The Wall.

Today I learned that one way of breaking down a wall, in this case physical limits, is to stay on the path and push through – the desire to stop when you arrive at the point on the path where you normally do tend to take a break; the desire to say that you will break those limits tomorrow or on another occasion. The feeling that you will literally die if you push yourself just that bit further.

I pulled myself from the ladies’ locker room today, went up the flight of stairs to where the treadmills are in the gym and ran another 10 kilometers, because I knew I could not go home without giving myself the victory over this now-to-be-beaten boundary and breaking the promise I had made to myself that I would break through the 15 kilometers mark two weekends ago.

The New York Marathon takes place on the 4th of November 2018. There are numerous other walls and limits to push through until then, including the walls and the limits that are associated with the actual day of the event. But I have seen runners push through those last few miles of the marathon on previous occasions in New York and they seem more exhilarated by the prospect of finishing their race than by the pain they have endured to get there.

That marathon has a finishing line – and I will cross it in nine months’ time. This is resolve, not arrogance.

The rest is process.



“Dirty Martini, Dirty Bastard.”

Ever since Samantha Jones threw a Dirty Martini in Richard Wright’s face in Series 5 of Sex and the City, managing to relatively cool off after catching him eating another woman’s “sushi” and probably receiving a lot of “Yeah, Samantha!” praises from the women watching from behind the screen, the said drink has somehow been top of mind – should I ever need to throw something in a guy’s face and get even – for a variety of reasons – or simply get a drink.

And so it happens that I managed to get a first sip of the vindictive liquor in the American town of Fredericksburg, Virginia, last autumn, as I went out for dinner with a close friend and her fiancé. I was told they made good Martinis in the respective restaurant – and indeed the glass that was offered included the right proportion of vodka, vermouth, olive brine, not to mention the adequate olive. My Martini was alcoholic enough to be … well, alcoholic, and bitter-y enough to make sure I didn’t get drunk straight away, which is always a 10 out of 10 probability given my infantile consumption of alcohol. The Brits find it shocking.

This first experience was enough to make me want to take additional sips of this dirty drink, which I managed to do just fine on a recent party in Shoreditch, when I consumed a whopping! two glasses. Though I have to confess, that on this occasion there was perhaps a little too much vodka and the olive brine was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it did not want to get in the glass, who knows? Hm.

And most recently, I am pleased to say that I have started my 2018 with a somehow late brunch at The Hoxton near Holborn. Food and flat white almond latte later, I felt like a drink to wash down the calories and sophisticatedly welcome in the New Year. Therefore, I went for – you guessed it – a Dirty Martini with gin instead of vodka. I will most likely not repeat the spirits combo again and keep to the traditional vodka – I am surprised with myself right there – but one thing is for sure.

There are plenty of Dirty Martinis in this girl’s future social opportunities. Let’s just hope the potential men will not give me the opportunity to throw it in their face. Yes, I did just say that. And yes, you should take it literally.

In the event of this (unlikely?) situation, as flight attendants would put it, let’s allow Sam to show us how it’s done.