Wholesome

I have a confession to make.

My last blog entry was made in under the influence of a slightly fuzzy head, post evening at the White Lion in Braunton with Nic and Amy.

Although it has to be said, that since then I have been so well behaved, that if you were to cut me in half, I’d have WHOLESOME written through the middle of me like a stick of rock— perhaps daubed in lentils?

Anyway, Thursday evenings in the White Lion are brilliant, mainly because it’s pub quiz night, and the wrong side of four gin and tonic’s, I, along with the rest of my booze-hag friends, believe we are unimaginably wise.We sit huddled round a table, hissing and conferring in secret conference, before confidently scrawling the answers down, with increasingly dodgy and illegible hand-writing as the evening goes on.

Anyway so Friday came around, and after beasting myself in the gym under the watchful eyes of sports therapist John at the Fitness Factory, I collect Amy to watch Mamma Mia.

To my horror when I pick Amy up, she’s brandishing several cans of lager, and has clearly already put a few away— I’m instantly enraged that she will blatantly have more fun watching Mamma Mia than I will, but pretend to be disgusted at her drunken state, and opt to harp on about the gym to make myself feel superior.

But Mamma Mia, booze or not, was brilliant, and I left Ilfracombe Cinema armed with a stupid grin, and Dancing Queen stuck on repeat in my head.

I awoke smug, early, and full of energy on Saturday, and went all out in the gym, doing a killer weights and cardio session.

For the rest of the day I watched the Olympics with Laura, before I introduced her to the joys of shopping at Lidl- she had never been?

We then settled down for an evening in with a film, but once we’d polished off Mark’s mum’s cake, and a lonely glass of wine each, laura and I ended up falling asleep like old women on the sofas again— I’m becoming concerned this may be a recurring Saturday night theme.

I went to bed at 10.30pm and woke up at 10am the next morning— 11 hours, brilliant.

I’m so good I’m practically organic.

Anyway another hard core session in the gym follows, and John tells me he is pleased with my progress and gives me a whole new set of exercises to do. I feel good because I feel like I’m getting stronger.

I then went for a stomp around a very blustery and muddy Baggy Point with Kate Bush’s A Kick Inside on my ipod. I love that album, Bush’s intensity and raw emotion never fail to make me feel blissfully unhinged, and as I allowed myself to be blown around the point I felt gloriously mental, liberated and free.

Post Bush moment I returned home, and Laura and I decide that seeing as we’d been so good all weekend, we should watch Bridget Jones, and treat ourselves to a glass or two of wine.

A couple later, and after some heated ranting, we decide there are far too many Daniel Cleaver’s in the world, and we are waiting for nothing less than a Mark Darcy.

However we also discussed that Mark Darcy’s will not be found in my bedroom, squiffy eyed, watching Bridget Jones for the fourth time in two weeks.Luckily, we don’t really want a Darcy to come and spoil all the fun just yet anyway.

Monday came, and so did several texts from people telling me how good the surf was— marvellous. And with Lynmouth on my mind I find myself daydreaming in the gym again. Not surfing is hard.

Bridget Jones

It’s been a few weeks since my last entry, mainly because I’ve been far too busy having a ridiculous amount of fun in my thrilling life…

Yes that’s a lie, but I have been busy.

Since my last entry I realised that filling my time away from the waves with alcohol was not healthy, sensible or sustainable.

But before my epiphany I did manage to squeeze in a decent number of evenings of disgraceful behaviour.

Highlights of which included Pige Power in Woolacombe, and also an evening in with my dear friend Amanda last Friday.

I had been planning on hosting a party, but Amanda and I decided that was far too much effort, and a night in with booze, Bridget Jones, and Love Actually would be a much better option.

But the wrong side of a large bottle of Rum between Amanda and myself, I had a moment of clarity.

Amanda and I were both dancing in my living room, fags aloft like squiffy eyed pyjama clad versions of the statue of Liberty, bellowing out the words to “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” when I realised I had actually become Bridget Jones without even realising it.

And before I do actually become a tragic chain smoking spinster with a fat arse, I realised I should put the fags down and step away from the alcohol. I don’t even smoke — but for the past month I had managed to go from athlete to booze hag in one glorious haze-filled swoop.

I personally don’t think there is anything wrong with that, as Mick Jagger said: “It’s fine to let yourself go, as long as you can get yourself back.”

So since waking up to myself, I’ve been training hard, and working hard to get my back on track with sports therapist John, from the Fitness Factory. He laid the law down with what I can and can’t do, and I’m feeling positive and enthused, and I feel like I’m getting stronger everyday.

This week it hit me quite hard that I can’t surf, mainly because Lynmouth fired, and all I could do was sweat it out on the cross trainer and try and ignore it.

Kelly Holmes, who incidentally had a stress fracture in 1996, before going onto win double gold in the Athens Olympics in 2004 said: “In sport and life you have to keep setting yourself targets. You may not realise it at the time, but each of them is a small step to your dream.”

So I’ve decided to set myself a little challenge, to get into K1 sprint flat water kayak paddling, it’s giving me a focus, and making all the time in the gym worth while.
So in my new booze and surf free life I’m filling my weekend with wholesome fun. Tonight I’m off to see Mamma Mia at the cinema with Amy, and then tomorrow Mark, Laura, Matt and I are having an evening in with Kill Bill… Laura and I wanted to watch Beaches so we could sing along with Bette Midler.. but Mark flatly refused to come if that happened, so an angry woman on a rampage of revenge it is…