Let's Be Honest

Before Christmas, I decided that I was going to start my New Years resolutions early and, more specifically, my biggest mission for 2015 around getting fit and healthy.

So - I checked out my local sports centre to see what classes were on.

My eyes lit on Boxercise starting in January. The reasons for my like are two-fold.

1) I like that it starts in January just in time for kicking off resolutions. I also hate the thought of joining a class mid way through. It would be like starting school and being the new girl that comes in once everyone already has a partner for going to the loo, or science, or whatever it is kids these days get paired for. (Did I really just say “kids these days”? How old am I?)

2) I enjoy it on the wii.


Then I noticed a class called RPM also starting in January. I don’t know what it stands for but it’s some sort of spinning class. It might even just stand for revs per minute - although that wouldn’t be particularly inventive if it was.

How exciting! I could get crazy with this spinning malarky and have a hot bod by February. I’d be one of those girls that comes out of the class a little bit shiny (not sweaty - shiny!) with the towel placed nonchalantly over my shoulders. Me and all my equally spandex friends (which I found in the class) would pretend not to notice as the guys drooled. Sipping from my water bottle that matched perfectly with my designer workout gear and trainers, I would feel invigorated after class - ready for my run home. All the while a catchy tune would play over the intercom like the soundtrack to a trendy movie.

Instead, I was laying vegged out on the sofa on a Wednesday afternoon before Christmas, having pigged out on my 3 course work Christmas lunch. And the mini mince pies and coffee. The telly was on, I was in my comfiest (read: unflattering and disgusting) comfy trousers and a jumper watching telly when… I suddenly remembered the fact that I’d signed myself up for the free taster session of RPM taking place the next morning.

Bugger.

I really didn’t want to go.

Now there are plenty of excuses that I could have used for not going.

It’s stormy and snowy out and I had decided to walk to the centre. I shouldn’t go for the good of my health.

If I enjoyed the class I’d want to return in January - that costs money that I don’t really have to spare. I shouldn’t go for the good of my finances.

I’d been at work for most of the week and I didn’t want to upset Tilly further by leaving her alone (and doing so on foot no less!). I shouldn’t for the mental health of my dog.

What if my heart exploded due to over exertion? Yes, this is a true fear I had and it doesn’t need further explaining.

But I decided to be honest…

I just didn’t want to go.

And that was when I realised that I was trying to be someone I wasn’t.

I’m not a gym bunny. I will never be rocking the spandex. I will never get excited by the thought of taking a run down to the gym to workout. Or even worse running home after the fact.

I’m not the kind of girl to have a line of guys drooling. I wouldn’t spend my money on designer anything. And if there was a theme tune playing for me, it would be more likely something cheesy than something trendy.

And do you know what? - admitting that was really freeing.

I immediately phoned the sports centre and cancelled my place at the session. I then went on the internet and closed the tab for the 10k run in April and all the other ridiculous ideas that I had when I thought I was the Malibu Barbie version of myself.

I don’t want to do any of these things. No sirree.

Then it hit me - it’s really no wonder I’ve been failing at this healthy lifestyle thing. I start up something I’m not committed to, don’t enjoy it but stick at it because I feel I should like it. I feel like the ‘perfect’ girl would and should enjoy it. Eventually, and I mean eventually, I decide to give it up. Then comes the berating, the negative talk and the feeling that I have failed and am some sort of quitter. And worse.

Instead of being back at square one, I’m at square minus one.

So I’m now determined to do something I want to when it comes to being healthy and exercising. Not something I wish I liked but something I actually do. Then I won’t quit because I won’t want to.

I’m not the perfect girl - I don’t even think she exists. Or maybe she just does in adverts and movies.

Either way - I don’t want to be perfect. Perfect would be far too much pressure.

I might still go to the Boxercise class but I’m going to have a good long think before I commit myself. Is this the real me that wants to take the class? Or is this the me I wish I was?

It’s time to be honest.

It’s time that the person I want to be is just myself.

Weight a minute...

I am currently on a course of steroids to try and get my ulcerative colitis under control. Now, normally I love, love, love steroids - especially the sugar coated red ones - mmmmmm - but this time I'm not so enamoured.

I've never had any side effects from steroids before. The opposite is in fact true. They cleared up a skin condition I had throughout my teenage years (something that no amount of other drugs or treatments could accomplish) and did I mention they are red and sugar coated? What's not to love?

I'm not one of these people that eschews modern medicine and my personal opinion is that if the doctor prescribes it to you, you take it. That's just me - if you don't like to take medicine and don't agree with it then that's absolutely fine, too. Live and let live, I say. Despite that, I always read the instruction leaflet that comes with any new pills I take. When you're a worrier like me, this is both a necessity and the stupidest thing anyone could do! So I am well aware that one of the side effects, of the negative variety, of steroids is that you can develop "moon face" (a chubby little face) and your appetite can increase dramatically leading to, yep, weight gain.

After feeling a little more bloated than usual, I decided to reassure myself by checking my weight. Just to appease my worry. Another big mistake as it turns out. I'd put on half a stone. Sigh.

Not to worry, I decided it was an anomaly and weighed myself again the next day. It was an anomaly - I was actually 4lbs heavier than the day before.

I know I've been eating shockingly - a combination of comfort eating and yet more comfort eating - but I was truly quite shocked.

And that's when it happened. Mental Jo raised her head and now I am absolutely obsessed with how much I weigh, what I look like and how round my face is. I am ashamed of myself yet don't know if it's a physical or mental issue.

The funny thing is, I don't judge people by what size they are.

Earlier today I was in a supermarket and wanted to look at the sale clothes. There were three ladies and a trolley in the way so I had to double back and go up the aisle another way.

The three ladies were having a conversation about a jacket they were admiring. The first lady was seemingly annoyed because one of her acquaintances had the audacity to suggest that the pair could share clothes.

First lady: (obviously not the actual first lady but hey...) Can you believe she thinks she's the same size as me?
Second lady: I know - she is so so much fatter than you. She's huge.
Third lady: Oh, yes. I would say that she was probably bigger than you.
First lady: She's got a nerve - and she probably believes it, too. Humph. *Giggles*
Second lady: God, if she got any bigger she'd nearly be as fat as Third Lady.

Even I stopped dead at that statement and a frigid chill wafted over all four of us. No-one knew what to say. I even wanted to break the awkward silence and I didn't even know them.

Now, all three of these ladies were larger ladies but why does that matter? Why were they so focused on their weight and their weight versus others.

Third lady could have been Mother Theresa yet her so called friends were so totally focused on what the scales told her and made her feel bad because of it.

Why do we listen to the scales? Why do we listen to these mean people - fat or thin - that tell us we aren't valuable because of a number on a scale? Why do we let the scales and these mean people invade our minds until it's their voices that we hear in our heads telling us that we're fat?

Up until the conversation started, the only thoughts I had about the three ladies is that they were in my way. By the end of the conversation, the only thing I knew for certainty is that Second lady wasn't a very nice person. Fat or thin - she wasn't very nice.

And that's what I have to remember is more important.

Be nice. To each other and to yourself.

That's my plan for this week. Who cares if I've put on weight for whatever reason? I'm still a good person and that's what counts.

Going Loco...

I'm going to go on a moan here and say that I hate the fact that when my anxiety and depression acts up, my UC also begins to flare.

Perhaps it's the other way around.

Thinking about it - it is the other way around. Or it certainly feels like that.

The first sign of blood and, even if my brain is already on a downward spiral, it just plummets.

It totally sucks.

Then I read this in a Harvard Medical School publication (that sounds so much better than 'I found this on the internet'!)

"The brain has a direct effect on the stomach. For example, the very thought of eating can release the stomach’s juices before food gets there. This connection goes both ways. A troubled intestine can send signals to the brain, just as a troubled brain can send signals to the gut. Therefore, a person’s stomach or intestinal distress can be the cause or the product of anxiety, stress, or depression. That’s because the brain and the gastrointestinal (GI) system are intimately connected — so intimately that they should be viewed as one system."

 So basically either my depression is causing my UC symptoms. Or, my UC is causing my depression.

That's doesn't really help me but it's nice to know that when I get to the bottom of one of my diseases, the other one should stop causing me so much bother, too. Something to be positive about - that's a silver lining.

I also saw this really interesting post and it was just so true...

It sucks for me but I completely admit that it must suck hugely for my loved ones, too.

Hopefully I can bounce back and get back to 'normal' soon.

A Cheeky Chin

Following on from yesterday's post about my super-duper fitness regime - I decided to share one of my before photos.

Why? Because I'm not actually sure that anything will make a difference to my cheeky chin/neck area so it might get ditched in the big 'ta-da' reveal photo blog! My mum says it's just my face shape and someone could no more change a square jaw than I can make a difference to my round face. But I'm going to give it a try by doing some hilarious chin exercises (seriously - google it if you're ever feeling down) and see if, any differences are made.

The downside of posting this is that I draw attention to it. It's like when someone says to you - can you notice my big nose, giant spot, big hair, ripped tights, giant booger, missing teeth...? And then you notice it and can look at nothing else when you see that person.

And then I realised that I'm an introvert and don't like people. So it became less of a problem.

But if I see someone looking at me strangely in the street I'll know what they've been reading!

On that slightly stalkerish statement - I will show the picture and leave.

Oh - the red lines surround the bit o' chin that I will be tackling thusly.

If only photoshop worked in real life... hmmmm.

The Before Photo...

Today I have taken 'the before' photo.

That being the photo that I will hopefully display alongside my 'ta-da' photo after I have completed my planned fitness regime.

A planned fitness regime? Sounds serious.

Well, it is and it isn't.

A couple of years ago I lost a couple of stone to get down to my "ideal" weight. I have since crept back up to what I call my 'resting weight'. This is the weight that seems to be my norm when I'm not doing any extra activities and while eating what I want. It's not a bad weight to be and I'm fairly happy with my body. I say fairly and that word is definitely key.

The dreaded BMI scale says that I'm a couple of pounds from being overweight. Even when I was ridiculously ill and got down to single figures with my weight, it still said that I had a few pounds to go until I was 'ideal'. Pffft.

I know a lot of people say that the fashion industry and media put a lot of pressure on people to have an (unrealistically) "perfect" body. While I don't disagree - I'm going to suggest that the 'health' industry are as equally responsible for making people feel badly if they don't conform to the rules.

BMI doesn't take into account body shape, skeletal structure and I feel it could lead people to feel like they need to lose weight even if they are perfectly healthy.

Don't eat 5 portions of fruit and vegetables a day? Shame on you - bad human!

Aren't you doing 30 minutes of exercise every day? You're going to get this disease, that disease - blah, blah, blah.

I'm not saying that eating fruit and veg or doing exercise are wrong (I am saying that the BMI scale is wrong, in case you're wondering!) but if you have to shame people into doing things then surely there's something wrong.

Which leads me to my current dilemma - I have fitness fear!

Before I got Tilly, I thought to myself that if I could just tone up my tummy and lose the flabby chin then I'd be happy enough with my body. Having been outside to play with the energizer puppy, I have realised that I am SO out of shape.

I can hardly run around for more than 10 seconds without having to stop and catch my breath. I suddenly realised what people have been saying (on Pinterest, where else?) that fit is the new skinny.

It doesn't matter a jot if you're a skinny minny or a chunky monkey - if you can't run around with your puppy (or child, hamster, whatever...) for more than 10 seconds then you're not fit!

Okay, fine - I've just looked on Pinterest and it's actually 'strong is the new skinny'. Too bad - I've changed it for fit. I don't need to be strong! :)

So I'm ready to start getting fit when I realise - where on earth do I begin?

I googled, Pinterested and searched through my magazine cuttings about healthy things that I've collected over the years (obviously in preparation for this very moment, years later!). It got too much!

Should I stretch for the splits? Do I want that beach bum? The toned arms? Pert booty? Get rid of that muffin top? (Muffins - mmmmm!) Should I do cardio? Stretching? Running? Swimming?

Oh good lord - I don't know!!!

So I decided to do something that every health blogger suggested was vital - I had a rest day. Actually, I've had a few. I rock at rest days.

Then I realised that I'm as bad as the BMI people (I've decided there must be an evil BMI organisation somewhere filled with evil BMI people), the health people and the media - putting FAR too much pressure on myself to be 'perfect' and have all the perfect bits. And bobs if you're a boy.

So the plan - there's no plan.

• I'm going to take Tilly for walks. 
• I'm going to run about with her in the garden.
• I'm going to run up and down the steps in my garden while waiting for Tilly to do her business.
• I've already compiled a list of my favourite tunes and I'm going to dance like a lunatic to them when I get the chance.
• I'm going to ride my exercise bike when the notion takes me.
• I'm going to get awesome at the hula hoop (the plastic variety - not the crisps!)

I'm pretty much just going to mince about, trying to add exercise to my life and not put too much pressure on myself.

Hopefully, by the time Tilly has calmed down, I'll be able to keep up with her as if she hadn't.

Maybe by summer I'll share the 'before' and 'ta-da' photos. We'll see. No pressure.

A visit to the Dietitian

Today I had an appointment with a dietitian. In preparation for this appointment, last night I googled 'questions to ask a dietician' and came up with some, well, unusual responses.

• Ask what your BMR is
• Ask what your BMI is
• Ask what your TDEE is

Wow! You might as well have told me to ask what my C3PO is for all the sense that the above made to me! Surely diet is a bit more simple than that?

As most will know, I have Ulcerative Colitis which does cause a little bit of trouble for me in the bowel department. Most people conclude that diet plays little to no part in the causing of, or the treatment of Ulcerative Colitis. Now I'm not a medical professional - far from it - but I have never been able to understand why most experts believe that what you eat doesn't make a difference to a disease that is all about the bowel. But that's just me.

So, being one to ignore people and find things out for myself, I have, over the last 7 years (since diagnosis) tried a variety of elimination diets to determine what I can and cannot eat. Or should and should not eat. Unfortunately, even by keeping a detailed food diary, I couldn't pinpoint any particular foods or groups of food that consistently had an effect on how I felt physically.

I was coming to the conclusion that all foods hated me.

Then, of course, there is the link with mental health. When I'm feeling low, that certainly does affect what I eat, how much I eat and if I eat. And how I feel afterwards.

So - what to do? My doctor decided to refer me to the dietitian for some help and advice and I was keen to go.

Other than the rather baffling questions above - I specifically wanted to know whether I was intolerant to gluten, to lactose or some other crazy thing! Basically, what should I eat, or not eat, to make me feel better?

This is probably a good time to mention, rather ashamedly, that my diet is, erm, not the best. I don't drink a lot of fizzy juices, I don't eat takeaways and I don't tend to drink alcohol. Good? Well...

I do eat a lot of chocolate, sweets and chocolate. Oh, and chocolate.

If I'm ever too tired to eat, don't have anything planned or am just looking for a pick me up, I turn to chocolate. Sure it hurts my stomach, but so does most food and I figure that at least I'm not eating full meals AND chocolate!

I know, I know - it all sounds a wee bit silly when you write it down but, as the dietitian mentioned today, food is such a big part of our lives, but it's also routine. You can almost switch off when you're doing it because it's so... normal.

So, the dietitian...

I went in and told my story, as above. She then asked me the question that I had dreaded - what have you eaten today? I answered truthfully that I had eaten an apple. And a chocolate orange. By this time it was 2.30pm so there were more things about that statement that were shameful than you would first think. I was trying to defend myself when I realised that my excuse was that I wouldn't have had the chocolate orange but my colleague didn't want to eat his birthday cake until the afternoon so I had to have something other than cake for breakfast/lunch.

As excuses go - it's pretty shit.

Luckily for me, the dietitian has seen it all - heard it all.

Then she said something that surprised me. She said that my first issue is making sure that I eat consistently.

What - does it not matter what I eat?

Of course it does but I was told to take it one step at a time. My first task is to eat consistently.

As the dietitian pointed out, on some mornings I'm eating breakfast, and others not. Then sometimes I eat lunch at 12noon, sometimes 1.30pm and sometimes not at all. Tea is rather the same story. So, my bowels, already not in pristine health, are being overwhelmed. When will she eat? What will she eat? It's very possible that my stomach isn't reacting to the food itself, but the fact that sometimes it gets healthy food, sometimes it gets unhealthy food and sometimes nothing at all.

It's an interesting thought and one which I hadn't actually considered before.

So, before I can decide if I have any intolerances, I have to make sure my body knows when it will get food and to feed it with consistent portions with protein, veggies and carbs in each meal. Only then will my stomach settle down enough to be able to conclusively say whether it's the food that affecting me or just the inconsistent diet and schedule.

So, as appointments go - it was useful.

And at least she didn't tell me to avoid chocolate, biscuits and good stuff over the Christmas period! Double bonus!

A healthy mind in a healthy body...

I went to the German Christmas Market in Edinburgh today - a family Christmas tradition that I very much enjoy. More on that later... but while I was there I did something that I have been determined to do for a while - I visited a psychic.

I'm not actually sure if psychic is the correct term but she was of gypsy origin and her family had always had 'the gift of sight'. She read palms and tarot and given the choice, I chose to have my tarot read. This wasn't for any particular reason - I just had to pick one and that's the choice that I felt like making at the time. As hard as it was for me, I was trying not to overthink things overly much!

To say that I was nervous was a massive understatement. My mum had waited with me in the bleeding cold for about 40 minutes while I waited my turn and she kept me sane (ish) during the wait. Thanks, mama!

After my reading, I felt (and still feel) a little overwhelmed by everything that she said. I'm not going to go into the details of what she revealed to me but let me just say that it was comforting and motivating at the same time. I have a bad habit of chickening out of things at the last minute so I'm glad I had people there to persuade me to go ahead with this.

So now I feel I have a little direction. Actually, I have belief in my own direction which is so much better.

When I came home, I spotted the word sophrosyne and this seemed hugely fitting for how I'm now feeling.

Let's go.

A pain in the bahookie...

Bahookie, noun (Scottish): one's backside, bottom or bum

I suppose I am quite a greedy person which is why one illness would never have been enough for me. If one is good then two must be better!

When I was 24 years old, I was diagnosed with the chronic bowel disease, Ulcerative Colitis. This is an inflammatory disease (the sister disease to Crohn's disease) that affects the large intestine and brings with it the kind of symptoms that people don't normally discuss! If you want all the juicy details, click here.

My road to diagnosis was, compared to many others, relatively smooth. I was having a tough time at work and had been signed off with stress (illness number 2 - come on down!). During that time, I noticed that I had some blood in my stool.

This is where I will take a break to apologise and inform you that one of the biggest symptoms of Ulcerative Colitis is the lowering of any embarrassment when talking about poop and etc. Where other people cringe, blush or suffer from abject horror, I can talk crap until the cows come home. This is the only (the one and only) symptom of UC that is contagious and I note that my family also talk crap on occasion!

Anyway, being of a certain generation and a nosey parker, I quickly went online to find out what was wrong with me. I self diagnosed myself and went to the doctor to tell him all about it.

I remember quite clearly telling him my symptoms with my mum beside me for support. In an attempt to alleviate my worries, my mum said to Mr Dr: "She's convinced herself she's got Crohn's disease!" The words "silly billy" were implied by the tone. Nobody obviously told Mr Dr that the correct response to such a statement is something along the lines of: "Don't worry - she hasn't." Not my doctor. He comes back with: "She probably has!"

Oh for heaven's sake! Wasn't he the same doc that just signed me off for stress? Do I look like I'm a calm, non-worrying sort of person? Thought not!

Anyway, what he lacked in tact, he more than made up for in doctoring when he managed to get me an appointment with the hospital with great haste.

To protect the innocent, I will now provide you with some words and allow you to fill in the details yourself.

Tears.
Panic.
Big lunch.
Hospital gown with gaping back.
Enema.
Shame.
Colonoscopy.
Tea and toast.

Hospital toast is the best - isn't it? I remember vividly the surgeon/consultant-man coming over to me while I was lying in the bed, recovering, and told me I had UC.

My reaction: Cool - is there any more toast?

It was only once I'd bought myself a book about my disease that I realised the huge impact this potentially could have on me. I guess, when something doesn't have the word 'disease' in the title - you just don't seem to think it's that bad.


I'm now an old hand at this bowel business. Foam enemas, laxatives, colonoscopies, steroids, blood, guts and hospitals - I've had an education!

I'm now on 12 tablets a day to keep me under control (in body, at least) and haven't had a major flare up for about a year. Having at one time been on 28 tablets a day - I'm quite pleased with that!

I suppose that the reason for this walk down memory lane is because of how I've been feeling lately. I just don't feel great. I've been trying to come up with more descriptive words but that sums it up. I don't feel quite right.

Despite most people, most medical people anyway, assuring everyone that food doesn't make any difference to UC, I can't quite believe it. How? How is that possible?

Even though I believe that food can and does affect the disease, I have to hold my hands up and say that my diet is worse than atrocious. I'm actually ashamed of how badly I eat, when I eat, what I eat and if I eat. And I feel that I really suffer for it. Food hurts.

I have been contemplating an elimination diet where I go right back to the basics and start to reintroduce foods one by one until I see what makes a difference and what doesn't. I'm not sure if I've got the willpower for this, if I'm honest. Yet, should it work, my energy levels will increase, my bloating might disappear, my skin could improve and I just might start to feel AWESOME!

Surely there has to be some sort of sacrifice to get some potentially amazing benefits.

I'll let you know.

The last binge now it's time to undo...

Practically every single Sunday I make a vow to myself that this next week will be the start of something good. I will make the changes that I need to make to allow myself to be happy. Every single time I mean it and I plan to follow through. Yet, every single time something happens during the week that knocks me down and while I always get back up, it means that each and every Sunday I plan to start again the next day.

My mum is always telling me that I'm too hard on myself and that I'm my own worst enemy. Perhaps I am putting too much pressure on myself to succeed. Changing my life in one massive swoop rather than doing it bit by bit and making it stick.

As with any end, I went out in style. And when I say style, I mean an absolutely disgusting binge that made me feel equal measures of shame and nausea.

I know that with my bowel disease, I need to make sure that I am eating good and nutritious foods. Yet I seem to be making poor choices more and more often. I'll be honest and say that my bad diet is also risking my healthy weight that took me a long while to get down to. I definitely don't want to go backwards. Or upwards as the case may be.

Not only that but my sister sent me this link that shows the relationship between anxiety/depression and your gut health. You can read it here if you're interested.

The long and the short of it is that if I improve my diet - every single part of me will benefit. When you think about it, that's not a lot of outlay for some major enhancements in my life. Especially when the enhancements are on things that are causing me some major stresses in my life.

The next thing that happened is that my mum emailed me with a link to a book.

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you, Meghan Telpner's 'Undiet: Eat Your Way to Vibrant Health'.

Almost from the first I fell in love with this book and with Meghan. Her whole philosophy is one that I can really get behind.

She's not about counting calories or monitoring what you eat - she just wants you to eat cleanly. One of the best parts of this book is, for me, not actually the bits about eating. The bits about how happiness and health go hand in hand have really spoken to me. I'd be the first to admit that I'm not doing a job that I love. In fact, if I had to point out one of the major stress points in my life - my job wins hand down. It's well paid and while I like the income, it really isn't worth all the drama and ill-health that it causes me. I think that I'm just not cut out to be in the corporate world.

But more about that another day.

This book is definitely not a diet.

Basically, if I was looking for a sign, this is it. All these things - the universe must be telling me to get off my behind and get things done. And if it's not the universe that's telling me - I should still really get up and gain control. I'm such a control freak in every other aspect of my life - why not the one that matters most?

My first week's challenge is to drink at least 8-10 glasses of water a day. A lot of people suggest this as a healthy way to, ahem, flush your system and I certainly don't get enough to do so despite practically living in the toilet. (Sorry, bowel disease definitely leads to over sharing when it comes to toilet talk!) So, rather than just get started, I had to make it fun! So I bought myself this:

How lovely! Keeps all my water in an easy to measure container while also reminding me to SMILE! Plus it's made of something other than plastic which is apparently bad news for bowel watchers like me!

Mr Happy - makes flushing fun!

Anyway, I've still to finish the book but already I hope to make some big changes on the back of it.

This time I mean it and this time I plan to follow through.

Which, in view of the recent content of this post, is a little gross.

Oh well!