You never knew me before. You never knew me when I would hide all my goals under my magical cloak so that no-one could see them, so no-one could judge them, so no-one could see me ultimately fail. You never knew me before when I would never ask anyone for help for fear of looking stupid and because ‘I knew’.
But then as I began to do what I realised I didn’t really know I discovered that people could and would be useful. Talking about my goals was not a sign of foolishness, but a sign of courage; asking people for help did not mean I was weak, but showed strength of character. I too realised that in the past I may have asked the wrong people for advice. Not necessarily because they didn’t have a vested interest in my success, but because they like me claimed ‘they knew’, when they had never done.
This time I sought out those that knew because they had done it before, and I discovered that no question is ever a stupid one and the answer to every question was helpful, useful and lit a fire so far up my ass that there was no way I was going to talk myself out of this one… not yet anyway.
In the beginning I spoke about my ‘crazy’ scheme with friends and was surprised to find that not one of them said anything like, “You better actually go through with it this time.” On the contrary they were full of awe and support. Then once they got past that part one or two had referrals of people who they knew would be able to help. Well everyone can give you advice on the diet you ‘just have to do’, or exercise that ‘will work for you if you stick to it’, but ask a room full of people about training for a marathon and the general response is, ‘I could never do that!’ That is apart from the one or two who actually have or are in the process of training for one.
So this is pretty much how I was introduced to the girl I am going to refer to as ‘my mentor’, an girl who by her own admit ion said, “It’s a lot of work, but it is addictive… you just cannot stop.” This was after she came second in a 10k run… just an average Friday morning for her I think.
I was so excited I bombarded her with an email asking questions about training schedules, realistic goals, and nutrition, anything I felt would better assist me. The next morning I opened my inbox to find an essay containing truly useful tips on training schedules, running groups in my area, websites that would help with training and diet and even the offer to run with me on a regular basis. I was just trying to absorb all the information when I received a second email:
But then as I began to do what I realised I didn’t really know I discovered that people could and would be useful. Talking about my goals was not a sign of foolishness, but a sign of courage; asking people for help did not mean I was weak, but showed strength of character. I too realised that in the past I may have asked the wrong people for advice. Not necessarily because they didn’t have a vested interest in my success, but because they like me claimed ‘they knew’, when they had never done.
This time I sought out those that knew because they had done it before, and I discovered that no question is ever a stupid one and the answer to every question was helpful, useful and lit a fire so far up my ass that there was no way I was going to talk myself out of this one… not yet anyway.
In the beginning I spoke about my ‘crazy’ scheme with friends and was surprised to find that not one of them said anything like, “You better actually go through with it this time.” On the contrary they were full of awe and support. Then once they got past that part one or two had referrals of people who they knew would be able to help. Well everyone can give you advice on the diet you ‘just have to do’, or exercise that ‘will work for you if you stick to it’, but ask a room full of people about training for a marathon and the general response is, ‘I could never do that!’ That is apart from the one or two who actually have or are in the process of training for one.
So this is pretty much how I was introduced to the girl I am going to refer to as ‘my mentor’, an girl who by her own admit ion said, “It’s a lot of work, but it is addictive… you just cannot stop.” This was after she came second in a 10k run… just an average Friday morning for her I think.
I was so excited I bombarded her with an email asking questions about training schedules, realistic goals, and nutrition, anything I felt would better assist me. The next morning I opened my inbox to find an essay containing truly useful tips on training schedules, running groups in my area, websites that would help with training and diet and even the offer to run with me on a regular basis. I was just trying to absorb all the information when I received a second email:
Oh and the most important advice I can give you is:
GET NEW SNEAKERS!
You must go to a sporting store and have them watch your gait and they will recommend a type of running shoe that you need.You can't skimp on the running shoe. It's way too important. You need the proper support for the way you run/walk (or else you will get knee problems, shin problems, ankle problems, aches/pains and so much
more)Pro Sport on Hachashmonayim St. is very good. Go there.
So I arranged with my sister and mother that first thing Friday we would go and buy new trainers. This came with the promise to my parents that as the one item they would be financially assisting us with, this would not be just a fad that we give up at the first hurdle, but that we were taking it seriously. We made our vow and Friday we headed to Pro Sport full of excitement.
I don’t think I have had my feet measured since I was 10 so I was pretty excited to get the full service again, but I really did not expect what was coming. I think I had envisioned a store with floor to ceiling running shoes; however this place was not the case. It had about four different brands of running shoes, but for each brand there was around twenty to choose from. How do you choose? Well you don’t. The expert chooses for you. How? Well, first you take off you shoes and socks and stand on a mat that kind of looks like a weighing machine so that he can see that arches in your foot. On the wall was a large screen where a picture of the sole of my foot made up with coloured dots appeared once I stood on the mat.
Now you have to understand that in my day I was a bit of a dancer. I did gymnastics and was always very proud of my point and the perfect dancers arch to my foot. Imagine my dismay when I was informed that after years of living in flip flops and All Stars my feet were now flat. I HAVE FLAT FEET!!! No there surely was some mistake. But after we checked and double checked I realised that my feet are in fact flat.
Deflated I moved on to the next test which was to walk on a treadmill while my feet were filmed and once again shown on the giant screen so the whole store could see my ankles moving. I have regrets that I did not film the experience to put it here for you to see, but at the time I was mortified enough that the people in the store were staring at my ankles that I completely forgot about the camera in my bag. Anyway, the good news is that despite my flat feet I walk perfectly straight, which is a great improvement as I was always told that I walked with a slant inward.
After the tests were completed I was given a choice of four different trainers that were best suited to my feet. It may sound like an easy decision, but each shoe was more comfortable than the next and in the end I was stuck with two different brands of shoes, one on each foot and I simply could not make a decision.
In the end the manager had to softly nudge me to make a decision as they were supposed to have closed a half an hour before. Finally I looked at my mother and then looked at the salesman and said, “Which is the cheaper of the two.”
So here they are the new tools of my trade… my babies.
I don’t think I have had my feet measured since I was 10 so I was pretty excited to get the full service again, but I really did not expect what was coming. I think I had envisioned a store with floor to ceiling running shoes; however this place was not the case. It had about four different brands of running shoes, but for each brand there was around twenty to choose from. How do you choose? Well you don’t. The expert chooses for you. How? Well, first you take off you shoes and socks and stand on a mat that kind of looks like a weighing machine so that he can see that arches in your foot. On the wall was a large screen where a picture of the sole of my foot made up with coloured dots appeared once I stood on the mat.
Now you have to understand that in my day I was a bit of a dancer. I did gymnastics and was always very proud of my point and the perfect dancers arch to my foot. Imagine my dismay when I was informed that after years of living in flip flops and All Stars my feet were now flat. I HAVE FLAT FEET!!! No there surely was some mistake. But after we checked and double checked I realised that my feet are in fact flat.
Deflated I moved on to the next test which was to walk on a treadmill while my feet were filmed and once again shown on the giant screen so the whole store could see my ankles moving. I have regrets that I did not film the experience to put it here for you to see, but at the time I was mortified enough that the people in the store were staring at my ankles that I completely forgot about the camera in my bag. Anyway, the good news is that despite my flat feet I walk perfectly straight, which is a great improvement as I was always told that I walked with a slant inward.
After the tests were completed I was given a choice of four different trainers that were best suited to my feet. It may sound like an easy decision, but each shoe was more comfortable than the next and in the end I was stuck with two different brands of shoes, one on each foot and I simply could not make a decision.
In the end the manager had to softly nudge me to make a decision as they were supposed to have closed a half an hour before. Finally I looked at my mother and then looked at the salesman and said, “Which is the cheaper of the two.”
So here they are the new tools of my trade… my babies.
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