Pressies

There's nothing like coming home to find a squishy parcel from one of my most favourite people in the world, patiently waiting for me.

Pretty packages contain treats from the other side of the world.

And I now have a t shirt with my sister's place of work on it. Not many people work somewhere cool enough to feature on a t shirt.

Running, running

Training for a marathon does strange things to you.

I've now got just under five weeks until the start line in Paris which in some ways can't come soon enough, but in others I'm really hoping it drags its heels like an old fat dog which doesn't want to go for a walk in the rain.

It will be nice to have my Sundays back. One thing I've certainly realised this time around is that it is practically a walk in the park to train for a marathon in the summer compared to the winter. Going out for a three hour run was much easier when it was sunny and 20 degrees, rather than drizzling and a high of two.

These past few Sunday afternoons I've stood at the window staring out into the grey, getting colder and more morose; trying to muster every ounce possible of my self motivation that is required to get out of the door and onto the footpath. Actually it's a bit like I'm now the old fat dog I just described.

Post-run brings some interesting results also. You'd think you would be really hungry after doing 18 miles, but I usually just feel nauseous for a good few hours afterwards. When I was training for Berlin my post-run dinner (once I felt I could keep it down) was Sainsbury's prawn makhani and a mini trifle. All that cream and custard sits nicely on a tender stomach. Now you also know how I became possibly the first person in history to get fat from doing a marathon...

Usually if I do a long run on Sunday, then it's not until late on Monday or Tuesday morning that the hunger really sets in. This delayed reaction means that my colleagues are subjected to my constant consumption. As a good multisporting friend of mine once put it - 'the conveyor belt of food'.

I think I also know what it might feel to be eighty now. Those hours after your return from a long run have you feeling like a skeleton. You can feel almost every single bone in your body as you attempt to move. Down onto the floor to stretch. Up off the floor to have shower. Down onto the sofa.

Why do it all then? It's a great challenge. And it's something that is just about you. It's not about beating anyone else, it's just about beating your own doubts.

The dynamic duo of darkness

Sadness and tragedy seem to be around every corner at the moment. Like a dynamic duo of darkness they hide amongst the pages of this month's book club book; in towns and cities in Libya; under desks at work; and even behind the bright yellow tulips on the kitchen table at home. And then, of course, there's the obvious playground of the moment: the second largest city of my homeland.

Hand in hand they swing from tree to tree, laughing in their sick and peculiar way as they go; leaving a trail of misery in their wake.

Every now and then there is a light moment: a good Spanish class, an amusing joke at work, giggles in the kitchen with the Franconia ladies. But then somehow (maybe by a look on BBC news, an email, or a comment) you are reminded of all the calamity.

The day the earth shook

Right now, a little country holds its breath.

It holds its breath and waits in the hope that miracles may appear from the rubble.

That from the devastation there will be stories of wonder and survival. Against all odds.

New Zealand has had a rough ride recently, and yesterday Mother Nature dealt that little South Pacific country a cruel blow.

Be strong New Zealand. Pull together and face this tragedy as a united front. Just like you always do.

Because we all know that not even a horrific earthquake will shake this country's resolve.

Sliding doors

Every now and then, just on the odd occasion, maybe when things aren't going so well... I wonder if perhaps I should have gone to Japan after all.

Was I completely insane to turn down such an amazing (all expenses paid) opportunity?

Then my train of thought takes me to wondering where I might be now if I'd not thrown it all away. Who knows where that path would have taken me.

But then, after mulling for a while, I (usually) come to the same conclusion. For whatever reason the timing wasn't right, so I must think about all of the wonderful experiences that London has given me instead.

Also, despite veering sharply away from study when I threw in the Japanese towel, the London road I'm travelling on has steered me back in the direction of academia.

Perhaps you can't mess with fate after all.

Silvery sliver of light

Last night I fell asleep in a moon beam.

Like a long strip of silk it floated down from Heaven to Earth,
tumbling through my skylight, eventually coming to rest
on my white cotton duvet,
and my sky-facing cheek.

February blues

It's been difficult to think of anything in any way interesting, amusing or exciting over the last few weeks. Hence the long stretches of blog silence.

Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we're inching closer to spring, one day at a time. And even though this morning on my way across the Common I spotted a small family of daffodil shoots, spring feels like an age away.

Thoughts are constantly casted towards the longer, lighter days of April and May; with Easter and a cluster of bank holidays; a royal wedding and even a referendum.

February: I know you're a short month, but oh my, how you drag your heels.

Happy birthday to my biggest 'blister'

Right now, over on the other side of the world, one of the most special people in the world is celebrating 40 years.

40 years of love, light, laughter, live interviews on the radio, and a whole lot more.

For someone who started out destroying our parents' new wallpaper with jam men, alongside covering her entire self in cold cream, she's certainly come along way.

My big sister is one of the most talented, inspiring, energetic and amusing people I've ever met. Sometimes I'm amazed we climbed up the ladder out of the same gene pool.

She's the only person I know who has had Farsi lessons. She's travelled around more countries than you have fingers and toes; circumnavigated NZ by bike, had her own telly show, and once walked for three days, by herself, across a completely isolated part of bear country in Canada.

But for me she's the person who is always at the other end of some kind of communication channel when the world is hard work; she shares in success and makes bad things ok.

My sister is the best biggest sister I could ever have dreamt of. And my heart breaks a little that I can't be there to share the milestone day with her.

I only hope that in almost exactly nine years time, when I'm celebrating the same figure, that I've managed to achieve anything close to my incredible sister.

And I really hope, that on that day, she'll be there with me too.

Keeping it local

This year I've made a conscious decision to 'keep it local'.

Clapham Common is a great part of London; a green haven tucked down in the south of this sprawling city. It's a microcosm of different cultures and communities, all wrapped around the outside of this vast outdoor space that is the common.

Despite the fabulous features, it's easy to take it all for granted. In the average week you'll walk past the common to catch the bus or tube; returning home 12 hours later, barely giving it a glimpse. And on the weekend in the winter, you might even avoid its quite muddy surfaces all together.

But this year I'm trying to spend more time making the most of our collective backyard.

Every Monday I have a tennis lesson on its very nice, floodlight tennis courts, with a local coach and other locals eager to improve their backhands. Thursdays see me at the Trinity Church on the opposite side of the common, speaking bad español alongside nine others. Then on Saturday mornings I drag myself out of bed to run, jump, bend and lie on the common's muddy surface with a bunch of other local fools, while everyone else is enjoying a sleep in. And of course now that marathon training is on the schedule, I'm joining the others, circumnavigating this great space at all times of the day and night.

Our common is the life force that brings people together around here. This year I intend on spending more time appreciating just how fortunate we really are.

And so it begins

Better late than never should probably be the headline for this post. The 2011 Paris marathon is on April 10th, and I'm registered to run.

Now that is apparently 12 weeks, 2 days, and about 19 hours away. Not really that far into the future, considering how far 26 miles really is. On foot.

Somehow, at Christmas time, as I forced another mince pie down, it seemed ages away.

But the fear of failure has finally hit, and I've now re-connected with my trainers.

Marathon training: day 1 - trying to protect myself from the 5 degree conditions

It's now been about two weeks and I'm slowly getting back into it. Although it still takes all of the willpower I can possibly muster to climb out from under my duvet at 6am on a very dark, and really rather cold morning.