IT'S been quite awhile since I’ve blogged. The marathon in June was the last time as I recall and now that feels like a million years ago. So much so that when a colleague mentioned he was thinking of doing the Cardiff Marathon next year, a little bit of me was interested. Clearly, the literally painful memories of that day have faded enough for me to hilariously think for a moment I could do another one next year. It was lucky that during that very conversation I was aching from the Bristol City Half Marathon I had winged the day before. If I was sore after a half marathon, I was a long way from taking on my second marathon, that’s for sure. The half marathon had been an afterthought, like having seconds of dinner and then regretting it later when you realise you didn’t really think that decision through properly which is why your stomach is making weird noises right now and you can’t move off the sofa. I decided to do the half marathon with no training since June as I still had my ‘I AM MARATHON WOMAN, BOW BEFORE ME’ hat on and thought I’d ace it after that. WRONG. Two hours, 15 minutes and two aching legs later, I was fit for nothing and had hung up my hat for good.
It's been quite a strange summer. It was the first one without my friends Andy and Fiona since I moved to Bristol. They moved to Fiona’s home of Australia to see what life has in store for them there and at first it was strange getting used to not arranging our usual weekend sessions and dinner dates. Then of course, Himself and myself have not been planning any getaways seeing as the house is still being worked on. But progress has been made and we are on the home stretch now. A December finish is the hope, what I like to think of as my very own Christmas Miracle! Father-in-law builder extraordinare has not gone on strike yet or demanded fair pay, or any pay, for that matter, so we are still on track. I mostly live upstairs since July, kind of like Lady Mary in Downton Abbey, but more mouthy and less grace, while Himself and Father-in-law tackle downstairs, which still resembles a bombed out servants’ hall right now.
Work has been… interesting. In August, the impossible happened. A dear man, who I was lucky enough to have met, worked for and befriended, died out of the blue. And with that, suddenly nothing made sense anymore. Work turned upside down without its heart there to keep it ticking over. We worked on autopilot, and kept our tears and fears for home. Such is the nature of journalism, there’s no stopping time when a paper needs to get out. In my blessed life so far, it was the first time in my grown-up years I was hit with the realisation of my own mortality through seeing someone I saw and took for granted every day, suddenly disappear forever. Darren was a larger-than-life character, bursting with fun, mischief, talent, kindness and an impressive array of politically incorrect jokes. You either loved him, or you loved him. And such is human nature, you don’t realise how much you miss someone, until they are no longer within your grasp. Work took on an even bigger role in our lives as we struggled to keep things on track, and as we still look to regain that balance lost after Darren’s passing, the strength of our team to do so amazes me every day.
So now it’s winter, the boiler is making encouraging sounds (see, house has made progress, this time last year our boiler was in the form of our ski coats) and my favourite time of year, Christmas, is around the corner. I’ve just emerged from a three-day wisdom tooth lockdown, where my only friends were Nurofen and Codeine, and I’m feeling almost sprightly, seeing as I was considering removing said tooth with one of the drills Himself is so fond of, a mere 24 hours ago.
Things are looking up.
