Is It The End of the World Yet?

Hello and Happy (belated) New Year! Here’s hoping all three of my faithful readers have had a joyous break and a positive start to the year prophesised to mark the end of humanity as we know it. Anywho, I’m popping in simply to confirm that a) I am still alive and well (mostly) and b) I haven’t allowed myself the luxury of sinking into the abyss of utter melancholy or depression (thank goodness).

The Tired Monster

I’ve been racking my brain for well over a month now, trying to get a substantial blog post out for all you lovely lot to critique, love or even ignore, but obviously, to no avail. I know it’s not something any of you one post a week-ers or super spouting social media gurus will ever admit, and I know it may not be what the masses like to hear, but here it is: this is hard. And like my friend above, I've been tackled by the Tired Monster.

Come On Baby, Light My Fireworks

Like you, I’m not very fond of the quintessential party pooper, skulking round in the corner, moping and crapping all over everyone’s booze-induced state of euphoria. However, this year I am going to be your party pooper; only because whilst the rest of you lounge about on your couches, eating bacon butties and watching reruns of Life on Mars (as you should on a Sunday and the start of the bloody year) I am back at work, wrapping up deadlines and the like.

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.

Jeg elsker København

Yes, I did what every wanker on the planet does and used Babel translator to transform the dull and overused phrase 'I love *insert person/place/pet/spotty, vampire-playing, teenage celebrity*' into I love Copenhagen in Danish. I do apologise for this behaviour, but in all honesty, I really do think I've fallen in love with that tiny and GORGEOUS city. Anywho, since most of you probably have no idea what Im on about, Im about to relay the events of probably one of the luckiest days of my working life thus far, so hold on to your socks, knickers and fake tache's; this is a riveting one:

Email *ping* on Regional Managing Editor *Jorge's computer. *Samson, *Mona and myself ignore this as we have become accustomed to Jorge's obnoxious mobile and computer ring/ alert tones.

Jorge: Well looky here, who wants to go to Copenhagen?

All three of us: *Insert collection of the 5 W's alongside oh me! No I cant! Dammit, I want to go! Really? Copenhagen? etc*

Jorge: Yup, Qatar Airways has just launched its direct route to Denmark and we've been offered a spot on their first media tour out there.
(Side note: This is purely because the airlines expects some sort of kiss ass in return, and to be completely honest, they deserve it much more than a cheek grazing kiss.)

This map is for the benefit of the embarrassing number of people who don't actually know where Denmark is. Yes, you.

Cue raucous arguments over who last went on what trip and when, discussions over magazine deadlines, who can afford to leave... and then it hits us. When is this mystery luxury, all expenses paid, beautiful thirst-quenching mirage set to take place??

Jorge: The flight leaves tonight. Its for five nights, return Saturday morning.

Samson: Agh, I can't leave the magazine. We're already behind on deadline.

Jorge: Neither can I - I was only in Seville last month the same time as deadline, and as much as Id love to scarper off to Scandinavia, I think that's pushing it a little *hearty, slightly bitter Welsh guffaw*

Mona: Dammit!! I want to go to Denmark! I can't go though, Im leaving to London on Thursday!

Me: Umm.... I'll go?

What? He can't go? Im not going either! (errm.. you know that's just for him, yea? Cool)

What ensued was an afternoon of restless 'work', a tiny evening run (I was afraid I wouldn't get the chance to keep up my tri training while I was abroad so the 20 minute run was a bit of a guilt compressor) and hectic packing for weather the organisers called 'chilly', my boss labeled as 'freezing' and the internet said ranged between 'below zero and 14 degrees'. Right.

And so began the best five days I have had in a long, long time. Possibly the best five days of my life if I was to be completely honest. However, I do have a habit of romanticising everything and developing irrational emotional attachments to places I visit, therefore this normal.

Stay tuned for the flight and day number one in Wonderful Copenhagen. There will be pictures.

*names have been changed for privacy issues and even though I know noone actually reads this blog, I dont want to get bitten in the ass by angry people who would have appreciated it had I NOT directly quoted them, thanks.