Tag Archives: exercise

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Biggest Triumphs, , ,

scooter

So I appear to have inadvertently discovered the most effective type of fuel yet to galvanise this fat old body into action…the trick seems to be getting really really mad. I mean, like really mad. Having a complete hissy fit and wanting to put someone’s lights out kind of mad.

It all started this morning when I woke up with a sore knee. There’s nothing particularly unusual about that, my knee has been dodgy ever since I dislocated it in the process of shuffling my 300lb body sideways to get into the window seat on a flight a couple of years ago. Yes, that did hurt, a lot.  And it put a crimp in the last few days of what had been a memorable trip around the States with my boy. New York is less fun than it might otherwise be when you’re struggling to walk with your knee in a brace.

Anyway I’m fairly used to the constant toothache in my knee, although to be fair it’s actually getting a little easier now I’m on my way down the scale. What really pushed my buttons this morning was the way that before I’d even had the chance to formulate the thought ouch, and stretch it a bit the Asshole voice was all over it.

Ooohh that doesn’t feel good. It’s all this exercise, obviously bad for you and you should stop, immediately, before your leg is damaged beyond repair. Have a day off today, don’t go near that cross trainer because it’s clearly doing more harm than good. Stay in your armchair,and show yourself a bit of TLC. Tell you what, why don’t you try and limp to the supermarket and get some cheese balls, it’ll be like old times…

At the same time he was chewing my ear I was reading an email from the company who I bought my new bag from just before Christmas, who were responding to my enquiry as to when I might expect to receive it. Given that it passed quality control over a week ago but hasn’t been despatched yet, their sentence inviting me to be patient got right up my nose. The straw that broke the camel’s back..? When I closed my laptop and reached over to the bedside table to pick up my glass of water and instead managed to knock it off and into my slippers. Looking back, it’s funny, but seriously, in that moment I completely lost the plot.

I half stomped and half hobbled across the bedroom and got on that hurt machine, chuntering under my breath the whole time. I didn’t even swing past the bathroom for a quick wee first, and excuse my indelicacy but it seems that a full bladder and a bad attitude is the way to go.

I was so busy telling the Asshole voice where to shove his cheese balls, and how despite his best efforts to sabotage my resolve I had no intention of spending the rest of my days traversing life from the comfort of a fat-friendly mobility scooter, I didn’t even notice the minutes mounting up. My eyes were out on stalks when I realised I’d done nine minutes, and I  immediately thought fuck it, if I can do nine I can do TEN, stick THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Asshole. 

So I did.  No quitters here, right?

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It’s All In The Head

Biggest struggles, , , ,

painI’ve always believed that I was quite effective in the ‘not giving up on stuff’ department, in fact more than once I’ve confidently used the words tenacious and determined to describe myself. I can think of some cracking examples throughout my life where I’ve clung on till my fingertips bled in pursuit of something I believed in, and I’d even count one or two successful visits to Skinny Town in the past as examples I can bandy about of me being hardcore when it counts.

Except when I say clung on until my fingertips bled, I am of course speaking metaphorically. No actual bleeding happened, because that would have meant pain, and I don’t do pain. I mean don’t get me wrong, there are times in your life when you can’t avoid it – having a baby for example, or getting sick.

To be fair when my boy was born I wheeled out the diva and demanded so much pain relief I was probably stoned for his first six months, but I have been through some other tough medical stuff where I had to just suck it up. I’ve talked in here before about the run in I had with the big C which involved a fair few cut and shut jobs. Sometimes you don’t have a choice and getting on with it is the only option open to you.

But pain, in pursuit of a goal? You know, when you have a choice, and could choose not to hurt..? That I’m finding it harder to get my head around. And before you laugh and call me a fanny, I know I’m only talking about six minutes on a cross trainer on the lowest setting, it’s hardly the north face of the Eiger, right? But don’t forget I’m carrying the equivalent of a whole other person around in my pants, and no matter how large or small the frame of reference, pain is pain. I did six minutes this morning and it hurt.

I almost gave up…it was a really close call that I didn’t. The asshole in my head was determined to build on his victory from yesterday when I’d programmed ten minutes but managed only five. I did complete the other five minutes last night before I went to bed but made the rookie mistake of not warming up or cooling down – I mean come on it was five lousy minutes, who knew it even mattered? For future reference, it does.

My legs were bitching at me before I’d even opened my eyes this morning and I made the journey from the bed to the cross-trainer in the style of Norman Wisdom, a fact shamelessly exploited by the asshole voice as a reason to quit as I winced my way through six minutes of hurt.

I’m really going to need to get a handle on this. When you google phrases like pushing through the pain, or digging deep to achieve your goals, you get hundreds and hundreds of inspirational quotes, but not a single bloody one that tells you how. I don’t need platitudes, I need advice and it’s a bit thin on the ground.

I’m scared that I’ll give up…there, I’ve said it. I’m scared that when the going gets tough I’ll just fold and think nah, not for me. And I can’t. I need to learn how not to give up, and practice not giving up ’till it’s baked into my psyche. Imagine if I’m halfway over that mountain in Cuba, and I get a blister that really hurts. They’re hardly going to call mountain rescue are they? I’ll be expected to just bloody get on with it and stop moaning. I need to find a way of pulling out the kind of mental resilience which keeps you nailed on to the task in hand even when you hurt.

If there was a pit of crocodiles under the cross trainer, or some device primed to blow my buns off if I slipped below so many strides per minute I’d have no choice but to keep going…right now my kit-bag of reasons not to quit is feeling a bit light, so any suggestions would be gratefully considered 🙂

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Buns Of Steel

In the here & now, , , ,

buns

So the coffin-sized cardboard box which got delivered at the weekend amid much excitement is no longer posing as a one-box-obstacle-course in my kitchen thanks to my friend and knight in shining armour, who popped in to work his magic last night after work. Under my close supervision – I was in charge of removing plastic wrapping and polystyrene – he effortlessly assembled the gleaming beast of a cross-trainer which is now firmly in-situ, plugged in and ready to make me hurt.

After he’d left last night I spent a bit of time reading the instructions, you know so I can get the most out of my workouts…okay lets be honest, to make sure I understand how to put it on the easiest setting 🙂 Hey, I need to ease myself in gently, right? I was more than a little bit alarmed to note their disclaimer that ‘too much exercise could injure your body or can cause dead’. Best go a bit steady then chaps.

I did a quick few steps on it last night, not in a serious workout kind of way…I was wearing my slippers at the time, and having moved it around the bedroom with the help of my boy into several different spots until I was happy with the feng shui (otherwise known as making sure it didn’t obscure the view of the TV from my bed) I felt like I’d spent two hours in the gym already, damn thing weighs a ton.

But I went to sleep with much anticipation of waking up this morning, leaping out of bed and pulling on my gear so I could crack on with an invigorating hour of exercise to set me up for the day. I’ve bought new trainers and everything, which even match the colour of the frame on this thing. I’m telling you, woman and machine in perfect symmetry, how on earth could it result in anything other than poetry in motion?

So, this morning then…well. My new trainers fitted. Sadly the same can’t be said for my exercise gear, which to be fair hasn’t seen the light of day since God was a lad. I mean I know lycra is stretchy but it’s apparently not quite that stretchy. Naked it is then. Well, naked with new trainers. It’s ok, the shutters were closed and there was only me and the dog, who was watching me quizzically from a safe distance…come on, you can’t blame him…he still remembers the power plate.

After two false starts, when I couldn’t seem to get it on the easiest setting only to discover that it was already on the easiest setting, the penny started to drop that this might not be quite the walk in the park that I’d imagined. I altered the timer to ten minutes from the hour that I’d brazenly keyed in to start with, and off I went.

One minute in and we’re doing okay…feeling it a bit in the legs but it’s all good. Two minutes in I’ve noticed that if I look up I can see my reflection in the TV which is directly in front of me…let’s not dwell on that other than to say I need some new exercise duds, to avoid any mental scarring which might result from being exposed to this image ever again.

Three minutes in and I’m starting to hurt. The asshole in my mind has sprung into action and he’s busy telling me that I’ve done enough…don’t overdo it on your first attempt, you must have burned off two thousand calories by now, so why don’t you go downstairs and make bacon, you’ve earned it! Four minutes in and I’m seriously starting to think that this might actually result in dead.

I made it to five minutes. And then I made it to the bed, and laid there for a bit wondering what just happened. Eventually I made it downstairs to the kitchen, on legs made of rubber, and as I sit here typing this I can’t help looking across at the fruit bowl, and wondering just how many grapes I could eat with the seven fucking calories I just burned. SEVEN!!! I could have earned more picking my nose.

Now, my promise to you is that I will complete that other five minutes at some point today. I’m going to take the dog out for a good walk in a minute, and isn’t that going to be an interesting experience on rubber legs. I haven’t quit…I’ve just paused. And I’m starting to think that perhaps I won’t have buns of steel by Friday. But no quitters here 🙂

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And We’re Off!

In the here & now, , ,

aaargh

So, on the day when voting opened for the UK Blog Awards, I’d love to be able to report back and say that everything’s gone swimmingly, but come on, this is my life! Of course things haven’t gone without a hitch, in fact if ever a day was designed to send me over the edge and rocketing head first into the hob-nobs, yesterday would be it. Just…AAARGH!!!

Have you ever asked yourself the question why is nothing ever easy? Let me tell you that at quarter past midnight last night I was deep in email exchange with Gemma, the very patient Managing Director of the UK Blog Awards, who I’m sure is already regretting the day she ever heard of my blog, and is almost certainly wondering why I’m not accompanied at all times by a responsible adult.

Not only had I managed to enter our blog into the wrong category, I’d managed to lock myself out of my UKBA account too whilst I was in the process of trying to put it right. And after consultation with the posse over the last couple of days, I was ready to call out the two most voted-for posts – Part Woman, Part Ostrich, and What Would You Keep – but the ‘place holder’ ones that I dropped in when I filled out the entry were refusing to budge! Not that they’re bad ones, just not the ones we all picked. So that took a bit of faffing around with too…I’m knackered!

However, that said…voting is now OPEN!! It’s all very exciting…everyone is allowed to vote once per day. I’ve already cast mine, and I know a few of you have too, so we’re officially off the starting blocks! I did think about setting up an email account for the dog so he could join in the fun and we could bag a few extra votes but my sense of fair play prevailed and rallied against it, dammit. However, you can cast your vote HERE 🙂  And if you think your friends and family might like to join in too, well even better! It’s the top option in the drop down voting box, which casts a vote in both of the sections we are nominated in.

The reality is, I’m going to be rubbish at this campaigning malarkey…it’s already grating against every good nerve in my body that I’m asking for votes. I can feel my palms getting sweaty, and I sense the asshole in my mind limbering up to place a few choice words…yeah go on, ask again…you’re guaranteed to piss everybody off if you keep banging on about it…people will stop reading, they’ll switch off in droves…get over yourself. 

Is that a fat thing, or a me thing do you think? I suspect a bit of both…if you cast your mind back, in the ‘Police, Fire, Ambulance, Me’ post I talked about how I rarely ask for help, and this is sort of the same thing, right? Asking for stuff from other people is just something I struggle with, big time, so I suspect our campaign might be a bit more low key than some.

I’ve got to tell you, it was a very strange feeling seeing our blog up there, pitted against dozens of amazing entries…that’s the moment I’ve been waiting for you know? And the feeling didn’t disappoint, it feels awesome. Look what we did! When I started writing the blog, it was for the sole purpose of keeping myself accountable. 90,000 words later, I could never have imagined it would develop into what it’s become. You lot are awesome, do I tell you that enough?

So anyway, let me put my excitement about the blog awards to one side for a moment, guess what else turned up this weekend…yes, my cross-trainer. What I wasn’t expecting when I opened the box was for it to come in four thousand different pieces. I thought the hardest part would be actually getting fit, I didn’t realise I’d need a PHD in knobs to put the damn thing together before I could rustle up a single bead of sweat, I mean come on.

One look at the instructions and I could practically taste those hob-nobs. Fortunately a knight in shining armour offered his services, so he’s coming over to assemble it for me tonight. By the skin of my teeth, no hob-nobs were consumed in the meltdown which followed the opening of the big box, and now help is on the horizon the urge to eat has melted away.

All told, it was quite a stressful day…the kind of day where six months ago I would have eaten my own bodyweight in chocolate. Instead of which, last night I went to bed with a couple of points left unspent.

How about them apples!

 

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Digging In

In the here & now, , ,

turtle

Today has been a better day – yesterday was impossible. I was in such a contrary mood, I even annoyed myself. I did get dressed and go out and walk in the end, in fact I walked even further than the previous two days just to prove a point. To myself. I’d spent at least a couple of hours beforehand arguing with the asshole back and forth before I shook him off, it was pathetic. And who even knew that so many excuses existed for not getting dressed and going out for a walk…he tried them all. And I ignored them all…I felt euphoric, if a little footsore when I got home. Me: 1- Asshole: 0.

Totting my three expeditions up, I’ve walked just over nine miles in the last three days, and I’m quietly impressed at how this fat old body is responding. I mean I’m not dead for a start…who knew that would happen! I’m still dragging 282lbs of lard around with me so I’m not sashaying up hills with any particular style or grace, but I’m doing it.

What I find rather astonishing is that on the first walk I did, on Boxing Day, I had to stop three times at various points on the hill to catch my breath and rest my legs for a minute. Sunday I did the same walk, but despite setting off with legs and feet which were already a bit sore from the day before, I only had to stop twice, and I did the walk ten minutes faster than the day before. Before you nod off, I swear I’m not about to start listing how far and how fast on a daily basis, but it surprised me. I didn’t expect it to get easier without a fight you know?

This is a first for me, I mean real unchartered territory. I’ve never pushed myself out of my comfort zone before where exercise is concerned. Dieting, yes. I’ve been a dieting Ninja on and off over the years, but exercise, not so much so. I did spend a year or so going to the gym when I was dating Mr Muscle and I did become very fit but I was a skinny string bean back then, and eight years younger to boot so it’s a different ball game. It feels like a lifetime ago, and I don’t remember having to really dig in.

It’s a bit scary to think that the trek I’ve signed up for will involve walking about twelve miles a day over pretty tough terrain, for five days on the bounce. I could honestly shit a brick whenever I think about that, but I tell you what, I am determined not to be the old fat one at the back of the pack. I want to stride off that bloody mountain first like a proper game old bird. That’s what’s driving me…I suspected that having a longer term fitness goal might help me on this journey but I didn’t quite anticipate how much of a fire it was going to light underneath these feet.

Mind you, if you’d seen me climbing the stairs to bed last night after three big walks in as many days you’d have fallen over laughing. Lets just say I’d have made it to the top far more quickly if I’d had a Stannah Stairlift…these old bones in this fat body were creaking with every step.

But it can only get better, right?

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