tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88892183205152023692023-11-16T06:34:49.460+00:00Words For SaleTales from my study upstairsCatherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.comBlogger397125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-52065032054149084852014-07-30T12:21:00.001+01:002014-07-30T12:21:48.946+01:00Running eye-tracking experiments with PsychoPy and Tobii: A step-by-step guide for technophobes and novicesOver the past 2 years of my PhD I've found myself edging around the boundaries of my comfort zone - often dipping my toes in the distinctly uncomfortable - on many occasions. There has only been one situation that has left me feeling so utterly incapable that I didn't think I'd be able to make it through, and that was most recently, when trying to set up a new eye-tracking experiment using <a href="http://psychopy.org/">PsychoPy</a>, with <a href="http://www.tobii.com/">Tobii</a> as my eye-tracking interface.<div>
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There are numerous reasons why I wanted to do this - mainly because it was on every count better than the only other option I had - but I won't go into them here. All I'll say is that, after the <a href="http://multimodalityleeds.wordpress.com/">Leeds Multimodality Conference</a>, during which I attended an excellent <a href="http://www.tobii.com/">Tobii</a> workshop with <a href="https://twitter.com/DrTimHolmes">Dr Tim Holmes</a> of <a href="http://www.acuity-intelligence.com/blog">Acuity Intelligence</a> and found out about <a href="http://psychopy.org/">PsychoPy</a>, I was convinced that this would be the solution to the many problems I had been facing. I could say that it was also the start of a new set of problems, and I wouldn't be lying if I did, but the slant that I prefer is that it was the start of a (very) steep learning curve, one which I am very happy to be nearing the top of, and one which I can confidently say has changed my technophobic ways for the better.</div>
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Armed with some helpful user guides, words of encouragement from Tim and a few very kind and highly intelligent neighbours and colleagues, I finally got to the stage where I was able to run my full experiment through <a href="http://psychopy.org/">PsychoPy</a> as I had hoped I would. Part of my problem was a lack of information online for people who really do know nothing about coding - I am (was?) one of these people, and while I see now that I got myself quite far using only information sourced from the excellent <a href="https://groups.google.com/forum/#!forum/psychopy-users">PsychoPy User Group</a>, life would have been much easier, and a large amount of time would have been saved, if I'd had access to a simple step-by-step guide to setting up a simple experiment in <a href="http://psychopy.org/">PsychoPy</a> that was able to talk to <a href="http://www.tobii.com/">Tobii</a>.</div>
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So, here is that step-by-step guide, and if one other computing novice out there benefits from it then it will all have been worthwhile! I may have missed out some obvious issues, and I may be using a non-technical language that is insulting to anyone who knows anything about this stuff: for this I apologise in advance, and welcome any comments, suggestions or advice on this topic.There are still some technical issues, and if these get resolved I will most happily post further information as I acquire it. People much smarter than me have helped and still are helping with this at every stage, and I should say that none of them have found it easy or obvious - one small fact that I have consoled myself with on a number of occasions!</div>
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<i>Please note that this guide is tailored to Windows computers only. If you are on Mac or Linux then let me know and I can send some more specific information :) </i></div>
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First thing to note: you need to find out what bitness your computer is, as this is important for everything you do from hereon-in. You can find that out <a href="http://support.microsoft.com/kb/827218">here</a>, if you don't already know. </div>
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1. Build experiment in <a href="http://psychopy.org/">PsychoPy</a> Builder.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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2. Add a code component into your experiment. This will
enable communication between PsychoPy and the eye-tracker. A simple code can be
copied from the <i>Stroop for eye-tracking</i>
demo, which can be found in the materials from an ECEM workshop, located
<a href="http://psychopy.org/resources/resources.html">here</a> (under 'Previous Events'). On page 17-19 of the PDF Py4ET you can find a code for the Stroop demo. This
can be copied and then amended to suit the purposes of your own experiment.
Don’t forget to make sure that the code is aligned exactly as it is in the Stroop
demo: if you miss out an indentation it will not work! <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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For the purposes of my experiment I only needed PsychoPy to
talk to the eye-tracker; no response was required from the participants in
terms of mouse-clicks or keyboard-presses, so I deleted these sections from the
Stroop demo code. If you leave them in it will still work, but you will find
code in your data that specifies when you clicked the mouse to start, or
pressed Escape to finish. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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3. Now you need to set up the <a href="http://www.isolver-solutions.com/iohubdocs/index.html">iohub</a>. This took
me a while as it wouldn't work and I couldn't work out why. Iohub is a package
for use with Python, and enables the use of external devices and the monitoring
and coding of events through these devices.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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First, you need to make sure that you have <a href="https://www.python.org/">Python</a> installed
on your computer. Iohub is now merged with PsychoPy, so if you have an updated
version of PsychoPy (1.74 or higher) you will already have iohub installed by
default. However, there are a few more packages that need to be installed
before PsychoPy will talk to the iohub. These can be found <a href="http://www.isolver-solutions.com/iohubdocs/iohub/installation.html">here</a>.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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So, before you start, it’s worth getting a few things in
order on your C: drive. Make sure that Python has a folder on the C: drive –
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">C:\Python27</span>. Then make sure that your experiment is saved in this drive, under
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">…\Lib\site-packages</span>. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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Now you want to download all of the iohub dependencies for
the version of Python that matches the version in your C: drive, and save them
all to the <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">\site-packages</span> folder. This makes sure that everything is in the
right place for your experiment – if it isn’t in the right place, PsychoPy
won’t know where to retrieve the files from. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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4. Once the iohub is installed you need to install the <a href="http://www.tobii.com/en/eye-tracking-research/global/products/software/tobii-analytics-software-development-kit/">SDK</a>.
This is a language binding, which means it enables communication between
various coding software and Tobii. It works with Python, and so can be used
with PsychoPy, but is also compatible with EPrime and Matlab. SDK simply stands
for software development kit, and <a href="http://www.acuity-intelligence.com/">Acuity Intelligence</a> has created it to be
fully integrated with Tobii, so it’s very easy to run.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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Before installing the SDK you need to make sure you have
<a href="http://support.apple.com/kb/DL999">Bonjour</a> downloaded on your system. This is a device which locates any eye
trackers that are connected to your computer either through a USB or through a
network. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You'll also need Microsoft Visual C++ 2008 SP1 Redistributable Package, which can be downloaded <a href="http://www.microsoft.com/en-us/download/details.aspx?id=2092">here</a>. </div>
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Now it’s time to install the SDK, which comes as a zip file,
and should be unpacked to the C: drive. As well as the SDK files you’ll find
some information on how to build experiments through the SDK (as opposed to
using iohub) and some demos, too.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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5. Next you need to add the appropriate eye-tracker to the
code and make sure that all of the relevant information is provided in
PsychoPy. In ‘Experiment Settings’ at the top of the PsychoPy screen you will
find some blank boxes for ‘Experiment info’. Create a field for the eye tracker
called Eye Tracker (or similar) and under default type in tobii_std.yaml. When
you run the experiment this should come up in the dialogue box before you
start.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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Now we need to return to the ECEM materials folder to locate
the .yaml file which will tell PsychoPy all of the necessary information about
the eye tracker. Go to the Stroop demos folder (with eye tracking) and you will
find four .yaml files all labelled in relation to various eye-trackers. Copy
the tobii_std file and paste it into the site-packages folder.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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6. Now it’s time to set a path for the experiment so that
all of the packages can talk to one another. This is most easily done in the
Environment Variables settings of your computer. In Windows 8 this can be found
under <b>Control Panel > System and
Security > System > Advanced System Settings > Advanced</b>. Click on
the ‘Environment Variables’ button and then click on ‘New…’. Under Variable Name type PYTHONPATH, and set
the variable to the Modules folder in the unzipped SDK folder. So, if the
modules folder can be found under <span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">C:\...\tobii-analytics-sdk-3.0.83-win-x32\tobii-analytics-sdk-3.0.83-win-Win32\Python27\Modules</span>,
you need to set the variable up as <span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">%PYTHONPATH%;C:\Users\Catherine\Documents\tobii-analytics-sdk-3.0.83-win-x32\tobii-analytics-sdk-3.0.83-win-Win32\Python27\Modules</span>.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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Now if you try to run your experiment in PsychoPy it should
work!<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
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7. Finally, we have
to get Tobii ready to start tracking eye movements while PsychoPy is running
the actual experiment. This bit is easy! Just set up a new experiment and add
the ‘Screen Record’ icon from the media toolbar to the timeline. Now you are
ready to run the experiment!<o:p></o:p></div>
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To run your experiment, begin recording in Tobii and
calibrate the participant as you would normally. When the calibration is
finished, start the experiment in Tobii as normal – this will enable the
eye-tracker to get data on the participant’s eye movements – and then run your
experiment in PsychoPy. When the experiment is over, just press ‘Esc’ (or the
equivalent key to finish running the experiment in Tobii) and screen recording
will stop on the eye tracker. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Good luck! And please provide any feedback: both positive and negative comments are welcome!</div>
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-69813595413322686072014-03-12T20:58:00.001+00:002014-03-12T20:58:34.999+00:00My Own Version of Normal.There has been a lot of dedicated time for discussion about mental health issues in the media recently. From #timetotalk day at the beginning of February, to Eating Disorders Awareness Week a couple of weeks ago. Appropriately for me, there was also an <a href="http://www.ocdaction.org.uk/takeaction">OCD week of action</a> recently. OCD is something I rarely talk about outside the comfort of my own home/CBT session, but its presence in my life is becoming more noticeable as I see people rising to address mental health issues via social media, and I feel I owe it to myself as well as any other OCD sufferers out there to acknowledge OCD for what it is, which is probably way more than most people think it is. According to the OCD week of action is was "time to act", but in my case I've been acting (knowingly) for more than 12 years, and I realised that it's probably time to <i>stop</i> acting. Contrary to the usual mantra, it may, finally, be time to stop acting and start talking, so here we go.<br />
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I don't feel any need to 'come out' about my OCD - no reason to apologise or confess anything in particular. Those who matter to me never ask me to, and never question why I behave the way I do. It's not something I've purposely hidden, but have instead come to keep sealed under an ever-tightening lid of reflexive excuses. After all, it's not something that arrives easily into conversation, and while in retrospect I wish I'd had the guts to say 'it might seem like I'm a bit weird but actually it's OCD' to every new friend I've made over the years, somehow that doesn't quite work in reality. I know that to a large extent it's down to the endless stereotypes of neatness, checking the front door twice, using hand sanitizer, and so on, and partly down to the trivialization of the condition by so many people who self-define as being 'OCD-ish' because they like to iron their shirts in a certain way. Anyway, it's obvious that the general public's idea of OCD is completely misconstrued, so maybe it's time to explain.<br />
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OCD: obsessive compulsive disorder. According to OCDaction.org.uk:<br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0.30000001192092896px; line-height: 23px;">intensely negative, repetitive and intrusive thoughts, combined with a chronic feeling of doubt or danger (obsessions). In order to quell the thought or quieten the anxiety, they will often repeat an action, again and again (compulsions).</span></blockquote>
I would also use the word 'irrational' here. Often intensely, ridiculously irrational but perfectly sensible and obvious to the obsessive compulsive person. There is nothing obsessive, compulsive or indeed irrational about washing hands before eating. I think that actually comes under 'good personal hygiene'.<br />
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As this is a condition that is very much grounded in behaviours, OCD symptoms are unlike the symptoms of many other mental health issues because they are (often) visible. You need to look closely, but they are there. It has been my preoccupation over the past 12 years to make them as invisible as possible, and while in some ways this has been a therapy in itself, it's also caused a whole load of compulsive behaviours to stay locked up as habits and reflexes. I should add here that at the moment I'm more on top of these habits and behaviours than I have been in a long time - some days I'm not even aware of the presence of an OCD in my life, and I know that this makes me one of the lucky ones. But when I think back over time and how the behaviours that I see as 'mine' have mutated, largely alongside the periods of life that have been the most difficult, I'm generally pretty amazed by the way this thing has taken hold of me. Strangest of all, some of the things that I could never have faced back in the early days of my OCD diagnosis are perfectly fine for me now, while back then I was able to do things that I wouldn't dream of doing now. And when I see other people doing those things (which I do, every single hour of every single day), my insides recoil in horror and I experience just a prickle of the fear that stops me from doing them myself. Weird eh? However, this also gives me hope that one day I might not be this weird at all - maybe one day I'll be able to do it all, and that would be awesome.<br />
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A little mantra that I go by is 'get out of your comfort zone'. Usually I'm referring to PhD-related activities, or to running or climbing or even trying a new kind of food or music genre, but in reality outside my comfort zone is my default setting, and it's when my comfort zone is completely out of sight that the OCD behaviours really take hold; generally during periods of high pressure, stress or upset, or when there are lots of people to deal with all at once. There are other times when I'm able to push those comfort zone boundaries as far as I can, and naturally this is during periods when I'm especially chilled out or having fun - it's the reason I can run in races (pre-marathon toilets are no one's idea of a safe environment) and that I've surprised myself so much on occasions at friends' houses when all of my OCD behaviours go out the window and I can chill out with a glass of wine. Those days are the best.<br />
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The worst thing about having OCD is that it's all-consuming; there are very rarely periods of down-time, even when I'm well within the boundaries of my comfort zone. It's a bit like being stuck in a cage, which shrinks and shrinks as anxiety increases, until the bars are squeezing in too tight and the noise is too loud and I'm pretty sure the only option is to self-combust. There have been times when I've rushed out of a shop halfway through buying something at the checkout, or thrown out large quantities of food 'just in case', or whole days when I haven't had a glass of water or something to eat, just because I was too stuck in that tightening cage to be able to grab on to anything rational to help pull me back out. It's here that I quietly recognise the very tiny number of people (n=2) who I've shared my thought-processes in detail with - one of whom has meandered slowly out of my life, and the other who has committed to putting up with me for life - and their patience and resilience in the face of these unpredictable reactions to normal life situations. Living with someone with OCD is pretty tough - walking on eggshells would be an appropriate expression - as OCD eyes and ears are constantly looking out for threats to the safe (for me) environment of home. I've trained myself not to look as Daniel hangs out the towels or empties the dishwasher, but there's still that rush of fear when I hear him going about these perfectly normal jobs without my standards being imposed on him as he does so. Imagine having to do every task yourself in order to make sure everything conforms to the rules of an OCD. Exhausting. Equally exhausting are the myriad 'normal' tasks that come with being an independent human: I could write a whole blog post on the intricacies of making a cheese sandwich with OCD.<br />
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Most people have to face their biggest fears at certain times in their lives. Some people choose to do it - climbing the Eiffel Tower and peeping over the edge of the top balcony, doing a sky dive - while others just go for it when presented with the opportunity - picking up a spider and popping it safely out of the window, stroking a dog - and then there's the awful, unavoidable things that sometimes force people to face what they're most afraid of - taking a trip on a plane, speaking in public. That feeling of relief when you face something that terrifies you and realise that you're ok, that you've survived at the end of it, is not comparable to anything else. Relief combined with pride combined with the aftershock of terror, sort of like being drunk momentarily - it's quite a good feeling, from what I can tell from my own experiences of jumping off things or peering over things or talking in front of large numbers of people. Similarly, while it's been a while now since I 'faced' door handles, and over a year since I mastered the technique of eating a tangerine without touching it with my hands, still every time I do these things (every day) I notice, and my stomach sort of flips and the cage bars rattle, and then I remember that it's ok because I've 'survived' it now hundreds of times in a row*, and then my heart and my head do a little victory dance together, and slowly those bars get a little bit further away. I call these moments small victories, comparable to jumping out of a plane time and time again, forever grateful for surviving, yet always aware that next time I might not. So then I touch the nearest chair or doorframe, just in case, and continue on my way.<br />
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If you like to laugh while learning about OCD then check out my friend Adam's stand up set, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFLDn0zVgVg">OCD Octopus</a>!<br />
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*here I pause to tap on the coffee table, just in case<br />
<br />Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-77665036826442353322014-01-31T22:17:00.000+00:002014-01-31T22:17:26.560+00:00A Veganuary in ReviewThe <a href="http://www.veganuary.com/">Veganuary</a> campaign caught my eye on Twitter in the run-up to Christmas, and just happened to coincide with a period of serious umming and aahhing about the food choices I did and didn't want to make. It's been exciting to see the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/sustainable-business/veganuary-campaign-sustainable-eating-vegan-diet">momentum</a> that it's picked up over the course of January, and while I don't feel that I've been a fully on-board participant (for reasons that I'll go into shortly), it's been a fun and surprisingly challenging experience that I'm glad I took on.<br />
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Before I begin to try summarising all of the things that this vegan month has brought, some important facts need to be considered:<br />
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1) I've been meat-free since 2003.<br />
2) I became fully vegetarian in 2005, by which I mean no gelatin, no anchovies, no oyster sauce, etc.<br />
3) In my view there is nothing more glorious than bread lavished with a thick layer of salty butter. Nothing.<br />
4) I've been considering and reconsidering my vegetarianism for a year or so, and in November I started eating fish again.<br />
5) During marathon training I've tended to give up milk - at least during the week - as I find my gut is more sensitive when I'm putting myself through so much physical <strike>torture</strike> training.<br />
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Based on facts #1, #2 and #5, I thought that going vegan for a month would be a breeze. We eat pretty much no dairy in our evening meals, I tend to stick with veggies or soup for lunch, and porridge can easily be made with non-dairy milk, right? I'm sure that it was much easier for me than it would have been for many meat-eaters out there, trying out veganism for the first time, but in fact it was much more of a challenge (and at times, a headache) than I had anticipated.<br />
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I started Veganuary on 2nd January (see above about my half-hearted commitment!) after a New Year's lunch of fish and chips - my first in years and years and years, at a lovely pub in Sandsend after a day walking in torrential rain. The batter was light and beautifully crisp and the fish was gloriously chunky, but still, after a few mouthfuls I could only think 'meh', and secretly wished that I'd ordered the vegetarian chilli. By the next day - a Thursday - I was ready to go, and we'd planned a menu of our favourite dairy-free meals to see us through the following week. But all my enthusiasm came undone almost as quickly as it had started, when I tucked in to a slice of freshly-baked bread the following Sunday, smothered with peanut butter. I tried olive oil, still it wouldn't do. So I bought some vegan 'margarine' (eurgh what a disgusting word) and have died a little inside (probably literally) every time I've used it.<br />
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<u><a href="http://ohsheglows.com/2014/01/20/cauli-power-fettuccine-alfredo-vegan/"></a></u><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36aeA5mmQH6-owSPtPUrKjkvB-Ct7yxlm80cDZSeiW-Qoc38Rlen3oG2RlyXmx7AVRujo3oH5HvYQS9z-5liJLxpQi_lhm1PiKUpqI9JZgUj-005aC9vZDDaTM9u4o3K45ufhS6zocvc/s1600/20140101_145007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36aeA5mmQH6-owSPtPUrKjkvB-Ct7yxlm80cDZSeiW-Qoc38Rlen3oG2RlyXmx7AVRujo3oH5HvYQS9z-5liJLxpQi_lhm1PiKUpqI9JZgUj-005aC9vZDDaTM9u4o3K45ufhS6zocvc/s1600/20140101_145007.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did someone say portion control?</td></tr>
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A few days later I had a latte in my favourite coffee shop. Normally I would have got a frothy latte made with organic local milk, but my vegan option was distinctly less joyful, and moreover it was made with non-organic soya milk. My point has always been that, in my opinion at least, it is the small choices we make (organic dairy, no soy wherever possible, locally-produced cheese, etc. etc.) that make the biggest impact: turning vegetarian and living off manufactured Quorn nuggests of despair and soy-based proteins is probably not the best way to make a more positive impact on the world. But there I was, drowning in dairy-free, soya-shaped options, eating crayon-coloured melted plastic on my beautiful homemade bread, and feeling very much like veganism might be the worst choice I could make.<br />
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I was feeling pretty gloomy about the whole thing, and also missing cake (I have since baked a few great vegan cookies and muffins and have inevitably eaten more cakes than I ever would have otherwise), when it hit me like I imagine silence might hit any long-suffering victim of tinnitus - I no longer had stomach ache. Months and months - years and years! - of grinding cramps in my intestines went silent one day, and honestly haven't made an appearance since. Over the course of the month I feel as if my insides have taken a new lease of life - they're dancing a glorious, pain-free dance and everything just feels easier. I also feel lighter, somehow - not in the literal sense, too much cake for that, but in a physical sense, nonetheless.<br />
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<u><a href="http://ohsheglows.com/2014/01/20/cauli-power-fettuccine-alfredo-vegan/"></a></u><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMfR1w4wOygFim4ZuVrp-9HeTWL84WURDp2Gvl9BfnBIlfgHRvTcc4SvhHx43vYEx_70u7s3er56G4nzVSydG0VYK7BHg7LCxz8QcOe2HbunYfgxstFxsyYfW-QLrmq54yHRzjdC_tgI/s1600/IMG_20140104_155103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMfR1w4wOygFim4ZuVrp-9HeTWL84WURDp2Gvl9BfnBIlfgHRvTcc4SvhHx43vYEx_70u7s3er56G4nzVSydG0VYK7BHg7LCxz8QcOe2HbunYfgxstFxsyYfW-QLrmq54yHRzjdC_tgI/s1600/IMG_20140104_155103.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vegan cookies - they looked better than this in real life!</td></tr>
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Once I realised that this little experiment was having such a positive effect on my health, and consequently my mood, it suddenly became pretty easy. I stopped fretting over the margarine and instead started to enjoy trying out new recipes, as well as going back to some of my old favourites. The next test came when I ran a half marathon on 20th January. Normally I'd have eggs after a long run, but instead I stuck to lentil soup. The weird cravings hit me harder than usual, and for some reason I found myself halfway through a rather large bag of crisps (why does anyone ever eat crisps?) before I noticed that they weren't vegan. Ah well. A better post-run recovery plan should have been in place, because it turns out that my usual recovery staples of eggs, milk and chocolate biscuits can't easily be replaced with lentils.<br />
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So now I am balanced between two lifestyles, unsure about which way to go next. Overall health is a big question, but to me the ethical side of what I eat is equally as big, and in my opinion veganism doesn't cut the mustard. Again, small choices over big sweeping commitments. I honestly don't know what I'll do next, but I'm pretty sure it won't involve fish - it turns out that it wasn't really for me, as delicious as <a href="http://www.nutmegsseven.co.uk/">Elly's</a> <a href="http://www.nutmegsseven.co.uk/2012/11/spiced-mackerel-with-apple-fennel-and.html">spiced mackerel</a> recipe was. I'm also sure that it won't involve soya milk or vegan 'butter' (pah!), but it probably will involve more avocados, nuts, nut butters and tahini. Just as my palate has transformed over the past 10 years to the point where fish and chips taste a bit 'samey', so too has it changed over the past month to find serious satisfaction in a handful of nuts, a 'creamy' tahini sauce, or a drizzle of maple syrup.<br />
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Essentially, though, I think it's too easy to get bogged down in the shoulds and the shouldn'ts. While it's all too typical of our gloriously privileged society to think that we somehow have the right to have milk on our cereal and meat on our dinner plate every day, consideration of these issues is the first and most important step: once we start thinking, we're already acting. Vegetarianism, veganism, raw food, whatever - at the end of the day they're all sweeping commitments to habits that aren't ever going to be 100% ethically sound. Maybe the most important thing any individual can do in this respect is to consider their options alongside their choices, and to do whatever feels the most right, both personally and generally. That way we're more likely to make choices that stick for the longterm, and even when these choices change as we change (as has happened to me), to keep thinking and keep choosing what works best on both levels at any one point.<br />
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I definitely recommend testing out veganism, as it turns out that cutting out dairy can leave you feeling 100% better, and that's always worth a shot. Other than that, though, there are some seriously delicious vegan recipes out there that are worth trying out - my top 5 are linked below!<br />
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<a href="http://ohsheglows.com/2013/10/21/smoky-butternut-squash-sauce-with-pasta-and-greens/">Oh She Glows' Roasted butternut squash pasta sauce</a><br />
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<a href="http://ohsheglows.com/2013/03/05/roasted-buddha-bowl/">Oh She Glows' Roasted Buddha bowl</a><br />
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<a href="http://ohsheglows.com/2011/01/31/15-minute-creamy-avocado-pasta/">Oh She Glows' Creamy avocado pasta sauce</a><br />
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<u><a href="http://ohsheglows.com/2014/01/20/cauli-power-fettuccine-alfredo-vegan/">Oh She Glows' Creamy cauliflower 'Alfredo' </a></u><br />
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<a href="http://www.veggierunners.com/2012/10/16/the-best-roasted-butternut-squash-ever/">Veggie Runners' best ever roasted squash</a><br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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<br />Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-16153184740754920272014-01-06T22:03:00.001+00:002014-01-06T22:03:21.166+00:00Twelve Awesome Memories from 2013I was reluctant to do any sort of '2013 summary' this year, for a number of reasons. Mainly because it really has been an incredible year, and I wanted to avoid any gloaty account of the past 12 months as, let's face it, that's how these things can appear, especially after a relatively long silence here on my blog. But I've been doing lots of reflecting, as is typical in this part of the new year, and also looking over a few photos, of which there are relatively few. Some of the best moments of 2013 couldn't have been photographed even if I'd thought to take my camera along with me, and over time I know the memories will fade, leaving only massive moments and filtering all the tiny details. Words are swimming around in my head, and I want to capture the words to match the memories, before they disappear beyond concrete recollection.<br />
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It goes without saying that 2013 wasn't all good - I broke my toe on my wedding day, for a start, and even before then there was a sickly marathon and a few wedding-induced 'fiascos' that I'd rather leave aside. I don't need to write about the toe, and I certainly don't need to post any photos of it (though I do have some!), so let's focus on the positives, eh?<br />
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So, here are my twelve* awesome bits from 2013, in chronological order:<br />
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1. Falling over in the mud on the <a href="http://words-for-sale.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/cartmel-sticky-toffee-trail-race-2013.html">Cartmel Lakeland Trail</a><br />
Mud is probably one of my favourite things ever, and a muddy trail race is, in my opinion, probably the only decent thing to do with a freezing but bright Saturday morning. Cartmel was a Christmas present from my Dad - he'd signed me up for the faster race, and I was soon left behind by all the other wiry fell-runners. At first I was annoyed at myself for being too slow, but then I turned a corner and Morcambe Bay and an expanse of water stretching out to Scotland appeared before me, and I was on top of the world. I wasn't concentrating and I fell - whoooosh - through the mud, which provided a soft landing and covered me right down my right side. The fall forced me to chill out and enjoy the rest of the race, which was just amazing, and I would happily have done it all again once I got to the finish.<br />
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2. Coff<span style="font-family: inherit;">ee in the snow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We spent <a href="http://words-for-sale.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/the-long-weekend-of-plenty.html">Easter weekend</a> in Stockholm, just before I moved out there for a month to <a href="http://words-for-sale.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/experimenting-with-eye-tracking.html">run an experiment</a>. Scandinavia was still thick with snow, and we enjoyed an absolutely glorious few days wandering around the city and taking in its art galleries, cinnamon buns and waterside footpaths. We stopped off at the lovely Rosendals Trädgård for a coffee after a long morning walk through the city, and as the indoor seating was all taken, we decided to sit outside. The terrace was still covered in snow, but still we sat with a good few other hardy Swedes and watched the world go by with a cup of delicious Swedish coffee.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. My first participant</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hope I'll never forget the nervous excitement rattling through me as I waited at the top of the steps at Stockholm University for my first parent-infant participants to arrive. I'd tested and tested the experiment, but still there was no way of knowing whether it would even work. For the first time I felt like a real scientist, and it was certainly a turning point in my outlook on what I do. Working with actual infants is such an eye-opener, and it provided such a brilliant perspective on 'the bigger picture', and really helped to make real of what I'm doing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Getting home</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The stillness in our house when I opened the door for the first time in over a month was just magical. Putting my feet back into my slippers, running around the house to look in every room, making myself a cup of tea and sitting on the sofa. I want to go away again and again just so I can feel that sense of warmth again and again when I walk through my own front door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">5. A PB at Keswick</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Keswick half marathon took place only a couple of days after I got back from Stockholm (I actually planned my trip around it, but don't tell my supervisor), and after a month of marathon training in hilly Danderyd I was on top form. I remember so clearly my amazement on turning out of Grange along the Borrowdale road to realise that I was going to get a PB, and I still had time to stop for an energy gel. I never in a million years thought I'd do so well on such a difficult course, and I'm pretty sure I won't manage it again!<br />
<br />6. Terrace dining in the Languedoc</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The best meal of my life, on a terrace in France. Most of it was designed specially for me from the rather meat-based menu, and in typical French style it was sublime. From the </span>gazpacho<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>amuse bouche </i>to the bittersweet raspberry and chocolate tart (normally I'd steer well clear of a chocolate-based desert and head right for the STP!), to the beautiful cheese platter served stylishly on a piece of slate. The only downside was that we were cycling home, so we couldn't drink. Tant pis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">7. PARLAY</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After months of planning, the inaugural Postgraduate and Academic Researchers in Linguistics at York (or PARLAY) conference turned out to be a smashing success. I was floating on adrenaline all day, and my head was pretty much taken over by the countless things that one has to think about during such an event, but at one point I looked out over the crowded room of delegates, all eating cakes and 'networking' just as we had promised in the proposal, and thought "we've done it". And it was wonderful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">8. Our first married breakfast</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can't pick one moment from the wedding day itself, but in all honesty, if I could do any part of it again I'd have my first breakfast with my new husband in the hotel the next morning again and again and again. We sat there for ages, feasting our way through the buffet and going through the minute details of the previous day as if it were a secret between us that no one else could share. I guess it was (and still is). We had the whole day ahead of us, where we would laze around in a swimming pool and spend the evening in our favourite pub with my family, and then of course the honeymoon beyond that. Sitting there at the little round table by the window we had everything that there was for us to have at that moment, and the best bit was that we <i>knew</i> it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">9. Climbing Blencathra</span><br />
I squished my poor foot into my walking boots and didn't think for a second that I'd be able to get as far as the top of Blencathra, a mountain I've been eyeing up for years. We climbed and scrambled and pulled ourselves up the rock face, and I thought we might die, and we were sweaty and out of breath. The sun was shining, the views were stunning, and there was pretty much no one on the mountain but us and a few retirees enjoying the quieter season in the Lakeland calendar. What a perfect end to our honeymoon, finished off with veggie chilli at the <a href="http://www.lakelandpedlar.co.uk/">Lakeland Pedla</a>r in Keswick.<br />
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10. The National playing Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks at Manchester Apollo<br />
We had our first dance to The National, and when they played 'our song' I was quite sure that would be my highlight. But then they finished with an acapella rendition of this song and I was moved to tears, my lungs suddenly purged of oxygen. Incredible.<br />
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11. Presenting at UCL<br />
I gave my final eye-tracking presentation at a postgraduate conference at UCL in November. I knew my subject inside-out, I was reeling off a large and disgusting Starbucks, and the audience was friendly and optimally inquisitive about my work. It was such a high note on which to finish the eye-tracking project - I even got a few jokes in there and people actually laughed. That sense that the audience is on your side doesn't come about that often (I've found, anyway!), but when it does it's worth all of the awkward presentations and strange questions and flushing-red moments.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />12. Running through York on the Yorkshire Marathon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The crowds were wonderful throughout this race, but I will never forget the runners singing along to a busker on Piccadilly as we headed out on the first few miles of the marathon. It was Don't Look Back in Anger, which wasn't at all fitting for the occasion, but still everyone crooned along together as we ran past. And then we got to run past the minster, which was phenomenal. I was blown away by it, and I still maintain that it was worth the £45 entry fee for those first four miles alone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So. Much. Fun.</span><br />
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*<span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm superstitious beyond all reason so let's stick to twelve.</span></span>Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-83453954073776376322013-11-28T18:50:00.000+00:002013-11-28T18:50:29.947+00:00Where All of the Fingers Meet All of the PiesIt stuck me yesterday, after having absent-mindedly left my laptop leaning casually against a wall in a rather public place, that in many ways I am starting to become utterly useless. Most of my friends have probably forgotten who I am, my diary is overloaded with illegible scrawls and crossings-out, and, well (I probably shouldn't publish details of my 'beauty regime' on here, I know), I haven't shaved my legs since the day before <a href="http://www.jacksonandcophotography.com/weddings-in-york-city-centre/">I got married</a>.<br />
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Despite this, I have to say that I'm enjoying myself more than I have done in a long time. That state of drowning contentedly that I referred to <a href="http://words-for-sale.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/growing-space.html">in my last post</a> has never been as potent as it is right now; I've become totally obsessed with the work I'm involved with, and it feels pretty good. That is, it feels pretty good while I'm sitting at my desk getting stuff done, but as soon as I try to pull myself away from it I begin to choke on it all, completely overwhelmed by the extent of my commitments and how ridiculous I must be to have so many commitments if I hope to succeed at any of the things I have chosen to commit my time to. The 'PhD guilt', which appears to be an official term for the general state of any PhD student at any point in time, is gnawing away at my every moment of 'down time', and I realize that I'm going to need a whole new approach to 'down time' if it is to be of any use at all.<br />
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In a discussion with a friend yesterday lunchtime I realized what all of this is about. I've been working with a professor from a university in Virginia recently, putting together an exciting combination of experimental methods to pioneer a new approach to perception experiments with young infants, and he wisely told me that learning how to pick and choose projects based on personal interest and potential benefit is all part of learning how to be a good academic. All very well. But no matter how busy I was before I decided to get involved with this experiment, how would I ever have justified turning down an opportunity to <i>pioneer a new approach to perception experiments with young infants</i>? The same goes for every other commitment that I have taken on with gusto: how could I possibly say no?<br />
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The issue is that, at PhD level, we simply don't have the option of turning down an exciting opportunity just because we're too busy. Every step of the way we're reminded of the need to connect ourselves to the wider academic community - "impact" and "engagement" being the buzzwords to our every decision, as well as that <a href="http://words-for-sale.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/quotative-be-like.html">godforsaken phrase</a> "it'll look good on the CV". Has this sort of pressure existed throughout the eternity of academia, or is it a new-fangled thing to match the financial pressure that universities, funding bodies and students face, and the need to somehow be able to 'justify' our research to everyone who might bother to ask (and I wish people would ask, really I do)?<br />
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I'm all for addressing the impact of my research, and I'm more than happy to engage with anyone who'll care to listen, but I do wish that there were a little bit of space to simply enjoy the wonder of research without all of the surrounding academic anxiety. And maybe it's just because we're no longer so afraid to talk about our emotional 'weaknesses' and personal issues openly (see beauty regime comment above) but it seems to me that emotional issues go hand-in-hand with being a PhD student: by our very nature we are strivers, bursting from the pressure we put on ourselves to go that extra mile.<br />
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So while I'm glad of the many amazing opportunities that have come my way over the past year-and-a-bit (and by gum, I consider myself lucky to have had them), I do wish that the onus was less on the 'added extras' that will make my CV so much more sparkling than it otherwise might be, and more on the general skills that one might need to actually do the PhD itself; emotional skills as well as practical or stats-based skills. Having all of these commitments makes stopping for breath harder than never stopping for breath; it's too easy to bury in work and forget about the world out there, while social, personal and emotional priorities just seem to dissipate into some vaguely familiar shadow of something that I used to know.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-67126540271035410982013-10-13T09:44:00.000+01:002013-10-13T09:44:42.671+01:00Growing Space.The fresh, light feeling of brand new post-marriage is starting to dissolve now, leaving in its place something reassuring and delightfully unfamiliar. This is the way I wanted to feel this time last year - it's the way I've thought I should be feeling ever since then, but have never managed to grasp it quickly enough for it to manifest itself as any sort of permanent or even semi-permanent way of being. Now I'm swimming in it, boring my new husband with it, getting drunk on it and allowing it to pull me out of bed on a Sunday morning (aided by a pot of Darjeeling, which is simply beautiful) for some quiet time before the 'us' part of this Sunday begins.<br />
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The morning after our wedding I woke in York's beautiful Cedar Court Grand hotel to an eerie silence. I was tired and sore after a night of ceilidh dancing, as well as starving hungry and pretty hungover, but aside from this all-over physical noise everything was unusually quiet. My head - for the first time in months, if not more - wasn't shouting out a list of to-dos and to-bes; instead it was lying there almost empty, calmly playing through the images of the previous day without any sense of urgency or even excitement. I was utterly at peace, with the sort of 'internal peace' that I've heard of often and until that point thought I understood, when actually it's possible that I hadn't had a moment's 'internal peace' until that morning after my wedding day. I had no wish to do anything or be anything other than what I was doing and being right there: no external pressures piled up the moment I opened my eyes, and I was struck by how unusual this was.<br />
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The next day we set off on our honeymoon in the Lake District, and by this point I had stopped feeling uneasy about the quietness of my mind and instead took it for what it was: urgently-required down-time. I had a week of this peacefulness, accompanied by happy conversations about the wedding, the engagement, and the future that we realised was suddenly ours to hold, all set against the back-drop of Lakeland mountains in late September. It was bliss, and everything we needed from our honeymoon - switching off and slowing down and re-connection and reflection, accompanied by a bounty of fresh air, real ale and amazing food.<br />
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We returned home feeling that inevitable sadness that it was really all over, and that reality had to recommence as we always knew it would. But I also felt eager to get back into life without the wedding to think about, without an excuse to sail away on a daydream at 2pm in the afternoon to find myself inadvertently typing 'buttonholes' or 'alternative bridal footwear' into Google Scholar. I'd hated my distracted head in the run-up to September, and at times had really struggled to concentrate on some of the really big projects that I was involved in; my studies had sailed so far down my priority list, and I was starting to feel a little fraudulent and way too flippant about my PhD. But that's where we pick up now, three weeks after that morning of empty-headed newlywed bliss (and it feels so much more than three weeks ago), when I can safely say that my head is no longer empty or quiet, but instead is buzzing in a way very similar to those pre-wedding Sunday mornings when I had to get up and sort out the bunting or the order of service or try out my make up just one more time. Those thoughts have been replaced by big ideas and massive daydreams; a constant stream of ideas and exciting prospects that I'm dreaming up in the space that was for so long taken up by my impending marriage. I feel as if I've been granted space to plan my own future with more confidence, and things are forming before my eyes that I know have always been there, pushed to the side by thoughts frilled with white lace and studded with pearls.<br />
<br />
In my wedding speech I said how Daniel made me believe I'm capable of anything, and that has never been more true than it is right now. It's probably a rather conceited thing to think, and an even more conceited thing to put into words for anyone to take hold of, but this feeling is such a strong one and it's available to everyone with enthusiasm and the right outlet in which to express it. I feel very much as if I've landed in the right place, after a year of feeling like an imposter in somewhere that was never quite what I wanted it to be, despite wanting it more than anything else in the world. It was a jarring contradiction of big dreams materialising and also somewhat of a let-down. It was scary, and I spent a lot of conversations with Daniel trying to justify the way I was feeling. Now I realise that my big dreams needed space to move and to grow, and that there was no space, only a crowd of increasingly overwhelming preoccupations. I feel right now as if my mind has been freed, and is finally ready for me to take on this ambition that I've been harbouring at the back of my mind for a year now. I finally feel capable, as if I have the tools, the support and - essentially - the space to build. Having felt as if I were on the edge of something massive for the past 12 months, I've now dived right in there, and am swimming contentedly, even drowning contentedly at times.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-28143321574067208252013-10-02T10:45:00.000+01:002013-10-02T10:45:33.973+01:00On Being MarriedI remember distinctly the conversation, driving through Pontefract in our old Ford Mondeo circa 1996, me carefully deciding on my <i>old</i>, <i>new</i>, <i>borrowed </i>and <i>blue</i>, much to my Mum's amusement (I decided on old flowers - at the time I had no idea about the decadence of weddings, especially not the floral element of it all). That day was, somehow, always going to be: a beacon of sorts on the horizon; the day I'd commit to that other human and my life would truly begin. There were the playground games: sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G with some freckled boy standing on the other side of the rounders pitch, or the twisting of the apple stalk to discover the first initial of my future betrothed (I'm sure it snapped off at D at least once).<br />
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This idea stayed in my head throughout my entire wedding day; somehow, my life had always been moving towards this point when I'd choose someone else to share 'forever' with. It's another of those things that is pushed into our psyche by society and expectation and tradition and all of that, and one of the many things that I rejected outright upon realising the ridiculousness of it all. It suddenly became much less ridiculous, though, when I met Daniel, and when I realised that sharing a life path is neither easy nor obvious at times, and that these challenges can actually be fun and wondrous in their own way. I guess that what I mean is that I found somebody who made even the hardest bits of life (and there have been some massively hard bits over the past 5 years, that's for sure) somehow magical, and something inside me went 'pop' - right up there on that bridge over the M6 - and I was, in my own way that can't be put into words, committed. So I've been committed for a while now, and when it came to making those vows to Daniel in front of pretty much everyone we care about, it was the most natural thing I've ever done. The whole day was magical, each moment a complete surprise, but at the same time nothing about it was anything other than the absolutely normal thing to be doing that day.<br />
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I laughed the entire day, even though none of it was that funny really - it must be some sort of reflex that I have when presented with something utterly joyful (when Daniel proposed I'm not sure I actually even said yes, I just laughed uncontrollably and took the ring from his grasp). I haven't really stopped laughing for the past week-and-a-bit either, even though life has gone back to a very distinct normality, and it's raining, and the house is an utter mess. Because I thought that married life would just be like going back to how it was before, but with the slight inconvenience of a new ring each on our left hands. It turns out that I was wrong, and I'm glad I was; everything feels just a little bit different, slanted towards the future and big plans that we share now because we promised that we would. Everything feels a little bit more possible than it did before, and the future - by the very fact that it's not only 'mine' but also 'ours' - seems somehow more exciting, more of a mystery.<br />
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So married life: so far, so good. I thought I'd be terribly sad that the wedding was over and there would be nothing much to look forward to ever again (how depressing). But as my lovely newlywed friend Louise said on the day, there's a real satisfaction inside me now that we've had our wedding and that it was everything that we ever wanted. Now we can get on with the bigger, more exciting task of marriage and all the challenging things that it will inevitably bring. I like challenges, and I even have time for the massive life-changing ones, however scary they may be. It's just really nice to know that I have someone lovely there to go through it all with, with ultimate soup-making, bubble bath-running, husband skills that will surely be essential in the years ahead.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks to my lovely sister-in-law for the photo :-)</td></tr>
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And for the record:<br />
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Old - my Great Grandma's eternity ring (as well as my Gran's engagement ring which I've been wearing since we got engaged)<br />
New - pearl necklace and bracelet which my Mum bought to go with my dress<br />
Borrowed - a cotton hankerchief of my Mum's with 'D' for Deborah (my Mum's name) embroidered on the corner. This was for the tears that never came (I laughed instead) and remained tucked in my bra the entire day.<br />
Blue - a bead in my hair which my amazing bridesmaid Emma painted blue for me - the rest of the beads were pearl-coloured. Also, my Great Grandma's ring had sapphires around it.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-13345382685364264022013-05-25T18:51:00.000+01:002013-05-25T18:51:42.016+01:0026.2 Reasons to Doubt Everything, Ever.This time last week I was en route to the expo at Brathay Hall, about to collect my race number and a bundle of freebies ready for Sunday's marathon. We jovially took photos of ourselves standing by the finish line, and I was relishing the anticipation of the time between then and the moment I'd see that banner again later the next day. I was looking forward to slap-up pre-marathon grub at <a href="http://www.zeffirellis.com/">Zephirelli's </a>in Ambleside, a hot shower and an early night. <br />
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I was excited to see what I could do; to taste the Brathay Windermere marathon for the second time, this time with hindsight, more training, and a more confident approach to my running. I was looking forward to the drum beats of the send-off, the quaint villages around the route, the killer hill at mile 7-8, and to seeing those numbers going beyond 13 and getting increasingly massive. This time it would be an adventure, which I calculated would probably start around mile 15 and keep getting better and better as I pushed through the way I had during miles of lonely training in Stockholm. I was prepared, of that I was sure.<br />
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But then the night came and I didn't sleep. And the morning came and I couldn't eat. I arrived at the start line already depleted, nauseous and tense. I was terrified of something and I didn't know what it was; anxiety was gnawing at my stomach and gripping its fingers around my chest. I kept telling myself that I just needed to get to mile 15: both up to that point and beyond that point were separate adventures, and I could deal with them both. The drumming began, the starting shot was fired, and I was running another marathon. <br />
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Like every race, my stomach fell to my feet and my heart swelled up into my throat, and I ran and saw the feet and legs moving in a blur ahead of me. My feet were moving but my head was still waiting to start the race. I could do this, I knew, but it didn't feel like it. The block of runners was much bigger than I was used to, the crowds were much bigger than I was used to; my mind was whirling and my heart was pulsating in the back of my throat. I slowed down and tried to calm down. A mile in and I started to steady, the rhythms of my feet and breath finally meeting one another in a regular pattern, lulling me into a state of relative calm. My mind freed itself of my worries and started to drift back to Sweden, or forwards to my wedding: I froze the thoughts and promised myself I would come back to them later, when I needed them - I didn't want to waste any mental energy on any form of thinking so early in the race.<br />
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I'm not sure if it was for this reason, or simply down to a already-heightened state of anxiety, but it was at that point, just after the first mile marker, that it started to come undone, and went pretty much downhill from there for the next 25 miles. The running was fine - really quite good for the most part - but my mental state during almost the entire marathon was something I hadn't known until last Sunday, and since then I've struggled to think of the marathon without a sour sensation rising from my gut. The experience wasn't humbling, nor was it revealing in any sort of self-reflectional sense: it was simply <em>hard</em>, there is no other word for it, and it took everything I had in my mind to get past that finish line.<br />
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I could talk about the amazing scenes in Hawkeshead as we ran through cheering crowds, banners and a roar of music (truly sensational). Or I could talk about the stitch that felt as if a piece of glass was stuck in my lower intestine, leaving me bent double by the side of the road, trying to vomit and trying not to vomit simultaneously. I could talk about the comments about vegetarian runners that made me laugh even in the darkest moments ("come on veggie, prove it!", [tones of amazement] "vegetarian, as well..."). Or how about those last miles where I couldn't even summon a smile for the constant cheers and encouragement from the onlookers visiting the Lake District that day? But the memories of the race pale into the background still, as all I really know is that I learned a lot about running last Sunday, more than I wished ever to know. Until then I'd done 7 runs of over 20 miles in my time as a runner, and it wasn't until that 8th attempt that I really felt the force and enormity of 'The Wall'. I didn't know until then - and I hope to never know again - how it feels, mentally, to have nothing more to give. Physical emptiness can be addressed with a quick energy gel or a stretch by the side of the road, but what do you do with mental emptiness? What do you do when you can't find any thoughts in your head to hold on to, when there's 9 miles left to run and no part of your mind can convince you that you can do it? There were a few occasions when I literally couldn't breathe: my lungs felt as if they had deflated and I couldn't draw in any air to get them going again. I was terrified, and there was no one there to reassure me that I would be ok. It happened two or three times, and each time I had to stop, to try and hold back the tears, and to resist every physical urge that was screaming at me to give in. <br />
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Recounting all of this makes me think that I should feel mentally stronger now, able to tackle anything that comes my way: I did, after all, complete the marathon, and <em>so</em> nearly within the time goal that I had set for myself. But I feel weaker, not stronger. I feel as if I've left something out on the roads around Windermere, a part of me that I probably won't get back, and it's the part of me that made me want to sign up for another 26.2 miles right away after Windermere last year. Whatever it was left me blind to the pains and the immense <em>hardness</em> of marathon running. It stopped me from noticing the other runners struggling to move forwards, the pools of sick by the side of the road, the pains in my lungs, knees, head, stomach, face, neck, back, toenails, arms, shoulders during and after the run, or that crescendo and sudden explosion of agony that hits at full force about 7 minutes after crossing the finish line. Marathon running is hard. We all know it's physically hard - it's supposed to be, as I tell myself on any long run - but the mental challenge is something that hits with startling force, and that can't be prepared for in advance. The problem is that no amount of advice, forewarning or ready-prepared mental acrobatics can possibly be of any use when you have no capacity to think. And when you lose capacity to think, the pains cry out louder, the distance stretches further, and the process of running seems increasingly more ludicrous with every forwards step.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-4492717198539835022013-04-30T16:16:00.000+01:002013-04-30T16:16:21.206+01:00Marathon Training Week 10I have purposely taken an 'easy' week this week, to follow the previous week's 50 miles, and preceding the impending 21-miler that will come with week 11. It's also been a seriously hectic week with work and my experiment, and I've still not taken a day off in 3 weeks - I'm now totalling at 20 days without a break!! Argh!<br />
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I approached last Sunday's 15-miler with a really strange attitude: "it's only 15 miles", I could hear myself thinking - amazing when I think back to my early running days, and how hard that first 10k was!* This wasn't a good approach, as 11 miles in I was hot and tired, desperate for the 'meagre' 4 miles that I had left to pass as quickly as possible! This was my first run in my new <a href="http://www.vcac.org.uk/">Vegetarian Cycling and AC</a> vest, and I wore it with pride and delight - it really was a lovely sunny day! My tiredness may have been due to that cursed grit around the riverside paths that I had chosen to cover, or the cobbles as I wound around the streets of Gamla Stan, but there is no point finding excuses - I was tired and the running wasn't as good as I'd hoped it would be. My final pace was 9;48 which is perfectly good for the present situation (and faster than I intent to run Windermere), but a better pace would have reflected a better run.<br />
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I decided to go easy on myself for the rest of the week, starting with a lovely slow recovery run on Monday evening. I didn't have much energy for intervals on Tuesday morning - especially since it was the killer 6mins fast: 2mins slow session - but I dragged myself out anyway as the weather was amazing. I was going to trudge around a bit and head home after about 4 miles, but I suddenly got a case of 'Runner's Urge', and took an enthusiastic turn towards my intervals - so much so that I ended up running 7 sets rather than 5, and covering over 7 miles: crazy runners indeed! Wednesday was a much-needed rest day, then I had a wonderful evening run on Thursday which I had to cut short due to pain in what I think might have been my Achilles (noooooo!!). It was a forest run, and was amazing while it lasted, but after 9.5 slow miles I was pleased to arrive home and not bothered about sticking to my schedule in the slightest. I stuck to my hill session on Friday as I wanted to say one last goodbye to the amazing hill that I've been using, but I didn't add any extra miles on to the 10 hill reps, and came home to a well-earned chilli and an early night.<br />
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I covered 39 miles in total, but other than the interval session I would say that this week was not of particularly good quality when it came to pace or even the way I felt. I'm starting to tire of the training now, and am so glad I'm taking a shorter training period than I did last year (12 weeks rather than 16): tapering can not come soon enough! I'm ready for a break, and almost ready for the race, I think, and with only 3 weeks to go this is a good position to be in. I have enjoyed my training so far, but now I remember how utterly consuming marathon training has to be. Daniel keeps telling me to take it easy, or to not push myself too hard, but every time I have the same response: "I'm training for a marathon, I have to push hard!". I guess it comes easy to some people, but not me! This week's focus is on having fun, even if it's an uncomfortable and plodding sort of fun!<br />
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*And 10k is still hard sometimes: I do not want to belittle any sort of distance!Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-80373941735961455532013-04-27T09:17:00.000+01:002013-04-27T09:17:12.483+01:00Nordic Notes #3It turns out that one month isn't long enough to even begin to get to know Stockholm, never mind Sweden, especially since I am now working 7 long days per week in an attempt to try and complete everything that I need to do before returning home on Tuesday. I am looking forward to home, and to setting myself back in motion in York with the new-found knowledge and confidence that I have gained here in Stockholm, but still I am amazed by the quantity of self that one can muster in only four weeks. I decided two weeks ago that it didn't matter what I didn't know, and rather than dwelling on the problems I have encountered I've pushed myself to keep my mind open to the new experiences and lessons that inevitably come with a new place and a new approach. This attitude has helped me to consider my work holistically for the most part (there have been some really difficult days, more of that to come another time, I'm sure), and as a consequence the whole experience has come as an entirety to me: everything has been a lesson in something.<br />
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Four days until I'm back on British soil: how does time pass so quickly? Everything I do now is carried out with my imminent departure in mind: a warm cinnamon bun on a Saturday morning, a strong coffee sweetened with honey rather than my usual latte, listening in to conversations that I can't understand in an attempt to decipher the whimsical prosodies of the Swedish language. I feel as if I'm getting to know Swedish life, and to know the attitudes and habits that come with it. My (painfully British) comments about the rain have been met on numerous occasions by optimism: rain is a sign that the spring has arrived, that the snow has stopped falling, that the summer festival is on its way. Rain is a sign of hope, rather than endless drudgery. <br />
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And the weather has changed the landscape over the past week; I have witnessed the great melting of the world around me from a position of wonderment. The first signs came on the frozen Baltic waters of Edsviken, as a great crack appeared through the centre of the ice, splitting the solid surface in half with a great fault line into the ocean. Then it rained and the world was grey for two days, and as the grey melted into blue on Wednesday the snow seemed to disappear in a moment, leaving piles of grit waiting uselessly by the roadside. Now only a few webs of snow cling on to the shadowed hollows around the water, while crocuses and butterflies veer my gaze from the bare trees.<br />
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Last Saturday I sat by the water and watched the ice as it melted. It's crust dropped off bit-by-bit into the gloomy water, and so the new crust was formed and began to crumble. Even at 5:30 in the afternoon the sun was pleasantly warm on my face, turning the surface of the sheet of ice into a glossy green pool on top of the water. Every day since the ice reduced and has now disappeared completely; when I think back to the runners and skiiers that I saw enjoying the frozen waters only 3 weeks ago it is a comfort to know how the world can change so much in such a short timescale. <br />
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Sweden has left me with a real respect for the humble joy of family life, a love for pine trees and evening birdsong, and an appreciation of endurance and longevity that can be tasted in the breads and pickles and sensed in the Swedish attitude. A huge pile of logs has gathered in the local park, ready for a bonfire on Tuesday to celebrate the start of summer. I'll miss the festivities (typically I am returning to the UK on the biggest celebration day of the Swedish calendar) but will be thinking of the celebrations as my plane lands in the UK: it seems appropriate to mark the end of winter in a festival held around a pyre of warmth and light, maybe something that we should adopt at home to brighten the [inevitable?] grey of our summertime. As I said, I am looking forward to arriving home - especially to a bubble bath and my own bed - but I will certainly miss the positive, bright nature of Sweden: a country with public dog poo bag-dispensers and roadside public bike pumps is one that we can certainly learn from. Brightness, light and warmth have been the resonant themes of this visit, mingled with the scents of coffee and ground cardamom.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-15886812958971202462013-04-22T17:00:00.000+01:002013-04-22T17:00:09.050+01:00Marathon Training Week 9Week 9 was a busy week for running: I covered just over 50 miles in total, which is the maximum I'd want to do in even the best, most energetic week. As it happens this really wasn't the best or the most energetic week, as I was working long hours all 7 days in order to successfully juggle the many exciting things going on with my project at the moment. But after the events in Boston and the emotions that came with it, I felt there was nothing for it but to run. And when I got out there in the blooming spring warmth it was all worth it - most days I ended up feeling better for having been out than I would had I stayed indoors and crashed out!<br />
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On Sunday I headed out for a 20-miler, the second of my Windermere training and the penultimate serious run before the big day. It was warm and sunny, but as I was unsure where I wanted to go exactly I decided to take my backpack again, with an extra warm layer and a waterproof in case I decided to take a route which would require the train home. I ended up in part of the <a href="http://www.nationalstadsparken.se/default.aspx?id=1777">Royal National City Park</a> (which I think might be one of the most amazing things about this city), and did a loop of the Brunnsviken waters with a circuit of the fabulous Hagaparken, which skirts the Western side of the water. I highly recommend this area for visitors wanting to experience some amazing Stockholm running trails! Though it was warm there was still ankle-deep snow in the shade of the trees, so going was tough and a little unsteady in places, but for the most part I was on a high pretty much the whole time. I had some energy gels with me for practise, and took one at 9 miles and another at 15 miles (or at least I thought it was 15 but it turned out to be 14, which was rather demoralising!), but didn't really feel any benefit; I'm still wondering what might be the best approach to fuelling during the marathon as I have never liked gels that much and they don't seem to help hardly at all.<br />
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Come 16 miles I decided to run home again, as the route skirts quite close to the community where I live, so I buckled down and hit the hill rising up to Danderyd, which is a cycle track and so perfectly good to run along. My aim was to get in at under 3.5 hours, and when my Garmin beeped the 20-mile signal I had been running for 3 hours and 28 minutes - perfect! This meant that I was just about at a pace of 10-minute miles, which as my target pace for the race was a little fast for a long training run, but since it was a surprisingly comfortable 3 hours and 28 I could think about upping the speed a bit for race day - we'll see. I had another mile to go until I was home, which meant I'd covered a little more distance than I'd have liked, but since I had to get straight to work when I got back I was happy to mosey along in the sun for an extra 10 minutes! I got back covered in mud from the trails around Brunnsviken and crusted with sweat from the lovely sunshine, so I gulped down a heavenly chocolate recovery shake and had a ridiculously long shower as a treat to myself!<br />
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The rest of the week was good, but hard. I stuck to mainly evening runs as a way to wind down after tiring days, and this worked in my favour energy-wise. A slow 4-miler helped my legs get going again on Monday (though I wasn't particularly sore - maybe I'm getting used to these big distances now), and a painful start early on Tuesday morning became a rather successful interval session - I'm always so pleased to cross these off my training plan, but they are quite fun once I get going. I had a rest day on Wednesday which was enjoyed with a couple of glasses of wine after I gave a talk in the department - marathon training plus low alcohol exposure meant that I was sloshing my words after only a couple of sips, but it was lovely to enjoy a nice glass of wine after so much time without any alcohol. I maximised my rest period by not running again until Thursday evening, which meant I'd had almost 36 hours off running, and since there was such an amazing spring feeling in the air I ran into central Stockholm to soak in the evening - there was a celebratory vibe rising through the city, and I enjoyed the run so much that I took the train home rather than run back and cut my time in the city short, and so I didn't get back until quite late. <br />
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Friday evening came with a killer hill session - the people living on the mountain of a street that I used for this must have thought I was crazy, running up and down and up and down on a Friday night while they were enjoying the start of the weekend, but actually it's a brilliant way to finish the week! Finally, I took a slow 4-miler on Saturday just to uncurl my back from the hours I spent at my desk working (two weekends of working in a row - give me a day off!!), and stopped 3 miles in to sit for a while and watch the ice melt on the waters near my house - it was stunning in the afternoon sunlight, and I'm a great believer in stopping to enjoy the views!<br />
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So, training is going well, but I'm glad that race day is almost here so I can have a bit more time to myself again soon! I'm at the point now where I'm <u>always</u> hungry, which is annoying and can leave me feeling quite down. I'm starting to adapt my eating to match the training that I'm doing, with bigger lunches and larger portions of carbs with every meal, as well as a more liberal approach to snacking. Until now I haven't felt the need to change my eating patterns, but after 5 years of running (has it really been 5 years?!) I'm finally learning to read the signs. I often find myself feeling low the day after a hard run, but with a good injection of sugar and copious wholegrains and proteins after a big training session it is possible to avoid these dips before they start. It all takes practise, though, and I'm still learning!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chocolate recovery shake? Yes please!</span></div>
Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-54809718450836348082013-04-20T06:34:00.000+01:002013-04-20T06:34:11.311+01:00A Simpler LifeOne of the things I've relished most about being in Stockholm for a month is the way it has forced me to strip my life back to its bare bones. I brought two suitcases and my laptop bag along with me, necessarily filling these with winter jumpers, a couple of towels, a set of bedsheets and the books that I'd need to get extra work done while I'm here. That didn't leave much space left over for anything else: enough clothes so that I only need do one load of laundry per week, my running shoes, a couple of bottles of soapy products and my electric toothbrush. Even so, I see now that I could have left more at home, possibly reducing my wares to the one suitcase if I'd had to. If I'd come in summer this would have been no problem.<br />
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The flat where I'm staying is about as basic as you could get. A slab of a bed with a tissue-thin pillow lies against one wall, then there is a desk and chair by the window and a fold-out table with two uncomfortable stools against the opposite wall. The walls are white, the floor is wooden, and the room is lit by a stark strip lighter that hangs from the ceiling in a particularly unhomely way. I have a small kitchenette at one end of the room which comprises two electric hobs, a sink, a fridge, and a small space for preparing food; the wet-room hides behind this, and contains the only mirror that I have access to, placed at forehead-height above the sink.<br />
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Strangely enough, I'm not yet wishing that I were back surrounded by all my belongings, or with endless distractions in the form of books, films, kitchen projects, or anything else. I have access to the radio through my computer, and have been enjoying more Radio 4 programmes than I would listen to at home. My evenings have so far been spent mostly writing and reading, which is just the way I wanted it to be.<br />
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My window faces East and so I wake up early every morning with the sun pushing through the less-than-robust Ikea blinds (I imagine it would be very hard to sleep when living here in midsummer when there is no darkness): thanks to the combination of bright sunlight and my uncomfortable bed I am never asleep beyond 6, and always up by 6:30. This suits me perfectly. I don't have a kettle, so instead I boil up a large pan of water to satisfy my morning tea requirements, and put a pan of oats on to simmer the hob ready for breakfast when I have finished catching up on my emails and the news. Most days I eat breakfast while listening to the Shipping Forecast, which I love, and which seems quite significant as I sit here, miles away from home and feeling a little lost at sea.<br />
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The solitude and simplicity of my flat here in Danderyd makes the trajectory of my day more pleasant and more necessary than it would otherwise be. I am lifted from the quiet by the morning chorus of birdsong, and the world becomes more and more complicated with each step towards the Tunnelbana station: the hoards of people streaming through the one door as I approach is sometimes a shock to my dormant mind, but if nothing else it jerks me awake and ready for the day. The opposite is true in the evenings, when I relish moving away from the hurried excitement of the evening commute back through the increasingly peaceful (bird-filled and car-free) streets of Danderyd.<br />
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Most evenings begin with a run, usually along the waterside which is changing with every forwards step into Spring. Because of this I usually don't eat until quite late, but my evening meals have been so simple that it hasn't bothered me to go to bed soon afterwards. I am limited by what products I can buy, partly due to the high price of food here, and partly due to quantities that I can use before I leave; brown rice and buckwheat provide the substance for most of my meals, teamed with pulses and whatever vegetables I could afford for the week (normally cabbage, mushrooms and carrots and not a lot else!). I chose to buy a pot of garam masala when I first arrived, which flavours many of my evening meals (dhals, rice bowls, soups and curries), while I treat myself to the occasional lime which allows me to create dressings and sauces using salt, ginger, garlic, and honey or peanut butter. At first I found the lack of flavour in my cooking highly unsatisfying, but it didn't take long before I found ways (such as lime juice or salt) to bring out the flavours of my small set of ingredients, and I'm now enjoying being creative within strict limits. As I begin to run my cupboards bare ready for leaving, this is becoming increasingly challenging.<br />
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While I am looking forward to getting back in my kitchen, using my slow cooker, baking bread, and enjoying a good oven-baked pie, I am not wishing away this situation just yet (this may all change next week when my cupboards leave me with only cup-a-soup and oats to work with!). It has been a test of creativity and resilience: I don't find myself weeping into my pillow at night, wishing for something more than my own company and a battered copy of <em>La Nausée</em>, nor have I found myself craving stodge to the point where I have headed down to the pizzeria on the first floor for a large <em>Vegetariana </em>for one. And when it does all get a bit quiet here, I take myself off - either on the Tunnelbana or on a run - to central Stockholm, where everything makes sense again, and where I find myself thinking that I never want to be anywhere else.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Peanut butter rice noodles - a new favourite!</span></div>
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-34682986089947504132013-04-16T16:19:00.000+01:002013-04-16T16:19:00.402+01:00Nordic Notes #2I am writing this on a grey, misty Saturday afternoon. This morning brought the first rain in over two weeks; everything is damp and subdued, and spring seems even further away than it has done over the previous two weeks. <br />
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I spent most of the morning writing an abstract and catching up on some reading for my study. The rain stopped at 3:30 so I took myself outside for some fresh air with a walk along Nora Strand. The snow has started to thaw, and is turning a yellow-grey colour from the stains of rain and roadside pollution; the parks lie empty, the roads are desolate, and it seems that I am the only person in this bleak place. The absence of blue skies makes the world appear to be in black and white; a grey-scale from the sky, through the bare trees and down to the grit on the floor.<br />
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The only warmth is found in the candlelight of candelabras glowing through living room windows, and the smell of woodsmoke, which brings warm memories of family holidays in the mountains and pubs in winter. A month is not a long time to be away, but two weeks is enough to turn an adventure into normality, and today I am homesick for candlelight and warmth and my home which feels further away than ever. Even Radio 4 and Campbell's tomato soup can't fulfil my yearning for redbrick houses, chunky porridge and a slice of carrot cake. <br />
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I do not mind being homesick. I believe that as adults a certain homesickness is something that we constantly live with; surely we are all nostalgic for the comfort of a home that is permanently elsewhere? I am also perfectly happy to be lonely; to a certain extent I thrive in solitude, and find myself at my most peaceful and most creative when my head is echoing from a lack of conversation and company. After a week that flew past in the saccade of a one-year-old's eye (pun intended) it is comforting to find a lonely, quiet space in all of this greyness. The bleakness is also a freedom to not rush out and enjoy anything at all, and to instead stay close to home drinking tea and taking in the first ugly day that I have seen in Stockholm so far. I am certain that the city centre will be as beautiful as it always is, but the painfully slow melting of winter in Danderyd is also worth witnessing, all the while daydreaming about those snippets of home that usually I wouldn't care to notice. The grit and the grey bring a refreshing shift in perspective.<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-44976297657575813892013-04-14T07:37:00.000+01:002013-04-14T07:37:03.012+01:00Marathon Training Week 8I woke to heavy snow last Sunday, and all my plans for shorts-and-tshirt running (as I had done the day before) wobbled uncertainly, and I spent too much time dithering around what to wear, what to take, what route to run. Not a good state to be in before 3 hours of running.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow!</td></tr>
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In the end I opted for the backpack option again, and was glad I did. The snow kept on coming for another hour or so, but once it had passed the sun was bright and warm, and I did eventually get to run in shorts and a tshirt! This wasn't before slip-sliding around on the newly re-frozen ground, though, and at one point I lost control completely and splatted hard onto a sheet of slippery frozen pavement! The run involved a little too much getting lost, and much too much stopping and starting as I tried to orientate myself towards the city centre. Having my backpack meant I could run into central Stockholm and then get the train back, but I had to prepare sufficiently for the ride home, with a snack, some extra money and some warm layers packed into my bag.<br />
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Once I got past the university campus it was plain sailing. I arrived in the city and got straight onto Birger Jarlsgatan, which is probably Stockholm's answer to Oxford Street, only cleaner, more spacious and less high-street-ish. After 9 miles or so of quite unenjoyable running, I was finally having a great time: the bells were ringing out, the streets were just waking up, and the day was just starting to blossom in Stockholm city. I ran past boutiques, glossy windows filled with designer clothing, and an amazing bridal shop which I managed to run past without stopping to go in first! From there I crossed over Gamla Stan and onto <span style="color: black;">Södermalm, by which point the sun was out and I was really on track for a good finishing time. I spotted a large group of runners and decided to follow them for fun: it turned out to be a group of runners called 28x2 (28 pairs of runners, so a 2-by-2 group of 56), and I ran with them for a while, turning some of their pairs into threes as I passed. I was planning to stick with them for a while to help me get through the last 7 miles, but I soon took over (hurrah!) and finished my circuit of the island alone. It was a great last few miles, and though I was tired, sore and desperate to get back home and spend the day relaxing, I felt quite resilient. One problem was that I didn't practise with my energy gels, as I had planned to do; it's getting to the point now where I need to start using them so that they don't shock my system on the marathon itself, but I'm always worried they'll bring about some unexpected side effects! Even so, I arrived back at Gamla Stan Tunnelbana after 3 hours and 5 minutes of running, so I was just over my planned pace of 10-minute miles - I was delighted! I warmed down in the alcove just inside the station, and got some funny looks from passing tourists and travellers, and as I wandered the station in a daze a man hurried over to me to ask why on earth I was wearing shorts and a tshirt on a snowy day. I laughed and told him I'd run a long way so I was warm, but he didn't believe I could have run that far...!</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">The rest of the week went pretty much to plan running-wise, though I had to take Monday's recovery run on Tuesday as I was just too busy to fit it in. I had a good interval session, and despite <u>dreading</u> my 9-mile longer run on Thursday, I got home feeling so grateful for having pushed myself to go out. My schedule is exhausting at the moment even without the marathon training, so I've found myself feeling half-hearted about running more often than I would like. With this in mind, I'm proud of myself for pushing through, while also trying to stay mindful of the fact that it's ok to stay at home for an extra rest day if I want to: the aim for this schedule was always quality over quantity, and that remains at the forefront of my mind. That being said, Friday's hill session wasn't particularly high-quality, as running up hills in the horrible grit is exhausting and tough. A 48 mile week isn't bad, though, and a much-needed rest day on Saturday means I'm keen to get out there again today!</span><br />
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<br />Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-5567788540553735682013-04-12T20:34:00.000+01:002013-04-12T20:34:19.000+01:00Experimenting With Eye-TrackingIt seems an age ago now that I was sitting in a Cuban restaurant in downtown Stockholm with my supervisors discussing a workshop I'd attended on eye-tracking with the <a href="http://www.hf.uio.no/iln/english/research/networks/norphlex/">NorPhLex</a> group. Over a delicious glass of Chardonnay and the most colourful coconut risotto I threw out a suggestion from the very top of my head: "I mean, it'd be great to test how infants respond to cross-linguistic onomatopoeia, I reckon". I still remember the look on their faces: delight mixed with regret that it couldn't be done back in York. Five months later I'm back in Stockholm, using that very same eye-tracker that I was using on that day, and carrying out a metamorphosed version of that very experiment that I suggested over Chardonnay and risotto that evening in Stockholm.<br />
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Eye-tracking basically involves displaying words on a screen (with accompanying audio, in my case) and using infra red to trace participants' eye movements and fixations throughout. These are then stored as data in a nice cushy analysis software, which will generate reaction times, p values, averages, the lot. The technique can be used in myriad fields: marketing, (neuro)psychology, medicine, media, cognition, development and linguistics, and is easy to manipulate to different audiences as you can display pretty much any kind of media on there. I believe you can even track the eye movements of animals, but seeing how hard it is to get one-year-olds to focus for 3 minutes and 49 seconds, I imagine that calibrating a dog's eyes is only for those with the most solid determination.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only all my participants would behave like this.</td></tr>
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Conjuring up my own experiment has been a long and pernickety process, very much in the vein of 'one step forwards, two steps back'. Still, having nurtured this project from the tiny seedling of an idea that it was has been one of the most exciting things I've ever done, and seeing it out there in real life, with real participants, is a little bit of a geeky dream come true. Until now I've always worked with databases, using information gathered by others to come up with my own analyses and ideas. This works fine, and it makes me tick in ways that nothing else ever has (I kind of think that I was made for data analysis), but I have felt like a bit of a fraud since starting my PhD, having had the initial intention to ride on other people's hard graft to generate my own results. I work with babies in theory, but in practise I hadn't seen a single baby until Wednesday, when my first participant rolled up in his pushchair, enthusiastic mother in tow.<br />
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Running an experiment that is my own has given me the taste of project management that you don't often get in the workplace: the investment, wholeheartedness and obsessive pernicketyness is on a whole new level, and the sense of ownership is both scary and magical. Luckily for me, I am working with a team of PhD students who are astoundingly excellent, and they have shown me the ropes while also respecting the fact that the experiment is completely mine. I have learnt a whole world of new skills and knowledge in only 2 weeks, from input statistics to basic coding to rudimentary Swedish and essential childcare methods. Without them I would have (and just about did) flounder at the first hurdle, and even as I lead the project in its reality, I am still learning from them with each participant that comes my way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testing, testing...</td></tr>
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The biggest challenge in using eye-tracking with one-year-olds is the one-year-olds. They are all so different, and all so excited by every small thing that happens within the realms of their five senses. It hasn't helped that I am a complete novice with infants; an awkward and rather hesitant Englishwoman whose Swedish is questionable even to those who have not yet learnt to speak it. At first I wasn't convinced that they would even look at my experiment, never mind give me enough data to use in the paper that I hope to write once I've finished here. But they do, they really do look, and they really do respond in the way that one would hope they would respond. It's not consistent or focused, but it's natural and it allows a sight into the developing mind of an infant that can't be found in even the most magnificently detailed database (even <a href="http://www.ted.com/speakers/deb_roy.html">Deb Roy</a>'s amazing approach doesn't provide details about pre-speech understanding on the input level). Plenty of people out there snub any sort of generated experimental data, believing it to take away from the natural process of language production/perception, but there are always going to be limits in research, and if we want understanding I think we have to be prepared to reach those limits, and considering the potential impurity of the results is part of our jobs as researchers.<br />
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So I am excited to be using eye-tracking. I'm excited to see my idea come to life, to have results as a result of my idea, and to lead something that will eventually (I hope) lead me. It's kind of fun working with babies too, as some of them are delightful, but I think it will take a lot of time for me to come round to being comfortable with them. To me, infants are exclusively interesting, and I'm not really bothered about studying adult language at all, so career-wise it has come as a rite of passage to actually work with real-life language learners. Whether or not this will translate into a full-blown turn from databases towards lab work I do not know; seven participants in and I can see that there is nothing less predictable than a one-year-old in an unfamiliar setting. I guess that if I liked predictable then I wouldn't have ever considered a return to academia. It has certainly been a challenging couple of weeks, with organising, setting up, arranging appointments (with thanks to my very helpful Swedish research assistant!), greeting, explaining, playing, distracting, analysing and endless processes of learning and re-thinking, but I feel a little bit stronger and a little bit smarter and oh so in need of a glass of wine!Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-40340483686306906342013-04-09T20:45:00.001+01:002013-04-10T17:45:47.720+01:00Nordic Notes #1Having spent most of my life on the outskirts (at best) of fitting in anywhere, it has come as a pleasant an highly unfamiliar surprise to find myself feeling completely at home here in Stockholm. I was taken by the place back in November, when the air was thick with damp mist and the daylight was fleeting and ungenerous, but now I see Stockholm under endless blue skies and in copious amounts of daylight my initial excitement has swollen to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed wonder at how good a place can be.<br />
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I am obsessed with the way the light sparkles through the trees, and the sound that the birds make which is so much louder and more robust than at home. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm in a capital city, because most of the time I just can't tell: I walk to the Tunnelbana in the mornings and back in the evenings, and hardly see a single car. The birdsong is the loudest - and sometimes the only - thing I can hear, and the soul obstacle blocking the light from my eyes is the clusters of lanky trees hinting at the thick forests that are only a couple of miles from here. I can't help but stop when out running in the mornings to look out over the water that is frozen into a thick white slab of stillness. Maybe that's why everything feels so peaceful: nothing is moving because nothing is able to move. Streams of ice are frozen to the pavements, as if they were stopped in mid-flow by a curtain of winter.<br />
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Finally this curtain seems to be lifting (despite some recent flurries of snow), but it has left its mark in the inches of hard grit which has already worn down my boots, and the shafts of solid ice that stand foot-deep at the edges of the pavements. People sit in the midday sun, faces turned to the sky, eyes closed as if hypnotised by the light. Like rainfall after a drought, people drink in the sunlight - you can almost see them quenching their thirst as you pass, and it seems it would be rude to disturb them, or to join them, in their silent annual ritual. <br />
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Stockholm is a good place to be alone. It seems as if it could be a city built for loners, and meandering silently through the tangle of streets and islands is a perfect way to spend some time - you will always bump in to countless other people doing the same. Commuters, runners and other passers by keep themselves to themselves - there is no nod or smile, no runners' code, no polite commuter conversation - but it isn't a hostile silence; possibly the individual's sense of the individual, instead. <br />
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And it really is individual. Rather than feeling inelegant or unfashionable in my fleece and Dr Martens, I am perfectly comfortable to be as scruffy as I please. The majority also appear to be wearing DMs, and while there is a definite sense of Scandinavian style parading the platforms of the Universiteit Tunnelbana station, it is neither arrogant nor scripted: less 'us and them', less vanity, less garishness, less pretention. <br />
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So far I am besotted with this place, and having a brilliant time working at Stockholm University; I can't help but feel that a month is not long enough. Certainly, I won't be able to know Stockholm as much as I would like in this time, though I am trying. For now I am allowing myself to stop and stare, to not rush, and to wander on my own as aimlessly and as often as I can. Maybe I'll be back again one day, but I want to take it all in now, just in case.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-26129436314121067172013-04-06T16:57:00.001+01:002013-04-06T16:57:17.876+01:00Marathon Training Week 7I've covered 45 miles of Stockholm's pavements this week, trying each day to become a little more familiar with my new surroundings without daring too much of the unknown in one go. I'm getting there, only slower than I'd like.<br />
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On Easter Monday, after seeing Daniel off to the airport, I took off from T-Centralen for my first 20-miler of my Windermere 2013 schedule. It was freezing, possibly the coldest weather I'd ever run in, and I was grateful for my jacket and scarf which I kept on for the first 2 miles before stuffing them into my backpack. I've run with a backpack on a couple of occasions in the past but never more than a few miles, so I was nervous about having it with me even though it was necessary. It was fine, though, and I ceased to notice it after a while, even though it was packed full with my warm layers from our early start!<br />
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My plan was to run around two islands - <span style="color: black;">Södermalm and </span><a class="l" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Djurg%C3%A5rden"><span style="color: black;">Djurgården </span></a>- before getting back onto the main island and running home via the University. I immediately went wrong and found myself on the beautiful island of Kungsholmen, which I had never visited before, so I ran around the edge of this island instead, sticking to the gorgeous waterside paths as much as I could, with wonderful views out towards the Swedish mainland. I ran through the beautiful Stadshus (City Hall), too, which was a treat! I must go back when I'm not on a run to explore it further.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stockholm's Stadshus</td></tr>
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After encircling Kungsholmen I returned to my original plan and headed along the long quayside towards <span style="color: black;">Djurgården</span>. There was so much to see here and such lovely views across the waters that I didn't need to worry about mileage - the distance was a sideline to a great morning exploring Stockholm. I was looking forward to running around <a class="l" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Djurg%C3%A5rden"><span style="color: black;">Djurgården</span></a>, too, which I'd wanted to do since I visited back in November and saw so many runners there taking in the scenery. It proved to be much harder than I'd liked, though, as all of the footpaths were drowned in an inch of thick, uncomfortable pebbled grit. It got in my shoes, provided an uncomfortable landing with each step, and took double the energy that running on solid footpaths usually takes. I started to get tired really quickly, and there was still another 9 miles to go. The island is also much bigger than I'd realised, and every corner I turned presented more of the same footpaths, going on for miles ahead! I was starting to feel really fed up and uncomfortable, with sore knees from all the grit - I haven't had knee pain in years, and I started to get incredibly anxious about getting an injury. Rather than enjoying the run I decided to stay focused on the miles, working towards the distance one mile at a time and not thinking about the 6, 5, 4 miles that I still had to go. I arrived at the University at mile 18, and I knew that there was no way I'd be home by mile 20, as it's 3 miles away even without getting lost (which was inevitable given the state of my mind by that point). Instead I finished the run with a loop around the gorgeous campus, which was comparatively grit-free, and I even found some energy from somewhere to get my speed up a bit. My Garmin finally beeped that 20th mile and I could have cried with relief - I was cold and so so tired, desperate to get home and shower the horrid dust away. It had taken me 45 minutes longer to run 20 miles than it had to run 18 miles in high winds the previous week, which is a reflection of how agonising the whole ordeal was. I warmed down outside the underground entrance, my legs shaking like mad now I'd finally stopped. I got on the train and got myself a flapjack from my bag, and two minutes later realised I was going in the wrong direction! I got off, got on another train, and proceeded to enjoy my flapjack and the sense of elation from the huge achievement I'd just endured, all the while cursing myself for prolonging the journey so stupidly!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The regal grandeur of </span><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;">Djurgården - lovely except for the grit!</span></div>
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Over the next couple of days I really felt the after-effects of those miles, and struggled along on a 4-mile recovery run on Tuesday, and then an interval session which was almost pointless on Wednesday. The grit where I live is even worse than in the city, and my feet were so sore and swollen from the terrain, as well as my knees still giving me angst. After two whole days' rest I was feeling much more optimistic for my longer run on Friday, and had a quick half-banana before I set off into the early morning sunshine with directions in my back pocket. I was enjoying the run, and enjoying having some energy at last, but as I got to 5 miles I suddenly doubted my directions completely - I was running somewhere completely new, and turning right instead of left could be a big mistake when I didn't know where I was going. Rather than follow my directions (which said to go right) or my instinct (which said left) I turned back and went back the way I came - 10.5 miles on half a banana was not good, but it was probably better than ending up in Norway thanks to an early-morning cartography error. I got to the end with some discomfort, but my spirits remained high, especially since I found out that the council have started to remove the grit now that winter is over. <br />
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Thankfully I ended the week on a high, with a gorgeous waterside run this morning - wearing shorts and no extra top layer, to boot - which included 12 hill sprints, taken on a nice gentle, grit-free hill near the waterfront. I enjoyed every step in the morning sunshine, until I got lost again and panicked that I might never get back. Luckily I was right to trust my nose in this case, which took me back home for a gorgeous Saturday lunch of poached eggs, malt bread and a big bowl of cous cous (I am carbo loading, after all!), enjoyed while catching up with Any Questions on Radio 4. Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-91508304312680818312013-04-02T16:09:00.000+01:002013-04-02T16:09:00.605+01:00The Long Weekend of PlentyDaniel's train pulled out of the station at 8:35am on Easter Monday, and as the lights disappeared from view around the corner I stopped being on holiday and landed instead in the middle of an unfamiliar city completely on my own. I stood for a minute on the platform, completely at a loss with what to do next, where to go, how to be in a place where I know almost nobody, where almost nobody knows me. Luckily I had come prepared: I was wearing my running gear, and was carrying energy gels and drink in my bag, so, naturally, I went for a 20-mile run around Stockholm to soak up the last of the Easter sunshine, and to indulge myself completely in every newly-hatched memory from the wonderful four days behind me.<br />
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Normally I get no more than 3-4 waking hours with Daniel every day, but still I couldn't get enough of his company this weekend, with every waking hour spent mostly walking and chatting, while sleeping hours were intermittent, disturbed by the familiar discomfort of squeezing two full-sized people into one very small single bed.<br />
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We got to know Stockholm from its gloriously wide boulevards and sweeping waterside walks, wandering around the islands hand-in-hand, taking photos and getting increasingly excited with each stunning view that appeared around the next corner (and there were many). I'm living right on the edge of the main city area, on the last stop on the underground heading northeast, and there are some stunning waterside footpaths and forest trails right on my doorstep. Much of the water around Stockholm is still frozen solid, and you can hear deep groans from way beneath the surface of the ice as it begins to pull apart in the relative warmth of the impending springtime. On a chilly morning run we climbed up to a viewpoint and watched and listened for a while, taking in the foreign landscape, the moaning of the ice's underbelly, and the freshness of the air.<br />
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We slept in and breakfasted late, lunched on lingenberry bread and cinnamon buns with strong Swedish coffee, wandered the modern art gallery, wrapped up from the freezing temperatures (which came as a shock to us even after the recent British weather), ate the perfect late-night pizza, tucked up with a film and desperately weak cider, soaked in the sunshine on a waterside terrace and ate crisp sandwiches in the snow. But mainly we walked and walked and walked for miles, and talked constantly about everything that exists between us: the past, the present that we're building together in York, and now the future too, which is ours to share. I explained again my views on language acquisition (the theories of which are difficult for a literature graduate to grasp, it appears), while he told stories of travelling in Colombia and Ecuador - stories that I love to hear time and time again (mainly because I often forget what the stories are about).<br />
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It was an Easter weekend almost free of chocolate, free of the celebrations that are going on worldwide that I never feel quite right taking part in. The treat instead was being together so completely for a blissful four days, being on holiday while also being on an important working mission of my own. We finished off the mini-holiday with a slap-up meal at a vegetarian all-you-can-eat buffet, looking out onto the most famous Stockholm views. While walking back to my flat, full of good food, numerous refills of Yogi tea and talk of our up-coming wedding and the amazing year behind us, I was struck again by how abundant life is, and how responsible I need to be in taking it and drinking it in as completely as I can. The emptiness that currently has hold of every cell in my body is also the most wonderful fullness that I could ever wish to have: the missing is part of the having, part of the lucky happenstance that it is simply not possible to have all of the joy all at the same time. The space that has been left by Daniel's absence, by the home that is waiting for me back in York, by the exciting parties, weddings and hen dos that I'll be missing out on while I'm here; this is surely important space to fill with Stockholm, with Swedish cinnamon buns, with long walks or runs by the melting Baltic waters, and with the exciting project which I have come here to do. I feel as if this might be a second (or third?) chance at grasping something a little bit scary and making it something completely awesome. Hindsight is to be taken with a pinch of salt at the best of times, but it isn't often that we get to act upon that hindsight and make it count. I'm fuelled up on joy and cinnamon buns, and about ready to start my month of Stockholm.<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-43936527792156801662013-03-31T11:04:00.000+01:002013-03-31T11:04:08.960+01:00Marathon Training Week 6: Wind and StockholmIt has been an especially good running week, all things considered. I can't believe that it was only a week ago that I set out early, wrapped up in my warmest chill-proof gear for an 18-mile run in sharp, slicing winter winds. I decided to take a chance and do the run in my new shoes, having tested them out on a 10-miler the previous week. I was nervous, and doubting why I'd ever even signed up to do another marathon when the last one was so hard, and the training so all-consuming. After a lovely lazy Saturday I wanted so much to be still wrapped up in bed, hiding away at home from the extended winter that is on the forefront of every British person's mind at the moment.<br />
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I ran through Copmanthorpe and from there decided to take a route I'd never ventured before, through the village of Askham Bryan and then back into the city via Acomb. This was partly tactical - the less familiar the route, the less I had to think about the wind and the distance - and partly because this would be my last long run in York before the marathon, and I wanted to explore a few more new roads rather than sticking to the ones I already run on every day. As it would happen, Askham Bryan is one of the most charming places I've seen for a while, with the tiniest church, rows of crooked cottages, and a huge duck pond were bundles of small children wrapped up against the cold were feeding the ducks with their parents. It was a joy to run through the village, envisioning what life might be like if we one day decided to move out here and take on one of the ramshackle houses for ourselves. The route was easy to follow and it wasn't long before I'd racked up 10 miles, but the weather was getting worse and the winds were becoming unbearable. I didn't even bother to look at my Garmin - I just wanted to plough unthinkingly forwards and get home to a sugary cup of tea as soon as possible! At times the wind was screaming right in my face, making it difficult to even move forwards, never mind run. But once I was back on familiar territory at 13 miles I knew I had no choice but to keep going - my route was good, at least, and there were plenty of other runners (probably also training for marathons, I guessed, since no one else would be crazy enough to be out in those conditions!) to grimace at as we crossed paths. Whether out of desperation to get home or recklessness in the face of awful conditions, I found myself speeding up in the last few miles: a welcome energy boost had appeared from nowhere to help me through the breeze blocks of tiredness and freezing wind. <br />
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I arrived home aching in that sickly sort of way that comes with high mileage - everything hurt, but my lower back and calves in particular were screaming out, helped on by wind burn on my face and sharp pains in my lungs. According to my Garmin I had made the 18-mile route in 10-minute miles, which I still can't quite believe since I was almost walking into the wind at certain points. It did give me a real boost though, since I hadn't crawled the last mile either, but had found plenty of energy to finish the run the same way I'd finish any short run - with enough energy to get up and do it all again the next day.<br />
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And that I did, with a nice short recovery run on the Monday. It was supposed to be a slow one, but somehow that didn't feel natural to me so I stuck to my normal gentle running pace and didn't worry about looking at my watch. After a longer run on Tuesday I'd stacked up 30 miles in 3 days, but was still feeling good despite being incredibly busy and unable to sleep thanks to nerves over the impending move to Sweden.<br />
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After two days off during which I rested and then travelled to Stockholm, Daniel and I had a fabulous run around the island of Sodermalm on Good Friday morning. It is much colder and icier in Sweden than it was when I left the UK, but the sun is shining and everything feels so relaxed and spring-like - the streets were calling out to be run on! We mistakenly had a huuuge breakfast at the hotel buffet before we set out, so we took it easy, and even stopped to sit by the frozen water for a little while and balk at the people walking their dog on the ice!<br />
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The next morning I was all moved in to my new flat, so we set off before breakfast this time, not wanting to make the same mistake of the previous day's regurgitated eggs and yoghurt. We ran out by the nearby water through a forest (wow I am so lucky, it's like the Scandinavian dream here in Danderyd), then tied in a hill session before heading back to the flat. There are some marvellous hills right on my doorstep, so I did 10 uphill repeats, up to the Swedish flag in someone's garden and then right the way back down. Thanks to the layers of grit covering the roads at the moment it's not particularly easy underfoot, but the hill is steeper and anything I could use in York: you win some, you lose some, I suppose!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Ok, it looks steeper in real life!</span></div>
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I surprised myself on various levels this week, first with the ease of the incredibly difficult long run, then by the continuing energy over the next few days, and finally by managing to rack up over 40 miles during a week of serious upheaval. I'm already looking forward to tomorrow's 20-miler and the coming weeks of exploring this lovely place!<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-13646616369271658732013-03-26T12:00:00.000+00:002013-03-26T12:00:08.589+00:00A Few Stern Thoughts on MarriageObviously, I've been thinking a <em>lot</em> about marriage lately. About what it means for me, for us, for the future; both the good things and the bad things, and I think there are numerous of each. For a while I didn't want to get married at all, <em>ever</em>; I wasn't prepared to take part in an institution that didn't accept all humans as equal, and I don't and never have considered marriage to be a pre-requisite of anything, or proof of the validity of any relationship.<br />
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I felt, and still do feel, that a wedding and a marriage are two almost separate things. Having been engaged for over a year now I can confirm that my worst preconceptions about weddings are in fact truths: weddings are about women, not men; they appear to be designed to play to the most traditional and repressive stereotypes that exist between the sexes, and women seem to love it. There are no bows on our invites, which has caused a stir in a way that truly terrifies me; ours will be a wedding free of all the sentimental feminine cliché: no bows, no love hearts, and no pink roses. There will, however, be an off-white (oyster?) dress, I will walk down the aisle by my father, and I will - probably - shave my legs for the occasion. I was originally planning to wear a green dress and for us to come into the ceremony together - as a couple, the way we plan to spend our married lives, incidentally - but having picked apart every traditional aspect of the wedding day itself, I have settled for those traditions that can actually mean something to me. Because let's not pretend that a woman is walked down the aisle by her father as a symbol of ownership and a dowry trade-off; in 2013 I think we can safely assume that the father is not playing any symbolic role, but is actually just supporting his daughter in one of the most important commitments she will make. Personally I'm looking forward to that precious few minutes with my Dad, linking his arm for maybe the first time ever, and knowing that the whole gesture is probably just as emotional for him as it will be for me. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In my Mum's wedding dress. One of the many weddingy things I've encountered that just wasn't 'me'!</td></tr>
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So I have tried really hard not to lose sight of the fact that my wedding day is about a commitment, one I will be making with every inch of my being, and not about the guest list or the invites or the table decorations. It's been hard when faced with dozens of enthusiastic sales people, all trying to sell me the most beautiful and traditional wedding a woman could ever dream of. In the midst of all of this a friend confided that the parts of the day she remembers the most - and the parts she found to be the most emotional - were the vows and her husband's speech: that is, the <em>words</em> she and her now-husband exchanged, most notably those words that made the essential commitment to their lives together. So far this is the single most important piece of knowledge that any married person has shared about their day, and I've kept it solidly in mind for the duration of our planning so far.<br />
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I've found myself fiercely defending our choice to get married, both to those who are outwardly cynical about the whole idea, as well as to those who I suspect may be cynics of lifelong commitment. We were recently at a neighbour's party where almost every other guest was divorced, and we were both self-conscious about our perceived naivety among the crowds of knowing hindsight. But still I defend our decision to get married, completely and whole-heartedly, and I believe that we have a right to the optimism that we share in these earliest years of our relationship. Without optimism that it's all going to work out - that we'll still be madly in love in 50 years' time, let's say - then what do we have? What is there without hope and good intention? That's not an existence that I want to be involved in, anyway.<br />
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The defining moment in my continuous dialogue with myself about my feelings towards marriage was on the train to Leeds after work one day. The journey was an extension of the Carlisle-Settle line, and there would often be day-trippers travelling back to Leeds armed with a flask of tea, some scones and a guide book on the treasured route that the train takes, which shows off much of the North's most incredible scenery from the comfort and warmth of a train carriage. An old couple, probably in their 70s, were sitting together with their flask, not talking much but occasionally pointing out of the window at something noteworthy. When the train began to pull in to Leeds the man got up, brought the coats and bags down from the overhead rack, and then helped his wife into her coat before they painstakingly made their way to the door. It was then that I saw the importance (to me) of marriage, the idea of lifelong love, but more importantly friendship, that we will inevitably need more and more as time goes on. When my Gran was in a nursing home she said that her biggest regret was not realising until it was too late that her husband was her best friend. Luckily for me, I've already realised what an amazing friendship Daniel and I share, and I intend to take this on into the best and worst bits of my life to come.<br />
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So I'm having a lot of thoughts about marriage. And about the wedding too, which I am getting increasingly more excited about as time goes on. But already I feel a change in myself, as I see Daniel as the person I'll be sharing forever with and not just the other half of my relationship. We're a team now, and I stop and remind myself of that each time I find myself snapping or getting impatient with him: dealing with disagreements has become almost a pleasure, as we wind our way through the complicated dealings of life together. My journey to my wedding day has already been a long one, and the decision to leave the bows from the invites was just one of the many superficial choices we have made in an effort to signify what the day is about for us (not just for me). But I'm paying a great deal of attention to the words, because somehow we have to make an out loud commitment to something that is becoming more and more deeply routed inside us with every day we share together - as I said to Daniel after he proposed, the commitment has already been made, and now we get to find a way to make it outward-facing, with all of the optimism and wonder that lies between us.Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-73081445910641720102013-03-23T19:51:00.000+00:002013-03-23T19:51:53.681+00:00Cartmel Sticky Toffee Trail Race, 2013<em>Marathon training is still going strong, but after a hard 50-mile week last week I'm having a bit of an easy week this - I need to save my energy for moving to Stockholm on Thursday! I'll get back to some training updates soon, but for now here is just a highlight of my recent running exploits!</em><br />
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Every Christmas morning my Dad presents us all with a white envelope containing some form of adventure that he has carefully selected, with the intention of pushing us to our limits in the name of a good family day out. For my Mum, these white envelopes have become an annual burden, and she makes sure that at least one G&T has been consumed before she dare face what horror might be folded into a simple A5 envelope. In the past we've tried out Honsiter's <a href="http://www.honister-slate-mine.co.uk/via_ferrata_at_honister.asp">Via Ferrata</a> (which, sadly, has since closed) and Keswick Half Marathon (my Mum did the York 10k), and last Christmas we were treated to the Cartmel Sticky Toffee Trail Race, one leg of the amazing <a href="http://www.lakelandtrails.org/">Lakeland Trails</a> running experience. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above Honister Pass, August 2011</td></tr>
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The Lakeland Trails events are divided into four races: a junior fun run, a 10k race, and then the Challenge and the Race. Runners doing the Challenge get an extra hour to complete the run than those in the Race, where time is cut off after 2;45. Normally this would be plenty of time for an 18k road race, but what with the mud and the hills and the cold nothing could be certain!<br />
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We arrived at Cartmel with only an hour to spare, and were already muddy within minutes after picking up our numbers from the mud bath that was race registration! The weather had been awful over the days before the race, and it was a given that the run was going to be incredibly difficult underfoot: even the start line was more like a bog than a racecourse! It was <em>really</em> cold out, too, but after a trial jog around the racecourse in my shorts I decided to stick with the 'less is more' approach to racewear; nothing is more waterproof or washable than skin, after all!<br />
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At the start line I began to get really nervous - a big case of the 'everyone looks fitter than me' syndrome amplified by the fact that there were so few people taking part in the Race. As is often the case with trail and fell running, I also noticed that (apart from my brother) I was probably the youngest there: small fry in all respects! The atmosphere at the Lakeland Trails events is just fantastic, though, and the drumming band and friendly crowd lifted my spirits, as did the sudden bout of unexpected impotence from the inflatable 'Start' banner, which delayed proceedings slightly. We finally set off through a sea of mud, and it was heavy going instantly as my shoes sunk in to the ground and came up heavy with sticky soil. On top of the general struggle to stand upright and wade forwards, I was also tired from a week of lots of running, so my pre-race nerves were at an ultimate high. <br />
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As usual, though, it didn't take long for me to forget everything other than the awesomeness that was the very moment I was in. The sky had started to clear and the scenery was magnificent - sunlight was strewn across the water of Morcambe Bay to the West, and the snow-topped Lakeland fells loomed to the East, and there I was running through the mud in the chilly March sunshine. The bottom half of my legs were covered in mud from the outset, which meant I was automatically set free into a muddy carelessness that meant I could tractor along with the un-matched freedom that comes with off-road running. I was also exceptionally happy with the shoes I was wearing, as I had taken a risk wearing them for their first run on an 18k race after my trusty trail shoes gave up the ghost only two weeks before. No blisters: it all adds to the joy!<br />
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The hills weren't too bad on this run either, and they gave me an opportunity to take over a few runners who had set off faster than me only to falter on the hills. I was bounding along completely alone for some miles, with only paper flags and the occasional marshal to point me in the right direction. While crossing one particularly muddy patch of fell I slid sidewards right into the mud, covering hands, thigh, and the whole left-side of my shorts in mud. The landing was deliciously soft, and part of me wanted to stay there for a while to frolic in the dirt, but with the cut-off time near the front of my mind I ploughed on.<br />
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At around 12k I started to tire, as almost every step became an effort as the ground sank beneath me. Parts of the course involved ploughing ankle-deep for some distance, and uphills were a relentless struggle to stop sliding back down again - it became pretty annoying! My back was hurting from the constant need to keep my balance, the sun was right in my face (my sunglasses were left in the car, incidentally!), and I was <em>really</em> hungry. Still, I was having a great time, always amazed by the privilege of being able to run like a mad woman through the Lake District's most beautiful landscapes on a Saturday afternoon. <br />
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A photographer was waiting at the last mile to take photos of runners splashing through a stream, which would have been a nice way to wash myself down if it wasn't for the final mile of mud! It soothed my poor feet, though, and freshened up my legs for the last push. After a slippery ascent into and then through some tricky woodland terrain (my Dad had warned me about the slimy tree roots, which are a nightmare when you're tired from running) I came back down onto Cartmel racecourse, and headed towards the finish line which was literally a brown bog. Finishing the race knee-deep in filth was fitting, and I was glad to see that my Dad and brother were just as muddy as I was. I collected my hard-earned sticky toffee pudding, then wrapped up in the car with a hot chocolate and a cereal bar. Next time I won't forget to pack baby wipes.<br />
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We finished off the day in typical style: my Mum had prepared a slap-up meal of veggie chilli, garlic bread and rice, with crumble and sliceable custard for pudding. Fittingly, I reached the end of the day feeling Christmas levels of fullness, but the wind burn, grazes and dirt in my toenails were a nice reminder of the adventure we'd enjoyed earlier that day.<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-41092183897728747292013-03-13T08:18:00.000+00:002013-03-13T08:18:15.903+00:00Wedding Planning and Me: the Unlikely DuoIt's been a year now since we got engaged. Amazing to think of that startlingly sunny day, the daffodils out and the sun warm on our skin during a picnic lunch, when it is still so bitingly cold outside this year. Every time I think back to that weekend I get a pang in my stomach of enduring joy and also sadness that it's over; back then I was naïve to the inevitable trials and stresses of planning a wedding, and the tears and questions that it would bring!<br />
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I've been purposely quiet about our wedding plans over the past six months. After being a guest at the most wonderful wedding of one of my closest friends in November I realise how powerful a wedding day can be when the details are kept secret between the bride and groom. I want to keep it all to myself until September, but at the same time I'm bursting with impatience, wanting to tell everyone about the tiniest details that I have planned, should they go unnoticed in the bigger picture of our wedding day.<br />
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The amazing thing about a wedding (and I want to point out how separate the ideas of 'wedding' and 'marriage' are to me here: in no way am I ignorant to the fact that a wedding is, in its entirety, about marriage) is that it's about making an internal vision come to life. I know some people have their weddings planned from 'being a little girl' (Yuck. Since when was the wedding just a female institution?), but for me this wasn't the case: Daniel and I each took some time to think about our ideal wedding, then put the ideas together to make a picture of what we wanted. Over time this picture has developed and changed quite dramatically, and what we have now resembles only very<em> </em>basically what we originally came up with. A lot of the process has been about compromise; I wanted a very small wedding with only our nearest and dearest, but we are now planning for around 80 guests thanks to the sheer number of wonderful people in our lives!<br />
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And those wonderful people have been the best part of the process so far. I finished off the first of our wedding invitations yesterday, and there it was in front of me: exactly what I had imagined our invites would be like so many months ago. Thanks to artist friends and seamstress friends and gardening friends and countless other friends, we're getting something that resembles <em>exactly</em> what we want. How often does that happen?<br />
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I'm also enjoying the thought processes behind everything; the parts that people really won't see, but that I can enjoy knowing that we've done everything we can to make the day represent the values that we share. I could talk about the wedding food here (which has been considered (and tasted) in the most careful detail), but I want to keep that quiet until the day, when I'm hoping that even I will have forgotten how glorious it will be. From sourcing paper for the invites to re-using materials for stationary, from determining what we'll eat and drink on the day to creating the perfect wedding dress and flowers: everything is thought out, the result of careful discussion and decision, research and creativity. I'm not planning to have the 'perfect' wedding (the notion of perfect simply doesn't exist in the lexicon of my life), which takes the pressure off and makes the whole thing so much more fun. Instead we're creating a jamboree of all the things we love and care about, from our favourite tastes and scents to the things that make us laugh or inspire us. It won't be the most delicate and beautiful wedding in history, but I'm hoping it will be a lot of fun, and a wonderful metaphor for the years we've already shared together and the lifetime as a couple that we are committing to. Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-53236620944860986672013-03-10T16:57:00.000+00:002013-03-10T16:57:06.506+00:00Marathon Training: Week 3I've been reeling from the success of <a href="http://words-for-sale.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/haweswater-half-marathon-2013.html">Haweswater Half</a> for the entire week, and consequently I've had a spring in my running step and a newfound confidence in the way I define myself as a runner: <em>maybe I can do it after all, maybe I'm not 'just slow'. </em>It's made me want to push harder, to run even faster next time; I'm getting over a fear that I've had since I started running longer distances that keeps me from even trying to push myself beyond comfortable and hiding behind my self-imposed label of 'just being slow'. Instead I now want to learn to let go of all the barriers that I've built up in my head - because Sunday's run was all about pushing through barriers I have built for myself over the years - and keep reminding myself that discomfort isn't painful, it's just uncomfortable: the discomfort that got me through my first non-stop mile all those years ago is the same discomfort that will see me through better training and, hopefully, increasingly faster race times.<br />
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So week 3 of my marathon training started on a high note. On Monday I did a slow 5-mile run to recover from Haweswater. It felt good to be out running straight away; I always try to get out for half an hour or so the day after a big run just to loosen off and finish off warming down from the previous day's efforts - the week-long rest I used to take after the first races I did is now the last thing I want to do! <br />
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Tuesday was a little unusual in that we both took the day off to taste our wedding menu. I was still aching from Sunday so I decided to swap the double-running-with-intervals day for a longer run, and pushed myself hard to go as fast as I could. The week's schedule came undone shortly after this session, when a lack of buses meant that we had to cycle to and from our wedding taster. I arrived home exhausted and bloated, feeling rather listless after 3 intense days of activity. The plan was to get up early on Wednesday, but I was so tired I felt physically sick, and teamed with a super-busy day of seminars, workshops and training, I decided to take Wednesday off for some much-needed recuperation.<br />
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And I was so glad I did, as the rest of the week was a breeze! I had too much energy, and ended up stacking up 40 miles in what should have been a 35-mile week. I had no problem heading out for a run at 6:30 on Thursday morning, and then again for some intervals on Thursday evening. This week's interval session was the most painful on my schedule, with 6 minutes of fast followed by 2 minutes slow (only 3 times though, so not too bad). Once I get going I always enjoy these sessions much more than I probably should, and I even got carried away and ended up doing one 8-minute interval of fast running - running through the city on a crisp evening is my kind of fun. I arrived home on top of the world, looking forward to a dhal that had been simmering away since the morning in our slow cooker.<br />
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Friday morning's hill running was muddy and damp, but I pushed as hard as I could knowing that intervals followed only hours later with hills means inevitable burny arms. The fun thing about doing hills before anyone else is up and in the world is that you can shout out to nobody when you reach the top of each ascent: "ONE!"...."TWO!!"..."THREEEE!!!". A bit crazy, maybe, but fun! I was amazed later that evening to find that I still had energy left to burn (excited energy, maybe, after a really exciting week), so I cycled out in the rain to the sports centre and did an hour of body pump. Naturally, we spent Friday night in the pub: a couple of hard-earned pints all around!<br />
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The final running excitement came on Saturday, when I headed into town to visit <a href="http://www.upandrunning.co.uk/">Up and Running</a> for some much-needed new running shoes. My gait analysis (which ALL runners need - no excuses folks!) showed that my running style has changed over the past year, as I'm now a mid-foot striker as oppose to a heel-striker. This is all good news, since I was considering trying a neutral shoe (I've been wearing stability shoes for the past 4 years) to see whether I could get on with one now I'm a more regular runner. I chickened out, anyway, as I'm still wobbling in my ankle when I land, and with two marathons in the coming months I don't want to be getting any injuries - been there, done that, and it was horrid. I did get myself a pair of Brookes Adrenalines, though, which I can't wait to try out on Monday morning! I've never had Brookes before (I currently wear Mizuno Inspires, which I love) but so many people rave about them, it's time I had a go!<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-32663795465214640622013-03-07T22:03:00.000+00:002013-03-07T22:03:15.833+00:00Haweswater Half Marathon 2013After completing Haweswater Half Marathon for the first time in March last year I was sure that - along with Keswick in May, Worksop in October and the Brass Monkey in January - it would become one of those races that make up my yearly running calendar. In my eyes it's pretty much the perfect race: relatively small, beautiful scenery, a nice time of year - an introverted atmosphere where people who simply love running simply run, without the horns and wigs and garish distractions of many bigger, more 'corporate' races. It's a 'there-and-back' route, running out to the far edge of Haweswater, looping around the small car park and then leading back in to the village of Bampton, just outside Penrith. Despite that, it works (and I have done there-and-back routes in the past that simply don't work at all): Haweswater is just beautiful, a reservoir set in some of the less grandiose Lakeland scenery with a backdrop of forests and snow-topped fells which still look untouched. It's actually one of the few places in England where you could hope to see a <a href="http://www.rspb.org.uk/reserves/guide/h/haweswater/">golden eagle</a>. Runners get to enjoy views towards the mountains on the way out, and views over the water on the way back in again, so in this case at least the route's doubling-back on itself feels more like a buy-one-get-one-free opportunity than a cop out.<br />
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We arrived in Bampton over an hour early but the clubhouse was already buzzing with runners registering and psyching themselves up for the race. The car park is a short walk away from the facilities, and I was struck as soon as I stepped onto the grass by how fresh the air tasted; I hadn't been to the Lake District since the previous September, and I felt my senses lighting up with all of the sights, tastes and smells that I had missed - it was certainly good to be back. The hills in the distance were still covered in snow, and it was distinctly chillier in Bampton than it had been in Yorkshire when we set off at 8am, but it was a nice sort of chilly that I wanted to be out in - running, preferably. Still, I was nervous and had no idea what to expect from myself. After 6 weeks off running and two very hard weeks with too much painfully slow running, I was convinced that it <em>was not </em>going to be my day and that I just didn't have it in me to comfortably see myself through a half marathon. Still, I was going to give it my best shot.<br />
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I got my warm up jogging back and forth and back and forth again to the toilets, no thanks to my nervous tummy which strikes me down every time I do a race (and I've been doing them for almost 5 years now); I probably covered a mile or so before even setting off to the start line. After much dithering about the cold I decided in the end to stick with my plan of box shorts, long sleeves and gloves, knowing that I'd have to face the chill for a while at the start but would probably run faster to get warmed up! Finally we were jogging our way to the start line, weaving among other runners and their support teams and breathing in the excitement, adrenaline and deep heat as we went. I joined the huddle of runners waiting to get going, moving towards the back but not as much as I would have in the past, and listened in to the conversations taking place around me. The ladies to my right were discussing the Windermere Marathon: I was amongst friends! A race organiser stood up on the wall to greet us, shouting (no need for a megaphone here) out the precautions that we should take and then, all of a sudden, "GO!" And we went!<br />
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That first-moment-of-the-race feeling hit me like a barrel: my mind fell down between my feet and my stomach inverted itself, and suddenly I was running and doubting that I could run and overtaking because I knew I could actually run, and then I started to breathe and to listen to the hundreds of footsteps and that lull of silence in the first moments of the race, and my pace and breath began to work in time with one another, finally. We passed through the village to cheers, then out onto the country roads which were almost empty of cars, and the first mile passed in exhilarating seconds. Well, maybe not seconds, but under 8;30, anyway, which was much faster than it should have been, but I was flying and didn't want to stop. Then the 2 miles sign flashed up ahead, just before the first steep hill of what would be a hilly 13 miles, and my confidence plummeted. I crawled up that hill, leaving all of my premature energy to be trampled at the bottom; my legs didn't want to go and my whole body burned with tiredness and frustration, and even then, not even 3 miles in, I was wondering if I should have the first of my energy gels to curb the gnawing feeling in my empty stomach. I was both plodding on and giving up at the same time, fighting with my mind to decide how I'd take the next 11 miles. I was too hot and annoyed at my long sleeves, and the man behind me was exhaling with incredible drama which was putting me off no end. I let him pass, and as I turned on to the road next to the water a cool breeze came my way. Feeling much better about it all, I decided to give it everything.<br />
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And so the road moved underneath my feet and I managed to break my pace back so that, 5 miles in, I was averaging at under 9 minutes/mile: I knew that if I kept it going I'd be getting a PB, but the question was how I'd do it! The hills kept on coming, with shorter and shorter intervals between each, and my only consolation was that I'd get to run down them on the way back. There were a good few downhills, too, where of course I could enjoy an injection of speed on the way out, but would be pulling back the pace again when I came back up them in a few miles' time. And so it kept going and going, driven forward by the scenery and the promise of the next mile marker. I looped around the small car park at 6.75 miles, looking forward to an energy gel at mile 7 but dreading the long uphill that was to come. <br />
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I had planned to take a gel at miles 7 and 10, so as soon as my Garmin beeped I tried to rip the top off the first gel with my teeth. The pack ripped but not enough to break a hole into the sachet, and eventually I had to stop and try and prise apart the packaging with my front teeth (just thinking about that is making me squirm!). I kept on running while taking the gel, but felt so mixed up and disoriented from stopping that I had to stop again just to gather myself and finish the gel. Frustrated, I shoved the sticky packaging down the front of my top and kept on going, with a long incline to tackle with my newly gel-fuelled legs. And it worked: the hill felt like nothing compared to what I was expecting, and though I lost too much time messing with the gel (that mile came in at 10 minutes - such a waste) I was able to pick myself up and get back to the nice pace I'd been running at beforehand.<br />
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And so the miles kept coming and with each I felt a little more confident to push myself as hard as I could. I decided to forget the gel at mile 10 and just push through instead, given that I wanted to get to the finish line with all teeth in place. At mile 11, just as we'd left the scenic waterside route, "Another one bites the dust" blared out from a car parked by the side of the road, and onlookers cheered on runners enthusiastically. I felt great - on top of the world - and by this point I knew I'd make a sub-2;00, and maybe even a PB. Around mile 12 an old lady on a bench assured me that it was "all easy from here - lots of downhill now", I thanked here and gave it that little bit more. Then I saw my Dad, sitting on a wall eating his post-race flapjack; and then over the hump bridge and back into Bampton, where some young female stewards cheered me on, encouraging me to beat the man in front (I didn't quite manage that one). The street was lined with people clapping and cheering, and so I ran and ran, feeling suddenly self-conscious about it all: my bright red legs and snot-streaked face, and probably also my 'intense effort' expression which I imagine is not my best look. As I crossed the line I heard a steward shout out my number and time, "251, 1 hour 56 [I don't remember how many] seconds]": I'd managed it, not only sub-2;00 on a bad day, but also a personal best, and, better still, I'd had a really amazing time doing it.<br />
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I collected my Haweswater Half Marathon mug and flapjack, and as I was warming down a man came up to me to congratulate my effort; "I was trying to catch you for the last 3 miles, but couldn't do it", he said. I was pleased!<br />
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For me, this race was everything about why I run. Finally I'm starting to see myself getting better and more confident as a runner, and its paying off in terms of my enjoyment of races and my sense of pride in how I run them. Only 4 years ago I ran my first half marathon in almost half an hour longer than I did this one (OK, so it was Keswick, which is a killer), and for a long time I couldn't imagine a time when I might break that elusive 2 hour mark. I'm not fast, and probably never will be, but the boost that came with that 1;56 and the man behind me's comment wouldn't be any bigger had I beaten 1;30. I always say that running is awesome because it shows the human capacity for improvement, but the best thing is that this just keeps coming and coming: I'm still improving 5 years later, and hope to keep doing so for some time yet!<br />
<img height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CqEdy7LYoenYOnmbKZCwNo0ME2_vzNvrKQrqFwFa5f2m1rBE5Rg-ME5m53l-Z0TuOuUDQHGdUh0Dufm_FFj-vXtcblcYReggTRb0SVVP0SubsLAQdCJ5501oBCmV3nxefpcDH6A1gWc/s320/20130303_192100.jpg" style="left: 642px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 2529px;" width="72" />Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8889218320515202369.post-89619122089802880382013-03-05T10:25:00.000+00:002013-03-05T10:25:33.566+00:00Apple and Ginger Flapjacks, and a Baking DroughtSince I moved back to York last year I have effortlessly lost over a stone (14lbs) in bodyweight, and am down almost two dress sizes. This has proved to be good and bad in equal measure, really: I was feeling a little too hefty this time last year, albeit a very happy sort of hefty, and all the nice clothes I acquired while I had a proper job with a real life salary are now hanging off me like very pretty sacks. Numerous family members have commented, inquiring into how (and why - since I wasn't exactly in need of any sort of weight loss programme) I have managed this miracle feat that so many seem to aspire to, and all I can say is "umm...I don't know really. I quit my desk job?". <br />
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But last week I was looking over some photos from the past 2 years, and the light in my head switched on, the choirs started singing, and the answer was suddenly clear. There was photo after photo of heavenly homemade treats: loaves of bread, cakes, biscuits, crumbles, pies and pizzas. Back in our apartment in Saltaire we had the sort of oven I have come to dream about, and during our time there I took full advantage. Of course, I haven't stopped baking since we moved back to York, but I now have to enjoy a very limited possibility of treats, thanks to the table-top micro-oven that we have been using since April last year. I will never forget our first evening in this house, when we had been hauling, lifting, unpacking and cleaning all day long. We had some posh pizzas ready for cooking up while we sipped on some celebratory Cava, and all was going to plan until the oven (rather retro in appearance, it has to be said) wouldn't light. We tried and tried in desperation, but it wasn't happening. So instead we pulled together and made a disappointingly healthy pasta dish, and set out the next day to get the only oven we could feasibly use in our tumbling-down kitchen: one of those microwave-cum-oven-cum-grill affairs that is never as good as it promises on the tin.<br />
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Now, it has to be said that the oven itself has been ok. We can roast veggies and make pizzas with no problem, and it definitely beats having no oven at all. But, as I discovered not long after we bought it, it just won't bake like a real oven. I've been reduced to only baking things that can be turned upside down, as it seems to have a problem with getting past the upper crust of any baking project. Bread is ok, biscuits are ok, even pies can work if you're careful, but cakes, buns, muffins, pastries and anything in a tray is out of the question. And so I need another hole punching into my belt, and my jeans hang around my bottom in a rather unsightly manner. Desperate times.<br />
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So this weekend, while enjoying the luxuries of my parents' home to their fullest possibility, I baked for the first time in what feels like months. It was a joy, it came almost without thinking, the ingredients falling together in the bowl as if graced by the presence of those fairies that cleaned Cinderella's house in the Disney film. My parents have an Aga, and a big beautiful kitchen which is just so much fun to bake in - the more space I have to dust everything in flour, the happier I am. I found some cubes of sugared ginger that were slightly past their 'best' (ahem) in the cupboard, and two apples that may or may not have been there since Christmas. Then, when I came upon a block of butter that was best before February I knew what I had to do: flapjacks it was.<br />
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So unlike my usual recipes, this is not a healthied-up version of anything. It's proper bad-for-you (if you eat it all in one go) flapjack, which, let's be honest, is always the best thing for anyone on a Sunday afternoon with a cuppa and a newspaper. Even better during the day when a lovely husband-in-the-making brings on up on a plate with a milky coffee to help with your readings on neuroscience - try it and see!<br />
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<strong>Apple and Ginger Flapjacks</strong><br />
Makes 24.<br />
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450g rolled oats<br />
75g soft brown sugar<br />
250g unsalted butter<br />
50g honey<br />
2 baking apples, peeled and chopped into 1cm cubes<br />
100g <a href="http://www.waitrose.com/shop/BrowseCmd?pageNo=1&defaultSearch=GR&searchTerm=Y3J5c3RhbGxpc2VkIGdpbmdlcg%3D%3D&level0Aisle=Groceries&isFromHomePage=true&searchFlag=true&langId=-11&sortValue=0&storeId=10317">crystallised ginger</a>, chopped into 1cm cubes (or use sticky stem ginger)<br />
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1. Combine the oats and sugar in a large bowl<br />
2. In a pan, melt the butter with the honey, then add this to the oat mix. Stir in the apple and ginger until combined.<br />
3. Pour into a tin and press down with the back of a wooden spoon. Bake at 190C for 25 minutes until golden on top.<br />
4. When the flapjacks have been cooling for 10 minutes, cut into 12 squares and then again into triangles.<br />
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Catherinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01605290776067192864noreply@blogger.com3