Sunday Bumper Crop

Somehow I fitted all of this cooking into three hours, which I think might be unprecedented.

Toasted Snow Peas
I got some snow peas as a substitution in my Abel & Cole box for a much more boring alternative (spring onions, I think, of which I already had plenty lurking at the bottom of the fridge). Snow Peas? Much googling later, I now know they can be treated the same as Mange Touts/Sugar Snap Peas, although I’m still none the wiser as to the difference. Mine were a kind of mottled purple,with a hint of green. Could that be it?

Anyway, Epicurious presented me with this Epicurious, which I proceeded to use as more of a general guideline. Can’t be bothered to weigh what I actually have? Check. Decide to use pumpkin seeds as well as flaked almonds? Check. Mincing shallots? What a faff, they can be finely chopped and like it!

The result is rather more almond-heavy than I’d intended, but none the worse for it.

Caponata
Felicity Cloake’s “How to cook the Perfect…” series of columns in the Guardian is always interesting. She tries out lots of different versions of the same dish, with a view to creating a definitive recipe. I’d never heard of Guardian before, but her description sounded fantastic, so I thought I’d give it a whirl, immediately ignoring the bits of her method I couldn’t or wouldn’t do.

So my version involved a white rather than red onion, a small marrow and a medium aubergine rather than a courgette and a large aubergine, and I’ve got caper purée, rather than capers themselves. Otherwise I stuck rigidly to her instructions. Except I got over-excited when weighing my ingredients, so my green olives had sultanas and grated chocolate dumped on them before I had a chance to quarter them. Oops!

I’m glad I was firm with myself and stuck with deep-frying the aubergine and marrow, because it prevented the sliminess I’m sure would have resulted in shallow-frying. But it did rather prevent me from sticking with one of my Cooking Commandments: thou shalt not create washing up without good reason. What with the extra pan for the frying (although I did re-use the snow peas pan for the tomato base, so I wasn’t entirely profligate), the bowl for putting the newly rinsed veg, the plate for putting newly fried veg (with kitchen towel to de-oil said veg) and the bowl (with more kitchen towel) for trying to remove even more oil (it’s amazing there was any oil left in the pan by the time I’d finished), I was very grateful for the dishwasher by the end!

 
I took photos before and after the addition of toasted almonds, having learned my lesson from the snow peas photo – where you barely get to sea a snow pea for the mountain of almond! The caponata does glisten in a way that makes me think a lot of oil got in there anyway. Speaking of which, that was another diversion from the recipe; shallow-frying in my usual groundnut oil and deep-frying in sunflower oil, rather than the olive oil specified.
Apple & Blackberry Tart
At some point in the dim and distant past, I must have wanted to make fudge (a craving which quickly passed, not least because I just bought some), because I have been the proud owner of two tins of condensed milk (one labelled “light”, one which ought to be labelled “diabetic coma” but isn’t) for quite some time. In a fit of organisational mania, I looked at them a week ago and discovered they were rapidly reaching their date. While I’m deeply sceptical of dates on tins (although, full disclosure, I once nearly poisoned a friend by giving them an elderly Diet Coke, and I now respect the power of phosphoric acacid I thought I’d better do something with them before they start corroding my worktop or what have you.

I’ve sort of disposed of the full-fat tin, in a well-intentioned but ultimately misguided attempt to make small portions for adding to smoothies (short version: condensed milk won’t freeze, at least not solid). I refuse to make fudge; the fact that I haven’t thus far clearly means my subconscious really doesn’t want to and therefore something catastrophic will undoubtedly occur. So bring on the Google! The internet really wanted me to make fudge or banoffee pie, the latter I resisted because eating the entire thing and diabetic comas are a likely result without an imminent dinner party. Which there isn’t. But Apple & Blackberry Tart sounds suitably sort-of healthy (particularly with the “light” tin!) and shouldn’t risk dissolving my teeth, don’t you think?

I’ve been having difficulty recently with pastry, which relatives tell me is my own fault for buying ready-rolled rather than making from scratch. And they’re probably right. But I have fallen in love with the Sainsburys ready-rolled shortcrust pastry, which is just enough for not only one flan case, but also four little tartlets, which is just dinky. The only downside is that, when baking blind, the pastry keeps sticking to the grease proof paper (oxymoron, anyone?). I thought it might be the fault of the “light” version of the pastry not being greasy enough, so I went full-fat this time and gave the pastry a light coating of oil for completeness’ sake. The ?!#* still stuck. Given that my tartlets, which I – bow down before the efficiency queen! – line with paper which comes wrapped round the pastry, don’t stick at all (in fact, they positively sweat – sorry for the visual!), I’m forced to blame my elderly Waitrose grease proof paper. Can paper go off?

To counteract the all-encompassing sweetness, I bought a Bramley Apple and sliced it with the skin still on (although that was laziness, rather than any thought of taste, texture or vitamins). I rather under-fruited my flan, as the custard quantities completely intimidated me (just think of my smoothies for the next week, loaded up with a dollop of condensed milk and rapidly browning Bramley). Plus the cooking time was nonsense; it needed at least another fifteen minutes for the custard to be anywhere near set. And I still had enough custard for two tartlets. But it’s very pretty, n’est-ce pas?

Now what to do with two empty tartlets? #ponders

There’s Something Worse Than Kale

Sorry for the hiatus. Life, whattayagonnado?

Last year, I bought a Nutribullet 900, primarily in an attempt to make a dent in my GLV Mountain (green leafy vegetables -you know, kale, spring greens, that stuff you put in everything that takes forever to chop and you still seem to have as much as you did when you started). As discussed in a recent Guardian article, it is basically a blender for lazy people. And, as one of those, I have really enjoyed using it. Given that it attempts to market itself as something other than a blender, I feel it misses the opportunity to point out how easily it does blending-type jobs. But I cannot deny it has helped me with that aforementioned primary goal; consuming GLVs.

The other day, it occurred to me that it might be able to help with my summertime nemesis: lettuce. My considered opinion of lettuce is that it is pointless and – as if that wasn’t enough – bitter. But,given my Nutribullet could help me consume GLVs without noticing, it had to be worth a go with lettuce. Right? Wrong. Well, semi-wrong.

Smoothie, and half a head of lettuce for the next one

This smoothie was made up of:

Half a head of Red Lettuce

One Banana

5 Raspberries

Peanut Butter

Low Fat Greek Yogurt

Coconut Water (about an inch-worth in the cup)

Alpro Chocolate Almond Milk (up to the maximum level)

It was ok, but the bitter under-taste of lettuce was in every gulp. Which is unfortunate. I’m not sure what you can add to counter-act it (suggestions please!). I shan’t be buying any more lettuce, though, unless I have a plan for its consumption. Truly, there is something worse than kale.

Banana Bread For The Soul

I had some overripe bananas that were at the point of heading binwards. However I woke up this morning with an enthusiasm for baking, so I dug out my favourite banana bread recipe and got cracking.

The beauty of this recipe is the (not so) secret ingredient: chocolate. Is there anything more divine than the combination of banana and chocolate? There may be, I suppose, but it’s pretty hard to beat. As is my usual habit, I adapt it a bit; ground almonds instead of the faffing about with toasting then grinding hazelnuts, plus my mother is about to visit, so I used gluten-free instead of wheat self-raising flour.

If I say so myself, this banana bread is pretty hard to beat. It’s almost worth failing to eat your fruit, so you have the excuse.

 

Autumn Comforts

As the nights are drawing in, the weather gets – by turns – chillier and wetter, my thoughts inevitably turn to home comforts. I’ve been stocking up on snuggly pyjamas and bedsocks.

Source: marksandspencer.com

Last year – as mentioned in a previous blogpost – I discovered the wonders of an electric blanket, and this item, on its own, transforms the entire season from one of discomfort to one permitting an overdose of comfiness.

Source: amazon.co.uk

I got mine from Amazon (£49.99), and I am officially smitten. I feel slightly foolish for not having tried one out in the past. I blame the public education films I was exposed to as a small child which left me with (in addition to a lasting phobia of striking matches, thankfully since shaken off) an association of electric blankets with house fires. I somehow internalised the notion that they were as dangerous as smoking in bed, and was therefore reluctant to adopt one. Luckily, I have now realised that was the stuff of childhood nightmares, only relevant to elderly or shoddily made blankets.

I am enamoured of the environmentally friendly aspect of them. I haven’t done a study of it, but I’m pretty sure the use of an electric blanket (together with jumpers/duvet on the sofa for television marathons) can hold off the switching on of the central heating for a little while. It makes the bed so cosy, and raises the background temperature of the bedroom, I’ll warrant.

I’m particularly impressed with the model I’ve got, which has dual controls for a double bed. This results in my heating of only one side of the bed, and let me tell you, the heating is quite targeted. The other side of the bed is distinctly chilly. I imagine this could appeal to many couples out there with differing attitudes and/or experiences of night time temperature. However I came a cropper of this feature last night when both my boys, Oscar and Toby, set up shop during the night on the heated side, pushing me over to a cold bed. I retook possession, I assure you, but it was a salutary reminder of the heavenly nature of the electric blanket.

Oscar (l) and Toby (r)

Catcalling – but cats would never be so rude

Since I started blogging (albeit sporadically) three or four years ago, I have wondered whether I am prepared to be more political online. My blog so far has been very topic-focused (e.g. food). I dipped my toe into the water a few months back, but this post is not representative, in that it is very narrative rather than opinionated.

I am very aware of some of the downsides of having an internet presence as a woman (and, particularly, one expressing feminist sentiments – to quote Rebecca West, “I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat.”), particularly following a couple of events. First, the campaign to put Jane Austen on a bank note (following the removal of Elizabeth Fry which made sterling a boys-own club) which resulted in extreme misogynist trolling (including rape and death threats) of the campaign leader Caroline Criado-Perez. Then, more recently, with the discussion of Gamergate.

I have a number of blogposts running in my head, at any one time, that could broadly be termed feminist. But over the last couple of days, I have had one that is bursting to get out.

You may well have seen the recent video of a woman walking through New York City for one day, and the amount of catcalling she experiences during that time. I watched it about a week ago, and had an interesting reaction to it. What I liked about it was that a (small) number of the “catcalls” identified in the video were nothing more than a “good morning”, a larger number were references to her attractiveness (e.g. “god morning beautiful”) but, seemingly, without any expectation of response, and the frightening ones were continued one-sided “conversations” where the speaker seemed to resent either her facial expression, the fact she didn’t acknowledge or reciprocate his compliment, or (in one creepy example) a guy who said nothing but spent more than ten minutes walking next to her, staring at her.

For me, it was quite a revelatory video. Every woman has her own experiences to call on, when talking about catcalling. My own experiences range from:

1. As a teenager, walking home from the pub with three (female) friends, finding ourselves with a tail who – once we were on low-lit suburban streets – took his penis out and started muttering about what he was going to do to us;

To:

1. In my early thirties, walking home at night from the station in my duvet-style coat in winter (I kid you not, a spectator only knew I was a woman because of my height, this coat was so shapeless), when a passer-by said “nice tits!”).

My own view is that, in isolation, it is impossible (and possibly wrong) to object to someone saying hello. It is difficult to object to being given a compliment. But the point of this video is that, for women, even a simple “good morning” is in a tricky context.

When the salutations and the compliments come in the context of:

1. Being told by everyone that what you wear and how you conduct yourself dictates how you will be treated, and that therefore, if you were wearing the wrong thing or reacted the wrong way, it is your fault if you are assaulted;
2. Together with the above, a few people being creepy can make the majority seem creepy too.

I was ready to leave the video be, a little bit with “I’m forty-something” making me feel complacent. And then I watched this video from CNN.

Have you ever seen someone as blissfully unaware that his opinion is irrelevant? Reading the intro, I was ready for “mansplaining” meaning he was going to be “new man”. How wrong was I? My three favourite things:

1. His inability to hear what women think, explained calmly and rationally by a woman;
2. Her succinct explanation that, regardless of how the video was made, it represented an authentic experience; and
3. The anchor’s ability to recognise when she was auditorialising, and pulling it back, so the interviewee could give her view.

My take?

It is difficult for men to understand how their public interactions with women are interpreted. But they should watch this video and learn. There is no single female experience, but when seeing women on the street, they should bear in mind the possibility that the woman they want to compliment is:

1. A rape survivor, who does not find any male attention “complimentary”;
2. Busy;
3. Thinking seriously about the day ahead, or her next meal, or what she read in a book just now, or anything; or
4. Not attracted to them.

None of these is a good reason to yell at them that they are either ugly, a lesbian or frigid. Or indeed anything else. It is not a woman’s job to be attentive to all men they meet. Nor is it her job to be physically attractive or smile all the time (“seriously, how do you know I’m not having a bad day?”). And while it would be lovely if someone saying “good morning” could always be reciprocated, in a world where a tiny number of men see that as invitation to rape and murder, please excuse women if they don’t always reciprocate.

While we’re at it, the nutty guy in the video seemed to think the appropriate way for a woman to deal with catcalling is to turn around and holler back. Given that he was criticising a video made by an organisation called Hollaback, that’s quite entertaining. However there’s a reason that women don’t holler back, that they tend to avoid eye contact and speed up. Actually two. One was brought up in the above video; women suffer violence when they stand up to catcalling. The other is that sometimes law enforcement perceive the woman’s verbal reaction as being more serious than the original verbal incitement (even when it is persistent). Because gender stereotypes identify a vocal woman as more aggressive than a vocal man or men.

Ye Olde Literature

It just occurred to me today that I have spent a significant amount of this year in Tudor England. No, I am not in possession of a time machine – except in the most allegorical way. But the books I have been reading over the last few months are, in large proportion, set in Tudor England. This is largely because I have been catching up on various book series.

Source: amazon.co.uk

First, I finally got around to reading Bring Up The Bodies (BUTB) by Hilary Mantel – the sequel to Wolf Hall (WH), which I read when it won the Booker Prize. I have no excuse for why it took so long to get to the sequel, except that I found some of the linguistic techniques she used in WH quite hard-going, and so the sequel had failed to be the first to my hand when looking for something to read. When I finally did pick it up, I sped through it; Mantel appears to have dropped the conceit for the second book which caused me the most difficulty with the first (not using quotation marks, or a new line, for dialogue; together with marking it only with “he said” or “she said”, rather than the name of the character). It made BUTB a much easier read, but a contrary bit of me misses the literary device. I read very quickly, almost too quickly, as I can miss a lot of the detail. Proof of this is the fact that I can often go back and read a book again, straight after finishing it, and pick up new things on the second read. So it was a useful discipline, having to read more slowly (or rather, to be accurate, read the same paragraph a couple of times) so I could follow the dialogue correctly.

Both books (and there is, I believe, the promise of a third to complete the trilogy) focus on the life of Thomas Cromwell, who rose from humble origins to become Henry VIII’s chief minister. WH is set during the years of Henry’s wrangling with the Church to obtain a divorce from his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, which resulted in the split from Rome and the establishment of the Church of England with Henry at its head. I trust that doesn’t represent spoilers for anyone reading this! BUTB is set during the period of Anne Boleyn’s marriage to Henry VIII, and documents her fall from grace.

I am embarrassed to admit that I was barely aware of Thomas Cromwell before embarking on WH. Since then, both from reading Mantel’s books, and some of the others listed below, I have realised quite how influential he was – which, given the times he lived in (where, for instance, your class dictated what you could wear, and to flout the ”sumptuary laws” was a criminal offence), was quite a feat – but at the same time, humanises a historical figure considered by some to be a monster.

   

Source: amazon.co.uk

I am currently reading the sixth in the Shardlake series, Lamentation, by C.J. Sansom, also set during Henry VIII’s reign. The first five – Dissolution, Dark Fire, Sovereign, Revelation and Heartstone – were interesting companion pieces to WH, as Thomas Cromwell appears as a character in some of them. Indeed, I read the one in which Cromwell dies (I forget which one that is) just before reading WH, which confused me greatly! The series are, broadly, whodunnits with Matthew Shardlake, a (fictional) hunchbacked lawyer as the central character. But the richness of atmosphere Sansom creates gives a wonderful insight into the social, religious and political culture of the times the books are set in, together with the “sightings” of real historical personages within Shardlake’s narrative. As well as standing up well on their own within their genre, these books are a real treat for anyone with some knowledge of the history. Skip the next paragraph if you haven’t read all of this series and don’t want to read spoilers.

SPOILERS! I think I whooped out loud when I read Shardlake’s description of “the Lady Elizabeth”, and realised this was the adolescent future queen (sorry, I’ve forgotten again which one this was in). And Heartstone features Shardlake taking a trip to Portsmouth, culminating in him finding himself on board the Mary Rose as she sinks! This may not sound all that impressive to some of you, but I have a vivid memory of being pulled out of my primary school class to watch the raising of the very same Mary Rose, which had been lying at the bottom of the Solent ever since. That’s how to bring history to life (not making schoolkids watch interminable hours of not very much happening, but establishing a personal connection between the reader and subject)!

Spoilers over! Lamentation is set near the end of Henry’s reign, but the political and religious intrigue is as fierce as it ever was. I’m really enjoying it, not least because I have come to really like Matthew Shardlake, who Sansom brings to life as a complete human being, with successes and failings both.

Source: amazon.co.uk

Another couple of series as well, albeit different from the first two for a couple of reasons: they are set in Elizabethan England, rather than the earlier Tudor times I have been reading about, and they involve – to varying degrees – one of my guilty pleasures, the supernatural. I have read all of Phil Rickman’s Merrily Watkins series, about a woman vicar in Herefordshire who has taken on the role of diocese exorcist (or “deliverance consultant” as the modern church would have it – although that just makes me think of rednecks duelling with banjos, which is unfortunate). So I was pleased to discover a couple of other books by Rickman, about Dr John Dee, again a historical figure who was an adviser to Queen Elizabeth I. The Bones of Avalon and The Heresy of Doctor Dee are, like Sansom’s Shardlake series, whodunnits but with a bit of a supernatural twist.

 

Source: amazon.co.uk

I was on tenterhooks waiting for the final instalment of Deborah Harkness’ All Souls trilogy, The Book of Life (BOL), to come out in July, and filled in the anticipation of that event by rereading A Discovery of Witches (DOW) and Shadow of Night (SON) to prepare. I am a big fan of the fantasy sub-genre that has many names but I like to call urban gothic, i.e. set in a recognisably modern world, but with vampires and werewolves and things that go bump in the night. A wider discussion of my love of this sub-genre shall be reserved for a possible future blogpost, but Harkness’ trilogy deserves an honourable mention for anyone interested in the genre but wants to draw the line at teenage angst. These books are about grown ups.

DOW is set in present day Oxford, where an American historian can’t escape her witchy heritage when she discovers a strange book in the Bodleian library and meets a mysterious vampire. The first book establishes the mystery that our main protagonists, Diana (the witch) and Matthew (the vampire), investigate throughout the trilogy, and leads us from Oxford, to southern France, to New England. SON has Diana using her magic to take herself and Matthew back to Elizabethan England (with a trip to Prague) in search of more clues; a tricky visit, not least because Matthew has already lived through this period once. BOL brings us back to the present day, with a whirlwind of cities as Diana and Matthew race to solve the mystery, and save themselves from persecution for their forbidden relationship.

It may seem odd to include this series under the Tudor England category, when only one book is set there. But when you have a book about vampires who have lived through that time, the series continues with an Elizabethan flavour despite the setting. Plus SON involves so many walk-ons by historical characters (including a certain Dr Dee) that it is a joy to turn the page.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how important Audible has been, during my immersion in ye olde England. I first started listening to audiobooks in my teens, primarily to help me get to sleep. At that time, it was well nigh impossible to get anything but abridged versions on cassettes (then later, CDs), so it was with untrammelled joy that I discovered Audible – whose catalogue is increasing all the time and are now primarily unabridged versions. There is nothing worse than looking forward to a favourite passage of a book, only to find the abridger has cut it out! Whilst there is still the occasional misstep, particularly with unusual names or specialist vocabulary (as an Oxford graduate, I winced at the American narrator’s pronunciation of “viva” and “Magdalen” in the Harkness books), I can rise above that to enjoy the luxury that is being read to.

Blipping Marvellous

Well, three weeks have gone by since my last post and I’m going to have to coin a new word to mean “blip, only longer”. I’ve been describing it as a hiatus. That doesn’t sound too serious, does it? Suffice to say, those three weeks went by in a bit of a blur, but with no running. I went swimming with a friend once, but exercise-wise the last three weeks were somewhat lacking.

Until this Monday, when I managed to get back on the horse (not literally, obviously; that would be a whole other sport). The single biggest factor in getting me back on my metaphorical horse was that my friend Louise ran 100 miles this weekend just gone. Here’s the event that she ran, and here’s a post about how she did. If she can get out of bed and run for 25 hours, it really does put 3 minutes into perspective.

I decided to press on and start Week Three of the programme (a few weeks late, but moving fast), although I kept in the back of my mind that I might need to repeat the week, as three weeks without running was bound to have a deleterious (I know, I’ve been mining the thesaurus) effect.

Monday’s run was difficult, probably the hardest to date. Not surprising when you consider the circumstances. Not only did it follow a three week plus break (given that it took me more than a week to do Week Two), but the jump from Week Two to Three seemed quite steep. Week Two runs involve 6 intervals of running for 1.5 minutes (with walking in between), whereas Week Three is running for 1.5 minutes, 3 minutes, 1.5 minutes and 3 minutes (with walking in between). I know it is the same number of minutes running, but 3 minutes all at once feels significantly more! The first 3 minute run I did involved a lot of mental narrative along the lines of “it must be 3 minutes by now, surely!”. But don’t get me wrong, it was still doable; I was just very pleased when the invisible lady said it was time to walk.

Knowing myself, as I do, it was quite important to run again on Tuesday. I know I’m supposed to leave rest days in between – and I will when I’m doing runs that are a bit longer – but it was important for me to go and run again to break any mounting belief that Monday’s run was too hard. Plus I was looking at the weather forecasts for the rest of the week, and it seemed a shame not to make the most of the dry bits before the heavens opened. Do you know, running for three minutes was easier on the second outing.

I decided to have a proper rest day on Wednesday and did absolutely nothing energetic at all. Yesterday, I thought I might try a bit of yoga and discovered that what I had thought was a bit of hand ache from too much time spent with puzzle books was actually a hand/wrist that could not support my weight in Downward Dog. So Thursday became a rest day as well.

I had planned to go for a run this morning, and that plan came and went, but I managed to persuade myself to run this afternoon. And so you find me, following my official first rainy run, feeling quite proud of completing Week Three. Hurrah!

So what have I learned?

1. There are no rules. Just because you would like, in an ideal world, to run first thing in the morning, does not mean you are forbidden to run at other times of the day.
2. You will feel better, after a run, than you did before it.
3. The second time you run a distance/time, it will generally be easier than the first time.
4. Running in the rain is not unpleasant, except for (as a glasses wearer) being unable to see much beyond general impressions as your glasses mist up/get drenched.
5. While running with Toby is fun, running occasionally without him does allow for fewer distractions. Given that he hates the rain with a fiery passion, trying to take him with me today would have involved a degree of resistance training (i.e. pulling a dog along behind me while he tries his best to go home) that I didn’t fancy.
6. Remember to turn your phone off silent, or you won’t hear the invisible lady tell you when to run and when to walk. Today, I didn’t notice that was the problem until the first 1.5 minute run was almost over (and I was still doing my warm-up run). My solution? Insert the missing 1.5 minute run into the 3 minute walk (so I did 3 minutes, 1.5 minutes, 1.5 minutes then 3 minutes, with less walking in between). Probably not the best solution, but I am quite pleased I could do it without problems. But next time I’ll check my phone volume first!

Now Week Four beckons. That’s running for 3 minutes, 5 minutes, 3 minutes and 5 minutes (with running in between). Strangely, I’m looking forward to it.

 

Blips and Other News

The second week started really well, but ended with a bit of a blip. I did my first run on Saturday, my second run on Monday, and then it all went a little awry.

Somehow it just seemed too difficult to go for another run last week, and I was in danger of continuing that trend this week. But this afternoon, somehow, I got my mojo back. And went for a run. It was harder than the previous two runs, but it was still achievable.

I also began the next phase of Toby training, in that I kept him on the lead and had him running next to me for most of my six 90-second running intervals. He was very good and didn’t barge in front of me, or refuse to run. That was quite surprising, given that he had already been for his long walk today. The plan is that – assuming I can stick with the programme – when I start running for longer periods of time, I can run in places other than around my (quite small) nearest park, and Toby can run with me.

I don’t know what tomorrow’s run will bring. I’m thinking I might have a go at doing week three. But it is quite daunting, including running for three whole minutes in one go. With no running for a whole week before today, that might be a bit much. But I figure there’s no harm in trying; I can always shift back to a week two run if I need to.

Other News

I have always shied away from bold colour on my fingernails, because I am an inveterate nail-picker (less so, biter). Which means that bold colour magnifies how short my nails really are, plus I struggle to leave them looking perfect for more than about five minutes.

But, high on the success of my run, and after a lovely relaxing bath, I thought I’d be brave and try out a colour usually reserved for my toes.

What do you think? It’s Richmond Terrace by Nails Inc (currently a free gift with purchase of Nails Inc products from Feel Unique, but usually £11), and I’m very pleased with it. We’ll see if it helps break the habit.

 

 

So Far, So Good

I’m a week into the Couch to 5K programme (which is 9 weeks long, minimum) and it is going really well, so far. I actually did 4 runs this week, rather than the 3 recommended, for a couple of reasons. First, as I explained in my last post, I wasn’t following quite the same programme for my first run (and didn’t strictly follow even the one I was using), so I didn’t feel like the first run counted. As luck would have it, the second run also went a little nuts as I failed to switch my mobile off silent, so couldn’t hear the verbal prompts. It’s amazing how ready you are to think your phone is vibrating (the only other prompt), when you expect it to vibrate in the near future.

One of the fantastic things about the modern world is relatively simple things like the C25K app. With the app (provided you use it properly!), all you have to do is follow the instructions. You start it up and then run when it tells you to run and walk when it tells you to walk. You have no idea what a relief it is not to have to look at your watch and see the seconds count down. Knowing you will be told when it’s time to start walking is so much better.

The second reason for four runs, rather than three, was that I know myself. I was worried that, if I left a rest day between my first run and my second, it would be too big a hurdle to jump. Now I’ve done a few runs, I shouldn’t need to repeat it, but I needed to prove to myself that the first experience was not a fluke. I might run both Saturday and Sunday for a couple more times, but my guess is that – the further into the programme I get – the less I’ll feel like doing it two days in a row.

So I’m looking forward to tomorrow, with reservations. Next week is three runs of “90 seconds running, followed by 2 minutes walking” for 20 minutes – which is 9 minutes running total compared to 8 minutes last week. But it isn’t the extra minute that’s daunting; it’s the “half as much again” running each time. So we’ll see.

The best improvement over the week has actually been Toby’s attitude. You may recall that he spent most of my first run, standing by the park gate. I have no idea how much of that was:

• The presence of the scary dog;
• The imminent need for breakfast; and
• The strangeness of Cath moving around at speed.

By Thursday’s run, however, he joined in for the entire time. Don’t get me wrong, there was still a significant amount of standing by the gate, and even more of standing at one end of the park, trying to figure out what version of nonsense his owner was up to now. But he did keep joining me, with what I’m choosing to call Toby’s interval running – either stop to sniff something interesting or stand still to see if Cath is coming back soon, then running like mad to catch up. Those of you who have dogs will know that watching your dog run towards you, ears aflapping, is one of the best experiences there is in life.

I’m hoping that, if I manage to stick with this, I’ll be able to persuade Toby to run alongside me on shorter runs. Yesterday made me think it might be doable. It would be a shame not to be able to combine my exercise with Toby’s. It would be particularly helpful when it stops being summer. The only person I know who hates the rain more than I do is Toby. What that means is that I get a strange schadenfreude from making Toby go out when it’s raining. When he was a puppy, we had to walk for half an hour before he stopped fixating on going home and realised how much he needed to pee. Running with him in the rain (when we’re running away from, rather than towards, home) will be his penance for making me walk unnecessarily in the rain.

Exercise Ahoy!

I’ve never been particularly enthusiastic about exercise. My complete lack of skill at any type of team sports, combined with a strong preference for curling up with a book, meant it took until I was thirty to find something physically active I could actually say I enjoy. I started out with a yoga class in 2005 and revelation hit.

At the time, I was commuting from London to Brighton daily for work, which – as a result of the vagaries of public transport – meant I left home before 6am and got home about 7pm. This just about allowed enough time for making and eating dinner, before collapsing into bed, and not much else. On the day of my weekly yoga class, however, I came out of class at 7.30pm and was ready to skip home, with enough energy to do another day’s work then and there. This had never been my experience of exercise before. Exhausted? Yes! Exhilarated? Never!

Doing one weekly yoga class had other benefits as well. I actually found myself craving yoga, and would often do more at home. My posture (I am slouch queen extraordinaire) improved and, when hungry, craved healthy things rather than my standard chocolate and cheese. I also had less of an urge to drink alcohol.

Reading this, you would be entitled to wonder why I am not still attending weekly yoga classes. It’s a question I regularly ask myself. I moved to Brighton in November 2005 and have tried, several times, to re-establish the class-going habit. It just hasn’t quite taken. I don’t know why. I have, however, continued my yoga practice, albeit haphazardly, by going on yoga holidays for every holiday I have taken over the last ten years. I might do another post about those. I have also, on and off, continued with a home practice – although this is mainly in the “off” setting than the “on”. I certainly have ALL the books necessary to support a home practice (i.e. several shelves’ worth).

By the end of 2011, my exercise regime was non-existent. This was one of the key factors in my decision to get Toby at the beginning of 2012. I was, at that point, the proud owner of two cats – Dorothy and Oscar. But cats are not conducive to physical exercise, as they have a knack of coming to sit on your lap at exactly the point you intend getting up to do something. One could argue that Oscar’s tendency of curling up underneath me on the (rare) occasions I get out the yoga mat and get into Downward Dog is supportive, but I think it’s more likely to be orneriness.

(For readers unfamiliar with yoga, this is Downward Dog. Having a cat sit underneath you in this pose might be seen as an incentive to maintain the pose. Or not.)

Source: yogajournal.com

Toby

Having Toby has been a joy, and I cannot now imagine my life without him. He has certainly got me off the sofa, as was my intention, and I now leave the flat many times more per day than I would if there weren’t big brown eyes begging for a walk. Particularly when you considers that dogs have to be walked in all weathers. At least, they do, if you don’t have a garden to bundle them out into so they can *ahem* perform, and I don’t. But it would not be honest of me if I let you believe those walks are anything other than a gentle stroll. For me, at least. When we get to the park, Toby might do some running around. But not me.

Over the last eighteen months, Toby’s walks have got shorter, my weight has crept up again, and I have been trying to think how I am going to get back on top of my physical health again. A few things over the last few months have put running into my head:

• I read, and thereby felt a modicum of inspiration, Running Like A Girl by Alexandra Heminsley
• A friend on Facebook has embarked on a healthier lifestyle, including taking up running using the Couch to 5k programme (aka C25k)
• Last week I read a post by one of my regular beauty blog reads about her fitness regime

Those things, combined with the indignity of having to buy a pair of jeans in size 16 (when I consider myself a size 12), just so that I could wear jeans and breathe at the same time, planted the seed. Yesterday, I took my normal approach to starting a new project; read everything I can find about the subject (when I decided to get Toby, I read ALL the books about dog behaviour – go ahead, you can ask me anything!). I concluded that C25k sounded like it might actually be achievable.

All of that is leading up to the fact that, if you had been in a certain Brighton park this morning, you would have witnessed a very red-faced woman alternate jogging and walking backwards and forwards, followed by a very confused dog. I have completed my first ever run!

Source: c25k.com

How did it go? Very well, all things considered. I had taken Toby to the Sorting Office to pick up a parcel in lieu of a warm up and almost bottled out when I had to stop and drink some water before even embarking on the run (in my defence, the park is significantly uphill from the Sorting Office). There were also quite a few people in the park with their dogs, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that many witnesses to my first go at this running lark. What finally got me going was, having bought an entire “fitness” outfit (including new headphones and a sports bra), I would have felt really silly walking home from the park without even trying.

If you are unfamiliar with C25k (as I was until yesterday), it consists of 3 workouts each week for 9 weeks, building up very gradually to being able to run for 30 minutes (which is likely to be roughly the right amount of time for 5 kilometres or just over 3 miles). The first workout, you jog for 1 minute, then walk for 1.5 minutes, over and over for 20 minutes. I had actually gone to the park with the intention of doing a slightly different workout (which I found in an ebook), but with the same basic approach, but it went a bit awry. One of the USPs for C25k is that you can download a mobile app which tells you exactly what to do and when, during your workout, thus removing the need for clockwatching or counting. I had attempted a do-it-yourself version of this app (thinking it only worked on newer versions of the iPhone than the one I have – which turns out to be wrong), which did not work at all; I couldn’t hear the announcements, so ended up running for 2.5 minutes in the first session, and only approximating the remainder, as I had to keep looking at my phone to check whether I was supposed to be walking or running.

By the way, I have been using “jogging” and “running” interchangeably so far. I shall be talking about running hereafter, but I want to acknowledge that this description of my activity is aspirational rather than accurate. The one clear message I took away from all the reading I did yesterday was that most beginners try to run too far and too fast at the beginning. I was moving forward during the “running” parts of my first go, but it felt snail-like compared to even a brisk walk.

The other slight issue was that Toby was thoroughly bemused by this new approach to park life (do you all have Blur in your head now?). He ran along behind me for the first circuit (by which I mean he did his usual “stop to sniff something interesting, sprint to catch up” rather than actually toddling along beside me). On the second circuit, the only dog he is actually scared of turned up at the far end of the park, so he cut that corner off. On the third, he had clearly decided I had gone mad and went to stand by the park gate for the remainder of the time. I am petrified that, one of these days, someone is just going to pick him up and have off with him when he isn’t in sight at the park, so the rest of my running/walking was backwards and forwards in an arc, keeping the gate in sight. Which must have bemused any onlookers greatly. Lesson learned. Next time, Toby gets his breakfast before the run.

The running itself was fine. It confirmed for me just how beneficial the regular walking actually is, as I could certainly do a whole minute without collapsing in a heap. The programme I was using (or rather attempting to use) actually had two minutes’ walking after each run, and I didn’t need all of that to recover sufficiently – so I’m definitely switching to the proper C25k 90 second walk for the next one. Towards the end of the twenty minutes, my face was sweaty enough to make my glasses annoying, and I was taking a mouthful of water when I passed the place I had left my bag.

On the way home, I bumped into a couple of friends and felt sufficiently proud of my performance to announce that I had just done “my first ever” run. They both confirmed that I looked “quite red” and were very supportive. So we shall see how the rest of this week goes. As C25k only requires 3 runs a week (and strongly suggests you space them out), I’m half-hoping all this enthusiasm might reinvigorate my yoga practice to complement the running. We shall see how it goes!