Aarayan's Day of Pain (Part 2)

As we headed off in the car to my tattoo appointment I yammered on about my trip Up North, my parents' new puppy, Meg, the difficulties involved in rehoming my many pets while Kal told me his various tales of derring-do in return. To be fair, his stories won.

Kal saw me into my tattoo appointment at 1pm at Venus Flytrap in Edinburgh and had intended to drop in and out, keep me company and consider whether or not he fancied a tattoo of his own. Unfortunately he was shooed away by what I assume was the apprentice, so went off to wander around, drink coffee and stress about his Paramedic interview for a couple of hours assuming I'd be done by 3pm, while I expected him to come back and see me at 3pm.

Calum the tattoist had drawn up a transfer based on the original design I'd given him (which I nicked of the tinternet - here is is on your left) but when I saw it I didn't like it. This tiger is more feline, slinky and fluid, whereas his was stockier, more masculine and fiercer. He rightly pointed out that mine looked like a tabby-cat, so we compromised on something in the middle. It did mean though that he had to free-hand the tiger on my leg in pen, going over and over it to refine it to the point where it could be inked. Redrawing it took about an hour, so we got started tattooing at about 2pm.

We stopped at 4.30.

Two hours of sheer hell. I have a huge tattoo already on my back, so I thought I was prepared, since whilst parts of it hurts like hell, on the whole it wasn't too

bad.

I wasn't prepared.

Not at all. The tattoo is on the outside of my left calf, coming up from my foot to my knee and there's just not a bit of that that doesn't hurt like a bastard. The skin is thin: bones and tendons are all too near the surface and fat is relatively scarce which is guaranteed to pinch. I wont bore you with the details of my shameful behaviour during those 150 minutes (9000 seconds, each one counted), but it boils down to quivering, whimpering, flinching, and trying to claw my way over the back of the chair without actually moving, since I did, I vaguely remembered, originally want (and had to *pay*) for said tattoo.

An hour and a half late, tattooed beautifully and a mere £140 out of pocket I met Kal, who was understandably grumpy, having waited for an extra hour and half in his car because I didnt have my mobile in my pocket to tell him how long I'd be, and I in turn hadn't realised he wasn't coming back at 3pm. Ooops.

Now that the cling-film is off and healing is underway it looks, I think, fantastic. And here's a picture to prove it:

So... Whaddya think?

Aarayan's Day of Pain (Part 1)

Every now and then you come to a point at which you have to do numerous horrible things and sometimes it's better just to smoosh them all into one day and have done with it.

Such a day came about yesterday when I found myself with a dental appointment in which I had to have 4 or 5 fillings at 10am, followed by a 3 hour tattoo sitting at 1 pm. Ouch.

The dentist was.... horrible. The dentist herself was a lovely person, but the dentistry was horrible. I have a deep-seated and not entirely irrational fear of dentistry after a series of trips to the dentist a few years ago. The first thing that did it was meeting..... the Dental Hygenist.

No. You didn't read it right. Read it more like in a booming, tombstoney kind of voice. Like...

...The Dental Hygenist.

He was an absolutely huge, hulking man, with the delicate touch of an obese rhino, and his way of showing me that my gums weren't sufficiently healthy was to lean over me with his hugeness, poke my gums really hard, repeatedly, with a sharp and pointy metal thing and say "You see how easily it bleeds? See? See?!"

After that came the wisdom teeth. Yes. Two wisdom teeth were removed under a local (LOCAL!) anaesthetic, and a couple of hours of listening to bones being shattered with a hammer and pulled out of your skull with a pair of pliers will pretty much put you off dentistry for life. Just to hammer the nails in to the proverbial coffin, I got an infection after the procedure and my face swelled up to the extent that I couldn't open my mouth wide enough to get the anti-biotics in. I had to drink soup through a straw. For days.

So, it was with some trepidation that I arrived at the dentist yesterday. It was with considerably more trepidation that I watched the ABSOULTELY HUGE needle being inserted into my mouth to numb me up. Getting numbed up hurts like hell - it makes your jaw ache for days after, and unfortunately I have really high tolerance to medication. This means that I need loads, and regular top-ups, so I needed about as much anaesthetic as a small horse with a drug habit. After three goes I was finally, and blissfully rendered numb from nose to ear and everything in between.

Drilling commences and I spend 30 minutes literally stiff as a board, fingers arranged in a grotesque, rigormortis-like pose, stomach muscles quivering, fighting the strong, strong urge to shut my mouth and bite the dentist.

Fillings duly done, shaking like a leaf, I headed home to meet Kal. I had to go home via the shop to buy straws because I had discovered when the dentist asked me to rinse out my mouth that I was drinking with the fluid ease of a chronic stroke-victim; pinkish bubble-gum scented liquid merrily and attractively dribbing down my chin.

We had tea (tepid and through a straw) shared stories and laughed at my atempts to smile, lick my lips and speak, all of which made me look like I was attempting to audition for an amateur dramatics production of the Elephant Man.

Then it was time to head into town to get my new, shiny and beautiful tattoo...

Pictures and story to follow :)

A Year in the Land of Smiles

Paul and I have started a new blog dedicated to our move to and adventures in Thailand, which you should bookmark and keep an eye on. It's fairly quiet at the moment, but there will be increasingly more to write and read about as time goes on.

I'll still be writing here about everything else :)

A Year in the Land of Smiles

The Agony and The Ecstacy

I'm Up North for Easter, staying with my parents. This is an excellent opportunity for a proper rest - I've got nowhere I need to be, and no way of getting there anyway; out in the middle of nowhere in a beautiful house and no option but to relax. This is, in itself, excellent news. However, just to put the cherry on top, my mum and dad have recently acquired a gorgeous, soft, rottweiler puppy called Meg.

The ecstacy comes from the playing, the cuddles, the excessive cuteness and the restorative nature of playing with a puppy for a week. The agony comes from her needle-sharp teeth and her apparent desire to rip my face off to express her love.

I can live with that :)

Goodbyes

Now that we're all decided about moving to Thailand, the quest to sell the flat and organise our trip has begun in earnest. The first step has been to have the flat valued, and the results have been very positive, suggesting we might expect up to £250,000, which is incredible. We paid £180,000 for it less than 3 years ago, so making £70k on it by doing not much at all is always good news.

Now we need to get the flat ready for the market - finishing off niggly cosmetic jobs, doing the tasks we've put off for months, and choose a firm of solicitors to represent us. We've had tradesmen in giving quotes, some dates in the diary and have arranged a date to move all our unnecessary furniture into storage -this Friday!

Part and parcel of all this, however, has been rehoming our pets. We've been really lucky in finding people who are prepared to take Sari and Cara on a temporary basis, and a family who want Loki, but only permanently as they have a child. In fact, I was absent from training tonight because me and Kal took the not-as-long-as-we-anticipated trip to Broxburn to introduce Sari to her new foster home. The man taking her seems a true animal lover, very kind and caring and I'm sure she'll be well looked after, but it's a very sad thing to do. I'm hoping that by the end of the week Cara and Loki will have homes to go to, and may already even be in them within a week.

Once that is done, the major work in the flat can take place and we will hopefully be on the market by the end of April at the latest. After that it's Visas, plane tickets and continuing to learn Thai and we will have done everything we can do. Fingers crossed, touch wood, weather permitting etc etc, we will sell the flat for a decent price without too much delay and be able to leave for Thailand in July with all our debts paid, money in the bank and nothing to tie us down for a year.

Bliss.

A trip down Memory Lane

also known as falling off your bike for the first time in about 15 years.

Yes, I actually fell off my bike this afternoon when I was cycling to trampolining class when I went round a corner and my back wheel slid out from under me on a patch of mud. I skinned my knee, hurt my palm a bit and bled everywhere, but nothing that wont heal and form a badass scab...

And, AND! I didn't cry at all and I even went to trampolining even though I fell off my bike. Because I am A Big Girl.

Admittedly, I did go "Aaaaargh! Owwwwww!" and glance around to see if anyone was there to look worried and ask if they could help/call an ambulance/give me a cuddle/kiss it better, but sadly I was alone and my manly whimpering went unheeded.

My bike feels weird, though - all wibbly and unsteady (or is that just me?) so it's a trip to the bike shop to have it checked over and my front brake fixed again (remember how the kids playfully sabotaged my brakes? Well, they're still dodgy).

In other news, last night I went to the Tall Tales Oscars with Lovely Kal, at the Scottish Storytelling Centre on the Royal Mile. It was a fun night where storytellers competed to tell the best tall tale, for the honour of winning a trophy shaped like a gnome. Lots of jokes and very good fun, and obviously good company.

Tomorrow I have about 4,000 people coming over to value the flat, give estimates for work and so on, I have to get a passpor application form because my passport's still in my maiden name, have lots of passport pictures taken, and other wee jobs like that. I also need to make another appointment with my lovely doctor as my voice is still fucked, and I think I'm in need of a higher dose of anti-depressants. Training in the evening, and sorted.

One small step for man...

... one fuck-off, scary-ass, massive, life-altering trip of a lifetime for Aarayan and Paul.

Mum, dad... we've got something to tell you.... we're gay.

Nah, not really (well, only a bit) - we're just going to live in Thailand for a year.


Following a period of epic unrest for me and a lengthy period of what can only be described (providing you're a bit middle-class and pretentious) as ennui for Paul the fates have presented us with a set of circumstances which are never likely to align again.

1 - I'm still young enough to make a go of training and fighting full time to see how far I can get
2 - I'm about to be out of a job
3 - Paul is bored senseless and wants to re-train as a teacher (fool)
4 - We were planning on selling the flat anyway

As such, we find ourselves young (well, I am anyway), child-free, moneyed up (I hope) and unemployed.

This will Never. Happen. Again.

So, what's the plan?

We're moving to Phuket, so that I can train and fight full time with Tiger Muay Thai, which appears to offer excellent facilities, for a reasonable price, and with good promotion connections. I want to get as much fighting experience as I possibly can, come down a weight category perhaps, get ridiculously fit and come back to Scotland and kick some ass :)

Paul's going to work probably teaching English, perhaps doing some web design, spend alot of time grinning his head off, drinking on the beach and learning to dive (not all at the same time, I hope).

He also thinks we're getting a pet elephant. I haven't got the heart to tell him it's not the same as owning a dog.

We'll get a flat on the island, and try and really enjoy our year in Thailand properly. I'm learning Thai with Bun down the road, and Paul's going to start lessons next week, I'm going to get as fit as I can before I leave to avoid too much unneccessary delay before fighting when I arrive.

Before all that, though there's all the unfamiliar territory of visas, work permits, selling our flat here, finding temporary homes for our pets, putting our belongings in storage and somehow managing to say goodbye to the people we love.

Paul, at least, has done this before and has some experience of saying goodbye, coming back and finding he hasn't been forgotten. He has many friends whom he sees intermittently and whenever their paths cross.

I'm finding the idea more difficult because, to be perfectly honest, I don't have many friends, but the ones I do have I love very much. There's Kal, Fran and Giles; Ally, Ann, Scott, Tessa and the guys from training; and the girls at school and saying goodbye is going to be very, very tricky. I've been in Edinburgh quite some time, and it's taken me this long to feel like I belong, so leaving it all feels like a big risk. All I can say is expect a very, very emotional Aarayan at our going away party (which, by the way, will be huge!)

So, I'm going to have plenty to write between now and July, when we leave, and even more after that!

Stay tuned, folks

A x

Boing!

I decided to give trainng a miss on Sunday, mostly because one of my pupils will be there and I suspect I'd struggle to explain why I'm not well enough to teach, but I am well enough to smack the pads...

So, instead, I went trampolining, which is something I've always fancied trying. I'd done it a wee bit as a teenager and I managed to convince Mr Paul to come as well, so that took alot of the nerves out of the situation. At the risk of sounding abuout 12..... it was sooooo cool! I mean, how can bouncing dead high be anything other than cool, really.

The strange thing about it was that a) I was actually pretty good, and b) you don't feel nervous when you're doing it, but as soon as you get off you realise your heart is pounding and you feel sick with the adrenaline, it's all very strange. I'm going to go back again next week, but I doubt I'll be trying out for the Olympics any time soon.

In other news tomorrow I'm starting Thai lessons with a nice Thai lady up the road who teaches the language and does Thai massage. I'm going to take advantage of my excessive free-time and desire to be constantly moving by spending a few hours a week learning Thai until I go back to work, and then I'll carry on at weekends. It's something I've wanted to do for quite a while now, but put off for various reasons.

It's only been a week since I've been at work, but already I'm remembering a whole host of things about myself that I'd all but put aside for a rainy day, and it's actually quite exciting having the opportunity to pursue some of them.

As for work? Well, I'm not ready to think about that yet. I'm still struggling a bit with the symptoms of stress - panics, an aching jaw from clenching it and grinding my teeth without realising it, raw fingers and non-existant fingernails from the biting, difficulty sleeping.

I'll get there though, and before I do I will have learned some Thai and some trampolining moves :)

That Sunday Feeling.

Having spent about 10 hours this weekend doing paperwork, and about 45 minutes planning actual teaching (doesn't that just say it all?) Sunday night rolls around again.

I hate Sunday night because it means there is absolutely nothing standing between me and Monday morning. My least favourite occurence in the week. I really shouldn't be allowed to speak to people on a Monday morning as I am pathologically incapable of being anything other than utterly depressed and negative and am likely to respond to a simple "How was your weekend?" with something along the lines of "Shite! It's all shite! I wish I were dead!", which is possibly a little uncalled for.

I've got to have a shower. I've got to go to bed. But I can't drag myself off the sofa. It's been days, if not weeks since I has a night's sleep that didn't include at least one nightmare about school. Last night's was particularly bad, and it's all symptomatic of just how awful my (and lots of my colleagues') jobs has become.

I'm a grown woman and all I can think is "I don't want to go to school tomorrow"

Sad.

It doesn't rain...

I can scarcely believe it, but this would hardly be "Aarayan's Blog of Woe" otherwise, but I've got a fecking throat infection. How? Why?! Have I not suffered enough?

Apparently not, so just to get this karmic imbalance sorted out once and for all, I've arranged to visit a bee colony at the weekend to be ritualistically stung by many thousands of insects until near death. I will then, without applying lotion of any sort, take myself to a sandpaper factory where I will submit to be dragged around on a giant sheet of sandpaper by 3 old, smelly tractors driven by perverted, gangrenous tory MPs with B.O and trench-mouth.

After this, I will watch 10 back-to-back episodes of Emmerdale, followed by a slap-up meal of raw liver and mashed maggots.

I think that should do the trick.

Especially since I intend to tip my karmic balance all the further into the shit by eating a dominos pizza *with* starter. And wine.

Mwahahahahahaha! Just try and stop me :)

You can't win 'em all

Yesterday was fight 4, at the Ladykillers II show in Wythenshawe and before hand I wouldn't say I was confident as such, but I wasn't pessimistic either. I was more determined to do my best, and of course I didn't want to get my first loss.

However, there's a first time for everything and lose is precisely what I did do, in fairly spectacular fashion.

I was fighting a girl called Sarah McCarthy from Bad Company and she was just too good. Her clinch was excellent, I had no match for her knees and her boxing was very strong. The first right hand she landed did something very painful to my nose which, whilst not broken is sore, swollen and blocked. Her kicks weren't painful at least and, as usual, I've got no bruises whatsoever (apart from my nose and my eyes).

Round one she definitely dominated and it was quite a shock. I don't remember much apart from being put on my arse twice - once she caught my body kick and kicked out my standing leg (which was *my* plan - bugger) and I think the second time must have been in the clinch or something, but my bum ended up out of the ring between the ropes, which was dignified.

Her straight knees were epic - very strong, very Thai, very, very effective. I haven't stopped feeling like I'm going to vomit since then.

In the corner after round 1 Ally told me to keep busy, keep out of the clinch, box strong and body kick so I can out all guns blazing at the start of round 2 and landed 4 or 5 decent, unanswered shots. However, then she got me in the clinch and proper fucked me up, putting me back on my arse again at some point. In the last 10 seconds of round 2 she did.... something painful which got me my 3rd standing 8 count and when the ref asked me at the end if I wanted to continue, I said no thank you. I knew I couldn't win by this point unless I miraculously KOd her, and the chances were much stronger that she would KO me pretty quickly - every punch she threw sparkled me.

I can't pretend I'm not disappointed. I know there's no shame in losing to someone who's better than you, and no-one can win all the time, but the fact that I gave up doesn't sit well with me. It was the sensible decision, but I feel like a coward.

Paul says not to be a daftie, and referred me to the following video, which I watched in floods of tears whilst going "owwww!" because crying makes my nose sting:



However, he has a point.

Anyway, it's only 4 weeks until the next fight and I'll just keep training and try to put this behind me and learn from it as best I can. For now, however, it's beer time!

Asthma is *so* last season.

I've decided I'm bored of asthma now, so that topic is finished. I don't want to get all drama-queeny and boring about it and, really, there's only so much to say.


Sooooooooo.... what's new with you?

What - nothing?


Fair enough - I'll tell you what's new with me instead, because it's my blog and I'll randomly change the subject if I want to.

Firstly, teaching.

Fucksake. Kids these days.

To cut a long story short, and save you from excessive woe, the job's been a nightmare. The staff have been great and how they drag themselves in day after day and maintain any semblance of positivity is beyond me. The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge I'm moving on somewhere hopefully more inspiring at the end of this academic year. The upshot of it all is that the appalling behaviour, constant abuse and aggro and high-stress levels have driven me to drugs, and not even fun ones: boring anti-depressants. They don't even make you hallucinate or anything. Boo.

Interview time is, however, upon us, so I'm trying to be positive. I've applied for 3 jobs so far at lovely, lovely schools with children who have a whole range of different issues, but who are at least not likely to swear at me, run away, throw furniture, threaten violence or damage property on a regular basis. I'm trying for optimism and have started putting together an interview outfit which is actually proving more stressful than the application process. Honestly, what a girl.


In other news it is only 4 meagre days until the fight. FOUR.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.

Nah, it'll be fine. Honest. (shitshitshitshitshit...)

I've trained as hard as I can: running, swimming, cycling, sparring, double pads with Ally and Ann, and I've cut a ridiculous amount of weight, going from 70kg to 62.3kg in 7 weeks. I've got an entire cupboard full of treats for the weekend of the fight, but I'm not going to go crazy with the food, I've got a fight a month after this for a few months so I need to keep my weight stable and I have no desire to go through this stupid weight thing again.

That said, here's my list of yummy food I currently crave:

- Thai barbeque ribs and chicken wings
- Dominoes BBQ pizza
- Burger King Bacon double cheese burger
- Snickers bar
- Croissant with raspberry jam or nutella
- Galaxy chocolate of any variety
- Toasted bagel with cream cheese and crispy bacon
- Oodles of toast
- Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Therapy icecream
- Fish and Chips
- Roast chicken & chunky home made chips

But I promise not to actually eat all those things - the last thing I want to do is but 8 kilos back on again and have to lose it by the 15th March...


I'm pretty much organised for Saturday. I'll be out of school like a bat out of hell when the bell rings at 12.35 on Friday, up to the Commonwealth Pool for a sauna, down to Tollcross to get my hair braided, maybe a sneaky massage in Stockbridge and back home for a salt bath to get this last 2 kilos off. I've got my kit washed and ready and I've stocked up on ibuprofen, thai oil, baby oil and vaseline. I've decided what I'm eating before and after the fight and bought as much of it as I can, with a list of what else is needed and what needs to be packed in my bag on the day.

I'm excited but not scared, I think I can make a decent go of this fight and maybe layeth the smacketh down.


Now, because I'm an honest girl and I think this is pretty funny (and I finally told Paul, so I can tell you), I'm going to share with you an embarassing example of how much of an idiot I am.

John, chief instructor at the gym, suggested Ann and I go and get a tan. We're both very pale - Ann's allowed because she's Swedish, I'm just pale... because.

I wasn't going to bother because, frankly, it's ridiculous, but I was a bit miserable today so I thought "What the hell, why not, treat yourself."

So I did.

Now I have sunburnt boobs.



Idiot.

Thank you.

Thank you, lovely Asthma Nurse. Thank you for taking me seriously, thank you for seeing me at short notice, thank you for being concerned, and thank you for prescribing me a brown inhaler and telling me to come back ASAP if it gets any worse.

Thank you thank you thank you.

Dr Cock-Jockey could learn alot from you

As much use as a chocolate fish on a bicycle made of tea pots.

That's what my verdict is of my salbutamol inhaler so far.

Next?

Worst week ever?

Oh Lordy, troubles so hard.

It's been one of those weeks where the bad news just keeps on coming, really. All of it minor, but when you put it all together it makes for a sucky week, especially when you're fighting in a week.

Sunday - Couldn't train because I hurt my calf muscle
Monday - Still couldn't train because of the calf
Tuesday - Back to training - Hurrah!
Wednesday - Tooth got infected and had to be fixed - no training.
Thursday - Off work, still sick from the tooth, but managed a wee bit exercise
Friday - Back to training - Hurrah!
Saturday - Visiting granny. No training.
Sunday - Training, but not as much as usual. Diagnosed with asthma.

Harsh. Particularly the last one.

I've had the problem a few times that when I'm hitting the pads and I'm really pushing myself I get an audible wheeze and can't breathe - not like being out of breath, much worse. It's been happening more and more after first happening in October and last night I was still feeling tight in the chest so eventually I rang NHS24 and ended up with an appointment at the our of hours clinic.

Now, I've previously had an excellent experience of the out of hours clinic, when I got cellulitis last year, so it's a bit of a shame that I was seen by such an utter cock-jockey last night.

He diagnosed exercised-induced asthma with an oh-so-thorough examination. Involving listening to my lungs with a steth, ...., ...., ....., Oh. Yeah. That was all. he didn't do a peak flow, didn't take my blood pressure, take my pulse, even listen to my heart. He didn't even ask how I felt. He quite clearly desperately wanted to be somewhere else, and oh Lordy it showed.

Dr Cock-Jockey (as I fondly call him) prescribed a Salbutamol inhaler with the following stunningly helpful advice: "I don't know if it'll help, but it can't hurt. My advice would be to exercise less hard". When I explained I compete and I can't just stop if I'm tired, he said he didn't know what else to suggest. I asked him about preventative treatment and he denied any such thing existed when, clearly, it does. Here.

What a wank.

So, this morning I went to see my own G.P. armed with a wealth of information in the hope I'd get a more thorough diagnosis and treatment plan. She was much more helpful, (possibly partly because she had a student), and prescribed a peak flow meter to record how it changes when I've got the wheeze. She also confirmed that there are other drugs I can take if the salbutamol doesn't do the trick and recommended taking it 10 minutes before training as a preventative measure.

I must say, I'm rather chuffed with the Peak Flow thingy, because for a ridiculously competetive person like me, there is nothing like discovering your resting peak flow is off the chart :)

*smugsmugsmugsmugsmug*


Smug.

How has it taken me so long to realise....

... I hate exercise?

It's all going a bit new-agey....

Something I've heard from aspirational types, (you know; life-coaches, people who used crystals for "healing" purposes, women with purple, tie-dyed t-shirts with pictures of dolphins on them) is that if you write down your goals you're more likely achieve them, because you're admitting them properly to yourself and making them more official in some way.

Well.

I have some goals for this year which I thought I'd share, and I know the old saying "I want doesn't get", but I don't care - this is what I want!:

Career

I want to apply only for jobs I really want.
I want to be offered an interview for every job I apply to.
I want to have a full-time, permanent post which I'm really happy about secured for August.
I want to be able to sleep on a Sunday night.


Fighting

I want to have at least 7 fights this year.
I want to win as many as possible convincingly and stylishly.
I want to win at least 1 of them by KO
I want a title. I know it's not likely, and certainly not this year, but I don't care, I want one.


Holidays

I want to spend 3 weeks training in Thailand and then fight there (and win)
I want to spend 2 weeks having a holiday in Thailand with Paul and not put loads of weight on
I want to go to New York with Paul for Christmas 2008
I want to spend more time with Paul and visiting my parents
I want to visit a spa.


Money

I want to be earning £25,000 or more.
I want to have a smaller mortgage
I want to have more disposable income
I want to sell the flat at Easter for at least £225,000
I want to find a nice, but not too expensive rental property which accepts pets to live in until we manage the next one...
I want to find and buy a little house with a garden and a garage to renovate and love and make a mint on


Appearance

I want to have a haircut and colour every 2 months
I want to have a wardrobe of clothes I like which fit
I want to start wearing makeup occasionally
I want to maintain a walking-around weight of 63kg all the time


Other Stuff

I want a kick bag to hang in my new garage (which I'm going to have)
I want to learn to drive


And I think that's about it.

Not asking for that much, am I?

Dentistry Disaster

Dentist: So, Aarayan... can you think of any trauma the tooth might have suffered? Hitting off a bottle? Suffering a blow to the jaw....?

Aarayan: A blow to the jaw... Well, I do get punched quite alot in the face.

Dentist: Can you think of any particular incident?

Aarayan: It's probably faster to think of the days I *don't* get punched in the face.

Dentist: Ah.


So. I've lost a filling from the side of my back molar at some point over the past couple of months and gradually, like a thief in the night, or a Rolls Royce driver in Sighthill, decay has snuck into the tooth and right the way down, down, down almost to my nerve.

On Monday my gum was a bit sore, on Tuesday by gum felt a bit sorer, by Wednesday 7 am my tooth was starting to ache and had turned grey. By 11 am I'd taken all the painkillers I could take without become the first accidental suicide victim in a Scottish school and had to admit defeat and go home until the dentist could see my at 4.30.

The journey home was a nightmare. Because the tooth in question is my back bottom molar, it's all too close to my glands and I very rapidly started to feel dizzy, sick and headachey but *just* made it home without vomiting all over a Lothian Bus. The punishment the driver would have inflected on me would have been epic. I got home and promptly fell asleep (after ringing Kal and saying "Am I dying? You're a more reliable opinion than NHS24!"

After taxi-ing it to the dentist 3 hours later I was numbed up, cleaned out and re-filled and told to come back on Friday to see if she'd got the decay in time. Because if not.....

ROOT CANAL!

Oh Fuck.

Today I am still off work sick because I'm sore, my head is pounding and I'm still feeling pretty sick, but I'm hopeful (?in denial?) that I wont need a root canal tomorrow.

No.

I'm not doing it.

Can't make me.

*sob*

Huzzah!

I finally made it down to 9 stone 13.6 yesterday morning (63.3kg), and Lo, yea verily did I do the happy dance. This morning I was a pound up, 10 stone 0.8 largely due to fluid and the like, so I'm not concerned, and my measurements put my body fat down to 20%, which is my lowest ever.

That means that this week I've lost another 4lbs (2kg), bringing me down from 11 stone (70kg) as I was at New Year at an average of about 3lbs per week.

Unfortunately I haven't been able to train for a couple of days because of a small injury, but I think a couple of days of rest, plenty of ibuprofen and hot and cold compresses will sort it right out.

Back to training tomorrow, I hope!

Goodness me.

It's only 2 weeks now until the 1st fight of the year, and I'm starting to feel the pressure. I'm confident now that I'll make the weight - I was 10 stone 1.8 this morning (64.2kg), and despite the fact I didn't manage any extra cycling or swimming today because my calf muscle is very sore, I'm still expecting to lose a pound or so more by Monday.

Today's sparring was hard for me: it was my last sparring class before the fight, and I really wasn't on my game, which threw my confidence a bit. Thankfully, Ally's a star and sorted me out so by the end of the class I felt much better. I'm definitely nervous, I want to succeed and do my best, and not make an arsehole of myself and all those other things, but at least I feel I've done all I can do so far. I couldn't have dieted or trained any harder up to this point, so I can feel proud of myself for that, whatever else happens.

One more hard week of training, and calmer week to build my strength back up and it's fight day... 13 days and counting!