Crap - was that the starting gun?

I don’t know about anyone else but I’m constantly waiting for the ‘right time’ to do everything that I’ve always wanted to do.

• I want to write more on this blog - better wait until I’ve written a few blog posts and have an exact schedule of what I plan to write and when.

• I want to write a romance novel - better wait until the story is perfectly composed in my head before committing it to paper.

• I want to get back in the dating game - better wait until I’ve either lost my steroid weight or until I have some self-esteem.

• I want to get fit and lose some weight - better wait until I’ve started losing weight so that I don’t look like a fool when I’m out running, swimming etc. (I’m not even joking about this one even though I know how ridiculous it sounds!)

I always seem to have some excuse or reason for procrastination.

Even knowing that it’s pure procrastination, and knowing that it’s only because these things mean a lot to me personally that I'm hesitating, doesn’t help me to actually get going.

So, I’ve decided to fire the gun.

I’m not ready.

I don’t know which route to take.

I haven’t stretched.

But that’s too bad - the starting gun has been fired and everyone else is running. Even if I look at it as a one person race, that gun has still gone off and can’t be unfired.

So, I can either take the heart lurch of missing the starting gun and knowing I’ll be a step behind, say ‘shit!’ and just get going, or…

D'you know - there’s never a ‘right time’ which means there’s never a ‘wrong time’ either!

Let’s get going.

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.

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.

Erm, 87 day challenge?

It's been a busy and stressful old week. But...I have to admit to a certain amount of pride in myself because I did not break down. I felt like there were plenty of chances and I was teetering on the edge at points, but did I fall over? No I did not! Yay!

Ironically, at the end of the week I had a checkup with my doctor regarding my depression and the medication that I'm currently on. I was pushed up to the highest dose of said drugs a little over a month ago as I was beginning to worry that the drugs were starting to lose their potency. More pills didn't seem to make much of a difference but when I managed to get through this week - I was happy to tell the doctor that I felt so much better.

And then, like an annoying game of snakes and ladders, downward I went again. It's so frustrating and makes me so sad, not just for me but for those that I love and love me back. It's like someone teases me with happiness only to wrench it out from beneath my feet when I'm just starting to get my balance.

Sadly, I really think that I can pin all of this on one little thing - work. The big event is over and I survived but I suppose it's very naive of me to have expected some sort of thanks. Nope - not a bean of thanks was given. It's this kind of little thing that cements that the corporate world just isn't meant for me. Sadly, instead of an angel and devil on my shoulders - I've got my heart and health on one side and my responsibilities on the other.

Anyway, this minor set back is why I am now gearing up for my 87 day challenge rather than a 90 day one!

It's primarily a health challenge but it incorporates both physical fitness and mental fitness (the second being a term that I really enjoy saying for some reason!).

And why is this challenge limited to 87 days?

Because that's how long it is until CHRISTMAS!

I love, love, love Christmas but it also just happens to be a decent distance away to set myself a fitness goal.

So, in the 90 87 days until Christmas I want to achieve the following:

* Tone up so I'm comfortable in my own skin
* Own my curves
* Get a physical and mental fitness plan that I'm sticking to and loving

So that is where I'm aiming.

And going back to work, no - not one person thanked either myself or my team for our (even if I do say so myself) fantabulous event last week. However, upon hearing this, my sister gave me this:

A bunch of flowers to congratulate me. And, they mean so much more than anything else anyone at work could have given me.