Strangely Constructive Things People Yell at You When You’re Running a Race

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself and just run,” I wasn't feeling sorry for myself until you yelled out that little gem of advice. I was just running and now I am running and thinking (a dangerous combination). And all I can think is why don’t you get down here and just run.

“That’s the way to roll,” I’m sorry but this just makes me envision a bunch of  people having a tumbling competition down a hill.

“Suck it up,” What does this even mean? If I was in the water pit of the steeple chase maybe- and even then it’s probably contaminated water and therefore sucking it up is just advice.

“She’s behind you,” If she’s not in front of me. She’s clearly behind me. But you know what, thank you.

“Get On Your Horse/ Get Off Your Horse,” This was used interchangeably by one of our college coaches. The effect was that we weren't sure if he wanted us to speed up or slow down.

“Move your legs,” That my friend, is a great strategy.

The Twenty-Four-Year-Old I Was Supposed To Be...

When I was eight it seemed like I would have everything by the time I was sixteen. It was right there on American TV shows. Sixteen was the age you got a boyfriend, car, job and school became a side note that was simply hanging out with friends. Then by that same measurement twenty four appeared to be the age you got married, had some sort of puppy, baby, cars, and a successful career as a hip-hop dancer. I took sometime to take a look at my eight year old aspirations and cross-reference them with my current situation and well this is what happened....

1. Transport

2. Career

3. Marital Status: 

4. General Appearance: 

6. Child-Rearing Skills

7. Ability to Look After Other Organisms:  

I Will Be Champion of The Morning

Sometimes I decide that I will be a super-human and get up at five am and do one hundred things before the day starts. I snuggle up in bed and envision tomorrow. I think yes, yes, yes I will be champion of the morning.

But when the alarm goes at 5 am something a lot like this happens…

I reconsider and reset and then at 6 am when the alarm sounds again...

So I reconsider, recalculate how long it will take me to find my brain and reset the alarm, when it sounds again, this happens for a further forty minutes...

At precisely 8.40 am I realise things have gone too far...

And I become Champion of Multi-tasking...

And by 9 am I have managed to arrive causally at work and convince everyone but myself that I am indeed Champion of the Morning...

The Day I Killed my Childhood Hero

I’m a murderer of dreams. Not just any dreams, my own. I first came to this realisation at four years old when I found myself responsible for the assault and death of my, then, life long hero.

We were in the Killarney Ryan Hotel: one of those grey Irish establishments that promise you family-fun in the middle of nowhere. We were minding our own business eating dry-pizza or some other delicious cuisine deemed “fun” for under sixes, when the heckling began.

There were ten year olds near by and they were shouting abuse at an approaching figure.

I sat with my mouth hanging open as Barney the dinosaur shuffled forward, waving at everyone. It was like having a dream come true. My mother told me to go up to him but I was terrified that he wouldn't like me, shy of this giant dinosaur that cavorted across our TV screens on a daily basis.

He was making his way towards some steps. The restaurant was on two levels with a small set of steps dividing them. As he approached the step the ten year olds got louder and louder. Shouting insults at the poor dinosaur,

“You’re so big and purple.”

“Ha ha – I’m barney and I think I’m so cool.”

I was needless to say very upset with this behaviour so I decided to show Barney that someone still loved him. I raced forward and threw my arms around his legs to give him a reassuring hug. Only thing was that he reached the small step just as I hit his legs and went toppling over.

We both sat in the middle of the restaurant. I was blinking at a man in a purple dinosaur suit. The fall had caused Barney to lose his head.

“You’re not Barney,” I cried. Sitting in shock and wondering if Barney was all a lie. To make matters worse I was surrounded by ten year olds laughing hysterically and telling me how funny I was. I cried for a considerable amount of time. My parents would later explain that this was a pretend Barney, but nothing could take away the feeling that some part of my belief in that childhood hero had died.

Cake-in-a-Cup Fiasco

My sister and I were cold. It was a long Irish night and the heating wasn't working. We were curled up on the couch beneath duvets and hot water bottles moaning about how hungry we were.

But the kitchen was so far away and there was nothing particularly motivating about a tuna sandwich. In fact all we had was tuna, onions and ingredients for things that required effort to make.

Then we had a brainwave.
"Can’t you make cake in a cup in the microwave or something? "

We forgot everything about being cold and miserable and lazy; we rushed to the computer, got a Google recipe and started. We didn't have everything so we made a few executive decisions

Sure olive oil and vegetable oil are the same thing.

Isn't cocoa powder with yogurt almost the same as melted chocolate.

Raising powder is over rated anyway?

We got so excited we did a little spoon inspired dance.

When we were finished the cake wouldn't fit in a cup. We had to put it in a saucepan.

It took ten minutes in the microwave, the ten longest minutes of our life. We discussed the cake.

Then the moment came, we dug our spoons into the saucepan and breathed in before taking substantially large mouthfuls.

We sat a moment and considered the situation….

So we tried it again and simply resigned ourselves to disposing of the cake-in-a-cup. After all that we retired back to our blanket on the couch...

Figure Out Your True-Calling through Procrastination

Sometimes in an effort to avoid the necessary evil of whatever-it-is-that-needs-doing one can find their true calling. I've been using that one a lot lately, the true-calling theory, and have discovered that I could be a first-rate housewife, fitness planner, Facebook-stalker or cat lady. I'm not necessarily comfortable with any of these callings but they are there anyway. 

Disclaimer: These are my own personal tools of procrastination and in no way an indication of my lifestyle choices… 

1. Tea-Making: Endless cups of tea that I don’t drink. I’m not a fan of the stuff but if there’s something else to be done you can be sure I’ll need to boil a kettle and stir some teabags around a cup for ten minutes. Then sit, watching it go cold as I stare into space wondering what else I “need” to do before I get going with paying bills, writing essays, job applications … 

2. The Facebook Browse: But it’s not just a browse is it? Fast forward an hour and after boring myself to tears with the countless pictures of cute animals my friends share. I’ve fallen in love with some song writer half way across the world. I know the name of his dog, his soon to be ex-girlfriend and have figured out a way to meet him. The important thing to remember here is that I don’t act on this feverish acquisition of knowledge. I just pride myself on the ability to obtain it. Training for my future as an internet stalker for unhappily married couples. I could start a franchise? 

3. Routine Check on the Animals: I don’t even like animals. But they are here. So I feel obliged to communicate with them. This can result in a full hour whittled away trying to pretend the cats like me and getting the moronic dog to chase something other than his tail. 

4. Rearranging Clothes: When faced with something I’d rather not do I find myself folding clothes. Something I never do. Sometimes it even seems like I MUST rearrange my drawers. This involves tipping my folded clothes on the floor and then shaking them out and refolding them into different drawers to justify the chaos I've caused. 

5. Paperwork: This is a last resort when faced with having to make business type phone calls. I will first open my file. I do keep one, stuffed with receipts and bills and grown-up things. I generally avoid it, and then when I need to do something adult: I tip it all out to sort before I can get on with the task in hand. 

6. Starting a New Exercise Routine: This is one of those methods of procrastination that can take up hours of my time. First there is the planning. The decision to commit hours of each day to pain. But what kind of pain? How many days off? Targets? Goals? And then the first-step: day one of the routine. So I leave the house: stride down the road as far away as possible from what I need to get done today. I scare the neighbours by lunging about in the garden and collapsing in broken heaps, only to realise that this plan is too much, tomorrow I will devise a new one.

7. Event Attending- Fail at life and party or succeed at life and avoid party. In order to avoid become a balding hermit on a mountain-top with cats for company I normally justify the fail-at-life option.

8. Matching Socks: I become possessed by the need to find all my socks their original partner in crime. Given that I've long held the theory that socks are eaten by the washing machine this can take a considerable chunk of the day. But I’m a romantic, obviously, anything in the name of monogamy.

9. Mopping the Floor: This only happens when I have to edit my novel. I get a page in and then realise the dirt on the floor is distracting me. It must be dealt with now.

10. Channeling my inner TV chef: When duty calls you can be sure I will think of a reason to spend two hours in the kitchen contemplating what sort of cheese will go best with tonight’s dinner (never mind the fact that my choice is usually limited to feta or cheddar), mumbling to myself as I dice onions and devising new ways to cook potatoes. 

The True Confessions of a Recovered Farmville Addict

When I was in America almost everyone I knew was playing some sort of Facebook game. It was hard to ignore the fact that computer labs were full of people: not studying, but pursuing a career in bad-gaming: students clicking away lives on virtual restaurants, farms and fish tanks.

It was scary, foreign. I couldn't wrap my head around it. Then someone told me they were particularly “talented” at these games. I signed up for Farmville, simply thinking that I would figure out how to win and then leave. That was the plan, to prove that there was no such thing as being “talented” at virtual reality.

For those of you who don’t know, Farmville is a virtual game on Facebook that allows you to pretend to farm. Armed with a mouse and an easy user interface you can plough, plant, harvest and buy farm goods to your hearts content.  It also tries to rip off addicts by getting them to enter credit card details to buy flashier farm houses and more land.

It started innocently enough, a bit of tilling and planting, no real addiction. But then I started watching my leader board. I was thousands of points down.

I was going to have to up the ante. I started trading in hay bales for extra points, designing my farm for maximum productivity, and calculating the most profitable crops per hour.

I’m sure I don’t need to point out that it was becoming tragic.

But it didn’t stop there, it escalated. I feverishly monitored the farms of others. Harassed friends to join and visit my farm. At one point I had the log in details for several members of my family and I farmed their plots too.  I spent hours making symmetrical borders, purchasing pretty wells, and garden features.

I still hadn't realised how bad it was and people were starting to comment.

Then the most ridiculous sentences started rolling off my tongue.

-I can’t make that, sorry, I have to expand the farm.

-Damn is that the time, I need to go harvest my raspberries.

I spent an entire night buying and selling hay bales and went up at least three levels, a monotonous task that involved clicking and more clicking.

The next day the other addicts started asking questions.

-So how did you get so many points so fast?

-What were you doing, in one night, did you buy points?

I smiled knowingly at them all.

-Simple calculations, seeing as you’re so talented at these games I am sure you can figure it out.

Then it hit me, I was hoarding my Farmville secret. I thought I was really something. I had been sucked in. I noticed others avoiding me for fear I would spout feverish monologues about my farm. So I forced myself to quit the farm, to sell it all and step away from fake sheep and palm trees. I was never, ever playing another Facebook game again, any game for that matter.

A year later someone showed me word twist…and well….