Pants on fire

When did someone make the decision in the clothing industry that if you are fat, you actually don't need comfortable, reasonably priced exercise clothes? Those of you who know me are aware of my recent efforts to get fit and shed 50 odd kg (110 pounds for those still operating in non metric) and one of the weird things I have discovered is that when you are a fat chick (I am one, so don't get all "you're being mean to fat people" high horse), essentials such as sports bras, knickers, comfortable tracksuit pants and t-shirts are a little light on. Let me qualify this - I am aware there are LOTS of so called pants, t-shirts etc out there for those of us who have to shop in THAT section. My experience has also made me aware that most of this stuff is damn uncomfortable, non-breathable, synthetic and prone to riding up or falling down at the worst possible moment. When you are hauling your 133kg self up a hill on a walk, you are already in more than enough distress and trying to find ANY reason to stop. Having the waistband of your HIPSTER style tracksuit pants (who thought that was a good idea???) slowly rolling itself down to vanish under the protruding rolls of fat that cover your stomach and hips does not do wonders for the motivation. Combine this with your undies working their way up the yin yang and the realisation that a few tea bags would be giving you more support than your bra is managing adds up to a whole lot of "get me chocolate now". And before anyone decides to leave a comment on how I bought this all on myself (thanks for the buckets of support) or I'm shopping in the wrong stores blah, blah, can I make a suggestion? Go out and put on a style of clothing you would normally never wear (we all have one of THOSE outfits lurking around the house), fill a backpack with at least 30kg and go for a flog around the block. Alternatively, go to a sports clothing section of your local department store, buy stuff that is completely the wrong fit for you and follow the 30kg in a backpack step in the first suggestion. To complete the experiment - ladies, drag out that old bra you have languishing in the bottom of your undies drawer that no longer has any elastic properties but you just never threw out. Put it on and jog up and down on the spot for a few minutes. Chaps, you put on your loosest pair of boxer shorts and do the jogging thing too. So much fun there are not enough words in the English language to describe it. Can make exercising in the nicky noo nar seem like an attractive option.

Now, I have been exercising and eating well for the last six months and the effort has (mostly) been worth it. This is not a huge rant about the unfairness of being overweight and that when you aren't a size whatever the world is against you (well, maybe a little bit). I just want to point out that a lot of the time, when you are overweight, you will often use ANY excuse to put off hauling your butt off the lounge and taking it for a wobble around pavements of your local suburb. It is already scary enough to think that a local Australia Post person might come past and think that your body mass qualifies you for your own postcode. Worrying that your synthetic fabric pants might combust where your thighs rub together is just a pressure you can do without. Unless you like your pants on fire and if you do, I don't want to know. That's enough to put anyone up a crazy tree. More from camp "Get fit before I'm 40" soon.

Welcome

My first post. Should feel very momentous and life changing, but somehow the buzz has not kicked in. Maybe I need more coffee. Anyway, welcome. Before you are overwhelmed with the urge to ask, the title of this blog comes from an old family expression - when you've had a really bad/weird/stressful/just damn peculiar day, you tend to end up swinging from the crazy tree. I now seem to be spending a fair bit of my time either in the tree or talking to people who are hanging by the toes from it, so there you go. I bet you're really thrilled I put that explanation in. This blog is a good way for me to stay in contact with my fellow crazy tree dwellers and keep my mum from worrying about what I'm up to, but feel free to come along for the ride.