Juneathon day… oh. Yes. Well..

Yesterday I made a decision. I haven’t exactly fallen off the Juneathon wagon, it’s more like I have waved cheerily to the driver in the rearview mirror and asked to be let out at the next layby please.

We’re due to go away and, whilst I have happily jogged and blogged from a tent for the past three years, I have decided that this isn’t the holiday for that. I don’t want to have to think about phone signals and battery life and trying to turn a the walk around a field into something that passes as entertaining.

So I’m not. I might post stuff if we do something interesting, but I want to crack on with my knitting and sit around drinking tea, so there’s no guarantee that will happen.

It also doesn’t help that last night’s pre-yoga nap turned into two hours of deep and dreamless sleep, which meant that I was unconscious and five miles away for the duration of the class…

I will try my best to keep up with all of your fabulous blogs while I’m away (or will feast on them when I get back) and wish you all a wonderful, excuse-filled,  injury-free rest of June.

PS. I have just been told that apparently I will “be back with a vengeance for Janathon”…

Medal monkey sends you his best wishes for a splendid Juneathon

Medal monkey sends you his best wishes for a splendid Juneathon

Juneathon day seventeen: token

If this was a running Juneathon, I would have run a token mile today. As it was, I still did a token mile. But it was walked. And split into two convenient bitesize chunks.

First up we had a walk up to see the midwife for my check up. All is fine and I am fairly certain that this is the first (and possibly last) time that I have Athoned with a tube of my own wee in my pocket. At lunchtime, this was followed by a walk from work up to the sandwich shop and back.

After work, we went round to mum’s to have a practise at assembling our new tent. Our old tent was on its last legs and the running repairs that we did last summer weren’t likely to hold up to another week away this year, so we’ve invested in a new one. It’s a lot more solidly built than the last one and is somewhat roomier (planning ahead for next year…). Assembling its colour-coded parts was a little Krypton Factor-like in places, making it both a mental and physical challenge.


If you’re a novice camper, I would heartily recommend having a test run of getting your tent up. Preferably before you go away. Preferably where no one can hear you scream.

Juneathon day sixteen: Alcatraz

Today was another watery day. One of the local pools opens at 7.30 and somehow I managed to be in the water by 7.45. I had been expecting it to be pretty quiet, but it turns out that at that time of the morning it’s full of of a more mature demographic (to quote my manager on our Christmas do “It’s like Cocoon in there…”).

I ploughed up and down doing my usual 24 lengths (but in a 2 x 10 +4 format, instead of my usual 6 x 4), taking a break after the first ten. As I lounged and did some strange underwater stretching things that I always do in the shallow end (despite them having no purpose at all), one of the more mature ladies hopped out of the water with a grace and agility that I can only dream of (when it was time for me to leave, I heaved myself onto the side and then had to roll over into a standing position). As she dangled her feet in the water, she told me that, until last week, she hadn’t swum for thirty-odd years.

Apparently she does a lot of walking, but fancied something different. Her first love is golf, but apparently when you get to her age, all the ladies are “all crocked with new hips and new knees and spondylosis…”. We had a bit of a natter and she finished off my telling me that they didn’t bother with swimming lessons when she was young (“…about a thousand years ago, before the war…”) you were just chucked in the water and got on with it.

Even though swimming is just a question of getting chucked in the water and getting on with it, these days it doesn’t count unless you have an app for it. My app of choice is Splashpath (which also has a desktop version). Basically, it’s a database of swimming pools, some of which have the pool timetables available (all of mine do, which is really handy) and you can record your swims dead easily.

It also has challenges… You can record your swims to show how far you are along various waterways and the like. At the moment I have completed 55% of my swim from Alcatraz.


Apparently I’m aiming at the Golden Gate Bridge, which seems a slightly daft escape route as this clearly isn’t the nearest point on the shore.


Given that there no one is known to have escaped Alcatraz and survived (and that it has taken me over a month to get this far) I don’t hold out much hope for this being an effective plan for the future.


Juneathon day fourteen: intermittent

At around three this afternoon monsoon-like conditions greeted me as I peered out of the office window.

I texted Ginge – “I may need a canoe to do Juneathon”. .

As I ran out of the office at 4.15, I was greeted with blue skies and a hint of sunshine. My hopes started to raise.

Ten minutes later, the sky grew darker and as I pulled into the petrol station the first splat of rain hit my windscreen.

In the time it took me to fill my car, the splat had turned into a downpour.

So tonight’s Juneathon has been a mix of activities squeezed in around the weather.


1. Sprint – A rain soaked dash from the front door across the road to the post office so I could catch them before they shut.


2. Weight lifting – Heavy books needed to go back to the library


3. Resistance training – I was strong and avoided being lured into the chippy on my way home


4. Distance – Admittedly not a long distance (it’s about a half mile round trip if you squint a bit) but I walked briskly to the library and back, and was rewarded with a lovely bit of librarian chat while I was there.

I may even do some stretches later (if Ginge puts my cup of tea slightly out of reach…)

Juneathon day thirteen: reminiscing

Gym etiquette question: is it ok to strip off your (extremely) sweaty t-shirt, towel down your naked chest as if you’ve just got out of the shower and then re-dress (admittedly in a clean shirt) before hopping onto the next bit of equipment? I hasten to add that this wasn’t my behaviour, I just found it a bit disconcerting at 8 o’clock in the morning.

Yes, I have gymmed. Five minutes of unbearable boredom on the treadmill as a warm-up, followed by 15 minutes random hills on each of the the bike and the elliptical thingy. All this was whilst listening to the Cool Britannia episode of Stuart Maconie’s The People’s Songs. I’ve really enjoyed dipping into this series (I ran in the snow listening to the skiffle one during Janathon) and this one made me all reminiscent for 1997. Regardless of politics, this was my post-A-levels, turning 18, not a care in the world summer that by law has to be remembered through a haze of sunsets and kittens (in reality a haze of Strongbow and Guinness, but it’s much the same).

As I pedalled and pushed, I pondered on what 18-year-old me would make of 33-year-old me. I suspect that she would be a little freaked out by the running, but otherwise would be quite relieved by how things have turned out. Conversely, I suspect that 33-year-old me would tell 18-year-old me to slow down on the ale and pies so that I would have less of a beer gut to deal with in my thirties.

I could

I could illustrate this post with a sepia-toned photograph of myself in the late 90s, but I won’t. So here’s a bee on a poppy instead.