We have had a bad run with appliances over the last year or so. I am incredibly grateful we took out that insurance on electrical motor failure, as at the rate we are going, the dishwasher will explode at some stage, spraying hot water everywhere, which will lead to the fridge shorting out, and then the toaster will spontaneously combust, causing the stove to... you get the idea. Last year, just before we put our house on the market, I was attempting to cook some kind of sustenance while Tim was having a shower. The older two of our children were fighting over whose turn it was to have the finding nemo plate and Will was making an interesting paste of vegemite toast and orange juice on his high chair table. With a really loud BANG sheets of flame (which looked about 30 feet long) started to shoot out of the griller on the stove. My daughter, worrying that I may not have noticed our kitchen bonfire, pointed out that "the stove looks a bit funny". I shouted for Tim, grabbed the kids and shoved them very unceremoniously outside. They were not grateful for my lifesaving efforts, as it was minus 5 out on the back deck. Tim galloped from the bathroom, grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink and managed to put the fire out with great dispatch. As we stood there, looking at each other and the scorch marks up our kitchen wall, I realised that Tim was sans towel. I pointed out to him that not only was he my hero for putting out the fire, but he also had managed to fulfill one of a girl's greatest fantasies - a naked firefighter in her house. Sigh. I was most disappointed when the dryer caught fire in our new house - Tim stayed fully clothed. He has offered to redeem himself with the next combustion event but I became concerned that the kids might think this was a normal thing and next time the fire brigade came to do fire education at the school, it would lead to questions about why they bothered to wear a uniform "as my dad always fights fires naked". That would lead to an interesting parent teacher night interview.
On the subject of interesting stories, I have to share this one with you. Very good friends of ours, who got married last year and are expecting their first bub, are the proud owners of 3 Burmese cats. Now, those of you who have had dealings with Burmese puddas know that eccentric is a kind way of describing their mad as a cut snake snake behaviour. Their littlest cat, Polly, has developed a fascination for the toilet, which usually leads to what my friend refers to as the odd "surprise flush" when Polly steps on a button on the cistern. On this particular day, Kate had gone out shopping and Tim (her Tim, not my Tim) was just hanging around at home. Nature called (as it is wont to do) and whilst he was standing in the bathroom, Polly came in for a look see and on this occasion she decided that the cistern was BORING and the action in the bowl looked like the way to go. Normally Burmese are reasonably light on the feet, but for some reason Polly jumped up, lost her footing and fell in with a resounding splash. I should point out at this time that Tim had finished the "business" but had not flushed, so the cat was more than just wet. Polly, needless to say, was unimpressed by this turn of events and felt that Tim did not improve things by proceeding to give her a nice bath (we all know how much cats LOVE baths). Kate got home and was slightly perplexed that the house smelled of wee (Polly had done a little run around before Tim caught her to chuck her in the bath), but I think they now feel a little more confident about any nappy emergencies that may crop up in the near future. They are also going to fix the lock on their bathroom door. Can't be too careful.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The evil of fuzzy felt
Last week was kind of interesting. My youngest, William, had an absolute ripper. It was one of those weeks where you realise that your alcohol dependence is just something you should gratefully accept rather than fight against and thank the lord that some kind soul thought of McDonalds, because you are tired of having your carefully created, nutritionally balanced meals hurled across the kitchen by your three little angels who are hell bent on developing scurvy, rickets and all other types of diseases that come from malnutrition. I once had a doctor tell me that a child will not deliberately starve themselves to death. He did not mention the fact that they will happily live off two minute noodles for 7 years, by which time you have developed nervous tic every time you enter the kitchen to prepare dinner. To all those out there who declare that they have no trouble with fussy eaters and "you just need to make children realise that they will get nothing else until they eat what is put in front of them" I say GET STUFFED!!!! We had a week of Will deciding that he wanted nothing but strawberries and sultanas (resulting in the world falling out of his bottom) and my other son deciding he could not eat anything if the different food groups were touching (resulting in me wanting to shove something sharp up him). God give me strength. Will then had a little accident at creche, which resulted in him getting 3 stitches in his head. Apparently it was someone's birthday at creche and there was cake for afternoon tea. Will was so excited by this prospect that he ran towards the bathroom to wash his hands, missed the door and smacked straight into the wall. I can totally sympathise with him - I get pretty excited about cake for afternoon tea too. So, off to the doctor and after a fun hour of holding him (Will, not the doctor) down, we left with a much heavier credit card debit and a son that looked as though he had been running with knives. He looks quite rakish with the stitches over one eye and I am sure milked it for all it was worth when he went back to creche on Friday. I refer to his Fridays at creche as his "harem day", as he is the only boy in the toddler room and seems to enjoy the day with "his ladies".
The weekend was ok but by Sunday everyone was a little tired and grumpy (the weather was pretty crap). Will secreted himself in our walk in wardrobe, playing with a 150 piece fuzzy felt farm, which was fine until I told him to pack it up. A fair bit of discussion ensued, which escalated to shouting and culminated in Will chucking an absolute mental and throwing the fuzzy felt in a temper tantrum around my wardrobe. The result looked a lot like someone had fed a bolt of felt through a garden mulcher in a confined space ie. my wardrobe. Will then buggered off somewhere and I spent the next hour de-felting my cupboard. Did you know that felt sticks incredibly well to all types of fabric and fuzzy felt farms come with teeny, tiny, drive you farking mad trying to find them pieces? This week at work I discovered a felt chicken perched happily on my black jacket - really adds to your image as a professional working mother, I think. The only thing that tops it is when you trail into work, blissfully unaware that you have sick down your back or in your hair. Anyway, fuzzy felt was eventually cleared up, I self medicated with brandy and was finally convinced my "child for sale" ad from ebay late in the evening.
Anyway, Will seems fine, no-one has told me they want to go vegan (yet) and I have decided that I may just let the little buggers cook for themselves - I just need to check to see if it is covered by our insurance. Fully expect to hear the smoke alarm go off when they discover that you CAN'T put plastic fruit in the toaster. Yum.
The weekend was ok but by Sunday everyone was a little tired and grumpy (the weather was pretty crap). Will secreted himself in our walk in wardrobe, playing with a 150 piece fuzzy felt farm, which was fine until I told him to pack it up. A fair bit of discussion ensued, which escalated to shouting and culminated in Will chucking an absolute mental and throwing the fuzzy felt in a temper tantrum around my wardrobe. The result looked a lot like someone had fed a bolt of felt through a garden mulcher in a confined space ie. my wardrobe. Will then buggered off somewhere and I spent the next hour de-felting my cupboard. Did you know that felt sticks incredibly well to all types of fabric and fuzzy felt farms come with teeny, tiny, drive you farking mad trying to find them pieces? This week at work I discovered a felt chicken perched happily on my black jacket - really adds to your image as a professional working mother, I think. The only thing that tops it is when you trail into work, blissfully unaware that you have sick down your back or in your hair. Anyway, fuzzy felt was eventually cleared up, I self medicated with brandy and was finally convinced my "child for sale" ad from ebay late in the evening.
Anyway, Will seems fine, no-one has told me they want to go vegan (yet) and I have decided that I may just let the little buggers cook for themselves - I just need to check to see if it is covered by our insurance. Fully expect to hear the smoke alarm go off when they discover that you CAN'T put plastic fruit in the toaster. Yum.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The myster of AFL
yWARNING : SERIOUS CONTENT. Those who know me may be shocked there are some subjects I don't joke about too much :)
Last weekend I went up to Sydney with my sister, mum, dad and cousin to take part in the "Field of women" that was on at the Telstra stadium before the Swans vs St Kilda match. It was a top weekend but I have to say that I still don't get AFL - I really don't. I sat through the whole match with some people sitting behind me who really added new meaning to shallow end of the gene pool (you weren't there, it was scary. I kept waiting for them to start playing banjos). After a very confusing match, all I got out of it was tired eye muscles trying to find the ball and sore legs from climbing up and down the stairs - we were in the nosebleed section - in search of a drink and toilets. These were exclusive events - I did not drink out of the toilet.
Some background for why I was there - two years ago, a few months after my youngest son was born, my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't have words to say how shocking this was and how scared we were when this happened. There is no other way to say it - cancer sucks. It scares the crap out of you, reminds you how mortal you really are and just how much you shouldn't take loved ones for granted. These are also good things - my mum is amazing and just took it on. She didn't get all agro or freaked out (well, she did get freaked out. We all did). She just sort of went "right, ok, this sucks balls. Let's get on with it". She had surgery, then chemo and then radiotherapy. She is one tough lady - even on really crappy days she just kept on going. The great news is that her hair has grown back, the scars are healing and her 5 year prognosis is good. A result of this is are whole family are pretty committed to raising money for breast cancer research, so when the field of women event came up, we all jumped at the chance to wear a pink poncho and stand on the hallowed turf of Telstra stadium. 13 000 people wore pink ponchos and 100 wore blue, which represents the average number of women and men diagnosed with breast cancer each year in Australia. Of that number, around 5000 don't win their battle with the disease. Sobering statistic. I can't describe how proud I am of my mum and how much I admire her and her strength. I don't know if I could ever be as brave as she was. My dad was also incredible - some stories I've heard since mum started her treatment included those of women whose partner's walked out because it was too hard for them to cope. Dad stepped up and supported mum every step of the way. People think that maybe that is just what a partner should do, but I think it's great the way he just did it, even when he was scared too. Yay dad!
So, we all turned up at he appointed time at Homebush to get our ponchos and I have to say, with 13 000 odd people all in an enclosed space with these things, it smelled a lot like a floatie convention. Ah, I love the smell of plastic in the afternoon. Also have to say my dad looks surprisingly good in hot pink - I told him he should wear it more often. My aunt and uncle joined us up there and then we all trooped over to the stadium. After a bit of "hurry up and wait" we went out onto the field. It looked a lot like the annual meeting of the secret society of pink poncho enthusiasts and after a while it felt a bit like I was wearing a sauna suit, but it was all in a good cause. It w as very moving and the good news is that over $650 000 was raised on the night for the national breast cancer network. All in all, a top weekend and I will do it again the next time they have it - I hope this time it is before a rugby union match. Made an idiot of myself when I kept yelling for the ref to pack the AFL players down in a scrum or to do a line out.
Last weekend I went up to Sydney with my sister, mum, dad and cousin to take part in the "Field of women" that was on at the Telstra stadium before the Swans vs St Kilda match. It was a top weekend but I have to say that I still don't get AFL - I really don't. I sat through the whole match with some people sitting behind me who really added new meaning to shallow end of the gene pool (you weren't there, it was scary. I kept waiting for them to start playing banjos). After a very confusing match, all I got out of it was tired eye muscles trying to find the ball and sore legs from climbing up and down the stairs - we were in the nosebleed section - in search of a drink and toilets. These were exclusive events - I did not drink out of the toilet.
Some background for why I was there - two years ago, a few months after my youngest son was born, my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't have words to say how shocking this was and how scared we were when this happened. There is no other way to say it - cancer sucks. It scares the crap out of you, reminds you how mortal you really are and just how much you shouldn't take loved ones for granted. These are also good things - my mum is amazing and just took it on. She didn't get all agro or freaked out (well, she did get freaked out. We all did). She just sort of went "right, ok, this sucks balls. Let's get on with it". She had surgery, then chemo and then radiotherapy. She is one tough lady - even on really crappy days she just kept on going. The great news is that her hair has grown back, the scars are healing and her 5 year prognosis is good. A result of this is are whole family are pretty committed to raising money for breast cancer research, so when the field of women event came up, we all jumped at the chance to wear a pink poncho and stand on the hallowed turf of Telstra stadium. 13 000 people wore pink ponchos and 100 wore blue, which represents the average number of women and men diagnosed with breast cancer each year in Australia. Of that number, around 5000 don't win their battle with the disease. Sobering statistic. I can't describe how proud I am of my mum and how much I admire her and her strength. I don't know if I could ever be as brave as she was. My dad was also incredible - some stories I've heard since mum started her treatment included those of women whose partner's walked out because it was too hard for them to cope. Dad stepped up and supported mum every step of the way. People think that maybe that is just what a partner should do, but I think it's great the way he just did it, even when he was scared too. Yay dad!
So, we all turned up at he appointed time at Homebush to get our ponchos and I have to say, with 13 000 odd people all in an enclosed space with these things, it smelled a lot like a floatie convention. Ah, I love the smell of plastic in the afternoon. Also have to say my dad looks surprisingly good in hot pink - I told him he should wear it more often. My aunt and uncle joined us up there and then we all trooped over to the stadium. After a bit of "hurry up and wait" we went out onto the field. It looked a lot like the annual meeting of the secret society of pink poncho enthusiasts and after a while it felt a bit like I was wearing a sauna suit, but it was all in a good cause. It w as very moving and the good news is that over $650 000 was raised on the night for the national breast cancer network. All in all, a top weekend and I will do it again the next time they have it - I hope this time it is before a rugby union match. Made an idiot of myself when I kept yelling for the ref to pack the AFL players down in a scrum or to do a line out.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
exercise etiquette
You may have noticed in your travels that there books and magazine articles dedicated to a wide range of etiquette on a whole range of subjects, including mobile phones, how to be a good wife, how to find a bloke (including one of my personal favourites, a book called "Dial a man : How to recognise and lure the man of your dreams until he captures you forever" by Rosalind Neville. Before everyone starts laughing and wondering at these bygone ideas, it was written in 1990. It also has the glorious Library of Congress Subject heading of "mate selection") I have identified a hole in the market. Where are the books on the correct etiquette for exercising? Now, I know there are some articles drifting around on correct gym behaviour - although I have admit to being concerned that people needed to be told NOT to spit on the floor when working out in a gym - but what I am talking about here are the fundamentals. I really think that when you are being shown around your gym on your introduction tour, more should be done than just pointing to the rules on the wall and letting people know they shouldn't spit (this is a generally good rule when inside). Here are a few quandaries that have presented themselves to me on my quest for health and fitness (all those who are offended by references to body functions should turn away now. Or at least spit):
1. Farting - I have checked out a few gyms now and nowhere are there any guidelines on what etiquette should be followed when you have a build up of gas in the gut that really, reeeeeally needs out. If you are outside on a run or something, you tend to have a chance to get away with it, but in a gym this can pose a serious dilemma. I also go to an all women's gym and there is the added pressure (ha ha) in the old belief that GIRLS DO NOT FART. EVER. Brace yourself everyone - they do. They just aren't overwhelmed with the urge to have you pull their finger when they need to do it or set fire to it. Exercise tends to get everything churned up, circulation going etc so it is logical that some kind of gas action in inevitable. Now, we all know that farts tend to fall into 2 broad categories - those which stink and those that are really loud. If you are running on a treadmill or sitting on a exercise bike, your chances of loud are pretty high, as your butt cheeks are either already slapping together or compressed onto the seat. Bike seat is particularly bad - it sounds like a duck in a blender. Stink is also bad. So, you are faced with the ultimate decision - do you leap off the treadmill/bike/rowing machine and make for the relative safety of the changeroom or do you take the risk? If you take the 'risk it" option and it is a stinky one, you could actually kill someone on the treadmill behind you. A word of advice : if you are a risk taker, work on your "who did THAT???" face. Also, if you are a "run for the changeroom person" make sure that muscle control is tip top, or otherwise all you will do is "spread the joy" as you gallop past the rows of exercise bikes, treadmills and gym patrons who are all horrified because SOMEONE FARTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2. Spitting - now, no one should EVER spit when they are inside a gym. Gross and also presents a real slip hazard for anyone else. As a mum of 3 kids, I have had to deal with more body fluids than I ever thought possible. I am willing to deal with my kids' poo, wee and spit (plus other revolting stuff) as I love them. This does not mean I LIKED IT. I do not love any of my gym buddies that much, so spitting inside is, in my books, baaaaaaaaaad. When outside though, what is the solution? Some people are spitters, others aren't. I know the non-spitters have some real problems with the spitting camp, which is fair enough. Having been the recipient of a stray spit when out running with a friend once, I can appreciate that having someone gob on you is not considered one of life's highlights (DON"T WANT TO KNOW IF THIS IS WHAT FLOATS YOUR BOAT!!!!). On the other side, there is nothing worse than the feeling that there is a whole lot of saliva building up in your mouth with nowhere to go. I know, I can hear you saying "just swallow it". No way. Already feel sick enough and if I have the choice, saliva without vomit is the way to go when needing to get stuff out of your mouth. I have managed to get the spitting thing worked out pretty well, so here is what works for me. (1) Always make sure you get rid of it before it has built up to roughly the size of the Hoover dam catchment. For some reason, once you get past a certain amount of spit, it develops the consistency of melted mozzarella cheese and your chances of wearing it or smearing it across your face and clothes are pretty high. Very sexy look "I just spat on myself". That could be the title of the next big song from any one of the starlets currently in rehab. (2) If you have someone with you, make sure they are well out of the way, preferably upwind. Nothing puts you off your stride faster than having to take part in the game of "dodge to golly". (3) If you live in a colder climate (like I do) don't spit ON the path. Treading in spit is bad enough, landing on your arse because you have SLIPPED in FROZEN spit is one of the all time lows when out for your daily constitutional.
3. Underpants retrieval - I am not talking about tracking them down after a fun night out on the town. I have alluded to this before in the blog – when you have a generously sized bottom (or not, as some of my slimmer girlfriends have complained about this), your knickers can have the habit of going on safari into the Land of Darkness, otherwise known as in between your butt cheeks. Again, if you are out and about, this can be dealt with relative ease, you just need to do a quick modesty check before extracting offending underwear. A word of caution though – be sure you’ve scouted the surroundings properly. My grandmother got caught out once when the elastic in her undies snapped when she was in town. Another woman, who recognised her dilemma, offered to hold her coat out whilst my grandmother “took care of things” in a convenient doorway. It was not until she had removed her knickers that she realised that she was standing in front of a GLASS door to a café and had just given the punters inside an unexpected treat. Keep in mind this was the late 1940s – even today I reckon this would be a “die a thousand deaths” moment. So, what to do when in the gym and trying to deal with the wedgie from hell? Some people have no problems with this – they just hoik the offending fabric out and keep on going. More power to them. Others are a little more self conscious and endure the agony of fabric compressing into a space it was never designed for until the chaffing just becomes to much and they mince their way to the loo where offending underwear is extracted with tweezers. The etiquette on this is unclear and on the whole, I reckon most people would agree it’s important to be comfortable when exercising. The problem is, some of us are a little modest and don’t want to offend anyone by seeming to be playing with our own bottom in public. Perhaps we should all be given a sign to hold up as an early warning device, so people can look away or up at the ceiling so modesty is maintained and no one thinks you are a pervy. And DON’T send me advice on wearing a G-string. I am a size 18-20 for god’s sake – I would need a cave rescue team to come and extract the bloody thing.
1. Farting - I have checked out a few gyms now and nowhere are there any guidelines on what etiquette should be followed when you have a build up of gas in the gut that really, reeeeeally needs out. If you are outside on a run or something, you tend to have a chance to get away with it, but in a gym this can pose a serious dilemma. I also go to an all women's gym and there is the added pressure (ha ha) in the old belief that GIRLS DO NOT FART. EVER. Brace yourself everyone - they do. They just aren't overwhelmed with the urge to have you pull their finger when they need to do it or set fire to it. Exercise tends to get everything churned up, circulation going etc so it is logical that some kind of gas action in inevitable. Now, we all know that farts tend to fall into 2 broad categories - those which stink and those that are really loud. If you are running on a treadmill or sitting on a exercise bike, your chances of loud are pretty high, as your butt cheeks are either already slapping together or compressed onto the seat. Bike seat is particularly bad - it sounds like a duck in a blender. Stink is also bad. So, you are faced with the ultimate decision - do you leap off the treadmill/bike/rowing machine and make for the relative safety of the changeroom or do you take the risk? If you take the 'risk it" option and it is a stinky one, you could actually kill someone on the treadmill behind you. A word of advice : if you are a risk taker, work on your "who did THAT???" face. Also, if you are a "run for the changeroom person" make sure that muscle control is tip top, or otherwise all you will do is "spread the joy" as you gallop past the rows of exercise bikes, treadmills and gym patrons who are all horrified because SOMEONE FARTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2. Spitting - now, no one should EVER spit when they are inside a gym. Gross and also presents a real slip hazard for anyone else. As a mum of 3 kids, I have had to deal with more body fluids than I ever thought possible. I am willing to deal with my kids' poo, wee and spit (plus other revolting stuff) as I love them. This does not mean I LIKED IT. I do not love any of my gym buddies that much, so spitting inside is, in my books, baaaaaaaaaad. When outside though, what is the solution? Some people are spitters, others aren't. I know the non-spitters have some real problems with the spitting camp, which is fair enough. Having been the recipient of a stray spit when out running with a friend once, I can appreciate that having someone gob on you is not considered one of life's highlights (DON"T WANT TO KNOW IF THIS IS WHAT FLOATS YOUR BOAT!!!!). On the other side, there is nothing worse than the feeling that there is a whole lot of saliva building up in your mouth with nowhere to go. I know, I can hear you saying "just swallow it". No way. Already feel sick enough and if I have the choice, saliva without vomit is the way to go when needing to get stuff out of your mouth. I have managed to get the spitting thing worked out pretty well, so here is what works for me. (1) Always make sure you get rid of it before it has built up to roughly the size of the Hoover dam catchment. For some reason, once you get past a certain amount of spit, it develops the consistency of melted mozzarella cheese and your chances of wearing it or smearing it across your face and clothes are pretty high. Very sexy look "I just spat on myself". That could be the title of the next big song from any one of the starlets currently in rehab. (2) If you have someone with you, make sure they are well out of the way, preferably upwind. Nothing puts you off your stride faster than having to take part in the game of "dodge to golly". (3) If you live in a colder climate (like I do) don't spit ON the path. Treading in spit is bad enough, landing on your arse because you have SLIPPED in FROZEN spit is one of the all time lows when out for your daily constitutional.
3. Underpants retrieval - I am not talking about tracking them down after a fun night out on the town. I have alluded to this before in the blog – when you have a generously sized bottom (or not, as some of my slimmer girlfriends have complained about this), your knickers can have the habit of going on safari into the Land of Darkness, otherwise known as in between your butt cheeks. Again, if you are out and about, this can be dealt with relative ease, you just need to do a quick modesty check before extracting offending underwear. A word of caution though – be sure you’ve scouted the surroundings properly. My grandmother got caught out once when the elastic in her undies snapped when she was in town. Another woman, who recognised her dilemma, offered to hold her coat out whilst my grandmother “took care of things” in a convenient doorway. It was not until she had removed her knickers that she realised that she was standing in front of a GLASS door to a café and had just given the punters inside an unexpected treat. Keep in mind this was the late 1940s – even today I reckon this would be a “die a thousand deaths” moment. So, what to do when in the gym and trying to deal with the wedgie from hell? Some people have no problems with this – they just hoik the offending fabric out and keep on going. More power to them. Others are a little more self conscious and endure the agony of fabric compressing into a space it was never designed for until the chaffing just becomes to much and they mince their way to the loo where offending underwear is extracted with tweezers. The etiquette on this is unclear and on the whole, I reckon most people would agree it’s important to be comfortable when exercising. The problem is, some of us are a little modest and don’t want to offend anyone by seeming to be playing with our own bottom in public. Perhaps we should all be given a sign to hold up as an early warning device, so people can look away or up at the ceiling so modesty is maintained and no one thinks you are a pervy. And DON’T send me advice on wearing a G-string. I am a size 18-20 for god’s sake – I would need a cave rescue team to come and extract the bloody thing.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
diary pt 4
Week 9
Tim and I have just celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary. My present from him was 5 extra personal training sessions when finish the program (I only have an opal membership, so I pay for personal training sessions). Some people may not think this is the most romantic present, but it sums up how much he believes in me. Last year it would have been jewelry or a bottle of wine (both of which are fantastic) but this year he showed me that he knows I will keep going once the challenge is finished. This is just the start for me – I have to keep going at the end of the 12 weeks so I will achieve everything I set out to do. This week is more of the same – hard work and watching my food intake. I have to admit to feeling fairly down. I think this is partly PMS and also knowing that soon the challenge will be over. The last 9 weeks have been amazing on so many levels. I always knew I could be a stubborn bugger when I put my mind to something, but I always doubted I had the determination to do something so positive for myself. Does this sound crazy? Maybe this has been one of the things that stopped me every other time – I thought about it too much instead of just getting on with doing what I needed to.
Week 10
I can’t believe how far I have come in what is really a short space of time. 10 weeks ago if a trainer in the gym had said to me “Emma, today you are going to come in at lunchtime and to 40 minutes of cardio, come back at 6pm to do RPM and then follow it up at 7 with some weights and boxing circuit” I would have either laughed in their face or told them to, ahem, go away. Firmly. Using some not too pleasant words. This is now a fairly normal day for me. On my quieter days, I do a class and some abs and weights work as well. As I have a lot of weight to lose, my focus has been cardio, cardio and more cardio, with weights 2-3 times a week to build up muscle. Now, I am not saying I leap around the gym, beaming with joy and enjoying every moment. There are downright grumpy, painful, horrible days where I approach the treadmill or bike with all of the enthusiasm of the average 6 year old who has been told to clean up their room. Internal monologue goes something like “bloody treadmill, mutter, mutter, I want a glass of wine, mutter, mutter, this SUCKS!!” etc etc. Eventually though, this monologue dies down and I begin to get in the groove. Usually. There have been a few workouts where the grumpy pants didn’t really vanish until I got home and found that my wonderful husband had wrestled all kids into bed, cleaned up their mess and then cooked me dinner. Don’t be rude about pants vanishing when I see my husband – I am using metaphors.
One thing about this program which has really changed me is slimplicity. I have to admit to being skeptical (why not? Every diet I had gone on in the last 13 years had not worked) that it could make a difference this time, but that was when it clicked for me - it wasn’t so much the diet not working as ME not working. Slimplicity teaches you how to eat properly, break bad habits and start to view food as what it is – food. And to lose weight it is calories in vs calories out. Duh! Sounds really simple when you write it down like that but it’s a hard concept to get your head around sometimes. My slim coach, Odette, said something wonderful to me one day when I was having a complain about emotional eating and how it stuffs everything up. She just looked at me, waited for my “it’s not fair” tirade to finish and said “Honey, if being overweight was only a physical issue, no emotions involved, we would be all be slim and beautiful”. What I have learned to do is to retrain myself not to turn to food when I was upset and needing comfort. Still have bad days where I can inhale a packet of 2 minute noodles and a small brie all by myself, but this is not my automatic response anymore, which is a major shift in the way I approach things.
Week 11
A good, high energy week, but a bit weird too, because we are nearly finished. I am looking forward to getting some of my “life” back, but the life I had before is not what I want now. I want to keep healthy, want to keep exercising (not 2-3 hours a day though. Would like some time for friends and family) and I want to keep losing weight. I have come such long way and changed so much that the person I was back at the start of February is unrecognizable to me in so many ways. But not so much so that I don’t know how I got there in the first place. I get the feeling that for a few weeks after I finish it is going to feel so strange, not having the drive of the competition behind me, but to be honest, winning is not what is important to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m competitive, but I have already won so much, I don’t need a “prize” to be my main reason for doing this. To put it in some perspective, I am the lightest I have been in over 5 years and am feeling fitter than I have in ages. I have met some of the most amazing, inspirational women and literally put blood, sweat and tears into the last 3 months. I don’t think I want to reminisce about the vomit side of things. Let’s just say there were enough times in group training with Sophie yelling “if it is just spit coming up, wipe your mouth and get back in here” as one or other of us beat a hasty retreat to the locker room that … I said I wasn’t going into this. Let’s just say I am more matter of fact about some things now.
Week 12
So, this is the last week and I have been in the FOULEST mood for most of it. I should be on top of the world, happy with what achieved and feeling fit but for some reason a large part of me (and let’s face it, there is a lot of me so the large part is LARGE) has the old grumpy pants pulled up so high that they are up under my armpits. Part of this is PMS (I turn into a horrible, cranky, poison spitting person when I’m not crying and wanting to swim around in a bath of chocolate – the only time when I want to eat it). I think part of it is knowing that the Challenge is over. I know this sounds nuts, but in the last 12 weeks I have made some great friends and taken part in something that I know will help me continue on the long journey I have ahead of me and I really don’t want that to be over. Who would have thought that I would MISS personal training sessions where I would pray I would throw up, just so I can get a breather?
What lies ahead of me? Well, a lot of hard work. This is nowhere finished for me but one thing I know, I will cope so much better for doing this Challenge because I have proven to myself that I CAN do it. I also know I will have bad days or weeks, but I know I can pick myself up from whatever heap I fall over in (emotional, diet, confidence, flying backwards off the treadmill because I wasn’t paying attention) and just keep on going. I am now so much closer to my goal weight and am at a fitness level I thought I would never be again. I know this sounds nuts, but knowing I only now have to think “I’ve only got 30kg to lose”, rather than when I was at the start of this and saying “I’ve got 50kg to lose” is actually an incredibly powerful statement for me. If someone had said to me back in January that this is where I would be at the end of April, I never would have believed them, mainly because I had such little faith in myself. One thing I will take away from this Challenge is knowing that when I put my mind to it, I can exercise, I can lose weight and I can feel better about myself. And if I REALLY put my mind to it, I can walk past the fish and chip shop without going in and buying $10 worth of potato cakes J
Stats
Starting weight 133.3kg
Finishing weight 114.7kg
Total cms at start 585cm
Total cms at end 505.5
A few words of thanks
While I know this was done a great deal by me, the big difference has been the support I’ve had. I need to write down what they have done, because I may just forget to thank them all:
My husband, Tim, who has been incredible. There are not enough words to describe what a difference he has made to my life.
My mum and dad, who have always seen my full potential and believed I could achieve it, even when I didn’t.
My sister, Kate, who has dragged herself out for a walk or run when it was the last thing she felt like doing because she wanted to make sure I went. Not because she didn’t believe in me, but because she did.
My best friend, Sue, who came and sweated it out beside me in the gym night after night and providing endless encouragement at 11pm when she got a wailing phone call from me, carrying on about how hard everything is.
All of my Biggest Loser teammates. At some stage, each and every one gave me the encouragement I needed. Special mention needs to go to Leith, Tabitha, Leanne, Nicole and Kim. These are incredible women who are an inspiration to me.
Lynn, Sophie, Jenna, Oli, Helen, Amanda, Kellie, Julie and Rose at Fernwood Gungahlin. These are the people whose classes, training sessions and slim appointments I turned up to week after week. They also made sure that the challenge ran smoothly. They provided encouragement, honesty, support and showed that they had ultimate faith in me. Also, all of the girls who work on the reception desk at the club. They knew every competitor by name and always made sure they had everything we needed, especially when it came to writing down our all important points! A special mention also needs to go to Sid and Nat as well – Sid literally stopped me from quitting in week 3 and Nat proved to me that Bodycombat could be fun to the uncoordinated.
Diary pt 3
Week 6
Wow, halfway! In a few ways it feels like I have been doing this forever and in others it feels like I only started 2 days ago. The exercise is still really hard, but I know I am doing it for longer periods and my recovery is much quicker. They no longer look at me anxiously and start to make noises about getting extra oxygen when I come out of RPM or Pump. The biggest thing I notice in myself is that I am enjoying going to the gym and working out (sick, I know). I get a real sense of satisfaction when I can push myself just that little bit further – even an extra 5 minutes of running or cycling feels like an incredible achievement. Lynn has really helped me this week. Her mix of not taking any of my crap when I whinge in a training session with a sympathetic shoulder is what has made a huge psychological difference. She pointed out to me that the mind often gives out before the body, especially someone like me who has got into the habit of thinking that I can’t do things. Instead of “can” and “can’t” she is getting me to focus on “will” and “won’t”. Then whatever I do is MY choice – I “won’t” run 3km non stop sounds a lot worse than “can’t”. Can’t almost sounds like you may have a legitimate reason not to do something. Won’t means just that – you are choosing not to. I have chosen not to do things relating to diet and exercise for the last 12 years. Now I choose to change. I “will” have to remind myself of this as the lactic acid builds up so much in my legs that they feel like someone is rubbing them down with brillo pads and I am so out of breath that I start making the noise that sounds a lot like “huaergh” when I breathe in. And cry when I exhale. And I won’t even get started on the uncontrollable spitty dribble thing that starts happening. On a more positive note, my halfway stats are : 11.9kg lost, 15cm down in body measurements.
Week 7
It’s funny, but in the last few weeks, something has switched over in my head and I can just focus on what I need to do. I also have to admit I never would have been able to do this without my incredible support crew – my husband, Tim, who has encouraged me every step of the way, my family, who have been cheering loudly and waving pom poms when I needed it and my friends have been incredible. Also, the girls at the gym are just amazing. My trainer, Lynn, just knows how to push me just that little bit further each session, and every staff member seems to know all of the challenge participants by name. The second set of teams has just started and they are throwing themselves into the challenge too.
We had the training session from hell this week – Sophie and Olivia pushed us for over an hour and I think most of us either felt like crying, puking or both. I reached the stage where I was looking at the doors out on to the balcony outside the training room where I thought I could throw up in relative privacy. Fortunately I remembered at the last minute that this may not be such a good idea as an alfresco restaurant had just opened up downstairs and I had the feeling that even if they couldn’t see me, the sound effects alone would probably put most people off their dinners. I reverted to plan B, which was crying as I tried to do the beep test. I believe this test was invented by some kind of masochistic evil person (otherwise known as a personal trainer) to make you get all twitchy whenever you are waiting to use a pedestrian crossing and then gallop at high speed across the road when the little green man appears. This is taking incidental exercise just that one step too far.
Week 8
We are rapidly coming up on Easter and a lot of people are getting very obsessed with the upcoming orgy of chocolate consumption. To be honest, chocolate will not be such a problem for me as avoiding emptying a tub of butter onto hot cross buns just out of the oven. YUM!!!!! In our group slim talk, Amanda talked about chocolate for 15 straight minutes, until someone pointed out that this was starting to feel like a torture session. We all cracked up and talked about salad for at least 2 minutes before we got back on to the chocolate quandary. Butter was not so much addressed as forbidden (bugger) and we were limited to 1 hot cross bun per day. She has got to be kidding me. There is only so much a person can give up. I thought this was the biggest loser challenge, not the cry over a bag of forbidden hot cross buns challenge. I better check the fine print.
On the exercise front, I am trying something new at the gym – bellydancing. It is run here once a week as a class and it is FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We are all in tracksuit pants and t shirts and giving it a good old wiggle. What is wonderful is to have an instructor finally say “you are meant to wobble here”. After so many classes where nothing is allowed to wiggle (and let’s face it, when you are as overweight as I am, not much bloody doesn’t), this is a lot of fun. Also, much harder work than I thought. You have to isolate lower body and upper body movements from each other and use your core to control movements, so by the end your obliques have really had a workout. It also feels sexy, no matter how big you are. I have also started running again, which is great. In my late teens and early 20s I did a lot of running and I loved i
t. I ran the City to Surf twice and I would love to do it again. My first short term thing to do is to run the Mother’s Day Classic, which is a 4km run to raise money for breast cancer research. My mum is a breast cancer survivor (diagnosed in 2005) and an incredible inspiration to me. If she can go through surgery, chemo and radiotherapy, I can run 4km.
Wow, halfway! In a few ways it feels like I have been doing this forever and in others it feels like I only started 2 days ago. The exercise is still really hard, but I know I am doing it for longer periods and my recovery is much quicker. They no longer look at me anxiously and start to make noises about getting extra oxygen when I come out of RPM or Pump. The biggest thing I notice in myself is that I am enjoying going to the gym and working out (sick, I know). I get a real sense of satisfaction when I can push myself just that little bit further – even an extra 5 minutes of running or cycling feels like an incredible achievement. Lynn has really helped me this week. Her mix of not taking any of my crap when I whinge in a training session with a sympathetic shoulder is what has made a huge psychological difference. She pointed out to me that the mind often gives out before the body, especially someone like me who has got into the habit of thinking that I can’t do things. Instead of “can” and “can’t” she is getting me to focus on “will” and “won’t”. Then whatever I do is MY choice – I “won’t” run 3km non stop sounds a lot worse than “can’t”. Can’t almost sounds like you may have a legitimate reason not to do something. Won’t means just that – you are choosing not to. I have chosen not to do things relating to diet and exercise for the last 12 years. Now I choose to change. I “will” have to remind myself of this as the lactic acid builds up so much in my legs that they feel like someone is rubbing them down with brillo pads and I am so out of breath that I start making the noise that sounds a lot like “huaergh” when I breathe in. And cry when I exhale. And I won’t even get started on the uncontrollable spitty dribble thing that starts happening. On a more positive note, my halfway stats are : 11.9kg lost, 15cm down in body measurements.
Week 7
It’s funny, but in the last few weeks, something has switched over in my head and I can just focus on what I need to do. I also have to admit I never would have been able to do this without my incredible support crew – my husband, Tim, who has encouraged me every step of the way, my family, who have been cheering loudly and waving pom poms when I needed it and my friends have been incredible. Also, the girls at the gym are just amazing. My trainer, Lynn, just knows how to push me just that little bit further each session, and every staff member seems to know all of the challenge participants by name. The second set of teams has just started and they are throwing themselves into the challenge too.
We had the training session from hell this week – Sophie and Olivia pushed us for over an hour and I think most of us either felt like crying, puking or both. I reached the stage where I was looking at the doors out on to the balcony outside the training room where I thought I could throw up in relative privacy. Fortunately I remembered at the last minute that this may not be such a good idea as an alfresco restaurant had just opened up downstairs and I had the feeling that even if they couldn’t see me, the sound effects alone would probably put most people off their dinners. I reverted to plan B, which was crying as I tried to do the beep test. I believe this test was invented by some kind of masochistic evil person (otherwise known as a personal trainer) to make you get all twitchy whenever you are waiting to use a pedestrian crossing and then gallop at high speed across the road when the little green man appears. This is taking incidental exercise just that one step too far.
Week 8
We are rapidly coming up on Easter and a lot of people are getting very obsessed with the upcoming orgy of chocolate consumption. To be honest, chocolate will not be such a problem for me as avoiding emptying a tub of butter onto hot cross buns just out of the oven. YUM!!!!! In our group slim talk, Amanda talked about chocolate for 15 straight minutes, until someone pointed out that this was starting to feel like a torture session. We all cracked up and talked about salad for at least 2 minutes before we got back on to the chocolate quandary. Butter was not so much addressed as forbidden (bugger) and we were limited to 1 hot cross bun per day. She has got to be kidding me. There is only so much a person can give up. I thought this was the biggest loser challenge, not the cry over a bag of forbidden hot cross buns challenge. I better check the fine print.
On the exercise front, I am trying something new at the gym – bellydancing. It is run here once a week as a class and it is FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We are all in tracksuit pants and t shirts and giving it a good old wiggle. What is wonderful is to have an instructor finally say “you are meant to wobble here”. After so many classes where nothing is allowed to wiggle (and let’s face it, when you are as overweight as I am, not much bloody doesn’t), this is a lot of fun. Also, much harder work than I thought. You have to isolate lower body and upper body movements from each other and use your core to control movements, so by the end your obliques have really had a workout. It also feels sexy, no matter how big you are. I have also started running again, which is great. In my late teens and early 20s I did a lot of running and I loved i
t. I ran the City to Surf twice and I would love to do it again. My first short term thing to do is to run the Mother’s Day Classic, which is a 4km run to raise money for breast cancer research. My mum is a breast cancer survivor (diagnosed in 2005) and an incredible inspiration to me. If she can go through surgery, chemo and radiotherapy, I can run 4km.We finished! This is my daughter Grace, my sister Kate, me and my mum at the finsh! The grown ups loook happy because we had all had coffee and a free massage.
diary pt 2
Week 3
Hit the wall big time this week – actually went into the gym and when one of the trainers asked if I was ok, I burst into tears. I think the reality of this whole challenge finally just hit me. This is more than just the 12 weeks of the challenge – it is my whole lifestyle and even when I lose all of the weight, I have to make sure I never end up back where I was when I started on this journey. It kind of does my head in to think that I gave up on myself so much that I was literally eating myself towards type 2 diabetes, heart disease, crappy joints and more than likely a life 15 years shorter than it should be. I know this is the same thing that is in every motivational book I have ever read, but I think each time I was reading one of these, I was either thinking “yeah, but this person was so much fatter than me, so I don’t need to worry” or “this person is so strong and I could never do that”. Now I know I HAVE to do this – lose the weight and to do that I have to get off my big bum. I have to change the way I think about myself. I am worth this. I can do this. I can do better. Of course, this did not come out as coherently as this when I was sitting in the gym crying all over Sid, one of the trainers up there. It sounded a lot more like mix between Swahili and that weird noise a donkey makes when it’s really trying to get its point across. Went through a lot of tissues and ended up looking like ended up looking all blotchy. Sid was great – sympathetic, listened to me carry on, gave some great advice and then marched me into the Bodycombat class her sister Nat was running. Just to cheer me up.
Week 4
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday, dear me, happy birthday to me. I have just clicked over 37 years and to celebrate I had PT and did and RPM class. I really know how to enjoy myself! Lynn wished me happy birthday and then kicked my arse from one end of Fernwood to the other. Also had a mortifying moment in step this week – I slipped off the end of the step, which flipped up into the air, came down with an almighty “kerchunk” noise, hit my water bottle, which flew across the room, spraying its contents along the way. To say I was embarrassed is putting it lightly. The instructor made sure no one was hurt and then helped me set my stuff back up. Everyone was really helpful and sympathetic, which was great and made it worse at the same time. I wonder how may calories you burn off when you blush for 20 minutes? I feel happier this week – more in control of things (apart from my step!), especially the diet. Exercise is becoming more routine rather than torture. I was, of course, stupid enough to mention this to Lynn, who took it as a sign that I needed to challenge myself more. This challenge involved SPRINTING on the elliptical trainer for 5 minutes, resting for 1, sprinting, resting etc until I couldn’t run anymore. I assured her this wouldn’t take long, so she put a minimum time of 25 minutes. Am never, ever telling Lynn I am finding something easy or routine. It hurts too much. Lost 0.3kg this week. I have to admit to being a bit disappointed, but it is still a loss. I am close to 7kg better off than I was at the start of this challenge.
Week 5
One great thing that has come out of this challenge is that I am making some great friends amongst the women on my team. Everyone is so supportive and I think a lot of us know just what a big change this is. On my team there is another Emma, who is great and attacks an RPM class like a maniac. Jo, who does so many classes it is amazing (I think she lives at the gym) and is always encouraging other challenge participants in the gym. I am also making friends with the so called “opposition”, the red team (I’m blue). Leith has kids at the same school mine go to and is another person who I think must have a bed at the gym as she is there all the time and I am getting to be good friends with Leanne, who is amazing as she just never gives up, no matter how hard the training is. Some bad news this week – we lost our team trainer Helen as her younger daughter had an accident and she needs to spend more time at home with her. Sophie has put on the superwoman cape and is now kicking all of our butts from one end of the gym to the other on group training nights, with the help from Olivia, who seems to think that a 45 minute abs workout is normal.
This week I managed to really excel myself at group training – we were doing shuttle runs in the group training room and I decided that what was really needed was me getting up close and personal with the floor at high speed. My shoulder made a fairly interesting popping noise and I managed to leave a significant amount of skin on the carpet. I have not had carpet burn like that since I tripped when chasing my sister when I was about 10 and did a full on face plant into the brown shagpile that was in our home at the time. I would like to say that the worst injury was to my pride, but to be honest I really hurt myself and Leanne was kind enough to drive me home, as my knee and shoulder came out in some very impressive bruising by the end of the class (I watched whilst applying ice packs to various joints). The rest of the team felt that no matter how much I wanted to lose weight, scraping a few 100gms of skin off on the carpet was not the easiest way to do it. Ha ha.
Hit the wall big time this week – actually went into the gym and when one of the trainers asked if I was ok, I burst into tears. I think the reality of this whole challenge finally just hit me. This is more than just the 12 weeks of the challenge – it is my whole lifestyle and even when I lose all of the weight, I have to make sure I never end up back where I was when I started on this journey. It kind of does my head in to think that I gave up on myself so much that I was literally eating myself towards type 2 diabetes, heart disease, crappy joints and more than likely a life 15 years shorter than it should be. I know this is the same thing that is in every motivational book I have ever read, but I think each time I was reading one of these, I was either thinking “yeah, but this person was so much fatter than me, so I don’t need to worry” or “this person is so strong and I could never do that”. Now I know I HAVE to do this – lose the weight and to do that I have to get off my big bum. I have to change the way I think about myself. I am worth this. I can do this. I can do better. Of course, this did not come out as coherently as this when I was sitting in the gym crying all over Sid, one of the trainers up there. It sounded a lot more like mix between Swahili and that weird noise a donkey makes when it’s really trying to get its point across. Went through a lot of tissues and ended up looking like ended up looking all blotchy. Sid was great – sympathetic, listened to me carry on, gave some great advice and then marched me into the Bodycombat class her sister Nat was running. Just to cheer me up.
Week 4
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday, dear me, happy birthday to me. I have just clicked over 37 years and to celebrate I had PT and did and RPM class. I really know how to enjoy myself! Lynn wished me happy birthday and then kicked my arse from one end of Fernwood to the other. Also had a mortifying moment in step this week – I slipped off the end of the step, which flipped up into the air, came down with an almighty “kerchunk” noise, hit my water bottle, which flew across the room, spraying its contents along the way. To say I was embarrassed is putting it lightly. The instructor made sure no one was hurt and then helped me set my stuff back up. Everyone was really helpful and sympathetic, which was great and made it worse at the same time. I wonder how may calories you burn off when you blush for 20 minutes? I feel happier this week – more in control of things (apart from my step!), especially the diet. Exercise is becoming more routine rather than torture. I was, of course, stupid enough to mention this to Lynn, who took it as a sign that I needed to challenge myself more. This challenge involved SPRINTING on the elliptical trainer for 5 minutes, resting for 1, sprinting, resting etc until I couldn’t run anymore. I assured her this wouldn’t take long, so she put a minimum time of 25 minutes. Am never, ever telling Lynn I am finding something easy or routine. It hurts too much. Lost 0.3kg this week. I have to admit to being a bit disappointed, but it is still a loss. I am close to 7kg better off than I was at the start of this challenge.
Week 5
One great thing that has come out of this challenge is that I am making some great friends amongst the women on my team. Everyone is so supportive and I think a lot of us know just what a big change this is. On my team there is another Emma, who is great and attacks an RPM class like a maniac. Jo, who does so many classes it is amazing (I think she lives at the gym) and is always encouraging other challenge participants in the gym. I am also making friends with the so called “opposition”, the red team (I’m blue). Leith has kids at the same school mine go to and is another person who I think must have a bed at the gym as she is there all the time and I am getting to be good friends with Leanne, who is amazing as she just never gives up, no matter how hard the training is. Some bad news this week – we lost our team trainer Helen as her younger daughter had an accident and she needs to spend more time at home with her. Sophie has put on the superwoman cape and is now kicking all of our butts from one end of the gym to the other on group training nights, with the help from Olivia, who seems to think that a 45 minute abs workout is normal.
This week I managed to really excel myself at group training – we were doing shuttle runs in the group training room and I decided that what was really needed was me getting up close and personal with the floor at high speed. My shoulder made a fairly interesting popping noise and I managed to leave a significant amount of skin on the carpet. I have not had carpet burn like that since I tripped when chasing my sister when I was about 10 and did a full on face plant into the brown shagpile that was in our home at the time. I would like to say that the worst injury was to my pride, but to be honest I really hurt myself and Leanne was kind enough to drive me home, as my knee and shoulder came out in some very impressive bruising by the end of the class (I watched whilst applying ice packs to various joints). The rest of the team felt that no matter how much I wanted to lose weight, scraping a few 100gms of skin off on the carpet was not the easiest way to do it. Ha ha.
Biggest loser challenge diary Pt 1
Ok, here is the diary some of you have been asking for in it's unedited glory. I will put this up in several posts, as otherwise it will be too long and some of you might start wishing I would just SHUT THE HELL UP (those who don't feel that way already, that is). Background for those not in the know : I did the Biggest Loser challenge at my local gym, Fernwood, from start of February to end of April this year. During this time I kept a journal and some extracts were published in a magazine this month. They were heavily edited, so here are the entries in all their glory. Also, below is a "before" photo, which was one of the one's that horrified me enough to think about losing some weight.
February 2, 2007
Orientation session
So, here I am at the start of this challenge. Part of me thinks I must be nuts – I’ve failed every other diet/fitness regime I’ve started in the last 10 years (god, looking at that number is so depressing), so why would this one be any different? Another part is excited – maybe this is the thing that will get me started on the road I need to take? But, overwhelmingly, what I feel is fear. Fear I’ll fail, fear I’ll succeed (weird, weird, weird), fear I’ll only partly get there and then every negative feeling, bad habit etc will just come crashing in on me and I’ll just give up and walk away. I should know – I’ve done it heaps of time before. Why I it so easy to give up on yourself when you would never let your husband, best friend or family member do it? Why do I get the feeling that the changes in this are not only going to be physical? Ok, way too many questions. On with what the challenge is all about.
We have been divided into 2 teams (red and blue) and there are about 10 of us are in each and we are a pretty mixed bunch of women. Some I have seen around the gym before and others I have never seen. We were introduced to the trainers who would be seeing us through (Sophie and Helen) as well as the slim coaches (Odette and Amanda). Julie is our team co-ordinator and I get the feeling that they are all going to be working really hard over the next 12 weeks (almost as hard as those of us doing the challenge!). Officially we start on Sunday (when the Biggest Loser starts screening on TV) so – game on! We had our weigh in for our starting stats and think I want to die – I have managed to let it creep up to 133.3kg. Crap! I think that makes me one of the heaviest people on this challenge, maybe in this gym. There are no words that can describe how bad this feels.
I am aiming to try and do at least 1 class per day, maybe 2. I will have to see how I go - that would be increasing my exercise that I currently do by about70% I will also have my first PT and slim session this week. My personal trainer is Lynn and I know her from RPM, so it will be interesting to train with her 1 on 1.
Week 1
OK, I take it back. This is the hardest thing I have ever physically done – right now I am so bloody tired I can’t even think about how hard it is mentally. I think if I make it through work this week without putting my underpants on the outside of my trousers it will be a miracle. Lynn pushed me so hard at PT I ended up making cough cough retchy noises (which REALLY alarmed the girl training on the treadmill next to me). I also did RPM three days in a row and yesterday when I got out of the class and I realized that I was actually wobbling (I mean, from muscle fatigue. The fat bits like my bum and legs always wobble) around like my legs had been deboned. I also tried bodypump for the first time and as a result walked like a duck for 2 days afterwards. Quack quack.
The slimplicity program is so much easier than I thought – we get a diary which we have to write down everything we eat and when we eat it. We also get a really strict meal plan, which at first I thought I would hate but it has made eating so much easier. It has also been fantastic – I lost 3kg in my first week. Yay! I do have to admit to being a bit hungry at nighttime and it is hard to keep walking past the pantry and fridge, but that is just old bad habits pulling me back in. That or I have little elves living in my kitchen actually chanting “eat more cheese, eat more cheese”!
Week 2
This week I am kind of ok and kind of not. I am still as tired as last week (actually fell asleep at my desk and made one of those weird snork noises you do when your head falls back. My staff laughed for 10 minutes) but have made it through 5 RPM classes so far, a team training session with Helen where I thought at least 3 of us were going to expire, PT with Lynn and a slim session. I have no idea how I am doing the rest of my life – my incredible husband is holding it all together at home, taking care of the kids every night while I sweat my butt off at the gym. My biggest problem is still my very sad cheese addiction. I actually found myself with my nose pressed up against the glass cabinet in a local deli, slowly drowning in my own saliva as I sighed over all of the brie and Camembert that was so close, soooooooo close… the best way I have found to deal with this is to work out how long it would take me work off a piece of cheese in the gym. I can easily eat an entire 125gm cheese all by myself, which adds up to (brace yourself) 1616kg (404 calories). This means I have to RUN (you have got to be bloody kidding me) for at least 45minutes just to ensure my thighs do not get extra dimples in them (they already have more than a crateful of oranges). This works most of the time. Notice the emphasis on most – there are times when want to lick a block of cheese all over just so I can get the taste without eating it all. I just read that sentence – possibly one of the weirdest things ever written. Am fairly sure normal people do not think about doing that. At least, they don’t ADMIT it. Surely there is someone out there who… now that I think about it, perhaps I shouldn’t explore this. You never know WHAT people think about licking – could end up making cheese look pretty tame. Right, I need to focus on something else. More good news on the weight loss front this week - 3.5 kg. Yay me!!!! My clothes are starting to feel a bit looser but they should – Helen had me do so many sit ups I couldn’t actually stand upright for 2 days.
Pepsi max extreme parenting
I have a new extreme sport for anyone who is tired of base jumping, black water rafting or bungee jumping. It's called "take your children shopping". Not for the faint hearted and make sure you have a good pack with you, filled with survival gear. Also make sure the wills of all of those involved are up to date, as by the end of the day there is an excellent chance some may not be coming out alive. One of my private theories about why children behave the way they do is that it is to ensure parents age rapidly so they can get their hands on your money whilst still young enough to have fun with it. Take this past weekend as a little example.
We went out to the local farmer's market on Saturday, where the kids had a lovely time, running around and looking at all of the fresh fruit and veg etc. It was one of those great family days where you are happy to be a parent, you can grab a nice coffee and feel that you are, in your own little way, getting back in touch with nature etc. Don't laugh - there is an aging hippy inside all of us. On Sunday we had an expedition to one of the local shopping malls as I am in dire need of new clothes. I am happy to announce that I have dropped 3-4 dress sizes - the down side of this is literally that. Everything is now looking suspiciously like a tent I have nicked form the local army depot or I am spending a lot of time hitching my baggy pants up. Sexy. So, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to the clothes shops we go...
Now, I have developed a dislike of shopping for clothes, as for the last ten years every time I tried something on I felt as though I looked like a hippo with a bow tied round it. Still have the odd hippo moment but they are getting a little less extreme. Throw 3 children into the mix who don't really want to be there and shopping for clothes starts to make the Olympic decathlon look like the easy option. Gone were the happy little cherubs of Saturday. In their place I had the tantrum pants brigade (aged 9, 6 and 2.5) who, it seemed, were hell bent on driving Tim (my husband) and I completely bonkers by 10.30am. First shop, I found a few nice shirts, in between refereeing fights between the kids and telling them to stop playing hide and seek in the clothes racks. I had the audacity to want to try these clothes on, which resulted in me receiving a lot of "help" and the ensuing riot in the change room meant that I it took me more time to try on 4 shirts than it takes for me to drive through peak hour traffic to work in the mornings. Tim was trying his best, but the officious 16 year old on the desk would not let him come in to the women's change room. I get the very distinct feeling that the other ladies suffering through the whole experience with me would have been happy for Tim to have seen them completely naked if it meant they did not have to listen to my kids giving a convincing impression of wildebeest stampeding across the plains. We made our purchases and left the store, calling time out for a quick snack and a drink (water for the kids, brandy for Tim and I) and on we went.
Let's just say things didn't really improve all that much and by the time we hit the last shop (we only went to 3) my youngest was screaming like a banshee and my middle child was so off his head that people were looking at him as though he was "special". I knew it was well and truly time to pull the pin when the long suffering sales assistant assured me that if I didn't want to try things on, that "was absolutely fine. You can just return them if they don't fit". Translation "please leave as you are scaring the normal people". In the end, I got some nice new clothes and I know that my blood pressure mediation is working well. Next time I think I'll just take a rhino with me - much less trouble and much quieter.
just a quick note - to those of you who feel that you need to recommend books/lectures/videos to me on how to be a better parent and to effectively discipline my children, don't bother. Have read/attended/seen my fair share. My kids just were not in the mood to be human last weekend. We all have days like that. Kids are just much more open about expressing it. Adults cover it up with grumpy looks, stomping through the office and smacking the photocopier. Much more mature.
We went out to the local farmer's market on Saturday, where the kids had a lovely time, running around and looking at all of the fresh fruit and veg etc. It was one of those great family days where you are happy to be a parent, you can grab a nice coffee and feel that you are, in your own little way, getting back in touch with nature etc. Don't laugh - there is an aging hippy inside all of us. On Sunday we had an expedition to one of the local shopping malls as I am in dire need of new clothes. I am happy to announce that I have dropped 3-4 dress sizes - the down side of this is literally that. Everything is now looking suspiciously like a tent I have nicked form the local army depot or I am spending a lot of time hitching my baggy pants up. Sexy. So, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to the clothes shops we go...
Now, I have developed a dislike of shopping for clothes, as for the last ten years every time I tried something on I felt as though I looked like a hippo with a bow tied round it. Still have the odd hippo moment but they are getting a little less extreme. Throw 3 children into the mix who don't really want to be there and shopping for clothes starts to make the Olympic decathlon look like the easy option. Gone were the happy little cherubs of Saturday. In their place I had the tantrum pants brigade (aged 9, 6 and 2.5) who, it seemed, were hell bent on driving Tim (my husband) and I completely bonkers by 10.30am. First shop, I found a few nice shirts, in between refereeing fights between the kids and telling them to stop playing hide and seek in the clothes racks. I had the audacity to want to try these clothes on, which resulted in me receiving a lot of "help" and the ensuing riot in the change room meant that I it took me more time to try on 4 shirts than it takes for me to drive through peak hour traffic to work in the mornings. Tim was trying his best, but the officious 16 year old on the desk would not let him come in to the women's change room. I get the very distinct feeling that the other ladies suffering through the whole experience with me would have been happy for Tim to have seen them completely naked if it meant they did not have to listen to my kids giving a convincing impression of wildebeest stampeding across the plains. We made our purchases and left the store, calling time out for a quick snack and a drink (water for the kids, brandy for Tim and I) and on we went.
Let's just say things didn't really improve all that much and by the time we hit the last shop (we only went to 3) my youngest was screaming like a banshee and my middle child was so off his head that people were looking at him as though he was "special". I knew it was well and truly time to pull the pin when the long suffering sales assistant assured me that if I didn't want to try things on, that "was absolutely fine. You can just return them if they don't fit". Translation "please leave as you are scaring the normal people". In the end, I got some nice new clothes and I know that my blood pressure mediation is working well. Next time I think I'll just take a rhino with me - much less trouble and much quieter.
just a quick note - to those of you who feel that you need to recommend books/lectures/videos to me on how to be a better parent and to effectively discipline my children, don't bother. Have read/attended/seen my fair share. My kids just were not in the mood to be human last weekend. We all have days like that. Kids are just much more open about expressing it. Adults cover it up with grumpy looks, stomping through the office and smacking the photocopier. Much more mature.
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