Posts Tagged ‘morning’

Daily Triathlon

Sunday, March 8th, 2015

After being back in Perth for a month, I am now feeling more ‘at home’ as I have found myself a morning routine. I like to say that I complete a triathlon every morning before work but that may be a slight exaggeration.

5.50am – My alarm goes off and I regret having set it the night before. It takes me 20 or so minutes to roll out of bed, wash my face and get changed before going for a run. Most mornings I will do a 7 kilometre run, trying to get back home just before 7am.

7am – I drive to the beach with Mum, Dad and Cali for a quick swim. The last few mornings have been absolutely glorious – the water has been calm and clear and you can spot fish swimming around your legs. After a quick paddle and splash about in the ocean, we get back in the car and head home.

north cottesloe beach

Mornings at the beach.

8.45am – Having showered, dressed and eaten breakfast I quickly throw together my things for work and jump on my bike. The final leg of the triathlon is a 3 kilometre ride on my 3-speed, dutch style bike, avoiding hills as much as possible. Unfortunately the route to work requires me to go uphill, and while my bike is super stylish, it is in no way designed to go up hills.

By 9am I am at my desk having completely a fairly pathetic triathlon. And then I fall asleep.

A Girl, a Man and a Dog

Tuesday, March 18th, 2014

Tuesday 18 March 2014 – 7am

I am running along the River Irwell, wiping away watery tears as my eyes react to the cool morning breeze. Some music is pumping into my ears; it’s Underworld, I think, but I’m not sure. It takes me a while to wake up and become aware of my surroundings. Not that long ago I was comfortably dreaming in my bed. Then my alarm screamed at me to get up and get jogging.

I pass under the bridge next to the Campanile Hotel. Most mornings the cars of business people and budget-travellers are parked out the back, but today the car park is almost empty. Under the bridge arch a man is pacing slowly. He is wearing Adidas sneakers with very white soles. He stops and pretends to tie his shoe laces to let me pass. He’s here every morning with his hood up, avoiding my eye contact. I have never seen his face. I keep running.

As I round the next corner I spot a familiar face pounding towards me and my spirits lift. I have met this dalmatian and his owner before on the corner of Liverpool Road and Deansgate. His spotted fur is tired but his face shows he has lived the good life; sparkling eyes and a slobbery smile, he lifts his head and sneezes a ‘Good morning’ to me as we cross paths. “Would you like a dog?” says the man, a cheeky grin on his face as he recites the line he uses on every lady he passes. Like owner, like dog, he has a generous face and laughing eyes. “He’s lovely,” I say, “but I’m allergic to dogs.”

His eyes widen in dismay as he contemplates life without his friend, but then he smiles and says, “Well, he’s allergic to humans. He has come out in spots.” He laughs to himself as he walks on.

Proof of Pain

Monday, November 21st, 2011

I finally downloaded the images of my poor, utterly destroyed knees as a result of my tumble last Monday. Unfortunately the images don’t really look all that impressive but I have made some simple diagrammatical additions to help you see how TERRIBLE my accident was and how I almost DIED from knee banging.

Knee pain

Medical terms as explained by Doctor Jess.

Bugger.

Monday, November 14th, 2011

I conducted a small social experiment this morning. Clearly I was bored with my usual morning run or I was delirious from not sleeping well last night, and I decided to trip on the annoyingly bumpy cobble stones that are along the edge of the canal and hence fall forward onto my hands and knees. That was fun! Not. I managed to avoid sliding too far but as a result planted myself quite heavily on my knees. Let’s just say it hurt but we’ve all been there and done that – we all know what it is like to fall over in public.

As I sat on the ground telling myself how stupid I was, I switched my attention to see what the numerous Parisians who had DEFINITELY seen me fall over were going to do. Would they rush to my aid? Would they appear concerned for my well being? Would they point and laugh? Turns out they did none of the above and instead pretended they hadn’t even seen me. As I stood up and wobbled my way over to a bench to sit down, a man who would have had a very clear view of my tumble, did everything possible to avoid eye contact with me. A group of men who were a few metres away looked at me at first but then turned their backs to avoid any sort of involvement.

I am 100 per cent certain that if I had been in Australia someone would have come to see if I was ok. As I sat there thinking, “I want my Mum” I hoped someone would come to my rescue and offer to drive me home. But no. Nothing. Not even a glance. Not even a furrowed brow of concern. Not even a “Ca va?”. Nothing.

So! As I sit here unable to bend my knees and thinking about all of the metro stairs I have to climb today, I would like to give a big high five to Australian comradeship and a big BOOOOOO to Parisian “If I stop and help her she might ask me for money”ness.

That said, after a little rest I was completely fine and managed to run the rest of the way home BUT for a moment there it was the end of the world as I knew it.

Lazy Laze

Sunday, July 10th, 2011

I don’t know what has happened to me. I used to be so disciplined with getting up at a decent hour in order to achieve things during the morning. This week I have woken up at 9.45am twice. TWICE. This is really unheard of. Even on mornings when I have set my alarm for 7.15am in order to get up for a run, I have rolled over and fallen asleep again. I probably shouldn’t be so anxious about this fact as I am still getting a lot done in the day – I just start later and finish later. Considering the sun doesn’t go down until 10.30pm, I have plenty of time to do things in the afternoon. I have just always been a morning person and now my mornings are only two hours long.

I suspect it will all change back to my normal working hours in winter when the set returns to a relatively normal pattern. There’s another reason to vote out daylight savings – I sleep in too long and stay up too late*. Terrible.

*Please note: This is sarcasm.

Sunday Morning

Sunday, March 6th, 2011

Sunday morning in Paris. 8.30am. A group of boys meet to play an early game of football on the small court at the side of the park. Their love for the game helps them look past the nose-dripping cold temperatures. At least the sun is out and the sky is a clear, almost white, blue. An hour or so later, the park’s playground is full of laughter, cries and “Maman! Regarde moi!” as children climb and play. The parents sit around the edge of the playground watching and smoking and chatting. Their toys are toxic cigarettes that they puff on one after the other.

At 11am the sound of bells resounds across the city as hundreds of churches finish their services and everyone heads home for a family lunch. Queues form outside boulangeries as people go to buy fresh baguettes and maybe something nice for dessert. Soon, all of the shops will be closed and Sunday will become the day of relaxation and family time. If the weather stays nice, this afternoon the canal will be busy with families strolling along enjoying the sunshine.