I go for a run every night.

For the past six or so weeks I’ve come home, gotten changed and headed out. I’m usually the only one around, pounding roads and pavements with my earphones in and my iPod blaring. I run past mansions lit up to show off lives I know nothing about and watch construction sites develop across nightly laps.

If it’s cold, if it’s late, if it’s raining. It doesn’t matter. I go out.

I choose my path without fear or favour, never for a second thinking anything could happen to me. It’s just a run. I stay out of the way of cars and avoid broken footpaths where I might trip. It’s just a run. I’m near my house. Its just a run. I do this every night. It’s just a run.

It’s. Just. A. Run.

Except I’m running and running and running and thinking. Trying to exhaust my mind as well as my body. Going over and over decisions I’ve made that I don’t yet feel comfortable with, that I haven’t reconciled myself to. “A rock and a hard place,” I told someone. The right thing or the best thing isn’t always the easiest thing; you second guess yourself in the corners I suppose.

How would I feel if that were me? I’m horrified.

I think that if you had to make the same decision again and you’d do it exactly the same way, then you should probably cut yourself some slack. Common sense really but there’s no place for logic in emotion. And I’m angry, at all the insensitivity and injustice on display, so I keep running.

I stop at my front gate, take a deep breath and tell myself that when I cross the threshold, I have to stop thinking about it. That will be enough. The slideshow of thoughts has to finish because I can’t change it now.

It was just a run. I do it every night. Can you imagine that? Just a run.

And tomorrow I will go back to making decisions again.

The worst things in this world are the things human beings choose to do to each other.


Exulted in the sea

torquay surf beach

torquay surf beach 2

torquay surfer

my own path

Whenever life gets hard or I get stressed or sad or worried, my solution is always the same: go to the ocean. Maybe it has something to do with growing up on the coast but it always works for me. There’s something about crashing waves and big blue skies that seems to do the trick.

After a tough weekend I managed to get an unexpected day off on Tuesday so after breakfast and a quick visit to the shops, I drove across to Torquay for the afternoon. I did nothing but walk, get my jeans wet in the surf, drink coffee, watch a curious magpie hop all over my café table, read a book, eat caramel slice and watch the surfers brave the icy conditions. And think, lots of thinking. Good thinking. I drove back to Melbourne a lot calmer.

A day well spent.

Exulted in the sea

Waving madly

toni & guy wave memoriser review

There’s nothing that sets me off wanting a product quite like an Into the Gloss review – especially if said product happens to be a simple drugstore or supermarket cheapie. I reckon I’d walked past the Toni&Guy Wave Memoriser a hundred times and never thought much of it before they reviewed it on the site. Then, suddenly, of course I absolutely had to have it.

Turns out they know their stuff and it’s actually pretty good. Now that I have a long bob I love mixing it up by creating a few GHD curls and giving it that messy wave look. My hair is generally fairly decent at holding a style but a bit of moisture in the air and that resolve starts to crumble. I run a pea-sized dollop of the Wave Memoriser through my hair while it’s still damp and I find it really boosts it’s ability to hold on to that wave. The stuff is like a cream-gel and slightly sticky, though when it dries it gives hair a lovely softness.

I don’t use the Wave Memoriser to boost my own curls so I can’t comment on how well it works for that unfortunately. I’ve also read that you can use the product on dry hair to ‘re-set’ your waves but again, I’m yet to give that a go. I like it more as a pre-dry styling product and for that, it works an absolute treat on me. I’ve used it solo or after a quick run through of a hair oil and both are fine. I now use it without fail every time I’m going to curl my hair and for about $15, I think it’s a great addition to any product line up.

Waving madly

Things I bought #28.

63 Country Road

A bit of a blow out this week after I discovered the Uniqlo men’s cotton cashmere jumpers were back in stock (THE BEST) and I also grabbed a couple of summer dresses really cheap. On the plus side, no beauty purchases so I guess you have to take a win where you can.

63 Country Road Tropical Print Sundress $15 – I tried on the dress above a couple of times last summer because I loved the colour and the style, but I could never quite get to the point where I took it to the counter. Last week I saw a massive rack of them at the Bridge Rd CR outlet for sale for $15 each and that did me just nicely. If you like it, now’s the time to go and grab one.

64 Witchery Open Mesh Maxi in Black $28 – This was another dress I tried on a handful of times last summer but couldn’t commit to. I found it marked down to $28 at South Wharf DFO and grabbed it. There’s still a heap there on sale in the cream if that’s your kind of thing.

65 & 66 Uniqlo Men’s Cotton Cashmere Jumpers in Black and Grey $40 each – I have one of these in navy and it’s one of my favourite things to wear. It’s perfectly slouchy and warm, plus the cotton/cashmere mix is really soft. I could rave about these forever. At $40 you can easily grab a couple.

67 Lovisa Crystal Ear Jackets $13 – These are hard to describe (should have taken a picture) but they are basically a crystal stud and then the back of the earring has a piece that drops below the lobe with more crystals on them. Kind of like these. I like them with a dressed down piece like the Uniqlo jumpers.

Things I bought #28.

Thoughts of the week – 26/7


1. Thoughts of the Week are a bit sad sack this time around, sorry.

2. I went to the footy tonight with two friends and when I’m out with people, my phone stays firmly in my bag or pocket. Real people = real conversations, not stuffing about on a phone. Which was fine until I checked it mid-way through the third quarter and found a heap of missed calls and a message from my dad saying “please call us urgently”. Turns out my brother was in a serious collision and was riding his scooter when a car hit him. He was taken to hospital in a serious but stable condition and as of now, is going to be OK. He had a full face helmet on (thank fucking God) so no head trauma and has a bruised spine but everything is working and moving. He’s got a broken upper arm and a broken toe and is in a bit of pain and shock but otherwise OK. I spoke to my parents and it was completely surreal. I went back and watched the end of the footy then went home.

3. I went to the footy with two people: a guy I’ve known for about 15 years who is a great mate, and a guy I’ve known for a little while but well for only around six weeks. Both were Bombers fans so it was nice to get a win on the board in front of them. And nice to just get a win full stop.

4. So the guy I’ve known for the shorter time is the guy I previously mentioned I was flirting with via email. We’ve been out twice now and the chemistry in person is not as good as the chemistry via email. So that’s disappointing.

5. I’m still disappointed re point four.

6. I have just over six weeks until I go on leave for three months and while I’m excited, I’m also petrified. Not to mention I’m feeling under prepared.

7. I worked four 6am starts in a row to finish off the week and I’m just so tired.

8. Today I was supposed to have coffee with a girl I know as she wanted to pick my brain re Europe and travel. It was scheduled for 1pm and I got a message from her at 1.08pm asking if I was at the café already. I had totally forgot. So I high tailed it over there and I actually had a really good arvo. (I didn’t tell her I forgot though, I told her I was held up.)

9. Tomorrow I’m having breakfast with three friends, their partners and their kids. At 9am. On a Sunday. I love them but geez. And I’ll be the only single, childless person there. Yay!

10. Most of these are first world problems and it’s nearly midnight when I’m typing this and I’ve had half a dozen beers, the shock of my life and a footy win. So I’m just feeling morose. Apologies.

Thoughts of the week – 26/7

It keeps you running


Picture this if you will:

My alarm goes off at 4.45am this morning because I have to be up and at work at the awesomely gruesome time of 6am. I keep hitting snooze until 5.10am when I know I absolutely must get up otherwise I won’t have time to shower and do my hair. I drive into work with the music and the heater blasting, pulling into the car park to the sounds of 50 Cent’s In Da Club. Morning all.

At 7.15am I call my dad and wish him happy birthday because a) he’s the best and b) that’s the kind of daughter I am.

My eight hour shift is neither busy nor taxing (for a change) so I’m out the door at 2pm on the dot, negotiating Collins Street traffic because they’re doing bloody road works along my usual Flinders Street route. I stop off on the way home to do an errand and then fight through school pick ups until I get home, only 8km from my starting point, around an hour later. I’ve got a few more things to do so I’m busy through the afternoon and it doesn’t stop.

At 5.15pm I reluctantly turn my computer off because I have dinner at a new Italian place on Glenferrie Road and need to be there at 6pm. I’ve not showered since the morning so I do that, changing into a cool/casual outfit of black leather-ish tracksuit pants, a white singlet and a grey long sleeved top. I change my earrings twice then stuff everything I’ll need into my black Whistles pouch. I’m out the door a touch before 5.45pm as I’m really going just around the corner.

I arrive in Hawthorn and scan for a street park to no avail then head into one of the supermarket car parks. I have to move my car after I realise I’ve inadvertently parked in a half hour spot. Bugger. Then one of my friends messages me to say she’s running late thanks to a meeting in the western suburbs, which is promptly followed by a message from my other friend stating she’s almost at the restaurant. I walk up Glenferrie Road, multi-tasking and texting another friend about our upcoming weekend plans together.

My friend and I enter the restaurant almost at the same time, hug and head upstairs to grab a table. We tell the waitress we’re waiting for a third and as she pours tap water into our glasses we scan the drinks menu. My friend orders a glass of Moscato and I get a Peroni. I’ve never been much for wine. I only get about a third of the way into my drink when our latecomer arrives and we start reading the menu in earnest. One of my mates went to this very same restaurant last night after they couldn’t get into their first choice and recommends the pizza. Pizza it is.

Soon a giant plate of baked dough covered in tomato, mozzarella, rocket and prosciutto arrives and my mouth is watering. I’ve not had pizza in so long and I apologise to my friends, telling them I’m going to eschew the cutlery in favour of using my hands. We dig in, a pizza each and it’s fantastic, all the while talking and laughing and gossiping and catching up. Around 8pm the restaurant really starts to fill and we order dessert. According to the menu it’s “stressed spelled backwards”. Huh, never realised that. They get Nutella pizzas and I get the tiramisu which gets devoured at a rate of knots after arriving in front of me. I’m starting to get tired because I’ve had a drink and a giant, carb loaded meal and I’ve been awake for nearly 16 hours at that point. Did you know that being awake for over 17 hours is the equivalent of having a blood alcohol level of 0.05%?

We say our goodbyes and I wrap myself in the giant black cashmere scarf I bought at Zara in Spain, which seemed like such an indulgence at the time but has proven to be the best staple ever. I sit in my car, waiting for the heating to kick in and stuffing around on social media. Stalking profiles, of course. Then I drive home and I don’t bother putting the music on. I sit in my driveway just enjoying the heat before reluctantly pulling myself out and going inside. By this time it’s nearly 9.15pm and I feel so so so tired.

I make a decision: I’m going to have a nap. Just a quick one. Seems like an incredibly silly idea at that time of night when I should just go to bed. I’ll take 14 minutes I tell myself, turning the heater and the electric blanket on before crawling under my doona. The alarm is set and I wake up with a start only seconds before it starts going off. Snooze. I drift off again and it’s terribly difficult to imagine rousing myself from this warm cocoon. It creeps up to 10pm.

The incredible guilt settles in. I’m thinking of all the food I just ate and how I really should be going for a run just to try and counteract some of it. The other side of my brain says it’s fine to miss a night every now and then and hey, I’ve been every single night for over a week now. One night because I’m tired and can’t be bothered shouldn’t matter. Then I think about the clothes I tried on that afternoon, things I haven’t been able to wear for about five years that suddenly fit. The only reason they fit is because I’ve battled single figure temperatures pretty much every night for just over a month to go for a run. I haven’t wanted to but even when it was raining I pulled a pair of tights and a jumper on, laced up my runners and headed out into the cold night. Post dinners, post shifts, on days off. Every night running the same lap and slowly building on it so it became longer and longer.

I hate it. I hate being in the cold. I hate how my feet feel like they are trying to glue themselves to the ground of their own accord. I hate when my legs feel simultaneously heavy and like jelly. I hate when I pull up, panting and breathing ‘smoke’ into the night air. I hate when a shitty song comes on my iPod and I have to pull everything out of whatever tiny pocket it’s been stuffed into just to change it. I hate when I run through a spiderweb that I can’t see and it’s on my face and I’m anxiously running my hands over my hair to make sure I don’t have a God damn spider on me. I hate it.

I spend the hour long lap thinking about a boy I have a slight crush on, about upcoming plans and my pending overseas trip. (OK, it’s mostly about the boy.) I sing the songs I’m listening to and sometimes dance a bit as well because it’s late at night and there’s rarely anybody else out. And I’m still tired and even though I’ve told myself I can run a reduced lap I do my whole circuit.

I run back up my drive way and it’s almost 11.15pm, a long way from that 4.45am start. I’m running through errands in my head, things that still need to be done before I can get some much needed sleep. Make tomorrow’s lunch. Pack clothes for a trip to Geelong tomorrow. Have a shower and wash my hair.

Now this is the part I love. The feeling of accomplishment that I pushed myself out the fucking door and just did it, to borrow a phrase. That gentle buzz of physical exhaustion and the comfort of feeling some of the guilt melt away. I’m good for today because I went running. Thinking about tomorrow and how I’m going to make it happen all over again.

And all the while I keep on hearing my old mate Ice Cube in my head: “Life aint a track meet, it’s a marathon.” You got it, Ice.


It keeps you running