Nevermind

Disaster strikes!  After three months of dedicated training and defeating odds and battling against embedded preconceptions surrounding my ability to do sport, I have strained my right hip flexor.

It hurts in the morning, it hurts in the day.
It hurts walking up the stairs, it hurts when I play (sports, not, say, chess).
It hurts when I sit too long, riding on my scooter.
It hurts when I spend all day watching my computer.

It hurts a week before my race; it's just not fair.
I didn't even know I had a hip flexor when I didn't care
About my Cambodian marathon
(A half - I know - same, same)
But, you know, if you refuse to stretch
You've only got yourself to blame.

Vietnamese Lessons

It occurred to me today, whilst powering through the last 2km of my 16km run (see how I just slipped that in there) to Coldplay's 'Viva la Vida' (for the dance that I choreographed to this on an afternoon of marking-induced insanity, please await a Youtube clip that is to go viral), that I have learnt many a strange and wondrous thing whilst in Vietnam.  I shall, hereafter, be referring to these acquired skills, surprisingly transferable and lifelong in their nature, as my Vietnamese Lessons, since my actual Vietnamese Lessons are so far non-existent and I have spent a whole day working myself up to using the word for 'water', but funked on two occasions and just pointed and gave the shop assistant/bar tender the 'encouraging gimp' face in the hope that this would support the communication of my dehydrated message.

However, please find below a long, fascinating, and at times chortle-worthy list of the things that I have learnt, as collated in my head over an hour and fifty five minutes of taking part in a really boring sport.  What is the obsession with running, anyway?  For me, it's just to say I am Li Hi, but what about other people who are so evidently Li Hi that they don't need to prove it by dying on the steps of Angkor Wat?

Whilst in Vietnam, I have learnt...

1. How to ride a moped (with gears).  This is a subcategory in its own right of 'things I have learnt'.  Included in this subcategory are:
1a. How to roll down a curb backwards whilst on a moped, with traffic coming both ways, secure in the knowledge that they will simply swerve around you as you carry on in your own wobbling little world.
1b. How to manoeuvre a moped out of a very tight space without any help from One Who Has Slight Resemblance To Eddie Redmayne.

1c. How to drive directly into oncoming traffic on the Highway of Death and cross said traffic in order to wait at lights to cross four more lanes of oncoming traffic.

1d. How to drive through District 1 with only 90% Fear with either the Frenchie or Risk or Death behind me making soothing noises and assuring me that they feel totally safe and confident in my abilities.

2. How to run for longer than five minutes without dying.
2a. That I have nothing to fear from my own sweat and that sweat is in fact a sign of a functioning body and a Li Hi lifestyle and not the socially inappropriate signal of an over-excited pervert on the underground.
2b. How to placate stray dogs by thinking 'you are a silly dog' over and over again instead of 'holy crap, the rabies!' because they can smell your fear, whilst maintaining a pace of exactly 7kmph.
2c. That sometimes my iPod is generous to me and I have never, in my life, run 17km at a pace of 6.13kmph, no matter what the nice American lady tells me through my headphones.
2d. That my iPhone doesn't enjoy being shoved down my sports bra and sweated all over, and will protest by passing out, refusing to turn on, and downgrading me to a Nokia C1-01.

2e. That on the 2nd December 2012, I will breathe my last, sweaty breath on the steps of some temple or other at Angkor Wat.

3. That English has more than one past tense - three that I'm currently aware of.  Greedy language.

4. How to drink coffee.  I shall now be accepted into the Sunday Morning Sheppard Coffee Circle that involves wrapping a cafetiere in a tea towel and reheating coffee in microwaves and shunning milk and reading newspapers.

5. How to cook without a cooker.  It involves a lot of pasta, rice, and curry-type dishes.

6. That I write way too much on my blogs, but you love it anyway : P

Signing off before I become tedious...

Kuala Lumpar

Now, much to my disappointment, Kuala Lumpar is a metropolitan Malaysian capital city, not a small, hairy, tuneful tribe of creatures that live with a paedophilic chocolate-eating shut-in in a mysterious Victorian factory.  For years I had been under the impression that, as an fighter pilot during WW2, Roald Dahl had somehow ended up in Malaysia and named his delightful creatures after an Anglicised mispronunciation of the place, but after some extensive research (Google), I discovered that he actually trained in Nairobi and Iraq, crash landed over Egypt, fought in Greece and was then evacuated back to Egypt.  So not Kuala Lumpar at all.  In fact, after reading this and pondering for some time on where on earth I'd got this connection from, I realised that it was in fact my Grandfather who had flown aeroplanes in Malaysia, had not crash landed anywhere to my knowledge, and had not been evacuated to North Africa.  However, the link is understandable when you consider that my Grandfather did once own a sweet shop, has a beard reminiscent to those that appear in 'The Twits' and would probably be a chocolate-eating shut-in if my Grandmother wasn't around to beat him with a stick and make him leave the house and wash his cardigans.  So the confusion is comprehensible, I hope.

This jaunt to KL (this is how all the cool kids refer to it) was in aid of a flying visit to Bridget Clay, since I can't get enough of her.  I extended the offer to the impoverished De Tang Clan, but only Kermit was able to take me up on it for one reason or another: Risk or Death wouldn't worry herself with a trip that did not involve some ADRENALIN FUELLED ACTION, the Hare was busy running around in Thailand, because running around in Vietnam had stopped being fun, and everyone else had some other feeble excuse.  My one travelling companion, Kermit would, of all people, be the first to inoffensively and frankly extol the virtues of my moronity, so I went to extra trouble to prove to her that I do not miss every flight that I book myself into, and that I was, in general, a responsible and thinking adult.  Thus, I checked us in online, we got to the airport in time to have a Burger King and even had time to go back and re-check in when we were told at the security gate that our boarding passes were not, in fact, boarding passes, and that online check in saves a grand total of zero queuing time.

Much fun was had when we eventually got to KL.  We saw Bridget Clay:

We saw enormous Buddha's and climbed some steps (because I love steps).  In fact, steps have not made much of an appearance on this blog, which is a shame, because I have a complex and fascinating relationship with steps, that is all Lizzie's fault.  Here are some steps that we climbed:

We saw phallic stalactites, and of course we took photos of them.  I wanted a photo of me touching it, but both Kermit and Bridget Clay walked away when I suggested it in eager tones.

We saw the Petronas Towers from the Kuala Lumpar Tower - a double tourist whammy, I feel:

I look oddly smug and proud in this photo.

Emma: That's right, the Petronas Towers!
Bridget: Eep!
Kermit: Emph!

Then we shopped:

Wow.


And then we felt like this:


Kermit: Hmmmph.

Emma: Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmph.
















So we went for a drink with this view (sorry for blur: night time setting on camera is never good):


Then we ate curry, and in the morning we came home.

... trips where I keep hold of my passport, and hang out with people who don't want to jump into crashing, storming oceans are fun and all, but the blogs always end up being a little lacklustre.  I'll try to do something Li Hi and dangerous at some point in the next few weeks to convince you that my life is more than just indulgent luxury and gallivanting from expat centre to expat centre.

Something that is quite Li Hi, is that I ran 14k in 1h44m the other day.  I mean, that's quite impressive, but I'm getting to the point where I feel I now qualify as a fit, healthy, sporty person, and can therefore no longer boast about running 10k in 1h05m on a week day after a full day's work without sounding like a complete arse...

HAHAHA: 'I feel I now qualify as a fit, healthy, sporty person'.  LOLZ!

Frenchie Risks Death For Awesome Blog Photo

I personally think this was irresponsible and ridiculous behaviour on his part, as it would have required him to drive at at least 40kph (this is my average pootling pace) during morning rush hour, with just one hand, whilst operating a dangerous vehicle.  It is a miracle that we, and others around us, were not killed.  I will reprimand him most harshly later by refusing to cook, and shunning any more gifts of flowers, bracelets, speakers or books.

Having said this, this photo is AWESOME!

Right?  Right guys?  It's not even ruined by my rucksack-for-minature-people.  In fact, I think the rucksack - especially the bright pinky-purple hues - add if not detract from the coolness of me.  I like the flowy skirt motion and the angle that makes it look like I have some sort of muscle in my upper arm.  Yes.  Yes, I do have muscles.  See how the guy taking off his rain poncho is staring in admiration and fascination at me as I whizz by?

Having a gung-ho, reckless Frenchie around does have its uses then, I suppose.

This photo gives me a double chin, though.  Don't look too close.  It also looks like I'm clenching a small child's helmeted-head between my legs, which is less than appropriate... (and not what is actually happening, I hasten to add):

*Sigh* poor bone structure a fast-approaching old age of lack of definition resulting in confusion as to where the neck stops and the face begins...

Hanoi

This weekend I thought, 'Ach!  Living in a beautiful apartment with a swimming pool and a man who collects my rubbish and taxis that wait outside to take me into town and air con and two bathrooms just isn't enough!  I need something more in my life.  I need luxury!  I need hedonism!  I need... a Sofitel!'

So the Frenchie, because he is good like that, took me to the Sofitel Hanoi and I pretended for an entire weekend that I wasn't a poor slob and actually had the manners, upbringing and bank account to rightfully be there.  (I have two out of three of those things, of course: I am a lady, after all).

Turns out that when you go to a Sofitel, the airport pick up looks a little bit like this:

And also includes a free mini bar.  Wow.

Hanoi is nice.  We saw a lake with turtles that steal swords from really old Vietnamese men who go swimming in lakes filled with turtles with their swords.  We saw an enormous stuffed turtle - maybe the turtle that had stolen the original sword a thousand or so years ago.  We saw the old town and bought the prettiest pretties and sat for a loooooong time on the balcony of a tea house and stared at motorists and discovered that a clever person, somewhere, has designed helmets with holes at the back for you to put your ponytail through.  Genius.  We also saw the Temple of Literature, which was, of course, my favourite hang out.

The most incredible part of the weekend was on the way home when our flight was prevented from landing because of an enormous thunderstorm over Saigon.  We had to fly around and around a set of clouds for a good long time, and I'll admit, the turbulence when we had to fly through the clouds was pretty scary.  We tried to land twice, and had to abort.  The motion of the plane when this happens is more than slightly life affirming: down, down, down, down and then the pilot thinks, 'No!' and suddenly UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! And UPPPPPPPPPP a bit more and then turbulence and then throooooooough the clouds and then this for a bit longer:

Pretty beautiful.  Have some more:

I hope you all appreciate the picture to words ratio in this post.  Sometimes I do keep my readers in mind... : P