New Year, Same Me. 

Let’s be honest: 2016 was a bit of a clusterfuck. Especially for Famouses. It’s clear that Bowie and Rickman were holding the very fabric of the universe together…

It wasn’t all doom and gloom, however. In BeanLand (population ME) I did some pretty decent stuff and my awesome friends continued to be incredibly inspiring. 

Let’s just take a sec to admire my bling haul:

I love the positivity of new year posts. The “look what I’ve signed up for posts”. The “imma DO this shit” posts. All awesome. In the hazy days before we all drag our bloated carcasses back to work, where it’s no longer socially acceptable to start and end every conversation with “oh go on just one more Quality Street. Ok 5. 5 more. But that’s the last—ok 8.” It is fun to daydream about what lies ahead. Until you realise that you have precisely zero holidays booked. Fail. And those winter miles aren’t going to swim, bike or run themselves. 

*hefty sigh* 

So what does lie ahead? 

LOOONNNNNDOOOOOOOOON. AGAIN. I can’t even process how excited I am to have the opportunity to run the London marathon for the second year in a row. I can’t flipping wait. And I’m so excited to see where training takes me and my legs. Right now my legs are not happy. A muddy run in a field seems to have triggered shin splints. Which is super fun. Oops, I mean super shit. 

No need to worry though, my so-laid-back-I-might-be-sleeping approach to training is paying dividends with my base fitness and my coach is killing me one sufferfest at a time…. 

SWIMMING FOREVER IS GOING TO HAPPEN.  10,000 meters to be frighteningly precise. That’s basically forever. I hate to think about what nick my guns will be in by June but I’m assuming hench as fuck. On my long and scary road to becoming IronBean, I have several milestones in my head. Being confident to swim FOREVER in open water is a big box to tick. Open water is no fecking joke. Luckily Windermere should be warm (ish) and will provide a stunning location for this stupid, stupid idea. 

PUTTING DOWN THE FORK. The unthinkable has happened. I managed to eat such an alarmingly huge volume of chocolate over Christmas that I’ve actually, for the first time in 30 years, gone off the stuff. I’m sure the love will return, but currently I cannot face it. Which is FANTASTIC news because I have come out of the holiday season with a bit too much Squish. 

Not to sound smug, but I don’t intend to really change anything. Apart from making sure I relax and enjoy my training (I say “enjoy” I mean “endure with a big fuck off smile on my face because it is AWESOME!!!”) I’ve learnt the hard way that stressing over the fine detail is a terrible fucking plan. I can achieve so much more if I just chill and go with it. I can work my ass off but I also realise my body isn’t that of a finely tuned athlete. It’s just a body. Standing in front of a mirror. Asking itself to SIT THE FUCK DOWN FOR ONCE. 

My main goal for this year is to remain happy. And train hard. And work hard. And eat well. And maybe do some races amongst that.