Originality is... a by-product of Sincerity

Earlier this week I experienced what was probably the roughest day of the year so far. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened - I mean, no ridiculous parking tickets, I didn’t spill coffee all over my jeans and there weren’t any BBM battles over which friend was ignoring whom. No, all of those had happened earlier in the week, but I suppose it was the accumulation of it all that resulted in that remarkably shitty day.

The Rock and The Hard Place

Basically, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, I could learn to become at least somewhat satisfied with what I’ve been given thus far. This entails a good job with great work experience, living in a country with relatively good weather year-round and paying less than the equivalent of £8 for a week’s supply of petrol (probably the biggest perk living in Qatar, however, if civil infrastructure was remotely more efficient, there may not be the need for a 4 car average/family). This is the rock. 

Lonely Planet

I've always known that I have the attention span and focus of a fruit fly. I can be incredibly patient and tolerant of certain situations, particularly when the object/person in question is close to my heart. However, in saying that I have to be completely honest and say that a lot of the time I am incredibly flakey, change my mind far too much and am not the stubborn, determined person I'd like to think myself to be. When things get hard I often backtrack. Somehow I always manage to come out smelling like roses, because if the situation involves others I even remotely care about, I will not leave the situation without remedy. Its an incredibly frustrating habit, that need to please, to ensure everyone is happy, even if it often leaves me feeling hollow and much unlike the other party, incredibly dissatisfied and frustrated with the fact that I almost end up back at square one.

I dont know if this is making any sense at the moment, so Ill get to the point. I know I need to stop with the cowardice and laziness. Thats what it is really. There is no other explanation. I have the tools to do what I want, I have the knowledge to take me there and all I need is myself and this belief to be able to get that step further in my career/ relationships/ health, etc.

An example of this is my current situation with my triathlon training - sorry, I know Im going on about it a fair bit but I dont think many people realise how hard this is. No-one, not the people I live with, people I work with or my closest friends know how this feels. My colleagues constantly take the piss, others think Im 'overdoing' my 'workouts' and even my mate who's wedding I will attend as a bridesmaid is upset with me in intervals due to my lack of excitement over particular outings and my recent - and admitted - scatterbrained demeanour. Dont get me wrong, I dont blame anyone for their lack of acknowledgement. I know Im not going to get a pat on the back or an hour early off work so I can actually have some dinner before I workout or whatever, but its at this stage, when things get tough, and not just people's general attitudes, but my personal belief in my ability to complete the task at hand is shaken, this is when I backtrack.

Someone I look up to a great deal spoke with me about the direction of this blog only the other night. This is pretty much a whole lot of nothing thrown together with some pretty pictures, I know that. My dream is pretty clear to me though, and that is to work for the likes of Lonely Planet, writing for their magazine or traveler guide books. Why? Because I have so much love and passion for so many different things. I get obsessive and overtly emotional with things like music, the weather, people, food, languages, mannerisms, etc.

From a day I spent in London an odd 7 years ago, I remember things like the delicious, steaming baked potato I ate in some dingy alley, whilst trying to get some feeling back in my fingers, walking round the city gloveless in late December. A weekend I spent in Woolloomooloo (yes, its a real place. Its an Aboriginal name) has me dreaming about the incredibly salty anchovy pizza I feasted on in a cosy Italian restaurant where I was served by a young guy with awful tattoos, next door to one of the most charming bottle-o's I'd ever entered. There was also the hotel I stayed at with the lock on the front door, which when taking into consideration the terrifying block around the corner from the hotel with dozens of homeless people strewn around corners of abandoned houses, was not such a bad idea. Two streets down is pretty much the artisan, hippy heart of Sydney, rows of tiny, charming cafes, bookshops, antique stores, restaurants and galleries where I spent two of the best nights of my life in Australia. Tony and Bill's latte's at 1am, people watching as beautiful, arty folk waltzed past, with their charm bracelets, leather jackets and suede loafers as cliché Italian pop washed over the eclectic mix of people sipping on like latte's, espressos and deliciously creamy and crispy cannoli. 

See what I mean? I can ramble for hours when it comes to travel. Nothing brings it all together like a trip abroad. The point? Why would Lonely Planet hire ME? What do I have that INCREDIBLE presenters like Toby Amies and Asha Gill dont? I've been wanting to write a mock script for the show and shoot a reel to send through to LP for months now. Months. And I still haven't done anything about it. I sit and dream. Is it cowardice? Is it laziness? What's holding me back? I just dont know.

Normal chirpy service will resume soon, promise. And if you scrolled through this and cant be fucked reading the entire bloody thing as I clearly have issues with sticking to a word count, please watch the video below. Ian Wright is my all time favourite Lonely Planet presenter. You can find clips of his travels with LP on Youtube. This is a clip of him doing a talk in NY about some of the funnier things he's come across as a presenter. Lucky bastard.

Dust Yourself off and Tri Again

I find myself once again taking way too long a break between posts and I apologise, but in all honesty, I have been continuously exhausted for the past three months. Ever since training for the London Triathlon began, I have been between work, the gym and my bed. And not so much the latter, but the former two.

There aren't enough grains of sand in the day

Im not complaining, really. I enjoy my workouts, my trainer is an absolute legend (not to mention easy on the eyes) and I love my job - plus I work with lovely people who deal beautifully with my musical mood swings and ability to jump from Bowie to John Farnham within a 10 minute time frame) but I just don't seem to have any time for myself anymore. I mean, sure, there are the weekends, but by the time Im back from a two hour session - an hour with my trainer in the gym and an hour swim - Im pretty much toasted and all I want to do is crawl back into bed with a packet of Jaffa cakes, a hot chocolate and my newest copy of The Hobbit which I have been trying to finish reading for the last few MONTHS. Literally.

It has also come to my attention that many of my friends, colleagues and fellow bloggers are sadistic bastards. Why, you ask? Well, I have been asked more than once to blog about my training (jokes, I know you lot are trying to be supportive). But really, who wants to hear about my injuries, where my 5km running time stands at the moment and the different shades of bruises on my knees after interchanging sets of lunge thrusts and spider lifts? Not many of you, Im sure. There was even an obscene suggestion from a work colleague to have our in-house photographer tag along to one of my sessions and take 'animated shots' of me throughout. Umm, right. NO.

I am incredibly scared. I have moments of undeniable fear stricken panic, where I think to myself OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE YOU FOOL, but then I take a deep breath, step back and... oh, wait. I do think Im an idiot for doing this.

Even Macaulay thinks Im crazy

I am 3000 different kinds of worried. I mean, I've been running for months, and the running leg of the comp really is the last of my worries, but the swimming and the cycling have me, quite literally, pooping (its too early to say shit*ing) my pants. My swimming is fine. Its not strong and its not dismal. But this is the bloody Thames. In August. I asked my trainer the other day if I could just brave the water without a wetsuit as a simple cossie would give me better mobility. He said I'd end up a popsicle and sink to the bottom like a dead weight. Not to mention I probably don't want someone's Friday night sick all over me as I thrash through that water with 300 other people. Yes, sets of 300 that are released 2 minutes apart from each other. I'd probably end up rocking up to the end mark after the last group had arrived.

CHAOS!!!

And then there's the cycling. Confession: I haven't cycled properly in years. Sure I've messed around with bikes before, but once again, this is a race. A 20km one round a circuit I have never seen before and will cycle amongst hundreds of others who are probably not even remotely concerned about two wheel transport.

Do you think I'd be allowed to ride this instead of a race bike?

There is a month to go. I know I will be ready, but right now, there is a sinking feeling in my gut about this endeavour and I just hope its last minute jitters. After all, I've gone into this without any previous race experience and Im really not the athlete everyone thinks me to be. Im merely trying to get through this race without rupturing a lung. So yea, that's all my rambling for now. Ill be back to Copenhagen dreaming and eco valley loving in the Dead Sea after this, I promise.