Finally! After *years* of waiting, I’ve been tagged to do a meme.

Even though my best friend in the whole-wide-world is an internationally famous blogger and CharmingYoungMan, I’ve had to wait a very long time for this life-altering opportunity, and i’m bloody well going to make the most of it.

Prepare yourselves, guys: I’m going to….

ANSWER SOME QUESTIONS!!!!111one!eleventy

I am:  Fundamentally a bit of a geek: awkward in social situations, obsessive about fringe pastimes, and not entirely comfortable in my own skin. However, I am also trying to learn to accept myself.

I think: Waaaaaaaaay too much. About everything. I think about what I’m thinking, and then think about whether what I’m thinking has value. Freak.

I know:  Quite a few random, useless facts: for example, that an ostrich has eyes larger than its brain. I also know enough Thai to get by for about 3 minutes in a relaxed or commercial situation.

I have: Some good tattoos on my back and my leg, and would love more but am trying to pace myself otherwise I’ll run out of skin or have to buy a motorbike.

I wish: I looked like Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby, and Dita von Teese all at the same time.

I hate: Rude people: I really, genuinely can’t understand why people can’t be nice to one another. I also hate the way I’m so mean to myself when I try so hard to be nice to everybody else. I wouldn’t let anybody else put me down the way I put myself down, but it’s a hard habit to break.

I miss: something that I can’t put my finger on. Quite often I have this overwhelming feeling of homesickness, but not for a home I can actually go to- no specific house, no specific place – just… home.

I fear: failure, and failure by my own standards – nobody else’s. More than I can  possibly tell you.

I hear: Right now? The sounds of “Dude, where’s my car?”

I smell: Rose wine, Thai oil and jelly beans.

I crave: In this precise moment, I crave pancakes with maple syrup and bacon.

I search: For satisfaction; a sense of having ‘arrived’ or achieved my goal.

I wonder: How Paul knows so much stuff about random shit. I was away to ask him what things I normally wonder aloud about and mispronounced “meme”. He went on to tell me about memetics. How the fuck does he know about memetics? Why the fuck don’t I know about memetics?!

I regret: Not knowing about memetics before having that conversation. I also regret the fact that I find ‘classic’ novels and books about real stuff that’s happened boring in general. I like airport fiction. Sorry.

I love: Chicken. In  deep, meaningful way. Chicken, and how good it tastes roasted, is proof of God perhaps. I also really, really love Muay Thai. Don’t ask me why though. Fucked if I know.

I ache: Up my right arm where I punched my last opponent in the head and ripped some muscles.

I am not: A quitter. Whatever else I am, I can count on myself to see something through.

I believe: That people are basically good, and that “what’s for you wont go by you” as my mother and her mother say.

I dance: Pretty badly, and generally only when drunk.

I sing: Quite well, actually – I was a soprano at St Mary’s Music School, and did some solo singer-songwritery stuff before moving to the Dark Side (Muay Thai)

I cry: Pretty often and very easily- I’m a giant wuss, and I’m usually crying over Casualty, or some shit movie. And generally it’s because “I’m sad because *she’s* sad!” *sobsobsob*

I fight: As often as I can, which is about once every 2 or 3 months in general, and not nearly as often as I’d like!

I win: Currently more often than I lose – (fingerscrossedtouchwoodpleasegod)

I lose: Badly. I fucking hate it. I’m so competitive.

I never: Forgive myself.

I always: Greet solitary magpies in case of bad luck – (you know “one for sorrow…” ) by saying “Good Evening/Afternoon/Morning Mr Magpie”- that’s Ally’s fault, though. Before he told me about that I just though you had to suck up the bad luck and have done with it. I also always rescue snails from the pavement when they’re trying to get from one side to the other – it makes journeys take a lot longer, but I figure it’s good new Karmically. And when I say “always”, I mean ALWAYS. I ALWAYS do this.

I confuse: The words “refute” and “dispute” and “rescind”. Fuck it. I don’t really care.

I listen: to almost everything – I just hate that nasty, modern discotheque music all the kids listen to in their stupid, “pimped-up” automobiles – you know… ‘banging homes’ music, or ‘thumping house’ or whatever they call it. Generally I like rock, acoustic folky stuff and a nice dose of electro.

I can usually be found: At training or in the gym. Ask Paul – he will vouch for this: I do, all told, about 15-20 hrs of exercise per week.

I am scared: of all winged insects apart from butterflies. I also have an honest to god phobia of a certain type of insect, one which shall not be named… the offspring of flies… starts with an ‘M’. Don’t say it. I make Paul call them “puppies”.

I need: A wee at the moment. I also need a lot of reassurance and comforting from my friends – I get extremely insecure and paranoid a lot of the time.

I imagine: the worst far too often. I also imagine that there really are other worlds like Narnia and that animals can secretly talk. Prove that they don’t… go on…. can’t? Shame.

I tag: Diet Girl

Elastic Waist

OK, Paul’s turn 🙂

I am: terrified of the near future, unsure of the mid future and looking forward to the distant future.

I think: Constantly, and I mean 24/7. Seriously, it fucks with my sleep and my enjoyment of life in general. It’s part of the reason I used to drink so much but I’ve learned to live with it and just try to change my thoughts from doom, gloom and panic to more wholesome fare.

I know: A lot about random crap, as Sarah mentioned. I can’t help it, I just read a fuck of a lot on a metric assload of subjects. Some of it sticks and some of it disappears. I wouldn’t have it any other way, polymaths ftmfw.

I have: More time on my hands than I’d like right now. Thankfully I’ve discovered that, contrary to a life-long belief, I’m not allergic to gyms and that they can actually improve your life.

I wish: A law could be enacted that would outlaw salaries above, say, £50k per year. That should effectively outlaw the excessive greed that has led to more or less every atrocity in human history. Naive? Maybe. But a good start nonetheless.

I hate: Not knowing what’s going to happen next and more than that not being able to do anything about it. Oh, and excessive greed/wealth.

I miss: The point. A lot.

I fear: Uncertainty and helplessness. See the answer a couple of slots above this, fear and hatred are inextricably intertwined IMHO.

I hear: them all, I hear them all, I hear them all

I smell: Very little unfortunately. I think I killed a lot of my sense of smell through years of smoking although I really do love the smell of garlic and of frying onions.

I crave: An end to the turmoil currently in my life. Urgh, it’s all so icky.

I search: Exceptionally efficiently on the web and like a spastic, cataract-inflicted hedgehog in real life. Seriously, I can barely even find Scotland half the time and I fucking live here.

I wonder: When this thing will ever end :p

I regret: Having taken philosophy at Uni instead of a science subject. I was good at that shit but unfortunately the boredom of my hometown led me to LSD which handily ‘expanded’ my mind and made me want to study random argumentative balls for four years instead.

I love: Sarah

I ache: After weights at the gym but not as much as after going 10-pin bowling for the first time in ages. Bum pain to the max.

I am not: 32. Honest, I’m not.

I believe:  That more harm has been done to this world by ‘beliefs’ than by anything else. But then again I’m a pedantic motherfucker who, if asked, “Do you believe in evolution?” replies with, “Of course not, I understand it”

I dance: Rarely. I used to do it all the time but somewhere along the line I developed some kind of horrible self-consciousness which seemed to spoil a lot of my fun. I still go ape-shit at gigs, although that’s closer to fighting than dancing really.

I sing: All the time, and I think I do it quite well. Unless Sarah’s around, in which case I’m told in no uncertain terms that I sound like a drowning rat. (edit-That is *not* true! Sarah)

I cry: When angels deserve to die? Nah, crying’s not really my thing, too much of a MAN. When it does happen it happens properly though.

I fight: Incredibly badly, although my experienced is limited to about 2 instances in my life. Once I lost a tooth, the second time I remember swinging at a guy and missing him by a clear foot. God help me if I ever make it to a Muay Thai class…

I win: Whenever I play noughts and crosses against myself. Seriously, I suck at that game. Except for the fact that I’m so good at it.

I lose: Track of the date so easily these days. I almost wish I had a steady 9-5 job again…

I never: For a second thought that my life would be like this. Seriously, I only remember having 2 scenarios when younger: an astronaut (aged 8); or dead after 21 (aged 18). Since the second one didn’t bear out I done  just bin rolling with the punches.

I always: Check that I have my keys in my pocket before I leave the flat.

I confuse: Spare change in my pocket for my keys. Hence the outrageous amount of cash that Sarah and I have pumped into the local locksmithing industry over the past few years.

I listen: To Sarah’s confused ramblings with a mixture of amusement, love, shock and joy. Seriously, you should have been there for the one about how the universe is essentially a giant tomato. There was a drawing and everything. FACT.

I can usually be found: Either in the flat, the pub or the gym. In fact those are almost the only places you’ll find me, and the pub is mostly there cause I work in one, not cause I’m a rotten ol’ boozehound.

I am scared: Of Derren Brown. Sarah will back me up on this one

I need: A proper job. I love my current one but when it takes you longer to earn a pint than it does to drink one then there’s something wrong.

I imagine: That this list sounds a lot more arsey and full of myself than it did while I was typing it.

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Peaceful repose, originally uploaded by Kalshassan.

The other of Kal’s lovely photos from last night – he’s cleverly made it impossible to copy and paste his pictures, so this is the only way to share them!

S

Fight – 48 hours, originally uploaded by Kalshassan.

Last night, partially because K asked me to, and partly to distract myself from the hunger and the kanckeredness, I agreed to let Kal take some tastefully topless shots of my back. This, and Peaceful Repose were the result.

I’m dead chuffed, but don’t really associate myself with that image- that’s not me, is it? I was a fat chick the last time I checked…?

Weird.

But cool

🙂

Note, this post has been co-written by Sarah  and Paul.

We totally kicked the fucking arse of that motherfucking charity cycling event – motherfucker!!!

Yes, yes we did. Although I disagree entirely with Sarah’s excessive profanity. We did, however, rock that bitch.

Ok, so, it wasn’t *strictly* a race, and it wasn’t even *vaguely* important, however: I’m pretty fucking competitive, so *I* at least was racing, even if nobody else was.

And I totally beat them.

Fuckers.

I beat them too, every single one of those losers who came in behind me. Can I also add that I technically beat Sarah too – despite coming in an hour behind her I achieved my goal of simply finishing whereas she failed to be home and showered in time for flat viewings. Paul 1 – Sarah 0. Oh yeah baby.

The details of the Day of Triumph are as follows:

Paul and Sabrina and I set off together from Edinburgh, after enduring the World’s Longest Queue to get our bikes on the truck and get ourselves on the bus at Victoria Park in Leith, at about 8am. Sabrina and I chatted away happily, drinking coffee and munching of cereal bars as Paul, who was full of the cold, tried not to vomit.

Had a chest infection followed by a dastardly cold in the week preceding the event, meaning no training, extreme weakness, typical man flu symptoms (“I’m dyiiiiiiing”) and general rubbishness. Managed to hawk up some impressively coloured piles of phlegm before the start though, made me kinda proud.

Eventually we arrived at Glasgow Green, with Paul not covered in vomit, and got ready to get going. Toilet trips, seat adjustments, tyre pump..age..ings (?) and we were at the starting line at 10.04am. Every minute 40 riders were set off, avoiding a scrummage at the starting line, so at 10.05 we set off; cycle computer duly zeroed for accurate information on the ride.

Paul, Sabrina and I rode together for, ooh, about…. 25 seconds until I, like the heartless bitch that I am, fucked right off into the distance, and that was the last I saw of them until quite a bit later.

Actually, Sabrina and I deliberately starting falling back because Sarah’s racist and occasionally Nazi-esque chat about inferior races and breeding out any kind of physical imperfections so we could create a master race of cycling Muay Thai cyborgs was frankly a little too much for that time of the morning.

Ok, I admit it, I sort of zoomed off – what a meanie. However, I was keen to challenge myself and see how quickly I could do the ride, so I set off at a pretty good pace and quite quickly overtook about 8 of the groups who’d set off before us, before eventually settling into a rhythm just as we were leaving Glasgow. I had been picking random people to try and follow or overtake, and a couple of miles in I found myself behind a man doing a very good impression of a brick shithouse, with thighs like treetrunks. He was wearing a bright pink t-shirt which made him pretty easy to spot and cycled about as fast as me, or slightly faster, so he seemed a good pace-setter.

I tailed him for the entire journey and although we lost one another several times at rest stops, we always seemed to find each other again. At points when he was obviously off somewhere, peeing or having some pasta, or both – who knows, who am I to judge – I tagged along with a group of proper-scary-looking-cyclists-in-lycra, and was chuffed to bits to discover I could keep up easily. Well, not easily. But I kept up anyway.

Hehe, cyclists in lycra. It was never a sensible fashion statement and never will be. I had the utter joy of spending a few minutes behind a woman with an ass just ever-so-slightly on the large side for the lycra shorts she was wearing, resulting in a constant stream of seismic waves emanating from the saddle up to the top of her ass-cheeks. It was hypnotic like watching a fucking lava lamp, I swear if I’d had some quality acid on me I’d have been the happiest man alive.

It was one of these lycra-clad cycling Gods who gave me some great encouragement, complimenting my speed and “natural ability” (ha!), suggesting I should join a cycling club. Sadly for the world of cycling, I have only room in my life for one true love – Muay Thai (sorry Paul). Chris Hoy is safe for now.

Fuck you too. Bee-atch.

All in all, the cycle was pretty good fun. There were several moments of zippy “Wheeeee!”ness, zooming down hills at 30mph; overtaking and being overtaken by cyclists all around; narrowly missing being repeatedly squished by cars (not squished repeatedly by the same car, but repeated near-misses: being repeatedly squished by just one car would definitely look suspicious).

There were also several hours-worth of hills: the Hill O’ Death just after Avonbridge was a corker, and I was really glad I had decided not to stop in Avonbridge to eat my Powerbar and wait until I got through the crowds, because getting started again going up that hill would have been a killer. That was kind of a theme at Pedal for Scotland: rest stops immediately in front of ENORMOUS hills. Not a good plan. I very much enjoyed sitting on the verge just after the brow of the hill, listening to several hundred cyclists going “Aaaaaah” in relief as they finally got to freewheel for a minute. Quite relaxing.

That hill was truly horrible, Sab and i made the mistake of stopping at Avonbridge and being forced to warm back up on the incline. An evil or monumentally stupid piece of route planning, all so some nowhere little hamlet can cash in on the charity-based cash cow that is Pedal For Scotland. Cunts.

Apart from that, I made one other stop, at Linlithgow where there was pasta, water and toilets. All very much needed and very much appreciated. I got going after that for the last 20 miles and caught back up with Mr Pink and the Scary Cyclists not far down the road.

The last part of the ride, from Cramond to Leith Victoria Park was sheer hell. It’s a long, slow incline and whilst the website claimed the ride was 47.5 miles, this was a big, fat lie and in fact it was 53. So, when I got to 45 miles I was thinking “Yes! Only 2.5 to go!” 2.5 miles passed, and I was demonstrably not finished and had no idea how much further it was to go, so that was a nice touch of unintentional mind-fuckery. About this time, Mr Pink blistered past me and I completely lost sight of all the cyclists I had been keeping up with. Shit.

OK, now everyone knows that Sarah is fit. I mean seriously, absurdly and possibly illegally fit. She can take this kind of last-minute route alteration in her stride and, to be honest, was probably secretly pissed off that they didn’t make it a return journey. I, however, am a recovering couch potato who was still in the throes of a nasty illness at the time. Can you imagine what it was like to see that 45-mile marker pass by and think, “Yay! Nearly there!”, only to turn around and think, “Wait, if Leith is only 2.5 miles away then how the fuck come I’ve only just cycled under the fucking Forth Road Bridge?”. Bunch of unforgiveable bastards.

I was really flagging as we neared Leith, but two nedlings helpfully spurred me on by throwing an apple at me as I cycled past. Being more concerned about my time than smashing their skulls in I let it go with some colourful language but got a burst of anger-fuelled speed on.

I escaped any ned-based aggro, instead being treated to some fun and games from locals en route. It seems that South Queensferry must be one of the most boring places on earth because an unfeasible amount of locals actually turned out to watch the spectacle of a stream of red-faced cyclists puff and pant their way through the streets. I was glad of this though because I got treated to several rounds of “Run The High-Five Gauntlet” by groups of wee kiddies. They’d line up either side of the cyclists and stretch their hands into the path, screaming “High-five me!!!” at the tops of their wee lungs. Most of the sour pricks on the run just ignored them but I was only too happy to oblige, especially in the situations where it involved rapidly switching between left and right fives. I even managed to summon enough reserve energy “Cycling Five!”, “Charity Five!” and, most proudly, “Mental Health Five!” a la The Todd from Scrubs. Aah, simple pleasures.

Maybe about a quarter of a mile from the finish line, I saw Mr Pink up ahead and decided that I needed to catch up, which gave me some motivation – I guess he must have been a bit fucked too, or maybe had to stop for a bit. I caught him just as we rounded the corner into the park and then overtook him, beating him by about 10 seconds or so.

What a cow, eh?

Ok, so it’s not a race as I said, and it certainly wasn’t a race against Mr Pink, because I don’t think he was racing against *me*, but… I don’t care.

I won.

I crossed the finishing line at 14.19: 4 hrs 14 mins after I started. Of that, I did 3 hrs 47 actually on the bike, which I’m really chuffed with.

I was over the line about an hour later with Sabrina coming in close behind me. Don’t think I’ve ever been so tired but the actual pain of it all disappeared remarkably quickly.

The atmosphere at Victoria Park was great, as was the camaraderie on the road, and it was a great experience which I’d love to repeat next year if I’m in the country.

Next year would be nice, although I’m still aiming for the charity cycle around Madagascar which I uncovered online. Bring it on baby.

What wasn’t so great was the fact I still had to cycle home after I finished.

Quit whining, pussy!

And that is the epic tale of Pedal for Motherfucking Scotland, Mofo!

A post about Pedal for Scotland is on its way- it shall be yours by the end of the week.

In the meantime, I’m training hard for the fight on the 28th (BUY TICKETS!!!!) and cutting weight like… er… I don’t know – what’s a good analogy? Like… a demented liposuctionist? Anyway. I’m cutting weight.

It’s about this time I usually start to think “I hate Muay Thai, and Muay Thai hates me!” because I’m tired, sore and hungry and about as frisky as a gazelle.

A gazelle? That’s a good thing, isn’t it?

No, not if you resemble, as Paul suggests, a dying, injured gazelle.

Anyway, I find my mind turning to other sports; other ways of keeping fit. And *this* is what I fancy right at the moment:

Surely I was *born* for this?

Surely I was *born* for this?

Full contact, girls-only roller-derby! Surely this would be an excellent sport to cross train in?

As their myspace page says:

We are the Auld Reekie Roller Girls, the Edinburgh and Lothians Roller Derby league!

[…] Roller Derby is a full-contact roller sport that is played by two teams each with five girls on the track. There are no balls or sticks! Points are scored when the JAMMERS pass the BLOCKERS and PIVOTS of the opposing team. Suffice to say – we fall, and we fall hard! […]

Who I’d like to meet:
Any girl aged 18+ who’s looking for a fantastic way to make friends, keep fit have fun and kick some ass!

You know, that does kind of sound like something I would like, doesn’t it?

Watch this space…

Ok.

Everybody has things that they know but which they don’t always believe – for example:

“I am normal.” (Shut up, Ally – I am!)

That’s something I think most people forget occasionally – either because they start to worry that the way they feel or behave about a specific issue is unique to them and that everyone else would cope with it so much ‘better’ or more ‘normally’, whatever that means.

I have… ALOT… of things which I forget to believe and I thought it might be a good idea for me to write a note to myself to remind me for the next time I forget these things.

And then publish it on the interweb, for all the world to see. (Well, Paul’s not writing anything – someone’s got to!)

About Training and Fighting:

  1. I am ALWAYS shitting myself about my fights. This is normal. I am no more nervous than usual, and being nervous before fighting a total stranger in front of hundreds of people is actually a pretty rational response. It’ll be fine.
  2. I ALWAYS struggle to lose the first kilo when I’m cutting weight. This is normal. My body is going “What the fuck are you doing?! You want me to do 4 hours of exercise a day, 8 hours of work, and you’re going to feed me…. salad and chicken? Fuck off.” And then it all starts moving. It’ll be fine.
  3. When I’m struggling to kick-start weight cutting, training in a sweat-suit really helps. I know it’s just fluid, but even after I’m re-hydrated, I’m still a kilo lighter, so I should do that every time. That way, it’ll be fine.
  4. I’m doing fine.

About me in general.

  1. I am not hideous. The lack of people pointing/running away/screaming/vomiting when they see me is, if not proof, strong indication of this. Ditto with weight – I’m pretty normal.
  2. In the words of Tony The Tiger Therapist: “I’m alright.” I’m not a horrible, selfish person – I’m alright. Some people actually really like me, even, and seek my company. That’s got to be good. After all, nobody’s perfect.

About Life

  1. Life isn’t fair – there’s no such thing as a Justice Particle, or a Fairness Atom: it’s random, chaotic, and sometimes shit happens. It’s nothing personal, I’ve just got to ride it out and wait for some random, chaotic luck to come my way.
  2. Some things are outwith my control. Tough shit. Deal. It’ll be fine.

I’m sure there are about a million other things I should remind myself of, but in general I think these are the main things that I and most other people (women?) struggle with.

What about you silent bunch of lurking lurkers?

Any things you think you should remind yourself of?

I've got *much* more persuasive pictures than this - keep reading.

I've got *much* more persuasive pictures than this in this post - keep reading.

The date for Pedal for Scotland draws ever closer, and I must say Paul is working his little boy-butt off training for it! I, of course, am… errr… generally, of course, fit and… well.

I’m doing it, of course – squished flower or no (seriously – I have to buy cycling shorts. They may look like a nappy, but they protect your front *and* back bottoms! Bargain!).

Of course, as I’m training for Pedal for Scotland, I’m also training for my fight on the 28th of September, my 5k running race on the 4th October, and desperately trying to remember why the hell I thought a 10k British Military Fitness race through the Pentlands on the 1st November seemed such a good idea.

As such, I’m back into my semi-disordered-eating, weight-cutting phase, which involves a painfully (if not actually dangerously) low calorie diet of around 1100 calories per day and no extra for exercise, which usually tots up to between 600 and 1000 calories per day, depending on… well, how lazy I am. I’ll generally cycle the 3 or so miles to work, work, then an hour in the gym and a class or swim if I have time, then off to training to hit the pads. And usually the pads hit me back.

This is the month where I go through weight watchers soup as though it were actually enjoyable, piles of salad, and chicken breast by the truckload. It is far from fun, but very effective.

The upshot of the first event, Pedal for Scotland, is that Paul and I are raising money for the Scottish Association for Mental Health. I’ve had my own history with depression and your run-of-the-mill mental health issues, as has Paul, and we have family members with mental health issues. So, raising money and awareness of just how common mental health problems are, and how to seek help, is something I think is important. And *I* wear the trousers round here, so that’s what we’re doing ;p (sorry Paul!)

Here’s our Just Giving page – I hope that some of you might think about donating a little bit to a good cause – Just Do It! Every Little Helps! And other stolen, copyrighted slogans as well!

www.justgiving.com/badams

To sweeten the deal, I’ve attached some pictures which might put you in the giving frame of mind:

1 – For those of you who like puppies

This puppy *really* wants you to donate.

This puppy might *die* if you don't donate. No pressure.

2 – For those of you more into hot guys

I think it's pretty likely that this guy, or someone like him, would be more likely to fancy you if you donated...

I think he, or someone who looks just as good will fancy you if you donate.

3 – For people who like women volleyball players’ bums:

She is *definitely* into charitable types...

www.justgiving.com/badams

I’ve got a job!

I’ve known I’d been offered a job working in the leisure industry for quite a while now, but finally by Disclosure has come back and I had my first day yesterday.

Lots of talk and information yesterday about the company and procedures, and my first proper out-in-the-world shift starts today.

Huzzah! No more achingly long days of absultely nothing to do, and no money with which to not do it.

I is a working woman.

(Again)

This weekend I took myself off home for a weekend of peace and cycling.

It’s not often I get to cycle for pleasure, generally I use it for getting from A to B, and the aim of the game is to get there as quickly as possible without getting killed. My parents, however, live in the middle of nowhere and this gives me a perfect excuse to cycle for cycling’s sake, and also to train for September’s Pedal for Scotland.

Unfortunately, coming home often also means navigating the mine-field of inter-familial relations, top of the bill being why I care so much about Muay Thai, when it does so little for me in return.

“Because I could be good at it, if I had the chance”, is my response

“But… will it earn you any money?” Dad seems bemused

“No, not much, maybe a bit if I could get to Thailand”

“You need a better work/play balance” Meaning: more work, less play.

This discussion gave me the impetus I needed to get out the door and cycle my wobbly little butt off until I was too tired to be angry and upset, so in that sense it was useful, but I know there are some people who will never understand why something which seems like little more than an out-of-control hobby.

Is it so ridiculous that I see Muay Thai both as work and play?

Admittedly, it’s a kind of job where I actually have to pay money to be there, and which gives me little in return but bruises and injuries to parts of me I consider quite important, such as ligaments, spinal discs and bones, etc. So, not a standard sort of job then.

But, that doesn’t stop it from being important to me. I have in the past been too sick to go to work but still gone to training because, to be frank, it’s more important to me than my job.

Am I going to be a World Champion? Err…… no, I doubt it, not unless ALOT of people are involved in sudden, unlikely accidents, but I don’t see that as being any reason not to try for the highest level of success that I am capable of.

Which is…?

Fucked if I know.

That’s the whole point for me of going to Thailand.

I’ve done my part, and I continue to do so, and all I need in the meantime are a few things:

1 – Support or Silence: if people can’t say anything nice, they shouldn’t say anything at all.

2 – Luck: I need my flat to sell, or I need a substantial amount of money to fall into my lap.

3 – Staying power: I need to be able to ride this out till the situation changes, and do what I can to turn it to my advantage. Easier said than done.

By the way, anyone with any fantasmagorical (nice word) ideas about where I can lay my hands on either a buyer for my flat, or £15k to get me to Thailand: speak now, or…. later, whatever’s good for you!

It’s all a bit American, I know, but I’m currently having… therapy. Yes. I have a therapist. But, BUT – he’s a Cognitive Behavioural Psychologist, so it’s not all airy-fairy and fluffy. It’s proper, no-nonsense, hardcore therapy… Am I fooling anyone here?

Anyway, I’ve been a total misery recently what with all the life-falling-to-bits that’s been going on, and Tony The Therapist advised me to find something, anything to cling on to for my sake. “Be selfish”, he said. “Your mental health is paramount, so do anything it takes to make yourself happy”.

I realised one of the things getting me so down at the moment is the lack of structure in my life. Remember? Unemployed? Broke? Ok, I’ll get to start work soon, but when? And I have a fight scheduled, but not for another 6 weeks.

So, yesterday I decided to set myself some little, fun goals and accordingly signed up for Pedal for Scotland – a 50 mile bike race from Glasgow to Edinburgh on the 14th of September, during which I’ll be raising money for the Scottish Association for Mental Health.

I could have stopped there, I suppose, but then what would happen after my fight on the 28th September? I’d just have nothing to do again. Nope, I needed something to aim for after the fight to keep me ticking over. So, I signed up for Run for Relief on the 4th October- a charity 5K run to raise money for aid in Burma. I toyed with the idea of doing the Great North Run but it’s quite far and right after the fight, so I thought 5k would be more manageable with sore legs.

Hmmm.

But.

But, but that’s only 5K, and so soon after the fight that I still run the risk of doing my usual and getting all fat without a fight on the horizon.

So… I signed up to do a 10K British Military Fitness race in the Pentland Hills on the 1st November.

Shit.

That’s actually quite far. I’ve never run  that far before. I’ve never run in the Pentlands before.

Uh oh.

Well, I wanted something to aim for…. and now I’ve got it!

Careful what you wish for.

Oh, and?

Sponsor me 🙂