It's amazing how good we get at procrastinating. People keep asking me what I am doing with all my spare time since I finished my Ironman training. I have no answer, so I've been trying to figure out why not. My conclusion? I have traded triathlon for procrastination. Is my house tidier? Is my life in order? Is my bike clean? Am I training for the half-ironman I have entered at the end of the year? Nope, nope, nope, and sadly, nope.
I never used to be much of a procrastinator, but lately I have become quite the champ. I couldn't compete in the Olympic procrastination competition because I am on procrastination steroids. And so many weapons to augment my skill have been coming my way lately:
- The pool ceiling collapsed. Can't go swimming, far too much of a hardship to swim in an outdoor pool....
- It's winter! I can't go outside! Its all frosty and cold and dark and smokey!
- I have a kindle. Glorious. Last seen double zip-locked and completely revolutionising hotpooling.
- White Cat is asleep in my lap. If I get up and disturb her she'll bite me!
- I'm lazy. Oh no wait...scratch that...I'm in denial (that's more like it!)
- I'm so busy procrastinating!
But it won't be winter forever. One day White Cat will go sleep in her specially heated fleecy pet bed. I will exhaust my kindle library. The pool will get repaired (well...may be - unless it disappears into a massive subterranean tomo). So it is time to try and rediscover my good habits. Like vacuuming. And eating vegetables.
But before I start, I am pondering this: If your body is so embarrassing, why on earth would you want to get naked and go on international television? But enough procrastinating, I'm going to get that vacuum cleaner. As soon as I dislodge this cat...
Till next time, do what makes you happy.
love
Ironmaiden
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Selective Memory or Evolved Optimism?
Hello Everyone
I was going to wait until I had normal (well, normal by my standards) toenails before reviving the Ironmaiden saga, but it turns out it takes much longer for black toenails to turn pink than it does for pink toenails to turn black. And as for regrowing the stubborn little suckers that fall off altogether...
Anyway, it got me thinking about how our memories take such a sunny view of things. I look back on Ironman and remember a wonderful exciting day that I thoroughly enjoyed and entirely intend to repeat someday. And yet a quick glance at my feet suggests I might not be quite recalling the "full" experience.
We all look back on our long, endlessly sunny childhood summers and wonder why summertime is never as enjoyable anymore. The weather is never as nice, the season is shorter, it just isn't as good as it was. But think about it objectively - it might have been many years ago, but it was still New Zealand. Contrary to our golden memories, it did rain sometimes. We did get sunburnt. We got stung by wasps. And bees. And jellyfish. We stubbed our big toe. It bled. We stubbed our other big toe. We broke our big toe. We broke other toes. Yet, when we reflect, we just remember the good bits. We possible overstate the good bits.
So why do we do this? Why after nine weeks are we forgiving the source of the toenail trauma and already contemplating the next pedicular assault? I wonder if it is to do with evolution. After all, surely, if faced with a choice, a sane woman wouldn't go through childbirth a second time? They say that afterwards it is all worthwhile (well, perhaps after the first 3 months... or 6 or 30 months... have been survived), but seriously? The physical logistics would suggest it is not something you'd be rushing straight back into without some serious questioning of your sanity. But I've met numerous sane and intelligent women who've gone through the process more than once. Even more than twice. And survival of the species has been dependant on women being prepared to go through it twice. Or more. Ouch.
So, my feet are back in service, and new adventures are to come.
Until next time, remember to turn the hall light on so that you don't trip over the same cat twice.
love
Ironmaiden
I was going to wait until I had normal (well, normal by my standards) toenails before reviving the Ironmaiden saga, but it turns out it takes much longer for black toenails to turn pink than it does for pink toenails to turn black. And as for regrowing the stubborn little suckers that fall off altogether...
Anyway, it got me thinking about how our memories take such a sunny view of things. I look back on Ironman and remember a wonderful exciting day that I thoroughly enjoyed and entirely intend to repeat someday. And yet a quick glance at my feet suggests I might not be quite recalling the "full" experience.
We all look back on our long, endlessly sunny childhood summers and wonder why summertime is never as enjoyable anymore. The weather is never as nice, the season is shorter, it just isn't as good as it was. But think about it objectively - it might have been many years ago, but it was still New Zealand. Contrary to our golden memories, it did rain sometimes. We did get sunburnt. We got stung by wasps. And bees. And jellyfish. We stubbed our big toe. It bled. We stubbed our other big toe. We broke our big toe. We broke other toes. Yet, when we reflect, we just remember the good bits. We possible overstate the good bits.
So why do we do this? Why after nine weeks are we forgiving the source of the toenail trauma and already contemplating the next pedicular assault? I wonder if it is to do with evolution. After all, surely, if faced with a choice, a sane woman wouldn't go through childbirth a second time? They say that afterwards it is all worthwhile (well, perhaps after the first 3 months... or 6 or 30 months... have been survived), but seriously? The physical logistics would suggest it is not something you'd be rushing straight back into without some serious questioning of your sanity. But I've met numerous sane and intelligent women who've gone through the process more than once. Even more than twice. And survival of the species has been dependant on women being prepared to go through it twice. Or more. Ouch.
So, my feet are back in service, and new adventures are to come.
Until next time, remember to turn the hall light on so that you don't trip over the same cat twice.
love
Ironmaiden
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