Signed up for a course that means I’ll be a licenced guide for visually impaired runners.
Signed up for a course that means I’ll be a licenced guide for visually impaired runners.
Girls night. AMAZING chinese takeaway and much chitter chatter. And maybe a cheeky vino or two.
Got taken out for dinner. Ate pie. Amazing pie.
Today I would have loved to have posted a picture of a sunset run on Leckhampton Hill. Which is what I would have been doing had my right foot not still been playing up. I have no idea what I’ve done to it; walked home from the pub the week before last and all of a sudden it was agony. No trip, no fall, no nothing. Which is frustrating as hell. I can still bike, swim and piss around with some weights so all is not lost but I’m fed up at not being able to run (or walk very well), Still, I’m not limping like I was last week so that’s progress.
What a beaut of day today turned out to be, after waking up to rain splattering the window; gorgeous bright sunshine and blue skies. Seeing as though I’m going to be cycling 1500km in a couple of months I figure I need to get back into some regular cycling so that it’s not too much of a shock to my body when I start (and hopefully avoid any potential injury). So, this means getting out on the road bike when I can and ramping up the spin classes.
Bob got some good outdoor time this weekend, 18km yesterday and another 30km today, including a slow yet steady ascent of Cleeve Hill, serving only to remind me that I need to do more hills and stop eating so much crap. Not bad going considering I was in a “force myself out the door” kind of mood this weekend.
Bob won’t be going to Chile; 70% of the route I’m doing is unpaved so I’ll be putting my trust in an unknown Chilean rental mountain bike. What can possibly go wrong? Hahahaha.
My boss said to me a few weeks ago “You know, there’s a name for people who take their clothes off for money”. OBVIOUSLY he was joking around and referring to my new foray into the world of life modelling, rather than any seedy underworld second career I might have.
I wrote about deciding to be a life model (I just wrote lift model to start with, not sure that would be half as interesting or how that would actually work) a few weeks ago, but that was before I’d done it. Now, I’ve done it three times; I’m practically an old hand and thought I’d share my thoughts so far.
It’s an interesting thing; people are fascinated by it and if you tell people their reactions seem to split into two camps: a) sniggers and comments about naked women and male artists getting excited or b) exclamations of “I couldn’t do that”.
I guess nudity is a ‘thing’ in society nowadays. We British aren’t really known for our laid back attitude to it, and if you look in most media it’s sexualised so much people can’t look at a baby being breastfed without feeling offended or uncomfortable. So the idea of getting your kit off in front of a stranger, let alone a room full of them, is pretty abhorrent to a lot of people. Add into that mix the affliction that is low body confidence (especially in women) and it’s no wonder everyone’s natural reaction is ‘no way’. We’re not encouraged to find all forms beautiful; to embrace nudity and all shapes and sizes.
However, in the art world, it seems to be different. It’s a completely contrasting environment; one where the model is looked at like an object to be drawn, the artists noticing things like shadows, changes in direction, spaces and curves. They’re not looking at whether your arse is big or not, whether you have cellulite, or wondering how you got that scar (I fell in a ditch when I was 14). They’re not judging the size of your breasts, or how big your tummy is, or whether your bingo wings move when you move (tip: you can’t move anyway, so no problem). They actually don’t give a shit about you. You’re almost a piece of art yourself, sat like a statue, in front of people to look at. You could almost say the art is in the creation process of the pieces over the two hours, model and artists both, and not in the finished pictures.
There’s lots of reasons why people feel shy being naked, but a lot of the time it’s in a different context. Sitting in that art studio is completely different to say, getting naked in front of a new partner for the first time. Or having to get changed in front of a group of people you know at the gym.
One of my reasons for trying this is to see how I did actually feel in that first moment of having to sit there, starkers. I’d say I’ve got pretty high body confidence mainly; I’m pretty happy with how I look, it’s all I have and if I don’t love it then what hope is there for anyone else to? It’s who I am and I’m healthy and can do stuff, that’s the most important thing to me. But it’s one thing saying this, it’s another thing talking the talk.
I’ll not lie, I was a little nervous when it came to it that first Wednesday. Stood with only a dressing gown to cover my modesty, while the room filled up with PEOPLE. It all of a sudden became real, and felt very odd to know I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I felt a bit like I was in one of those dreams where you’re naked, no one else is and you can’t run away because your feet are stuck to the ground. I even checked with Alex (the tutor) that I should be fully naked, just in case I was actually supposed to wear underwear or something and I had got it all wrong, as somehow that would have felt even worse. But no.
They were all stood behind their easels just about ready to start and I had to do a last minute dash to the loo. Nervous wee. Then, before I knew it I was perched on a box in the buff. And as soon as that first second was over, I relaxed. Well, as much as you can. Because THEN, I realised that there’s actually other things to worry about than the being naked thing. Like, take a bit of time to get comfy before you settle into a pose. Because you’ll be there a LONG time and although it sounds easy, staying in the same position and not moving AT ALL is really pretty hard and takes a hell of a lot of concentration. Every few minutes I’d realise my muscles had tensed up without me realising and I’d have to concentrate to relax them. And repeat, many times (the class is 2 hours and apart from a short break you’re sitting for all of it).
And this is also alongside feeling so hot (the first week it was BOILING, I swear it was like a million degrees) that I was sweating like a bastard. Actual droplets, rolling down me with nothing to catch them (bloody tit sweat Ruth), with me acutely aware of them and the fact I could do nothing about it and with a lamp shining on me it would have been pretty damn noticeable. This bothered me more than being naked until I just realised that actually, there was nothing I could do about it, it’s what the human body (well, my body that day) does and hey, that’s life. Accept it and be confident. So I did. And I did eventually cool down and stopped looking like I should have been in a bikram yoga class.
And also weird things happen while sat there (although I have had this before, maybe I am just weird) where I feel like parts of my body aren’t connected to me (so like sometimes I feel like I’m floating, or my head is loads higher than it is, or my hands feel like they’re in a different position – I think it’s because they’ve gone a bit numb). It’s a bit like being in a bit of a meditative state, and also I start to wonder if I AM actually moving, but can’t look to check and just can’t quite tell what my body is doing as I feel so disconnected to it. And there’s also the thing which we coined as “the monkey on your shoulder” in Spain earlier this year – have you ever walked past a river or been on a balcony or something and had an urge to throw your phone (or similar) off it? Like a little monkey is sat perched on your shoulder whispering “go on, throw it off, throw it off, see what it would look like down there? Throw it off, throw it off” into your ear, and you have to try really hard not to, because your brain knows that you don’t really want to throw your phone into a river. Because I’m concentrating so much on not moving the monkey starts telling me to wave my arms around or kick my leg out some other involuntary spasm. Like Will in that Inbetweeners episode where he takes drugs for the first time and can’t control his arms.
The last two sessions have been reclining poses which basically means I’ve been laying down. This doesn’t mean it’s any easier though, although I did make sure I got into comfier poses at the beginning which helped a little bit. The problem with these is I have to also concentrate on trying not to fall asleep, which actually is pretty hard and I felt like those days either back at school or at work in meetings where you know your eyes are fluttering but you just can’t help it and really hope that no one notices, only this time it’s harder because a) everyone is looking at you constantly and b) you can’t make any movements to help wake yourself up. I don’t think I fell asleep.
In fact, I’ve had a few compliments on being a good sitter, and how well I do in not moving (maybe I did fall asleep) and been thanked by the artists for making it easy for them to draw me. Alex called me a professional (again, not a reference to a seedy underworld second career) and I’ll take that compliment!
I have every intention of carrying this on as a bit of a side hobby when I’m needed, I find seeing the pictures fascinating as I can’t really draw very well myself, and I love seeing all the different styles, techniques and personalities in the drawings and have found that I’ve really loved the experience. It’s liberating, interesting and different.
But no, I won’t share any pictures. One because they’re not my pictures to share and I haven’t asked for permission to publish them, and two because it would actually feel tantamount to publishing naked pictures of myself.
My new tent arrived this week (needed a small one for hiking and cycling) so I decided to get it out and have a go at putting it up, completely forgetting that 1) my flat is tiny and 2) you can’t peg a tent out on wooden floorboards. The instructions also left out a step so I ended up with a half erected tent in my living room while googling you tube Zephyros1 erection instructions. I eventually found some (after rewording my google search terms), kind of figured out what I need to do but abandoned it in favour of deciding to try it out at Yestival next weekend and went for a bike ride instead.
Time for a mop chop. Last time I got my hair cut was about January, just never got round to it and it was majorly in need of a tidy up – straggly as hell.
Two points to note: 1) why are the lights on the mirrors in hairdressers harsh as hell? I always sit there feeling about 50 and wishing I’d bothered to put make up on. The hairdressers don’t even use the mirrors really. What we really need is some soft lighting to make people (i.e. me) feel better that they don’t look like hell because:
2) I always manage to book a hair appointment on a day that I proceed to drink a fair bit of alcohol the night before. This is never planned, but it seems to have worked out that way. At least this time I didn’t feel like throwing up or falling asleep.
So many giggles, chat and an appreciation for Cook foodstuffs. Thank you hostess with the mostess Shelley.
Thanks Elena for the flowers. Because you’re allergic, I got these from Shelley as she didn’t want to have them in her flat for when you visit tomorrow!