During one of my runs last week, I did something I don’t normally do. A friend and I had organised to run together and have coffee afterwards. (Many times, I think the only reason we actually run is because of the coffee afterwards.) Because we run at very different paces, we normally arrange to run the same route in opposite directions. That way, we at least see each other along the way, but I don’t hold him back. ...
There’s one appointment on my calendar each year that I look forward to more than almost any other: my annual photoshoot. This year was my fourth. And because we do them around the same time each year, they’ve become a kind of reflection point for me. A chance to notice not only how I’ve become more comfortable in front of the camera, but sometimes how I’ve grown in other ways too. ...
The past two weeks have been filled with celebrations as both my husband and my youngest celebrated their birthdays. And then there was cross-country… which, despite all the celebrations, is what stood out most. Every year, cross-country reminds me that I am, indeed, a road runner. My coach insists it does me good, so I dutifully pin on my race number and convince myself that perhaps this year it won’t be quite so bad. ...
Last week, an Instagram page I follow had me thinking about why we do the things we do. Why do I run, for example? I love being reminded of this now and then because motivation is fickle. A friend recently commented on another friend’s Strava feed that motivation has no loyalty. It is with you one day and gone the next. And that is true for all of us. Me included. ...
Last week, my daughter got a hairband stuck in her hair. Not just tangled — properly stuck. I tried pulling gently. I tried working it loose with my fingers. I tried approaching it from different angles. Nothing worked. Frustrated, she suggested we cut it out. I was stunned. She is fiercely proud of her long blonde hair, protective of it even. The last person I expected to suggest cutting it was her. ...
Why is it that lately, whenever I sit down to write this newsletter, I feel like I have nothing to say? Which is absurd, really, because something objectively amazing happened these past two weeks: I completed my fifth marathon, well within the cutoff. I should be proud. I should be celebrating. Instead, I came home disappointed. Not because something went wrong. But because, somewhere deep down, I had hoped for more. And I am a fan of setting goals, but it always carries the risk of not reaching them, which can be disappointing. I wanted to run better. Faster. Stronger. I wanted proof that all the training was translating into improvement. ...
There have been so many signs lately that I am growing older much faster than I want to. And I am already feeling a bit insecure about it because I am trying to grow my grey out… again. It is currently at that horrible stage where it is so tempting to just go colour it. We were celebrating my 45th birthday this past weekend, seeing as I am going to be in Cape Town for the remainder of this coming week, and I decided to have a glass of wine. Boy, that did not go down well. I have officially reached the age where any alcohol creates havoc with my sleep and HRV. ...
I was sitting in a meeting two weeks ago, helping plan the menu for a matric farewell. At one point, I joked that at least this isn’t an evening where we have to force vegetables onto anyone’s plate… but we should probably have a few options besides just a salad. So I asked what else we could include. The suggestions were: potatoes. Corn. And then… nothing. It wasn’t wrong. It just felt limited. ...
I’m in the peak of marathon training at the moment, and it’s hard. This past weekend I hurt my foot — nothing major, I hope. And that’s been frustrating. Not just because of the interruption, but because of how quickly my mind goes to: “You messed this up.” As if one small thing undoes weeks of consistency. It made me realise how easily I slip into thinking: “I’m bad at this.” ...
I’ve recently increased the weights I use for my strength training. They’re not the kind you can quickly adjust — changing them is a bit of a mission. And while it does feel good to know I’ve progressed enough that my old weights became too easy… these new ones are hard. Properly hard. Hard enough that I’ve noticed something I don’t love: I’ve started avoiding my strength sessions. Which feels a bit ridiculous, because this is exactly what I wanted, wasn’t it? ...