Dated according to their dates of publications
Must do. Folk are giving me
every indication that I do.
The very
first blog on this blog site that ‘F’ set up for me was a copy of an email sent
to a friend which was written to explain to him why I had not carried out a
task he had asked me to do.
I was
justifying the lack of time I have to myself.
Then today,
on not one, not two but on three occasions have had someone insinuate or
indicate that I must be having great difficulty filling in my days now that I
don’t have Tony around to look after.
The first
time the hint was put across that I was lucky I had time on my hands to do
nothing but be laid back actually made me grin externally, but scowl
internally. On an almost daily basis someone will make a comment or ask
the question on how I could possibly fill in the whole 24 hours of the day now
that it’s just me.
The second
time it happened today was as I was rushing down the street (on foot) to get to
the YMCA as I had a commitment with two ‘athletes’ from my favoured bunch of
athletes who have major sporting goals ahead of them and were wanting to attend
the Y as part of their new fitness regime. As coach, it is my duty to be
there with them, happily. But as I rushed down the road a neighbour
called out, “Great for some, being about to go to the gym whenever you
want! Some of us have to go to work!”
Guess the man
thought he was being funny, or friendly or neighbourly. Had I not been in
such a rush to get there I would have stopped and bopped him one. Or
five.
It’s now 4.20
pm and I have just waved goodbye an unexpected visitor who came to the door
around 1.30 pm today. Someone who thought I might need company to fill in
the many hours in the day when I must be sitting in the front room gazing out
the window at the birds and butterflies.
That person
arrived just after I dashed downstairs to do some ironing – yes boring domestic
stuff – that has been sitting awaiting ironing for over 3 weeks. Why has
it been sitting and waiting for over 3 weeks? Because I have been too
jolly busy to find the time to do it, that’s why.
Today is a
perfect example.
Up at 4.15 am
to do some emailing that was worrying me and had kept me awake for some hours.
Out of the
household front door at 5.10 am to head to the swimming pool so that I could be
in the pool as soon as it opened at 5.30 am to enable me to get in a much
needed 2 kilometre swim. Much needed because I am only just now trying to
get some regularity and pattern into regaining the fitness I deem necessary to
be able to move forward in my soon to be new vocation as a professional
triathlon coach.
And why at
5.30 am? Because at 7 am I am due at the Auckland Museum to attend our
fortnightly Toastmaster meeting, thus am to do the swim, shower, dry body and
hair, dress, make myself look non-glum, rush out to the vehicle (in the rain),
drive to the museum, pay my dues and be seated by 7 am.
Meeting
finishes around 8.30 am giving me the perfect opportunity to catch up with some
fellow Toasties over a coffee to much needed friendship and even grief counseling.
Leave museum
at 9.15 – 9.30, drive directly to the 3 places I have to go to, eg: Dick Smiths
for a USB, AA garage to have them check my brakes as am worried about them,
Citizens advice to have a JP sign something – then home with just enough time for
me to rush in, unpack wet swim gear and bits, change into lycra and rush out
the door to meet A & N at the YMCA at 10.45 am. Via the neighbourly
chortle. Or better described as, a snide remark.
An hour and a
quarter later when finished at the YMCA A asks if I have time for a
coffee. Never one to miss the chance of a coffee (and realizing I was
quite famished by now and needed the milky protein), nodded in agreement.
Coffee with A
& N was delightfully pleasant – made more so by the proprietor of the
coffee shop granting me a gratis coffee in recognition of her knowledge that
Tony has passed away. That was kind.
After coffee
zoomed back here to find the water metre man having trouble reading the metre
due to the rain that was falling. Conversation with him re the metre
readings, then inside and go check my growing list of To Dos. Top of the
list today is ironing – yuk – but a must do as some unironed goods will soon be
required. Just start that when the phone rings, then while on the phone
the door bell rings. Cut off phone caller, go to front door.
A
visitor. A smiling, genial and jolly visitor.
The one who
thought I might need a visitor to fill in those hours of bird and butterfly
watching.
‘F’ was the
one who rang earlier, to invite me to join her over some delightful culinary
treat she has been creating today for her evening meal. I did begin to
try and explain that I did not have time to accept the lovely invitation, but
sensed a questioning air there too.
You see, am
hoping to go away for a week on Sunday and I have only 60 hours between now and
then to get organised. That sounds like enough but tomorrow will have to
be up early as the tree man is arriving just after 7 am to do the much required
tree pruning I have asked him to do. Have tried doing it myself but am a
little concerned about those power lines, so he can play Russian roulette with
the lines and get paid for it. I have 3 appointments during the rest of
the day and was hoping to slot in a catch up with a friend, but that may not
work because of my appointment times.
Sometime
tomorrow (probably tomorrow night) I will be creating my own culinary
dish which is to be my contribution to a meal I am attending with warm friends
the following night – a dinner date arranged weeks ago – and we always
contribute something towards the meal. Looking at my diary for tomorrow,
my contribution may be last Wednesday night’s left over crackers and cheese.
I
digress. I am concerned that will I be awake and perky for that dinner on
Saturday evening? As, on Saturday morning at 8 am one will see me at the
far end of Te Atatu Peninsula where some of the ‘flock’ will be participating
in a run/bike/run duathlon that I am encouraging many to do and as coach it
gives me primo opportunity to see them in action.
From there I
will rush home, change clothes, pack up vehicle and head out to the other far
end of the earth, Pakuranga, for the second of this season’s winter cross
country running events. Must be there by 12.30 pm. Won’t be
finished my own race and formalities until 4.30 pm at which time I will be
driving back to middle earth to shower, change and be at the dinner date at 6
pm.
Sometime
tomorrow I would like to catch up with one, or two, or three of our sons –
touch base, so to speak.
Oh, I should be able to do
that; I can just take myself away from bird and butterfly watching.
Am working toward completing Tony's
life story in book form and have been searching through computer files looking
for some of his memories and among all his files came across a file
of my own writings which is rather relevant.
A couple of years ago I attended a writing course at Auckland University and on the first day we were all given 10 minutes to write on the theme 'Who am I?'
I recall all others in the course wrote about who they were - ie, where they were born, where they live, married or unmarried, children or no children, employ or not employed, hobbies and interests.
All very interesting for the rest of us on the course to enable us to learn who our fellow writers were. But seems my mind works in a different way, the following is who I am.
Who am I?
A couple of years ago I attended a writing course at Auckland University and on the first day we were all given 10 minutes to write on the theme 'Who am I?'
I recall all others in the course wrote about who they were - ie, where they were born, where they live, married or unmarried, children or no children, employ or not employed, hobbies and interests.
All very interesting for the rest of us on the course to enable us to learn who our fellow writers were. But seems my mind works in a different way, the following is who I am.
Who am I?
"And here she is, coming down the finishing straight, Verna
Cook-Jackson, wife of Tony Jackson…"
There it was again, the same words, the same annual call. I was
finishing an Ironman triathlon event, an event that has me swim nearly four
kilometres in a lake, ride a bike through tough and undulating countryside for
180 kilometres then run a marathon of forty-two kilometres.
It was my tenth year of doing this event. Some years it had poured
with rained. Some years it froze, had incredible winds, or was a blinding
scorcher. Ten or twelve hours into the event my body would scream to end
the pain. Scream for rest and gentle hands to rub tortured muscles.
The last two hours in the dark of night are the hardest. I would
have been in perpetual motion for at least twelve or thirteen hours.
So, for the tenth time I had only 300 metres to push this anguished body
down the finishing chute to cross the line. I am the only one in the
chute, the spotlights are all on me, and the music is blaring. Hundreds of
spectators cheer, chant, clap and celebrate my own victory over my body.
And yes, yet again, for the tenth year in a row the announcer on the
microphone screams out, "Here she is, coming down the finishing
straight. Verna Cook-Jackson, wife of Tony Jackson who …"
That is the last they will hear about me, it is now all about him.
And do I mind? Not at all. I love every moment of it.
I love hearing others talk about my Tony. My hero. My mentor.
My superman. Their hero.
I know who I am. I am Verna Cook-Jackson, wife of Tony Jackson.
Seems my last
blog entertained a number of folk whilst they drank their morning tea or coffee
at their work PCs this morning.
Have had lots
of chuckling (and knowing) texts, phone calls, emails and FB comments.
To be fair to
my WONDERFUL support team – it could not have been an easy task having to spend
an entire day at the beckoning and calling of a woman in grieving who is taking
full license to behave irrationally and irritably at anyone daring to push my limits.
But then
again, 32 kilometres is one hell of a limit to have been pushed …
I digress …
To ‘The Team’
– I now pull my tongue out of my cheek - I really am grateful to you. And you
know it. Emotionally it was a really hard day for me and your
antics eventually touched a funny bone….
And I did tell you I
couldn’t let it go by without a blog….
I went
and did the Rotorua Marathon yesterday. Me and five wonderful
supporters. We did a day trip to Rotorua and back. It was a long
day. Longer for some than others.
Indeed,
it was a very long day for some …… one ....
Excerpts from the mental kilometre by kilometre
diary….
At the 19 kilometre mark I thought, “My body will
probably be a bit depleted by the time I see them.”
At the 20 kilometre mark I thought, “Can’t wait to
see them.”
At the 21 kilometre mark I thought, “Ooww....
body's feeling a bit empty. I’ll be really relieved when I see them.”
At the 22 kilometre mark I thought, “I’ll ask one
of them to go to the dairy on the road and buy me an ice cream. A
boysenberry one, in a cone. My body needs the protein and sugar.”
At the 23 kilometre mark I thought, “I’ll tell them
if the shop hasn’t got cone ice creams, then get me a pineapple fruju
instead. The sugar will give me some immediate help from my depletion.”
At the 24 kilometre mark I thought, “They must be
waiting by the dairy, I’ll tell them to get me fruit yoghurt now instead of the
ice cream or fruju because my body really needs the protein with the sugar and
fat to restore its empty muscle cells.
At the 25 kilometre mark I thought to myself,
“Where the hell are they?!”
At the 26 kilometre mark I thought, “Where the
flippin heck are they?!”
At the 27 kilometre mark I thought, “My body is
dying.”
At the 28 kilometre mark I thought, “This is one
hell of a way for them to help me with the 67.6 kilograms!”
At the 29 kilometre mark I thought, “Where the
………… are they?!”
At the 30 kilometre mark I thought, “I’m gunna
die…”
At the 31 kilometre mark I thought, “I think I'm
dead …”
At the 32 kilometre mark I begged an anorexic
fellow competitor for her banana. She gave it to me.
Just before the 33 kilometre mark I saw them, up
ahead, happy as sand boys (what is a sand boy?), waving to all the competitors,
smiling and laughing and having a good time.
At the 34 kilometre mark Peter had got such an ear
bashing that he wished he had stayed in bed that morning.
At the 95 kilometre mark on the drive home I
thought, “As much as I would love to blog about this experience today, I really
can’t. They were lovingly good hearted enough to give up their whole day,
their Saturday morning sleep in, their day messing about at home, to come all
the way to the Rotorua marathon, not get home till dark, and in the rain, just
to support me. What wonderful , marvelous, loyal, kind, generous people
they really are.
Crickey,
how could I possibly write a blog about this ……
She tells me all my blood test results are fine and
dandy.
But she tells me I need to get out
more.
She says I must get out and about and do some
exercise.
She tells me exercise will help me get through this
grief I am “suffering”.
She tells me that getting out in the fresh air is
also good for the endorphins so it would be good for me to go for a
good “brisk walk” or even a ride on a bike.
So I’m taking my doctor’s advice.
I’m going to walk a marathon tomorrow.
That
should about get rid of the grief all in one hit.
(I'm joking... really... don't take me too seriously... )
(I'm joking... really... don't take me too seriously... )
Upside – Shelley & I were heading out of Auckland
Tuesday to stay with warm friends who now live in Whangamata.
Downside – On Sunday I found I was
67.6 kilograms.
On upside – I am going to do something about that.
On downside – Friend Shelley and I had already committed to
travelling out of Auckland for an overnight bender with some friends in
Whangamata.
On the flip side – we always overindulge when we stay with them.
On upside – they love food and wine. And the cook and delight
in it.
On downside – we will be helping them consume it.
On update – we will be helping them
consume it.
On downside –
it will tell on our bodies and this is one body that has just gone upside from
63 to 67 kilograms.
On upside – the food and wine we will be consuming will be
first class, nothing less.
On downside – we produced the cheap stuff.
On upside – it was all delicious, particularly the Annabell
Langbein’s pork, cumim and apricot dish.
Upside – dessert was um. As was the rich think fudge
cake consumered during the middle of the day
And wine.
Indeed, the
first bottle of Rose was opened at 12.30. The bubbles soon after then the
white before heading to the heavy reds,
Now despite
all of this waffle, approximately 20 minutes ago I consumed one of those fancy
littlie blue tablets that is supposed to create instant sleep. Seems the
doctor feels I need to do more for the next period and asked for monitoring of
my sleeping tablet pills. Very night for 5 nights. Most particularly
tonight.
Methinks it
quite appropriate that it has self regularation on those as at this poinr.
He/She tells
me to take one onlyl so AI
alooliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Think that
last bit is gobbledeegook It is – the funny little blue pills are having
an effect.
They neeed to
– it has been a very hard and horrible day today. One of a long period of
inconsolability during which Someone came knocked on the door. I could
not answer. The sadness of others beats me up even more. I waited till
they left and then spent an uncontrollable period of deep and dark. It’s
hurting my head still.
Back to the
determined up.. Today, after all that wine, food, sweets (didn’t tell you
about those) for that period, I lost an enormous 200 grams. That was an
UP!
But I've also
lost 80 kilogrames of Tony - that caused hours of down.
But spent
some time tonight, at the Auckland Museum , where they discussed family Zeus
and Hera and how much divergence there is in the nuclear family..
I was trying to make the brain function and take brain off the loss – didn't
work…
Tomorrow will be a better
day. I am sure. ….. I have things to look forward to. Like Fiona's
fruit cake .... and 67.6 kilograms to lose. Then 42kilometres to
marathon to walk through the next day. Arrghhh... Where are yo Mr J
when I need you? Watch out for me. Night, night...
It’s every
woman’s nightmare. The nightmare of standing on the scales and finding
out that you have added the winter upholstery to your frame before winter even
arrives. It happened to me this morning. I stood on those
scales. They said, for the fifth time, 67.6 kilograms. That seemed
impossible. Hence the five times onto the scales, just in case the
digital needle had got stuck somehow.
What a shock
it was. It was the shock that it has happened so fast. In
less than three weeks I have put on an extra four kilograms of weight.
“How did that happen?”... I asked myself.
Oh so
munchingly easily, unfortunately.
Didn't take
long to work out how. Have had lots of lovely friends who have been
looking after me. By “looking after me” they are visiting (for which I am
eternally grateful) and bringing all forms of treats around for me (for which I
have also been eternally grateful). My pantry, fridge and freezer shelves
have been bending with the weight of the givings of so many kind and good
hearted people.
In the good
old olden days one would visit a bereaved other with loving gifts of homemade
vege soups, or stews, or casseroles, or sides of lamb, or a slab of beef from
the recent home kill, or sacks of spuds and kumeras, or bundles
of silver-beat or rhubarb plucked out of the garden, and even cartons
of eggs their brown, clucky hens had laid.
Nowadays
those equivalent lovely people are giving to this bereaved one boxes of
chocolates, or boxes of chocolate biscuits, or packets of my favoured
marshmallow Easter eggs, or lovingly baked cakes and loaves and muffins and
biscuits, and lamingtons, and ginger crunch, and apple pie, or hand made
truffles, lemon meringue pies made from Great Aunties recipe and one person
even visited with the most amazingly decorated cup cakes that tasted better
than the decoration looked.
Such
wonderful people. So kind. So good. So thoughtful. And
ever so appreciated.
Buuuttt……
I ate them. All of them. I shared little for fear of offending the
giver by giving to others. I ate every morsel, every crumb with as much
love and affection that they were delivered with. That’s what one should
do. Isn’t it? Given with love, consumed with love.
And now I am
67.6 kilograms. When yesterday I told someone I was 65.
I checked on
my training diary and only three weeks ago I was a svelte 64.4. ONLY
THREE WEEKS AGO!
You are now
reading the writings of a woman on a mission.
Sure, if
anyone’s heart still wants to make me feel warm and fuzzy, by all means bring
what you have at hand – but now I will share. I will share with all my
friends. They too will enjoy the lovingly given goods. Or, bring
fruit. Lotsa fruit. Or veges. Preferably green ones.
On a more
serious note and with my coach’s had on – I have realised that it is not only
the input of calories that has created this self imposed little mini drama, but
it has so much to do with the output.
The reality
is that I would have been taking on board almost as many calories in the months
before Tony passed away, at times I would have been eating even more. But
over the past twelve months looking after Tony had been a very physical
role. And as the months progressed the physicality became more and more
intensive.
When Tony
came home just before Christmas his care was a total minute by minute
caring. His ability to do most things for himself had become greatly
lessened, he required constant care. His propensity to lose balance and
fall, even from what seemed a stable couch or chair became more and more
frequent. So merely looking after him, moving him and making his life as
normal as possible meant it became a full on and very physical caring.
I recall the
number of times would have run up and down our laundry stairs in one day.
There may only be thirteen relatively steep stairs – but some days I would be
running up and down those stairs ten to 15 times a day – and always at as great
a speed as possible as leaving Tony out of my eye sight for more than two
seconds could result in something nasty happening to him. If I needed to
go to the laundry, and with the amount of laundry I had in those days it meant
I did need to get down there, I would have to wait until Tony was well
ensconced in the Lazyboy chair, or in the wheelchair before I did a mad dash
down, push that machine button then rush back up again.
And the
lifting. From bed to chair, to loo to chair, chair to couch, to motor
vehicle to wheelchair. Just the lifting would have me perspiring buckets.
And the
walks. The walks in the wheelchair. That couple of times we
traversed the local streets to the Fridge in Kingsland, or up to the café in
the Mt Albert shops in the beating midday sun. Even the seemingly short
walks down to Parkside Café or Kings Café were a major physical mission.
The heart rate would always be at almost maximum for a great percentage of
time.
What better
training could I have really had? None really. Thanks to Mr J I got
in some unexpected strength, endurance, aerobic and anaerobic training all in
one go. At the same time giving me the best core stability ever.
You try lifting and guiding a fully grown man who has no sense of balance –
that keeps you on the up and straight and strong. A full core workout.
But now I
don’t have the dear man to look after. And I have become very much more a
sedentary person. Have had the odd burst of energetic enthusiasm – such
as last weekend with a cross country race and then a little triathlon.
But done nothing since – due to the minor but painful injury caused by the
sudden burst of cross country and triathlon in a 48 hour period.
And that, my
friends, is where the 67.6 has come from.
Now, where’s that spinach
& broccoli smoothie gone ……?
Been doing computer work all morning and having to move files around and
in my usual inefficient way, became side tracked when finding files on
he PC that I had forgotten about.
I found this little story I had to write some long while ago and had forgotten all about it... it is the story of Tony and I meeting for the first time. Reading it this morning transcended me directly back to the day - and the time - a time us Kiwis were probably showing little intelligence in. There is a little cringe factor in it .. but boy am I most glad I wrote it. It has actually put a smile on my face.
I found this little story I had to write some long while ago and had forgotten all about it... it is the story of Tony and I meeting for the first time. Reading it this morning transcended me directly back to the day - and the time - a time us Kiwis were probably showing little intelligence in. There is a little cringe factor in it .. but boy am I most glad I wrote it. It has actually put a smile on my face.
It would
never happen today in this day and age; that is a whole cynically based
movement in this country at the time that followed the motto of ‘Punch a Pom a
Day’.
But it really
happened. Must have been sometime in the early eighties. A braggart
of a sports radio announcer had come up with the concept of too many Poms in
the country so why don’t we ‘Punch a Pom a Day’. New Zealanders even
drove around their towns and cities with bumper stickers stating… “Punch a Pom
a Day”.
Seen at the
time as an amusing antidote for what the average Kiwi working class bloke
considered most immigrant English people were – a bunch of moaning
and whingeing ‘Poms’.
Indeed,
despite his having some intelligence, even my father was one of many who
thought the movement of punching a Pom a day as one of bemusement at the
expense of the many “bloody whingeing Poms” that had immigrated to
New Zealand.
On
reflection, my father was a working class man who had been a representative in
his own workers union thus making him a staunch ‘union’ man, which now seems
somewhat hypocritical as he was as ready as the next basic Kiwi man to complain
about the fact that most of the New Zealand workers’ unions were run by
“Poms”. That is, relatively new recruits from the United Kingdom who had
come out to New Zealand for a better life, quickly integrated themselves into
their local worker’s unions, where they felt most comfortable as unions had
always been the mainstay of the working man in the UK, and then quickly risen
in the ranks to leading the unions and being spokesmen for the unions.
Of course
this mean they were the ones being interviewed for the radio news interview and
television news interviews and in the 1960’s and 1970’s the workers unions
still carried much power in the working machinations of New Zealand industry
and it’s continual disputes and strikes.
Inevitability,
whenever there was a dockside strike, the person the media turned to for
comments would be someone with a strong working class English accent.
Strikes by metal workers, railway workers, driving unions, mining workers all
had strong unions being led by strong willed and strongly accented English men.
And those
English immigrants who were not members of unions but just normal people trying
to get on with life were still categorized as being ‘moaners’ for one reason or
the other. Men and women moaners. It would seem that for many
English folk the transition from the UK to New Zealand tended to be more of a
cultural shock than they had expected or were led to believe prior to their
departure from their homeland. This inevitably led to many English folk
becoming quickly homesick for their homeland of family, friends and local pubs.
Consequently
the phrase was often heard from the mouth of an English person, “…. Back home
….” Indeed, it did seem that almost every English person was always
talking about “back home”. Basic New Zealanders soon came to the
conclusion that there was hardly a happy English immigrant in this country and
that they all bemoaned everything and anything in New Zealand that Kiwis
treasured. Whatever that may have been.
Therefore,
generally speaking, the English were not highly regarded or respected by many
New Zealanders but most New Zealanders managed to keep their derogatory
opinions to themselves and were ever so Englishy polite to their newly arrived
neighbours.
But, the
reality was, my Dad did not have a high opinion of ‘Poms’. And when I married
an Englishman whose mother was a broad speaking but tried to be posh speaking
Pom, my father was rather cynical in his outlook on my newly acquired
mother-in-law.
On
reflection, he was right. She was probably not quite the moaner he
catagorised her in but she certainly was the first person in my life that had
me experience racism. A total shock for me as I had never experienced it
before. But I digress.
The point to
all this was that us children grew up to not have a high regard for the average
sock and sandle wearing Pom.
So, in the
early 80’s when a bearded, sock and sandal wearing Pom walked into the retail
shop my then husband and I owned and was introduced as the husband of my own
husband’s very old friend, I recall politely shaking his hand, making polite
conversation but immediately categorising him into the ‘oh, another moaning
Pom’.
Little did I know then that some
thirteen or fourteen years later I would fall in love with the bearded, sandal
wearing Pom.
Mission
Bay is a popular venue for triathlon events nowadays. Used to be St
Heliers, that is until the events became really popular and the number of
competitors grew, as did the number of events. So Mission Bay it was for
the final of the summer triathlons. Mission Bay and mud.
Purposely
did not go too early to the event. I find I do not enjoy meeting up with
people who I have not seen for a while as they inevitably want to come up and
commiserate with the loss we have all had. I understand they are doing
the right thing, but find that if I can avoid meeting with anyone I can avoid
the inevitable attach of grief where the tears just flow, no matter how much I
try to hold them back.
There
were a number of little events in this little event - mine being a mere 500
metre swim, a mere 40km bike and a mere 5km run.
Was a
little concerned as at the cross country the previous day I managed to give
myself one deep and bloody blister on the bunion ball of the foot - a
right royal beauty - and it was very, very sore and deep. Therefore was
concerned at how my bike shoes and run shoes would irritate it so took a couple
of painkillers before the event in the hope they may travel through
my svelte-like body and stick themselves right on the bloodied blister and
kill any discomfort I may have. Seems they worked.
Swam
and bikes OK, if somewhat slower than I would have liked, and whilst feeling
some discomfort on that foot during the 5 kilometre run, it did not seem great
enough to stop and walk or take my shoes off. That is, until I finished
and took my shoes off. Then it became very painful as it would seem the
bike and running shoes had indeed made the injury deeper and bleed more.
It is four days later and I can still not put any shoes on my feet, nor
allow the bedsheets to rub on the injured spot.
So,
triathlon over, took the offer of friends to go and shower at their home very
close to the venue, returned to the venue for the prize giving, in the hope of
winning a spot prize, any spot prize. But won nothing except for a
plastic piece of laminate that tells me I was third in my age group for the
event I did. There were only four in my age group. And the sadness
is that the forth lady is one sweet person who I would prefer to have seen come
third. I entered the event a few days earlier because of the bogeys I was
trying to overcome without considering that this lady may too enter - and as I
coached her to and through the 2013 Ironman event in March, I did not like the
idea of racing against her. We are in the same age group.
All
points to her though - she well and truly beat me out of the swim and it was
not until well over half way on the bike that I passed her. Good for her
though as she hung in behind me to transition. Good girl! That's
what I like to see, someone really trying and having their own competition.
Therefore
she beat me out of transition too. Must work with her on her running
ability....
Prize
giving did not finish until almost 1 p.m. so it was the inevitable drive home
to unload all the muddy gear. ALL of it. Muddy gumboots, running
shoes, bike shoes, bike, wetsuit, towels, clothes .... everything, covered in
mud. That was one long unloading and washing down session as had to hose
everything - most particularly the bike as did not want mud left on the chain
or in the wheel cogs. Have yet to go into the garage and double check it
and fix the punctured wheel. Oh well, maybe tomorrow.
Once
unpacked there was little time left for me to prepare for the land-based swim
coaching session I was to be holding in our home at 4 p.m. Where up to
ten people would be coming to go through the basics of good swim technique.
At 3 p.m. I had a massagee coming therefore I had approximately one hour
to prepare for my coaching session - set up PC and TV and have some semblance
of organisation.
The
worst occurred, the PC would not connect to the TV. Some urgent phone
calls across the city airwaves got no result for me. All the IT people in
the family were not answering their phones initially. Fortunately one did
and made the commitment to travel out of their way to come help me. In
the meantime, Massagee arrived, and with a little bit of luck, like pushing the
connection fully into the PC, the system worked. Right at the time the
IT-expert-son walked in the door.
Massage
done, 4 p.m. arrived, as did ten people. One and a half hours later that
session finished and once all the post chat was over the house became empty
just after 6 p.m.
Then
began the hard part of my day. Just me and the empty home, with cat.
Those empty hours in the empty home. They are so very tough.
I try to fill the time in with anything to pass the minutes - usually
acts of trivia. Crossword puzzles, code crackers, FaceBook...
anything until midnight until I can go to bed and spend a restless
night.
I long for these hours to pass
quickly ...
“What do you do with yourself all day?” was the
question this morning. “Oh, not much was my reply.”
Should have referred him to the previous couple of
blogs. The one that finished last Friday.
Every day since has been almost the same.
On the Saturday was up early as had someone to
coach in sea swimming at Mission Bay at 7.30 a.m. I had hoped she would
not been keen to go what with the summer beginning to feel as though it is
fading. But no, she wanted to have her coaching session so there I was at
the seaside at 7.15 a.m. squeezing myself into a wetsuit I had not worn for a
while, looking out to the lumpy water thinking, “Bed seems such a good
alternative.”
Give the lovely lady her due. She turned up, sans
wetsuit and went straight into the sea without hesitation. So unusual.
For past few years have had major histrionics with women and sea swimming.
This new recruit of mine, all 57 years of her, looked at the lapping waters
with nothing but enthusiasm to get in and power through those lumps.
Swim over at 8.30 but no time to shower and dash
over to the café for the usual latte and scone – I had other commitments for
the day so it was a zoom-zoom home in the van, still dressed in the entire
rubbered wet suit. It must have bemused the truck driver in the lane next
to me at the lights – he kept staring into the van with a most quizzical look
on his face. Guess seeing a 60 year old woman, driving a big Granvia van, fully
dressed in thick rubber, at 9 o’clock in the morning on a Saturday must have
given him some sense of unrealilty.
Once home it was into the shower, unpack the gear,
repack gear, load the car up with more gear – have a quick bowl of cereal
whilst perusing the headlines of Saturday morning’s paper and hope to have a
few moments of quiet and being still before having to leave home again at 11
a.m.
This day was the first of the cross country running
days. Cross country running being a very seasonal affair – with a series
of cross country running being held on intermittent weekends throughout the
winter season. As I am a great advocate of the benefits of cross country
running for any athlete (no matter what age) who wants to improve their overall
strength, endurance and anaerobic capacity and frequently espouse the virtues
of cross country running, feel that one should lead by example so had requested
an entry into this particular day’s racing.
Which is one of the reasons why there was some
pre-thinking and pre-planning to do for this day as one must take various items
of comfort, clothing, foodstuffs and survival equipment when heading out to
cross country running. For instance – spare bottles of water, not for
drinking but for squirting off the mud that is splashed up on the legs when one
runs the cross country fields. Then there are the deck chairs to pack as
once out at the venue there is no such thing as a grandstand, or seating – if
one does not take ones own chair, the legs will be in a constant state of
standing and after running around paddocks one does feel the need to sit for a
while. Then there are the gumboots to pack – the venue is inevitably
muddy. Then the wet weather gear, the change of clothing gear, the towels and
of course, the afternoon tea and hot thermos of water for the coffee and teas.
Thus, by the time I sat down to my bowl of cereal
and freshly chopped feijoas, with the NZ Herald spread on the breakfast bench
for perusing, I was already quite a weary little lady. Then Son No. 1
walked in. He had brought with him a spare cell phone he had at home,
with the thought of lending it to his mother as she had sent out a notice the
day before bemoaning the fact that her cell phone had died and Telecom merely
shrugged their shoulders when she took it into them and said, “Sorry, it’s
totally gone. You will need to purchase a new one.” Yeah,
right. Like I have a spare dollar or two to pay out for a brand new cell
phone whilst this old and broken one still had four months of its two year
contract to run. Was not impressed. So had to notify all via email
that I was uncontactable by cell phone and land-line and email were the best
way to contact me.
Therefore Danny decided to bring Mother his old
phone. Bit awkward. Because some other lovely person had decided
they would help out with a new phone and didn’t like to knock Danny’s generous
offer but he accepted that it was probably best I keep his one just in case
something happened to the other I would be getting.
But then had to bundle him out as it was time for
me to leave to drive to the great hills and paddocks of Pukekoheville, via
picking up one Helen O’Shaunnesey who lives close by then a zoom-zoom down the Southern
Motorway, off at Mt Wellington to head to Glen Innes to pick Shelley Clark up,
then back on the motorway heading south to the cross country venue.
Our guestimation as to how long it would take to
arrival at the destination was a little out as we arrived a good twenty minutes
or more ahead of time, so Helen’s suggestion of driving into the township to
have a coffee seems to hit the “mmmm” factor with Shelley and I; so off to
coffee we went.
Interestingly we seem to have found the best and
most interesting café in the Pukekohe district – coffee was good, management
most entertaining, décor was art décor, clientele was interesting.
Post coffee – off to the cross country – lovely
course, perhaps the only real cross country course left. All others in
the season tend to be manicured and flattened grass running only.
Us ‘masters’ women only had five kilometres of
field to run and despite the fields being greatly diminished in recent years,
there were enough of us ‘oldies’ to give ourselves our own little
competition. Things were looking up for me this year as I was only third
to last. I do think I was second to last in 2012.
Post race we had an open invitation by young Peter
Forbes to drive what he called “ten minutes” to his and Jean’s home to “shower
and coffee”. Ten minutes was a slight under exaggeration but we did
not care, the country side was pretty and the roads were ones we had not
travelled before so it was a pleasant sojourn and turned out to be an ideal
finish to the racing day. We showered and coffee’d and were entertained
by the visiting dogs to the property and learnt much about their horses.
Leaving their home it was a 45 second drive to the Pokeno township where the
girls had decided that Pokeno bacon had to be purchased. They visited the
butcher’s shop and came out reeking of Cumberland sausages, whilst I enjoyed
the crook and nanny of the local art and craft shop.
By the time we drove back into the city and dropped
Shelley off, then detoured to Mission Bay to pick up my registration
information for the little triathlon I was about to do the next morning, then
dropped Helen home, I arrived at my door at approximately 5.30 p.m.
Then a repeat of the session earlier in the morning
– unloading vehicle, reloading vehicle.
Unloading all the bits and bobs and boots and shoes
from the cross country and reloading the car with wetsuits, towels, clothing
and bike helmets and shoes and bike for the event the next morning. That
was, until I realised I had a major split tyre issue with my bike. So it
was a case of ‘borrowing’ a front wheel off Tony’s second best bike and putting
it onto my bike. The concept of changing tubes and tyres on my own wheel
was a no-no as amongst all the stuff in the garage I do not know which tyre,
tube or piece of equipment would be safe and sure – thus borrowing from one
bike to put on another was the best option.
By the time the bike was done and loaded into the
Granvia it was post 7 p.m. Then another shower – and I think dinner consisted
of whatever was in the cupboard – ie: crackers, chips, cheese.
Next morning, up at 5 a.m. as had to have the bike
racked before 7 a.m. and knew there would be road closures down at the venue so
was aware I needed a good breakfast very early, as dinner was substandard, and
added more bits and pieces to the Granvia and headed to the Eastern Bays.
Mud. Glorious mud. By the time I
wheeled the bike into the transition area just before 7 a.m. the grass was
awash with horrid, sloshy, splashy, watery mud. It would seem the clever
Auckland City Council has yet to reprogramme their water sprinkling on many of
the reserves as the loud speaker announcer informed us that the sprinkler
system had been turned on over night thus the consequence of water and mud
totally ruining the park like grasses on Mission Bay green.
My race was not until 7.35 a.m. so I had a little
time to organise myself, so I thought.
Both the cross country and this particular little
triathlon were major steps for me. Being at home on my own is enormously
difficult. The first couple of weeks after everyone had left the house
post-Tony's funeral I did not want to see or mix with anyone. I wanted
time to myself, time to sleep, time to have time, time to cry, time to scream,
time to howl, time to adjust, time to think, time to do, time to stop the great
physical pain I was feeling, time to make some strategies to know how to handle
the pain, to know how to handle the constant flow of tear, the gripping torment
of no longer having my darling man with me anymore, ever.
Those two weeks were hell. Certainly people
visited and I visited people - but they will never understand just how tortuous
it was for me to be with them when all I wanted was to be with Tony.
Thoughts of never being able to look to the future without Tony kept
flooding into my mind. The idea of never having my mate, my darling man,
my treasured one with me again became greater than life was worth. I
began to realise that I would not really be at peace with this situation until
my soul was with his again. And it was at the realisation of where this
line of thinking was going that I realised I needed help. I sought help.
I also realised that I needed to make myself as
busy as possible to be able to get through each and every day in the hope that
eventually the pain, the ache and the longing to be with Tony again would ease
and settle to a sensible awareness of a missed love and not of a loved I wanted
to be with, in no matter what world.
I needed to be busy and to step through everything
that would confront me in the future with the knowledge that I was so fortunate
that I had had Tony with me for all those years doing the things I would now be
doing.
That is why I had determined to run the cross
country run. We had run cross country for almost thirty years and the
last twenty years we had been running cross country together. For the
last twenty years we had been enjoying the swimming and biking and running of
triathlons. I needed to take the first step to do these things on my own.
Without my darling man. I shall spend the next ten years completing
the firsts ... the first time I do whatever, without Tony. Cross country
and triathlons are a major first time.
That is why I entered both events. I felt the
real need to tick those first times. I have done so but while writing
this now, 3 or 4 days later, I realise that the second time is going to be no
easier than the first time.
Running cross country was difficult, emotionally.
I cried whilst I ran. I pictured Tony on the side lines as he
always had been, cheering me on, with the ever so proud look on his face that
he always had for me, even when I was coming last. He was always so very
proud of me. Even last year - when he was at Pukekohe and unable to
compete because he had just had head surgery - he was there, sitting on the
chair, calling out to me as I ran past, with the ever-so lovely smile of
proudness on his face. He loved me so much and was proud of anything I
did.
So these two events this past weekend we a major
hurdle for me. But I really doubt that the next cross country or the next
triathlon is going to be any easier. Each venue, each event, I will see
Tony standing there as he had done for so many years - the tears will keep
coming.
Hello and Welcome
Adding some more text here for instructional purposes.
Adding some more text here for instructional purposes.
Ah ha! The Blog!
Well … therein lies another
story among the many hundreds of stories this past week has held.
Somewhere among all those days
last week I emailed my friends Janine and Fiona … about something ..??.. can’t
remember what … but mentioned that I need to have a blog cause I figure I could
bemuse and bore many a folk about ongoing tales of
woe-is-me-with-yet-another-thing-happening-to-me-on-whatever-day thingie.
And suggested, well maybe asked, I think in a nice way? … if Fiona
fancied the idea of working one out for me as I was totally squeezed for
minutes in the day let alone a good couple of hours trying to figure out how to
do a blog. And bingo! She did one for me!
Not only that, she sent all the
step-by-step instructions through to me so I could then activate and write on
it – only when I began the first step, guess what?! I stuffed it
up. How unexpected!
But … not to be daunted, as I
knew I had an incredibly busy couple more days to go, I asked Fiona if she could
do my first blog for me and sent her that ‘excuse’ email I sent to you as to
why I had not done anything about my/Tony’s affairs that you are helping me
with. So she did! So I have a blog … just have yet to sit and work
it out. And post on it.
And just went and looked at it
and now can’t see the post …. So no doubt I stuffed that up too.
And as I took a sleeping tablet
last night due to my knowing my body & soul is exhausted and has to have a
good night’s sleep – took one just before sending that below last night – woke
wide awake at 3 a.m. so took another one and a half and only just woken up and
feel great!
Those little blue tablets are
my lifeline at the moment. Can you picture me in K Rd in a few days
time.. trading favours for little blue tablets!?? … Naaahh….
Gotta busy day today (includes
doing my ‘Jason’ / Tony task – also have to update Peter-the-solicitor as
haven’t spoken or communicated with him and as he had written to W&I two
weeks ago feel I have let myself down by not keeping him in the loop) ..
but will be in touch. Also – guess what I got in the mail on Saturday
… a letter from the HM Revenue & Customs about Tony and tax… this is
a surreal world that I am still living in….
Xx (to both of you)
Verna
While I am on the PC – want to let
you know I still haven’t done anything regarding looking for the Tony info.
It’s because I haven’t had
time. You and others won’t believe me but I have been flat out since
getting back here Wednesday. It kinda went like this:
Eventually arrived back in Akld at
4.30pm on Wednesday, had 20 mins before the first of the OWR crew began
arriving, they all came and didn’t leave till 7.30pm at which time Danny
arrived and I prepared dinner for us while we had lots of catch up, ate dinner,
he went home at 10.45, I cleaned up/unpacked a little & did some catch up
emailing before falling asleep on the key board after midnight. Up early
to get back on PC to write that mornings swim sessions for the swim crew, down
at the pool just after 6am and there until leaving at 8.30am, had to go to the
hospital to see someone, home at 10.15am, changed and rushed out to Pilates as
am determined to do Pilates & Yoga again to help me get back into a healthy
state, that finished at midday which gave me just enough time to rush home and
change, answer a few emails and then head to Mercy Hospice for a grief counselling
session which lasted for 2 hrs, left there and rushed up to me 3.15pm doctor’s
appointment and she kept me waiting for half an hour, finished that and rushed
to the chemist before rushing home as knew I had two people coming here for an
early dinner last night; one from out of town and the other the lady from down
stairs who I asked to dinner so that I would not have to be the sole other
person at the dinner with the out of town friend who missed Tony’s funeral but
wanted to talk and I knew I would get upset so asked Mariska to come to dinner;
they did and I provided the economical dinner, he provided some wine, Mariska
provided nothing and nor should she as she had looked after Catie-Pai for which
I was really grateful; the two dinner guest got on so well that they chatted
and chatted happily all night whilst I fed and watered them and drank the wine
because neither of them were drinking wine so I got sizzled drinking a whole
bottle of wine while they chit chatted about all sorts of things they had In
common, so much so that I think they could easily become an item, if only he
wasn’t married, but then he’s from out of town and travels to Auckland
frequently so they could still be an item if they were of a mind to be an item,
however they did not leave until 10.30 by which time I was completed knackered,
and probably a little over the top with the 9/10th of a bottle of wine that I had
drunk so answered a few emails and finally opened the snail mail that had been
collecting over the past 5 days which I had not had a chance to open before now
then came on the pc and yet again literally fell asleep in front of it so
eventually took myself off to bed well after midnight and managed to sleep
really soundly until 3am by which time I became wide awake so picked up my book
and read that for ages and ages until after 4 o’clock and was fed up by then as
still wide awake so got up and sat on the computer to read all the emails that
had come in that I had not read, all those ones that one thinks “must read that
later” – so I read them later, well… maybe not later but early this morning but
at 5.15 am I had to rush around and pack my run/gym bag and think ahead for the
day as to what I would need as I knew I had a really busy day so packed
handbags, clothes, phones, pcs, diaries and all sorts of other stuff and threw
it in the car and headed to the YMCA in Greys Avenue to park the car and take
off for a 35 minute run to and around the Domain in the pitch dark as had to be
back at the Y and showered and changed by 7 am as there was a special YMCA
function on that I had been invited to and as I had not gone to a great number
of these breakfast events that the YMCA had organised over the past few years
(due to looking after Tony) I felt I should and would and could go to this one
so got there at 7.09 am and met up with people I have not seen for a very long
time: that was all good as it gave me yet another opportunity to keep bursting
into tears, like I have not had enough of bursting in to tears: anyway this
finished just before 9 am which gave me enough time to rush to the local
lighting shop to buy a special light bulb for the fridge that had blown its
light bulb the day before and when one goes in there and tried to find the
yoghurt and comes out with the horseradish one knows one needs a healthy
lightbulb back in the fridge because horseradish on cereal would taste oh so
horrible; anyway I got the $12 bulb for the fridge, silly little bulb for a
stupidly high price, but with bulb in bag I then had to walk the 20 minutes
down to Queen Street where I had prearranged to meet a bloke who had contacted
me last week to ask if I’d like a coffee and I couldn’t last week because I was
so busy and had no time but did want to talk to this particular man as he lost
his 3 year old son in a dreadful car accident just over two years ago and I
felt he probably felt he could be of some useful purpose to me seeing as I have
just lost my darling one and I think this man was putting out his hand to offer
a helping hand in handling the grief that is at times totally overwhelming and
consuming and as I acknowledge that I need as much help and advice as I can get
so that I don’t go and jump off the harbour bridge I thought it prudent to make
the effort to see this man, no matter that other things are banking up on my
to-do list, I felt it was important I have the coffee with this man who had
lost his 3 year old and only son just two years earlier: therefore we met
and wandered to a really weird but oh-so-very-central-CBD-corporate-Auckland
café where he proceeded to purchase coffees for us both and for the next hour
and a half was very talkative and helpful with relating his experience in
handling the dead of a loved one, be it a little different to handling the
death of a husband or wife, but he had some interesting things to say that did
actually help me clarify some of my feelings and as he is a financial planner
he did ask some nosey and imprudent questions about me and my financial
situation so I just told him I was broke and kinda left it at that as didn’t
want to get into too much discussion on my finances, but he kept asking me
questions about what was I going to do work-wise etc etc which I didn’t really
want to discuss but he thought he was helping me so I let him talk but by the
time we finished he felt really good that he had imparted all sorts to me but
all I felt like was desperate to find a loo as this was the third very large
coffee of the morning and my bladder can only hold so much; thus the two
of us walked back to his Queen Street office from which I departed to walk back
down Queen Street with my handbag full of watches that don’t go, watching most
of which belong to Tony and they may not be expensive ones but they are nice
ones and are Tony’s ones and I want to see them going again as one day the boys
will no doubt be the recipient of the watches and they will be most pleased if
they are because they are nice watches; but finding a proper watchmaker
nowadays is very difficult and I remembered a watchmaker I went to one thousand
years ago in a little arcade in the bottom of Queen Street so I headed back
there to see if he was still there and he still was! Wasn’t that amazing.
So I left him with six watches to fix and have to go back on Monday to pick
them up and pay for them, it would seem one of the watches does in fact have
quite a dollar value on it and that makes sense because I remember buying that
particular watch for my darling man and it was not at all inexpensive, so now
it will be going again; having done that I knew I had a 20 minute walk up hill
to get my car which was parked at the YMCA at the top of Greys Ave and got
there then had to rush over to the other side of that area to a place called
Rapid Radio as the radio-come-cd player in the car had gone bung on Wednesday
and I just had to get that fixed as it is not even an option to go without as
if I travel I need to have a radio or cd player in the car – consequently there
was a one hour wait so as I was happy to sit for an hour I was double delighted
as it meant I could go back onto the internet, which I did and that’s how I let
everyone know that my phone had gone on the blink because I emailed everyone
that they would have to contact me via email or land line; by the time they
finished the job and I was able to come home it was 3pm by the time I arrived;
had only just arrived home and Fred knocked on the door for a coffee for which
was very fortuitous as he ended up jury-rigging my clothes line for me so that
it could be used; but of course, within 20 minutes of him arriving my 3.45
massage person arrived and had to say good bye to Fred and hello to this person
who was about to get an hours massage which she got and left just after 5 pm at
which time I had to go organise my gear for tomorrows cross country as there is
much to organise and so little time to do it tomorrow and then came back in
here and have wasted almost an hour of time just typing all this up so that you
could realise that I have not come back to Auckland and just sat on my arse
like to many people think I have been doing for the past 4 years or more and
have no comprehension of why I am always tired and always trying to catch up on
doing the things that need doing like finding the information regarding Tony’s
pension and sending it to you ….
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