Laura Gaga rears her arse again.

Last night the universe conspired in the most helpful way to help me with this whole "Potential" thing.



Hold on. I shouldn't say "Potential" in inverted commas like that, as if I am patronising myself and the whole sentiment of the word. It's like when somebody says "allegedly" or puts air quotes around words they say out loud. "Yes, he *finger wiggle in the air* 'fixed' the problem with crabs. But I'm still itching, so we'll see about that." For example. Possibly. I don't have crabs. I mean, not anymore. HA! You know that I'm kidding when I say that though, right? Like, as if if I even had an STD I'd joke about it on the Internet. I wouldn't. It's a double bluff. You get that, don't you? Seriously Internet, I just- MOVE ON LAURA. MOVEONMOVEONMOVEONMOVEON.



Sorry.



My point is, I don't mean "potential", I mean Potential. No inverted commas. No alleged-ity. No air quotes. Potential. Just the word, loud and proud and totally pertaining to what I am capable of achieving this year, just like we discussed, Internet.



Potential. One of my objectives this year is to run a half marathon, mainly because I always say I will and instead I sit down and let the moment pass with a cappuccino and a very bad man between my thighs. But this is the first year I have had a keyword tattooed to my forehead. Also, I follow this blog and this past however-many-months she has chronicled her journey of training for the New York Marathon. Even though I am totally smart enough to recognise the difference between the American type-A personalities of internationally renowned media-darling mommybloggers and me, a lazy and chubby singleton from Derby, part of me still thought, 'Yeah. Pushing your body to its POTENTIAL is way in keeping with my 2012 theme.' So it went on the list.



(Plus, I possibly recently maybe ohgoshIjustdon'tknow got wind of the fact that soon I might be seeing the man I would like to marry and I think it would be prudent to show up looking equal to- if not better than- the last time he saw me. After months of partying hard I can shamelessly say that right now my aesthetic value has dropped by about 30%, and that just isn't on.)



I've been meaning to have my first new year run for the past ten days. In fact, at the weekend I even went so far as to put on my running gear and then take a nap in it. Yesterday I finally did it. The Universe helped me.



By Universe I actually mean Facebook.



After a day largely full of gossiping about the love lives of training new teachers and eating copious amounts of Reece's Peanut Buttter Cups and Candy Corn after the Americans donated a stash of sugar to the Teacher's Room at school I had energy. I also had no plans since Calum stood me up for our Skype date, and so as I browsed Facebook-the past-time of the twentysomething- I read a bunch of notifications of a picture of mine that had been on the site for ages.



The photo was of the time I went out on Halloween dressed as Lady GaGa (LAURA GAGA) in only a leotard and some coke cans in my hair. I was able to do this, Internet, because I looked pretty fucking good after accidentally losing some weight. I accidentally lost some weight because I accidentally started working out.



As one person commented 'Nice top Laura, where did you get it from?' I was all, 'It's a leotard actually', and then my brain sort of short-circuited itself as my thought process pretty much went, YOU WERE ABLE TO GO OUT IN PUBLIC WEARING ONLY A LEOTARD, and then, HOW WAS THAT POSSIBLE? and then, BECAUSE YOU WERE RUNNING TWENTY MILES A WEEK AND YOUR ARSE LOOKED REALLY BLOODY GOOD and then, IF YOU RUN THAT MUCH NOW YOU COULD MAYBE LOOK LIKE THAT AGAIN and then, SO MAYBE YOU SHOULD LIKE, DO IT NOW, and then, POTENTIAL LAURA. POTENTIAL.



Also: your future husband, Laura. RUN.



My future husband made my arse really bloody sore, Internet. And not in the good way, either. Ouch.