It came in today's post with a satisfying thunk through the door. It contained a letter saying that my application was successful and that I've been offered a berth on the race. It also had a long contract outlining just how much it's going to cost me, my commitments and many other scary things. So I promptly signed it, enclosed a cheque for £500 and posted it before I could change my mind.
The deed is done. GULP. There is no going back now.
I now wait to hear back from the training officer to tell me dates when I can go freeze my bits off in the seas surrounding the UK and the marketing team to give me guidelines about sponsorship and raising funds. This is why my new race dedicated blog is not yet created - I don't want make something only to find out I've violated ten different rules.
But there you go. It has taken just 20 days for me to see an ad in the paper to being a fully signed up crew member. I feel just a leeetle bit ill when I think about all the ramifications, workload, emotional turmoil this is going to cause. But you know what, 2009 just got very interesting.
And this afternoon was a case in point about why working my butt off on a boat for five weeks can sound appealing. I had to go into town to:
a) deposit cheques
b) see a bank manager
c) buy envelopes
d) put two letters into the envelopes and post them
e) return library books and get new ones
How hard could this be? Apparently, very. Both boys left school hating the world and me in particular. Going to town was boring, boring, boring. They didn't want to go, despite me promising hot chocolate at Costa Coffee. (To be honest, I didn't want them to go either but I didn't have too much choice in the matter.) They whinged all the way there. Then they wailed and shouted and stropped and stamped their way to the bank, so much so that people either stopped and stared at us or gave us a very wide berth.
Once in the bank, they proceeded to let everyone know just how much they hated stupid banks and quite how boring they are. They wailed their way across the street to WH Smiths, until they saw the sweets and crisps inside. They then switched to full volume nag culminating in son1 standing with his hands on his hips yelling: "UNLESS YOU GET ME THESE CRISPS I'M NOT LEAVING THE SHOP".
You could see everyone looking to see what I was going to do. Was I going to give in to this tantrum and prove just how spoilt these little beasts were OR was I going to do what the WH Smith staff certainly wanted which was to buy the crisps and get our noisy selves the hell out of their shop. I opted for the latter just to buy me mileage to get to the post office. We finally got to Costa Coffee and the boys got their hot chocolate. They sat their happily crunching their quavers until they noticed that there were no marshmallows with their hot chocolate. Cue the next outburst. Son1 then said that he really was still hungry - which is normally true as school apparently burns a billion calories a day.
So I went and bought a bag of mini muffins in my bid to encourage healthy eating. Son 1 ate three in quick succession. Son 2 finally tried one, spat it out and yelled: "This is disgusting! I WANT SOMETHING ELSE!" I said no. Our difference of opinion ended with me trying to carry a small beast dripping hot chocolate, kicking and screaming all the way out.
We finally got to the library and every book I chose was "stupid". I gave up the fight, let them choose an assortment of crappy books and left. Supper has been ignored despite wails that they were so starving they might die within minutes. And I am having to type this to the background strains of Wall.E, another demand in the libary that I was too tired to fight (tantrums in WH Smith are one thing, in a library with everyone saying Sssh is quite another stress level). I can't possibly go to my study as the film is too scary, but they won't let me turn it off.
So this is why facing gales and high seas seems a breeze in comparison to my normal life.
Showing posts with label round the world yacht race. Show all posts
Showing posts with label round the world yacht race. Show all posts
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Friday, 6 February 2009
The verdict
I'm back. Exhausted. The roads were hideous. But the children went off without a fuss, my friend was a life saver and despite horrid roads, I managed to get to the sailing interview without incident. I passed the first test. Tick! I earned my 'Getting there despite all odds' badge.
We then got in-depth insight into what living on a boat for five weeks was like including the charm of having to poo with an audience and the fact that you'll burn up to 5000 calories a day. We braced the icy rain to go onboard one of the boats. Luxury probably isn't a term you'd use to describe the living quarters. But it was great just to be on a boat and it made me want to do it even more, rather than put me off.
Then I had the interview. It was a very informal affair. I think I might have rambled a bit - or maybe it was just enthusiastic chatting. But when I asked what the next steps were, my interviewer explained that next week interviewees would either be sent a 'fat envelope' that had a contract inviting them onto the race or a 'thin envelope' saying thanks but no thanks. Then he said: "You'll DEFINITELY be getting a Fat Envelope." I also got an email from him since returning home that said: "We'd love to have you on the race."
So while I'm not going to do any hula dances or make any whoop whoop noises until the fat envelope arrives, it sounds pretty much like I've got a place. (If my blog had audio, this is where you'd hear a loud gulp.)
Assuming the fat envelope does arrive, I need to ensure that it is for the leg that I want and I still need to pass the training. Apparently they have a 15% drop out rate after the first week of training - both on the part of the people doing the training and the organisers who feel you don't cut it.
I didn't get a clear steer as to what I can do about getting sponsors/setting up blogs but it is now something I need to put my mind to. And there's the small issue of logistics like childcare and managing my workload. Phase 1 of my barking mad plan was getting my application in. Phase 2 was today. Phase 3, assuming the fat envelope arrives, will be getting the first week of training done. I've suggested Feb half term given I have childcare that week. Of course it would be high seas in snow blizzards, but what the heck. I seem to have stumbled onto a roller-coaster ride and there's no getting off now!
Am off to collapse.
We then got in-depth insight into what living on a boat for five weeks was like including the charm of having to poo with an audience and the fact that you'll burn up to 5000 calories a day. We braced the icy rain to go onboard one of the boats. Luxury probably isn't a term you'd use to describe the living quarters. But it was great just to be on a boat and it made me want to do it even more, rather than put me off.
Then I had the interview. It was a very informal affair. I think I might have rambled a bit - or maybe it was just enthusiastic chatting. But when I asked what the next steps were, my interviewer explained that next week interviewees would either be sent a 'fat envelope' that had a contract inviting them onto the race or a 'thin envelope' saying thanks but no thanks. Then he said: "You'll DEFINITELY be getting a Fat Envelope." I also got an email from him since returning home that said: "We'd love to have you on the race."
So while I'm not going to do any hula dances or make any whoop whoop noises until the fat envelope arrives, it sounds pretty much like I've got a place. (If my blog had audio, this is where you'd hear a loud gulp.)
Assuming the fat envelope does arrive, I need to ensure that it is for the leg that I want and I still need to pass the training. Apparently they have a 15% drop out rate after the first week of training - both on the part of the people doing the training and the organisers who feel you don't cut it.
I didn't get a clear steer as to what I can do about getting sponsors/setting up blogs but it is now something I need to put my mind to. And there's the small issue of logistics like childcare and managing my workload. Phase 1 of my barking mad plan was getting my application in. Phase 2 was today. Phase 3, assuming the fat envelope arrives, will be getting the first week of training done. I've suggested Feb half term given I have childcare that week. Of course it would be high seas in snow blizzards, but what the heck. I seem to have stumbled onto a roller-coaster ride and there's no getting off now!
Am off to collapse.
Friday, 30 January 2009
Naval gazing
This week (which was really only a 3 day working week as I was at an event all day Tuesday and was parent helper at pre-school today) I've written seven press releases. I got client coverage lined up in The Times, The Mail on Sunday, The Telegraph x 2, The Observer, BBC Points West, The Press Association and several parenting magazines. I got a new client. And potentially met someone who'd like to be a US affiliate for me. A successful week by all accounts. I am tired and in need of wine.
But more importantly - as blogged about here and here - I made the big decision to add more complexity to my life by trying out for a leg of an around the world yacht race. I now have a confirmed interview date. Next Friday. 6th Feb. I'm not sure how long after that they'll let me know whether I need to frantically start gaining upper body strength or whether I can revert to my more normal ninety pound weakling status (I'm nowhere close to be 90lbs but the weakling part is true).
My big challenge is 'what do I wear to the interview?' In essence, this is a job interview. That would normally call for a suit. However, as the job in question involves climbing up masts and scrubbing out heads, suits aren't really called for. Maybe I need to be wearing something suitably sailory. Like jeans, docksiders, a stripey shirt and a head scarf. But maybe that says I'm too casual and not taking it seriously enough. It definitely can't be girly. Ruffles and heels just aren't going to paint the right picture, is it? I have a week to decide...
Amazingly, it was less than a week ago that I saw the ad for this race. It seems like a lifetime ago. During this week I feel as though I've been tossed about at sea - already. What started as an 'imagine if' type moment, quickly became a
'let's investigate'
to
'I'm really keen'
to
'Shit I'm scared'
to
'But I really want it'
to
'But it's barking'
to
'So what'
to
'But it's soooooo much extra stress in your life'
to
'Sod it, send the application off'
to
'Wow, ok, this is really becoming quite real' (which is where I am about now.)
I apologise for blogging about this again. It is consuming all of my spare brain capacity - and believe me, there's not a lot of that available. I want to be able to write about other things that have happened this week - like capturing my sons on video beating the living daylights out of each other, or how we had no heat for most of this week as we ran out of oil and how typing with gloves on isn't an easy experience, or simply pondering the meaning of life. You know. Other stuff.
But I can't. From now till next Friday my world is going to revolve around 'what if'. And if it turns out that the answer is 'yes, yes madam, you can certainly climb aboard one of our fine vessels, paying £8k for the priviledge and toil your fingers to the bone while abandoning your children' - my whole world is going to turn into a very, very weird (and frenetic) place.
If however, they say, no sorry, you didn't make it on this time but please reapply in 2011, will my world feel a lot emptier all of a sudden?
My sister thinks I've done this because I need drama in my life. She thinks I felt my life was getting too normal (no new babies, new businesses or flooded houses on the horizon) so needed to shake it up. Maybe she's right. Maybe I am the ultimate drama queen, always in search of something more to create excitement, something to ensure every hour of every day is full. But is that such a bad thing?
But more importantly - as blogged about here and here - I made the big decision to add more complexity to my life by trying out for a leg of an around the world yacht race. I now have a confirmed interview date. Next Friday. 6th Feb. I'm not sure how long after that they'll let me know whether I need to frantically start gaining upper body strength or whether I can revert to my more normal ninety pound weakling status (I'm nowhere close to be 90lbs but the weakling part is true).
My big challenge is 'what do I wear to the interview?' In essence, this is a job interview. That would normally call for a suit. However, as the job in question involves climbing up masts and scrubbing out heads, suits aren't really called for. Maybe I need to be wearing something suitably sailory. Like jeans, docksiders, a stripey shirt and a head scarf. But maybe that says I'm too casual and not taking it seriously enough. It definitely can't be girly. Ruffles and heels just aren't going to paint the right picture, is it? I have a week to decide...
Amazingly, it was less than a week ago that I saw the ad for this race. It seems like a lifetime ago. During this week I feel as though I've been tossed about at sea - already. What started as an 'imagine if' type moment, quickly became a
'let's investigate'
to
'I'm really keen'
to
'Shit I'm scared'
to
'But I really want it'
to
'But it's barking'
to
'So what'
to
'But it's soooooo much extra stress in your life'
to
'Sod it, send the application off'
to
'Wow, ok, this is really becoming quite real' (which is where I am about now.)
I apologise for blogging about this again. It is consuming all of my spare brain capacity - and believe me, there's not a lot of that available. I want to be able to write about other things that have happened this week - like capturing my sons on video beating the living daylights out of each other, or how we had no heat for most of this week as we ran out of oil and how typing with gloves on isn't an easy experience, or simply pondering the meaning of life. You know. Other stuff.
But I can't. From now till next Friday my world is going to revolve around 'what if'. And if it turns out that the answer is 'yes, yes madam, you can certainly climb aboard one of our fine vessels, paying £8k for the priviledge and toil your fingers to the bone while abandoning your children' - my whole world is going to turn into a very, very weird (and frenetic) place.
If however, they say, no sorry, you didn't make it on this time but please reapply in 2011, will my world feel a lot emptier all of a sudden?
My sister thinks I've done this because I need drama in my life. She thinks I felt my life was getting too normal (no new babies, new businesses or flooded houses on the horizon) so needed to shake it up. Maybe she's right. Maybe I am the ultimate drama queen, always in search of something more to create excitement, something to ensure every hour of every day is full. But is that such a bad thing?
Sunday, 25 January 2009
I've had a rush of blood to the head
Something odd has happened to me. Let me explain....
I woke up on Saturday morning at 6am by two small boys wanting milk. Despite the early hour I bounced out of bed and felt ready to face the day. This was all the more remarkable given that I'd had close to a bottle of wine the night before. I was gagging to head outside for a run. That in itself was odd. I waited and waited for the sun to get its lazy sorry arse out of bed and rise in the sky. When it did, I noted the thick layer of ice covering the world, wavered slightly in thinking a run would be good, but then said sod it. I donned my panty line revealing pineapple leggings, several warm tops, gloves and my husband's ipod and headed out.
It was tricky going - one step forward, two back with the ice - but I soldiered on. I got to the point that was the farthest I've run before (about 1/2 a mile) and decided I still had a bit more in me. So I kept going. And then I went bit further. And then I realised that I was probably close to half way around the big loop that my husband normally runs. I could have turned around and gone back, but I figured if I'd gone this far I should just carry on. Sure my knees were killing me but I was still feeling surprisingly good. At about the half way point, the ipod - my motivation, my inspiration - ran out of batteries. I couldn't get futher away from home and I was without rhythm to get me home. I dug deep and kept running. The last hill was a killer. But not once did I slow to a walk.
I finally made it home. Aching legs but still feeling pretty good. My husband said: "Where did you go?"
"I did the loop."
"Oh, the little loop that we walk?" he asked, familiar with my dismal running track record.
"No, the big loop that you run."
"Wow." Genuine shock registered on his face. Which was satisfying.
"How far is it?" I asked.
"Just under 6 miles."
Six miles! Six miles. I ran six miles. Me. The person who gets puffed out after a 100 meters. The person who comes last in the mums race at sports day. The person who is better suited to pilates than aerobics because the latter requires a bit too much energy. Me. I ran 6 miles. I felt euphoric. And quite tired.
So that was odd thing number 1.
Odd thing number 2 happened today. I was reading the Sunday Times magazine and noticed an ad for this: http://www.clipperroundtheworld.com/
It's an around the world yacht race and they're looking for crew members to sail legs of the race. The ad copy said something along the lines of: Sick of the same old, same old. Want to do something amazing and scare yourself shitless? Sign up....
Normally I would have sighed and thought, 'twould be nice and flicked the page over to the shopping pages. But today was different. Today I took note of the URL and filed it away to be investigated later.
Later arrived. I had a look at the website and decided that although it would be an absolutely barking thing to do and one which would require united nations organisational logistics teams to come in and look after my children while I was sailing, I took the bold step and submitted my details. One hour later I received a very nice email from the recruitment officer with all the details of what is involved.
Here are some of the scary bits:
I woke up on Saturday morning at 6am by two small boys wanting milk. Despite the early hour I bounced out of bed and felt ready to face the day. This was all the more remarkable given that I'd had close to a bottle of wine the night before. I was gagging to head outside for a run. That in itself was odd. I waited and waited for the sun to get its lazy sorry arse out of bed and rise in the sky. When it did, I noted the thick layer of ice covering the world, wavered slightly in thinking a run would be good, but then said sod it. I donned my panty line revealing pineapple leggings, several warm tops, gloves and my husband's ipod and headed out.
It was tricky going - one step forward, two back with the ice - but I soldiered on. I got to the point that was the farthest I've run before (about 1/2 a mile) and decided I still had a bit more in me. So I kept going. And then I went bit further. And then I realised that I was probably close to half way around the big loop that my husband normally runs. I could have turned around and gone back, but I figured if I'd gone this far I should just carry on. Sure my knees were killing me but I was still feeling surprisingly good. At about the half way point, the ipod - my motivation, my inspiration - ran out of batteries. I couldn't get futher away from home and I was without rhythm to get me home. I dug deep and kept running. The last hill was a killer. But not once did I slow to a walk.
I finally made it home. Aching legs but still feeling pretty good. My husband said: "Where did you go?"
"I did the loop."
"Oh, the little loop that we walk?" he asked, familiar with my dismal running track record.
"No, the big loop that you run."
"Wow." Genuine shock registered on his face. Which was satisfying.
"How far is it?" I asked.
"Just under 6 miles."
Six miles! Six miles. I ran six miles. Me. The person who gets puffed out after a 100 meters. The person who comes last in the mums race at sports day. The person who is better suited to pilates than aerobics because the latter requires a bit too much energy. Me. I ran 6 miles. I felt euphoric. And quite tired.
So that was odd thing number 1.
Odd thing number 2 happened today. I was reading the Sunday Times magazine and noticed an ad for this: http://www.clipperroundtheworld.com/
It's an around the world yacht race and they're looking for crew members to sail legs of the race. The ad copy said something along the lines of: Sick of the same old, same old. Want to do something amazing and scare yourself shitless? Sign up....
Normally I would have sighed and thought, 'twould be nice and flicked the page over to the shopping pages. But today was different. Today I took note of the URL and filed it away to be investigated later.
Later arrived. I had a look at the website and decided that although it would be an absolutely barking thing to do and one which would require united nations organisational logistics teams to come in and look after my children while I was sailing, I took the bold step and submitted my details. One hour later I received a very nice email from the recruitment officer with all the details of what is involved.
Here are some of the scary bits:
- I'd have to attend 19 days of training including theory tests (fitting this in around running my business, looking after my children and paying the tax man)
- I'd have to carry out all the different roles on the boat at some point including being the bowman who has to climb out onto the bowsprit (the long pointy stick out the front of the boat) and hang tight while tying things on while going under waves of ice cold water, climbing up the mast in rolling waves (I'm terrified of heights) and potentially fix electrical equipment and possible sew someone up if they get injured.
- I'd have to face either extreme heat or extreme cold and potentially life threatening situations.
- I'd have to sleep in a tiny hammock and not shower for weeks and eat dehydrated food.
- I'd have to be away from my children for 5 weeks.
- It would cost me just under £8k (which funnily I don't have).
When I read that I shrugged and thought, well it was nice thinking about it anyway. And then I thought, but 'ang on a minute guv. Perhaps I could get sponsorship. Perhaps I could convince all of my clients and other people in the baby sector to sponsor a mum trying to sail from the UK to Brazil (this is the leg I want to do as I'd only have to buy one plane ticket and I'd have to deal with the Doldrums rather than the Southern Ocean and 40 foot waves).
Perhaps I could create a special blog reporting on how my training is going and once I'm at sea, reporting live from the boat. A mum on a mission ...escaping the laundry and cbeebies. I'm sure I could convince some people to part with money in exchange for an ad on my blog. And all of my blogging friends would help me to promote the blog site thus driving up traffic enormously. (You would, wouldn't you? Please)
I'm not sure what has happened to me. I've suddenly come over all iron woman triathlete-like. Just the thought of the race is making me feel all jumpy. There's no guarantee that my application would even be accepted. And I think if it was I'd brick myself, knowing that it was going to be real. But it's given me something so incredibly far removed from my normal life to think about that I am really, seriously thinking I might do this. So, what do you think? Should I?
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