Tag Archives: motivated

On The Subject Of Socks…

In the here & now, ,

got my backMy new ones got christened last night along with my new walking boots, and it seems Indiana Jones was right… no blisters. To be fair, they were tested with a small ‘t’, in that I only walked around three miles…the walking boots felt weird. They weren’t uncomfortable exactly, it just seemed like they made my legs ache more than normal which isn’t helpful but then I suppose I’m used to walking in trainers which are much lighter. Fact is, I can’t wear lightweight trainers to climb a mountain so I’ll just have to suck it up and get used to them even though I feel like I’ve got tractor tyres under my tootsies.

I had some lovely messages yesterday from folk keen to help…one of our posse is even going to invite a bunch of friends around for coffee and cake in exchange for a small donation which she’ll then pass on through my sponsor me page…you’re all awesome and I’m so touched by the fact that you all have my back in this way. There’s no feeling like it, genuinely and I’m here to tell you that you’re pissing the Asshole voice off at every turn…his best advice is quit now because you don’t have a cat in hell’s chance of making it over that mountain range, but your voices are louder and clearer than his ever was.

I’ve had a few messages to say that some of our posse overseas are struggling to make their donation through the sponsor me page, and Veronique came up with a brilliant idea – if you prefer to send your sponsorship money through PayPal, you can send it directly to dellibop@mac.com with whatever message you’d like me to put on the sponsor me site, and I will load it on for you at this end – that way you’ll be able to view your donation and your message on the site.

Shall I tell you what else happened? One of my friends set up a Facebook page linked somehow to the Kingdom of Pain, and loads of my new friends from there are supporting me by setting up walks over the coming weekends to spur me on and help me get ready for this challenge. It’s just incredible, I feel like the whole world is standing shoulder to shoulder with me on this…I’ve never known anything like it before. How lucky am I 🙂

You know the biggest fist-bump moment of the week for me happened in the outdoorsy shop, whilst Indiana Jones was standing over me with several pairs of shoes. She handed me a sock, and in one uninterrupted movement I lifted my foot onto the bench, bent down and pulled the sock onto my foot and then stood up again, holding my hand out for a shoe. And I didn’t even grunt! That could never have happened when I started this journey…I couldn’t even reach my feet.

So I have a walk arranged tomorrow with my Kingdom of Pain buddies and I’ll be wearing my backpack with God of Pain’s weights in it, with my new walking boots on. My steps will be heavy but you know what, inside I will feel as light as air. You guys are all pushing me to a new place, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.

Have an awesome weekend everyone, and a million thank yous for having my back 🙂

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And Now I Can

In the here & now, ,

keep-going

Just before I drifted off to sleep last night I spent a few minutes reflecting on the progress I’ve made over the last few months. Days like yesterday really bring it home to me how every cheese ball I resist and every bead of sweat I generate are totally worth it.

We had an off-site meeting for work, and they’d set the room out with a bunch of chairs arranged in rows facing forward…let’s just say the chairs weren’t made with comfort in mind. We held it in the upstairs room of a trendy bar in the city centre, and I don’t imagine the chairs were selected with a fat middle-aged demographic in mind, you know?

Not only were they hard, they were fairly small and arranged quite close together. Now, I was uncomfortable, but then so was everybody else. It wasn’t because I’m fat, it was because they were really shit chairs. You know what though, I couldn’t help thinking that even six months ago I wouldn’t have been just uncomfortable, I would have been in my own private version of hell.

I couldn’t have walked the half-mile or so from the car park to the venue without feeling like I wanted to die. Especially with my boss, who stands six feet five inches in his socks and has legs a mile long…even yesterday I was practically trotting along beside him as we headed in for the meeting, three of my short fat steps matching one of his leggy strides. I think I’d have feigned a broken leg six months ago just to end the torture.

The room was upstairs, so even if I’d made it to the venue, the stairs would have just about finished me off. And the toilets were downstairs in the basement, so if I’d felt the call of nature I can pretty much guarantee I’d have chosen to sit there all day with a bladder like a space hopper rather than attempting two flights down and two flights back up again.

Are you with me so far? I feel like I’m painting a picture of the old me, sweating like a stuck pig, spilling over a small hard chair after a long walk and a steep flight of stairs, out of breath with hair that would have gotten more wild and curly with every step. Miserable, and trying to hold in all my fat so it didn’t bother the person sat beside me.

And when it came to my turn to present my slides, I would have been so pre-occupied with what a hot mess I looked, there’s no way I would’ve been able to relax and get into any kind of stride with my presentation. Despite the shit chair, I’d have been desperate to get back to it. There were no tables to lean on so I could distribute my weight a bit, and within five minutes of sitting down I’d have had pins and needles in my legs and an aching arse, but even that would have been better than standing up there feeling like crap.

Worst of all, I would have felt completely trapped, knowing that this torture was only going to end after another half mile walk back to the car at daddy-long-legs speed.

Yesterday, I enjoyed the day. After a morning in the office, it was good to stretch my legs with a walk through York. Although the chairs really were shit (have I mentioned that?) I wasn’t any more uncomfortable than anyone else. I went downstairs for a wee twice without really thinking about the stairs, and when I was up at the front doing my presentation, what I looked like didn’t even occur to me as I walked the group through my slides.

The walk back to the car park at the end of the day was another opportunity to get a bit of air in my lungs after being cooped up all afternoon, and we even chatted about how the afternoon had gone, I mean get me, walking fast and speaking at the same time…who even knew that was possible.

Six months ago, I wouldn’t have made it, but now I can. I’m nowhere near Skinny Town yet, but every day I take a tiny step nearer to normal, and if I ever needed any encouragement to keep going, well that’s it…I’m really getting there 🙂

 

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Yesterday, I Earned My Tired

In the here & now, , ,

image

I couldn’t help reflecting last night, right around the time I fell into bed, totally wiped out from a very busy day, that yesterday I had earned the right to feel tired. And somehow, it felt like a good kind of tired, you know? I’d worked hard for that feeling.

Not too long ago, Sundays were all about being lazy. Chilling out, I used to call it. Which is kind of fat-girl speak for doing sweet sod all. In my fat-bubble, I’d lay in bed until late morning, cuddled up to Charlie-dog and reading the paper on-line, or maybe burning a couple of hours mooching my favourite handbag websites

First stop when I finally hauled my ass out of bed would be breakfast, closely followed by lunch because look, the little hand was nudging twelve so you know, it was lunchtime. God forbid I might miss a meal. My mum usually spends the day with me on Sundays, and after I’d collected her we’d usually go do a bit of food shopping before hitting the sofa for an afternoon of TV and chatter. All washed down with tea and hobnobs of course.

Then I’d cook something, and maybe have a quick snooze before taking mum home and returning to my big fat leather armchair for the rest of the evening. More often than not, as I hit the recline button I’d have the brass neck to declare how knackered I was, and how another Sunday had gone far too quickly.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment things changed, in fact if I think about it I’m not sure there was ever any kind of Big Bang…it’s been more of a gradual thing, but let’s take yesterday as an example. I was out of the house by eight in the morning, with Charlie in tow…we covered about four and a half miles before I dropped him off at home and then drove down to the Kingdom of Pain.

I did two one-hour classes back-to-back…circuit training followed by boxing. Yeah, I’d raise an eyebrow too if I was reading this. What was I thinking?  Well maybe it’s easier to share what I wasn’t thinking, you know? I wasn’t looking for excuses not to do it.

I’d booked the double class because work commitments on Friday meant I couldn’t work out, so I wanted to make up the session I missed. And I knew I was going to be busy with mum in the afternoon, which means Charlie would’ve missed out on his walk so I got up early to make sure we could fit it in. I didn’t try and negotiate any short-cuts with myself, because I enjoyed it.

The same can’t be said for the double helping of torture mind you…I didn’t enjoy that much. At all, in fact. But I didn’t try and negotiate my way out of it either. Mainly because God of Pain would’ve nailed me to the wall if I’d even thought about it, but also because even though I knew it’d be tough, I knew I could do it because you know what, I’m starting to think I might be tough…far tougher than I ever thought I was.

Fact is, I no longer harbour the belief that I can’t do it, because what I’ve come to realise is that no matter how much it’s going to hurt in the moment, I’ll come out of the other side with a sense of accomplishment. Those sore muscles and tired limbs are a kind of badge of honour, which serve to let me know that I’m one degree stronger than I was before, right?

When the actual fuck did that happen? That’s a monumental shift in attitude which has kind of sneaked up and said BOO…I hardly recognise myself.

I’ll take it though ?

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The Drawback Of Being A Mathematical Genius

In the here & now, , , ,

dog

So, last weekend Charlie dog was booked into the puppy scrub for a bath and haircut. He goes out with his dog-walker and a gang of pups every day whilst I’m at work, including his bezzie mates Dave the Labrador and Kevin the Vizsla, and he’s a regular little mud-magnet. I swear down he could find a muddy puddle in the middle of the desert, you know? His favourite thing is to lower himself down into a patch of mud, whilst maintaining eye contact as if to say I know this drives you bat-shit crazy but I like the way it feels so I’m gonna do it anyway…I tend to keep his coat really short for that very reason, it’s just easier to keep him clean. So he has more cut and blow dries than I do, if we’re keeping count.

I dropped him off with a promise to return a couple of hours later, and the thought struck me that seeing it was such a pretty day, maybe it would be nice to leave the car at home when I went to collect him, so we could both enjoy the walk home. I clocked the mileage and it was a little over four miles – perfect, I could manage that…I had a plan.

Except, it was a blonde plan, right? Genius here in the stupid corner only realised three quarters of the way back to pick him up, on foot, that whilst Charlie’s walk would indeed be just over four miles, mine wouldn’t. Mine would be eight miles and then some. I’m so embarrassed even saying that out loud, I mean seriously? 

As soon as the penny dropped I felt like dropping to my knees and indulging myself with a full-blown tony bear tantrum, but in the end, what was the point? If I’d turned around I’d have walked six miles by the time I got home and then I would’ve had to walk the dog after I collected him anyway, so I didn’t have much choice other than to to suck it up and keep walking. My boy was at work, so there was nobody I could call and beg for help, and in any event I’m not sure I was ready to admit that I’d totally lost the plot. So on I trundled, muttering bad words under my breath with every step.

I’d been enjoying the walk up until that point. Once I realised that I’d done about three miles, with just over another mile to go before I was reunited with the pooch and then I had to do it all again in reverse, all of a sudden it stopped looking like fun. And for the next mile I felt like I was wearing lead boots, you know? I didn’t think I could do it, I’ve never even come close to walking that far before.

The Asshole voice immediately started chipping away at my head, obsessing over the fact that I was going to get blisters and insisted on doing a pain review every five minutes. He was also on high alert for any sign of protest from my dodgy knee…if the Asshole voice was to be believed, I was going to start falling apart very soon. Seemingly, fat old ladies have no right to believe they are capable of walking that far and it was bound to end in tears.

In case you’re wondering, eight miles and change equates to sixteen thousand seven hundred and twenty two steps. And it turns out that this fat old lady is more than capable of walking that far. Once I was a mile or so in to the return leg, following one very happy dog, I started to relax and give myself up to the rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other. That was probably around the time that I also started to believe that I could probably do it after all. And once that happened, even with tired legs I enjoyed it.

My anxiety slowly turned to glee as I mentally calculated how many exercise points I was accumulating. I passed the time by imagining bits of my arse melting away with every step. By the time we reached home, I felt euphoric. And once again I was forced to acknowledge the link between self belief and capability. That’s important. And it goes right back to one of my favourite quotes ever…

“If you believe you can, or you believe you can’t, you’re right.”

I know I’ve mentioned it before but honestly, never a truer word was spoken 🙂

 

 

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Adjusting To My New Normal

In the here & now, , , , ,

adjustI didn’t really know what to expect this week as I shuffled into the bathroom for my weekly encounter with the bitch. The asshole voice was trying to engage me in conversation right off the bat, before I’d even got out of bed in fact, by pointing out that unless I’d dropped at least ten pounds this week I should resign from the fitness studio with immediate effect and admit that this body was not built for the kind of things I’ve been asking it to do.

I didn’t lose ten pounds, but I did lose two, and I’ll happily take that. I’ve only got five pounds to go until I hit the five stones mark and then in just one more stone’s time I’ll be able to say that I’m officially halfway to Skinny Town. I’m not going to lie, it’s been a long old slog to get this far but with your company and a few laughs along the way it’s not proving to be as bad as it otherwise might have been, you know?

Writing less often feels very strange. I’m not sure that I like it, but some of the pressure has definitely gone. You lot have been brilliant, in fact I’m blessed with an extraordinary amount of support and I think my fears about not blogging every day having an impact on the strength of the glue holding my feet in the sweet spot have proved to be unfounded. So far, at least.

I waved goodbye to a lot of my favourite fat-girl clothes last week too, after I sold them on eBay…man that felt good. As I handed them over at the Post Office parcel by parcel and waved them off to start a new life on someone else’s curves, I swear I felt lighter by the minute. The Asshole voice had an opinion, obviously. No no no nooooo…not the blue daisy top, that was your favourite!! What if you ever need it again, you’re bound to put the weight back on at some point and you’ll never find anything that you liked as much as that…

Maybe that’s true, you know? Not the re-gain, I mean I have no intention of going back there but maybe I wouldn’t ever find a fat-girl top that I liked as much as I liked that one. I felt nice in that top, I thought it hid a multitude of sins. Looking back on the photographs, it did not. What I actually looked like was a moose in a blue daisy top, so somewhere along the way, someone was getting fooled.

Anyway, as I slowly adjust to wearing clothes four sizes down from where I started, even my old favourites are no longer welcome. No emergency fatter-girl clothes needed in reserve because my new normal won’t be requiring a fallback position thank you very much.

I’m adjusting to a bunch of other stuff too…waking up and counting the number of body parts which provoke an ouch whenever I move them, then feeling happy because I remember why they’re aching…I’m working hard. Fitting at least one fitness session into my schedule every day. Saving stuff up in my head to chatter about with you guys instead of spending quite so much time at my keyboard…it all counts, and it’s all moving me to a better place, it just takes a bit of getting used to that’s all.

So, my thoughts have turned to my next goal – I’m only just nicely in a size 20, but I’m pitching to be in a comfortable size 18 by the time I go on holiday, in the middle of August. That’s do-able in 3 months, right? I might even get there more quickly, especially now I have the God of Pain on my side…by rights I should be a size 10 by next Sunday.

I did try cracking a joke in that general direction during my last session and he just nailed me with the stare, which on that occasion I interpreted to mean don’t be so fucking ridiculous. Fair enough 🙂

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