again. “Think I might make that an Irish Coffee.”

Some of the biggest changes can be seen in my expectations. BC, I’d be going on a major holiday twice a year. Now, I’d be thrilled if I could get a hour to go soak in the bath.

But don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad. In fact, I wouldn’t change anything for the world. I like my life AC much better than BC. There’s still stress, but it’s not lose-your-job type of stress – coz Child’s hardly going to sack me, is he?

Is he?

There’s less freedom (financially and socially), but there’s also more freedom in an emotional and psychological sense. It is now perfectly okay for me to jump around and dance around like a dag to The Wiggles.  Childless, it would be frowned upon, now it’s a given.

And that in itself is worth a lifetime of loud, crazy days, food spills and banana rubbed into the carpet. Nice.

Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny kinda riddle …

Ever felt totally out of place?? Waaaayyy out of your depth, your comfort zone??

I do. Most days in fact. That is not a joke.

So the other day this country chick from Hicksville (alright, a slight exaggeration, regional Tasmania is hardly Hicksville … whatever) flew to the thriving, bustling, busy metropolis that is Melbourne.

I stayed for two days. It was a big two days.

This was no junket, I was there for a reason – to see and spend some time with the one and only Craig Anthony Harper (top Australian motivational speaker, author, health and fitness expert, life-renovation guru, asker of rather confronting questions and all-round good guy). We are working on his latest book – it’s all very exciting.

Over the two days I ran the gamut of emotions: nervousness, fear, amazement, surprise, embarrassment (that was a lot), envy, shock, optimism, apprehension, despair and irritation.

To name but a few.

But mostly, I felt like a total fish out of water. I didn’t belong there. I was awkward and clumsy, very uncool and totally self-conscious.

I realise all these emotions were totally of my own making. Except for a couple of key moments (for my own good), no-one tried to make me feel uncomfortable … I just was. 

But I learnt a lot. About myself, about others, about Craig and his team. Some things I already knew, but they were really hammered home over the two days. Here’s a snapshot.

1. I have some graphic design ability – there seemed to be a resounding positive response to my designs.

2. I have compliment-acceptance issues. There were some positive comments which I felt were said with great honesty and sincerity and I was surprised to find it confusing. In my head, I found myself justifying or qualifying (watering down) those comments.

3. Good people will bring you up, not tear you down. And postivity is contageous.

4. It’s much easier to cop criticism if it’s said in a respectful, helpful, focused way (and it was). Just put on your big-girl pants and suck it up.

5. My short-hair may be a contributer to my not feeling very feminine. Kind of a weird conversation, that one! Suffice to say: tough shit, I’m not growing it.

6. I am socially disabled! Nuf said.

7. I’m a big scaredy-pants when it comes to taking risks.

8. Craig surrounds himself with positive, vibrant, happy, interested, interesting, fun people.

9. I don’t really know what I want in my life.

10.  I am slightly distressed at the sight of Craig weight-training. It’s kind of scary. And funny. But scary.

11.  My body is probably not in as bad shape as I think.

12.  Don’t tell Melbourneans how good the property prices are in Tassie, they’ll want to buy up.

In all honesty, I had a great couple of days. It was confronting and uncomfortable, but it was also pleasantly surprising and enjoyable. Johnny and the rest of the team were very welcoming and if I wasn’t so busy feeling so incredibly nervous, I would have felt right at home.

Bugger! I have some things to work on (apart from the book) …

THE other day it occured to me that there are some distinct similarities between people and iPods. And I am just like my iPod.

What the?

I know, just go with me on this one.

I don’t mean small, metallic and blue. Well, maybe small. But not metallic and blue. What I mean is this little 21st century entertainment device symbolises so much more than a lump of metal that stores and plays music and video.

It’s a metphor for a life journey

A brand new iPod is protected from outside influences by its packaging and wrapping. It has all the required parts of a fully-functioning iPod, but it is yet to receive the information that will make it work. It’s pristine. It’s perfect. Not a mark on it.

When removed from its packaging, it is exposed to the influences which will shape its music library. Its owner’s tastes and preferences are hammered into it and it probably plays the same music over and over again.

But its library can be wiped clean. An iPod, just like a person, can have a fresh slate. A new sound. A fresh outlook. A new attitude. More reggae. Less hip-hop. Or vice-versa.

People can change as quickly as music tastes change and their whole history can be wiped clean for a fresh start. As with an iPod, a person’s history is not their future.

What’s your soundtrack?

The “music”  inside me (my talents, skills, passions, dreams) are as varied as the music in my iPod. Now it’s just a case of giving them all some airtime.

What music will I choose today?

* I have absolutely no connection to Apple, iPod or iTunes …