Category Archives: In the here & now

I’d Rather Be Dodgy…

In the here & now, , , , ,

dodgy

It’s weird you know, I’m fifty years old and I’d like to think I’ve learned a few valuable life lessons along the way. I’m still learning, in fact this journey in particular over the last few months has peeled away a lot of layers and revealed things about me to myself that I don’t think I ever knew. If someone had told me at the very start of this journey that that would happen it might have spooked me a bit, I mean it could have had disaster written all over it, right? We all know about Pandora’s box.

Happily, as I’ve uncovered stuff, talking it through with you lot has helped me to work through it, in fact it’s been like six hundred words of therapy every day. I’m more grateful than I can tell you for the fact that you all listen to whatever comes out of my head, and then empathise, and relate, and chip in with your own perspective.

I must admit, I’m totally unguarded on here, and I’m sure occasionally I’ve been guilty of over-sharing, but I’d hope my words come across to you as authentic. It’s my journey, as seen through my own eyes, and whilst I might crack a joke or two, those of you who’ve sussed me out will understand that’s my default way of dealing with difficult, you know?

So I had an email yesterday morning from one of my most loyal supporters who was absolutely outraged that someone had awarded a ‘poor’ rating to something I wrote a couple of days ago. And bless her, she even felt the need to apologise on their behalf. I was so touched at the way she had my back, but to be honest until she pointed it out, I hadn’t actually noticed.

See, I don’t think too much about the star ratings widget…it’s useful in the way it allows me to see which posts you enjoy the most, and I love that it generates a favourite posts list – new folk who wander into the blog tend to poke around in there, and it gives them a good flavour of what we’re all about. I’ve never really thought about it in the context of people passing judgement on my writing, daft as that might sound.

I’ve got to be honest, I didn’t like the fact that someone thought my words weren’t up to scratch, but I wasn’t especially worried about it. And this little storm in a teacup demonstrated perfectly to me just how far I’ve grown in the last few months. At one time I would’ve been absolutely gutted.

I would have read, and re-read the post, trying to pinpoint the exact bit which sent someone’s opinion of me plummeting downwards. I would’ve chewed myself up about it and then probably headed straight to the Hobnobs. I wasn’t good enough, look it’s there in black and white, I’m officially rubbish. POOR!! I need a hobnob immediately to make me feel better.

This time, I re-read it once and thought you know what, it’s probably not the most entertaining post I’ve written but actually, it helped me. And let’s not forget, I write for me. Writing my thoughts down on that day in the way that I did helped me to find a link. And the links I’ve gathered over the past ten or so months are the reason I’m still here, sashaying along on this road to Skinny Town.

So I’m happy with those words even if they weren’t to someone else’s taste…they served me well. They had a purpose. And if I tried to be funny when I wasn’t feeling funny, that’s when I stop being authentic, right?

I don’t much fancy getting another ‘poor’ though. Ever. So I changed the descriptions, ‘cos I can do that. ‘Poor’ is now a bit dodgy, and ‘awful’ is now a steaming pile of shite. I sincerely hope nobody ever thinks that, but at least if they do it’ll make me chuckle, and I’d rather be dodgy than poor any day of the week..!

Have a great weekend everyone…see you on the other side 🙂

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Naughty Loves Company

In the here & now, , , ,

naughty

So I survived yet another new-to-me class yesterday morning in the Kingdom of Pain, called Shape Attack. Walking into the building at 06h30 knowing my shape was going to be under attack for the next hour didn’t exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside but I’m definitely getting used to the scary names. In terms of managing my expectations, they work really well…I can hazard my best guess at what’s coming.

I quite like going to classes I haven’t been to before…it’s possible to go through a whole hour with hope in your heart that the next exercise is going to be a bit easier than the one that’s killing you right now, whereas in the ones I’m more familiar with all hope of that dies before I even walk through the door.

Given that the God of Pain is busy sunning his buns on holiday, a lady I haven’t met before was running the session and I must admit at first look I thought I might need to be a bit scared, I mean this girl had muscles. Not in a looks like a bloke kind of way, far from it in fact. Seriously, she was just body perfect from head to toe.

There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t toned or sculpted. Maybe she shot out of the womb doing bicep curls or something, because she’s clearly been at this for years. At one point she reached for the mobile phone which was driving the music, and about ten muscles popped out to have a look around…way to go to make a fat fifty year old feel fat and fifty.

She was actually lovely, in between the bits where she pretty much tried to kill me, and I survived the experience having shuffled and grunted my way through her own particular brand of torture.

So you’d think, that having greeted the day by attacking my shape for a whole hour before even hitting the shower, I’d be nicely set up for an on-track day where my eating was concerned wouldn’t you? I thought that too. I was all over it, I stopped at the supermarket on my way to work and bought prawns to have with a salad at lunchtime, and lots of fruit to get me through the day from a snacking perspective.

And it was all going really well, until mid afternoon when my friend uttered the words I fancy some chocolate…and that’s all it took.

On the outside, she got a skinny-girl response. I held up a bunch of bananas and offered her one, you know encouraging her to stick to her diet and satisfy her craving with a suitable alternative. Right on cue, the Asshole voice jumped in with FUCK OFF WITH YOUR BANANAS, I WANT CHOCOLATE TOO!! And then refused to leave me alone for the rest of the afternoon.

Since no chocolate was easily accessible (except the Mars Bar sitting on the desk next-but-one to mine, which was immediately placed under surveillance by its owner) the craving almost passed. I thought I’d dodged the bullet. All until I found myself near reception, where they actually have a box of naughties which you can plunder in exchange for a donation to charity. And my chocolate-fancying friend, who was with me started having a root through the goodies. So of course, I did too. Naughty loves company, right?

And that’s how I ended up with a slab of ‘dark chocolate cherry crunchy cake’ on my desk. Which, in the end didn’t taste of dark chocolate. Or cherries come to think of it. It wasn’t even particularly crunchy if I’m being completely honest. After the first bite I suspected it. After the second bite I was pretty sure, but it was only after I’d polished off all seventeen fucking points’ worth that I knew for certain it wasn’t actually that nice.

It’s safe to say dinner was a little bit lean last night…so much for my clean eating week. Two steps forward, one step back…muppet 🙂

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Seeing Beyond What’s Hard

In the here & now, ,

unlock

I went back to work this morning feeling so relaxed after a lovely long weekend – God of Pain is away, so there haven’t been any classes since Friday morning and I’m rather astonished to say I’m itching to get back to it tonight. Is that a bit weird? Not because I’m enjoying it in any way shape or form – I’m not there yet – but because every day I don’t go now feels like a day wasted. I’m on the clock, you know? I’ve got a mountain to climb. I’m focused. And you know what, I’m starting to notice that my body is responding.

Yesterday was such a warm and sticky day. I took the dog out for a walk, and I was in the mood to explore. We covered well over four miles on a couple of bridleways that I discovered by following a public footpath sign that I’ve walked past hundreds of times, and ignored. Turns out my curiosity paid dividends, it’s a lovely walk that I never knew existed until I followed my nose yesterday.

When I set off, I’d gone in a different direction than normal, and taken a route I usually avoid because it’s harder…it’s a lot more hilly. The first time I did it back at the beginning of the year I made a note to self along the lines of never again in this lifetime…I couldn’t manage it without feeling like my lungs were going to explode. Yesterday, I ate it for breakfast. It didn’t bother me one little bit.

And despite the muggy day and the long walk, I felt energised when I got home rather than knackered like I usually do. And that tells me something, you know? I didn’t find it hard, and I didn’t look for reasons to quit or find a short cut home like I would’ve at one time, because compared to what goes on in that fitness studio, it was quite literally a walk in the park.

Which kind of brought me to the realisation that it’s not even about what goes on in the Kingdom of Pain, is it? I mean it is, in the moment, when I’m there…but way beyond that is  the potential in this fat old body, which going there and hurting is unlocking.

Even a couple of weeks ago the walk I did yesterday would’ve challenged me, but every one of those torturous classes has made me a degree or two stronger, and what was difficult in the very recent past is now less so. I feel a tiny bit excited by the possibilities of where this might lead.

It is hard, going pretty much every day, but I’m looking on this as an investment in me. I’ve had quite a lot of emails about my new fitness schedule, in fact one or two of them have made me chuckle – they came from people who care enough to reach out, but they could almost have been written by my asshole voice. Be careful, don’t overdo it, you should have plenty of rest days in between…

I’ve responded to every one with appreciation, because I know they come from a place of caring and concern, and whilst the sentiment is similar, they’re a million miles removed from my asshole voice’s agenda of trying out of his socks to make me believe that I can’t keep the pace.

I promise you don’t need to worry…it’s working, under the close supervision of a professional athlete who retired from his sport and now spends his life whipping reformed couch potatoes into shape. He knows his onions, and I trust him.

Speaking of which, I need to get a wriggle on…it’s Fat Furnace tonight.

Kill me now 🙂

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Eating My Efforts

In the here & now, , ,

veggies

So I’ve got about a week and a half of exercise classes under my belt, and despite continuing to fantasise about my old life in the armchair, the asshole voice in my head hasn’t really made any significant dink in my determination to drag this fat old body to a better place. Between you and me, I reckon we’re both a bit scared of pissing off the God of Pain. Who, by the way critiqued my food diary before the weekend and made it clear I had to do better…it didn’t pass muster.

Which made me think. I’d stayed within points. Sort of. Well I had, it’s just that I’d used up all my exercise points too, of which I’d earned loads because I did loads. So I ate loads. God forbid that all that effort should go unrewarded, right? God forbid that so much as one point to which I’m entitled might sneak by uneaten…not on my watch.

And, dammit, I realised that the asshole voice had sneaked in through the back door and presented a very compelling argument that since I was working so hard, all those extra points I’d earned could be spent on whatever I liked.

Which is how come my food diary was peppered with two sticks of chocolate here, and a handful of Pringles there…looking from the outside in, I can see why I deserved harsh words. It probably didn’t read like the food diary of someone who was determined to lose weight, you know? Viewed from an athlete’s perspective, my fat-girl thinking stuck out like a sore thumb.

And hands up, it’s a fair cop – the needle didn’t move on the scale this week. I ate within points starts to sound a bit hollow when I’m faced with the reality that I’m in exactly the same place that I was in last week – all that effort, and all those sore muscles just to stand still.

Even as I’m writing this, the asshole voice is busy being all outraged and trying to convince me that muscle weighs heavier than fat, and that I’ve actually lost weight and gained muscle…yeah, nice try dickhead, technically that may be the case but after one week and change I’m not buying it. I just ate my efforts, is the long and short of it.

The additional points that all my hard work brought home should’ve been points in the bank, but in exactly the same way that I’m hopeless at saving money, there were available food funds which burned a hole right through my pocket and I pretty much ate them as soon as I’d earned them, on the basis that I was allowed. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Hmm…innocent face my arse, I wasn’t doing it right either.

So, lesson learned… time to regroup. God of Pain gave me a suggested diet plan which is all around clean eating and to be fair, it’s not a million miles away from what I’ve been eating, just without the crap that wormed its way in through the back door. I’m not going to stop counting Weight Watchers Smart Points, even though he doesn’t approve of diets…but, I take his point about when I’m eating and more importantly when I’m not eating. I can do better.

I’m going to go for a turbo-charged week. I’m going to eat well, space it out properly, carbs before a workout, protein after, and no crap…I refuse to tread water for another week because of what I’m putting in my mouth when I’m sweating my cahoonies off on a daily basis to support my journey. This week, I’m going to make every bead of sweat count 🙂

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Things Nobody Tells You About Lycra

In the here & now,

step

I realised when I joined this fitness programme that I wouldn’t exactly look the part in my mis-matched exercise gear, in fact I can’t even really call it exercise gear since the term suggests it was bought for that purpose, and actually none of it was. Well, all except my new trainers of course. Anyway, before I got started, a good root through my drawers turned up a couple of pairs of stretchy pants that I’d bought for some holiday or other in the past which I thought might be fit for purpose.

One pair were three quarters length, but a size too big now, and the second pair fitted a bit better but finished just below my knee with a turn-up, which was totally in the wrong place for kneeling down, which I seem to have to do a lot. Pulling the hems up above my knees made me look ridiculous – trust me I tried – so it seemed that a little bit of internet shopping was required.

I soon established that exercise pants with built-in knee padding were as-yet uninvented. It’s definitely a gap in the fat-girl-exercise-wear market, you know? My knees have been so sore all week, in fact I even googled knee-pads at one point when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. The only reason I didn’t whip out my credit card immediately was because it occurred to me that God of Pain would probably run me out of town if I dared to rock up with a pair strapped to my legs so I didn’t bother in the end.

I was surprised though, to see just how many options there were for roly-poly bodies on a fitness kick. Apparently, lots of fat girls exercise, who even knew? So there was a lot of choice but I’ve got to be honest, they were all modelled by women with the proportions of a toothpick so it was hard to get a feel for how these lycra exercise pants would look on a body like mine. Anyway, in for a penny and all that, two pairs of them ended up in my shopping basket.

They duly arrived, and I was a bit baffled when I took them out of the packaging…they looked like they’d fit a five-year old. Man those things have some stretch, I mean I put my arms inside the waistband to see how wide it would go, and it just kept on going, it’s amazing stuff.

So the first thing I learned about Lycra exercise pants was despite them looking like something from Barbie’s wardrobe, it is possible to squeeze the equivalent of two normal-sized arses inside one pair. But then under no circumstances should you go near a mirror. I tried them on, and…well, lets just say they didn’t look like they did in the pictures and leave it at that, right? They felt as light as a feather and very comfortable, but Sweet Jesus it wasn’t pretty.

I was a bit nervous about wearing them for the first time, you know? I imagined silence descending on the room when I walked in, as people took in the full horror of what they were seeing. These pants take no prisoners, and I’m not even kidding when I say once they’re on you can pretty much see the outline of every hair on my legs. In the event, nobody batted an eyelid so that was cool.

However. The second thing I learned about Lycra exercise pants is how perfectly they demonstrate that well-known phenomenon…

for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction.

Put simply, arms up, pants down. As soon as we got cracking with the warm up, it became obvious that Lycra exercise pants are pre-programmed to roll as far down your body as possible every time you move. I’m just grateful it wasn’t a boxing class, because with gloves on, the crotch would have been round my ankles within the first thirty seconds. I probably burned an extra hundred calories in the first ten minutes just trying to keep my pants under control.

Through trial and error I discovered that the only way to prevent the continuous downward march from happening was to pull every single bit of stretch as far up as humanly possible, so swathes of lycra disappeared between my bum cheeks. Think Rudolph Nureyev and tights, and don’t even get me started on how I worked that look on my size twenty backside, but at least finally they stayed put.

At one point I found myself in front of the mirrored wall, eighteen of my finest stones squashed into those Lycra pants, red in the face from exertion with dripping wet hair plastered to my face whilst I jogged on the spot. My bingo wings were having a party all of their own as my arms tried to keep up and I was sweating like a stuck pig.

The tune pounding out of the speakers at the time..?

Don’t ya wish your girlfriend was hot like me….  🙂

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