Soon after hearing this I was at the gym wondering what was safe to do, and I wandered past a sign for Ballet Fit, which was due to start five minutes later. Clearly, this was a sign from the gods, so I cancelled my plans to be on time for work, and stepped inside.

I should point out that I have not done ballet for well over 20 years. Most of the dancing I have done since I was about six has involved the consumption of an awful lot of alcohol beforehand.

Even when I did dance I wasn’t very good at it. As well as having poor coordination, I was a bit of a wetter when I was very young and was basically scared of everyone who wasn’t my mother, including Jill the dance teacher, who always put me at the front. I spent much of the class hiding in the changing rooms, wondering how it was possible for anyone to simultaneously tuck their tummy and their bottom in  (a regular instruction in ballet).  Fortunately, I now have years of experience squeezing into low-rise jeans: I am very good at tucking my tummy in.

The instructor Misha was wearing wrist bands and edgy three-quarter length tracksuit bottoms, and so looked like Julia Stiles in Save the Last Dance. In my head I did too. In reality, I looked like the red-faced newbie who didn’t know their right from left, and was about three seconds behind everybody else.  This was especially obvious as Misha very kindly put me in the middle at the front as I was new (mortifying).

Other than being at the front, parallels with childhood ballet were happily minimal. It was interesting to do exercise that actually looks nice: As a runner, most of the exercise I do is designed to make you look a bit minging: red-faced and blotchy, with a sports bra the size of Brazil to keep everything in place. Ballet was great – all long arms and straight backs. (Actually, I had done a run immediately beforehand so I was still very blotchy/Brazil, but everyone else looked lovely.) We got to do that arm movement that means you are a swan and the pointed toe barre exercises that make you look like you’re about to try out for the New York Ballet.

All in all it was a success. My levels of coordination may not have improved since I was six and I cannot do the splits, but at least I didn’t have to hide in the changing rooms.

So I will tell you instead: Prague half marathon went very well. I ran 13.1 miles in 1 hour 49 mins, which was a personal best.  I celebrated by drinking a litre of squash and eating two packets of HulaHoops, whilst soaking in the bath. Classy.

For something even more inspiring, please read my article about the lovely David Christof. He is running from Prague to London this summer to raise money for the Blue Planet Network, who work to improve the supply of safe drinking water globally. Without consulting a map I can assure you this is a very long way. Even further than 13.1 miles. Click here to read more.

Whilst I was away skiing however, inspiration bit and I saw something that I just had to share:  An old man on skis.  Actually, I didn’t see him ski but I have it on very good authority that French ski legend Emile Allais still enjoys an hour on the slopes every day. He celebrated his 100th birthday this week.

Born in 1912, Allais has spent the larger part of his life doing what he loves. By 25 he had achieved a triple world champion status – descent, slalom and combined. He raced all over Europe, is a multi Olympic medal winner and is today a much-loved resident of the French ski town Megeve, his birthplace.  By all accounts, he was also a bit of a looker back in the day.

This week the people of Megeve threw Allais a massive birthday party, complete with a guard of honour of ski instructors, demonstrations of 1930s skiing techniques, flaming torches and lots of booze.  In the centre was an elderly man with a spring in his step and a grin on his face.  Just to reiterate, he’s 100 and still skis most days.

I change my life plan almost daily, but with inspiration like this there’s something new to aim for.  Those of you familiar with the Jenny Joseph poem will appreciate my new old-age resolution:  When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple (salopettes).

This new exhibition considers the impact of modern media on wars and ethnic conflicts, focusing on the Arab-Israeli tension.  It presents the modern (and at times, slightly bewildering) work of a number of European artists responding to the Middle Eastern conflict and considers the historical connections between continental Europe and the Middle East, contrasting antisemitism with islamophobia.

Big themes. So afterwards, I went to the shop upstairs.

I am a real sucker for a museum shop.  Yes, this makes me superficial and vacuous, but I don’t care. Maybe it’s the thirst for new knowledge and ongoing self-development that exhibitions give me – the desire to delve beneath the surface and learn more about Czech photography/Degas/The Impressionists/the history of Rome (delete as applicable).  Perhaps I am just a good patron of The Arts. Or maybe it’s my dreadful western consumerism. Either way, the shop at the V&A in London is my happy place. 

Last night was no different – I cannot resist a post-exhibition browse.  I wandered stairs to the DOX shop.  This is one of Prague’s premier design shops, stocking glassware, porcelain, jewelry, lighting, furniture and  a multitude of other Czech-made items just waiting for someone like me to come along and buy them.

I broke with tradition and didn’t buy a book related to the exhibition.  Instead, I found myself purchasing two very lovely Koh-i-noor pencils (one handbag sized, one normal).  At 230 czk for both, I cannot decide whether this is a snip for a quality piece of Czech design heritage, or whether I am a mug that has just spent about eight quid on two pencils.

Enjoy the exhibition.

I know as together with hubby, I was outside running in it.  I mentioned a while ago that one of my over ambitious new year resolutions was to run four half marathons in 2012. As if this wasn’t enough, I decided to schedule the first one for March, just after the two most bitterly cold months in the Czech calendar.

I woke up this morning with the feeling of a school child going into their GCSE Chemistry exam.  It was dark outside and, I was fairly certain, perishing cold.  However, common wisdom says that you cannot train to run outside by being chained to a treadmill inside.  It’s just not the same thing.  Hubby and I agreed that we would run outside until there was snow on the ground.  This morning the snow was falling but not settling. Due to this technicality, we had to brace ourselves and head out into the cold. 

Hubby coaxed me out of bed by repeating my own mantras back to me.  All the things my inner voice would have said if it hadn’t been so sleepy: I will be grumpy all day if I don’t run.  It’s probably not as cold as it looks.  My running kit is on the radiator and is all toasty. A bowl of warm porridge will be waiting for me when I get back.

There are two types of people in the world. People who like to run and people who don’t understand those other people who like to run. 

There are mornings, like this one, when I wonder why on earth I am in the former group.  But I very much am. I become rather scratchy if I don’t run regularly and it is the only form of exercise that makes me feel truly healthy. Swimming, biking, yoga - I enjoy all of these but it’s only after a long run that I feel really fit.  

I love the way my muscles feel when I’m finished. I love the rhythm of heartbeat and seeing my breath, which this morning spiralled up above me like steam from a train. I love the moment when running stops being hard and starts feeling effortless (rare). 

More than anything I enjoy that rush of endorphins at the end, which makes me forget all about the cold and the dark and the early morning and makes the horror of running in the winter completely worthwhile.  I am a true addict.

Now, where’s my porridge?

My new boots.

I had a horrible day the other day so, instead of doing anything rational to solve it, I had a G&T (in keeping with the January resolution of not drinking unless I really deserve it) and went shopping.

I was after some “sensible” winter boots (in retrospect, how boring).  My requirements were that these were not brown, went with trousers, tights and dresses (i.e. everything I own) and crucially, fit over my grey jeans to keep me snug through the bitter winter weather that we’re not having. And they had to cheer me up.

You’ve heard me moan about the state of the Prague high street before so to be honest I was not looking forward to this new challenge. However, it’s like men. you only need one good one, not a whole shop full* and I found my “one” in pretty impressive time.

These beauties are suede over-the-knee boots with a top section that can be folded down for an alternative look (“Musketeer” boots to use the industry lingo) and are going to change my life. I’m not sure whether they quite fall within the definition of “sensible” winter footwear – just a hint of snow or rain and they might melt.

I might just stay inside all winter, stroking them.

***************

* For anyone in Prague looking for a whole shoe shop full of good footwear my new loves are from Hogl on Na Prikope, where there is a super sale going on. Enjoy!

I have also been getting to grips with my over-ambitious New Year’s resolutions.  You may remember that last year I resolved to do less . I am pleased to say I failed miserably – 2011 was a busy, and very lovely, year.  I definitely didn’t do less, but much much more and this year I am hoping for more of the same.  One friend has said that my extra-curricular endeavours are a ‘phase’.  I think she may be right, but whilst it lasts I have resolved to: read more, write more, learn more Czech, use less central heating, travel to six eastern European cities and run four half marathons.  2012 may be the year that kills me…

The half marathon plan started with my spontaneous suggestion that I could run twelve races in 2012, each in a different city. I  realised almost immediately that this was a ridiculous plan with the potential to ruin me physically, emotionally and (considering the travel and accommodation costs) financially.  I scaled back to six. I then realised that January and February are essentially un-runnable in Prague, and that I was already seeing an osteopath for back and hip pain. So I dropped down to a more manageable four – one per season. 

The first race is at the end of March in Prague.  The training schedule is in the diary and looks manageable (I say that now – ask me again in five weeks). The running diet started today: hubby and I have an additional shared resolution to eat more healthily. Despite recent medical advice to the contrary, we have given up alcohol for January.   We have also given up all meat (not poultry or fish as hubby went a bit pale at the thought), snacks and chocolate.   We started today, rather than the more traditional first of January as we were off having fun in Rome, which sounded distinctly less fun without the key ingredients of booze, meat and dessert. You see the kind of self-discipline we are struggling with.

I was reading the paper the other day (as part of NYRes Operation Read More) and it listed the resolutions of the great and the good. These included Jonathan Dimbleby’s - “not even a glass of wine at lunch time and no chocolate – except when I deserve either“.  I think we could be friends.

It is perhaps hard for a British audience to fully appreciate the emotion Czechs have for Havel. We Brits do not tend to grant our politicians hero status.  We do not have a Vaclav Havel, a Nelson Mandela, a Aung San Suu Kyi, and are fortunate to not have needed one. The closest equivalent I can think of is the loss of a head of state. As as the first popular president of a former invaded, politically divided and oppressed nation however, Havel is clearly a very different animal to a member of a hereditary monarchy.

He was not without his critics, especially domestically, but in the comic-strip of modern history, Havel is generally remembered as One Of The Good Guys.  Although the 1989 changes in then Czechoslovakia and the rest of Europe have their routes in a number of domestic and international factors, Havel’s name has long been synonymous with the Velvet Revolution and the move from communist rule to free-market capitalism and democratic politics. And he made that name by refusing to accept the political system of the day and by taking great risks and making huge sacrifices – including at times his personal freedom as he was incarcerated as a political prisoner - for a country and a people that he loved. 

He was not alone in this. Let’s not forget the many others who dared to oppose the communist system, including all who signed Charter 77, and  Jan Palach who set himself alight and burned to death in 1968, in protest of the Soviet Union’s invasion of Czechoslovakia. 

Today a black flag hangs over Prague castle and candles and flowers lie at the statue of St Wenceslas, where Havel addressed the crowds in November 1989.  The crowds remember him today – thousands of people gathered there early this evening, with the biggest Czech flag I have ever seen draped over hundreds of them.  Some people had left candles, others left cigarettes - he was a proliffic smoker. “Like Amy Winehouse” mused an English girl standing behind me. I suspect that is the only time Havel has been compared to Winehouse.

Much loved, and much missed, Havel not only worked to change the political system that oppressed so many, but for the first time in Czech twentieth century history, managed to do it without using violence.  We could use more like him.

Wenceslas Square this evening - via Adleyy and Lukas Korinek on Twitter and Facebook

As I tucked into my supersized Big Mac meal (why do these things by halves?) I offered hubby a chip – a french fry for any American followers. As he ate it, hubby’s eyes grew wide and as he reached for another he half said, half masticated “These are really good“. It was then that I realised that despite the fact that he is over 30, hubby had never eaten a McDonald’s french fry before.

How is this possible?

Hubby will put this down to our different upbringings. Mine was urban. I hardly grew up on the set of Grange Hill or Annie but I was allowed to get the underground alone when I was a teenager, have pierced ears, watch Eastenders, eat McDonalds and drink Archers straight from the bottle outside Finchley Lido Cinema. Actually, I’m not sure I was “allowed” to do the last one, but I “had a friend who did”. It’s a wonder I didn’t end up like Amy Winehouse.  Although this was of course in the pre Supersize Me days before Morgan Spurlock ruined it for everyone and made giving kids a McDonald’s Happy Meal seem like a grotesque form of child abuse.

In contrast, hubby grew up somewhere very rural and seems to have spent a lot of time pootling around the countryside on a bicycle, playing lots of sport and not talking to terrifying girls like me, who may have corrupted his otherwise innocent childhood.

Some may say hubby’s is the ideal, but I actually think his was a misspent youth. After all, you can spend the whole of your adult like doing nice wholesome things like riding a bike and going to garden centres, but once you’re grown up it’s really not acceptable to drink Archers straight from the bottle.

Fortunately, it’s never too late for your first French fry. Since that happy evening, I have also introduced hubby to Birdseye Fish Fingers and Alphabites.  I will just try to keep him off the Archers.

Recently I participated in the #fbcookieswap and met some more local bloggers (who, I am pleased to report also had fully functioning social abilities).  The general idea was: bake, share and eat cookies and blog about it afterwards, once you’re too full to do anything except roll around in front of a computer, or have given yourself early onset diabetes from eating so much cake.

The cookie swap rules suggested mailing cookies but as every single expat in Prague is terrified of having to visit česká pošta lest we fall foul of  the hideous customer service and cold stares of the pošta staff, we decided to meet up in person instead and have ourselves a little winter tea-party.

This was planned about a month ago – I thought (it being December) it would be a snowy, twinkly afternoon just perfect for cosying up with a cuppa, a cookie and a couple of friends.  Actually, the weather here is complete crap at the moment, so it was dark, damp and drizzly instead.  We made our own sunshine though – thanks Sarah for hosting a lovely afternoon, and to Agog in Prague and  Peggy Harowitz for baking.

I ploughed on with the Christmas theme regardless and baked Cranberry and White Chocolate Cookies, courtesy of the lovely Nigella. They were very yummy (even if I say so myself), and here is the recipe:

Ingredients

150g plain flour
½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
75g rolled oats (not instant)
125g soft butter
75g dark brown sugar
100g caster sugar
1 egg (actually, I used 2 as the mixture seemed a little too dry with 1)
1 tsp vanilla extract
75g dried cranberries
50g pecans, roughly chopped
150g white chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 180oC/ 350°F/gas mark 4.

Measure out the flour, baking powder, salt and rolled oats into a bowl.
Put the butter and sugars into another bowl and beat together until creamy — this is obviously easier with an electric mixer of some kind, but you just need to put some muscle into otherwise — then beat in the egg and vanilla.
Beat in the flour, baking powder, salt and oat mixture and then fold in the cranberries, chopped pecans and chocolate chips.

Roll tablespoonfuls of dough into a ball with your hands, and then place them on a lined or greased baking sheet and squish the dough balls down with a fork. You may need two baking sheets or be prepared to make these in two batches.
Cook for 15 minutes; when ready, the cookies will be tinged a pale gold, but be too soft to lift immediately off the tray, so leave the tray on a cool surface and let them harden for about 5 minutes. Remove with a spatula to cool fully on a wire rack.

Nigella tells me that these ingredients will make 30 cookies. I think that’s ambitious, but maybe I’m just greedy. Enjoy!