Recently, looking for an outlet and trying to feel better about myself, I started jogging again.
(Again. That makes me sound like a fallen ex athlete – the truth is my jogging prowess has extended to a couple of meandering fun runs. I have the pics to prove it. My friend E and I did our last one in 2009, and she still has the pic stuck to her fridge: her lithe and petite, both feet off the ground with her perfect running form, beside me, doing a chubbywoman’s version of the Forrest Gump shuffle, but smiling and doing a thumbs up to the event photographer.)
So anyway, I have started jogging again, dragging dimply big legs around the suburbs wearing a polar fleece and a shiny beetroot face; and found like anything, to get better at it, one must keep doing it, and keep doing it, and keep doing it, even if one doesn’t feel like doing it – when one is hungover or has period pain (or both) and the weather is shite (we live in Melbourne).
And like jogging, I am reliably informed that the only way to get better at writing is write more. So hence, this blog. I will keep adding to it as regularly as I should.
Writing, you see, is my refuge, it is the one creative thing I enjoy (the flute, painting, and knitting were not successful) and although I ‘do’ a lot of ‘documentation’ for a living, writing creatively is something I need to do more of – it heals me, it energises me, it distracts me from the boring / the washing / the pantry / the wine bottle. (Although I probably do incorporate the final thing, e.g. now.)