Anybody that has read my Twitter bio will know that I describe myself as a cunctator.
A few people have asked me what that means. In the least prattishly condescending way possible, I’d like to tell those people that Google is your friend.
But in case you and Google aren’t on good terms right now, let me give you an example. It pretty much sums up why I describe myself in such a way.
I’m flying to Australia for the Australian Youth Olympic Festival tonight. My taxi is coming at 5. It’s now 1.30pm. I still have a LOT of packing to do. So naturally, I am sitting on my bed, in my underwear blogging about how I have so much to do and intermittently looking at pictures of cats on Reddit.
Yes I am aware that the case will not pack itself, as much as I would like it to. Yes I am aware that time is running out. But why do now what I could do later?
I’m basically writing this blog for two reasons. The primary reason is because I need something else to occupy the time in which I could be packing. Secondly, because I feel like I should tell people that I’m competing. I’m not sure whether anyone gives a toss, but I thought I’d tell you anyway, just in case some of you do. (Please give a toss).
I’m lifting in the middle of the afternoon (Sydney time) on Friday the 18th of January. So in less than a week.
I went up to Leeds last week to get my last bit of training in. Why is it that it’s only when you’re training under the supervision of the head coach and some of your teammates, just over a week away from competing, that it becomes apparent how unfit you are? My legs felt like they were going to physically fall off. I managed to work my way up to about 90% of where I was before the Olympics, the peak of my physical fitness. Weights that would have flown up 6 months ago now felt like they could literally kill me. Well, I suppose they could. And they might.
After that session, our coach announced to me that they would be my opening lifts.
I am quite genuinely hoping for a miracle. Please GOD let nobody else turn up in my category. In fact, let nobody else turn up for weightlifting at all. I don’t want them to see me like this.
Yes this is nobody’s fault other than my own for delaying the hard work as long as I have. I am now mentally screaming at myself “for God’s SAKE, Zoe, stop being such a flipping cunctator!!”
Normally these things work out for me, somehow. I don’t know how. But it’s never landed me in any real predicament just yet. So I’ve got to the bargaining point of desperation – “please please PLEASE just let this work out for me, I know I’m an idiot but I promise I’ll never procrastinate again EVER as long as this just goes reasonably OK for me, please!”
I’ll let you know in a week if my prayers were answered.
In the mean time, I have 21 hours at 30,000 feet to contend with. A whole day of travelling. I find it really weird that you lose a whole day. I feel like I’m being robbed of some life.
I also know practically no one else going. I certainly won’t know anybody on the flight out there other than my coach. It’s not that he and I don’t get on… It’s more that we don’t really speak. In my experience, he sits there doing important stuff on his laptop and reading/answering emails. That’s fair. However, what am I supposed to do?! I’d be fine if I just knew one person that I’m travelling with reasonably well. They could help get me through this nightmare.
I imagine I’ve mentioned how socially awkward I can be. Well, that would be ‘hugely’. Once I’m in conversation with somebody that I’m 100% sure doesn’t hate me, I’m fine. But introducing myself to people who MIGHT hate me is just not my cup of tea at all. For the record, no, I’m not a massive bitch in real life and they probably don’t really have any reason to instantly hate me. But they could.
So, it’s either come across as an asshole who won’t speak to anyone and sit on the plane sobbing inwardly to myself about how lonely I am, or nervously approach people who might very well hate me and struggle to think of a good topic of conversation while sobbing inwardly to myself about how badly this is going for me. Either way, the whole journey will be one big awkward cringe-and-sob-fest for me. Welcome to my personal hell.
Right, I’ve been blogging for almost half an hour. I really must start packing. Well, should. I imagine I’ll find something else that needs taking care of during the 9ft walk from my bed to my suitcase. Hopefully.
See you on the other side, guys. Or maybe when I’m back on this side, depending on how much cunctating I feel like doing. Really must stop doing that.