Cow [noun]

  1. A sweaty, hairy female animal, which swats flies with its tail.
  2. An informal term for a mean mouthed woman (see also bitch)
  3. The title of a rather funny book by @hotpatooties

Translations:  For those of you who are EAL or studying an additional language: vache, αγελάδα, or, krowa.  In the terms of inserting the Polish noun into a sentence ‘krowa’, it could be used in the following ‘Straciłem moją krowę’ – I have lost my cow (notice the change of the vowel as it belongs to someone).

Cows are udderly beautiful in the respect that they push out their young and pump out litres of fresh milk, all with now fuss.  The original vegans, they are the earth mothers, hippies, the most chilled of the farm.  As humans, we rely on these animals and suck them dry like greedy babies.  They never complain and are the ultimate symbol of Mother Nature.  However, as with everything in life, some others like to spoil this image by negating it with definition 2.  Using these beautiful serene animals as a way to ‘call’ a female is insulting to the ‘vache’ instead of looking at it positively, where could be actually seen as a compliment.

N.B.  some females fuel this negatively with little ‘cliques’ and lack of understanding.  They give cows a bad name (See also ‘bitches’ because Rosie Dog is s ‘bitch’ and she is beautiful and loving)

Cows also like to hang out in a herd.  They like company and a good ‘moo’ with each other.   Their chats resonate across lush green meadows full of cow shite (we all do it) and make us feel relaxed and at one with nature.  You could say that when they’re ‘cowing’ in a field, they are on a catch up wine night.  They are like the loose woman of the farmyard.  They are all working mothers who love their bodies, embrace the curves and don’t care if they’ve got three stomachs.  They are real women.

I am a cow.

Well, if I was to tell you that my current state is generally definition 1.  You might wonder why? Maybe you’ve not seen me for a while, maybe you don’t know me?  At present you might think I’m still breastfeeding my eleven year old, that I’m putting on weight, I’ve developed a coating of fur and that I’m rather smelly.  Whatever the case ‘cow’ connotes an image.  But, to save you the time and thinking, I can tell you that it might have something to do with being deep in training in the middle of June (you can decide what of the aforementioned fits me).

Monday’s 10K

After a tense 36 hours, I needed to run.  The fact it was 22 degrees didn’t phase me as my other option was to cheerfully kill someone.  Therefore, I got run ready and braved the bizarre elements of heat and an overcast sky threatening of rain.

Very quickly the sweat began to pour.  This I like.  Call me weird but it’s instant gratuity to feel all the crap pouring out of one’s pores.  After a meat fuelled barbecue on Sunday (I don’t even like meat), I felt like I was purging myself (the cow in me was reclaiming the vegan),  The run was bringing the body out of the red and into the black.  So, even though the heat was on, all was good.  It wasn’t until the third kilometre things got full on…

Dirty black filthy flies buzzed around my head, like the pig on stick in Golding’s dystopian tale (How on earth did he manage to write that whilst teaching? He actually wrote the thing at his desk!  I barely have time to do a register).  I had to think quick.  Flies are Hell to me, my room 101.  I don’t say this lightly either as all God’s creature ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ (wedding hymn nearly 16 years ago), are precious.  And as hard it is digging deep to love those pesky mice who keep infiltrating the home, I can’t even think about harming anything that breathes (I do realise this contradicts my earlier statement about ‘cheerfully killing’ but you don’t have a family like mine…).  Therefore, my chosen plan of attack was my ponytail.  I swished it like a jersey cow and found it did little to get rid of the blighters but it kept my mind off them whilst I swished to the music and it felt almost liberating like a little girl skipping without a care in the world.

There I was, sweating the fat out (my boob sweat patches made me look like I was needing milking) swishing flies and with only Jeremy Vine and Stephen Fry for company.

I feel the need to discuss running sounds at this juncture (my spinning instructor should take note of this, there’s no Cher, Backstreet Boys, or McFly)

Obviously I have to make sure my running sounds are both entertaining and mind stimulating.  After all, they say cows are intelligent, thus proving my point that whilst training, I not only like my Spotify (cows like music too), but some hot debates on The  ‘Vine’ show (I had to really dig deep when Boris was mentioned but I powered through up the Fry and what a treat!). I digress…

There I was, four kilometres in and I decided (as it began to spit), that I’d run further – as you do when it threatens a thunder storm (do cows go under trees?).  So, I changed direction, lost the flies and felt good about the world.

On the fifth kilometre, I gained another colony of the little pukers – did you know they’re sick on everything they land on?  And found myself mid debate on dental problems in the elderly (as much as I supported this, it was gruesome listening to overgrown gums etc. when you’re fighting the equivalent of a ‘plague of locusts’ at the gates of Hades).

Like a super runner in an ultra (yeah right!) I made it to my half way point, sent a picture to my running guide and turned, experiencing all the previous issues in reverse order; other than The Vine, who had moved onto the debate about seagulls holding people hostage in their properties (again, is the world ending? My other animal fear is things with feathers and wings).  I powered through and made it home in good time.

Being a cow gave me power.  The thought of being bovine made me finish strong.  To be a cow is a symbol of femininity  and honour.  These domestic, Trojan creatures are the backbone of what it is to be a woman.  The tragedy is they don’t get to choose and they have no voice.  They symbolise women one hundred years ago – a group of beings being controlled by man for their own gains.  Therefore, you need to understand the following:

We should all be embracing the cow in us, overcoming hurdles and barriers and breaking through to show the world how it’s done.  It’s about the mindset and not the image (take note Love Islanders).

And for that reason we need to step away from the negative.  If you feel yourself living up to the ‘derogatory’ stereotype, ask yourself why?  Remember how wonderful cows are and how they don’t deserve the negative press.  If you’re afraid that you’re swerving into definition 2, it’s never too late to change.  Find your inner cow and my last piece of advice: nie trać swojej krowy.

I’m running the Great North Run on Sunday 8th September for Retina Uk.

If you would like to donate to this old cow (it’s my least favourite day today as I’m another year older) then sponsor me here:

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