Patience

The year is 1990. My 10 month old baby sister toddles anxiously behind the baby gate watching me fly past on the “big girl bike” I’d received for my 4th Birthday.

No training wheels for Bean.

The Silver Big Girl Bike lasted around 6 months until Dad reversed the Ford Escort over it. It was 4 years and one big move to America before I got my next bike. A pink and white girls bike. With streamers. And TRAINING WHEELS.

Turns out you CAN forget how to ride a bike… if you’re 8.

8 year old Impatient Bean DETESTED the training wheels because I knew I’d ridden without them. There were tears. And tantrums (I know. Some things NEVER change…) and when they came off there were scrapes and bits of driveway in my knees and elbows. I think those were my first ever FML moments.

Nowadays, my lack of patience has spread across the athletic board. You may remember my recent “How to use cleats” escapade with The Other Half who’s off the wall teaching technique would have been frowned upon by even the most evil cane-wielding 1950’s school teacher. “I’M TRYING TO TEACH YOU TO REACT AND ACT EVASIVELY” …. I’ll let you all in on a secret – you can’t train someone to react quickly by cycling at them and crashing into them. They land in dog shit and cry in front of the kids on the swings. And then become chronically phobic of cleats. And bikes. And dog shit. And kids.

Of course, no one likes to be shit. Myself especially. I want to be awesome immediately. The day after Marathon, I cried when someone trotted past my car in their 2014 finishers tee and I couldn’t even stand myself up. I literally wanted to run before I could walk.

Now. I’m not saying I’m not awesome at some stuff. I’m very skilled at The Sitting and The Watching of Telly and Sleeping and Beer Drinking and Chat. And I am pretty good at The Day Job. But. Sometimes things (running) just don’t come naturally. Especially to a long-term sofa dweller like me.

And I’m only really now beginning to learn that this is actually ok.

My recent and slow comeback to running has been pot-holed with painful setbacks and the kind of stupidity that makes you hate yourself.

“Oh my knee hurts, oh I’ll just keep running and maybe if I go a little faster it will realise it’s actually fine and oh no it’s worse”

Yeah.

Also, I have some lovely friends who give me amazing advice. Experienced advice. That I often ignore. Not on purpose, because I’m not a total dick. It’s just that obviously, I know better.

Ahem. (Incidentally, if you’re reading this and thinking “You bitch. I gave you advice…” then don’t sweat it. I usually learn the hard way and you get to be all smug and correct and stuff)

To conclude: I’ve decided that I cannot learn patience. I am instead learning how to understand that, if I can’t be patient, I have to deal with the ensuing fallout. And what is worse? Giving myself a couple of days rest or getting the fuck back out there and ruining my chances of improving?

Exactly.

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