Have baby, will run (for brunch)

One invaluable lesson I have learned over the past decade or so masquerading as an adult, is that you cannot do this life shit on your own. Finding your tribe is, at different stages of your life, is imperative to staying sane. This goes for moving countries, learning a new skill, or entering motherhood. There are many many ways to skin a cat, and many many people who probably do it just the way you’d like to and can show you how.

There have been a few pivotal periods in my life where this has come to bear, the first when I quit drinking (finding mates that are awake on a Sunday morning is a good place to start), the second when I took up running and found the inimitable Run Dem Crew and the third when I became a Mother. Thankfully there were a few awesome people in both sets of previous tribes that by the time mamadom hit, I had a pretty great collection of babes and their bubs to add to my village.

But as with all good things, you have to keep at it, your priorities and abilities change, you may find yourself in a different place, your kids get bigger, your circumstances change (for better, for worse) and as such the tribe needs to evolve to include more people, maybe a few drop by the wayside, some grow with you some grow out of you (and you them).

I find myself at one of these crossroads, with a three month old son, creaking hips and a desperate need to let off steam. As mentioned, any hitting of any bottles (even tiny ones) is a no-go, there’s only so much Netflix any one mushy brain can take, and the lethal combination of caffeine and sugar, while it got me through the first foggy months, is a sure fire cocktail to whip up my anxiety levels, screw with my sleep and my waistline. So I need something else, and Baby Yoga ain’t going to cut it.

My go-to quick fix for the past 5 years or so has been a run. A quick one, a long one, a run with mates, the solo run, the ‘I’m just taking the dog around the park’ run, the training in the rain run, the run that has random obstacles in it, the ‘why-the-fuck-am-I-doing-this’ run and the ‘thank god I went for a run’ run.

I am no speedster, my race times are not enviable, but that was never the point. I run to keep sane. I have met some of the best people through running, it’s opened doors in other areas of my life creatively – I started writing again,  took up photography – it’s taken me travelling to run in mad cities with mad people, got me fit, made me brave, and ultimately saved my ass on more occasions that I can count. It’s the thing I do on a Sunday morning when I would have been nursing a hangover in bed. It’s built my confidence and shown me the heroic in others. Putting on a pair of running shoes for me was as transformative as alchemy.

But my pregnancy and running didn’t really get on, with the aforementioned creaking hips, and a core that is still recovering from accommodating a baby, I have not run more than 3 miles in the best part of a year.

I’m basically back to being a newbie. No fitness to speak of, and a deep seated fear that I won’t bounce back, given walking a mile has me wishing I was being pushed in the pram.

Now I know that’s unfounded. I will bounce back. In what form is still yet to be seen. But in the spirit of reaching out, if I have any hope of reclaiming my nikes, and my beating my 10K PB, I’ll need help. I’ll need a new tribe. Or a patchwork venn diagram of the tribes that have gone before. Mates that run and happen to have kids. Or freelance mates who don’t run but would like to give it a bash and don’t mind a few babies tagging along

So I have downloaded my trusty Couch to 5K app from days of yore, dug out the lycra and I’ll be hitting the parks of London, building up the all important base line, with pram and changing bag to boot.

Here’s the ask, I’d love company, its motivating and makes schlepping a sleep deprived body and niggly baby around all that much easier to manage.  If you’re new to running, haven’t run for ages and you’re free on a week day morning, or just fancy a (slow) jaunt around some of the best parks in the world, drop me a line here. I don’t bite, I won’t (can’t!) run fast so please don’t be intimidated and it should be a great way of getting out and about, blowing off the cobwebs and seeing more of the brilliant city. Hopefully getting the babies to sleep too.

And nothing beats a banging brunch post run. I need brunch back in my life






Adventures with the Cheer Dem Crew Part 2: London Baby!

London Marathon 2014 (April 13th) 

No messing about, and RDC Cheer Dem Crew brought out the big guns. Confetti Canons. Oh yes.

Ready. We Ready

 And all that training paid off – here’s what happens when you take 100 RDC cheer dem supporters, add confetti canons, some sunshine and a WHOLE LOTTA CREW LOVE

Cheer Dem Crew in action

Now if that’s not enough to get you counting down the days to the 2015 ballot, you’re beyond help.
As Charlie Dark says…. If you don’t run. You must cheer. 
Simple really. You get what you put in, and then you give it back
Not a dry eye in the house

Adventures with the Cheer Dem Crew: Part 1 Brighton

Marathon Season is upon us. Everyone knows this requires huge amounts of dedication, training and planning. Conquering the race is no mean feat. Months of endurance training, stamina and strength workouts leading up to one day where everything would have to come together at the right time to make it a success. 
Which is why when you’re training for a cheer-a-thon like April, you need to have exercised your vocal chords to manage serious decibels with and without a loud hailer, managed the tricky supply/ demand ratio of jelly beans every ten minutes (for the runners too obviously), worn in your best stand/jump/run around shoes to last for at least 5.5 hours and trained your eagle eyes to spot your runners at least 100 metrers away for the best cheering opportunity. Speedy high fivers are a must. And a steady supply of scissors and string for signs essential. 
Brighton Marathon (April 6th)
What a great race to start off the season. Armed with layers for the weather, backpacks of supplies and the serious combined logistical genius of Paul and Clare, over 20 Cheer Dem Elites made it down to the coast to doll out some serious support to our runners (and everyone else!)
The Cheer Dem effect – actually lifts you off the ground

Ash models the new banners

Run Man! 

Which was the perfect way to warm up for the BIG ONE….

BERLIN Bridge the Gap: Run, Eat, Rave, Repeat

Its been an busy few months in my running calendar, Brighton Half in the bag (just) picking up training again with RDC season 14, running the Berlin Half and cheering both Brighton and London Marathons. My legs have recovered, my voice certainly has not.

Adventures with Cheer Dem Crew is a whole separate post so first things first. The race I’ve been training for since the end of last year. BERLIN!

Suffice to say, I have never been so excited for a race. My first time running abroad, first Bridge the Gap event, first time touring with the wonderful Run Dem Crew. It was like Matric rave all over again (without the dodgy cars and very cheap wine…)

Non running highlights included; Falling in love with Michelberger Hotel (seriously, is this just the hippest hotel in the world?) managing not to get lost on the S Bahn, the U Bahn or shouted at by scary transport police. Walking tours with Melissa, Keelan and Martyn. Binging on street art. Laughing, eating, laughing, and, let us not forget… German breakfasts. Heaven!

Berlin Sunshine Bikes and Bridges
Melissa, Keelan and Martyn. Helping me carb load

Then there was the race. Wow.  At least 60+ RDC runners, and crews from all over Europe (and the US!). I’m guessing all in all around 200 runners from outside of Berlin, all together committing to one race, celebrating what we have in common, what we do differently – sharing ideas, making friends, building community. But that was just the beginning, It got bigger. Post race party, serious business and in reality you had to be there. I don’t think a blog can do it justice.
But there was still the smaller matter of actually running
Run Dem Crew take Berlin
Having made our way to the start line, we met up with our friends and international crew. The brilliant Berlin Braves who were hosting the weekend had laid on a spectacular pre-run breakfast, coffee, pastry, fruit galore! After a few words of inspiration from the crew captains, we kept ourselves busy waiting for the start time to come pinning race numbers, finding last minute vaseline, checking GPS functionality and comparing training highs and lows. 
By 9:50 we were heading towards our start pens, and after a bit of a delay we were finally off! I was thrilled to start off the race with fellow Greyhounds Lemara, Christabel and Amani – another first, actually running with a great women that I have been training with and not freaking out on my own! Having that support, even if you’re not talking to each other throughout, but you can see their shirts nearby made such a difference. And getting the occasional pat on the back as one of the faster crew came through was amazing too. 
The race was hot, by 10K I knew hitting my goal 2:15 was going to be really tough, and I wanted to finish strong, rather than dead. I reduced my pace a fraction, took a couple of shot blocks, threw a few bottles of water  on my head and got on with it. Cheer Dem Crew were coming up at 16km and I knew once I cracked that I could sail to the finish. 
They were amazing. 
Melissa took some wonderful pics of us all coming through. Gives you a flavour of the power of Cheer Dem! 
Power up! Lemara and Christabel

I crossed the line in 2:20:03 that’s a full EIGHT MINUTES faster than Brighton and it was at least 10 degrees warmer. A new PB and the full ten minutes I wanted off my original PB prior to 2014 races.

Job Done. Nothing left to do but vogue (and smash up the non-alcoholic beer at the finish!)

Hannah and I  take running very seriously
We finished up an unforgettable weekend with an epic after party at the Kantine Berghain. I managed midnight before heading to bed. Lightweight! I am blaming my 10am flight the following morning with a killer 8am check in. 
Huge thanks again to the lovely Melissa for being a brilliant room mate, and to everyone at RDC (especially the man himself Mr Charlie Dark) and the Berlin Braves for THE BEST running weekend this lady has ever had. 
Easily the best race of my running career so far, and its only April. Hackney Half still to come and Royal Parks Half in the Autumn. 
Any other amazing European races I should be entering? Passport is valid. Will travel!

Regent’s Park Winter Series 10K – New PB!

It’s Sunday morning,and I am up at 7am and lacing up the trainers for my second 10K race in five days. Well, it’s one way to kick start 2014, race myself silly until we head off to Thailand and then hopefully have enough of a habit going that I’ll be taking on a few miles on those beaches. And I fear it will have to 7am to beat the heat (oh poor me! up early to run on the beaches.. I hate me)

The weather was perfect. Cold but beautiful and clear, with a rose coloured sunrise seeing off the frost. There was plenty of that and I very nearly skidded off the bridge and into the pond just walking over to the Hub for the start of the race. 
Regent’s Park getting its Pretty On
Having had my number and race chip through by post (all seamlessly organised) all I had to do was meet Natalie (the lovely lady I had the pleasure of running with last Movember 10K) and hit the bag drop off. 
Natalie and I get ready to race! Regent’s Park let’s be havin’ ya!
By 9:10am we were all at the start line, including Felix and Christopher (resident RDC elites) and ready to go. The course is flat and takes in most of Regent’s Park three times over and I was slightly dreading the laps. I am much more a fan of varied scenery! But I had a new playlist to test out, so seeing the same statue a few times over wouldn’t be the end of the world. 
Each lap was just over 3km, and with the ice having melted thanks to the climbing sun (and the super speedy runners, thanks Chris and Felix!) I managed to keep my pace even and steady. I even avoided heading out too quickly – which helped hugely. Not more fizzling out at 5km, and although I didn’t manage negative splits, I did managed a new PB! Not quite under the 60min mark, but 01:01:01 has a certain ring to it. Fitting for the beginning of the year. So that will do for now. More track training and I’ll be there no doubt.
It was brilliant to have fellow RDC runners in the mix who cheered me across the finish line, thanks guys – helped me find that sprint finish after all. Felix and Chris both smashed the course in under 40 minutes, Felix bagging a new PB, so celebrations all round. 
Run Dem Crew Represent! 
So that leaves me two more weekends until I jet off to warmer climes for a desperately needed dose of Vitamin D. Any other good 10Ks I should be signing up for? What races have you got planned in the Spring?

Remembering Madiba

A week ago today the world reeled from the news that Nelson Mandela had passed away. I was sitting on this very sofa, catching up with social media nonsense when a tweet popped up with the news. Quickly verified by BBC, Al Jazeera, and every other major news player on the globe the news spread instantly. I was suddenly acutely aware that at 10:30pm here in London, I was probably finding out the news ahead of my family in South Africa, who would be in bed asleep, only to find out on the Friday morning. I had no idea how I would feel. Being far away from home both physically (and also emotionally it has to be said), having been in London for 10 years, the news hit me with an immediacy I had not anticipated. In that moment, phone in hand watching the world send tweets and posts and images and platitudes through the ether I was back in Johannesburg, trying to remember the first time I heard his name or saw a picture of his face.
I have often shied away from writing about my childhood in South Africa. I don’t know why. Possibly because there have been so very many coming of age stories based in the New South Africa. We bore the ‘born frees’ senseless with our tales of transition through the 80s and early 90s. They’re often told by children of the struggle movement who, having lived through the oral history of our parents who actually did the work, toyi toying through the streets, and getting arrested, we felt we were close enough to it. And a fair number of these prodigal children are often now living abroad looking back at their ‘pastoral’ youth with great nostalgia and naivety. In the US they call these children the Cold War Kids, so in South Africa being born around State of Emergency being declared – we have a similar backdrop to our ABCs.
But that day last week I was confronted with my 8yr old self, grief stricken by the news of the death of a great man.
I don’t remember exactly when I first learned about this man, Madiba, who was in prison on an island off the coast of Cape Town where we were lucky enough to have idyllic holidays every year with our extended family. Growing up as a white child in South Africa in the 1980s, I have memories of a happy childhood. We lived in a bubble secured by military law, government legislation and an entire infrastructure designed to keep us separate and apart from the reality of the country we were born into regardless, to a certain extent, of our parent’s political leanings. A white washed illusion perpetuated by the Apartheid government, at great expense, the toll for which we will pay for many years to come. As Denis Hirson so beautifully described it, we lived in The House Next Door to Africa. And if you’ll permit me to extend the metaphor, our house happened to have just enough of a back door left open for the 8 year old me to peer through and see that things were perhaps not what they seemed. 
My parents were both anti-apartheid supporters and activists, and I knew this as a child as I knew what a feminist was or a catholic or an economist. These were all esoteric terms in my head and I had no deeper understanding of what they actually meant. We had pictures of people like Joe Slovo and Helen Joseph in the study, my mother had a poster that proclaimed ‘A House Does Not Need A WIFE any more than it does a HUSBAND’. There were Johnny Clegg cassette tapes and history books galore.
In the 1980’s my mother worked for an organisation called Sached (South African Committee for Higher Education), a committee that worked to open up distance learning at university to level to all races, after the apartheid government closed university applications to non-whites in the late 50s.  So at social gatherings there were interesting people, who wore their hair in brightly beaded braids and wore t-shirts that said things like ‘AMANDLA!’ (Power!), or in my mother’s case ‘WOMANDLA!’ There were often discussions about The Struggle. As kids, we rolled our eyes and went off to watch Thunder Cats and play Dungeons & Dragons. Adults were boring always talking talking.
My first memory of realising that perhaps my parent’s worldview was radically different to that of my peer group was a school concert circa 1988. My mother, as usual, was running very late and barely made the assembly. I was furious that she was late and had made a bit of an entrance with the door slamming to the hall, and everyone looking while she found a seat. I was even more mortified when I realised she was wearing THAT ‘nkosi sikelel iafrika T-shirt, covered in flour (she had been making cheese muffins). But the final straw was watching her SIT DOWN through the entire singing of the national anthem, while all the other parents stood, belting out the words to Die Stem at volume. Looking back I want to high five my brave, stubborn, wonderfully unmanageable mother, but in 1988, I was red faced with the embarrassment of having a mother with ‘politics’.
But it wasn’t until 1989 that it really hit home. On the 1st of May, an anti-apartheid activist by the name of David Webster was assassinated outside his home by the Civil Cooperation Bureau, a covert organisation of the Apartheid government. Being 8 years old I had no memory of meeting him, although I am told I met family at some point. But I do remember, clear as day, my mother unravelling with anger and grief, sobbing in front of the TV the night the news broke, my father speechless at her side. And I was now old enough to figure out that something was well and truly fucked up here in Sunny South Africa.
Alongside the ‘House Husband’ postcard came the back page of the Mail & Guardian featuring an image of David Webster, his back to the camera looking out a window ahead of speaking at an event. Head bowed, alone with the dates 1945 – 1989 in bold below. And perhaps this is why, 25 years later, I went back to that year as the watershed moment, a full year before Mandela was released. Not long after that I learned about what went before; Sharpeville, Biko, the 1976 riots, Sophiatown. 
Heading into the 90’s we went through Model C schooling (a brand of government and private school hybridisation that facilitated racial integration), Zulu being introduced as a language option (very badly at first, by teachers who knew less than us, to the hysterical amusement of the new black kids in our classes, hooting with laughter at the ill-timed clicks and awful grammar – school prank gold) and navigating the mind field that was being a young teen in a rapidly changing society. I was 10 when the schools started integrating, and 13 by the time the first general elections rolled around in 1994.I remember being furious we weren’t allowed to vote, but slightly relieved when we saw the queues going round the block. I remember watching with fascination as some of our peer’s parents prepared for civil war, and many left to live in New Zealand, Australia and the UK. We watched Madiba’s inauguration – the dancing and joy – and yet people were leaving, all in the face of amazing optimism it seemed crazy
Kurt Cobain also died that year so between the general elections and the loss of my first true love, it was a pretty epic time. Hormones aside.
By 1995, the year we won the World Cup Rugby and Madiba donned the springbok jersey and danced with the nation, this man had come to symbolise a calming force of nature that could fan flames of national pride across the deeply entrenched racial divides and yet cool tempers when change wasn’t as quickly affected as the people needed and unrest was sparked. By the time I started university in 1999 we were 5 years into democracy with one of the most forward thinking constitutions in the world. And Johannesburg felt like the most cosmopolitan place on the globe, with every possibility in reach. We were starting companies, discovering our own brands of deep house, garage and electro, writing controversial articles, making our new voices heard. The party had just begun.
I was even lucky enough to meet The Man himself while waitressing at the 70th birthday party of yet another anti-apartheid activity, Amina Cachalia. I was so nervous I very nearly spilt spaghetti into his lap. Thankfully I was a better waitress than I thought and I managed to avert disaster, with a quick swivel on my heel. I also got to hear Graca Machel sing happy birthday which is a pretty special gem of a memory too.
So how am I here in London, paying my respects to a man who featured so prominently throughout my life, at Trafalgar Square rather than in Jozi? 

If anything the upbringing I was so lucky to have encouraged me to get out of my comfort zone, try new things, go to new places. Not get complacent with my thinking. There is nothing like travelling to make you  feel immensely knowledgeable and hugely humbled by your own ignorance. London has done both. I also happened to be in love and that will take you everywhere, although ironically enough that wasn’t to be the love that kept me here. I fell in love with London, and then married a cabbie. What else?
So I paid my respects in two ways. I went to South Africa House and signed the Remembrance book with my London born and bred husband. We queued with a myriad of people from all over London, many of whom had taken time off work to do so, many of whom have never even been to South Africa. It’s been amazing to see how our collective feeling has been truly global and how this one life touched so many people.
And then I went running through my adoptive city with 100 RDC members under the cover of night, the Christmas lights shining, and bridges lit up, all the way from St Pauls past Waterloo Bridge to the Madiba statue on the Southbank. It was so beautiful and I am no longer ashamed to admit I sobbed like that 8 year old all over again.
Rest in peace Tata. You were our inspiration as we grew up from children, taught us patience, courage and forgiveness as unruly teens, and left us as adults with a sense of pride and purpose. Hamba kahle (Go Well)
100+ Run Dem Crew with the Madiba Statue (photo credit Glenn Hanock)

Autumn – Let’s be Having Ya!

New Look for A/W 2013!  Waddya think? Don’t I look the professional blogger type? So shiny!

So with that, I am very pleased to announce I am back in training. New shoes, new look, new races in the diary – and the weather is near perfect for it. Cold, windy and a bit wet. As they say, if its not raining, its not training. This is also my excuse for not updating the blog, I have been outside, RUNNING! Yes you heard right, I’m back doing decent mileage too. It’s been bloody brilliant.

Monday’s finds me training with RDCWest, clocking up about 5 pretty steady miles with the crew. I’m not pushing myself too hard as I am incredibly paranoid I am going to injure myself for a 3rd time in less than a year – which would just be plain stupidity and I don’t think BUPA would be terribly sympathetic. I’m reminding myself that speed is not the priority right now, time is irrelevant, its just about getting out there and getting my endurance and fitness back up to scratch.

Thursday’s I’ve joined RDCWest’s very own track mafia. Last night I survived my very first taste of track and did not puke, pass out or cry. I’m taking that as a massive win. I do have a slightly niggly knee, but the physio assures me that’s not the end of the world, and a bit of ibuprofen and MORE FOAM ROLLING will do the trick.

Brand Spanking New Trainers (they even squeak)

CREW! Hitting Little Venice

Happy Endorphin Running Face = Mash Up

If all that wasn’t enough, I’ve started sampling the free weight section at my local gym. The wonderful Jim Murphy  has designed both a lower body and upper body work out developed to support my running, and get my upper body stronger. Its pretty killer. I couldn’t walk for about 3 days afterwards and discovered what DOMS stands for on fitness blogs. Yes those. I had them. D.O.M.S.

Serious Buns of Steel. OUCH

I am hoping the additional time in the weights room will pay off when I am hauling myself over massive walls and running through London Mud (ew) in the Survival of the Fittest event I am competing in on Nov 16th. This deserves its very own blog piece, but involves me and five other  kick ass ladies kitting up and showing the boys how its done. Or at the very least getting covered in mud and having a really good laugh making total asses of ourselves. New hobby it would seem.

So with Survival of the Fittest and Movember 10K taking me into the festive season, and the Brighton and Berlin Half to prepare for in the Spring, I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied, and hopefully, injury free!

Huge thanks to Michelle Allan for the awesome new header – she’s a super talented design lady and all round bad ass running hero who is also raising money for Tommy’s – check out her site, great offers on designs for a limited time, for a fantastic charity.

Blink and You’ll Miss It

Photography as always been something I have had a very avid (but amateur!) interest in, from disposable cameras in my teens, point and click compacts through my twenties and now the more obsessional cataloguing of daily life on my iPhone.

I suspect it’s in my genes, something I picked up from my Mom. Ever the historian, she documented our lives from toddlers to teens, just like she does her beloved WW2 heroines on whom she is writing her doctorate. Perhaps with less of an academic flair, I’m hoping to capture more of my life in London, building up the bones of a history in the making.

Spending a few moments going through old snaps from school (short skirts, bad hair, too much make up) or that once in a lifetime holiday to Cuba (smoking cigars, waterfall jumping, huge lizards!) brings it all back and fills in the gaps where memory fails. I love the idea of having a great collection to sift through when I’m 90 and I can barely remember what I had for breakfast.

Plus, with social media becoming more visual (pics or it didn’t happen!) and being able to slap filters on everything, arrange, collage, highlight and caption – I wanted to up my game and make sure the pictures I did take were more quality over quantity – in the midst of retro cups of coffee. So this starts with a proper camera and actually learn some of the science behind it. Cue R buying me a beautiful Canon for my birthday and my journey into becoming a junior paparazzi lookalike begins.

Coincidently, my first tentative steps testing out my new camera kit coincided with a running injury which meant I had to give up my space in the Colour Run. And what better way to make the most of a shit situation then to go and support the RDC runners and get all snap happy – and there was powder paint to boot.

Here are a few of the best bits:

Rose Tinted Chippy and Danielle 

Jason and Danielle 
Lizzy and Cory Smash Up the British 10K
Laura goes for he Group Hug

War Paint

Start Line of the Colour Run 

These are obviously baby steps, nothing to grand, arty or special from a skill set perspective. But at the very least they capture a brilliant summer’s day in London, supporting a group of people who literally keep me up and running.

As I’ll be expanding on the photography vibes, I’ve started a new blog, Blink and You’ll Miss it  here. Do check it out – would love to hear your thoughts but please note is still very much a work in progress. No whizzy html skills here yet! There will be less running and probably more random pics of the sky looking all pretty. And me being obscure and hispterish. Laughs come free.

Twinge and Whinge – With Added Biscuits

I am sitting on my sofa, eating a Viennese Swirl on a Wednesday. I should be eating poached salmon and green veg and egg whites. I should be mixing whey protein and peanut butter shakes for supplements and probably stretching. Yes I should be stretching and focusing on my core, and stretching some more.

I should be doing all of this, but I am sitting on the sofa eating chocolate covered Viennese Swirls. And catching up on Hannibal, Luther and 90210. I have eclectic taste like that, serial killers and rich spoiled teens, a very good mix. I am doing everything I shouldn’t be doing in some very childish bid to rebel against the fact that I can’t do what I want to do. Which is run. GAH

After managing to remain totally injury free for 6 whole glorious months,  I got a bit cocky. Which is very easy to do when you’re getting all over excited running with Run Dem Crew West, pushing up the mileage  and slowly, getting faster. Hooray, I hear you say! Amazing! What a result!

Nah. My right leg says otherwise. In fact my right knee *screams* otherwise. Not all that surprised to be honest, the left leg got all the attention last year, so its only right and fair that this one now starts throwing a tantrum.

So I’ve booked physio, I’m taking it easy. I am trying not to whinge. I am burying my fury at myself for not adding in enough cross straining and stretching with chocolate and screwed up coppers. Standard. I’ll wallow in self pity and complex carbs tonight and hit the spinning classes tomorrow.

On the positive side. It will get better. I am getting faster. And I’m having a blast. Now just to get my knee in check

Run Dem Crew West (photo credit to Cory Wharton-Malcom)