Glutaeus maximus cactus

I have taken a little break from the strict exercise regime over the last few weeks. No good or worthwhile excuse, just needed some down time to be a lazy sod and blob around for a bit. However, am now back on "the wagon" (or running after it) and decided to get back into things last Sunday when a training buddy of mine asked if I would like to join her for a boxing circuit. I felt this could be a good way to ease back into things, so met her down on the local school oval. Her daughter, who is a personal trainer and gym instructor, was also there and offered to put us through our paces. Cool, I thought, a free PT session. Obvious not only had I lost some muscle conditioning when on my break, but my brain had shut down the memory centres that set off the alarm bells when a personal trainer offer to help you with your workout. Normally big neon signs start to flash, with warning sirens and a voice shouting "she is going to hurt you, get out NOW!!!!".

We started off with some running - my FAVOURITE - and then got into the boxing. I had the focus pads while Leanne punched the bejesus out of me for several rounds. In between each set, Leanne had to run around the oval and I had to do a squat and HOLD IT until she got back. Normally I am a very supportive training partner, enthusiastic and helpful, but by the time 2 minutes had ticked by I was shouting motivating messages like "move faster, you bugger" as it felt like my glutes were trying to set themselves on fire. The wobble that starts to happen as lactic acid buildup reaches the critical phase is also not something that allows you to focus on the positives you are getting from exercising. When she got back I straightened up to do my running and promptly staggered in a zig zag pattern for about 100 meters, bent over at about the 45 degree mark. Hard to move oxygen around efficiently with that kind of posture. I'd like to add that some very fit and healthy young men were playing soccer down the other end of the oval and were observing my efforts with thinly veiled hilarity. I silently wished beer guts, bad knees and them catching their own pubic hair in their jocks whenever they exercised on them as they made "nice running style, love" comments as I trotted past.

So, a fun filled 45 minutes later, I got back into my car and drove home, feeling virtuous about my return to exercise. This self important gloating lasted until I parked in our driveway and tried to get out of the driver's seat, where I realised I had broken my bottom and more than likely would have to spend the next few days in the car whilst I recovered. I managed to lever myself out using the steering wheel and window winder, but found that I was still somewhat stuck in a semi sitting position as I tried to walk inside. Things have improved over the last few days and I am now hardly making any of those involuntary noises I've blogged about before when I sit down or stand up. What a glorious return to the land of the moderately fit and healthy!

Some changes

You may have noticed the slight changes I've made to the colour on my blog. Very subtle and I am sure that some of you didn't even pick it up. October is breast cancer awareness month and as you know, it is a subject I feel pretty strongly about. So, for this month, it is going to be pink-o-rama on my blog and I know that you all are just waiting for a reason to get out your feather boas and sparkly pink hats. Or is that just me? Maybe it's just me. As you can see below, it's a bit of a thing in my family - my sister and mum are boa people, I just love Annie Oakley

Last Saturday we held a "Girls night in" which is a party/fundraiser for women's cancer. We raised over $1200 and had a great night. A big, big thankyou needs to go to:
1) Wayne, my resident chef and (in his own words) kitchen bitch. He cooked up a storm and as a result, instead of the usual twisties and party pies, the girl's were treated to gourmet food (he's the one in the black).

2) Fruitylicious (I am not making the name up), the local fruit shop and deli up at Gungahlin. They donated a fantastic fruit platter for the night and it not only looked incredible, it tasted great too.
3) My wonderful husband Tim, who worked as food heater upper, waiter and came up with the notion that a hot pink sash looks great over an orange shirt. Thanks also to Tim Blair and my dad, who acted as drinks waiters, food servers and empty bottle cleaner uppers (our recycling bin is chockers).

4) Everyone who turned up, donated money and had a great time.

I think I can safely say, for October, think of pink as the new black!

The perfect family car

A friend of mine just got a brand new Mazda 3, which is very nice, black and goes very, very fast. He took me out for a spin in it the other day and was talking about all of the great safety features it had, like side curtain airbags, whoopy do dad braking systems, a steering wheel that doubles as a personal valet etc and I got to thinking about when I come into my fabulous inheritance (I know there is one out there for me, I just haven't found it yet), what type of car would I want? I know that I would march into the car dealers and find out if any car on the market would have the features I am looking for in a family car. They would include:
1) One of those safety screens (like they have in banks that shoot up out of the teller's desk when they are getting robbed) that would activate the second sensors from the back seat pick up that Mr Lamie (pronounced lam-ee) has been launched from a child's hand and is on his way to scare the bejesus out of you as you are cruising down the highway at 100km an hour.
2) Automatic ear protection that kicks in the moment a squabble about who is breathing onto who's "side of the seat" in the back. The level of protection increases as the volume goes up. An optional extra would be a hand that springs out from the back seat and physically separates the warring parties so you don't have to try and drive the car with one hand and discipline children with the other.
3) A compartment that opens up in the floor on the driver's side when afore mentioned Mr Lamie ends his impromptu flying lesson and gets jammed under the accelerator and/or brake pedal. The compartment would just open, scoop up Mr Lamie and allow you to keep driving safely, rather than trying to extricate the GOD DAMN toy with your foot and not run up the back of the car in front of you.
4) A pint sized nanny, who can break up the fights, administer orange segments to hungry children, retrieve dummies that have been chucked on the floor and generally act as enforcer on the trip to the local shops.
Maybe I should give up my life as librarian/computer geek and start a new career as a car engineer.