emily at beSottied.com

My suitcase is packed (almost), my passport is in my handbag (I think) and my flip flops are ready to do their flippity, floppity best: I’m off on my hols in a couple of hours.

Mutti, Helen and I are heading to Rhodes for a week of quiet lounging and relaxation, with a few crappy novels and units of alochol thrown in. We’re jamming on up to the airport in Muriel, who will stay in the confines of the super-glamorous park-and-fly chain link fence, hopefully spending her time not getting broken into.

It won’t all be sunloungers and cocktails for me though, oh no. I’ve packed my running gear. Packed. My. Running. Gear. FOR A HOLIDAY.

The hotel has an (air conditioned) gym and, while I’m not massively keen on the idea of going for a five mile run before I get down to sunbathing, it would be pretty crappy for me to get home next week and not be able to run the distances I’ve already done. And I’ve told myself that, as a holiday treat, I’ll have the treadmill flat at all times - none up that running up and downhill madness I usually subject myself to.

A while ago, Laura and I went to a training and motiviation day whatsit at Gateshead Stadium. Jared Deacon, an Olympic athlete, spoke in an attempt to encourage us all. Unfortunately, his talk had the opposite effect on me: he told us how he used to throw up, be in agony, throw up… Anyway, Sickly Jared told us that we had to decide what our own motivation was. He spoke of his medals. He showed us his medals. He said something along the lines of “You have to decide why you’re running. Is it to get the medal? What does the medal represent? Not just that you’ve run the race, but all of the hours of preparation [and the vomit no doubt] that you’ve put into running the race.”

He did seem very keen on his medals. “Hah.” I thought. “No punk-ass bit of metal is going to motivate me. I care not for medals!”

But, as I was running around a 4-mile loop this morning (6 am, thanks for asking) I thought: I WANT THAT MEDAL.

If I survive this crazy run, I will gladly accept my medal. I will wear it to work. I will wear it in the shower. I will wear it when horse riding, even if I bounce about so much during sitting trot that it flies up and smacks me in the teeth.

I will wear my medal to the annual general meeting of a notoriously violent medal-haters club. I will wear it with pride and with defiance! I will polish it daily, and it will be mine.

Because I am no runner, but really, I’m not doing too badly after all.

(Oh PS, if the air conditioned gym is a lie, I’m not doing it. Not even for a medal. I’m not that dedicated.)

I feel as though I’ve barely touched the computer in weeks. I can’t think what else I’ve been doing with my time though.

Running. That’s what I’ve been doing. Hauling myself out of bed before 6, so that I can do my run before work and bounce off to the office all refreshed (hah) and full of fruit. Fruit which I ocassionally draw on.

Actually, running in the morning works out quite well, because walking around all day seems to ease my muscles. I’m also less likely to miss my run because I’ve spent my afternoon texting Laura to see if she fancies an evening trip to Pizza Express.

Being frugal! That’s another thing I’ve been doing. Trying to Not Spend Much Money. No new yarn, no new shoes, no new clothes (well, apart from one skirt from Primark, but that was so cheap it really shouldn’t count). No going into Boots for a can of deodorant and coming out with three lipsticks, two nail varnishes and a hairdryer.

My frugal plans were spoiled slightly by going to see Take That (scream!) last Saturday. I wouldn’t consider myself a big Take That fan so thought the tickets were quite expensive, but it was totally and completely worth it. I don’t want to write about the show too much, because I don’t want to spoil the surprises for anyone else who may be going. All I’ll say is, I’d go again without a second’s thought. If you’ve got tickets, you’ll love it, and if you haven’t got tickets… try to lay your hands on some!

I’ve been doing repairs, too. I finally fixed Leigh’s cardi last night. She snagged it when she was on holiday at the end of April, tied knots in the loose ends to stop the whole thing falling apart, and, on her return, brought it in to work and asked me to take a look at it. Weeks and weeks later, I finally did take a look and managed to fix it pretty quickly. I had to be quite cunning and resourceful: the cardi is made from a sort of cotton tape, a slightly variegated deep reddish colour that I had just about zero per cent chance of finding a match for in any yarn shop. Instead, I repaired the hole with some blue 4-ply cotton to get a gauge of how much yarn I would need, then set about taking yarn from the seams to repair the hole properly. I was pretty pleased with myself, thinking about it. Take that, Women’s Institute!

Next in line for a bit of TLC was my poor old (new) bike, as well. I got punctures back in April, and Dan helped me to fix them maybe a month ago. My tyres went totally flat again, though, and so a couple of weekends ago (perhaps it was the bank holiday? I’m not sure) when Mutti woke me up at some ridiculous hour by setting the washing machine off at the crack of dawn, I drove off to the bike shop in a strop and bought two new inner tubes. One mug of tea, one bike pump and a very vague set of instructions later, I’d fixed my bike! Woo!

I tried to get cracking on my Branching Out scarf again, but it’s driving me ker-azy so I’ve hidden it nicely out of sight in my bedroom. I might get it out in a little while, have another go at fixing it. I thought that I’d ripped it back enough to my original mistake, but I keep spotting more and more as I go along. It’s knitted in a smudgey blue Kidsilk Haze, too, so it’s a nightmare to undo. No chance of just pulling the whole thing out and starting again: I’m undoing the stitches one at a time. Tink, tink, tink.

I sampled fairy-and-rice-krispie-cake delights at Neil’s niece’s birthday party last weekend, after which we took his sister’s (hello, Helen!) boyfriend’s kite to the beach. It’s a big kite. Neil almost cut my head off with it, making it swoop all over the place. He’d have been laughing on the other site of his face, Mr Clever Kite Man, if he’d had to take me home to my mother, my body over his shoulder and my head in a rucksack!

So I suppose, on reflection, I have done quite a bit with myself this month. I also keep thinking about Maltesers. So much so, I do think I’m going to have to buy some. They can be a Friday treat, tomorrow night.

I know how to party.