Operation Let's Not Die On A Mountain

Let's be clear here. I'm not some fitness freak who has decided to go on a trek for fun (these people actually exist; I even know one of them, she's crazy) and I am under no illusions that this will be easy. I am fairly confident that at points during the next 8 months I am going to wonder what the hell I was thinking. That episode from Big Bang Theory springs to mind, when Walowitz starts to freak out about going into space and tries desperately to find an excuse not to go. I have no doubt that I will be channelling him soon. Of course, Walowitz did go to space, and I will be getting on that plane to Morocco. I might just be in need of either some occasional reassurance or a kick up the ass, and I am lucky enough to have many people in my life who will be prepared to do both.

So here is the story of my first Walowitz moment. On Friday, Ms Motivator and I created our fundraising page. Seeing on the screen just how much money we have to raise was absolutely terrifying. Minimum sponsorship between the two of us is £3100 and it hadn't quite hit me before what a daunting target that was. Reality gave me a bit of a kicking at that point and I started to panic. Can we really raise that much money?

I was cheered today when we had our first donation. Admittedly it was from my parents, but I was very excited and hugely grateful that they had started us on our way. We have a few ideas for fundraising events and my bosses have given their permission for us to fundraise at work so we will be organising some competitions between our buildings (Ms Motivator works in the building on the opposite side of the road to me) and we are already getting pretty competitive about it.

I guess this is the point at which I should link you to our page. You can find us (and donate, should you feel the urge!) here. Alternatively, if you have any suggestions for anything else we can do to raise some money, please get in touch, because we have one hell of a challenge ahead of us and this will only work with your support and involvement.

Training continues, though life has this annoying habit of getting in the way. Obviously on Friday a trip to the pub after work was far more appealing than the gym, and on Saturday morning I woke with a hangover. I did however make it to the gym this morning and I had a really good workout which left me feeling pretty good. Unfortunately I won't be going back until Wednesday evening, because on Tuesday I am staying on at work to help with the internal office move. But I figure that hulking around a bunch of computers can count as a workout, so I won't beat myself up too much for not going for a few days.

Last night I was chatting with some friends and my training seemed to be christened 'Operation Let's Not Die On A Mountain'.  Sounds about right, no?

out there on the ice

There are two main things of note to report since my last post.

1. Last week, Ms Motivator and I officially paid our deposits for the trek.

2. In the last 6 days, I have been to the gym once.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Surely my commitment to the gym should be increasing at this point, because it's all getting a little bit real now and I'm actually going to have to go through with this. And, well, I don't really want to die, so I need to get my act together and at least attempt to get myself into some kind of shape.

I promise you, I am no less committed than I was a few days ago and my ass will be suitably kicked (probably by Ms Motivator). My plan is to head to the gym after work tomorrow, though this is dependent on when I manage to escape, because I am taking minutes at a meeting in the afternoon which is notorious for over-running.

My excuse for being so crap with training this week is a feeble one. I dragged myself out of bed early on Saturday morning with every intention of going to the gym. I even got so far as leaving home. Unfortunately, the minute I walked up the steps from our basement flat and started the trek down the lane, I realised that I was in trouble. Despite being as prepared as I could be in my shiny new walking boots, the road and pavement was so icy that I couldn't stay on my feet. I'm clumsy at the best of times, but put me on what is essentially an ice rink and I am a hopeless case. I had walked less than 100 metres before I lost my footing, went sliding into the back of a (parked) car, turned around and walked (stumbled/slid) right back to my flat feeling very sorry for myself.

Today, Ms Motivator and I received emails confirming that our bookings had been completed and The James Hopkins Trust have authorised us to do the trek in aid of them. I'm looking at the amount of money we have to raise in the next few months and it's incredibly daunting. But I like a challenge, me. And I'm not used to failure.

Bring. It. On.

scared out of my shoes

Training continues. There will be plenty more updates and news on that score soon, including an exciting introduction from Ms Motivator herself (when she can be motivated enough to write something...)

In the mean time, this.

I nearly backed out today, when I was told by our very own Ms Motivator that going to Morocco would involve vaccinations for Hep B. I am terrified of needles and there are many amusing anecdotes I could share about previous experiences with jabs.

It all started when I was 4 years old and I apparently kicked a doctor when he tried to give me an injection. At that point he of course lost his grip on me and I was chased around the surgery, before eventually being caught by my mother who held me down while the deed was done. You can forgive a 4 year old that though, right? I didn't know any better.

How about the time when I was 22 and for various reasons I had to have a flu jab. The minute the nurse picked up the needle, my well trained fight or flight instinct kicked in and I ran out of the room (my mother, who had pretty much marched me there, attempted to throw herself in front of me to prevent my escape, but to no avail - it was a bit of a déjà vu moment for her, poor thing), high-tailing it past a queue of waiting pensioners and out the front door. I was eventually caught in the car park, which is where they sat me down and jabbed me with the needle. Let's just say that when I returned the following winter for my jab, the nurse still remembered the incident with amusement.

Of course, I am a proper 'grown up' now, 28 years old and far beyond any silly behaviour like that, right? Don't be so sure. I work for the NHS, and just before Christmas I was forced into having yet another flu jab.  I was obviously reluctant, but thanks to a bossy Director and my so-called friends, I was dragged down to the hub pretty much kicking and screaming. A colleague knew just how to get me to go through with it, by telling me it was the 'socially responsible thing to do'. What a bitch. In the end, I was literally pushed into the room by two of my dear friends, KY and AD2, who held my hand and stopped me from running away this time. However, I had made such a fuss about being jabbed, that when I walked out of the room afterwards the rest of my colleagues who were still queuing for their turn applauded and laughed at me. A lot. In fairness, I got through the winter without so much as a cold, but I'm still bitter about it.  

So, you can imagine how I took the news from Ms Motivator today that I was going to have to have Hep B injections. Three of them apparently, over a six month period. THREE!! It's not the training or the fundraising that could bring this trek plan tumbling to the ground, it's getting me through the door of the doctor's surgery for an injection on three occasions.

Watch out Dr Weiss, I've got a far fiercer kick on me than I did when I was 4, and I know just where to aim it.

in the beginning

"Where is my mind?" is something that I find myself thinking on a fairly regular basis at the moment. Along with "I can't do this", "I'm going to die" and "how can I get out of this?"

Part of me blames the time of year. Bloody January and it's way of making you set yourself goals and challenges, thinking about fresh starts and hoping that this year is the year that everything will fall into place. I'm all for setting goals and all that malarkey, but I have always had this habit of pushing myself that little bit further than I am probably capable of.

In previous years this stupidity has seen me join a gym, apply for a job I didn't think I could do, or face my fear of flying and then get on a plane and fly to the States alone. In all honesty, most of these goals (minus the gym) have actually worked out pretty well for me. If nothing else, I am a stubborn woman and I refuse to be beaten or to let fear and anxiety control my life. This year though, I have surpassed myself and decided to go to Morocco and do this trek through the Atlas Mountains.

It all started a few months ago when this article, written by my mother, was published in the local paper, marking the start of the James Hopkins Trust 'Overnight Campaign'. A few days later, I was talking to one of my colleagues who had seen the article and we agreed that we would try to come up with some kind of way to raise a little bit of money for the campaign.

Cut to the return to work after new year and an email popping into my inbox from said colleague with 'an idea'. My first reaction was laughter, she must be mental. I mean, has she met me? But the more I thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. Not only would we hopefully raise a decent amount of money for the Overnight Campaign, but I would have something to focus on and keep me motivated to get fit and healthy, and of course I would have the experience of going to Morocco. Everyone is a winner.

Last week Ms Motivator (as she shall henceforth be known) and I met for lunch and officially shook hands and agreed that we were going to do this. Ms Motivator is a youngster (a mere 22 to my almost 29) and full of enthusiasm and excitement, which can be contagious, and she is full of ideas for fundraising and raising as much cash as we can for JHT.

Since then, I have started 'training', going to the gym twice last week and attempting a walk today (alas, without the proper footwear it was a muddy, slippery disaster and the attempt was abandoned). Tomorrow after work I have plans to go to the gym again, and while I often have my moments of panic and am filled with horror at the prospect of just how daunting this challenge is, currently I am feeling positive.

I have created this blog to track progress and the ups and downs that the next 9 months will inevitably bring. I'm not kidding myself and thinking that this will be easy, but I do have 9 months to get myself into some kind of shape and not doing anything stupid and klutz-like (as is my habit). If anyone sees me on a crazy-golf course in the near future, drag me away kicking and screaming, ok? No extreme sports for Soph's this year.

For now, I will leave this here - as I am a regular gym-goer now, I am clearly allowed a guilt free piece of the toffee and honeycomb dessert I bought in M&S earlier today and I can hear it calling my name from the kitchen...