Thursday, 26 March 2015

And with a swish of the pen…

……it was done.

I just signed my divorce papers.

Like a dreaded injection, the anticipation and the after effects far outweigh the pain of the actual event.

Just a little prick.

Last year I read a piece by Anna Spargo-Ryan on her divorce, touching, emotional, heart felt words across my screen. At the time, I couldn’t wait until the legal requirement of twelve months had passed so we could get our papers in, there would be no waiting for us, I wasn’t going to be sad, I would be celebrating. Why would I want to stay married to someone who loves another?

And now its fifteen months since he moved out, I’ve just signed the papers that I’ve held onto for the past week and it feels so very shit.

Another sucky, painful part of being grown up.

Beautiful, well-meaning friends tell me that this is all about moving on; I can now start a new chapter of my life. I don’t know what that means.

I feel as though if I am being asked to write the next chapter with pavement chalk on the back of a postage stamp. Nothing fits. Not even flimsy, poorly written metaphors.

Nothing has changed but everything has.

There are still notes full of everlasting love sitting in drawers. The words haven’t changed but their meaning has. A ring, a little tarnished from no longer being worn sits in a dish. Photos packed away amongst books. Everywhere a memory. Tucked away from sight is easier.

Sadness at what the pen swish represents, the lost best friend, missing my extended family – still connected, but different. The fear of an uncertain future.


In a bit I’m sure I will believe my friends when they tell me about the exciting new beginnings, but for the time being it’s just about the swish of the pen signing the end of the chapter.

Image via Pinterest

Saturday, 14 March 2015

She Science and me

A very cool thing that is happening this year is I am an Ambassador for She Science, Australia’s only store specialising in Sports Bra fitting and prescription.

Not only will I get to be flashing my sports bra all over the interwebs in various training sweaty selfies (as you do) but Tish and her amazing team will be supporting me as I train for my first marathon as well as other races throughout 2015.

The Ambassador program is an fantastic opportunity, and a huge thrill to be a part of such a diverse and motivated group of women. Other Ambassadors include a WAFL player, a triathlete, cyclists, an ultra marathoner and other inspiring women who all believe in promoting women’s health. Check out their instagram feed to meet all of us


This week, I’ve written a little bit more over on the She Science blog about getting ready for my first marathon and more about She Science will be popping up in this blog over the next 12 months.

Image via Tegyn Angel

Monday, 23 February 2015

12 weeks until go

So the marathon I swore I would never do is in around 12 weeks time. That’s like a month in ‘highly anxious runner’ time.

As the kilometers are increasing week by week, here are some of the things that are getting me through so far -

A running buddy
I have Lee and she’s ace. I’m a late starter into the running buddy thing, my fear of being too slow or whatever always took over when friends would ask. But Lee saw through that crap and now like a glorious sistermance we are owning those hills together.


A decent, properly fitted bra
Obviously. I have an impressive chest and it needs to be secure for those 3+hour shuffles, who has time for under boob chaffing and muscle damage from boobs flailing willy nilly like hyperactive pitball puppies in a sack. Not me.

A training plan
Zoey from Operation Move wrote our plan. For me, having someone else write the plan makes me more accountable and less likely to skip a session.

Food
My god, I’m so fricken hungry all the time and its not just for carbs. Seriously, this is the last jar of Nutella allowed in the house.

Stretchy Pants
Call them compression pants for speedy recovery if you like but they also work well with the above mentioned point.

Bells and whistles
This is all the unnecessary guff that I love. My Garmin, decent playlists and podcasts, body glide, Epsom salt baths, a foam roller for daily punishment and even a hashtag.


And finally……

A sense of humour
Because it hurts. All of it is ouchy. My brain. My body. The 5am alarms, the increasing kilometers before a day at work, the muscle aches, last week even my eye lashes ached. But a crazy night in rolling my butt up and down a hard foam cylinder is enough to keep a wry smile on my face.

For now.

Wednesday, 11 February 2015

The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen

I’ve been thinking over the past few months how, if and when I should kill off Mrs Sabbatical.

I haven’t been on sabbatical for ages.

This year I will no longer officially be a Mrs.

The name feels redundant, a story of time gone by.

A whimsical memory of wedding rings, unicorns riding rainbows across the sky and me saying I would never ever, ever run a marathon.

Now, my fingers are bare and I’m up to week 5 of my marathon training plan and fek knows where the unicorn is.

Last year was a test, a pretty crappy one. Time to walk away and leave that one behind.


This year is set to be full of adventure. Crazy has started high school, a marathon (actually I’m taking it as an ultra, thank you very much), an Ambassadorship with the amazing She Science, lots of new races, our kitten Loki and a 40th …… which just happens to be mine. Shit.

So the decision has been made, Mrs Sabbatical is staying – even though its foundation is gone, there’s lots of life to live. 

It's just same same but different.


Mrs Sabbatical is dead. Long live Mrs Sabbatical.


Sunday, 2 November 2014

My Creative - October

I can’t believe we are another month past with the #shakeCreative challenges.

I loved last month’s #shakeCreative challenge so much, it was all about colour and I found myself searching and snapping pics everywhere. 

A pink sleep mask on school camp, the clear blue of the pool, an orange sun shade at the playground, my favourite beige and silver bag, teal Pilate mats on a church hall floor, grey hippo’s in the sun, coral street art on my walk home, crimson leaves baking on the footpath. And plenty of yellow and grey for Zoey and I.

It presented me with an additional daily challenge; finally having to chose just one pic at posting time.


Here are a few of my favourites……


Tuesday, 14 October 2014

Run done


After whinging a bit recently about an ouchy ankle, the physio gave me the go ahead and I ran.

Run, walk, shuffle, dance…… it didn’t matter. I got me and my cankle 21.1km around a course last weekend at the Melbourne Marathon festival and it felt amazing.

I said I was going to do four half marathons in 2014 and I did. I trained carefully, I listened to my body and my coach and I took it easy. I lost a few seconds off here and there with each race which felt good, but most importantly to me, I kept moving.

Apart from LizardGate I’ve remained injury free. Bastard lizard.

October last year I did my first half and I never thought I would do six in the following twelve months. My second half followed in December and was incredibly shit, it was the day after MrF told me he was leaving and I pretty much sobbed and heaved my way around the course.

That’s why there was no cheesie selfie that day – I didn’t think I had anything to celebrate.

But I realized that to get me through the year ahead I needed goals to focus on so I picked my races and went for it.

My theory was if I had to run in the morning I had to go to bed early, I would go to bed earlier because I was knackered from running early. I would eat better because I was training. I would be forced to look after myself when there were times that I really didn’t care.

I trained carefully, maybe even under trained a little so I didn’t get injured. No injury meant no stopping which meant I had to keep looking after myself.

And now I’ve done it. I bawled a bit more on Sunday just thinking what an amazing achievement this is, not just with the running but keeping my shit together in what has been an incredibly challenging year.

So now it is time to rest the cankle for a little bit and get ready for next year, you know, I’m thinking it could be time to do a full.


Friday, 3 October 2014

Not such an angry bitch

Image c/- Pinterest

I wish I could get really angry. Alexis Carrington angry. Nonchalantly throwing drinks in the faces of those who displease me.

Slamming down phones after wishing hellfire and VD..... though I realise this is very difficult with an iPhone.

Slapping some dastardly gent across the face with my silken glove (not a metaphor) as I turn sharply on my heel and exit with a flounce.

I’d probably exit to get some ice for the bastard.

Sometimes there are little bursts of anger, teeny tiny ones when I roar like a tradie but they are few and far between. Last one was when I was telling a rather large spider he did not belong in my bathroom. He didn’t look that bothered….. until I mentioned I was about to fashion a home made blow torch, that is.

I’ve heard of some great confrontations that women have had with their ex’es (cutting off every. Single. Button. Off every. Single. Piece of clothing has always been a favourite), but I don’t. Storming out of their bosses office, an old school ‘sticking it to the man’ type outburst, but nope. Not here.

I’ve even let go of grudges. SWTF.

Not saying I’m all Mother Theresa-esque, not at all. Like any sane woman I’ve wished all kinds of horrible venereal diseases on another. There are still times when I visualize a verbal bitch slapping, a good old fashioned public scene, when the crowd looks at the receiver shaking their head in distain. 

Women from all around coming up to high five me as I sit astride my unicorn, a swarm of Disney inspired Blue Tits write “you’re amazing” above me as the sky rains glitter and popcorn flavoured jelly beans.

But even that moves away from the angry into some crazy unicorn inspired world.

I read a quote the other day that I quite liked from Nelson Mandela “As I walked out the door towards the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison”.

What an amazing philosophy to have, here I was just thinking bitterness and hatred gave you wrinkles and I’m way too old and too single to be wanting any more of those.

Image c/- Pinterest