I have been a bit quiet on the whole weight loss and exercise thing lately, so I though I'd give you an update. I am still going ok, but to be honest, the last four months have been a bit tough. I lost my mojo somewhat and just got sick of the whole diet and exercise crap. Most of the time I can stay pretty positive, but there are times when you don't give a rat's bum about how much training you are doing, how well your weight loss is progressing and you are just totally pissed off with the whole caper. This tends to lead to either picking yourself up by your bootstraps and keeping on trucking OR retreating to some bad old habits, such as swimming around in vats of wine and eating your bodyweight in chips and tim tams. Guess which option I went for? Hmmm, hard to pick, eh? Those that know and love me well (I know, a shock for some of you, but there are some weirdoes out there who think I'm pretty good) have watched with some trepidation on the sidelines as I flailed around for the last few months, but are now breathing a collective sigh of relief that I've pulled myself up from a total crash and am now back to the old regime of telling myself that lettuce is my best friend and that I really don't want to roll around in fried brie. Really. I am not going to go all D&M here, but I guess if I had to have a crash, I've come out the other side and there is not too much collateral damage (I put on 6kg. Disappointing but not the end of the world as we know it). I have dug out my running shoes, dusted off my sports bras (now THERE'S a mental image for you) and started on the "healthy" track again. Can't say I am dancing for joy about it 24 hours a day, but I reckon I'll get there in the end. I am further along than I was this time last year, so I just have to re-focus and, well, you know the rest. I have started walking back Mt Ainslie again with my intrepid group of fellow walkers 3 times a week at lunchtime. Last week I put in an extra climb and I have to say it is much easier in a group. By myself was a lot harder and it felt as though the path had somehow got steeper and longer. I stopped at one point and muttered out loud that there had to be a good reason for doing this (climbing the mountain, not whinging. Being hot, tired and a funny shade of purple are all good reasons in my book for having a bleat). Not 1 minute later, a young chap walked past me carrying (believe it or not) a bottle of champagne. Yahoo! If that is not a sign from a higher power that there is a damn fine reason to push on up that hill, I don't know what is. Alcohol and exercise - could there be a more perfect combination? I really think that the AIS should do much more study into this.
On a more serious note, I have also been battling with depression and anxiety for about the last 6 months, which hasn't helped. I am lucky and have managed to work out there was something wrong and get help. I also have fantastic support from family, friends and work colleagues. If you think you need help, go and get it. I can't stress it enough - don't get to the stage where I was, crying in the car on the way to work every morning for no reason and slowly going crazy through lack of sleep and anxiety attacks. It is not a pretty place to be and the longer you stay there, the harder it is to leave. Just like Hotel California. Yuck. Thanks to all who have been so supportive (especially Tim, Kate, Sue, mum and dad) and to all who just took this in their stride, listened to me freak out and gave me the reassurance I needed. It made a huge difference.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Less than mets the eye
Those of you who are comfortable with admiting that you are generation X-ers are more than likely able to remember the Transformer song/slogan "Transformers, more than meets the eye" (oh come on, I know you know it, along with the Castle Greyskull thing from He Man). Well, my two young nephews are complete Tranformers addicts and I was asked by their mum if I could track down a Transformer for each of them that converted from the robot (autobot? Whatever) into the car for their Christmas present. No worries, I thought, how hard could it be?
Farking hard, it turns out - close to nigh on impossible. Even He Man would have had trouble with this one and I bet he has much better connections in the toy spin off world than I do. It was not that finding Tranformer toys was hard, they were everywhere. Finding one that TRANSFORMED from one thing to another turned out to be a big old ask. After dragging myself around the various toy stores in Canberra only to be confronted with box after box of the little buggers all saying "non converting model", I was getting mighty cheesed off. I took some time out to consult one of my favourite dictionaries and guess what? Transform means "change or be changed in appearance, form or nature" (thanks Oxford Concise Dictionary, paperback edition). I also checked the thesaurus and it went into a similar line of description, which led me to believe that the toy makers had their heads firmly up their bottoms when they thought we would all be duped into thinking we were getting our money's worth when we bought a non-converting Transformer. I finally tracked down two of the little buggers that did convert after being fired out of a battery powered gun. Don't remember that in any of the comics or recent film, but I was beyond caring by that point. It could have converted after you sang to it nicely and massaged it tyres and I still would have bought it. So, with luck, I am now elevated to the status of present buying guru. One that has a rather grumpy disposition towards toy manufacturers and "non conversion", but a guru none the less.
Farking hard, it turns out - close to nigh on impossible. Even He Man would have had trouble with this one and I bet he has much better connections in the toy spin off world than I do. It was not that finding Tranformer toys was hard, they were everywhere. Finding one that TRANSFORMED from one thing to another turned out to be a big old ask. After dragging myself around the various toy stores in Canberra only to be confronted with box after box of the little buggers all saying "non converting model", I was getting mighty cheesed off. I took some time out to consult one of my favourite dictionaries and guess what? Transform means "change or be changed in appearance, form or nature" (thanks Oxford Concise Dictionary, paperback edition). I also checked the thesaurus and it went into a similar line of description, which led me to believe that the toy makers had their heads firmly up their bottoms when they thought we would all be duped into thinking we were getting our money's worth when we bought a non-converting Transformer. I finally tracked down two of the little buggers that did convert after being fired out of a battery powered gun. Don't remember that in any of the comics or recent film, but I was beyond caring by that point. It could have converted after you sang to it nicely and massaged it tyres and I still would have bought it. So, with luck, I am now elevated to the status of present buying guru. One that has a rather grumpy disposition towards toy manufacturers and "non conversion", but a guru none the less.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Arm doors and cross ch... bugger
Hi there. I know it’s been a while and I am sure you have all been pining for an update from me. 10 days I can write off to recovering from my trip back from Chicago, which I will go into more detail about in this post. The other missing days – well, no excuse really, except the usual run down to Christmas crazy that hits around this time every year. Anyway, my trip home…
The conference was great and I had a great last day in Chicago, visiting the Field Museum and wandering around like a tourist, gawking at dinosaur bones, Egyptian mummies and small children bored out of their brains by the cultural experience they were being forced to appreciate by their parents. There are just some things kids don’t get – nice scenery, a beautiful piece of music (I am not counting Hi 5 or the Wiggles compositions in this) or the fact that looking at objects from our past are interesting. I don’t blame them – I do not appreciate the wonder of Leggo when you step on it in bare feet at 5am in the morning, the beauty of the patterns spaghetti and tomato sauce can make on the floor or the wonderful symmetry of the rips that mysteriously appear in clothes only 2 hours old. There are just some differences that are not meant to be bridged.
Getting home turned out to be an extended journey. Arrived in plenty of time at O’Hare to check in and be strip searched by security to make sure I was not carrying a knife, gun, plastic explosives or a thanksgiving turkey. One guy behind me in the line was found to be carrying a knife (d’oh) and was promptly jumped on by 1000 security guards and whisked off for a close encounter with a rubber glove. One thing I will say about O’Hare airport – it is farking HUGE and when they say leave time to walk to your departure gate, they aren’t joking or mean just a brisk 5 minute stroll. In my case it was close to 1km away from where I walked through security, but I ambled down there with time to spare. We were loaded onto the plane in due course and, as I was up the back of the plane, I got to get on first-ish. 5 minutes after I had settled in my seat, I noticed the air was kind of stuffy and warm, but wasn’t too bothered. 25 minutes later, we were all on board and the temperature in the cabin was getting pretty warm. 10 minutes after that, most of us were starting to sweat a bit and the pilot came on to let us know they were aware that the air conditioning had broken down. However, as soon as he could turn the engines on, the plane’s system would take over. Apparently we were delayed because they could not locate a passenger or their bags – not too clear which was causing the problem. Some more time passed and after a while it felt like I was having a sauna with 250 of my new best friends. People were taking it pretty well (there were a few mumbles, but it wasn’t like people were freaking out and slamming their heads on the floor or anything). Suddenly, there was a loud bang, followed a by a noise that I can best describe as “fwump” and an alarm going off. I had a look out of the window and bugger me, there appeared to be a large emergency slide inflating next to the side of the plane! It was pretty cool (the fact that the plane could be about to blow up or combust etc seemed to escape my mind) to see one in real life, as all other emergency slides I had seen were in those thrilling “how to kiss your arse goodbye” videos you get to watch when your flight starts. I started getting my stuff together when I saw no less than 10 guys (all wearing supervisor type clothes) gather around the slide, which had fully inflated and then detached itself from the plane. The guy in the seat next to me asked what I was doing, so I drew his attention to the giant slip and slide that was lying on the tarmac. He then went on to say “well, they’ll just deflate it and put it back in won’t they? Won’t take long”. I told him that these slides were a lot like airbags in a car – once inflated, that was pretty much that. Sure enough, we were all asked to get our crap from various lockers etc and depart the plane. On the plus side, it was fairly obvious the back door of the plane was now open, as there was a gentle, cool breeze wafting around the back of the plane. Better than what was wafting around in the departure lounge, which can best be described as lots of cranky pants passengers coming up against the most crap customer service I have seen in a long while. I could go into a lot of detail here, but let it just be said that the lack of help and support you got from the American Airlines staff made me think they had been to the Basil Fawlty school of customer relations. To cut to the chase, it became fairly bloody obvious I was going to miss my international connection and more than likely have to spend the night in LA. Tempers were running pretty high (not mine. I toddled off, got myself a drink and some dinner and just settled in to watch the drama unfolding in front of me) and may I take my hat of to some of my fellow passengers – the shouting, language (I am well aware I can swear like a trooper, but damn, this left me for dead) and banging on desks etc would do my 3 year old proud in the tantrum stakes. After a while, things had obviously calmed down too much for somebody’s liking, as a chappie who was obviously a supervisor came out to make an announcement over the PA. Initially he got my attention because he looked and sounded EXCATLY like Dr Phil, but I was riveted once he started talking. He proceeded to deliver a little talk to us about how long airline repairs can take etc and that we had to accept some responsibility for the situation we had found ourselves in. The silence after this little announcement was profound. Ignoring the very obvious warning signs, he went on to lecture that if we had been more considerate as passengers and not complained so much about the conditions on the plane, the crew would not have felt “compelled to open the rear door to let in cool air, activating the emergency slide”. I have to admit I nearly collapsed on the floor with laughter, as the whole situation really had reached the completely insane level. I was in the minority though and one guy was so enraged by this statement that he launched himself across the departure gate lounge with (I think) the sole intention of choking “Dr Phil” to death with the PA cord. He was intercepted by security and “calmed down”. I do have to say, at least I now had a mystery of air travel cleared up – you know when you are about to take off they say “arm doors and cross check”. Well, the arming of the doors is moving a lever so that if the door needs to be opened in an emergency, the doors are “armed” to activate the emergency slide. This means anyone can open the door, not just air crew. To disarm the door, it is the highly technical process of moving the lever back again. Obviously one of the staff on our crew missed that lesson at “how to work on a plane” school.
Eventually, we got into LA, where Qantas took over from American “do I look like I care” Airlines. They had managed to get us onto flights home and in the end, I got into Sydney only 5 hours later than I was meant to. Very efficient. Have to admit I kept a keen eye on the chap who was in charge of arming and cross checking to doors, but he seemed to have it all under control. No sign of escape slides, broken air conditioning or TV psychologists all the way home. Phew.
The conference was great and I had a great last day in Chicago, visiting the Field Museum and wandering around like a tourist, gawking at dinosaur bones, Egyptian mummies and small children bored out of their brains by the cultural experience they were being forced to appreciate by their parents. There are just some things kids don’t get – nice scenery, a beautiful piece of music (I am not counting Hi 5 or the Wiggles compositions in this) or the fact that looking at objects from our past are interesting. I don’t blame them – I do not appreciate the wonder of Leggo when you step on it in bare feet at 5am in the morning, the beauty of the patterns spaghetti and tomato sauce can make on the floor or the wonderful symmetry of the rips that mysteriously appear in clothes only 2 hours old. There are just some differences that are not meant to be bridged.
Getting home turned out to be an extended journey. Arrived in plenty of time at O’Hare to check in and be strip searched by security to make sure I was not carrying a knife, gun, plastic explosives or a thanksgiving turkey. One guy behind me in the line was found to be carrying a knife (d’oh) and was promptly jumped on by 1000 security guards and whisked off for a close encounter with a rubber glove. One thing I will say about O’Hare airport – it is farking HUGE and when they say leave time to walk to your departure gate, they aren’t joking or mean just a brisk 5 minute stroll. In my case it was close to 1km away from where I walked through security, but I ambled down there with time to spare. We were loaded onto the plane in due course and, as I was up the back of the plane, I got to get on first-ish. 5 minutes after I had settled in my seat, I noticed the air was kind of stuffy and warm, but wasn’t too bothered. 25 minutes later, we were all on board and the temperature in the cabin was getting pretty warm. 10 minutes after that, most of us were starting to sweat a bit and the pilot came on to let us know they were aware that the air conditioning had broken down. However, as soon as he could turn the engines on, the plane’s system would take over. Apparently we were delayed because they could not locate a passenger or their bags – not too clear which was causing the problem. Some more time passed and after a while it felt like I was having a sauna with 250 of my new best friends. People were taking it pretty well (there were a few mumbles, but it wasn’t like people were freaking out and slamming their heads on the floor or anything). Suddenly, there was a loud bang, followed a by a noise that I can best describe as “fwump” and an alarm going off. I had a look out of the window and bugger me, there appeared to be a large emergency slide inflating next to the side of the plane! It was pretty cool (the fact that the plane could be about to blow up or combust etc seemed to escape my mind) to see one in real life, as all other emergency slides I had seen were in those thrilling “how to kiss your arse goodbye” videos you get to watch when your flight starts. I started getting my stuff together when I saw no less than 10 guys (all wearing supervisor type clothes) gather around the slide, which had fully inflated and then detached itself from the plane. The guy in the seat next to me asked what I was doing, so I drew his attention to the giant slip and slide that was lying on the tarmac. He then went on to say “well, they’ll just deflate it and put it back in won’t they? Won’t take long”. I told him that these slides were a lot like airbags in a car – once inflated, that was pretty much that. Sure enough, we were all asked to get our crap from various lockers etc and depart the plane. On the plus side, it was fairly obvious the back door of the plane was now open, as there was a gentle, cool breeze wafting around the back of the plane. Better than what was wafting around in the departure lounge, which can best be described as lots of cranky pants passengers coming up against the most crap customer service I have seen in a long while. I could go into a lot of detail here, but let it just be said that the lack of help and support you got from the American Airlines staff made me think they had been to the Basil Fawlty school of customer relations. To cut to the chase, it became fairly bloody obvious I was going to miss my international connection and more than likely have to spend the night in LA. Tempers were running pretty high (not mine. I toddled off, got myself a drink and some dinner and just settled in to watch the drama unfolding in front of me) and may I take my hat of to some of my fellow passengers – the shouting, language (I am well aware I can swear like a trooper, but damn, this left me for dead) and banging on desks etc would do my 3 year old proud in the tantrum stakes. After a while, things had obviously calmed down too much for somebody’s liking, as a chappie who was obviously a supervisor came out to make an announcement over the PA. Initially he got my attention because he looked and sounded EXCATLY like Dr Phil, but I was riveted once he started talking. He proceeded to deliver a little talk to us about how long airline repairs can take etc and that we had to accept some responsibility for the situation we had found ourselves in. The silence after this little announcement was profound. Ignoring the very obvious warning signs, he went on to lecture that if we had been more considerate as passengers and not complained so much about the conditions on the plane, the crew would not have felt “compelled to open the rear door to let in cool air, activating the emergency slide”. I have to admit I nearly collapsed on the floor with laughter, as the whole situation really had reached the completely insane level. I was in the minority though and one guy was so enraged by this statement that he launched himself across the departure gate lounge with (I think) the sole intention of choking “Dr Phil” to death with the PA cord. He was intercepted by security and “calmed down”. I do have to say, at least I now had a mystery of air travel cleared up – you know when you are about to take off they say “arm doors and cross check”. Well, the arming of the doors is moving a lever so that if the door needs to be opened in an emergency, the doors are “armed” to activate the emergency slide. This means anyone can open the door, not just air crew. To disarm the door, it is the highly technical process of moving the lever back again. Obviously one of the staff on our crew missed that lesson at “how to work on a plane” school.
Eventually, we got into LA, where Qantas took over from American “do I look like I care” Airlines. They had managed to get us onto flights home and in the end, I got into Sydney only 5 hours later than I was meant to. Very efficient. Have to admit I kept a keen eye on the chap who was in charge of arming and cross checking to doors, but he seemed to have it all under control. No sign of escape slides, broken air conditioning or TV psychologists all the way home. Phew.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Get your muffin tops while they're hot!
Just had to share this with you. Today, after getting completely lost on the metro rail system here, I grabbed some lunch at one of the sandwich bars here. Guess what you can have as an accompaniment to your breakfast at this particular shop?? Fresh hot muffin tops!!!! I am NOT kidding. I had to read the sign three times to make sure it wasn't just sheer tiredness kicking in, but there it was. It made it really hard to order lunch with a straight face and the guy behind the counter wanted to know what was so funny, so I told him what this might mean in Australia. He was a bit bemused until a girl walked past, very conveniently giving a live demo of a "muffin top" (INSANE considering it was so cold today) and he had a good laugh too. Wouldn't let me take a photo of the sign though - bum. Will try to take a covert one in the next day or so.
Jet lag has kicked in big time and I have only just got through the last few days. Conference starts tomorrow, so I am hoping I won't be the person who is falling asleep and making "snork" noises when my head falls back during the opening address. I have had to move hotel rooms and I have swapped my lovely river view for a view of the central courtyard of the hotel. I can look straight down to see who is having a swim in the pool (indoors but with a glass roof) and I can let you know that the guy across the air shaft from me DOES NOT shut his curtains when getting dressed. You know, if you want to perv on people in the nick noo nar, that's fine, but being turned into an inadvertent voyeur is not what I would call a fun experience. Nearly spat my morning coffee into my room heating unit, which would have taken some explaining.
Lastly, a few words of praise for Chicago. Before I left, people told me that I might find Americans a bit rude etc. So far, everyone has been pretty nice and some people have gone out of their way to help me out. I am not including the people I blogged about before, but 17 long island iced teas and 3 bottles of Moet tend not to bring out the best in people, so I am willing to write that off as an interesting experience. Anyway, the staff at a place called Spa Space have been lifesavers, fitting me in for a massage when my shoulder locked up so badly I couldn't stand up straight. Also, the staff at my hotel are really nice and have been able to help me out, especially when my watch got caught up in some towels and nearly got washed. The guys in the laundry room went through 16 bags of linen to find it when they could have just left it, so thanks chaps! I have got used to the tipping thing here now as well - minimum wages here are CRAP. An ADULT is lucky if on minimum wage they make $7 an hour, so tipping makes a big difference to their take home pay, but here's a catch - some of them get TAXED on the amount of tips they MIGHT make in a shift, no matter what they actually get. I learned all of this from the head of the restaurant here, as it was a pretty quiet night and we got chatting. She said this hotel was ok as far as salaries go, but some of the others are pretty stingy. Her daughter was working in a coffee shop at one stage for $4.00 an hour. Makes me glad I am a public servant in Australia. Anyway, down off my social outrage soapbox. If you are interested though, Morgan Spurlock (of Supersize me fame) did a documentary (part of the series "30 Days") where he and his fiance had to live on the minimum wage for a month in Ohio. It is worth a look.
I am going to sign off now and draw my curtains, as the nudie guy has just switched his lights on (literally, not figuratively. Don't be rude). I am also going to try and tame my hair a bit - I spent the day walking around outside and it is VERY cold and windy here, so I had my beanie and scarf on. Every time you go into a building here, it is super heated, so I was taking my beanie on and off a fair bit. In the end I built up enough of a static charge to zap someone clean across the room if I shook hands (have been careful to "earth" myself before this happens) and my hair is starting to get that "windswept and interesting" look. DO not want to be mistaken for Yahoo Serious, although it could get me a free drink.
Jet lag has kicked in big time and I have only just got through the last few days. Conference starts tomorrow, so I am hoping I won't be the person who is falling asleep and making "snork" noises when my head falls back during the opening address. I have had to move hotel rooms and I have swapped my lovely river view for a view of the central courtyard of the hotel. I can look straight down to see who is having a swim in the pool (indoors but with a glass roof) and I can let you know that the guy across the air shaft from me DOES NOT shut his curtains when getting dressed. You know, if you want to perv on people in the nick noo nar, that's fine, but being turned into an inadvertent voyeur is not what I would call a fun experience. Nearly spat my morning coffee into my room heating unit, which would have taken some explaining.
Lastly, a few words of praise for Chicago. Before I left, people told me that I might find Americans a bit rude etc. So far, everyone has been pretty nice and some people have gone out of their way to help me out. I am not including the people I blogged about before, but 17 long island iced teas and 3 bottles of Moet tend not to bring out the best in people, so I am willing to write that off as an interesting experience. Anyway, the staff at a place called Spa Space have been lifesavers, fitting me in for a massage when my shoulder locked up so badly I couldn't stand up straight. Also, the staff at my hotel are really nice and have been able to help me out, especially when my watch got caught up in some towels and nearly got washed. The guys in the laundry room went through 16 bags of linen to find it when they could have just left it, so thanks chaps! I have got used to the tipping thing here now as well - minimum wages here are CRAP. An ADULT is lucky if on minimum wage they make $7 an hour, so tipping makes a big difference to their take home pay, but here's a catch - some of them get TAXED on the amount of tips they MIGHT make in a shift, no matter what they actually get. I learned all of this from the head of the restaurant here, as it was a pretty quiet night and we got chatting. She said this hotel was ok as far as salaries go, but some of the others are pretty stingy. Her daughter was working in a coffee shop at one stage for $4.00 an hour. Makes me glad I am a public servant in Australia. Anyway, down off my social outrage soapbox. If you are interested though, Morgan Spurlock (of Supersize me fame) did a documentary (part of the series "30 Days") where he and his fiance had to live on the minimum wage for a month in Ohio. It is worth a look.
I am going to sign off now and draw my curtains, as the nudie guy has just switched his lights on (literally, not figuratively. Don't be rude). I am also going to try and tame my hair a bit - I spent the day walking around outside and it is VERY cold and windy here, so I had my beanie and scarf on. Every time you go into a building here, it is super heated, so I was taking my beanie on and off a fair bit. In the end I built up enough of a static charge to zap someone clean across the room if I shook hands (have been careful to "earth" myself before this happens) and my hair is starting to get that "windswept and interesting" look. DO not want to be mistaken for Yahoo Serious, although it could get me a free drink.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Sweet home Chicago
I am just coming to the close of my second day in Chicago. After 23 hours of travelling I landed at O;Hare international airport, grabbed my bags (after laughing my arse off at the guy who got a bit tired and SAT DOWN on the conveyor belt while we were waiting. I reckon her travelled about 2 metres before he was able to stand up) and headed to the hotel. One thing will comment on - I am yet to meet a white taxi driver, waiter, front desk attendant or barman. I staggered in the door here, got into my room and was promptly called back down to the front desk, where I had left my credit card. Ooops! I got some dinner, which was an interesting experience - I ordered french onion soup and it came out with the biggest crouton in the universe and so much melted cheese I seriously doubted there would be any soup in the bowl. I located it eventually, but it was only because I put some serious effort into digging through the molten cheese. I never thought there would be a day where I would say there was too much cheese on something! Fell into bed after calling in and having what must have sounded like a very weired conversation on the phone with Tim, as I was somewhat stonkered with lack of sleep.
The trip itself was pretty good. The only "bad" thing was being seated next to two vegetarians, who ate a lot of raw broccoli etc during the flight. Did you know, that after a while, raw broccoli starts to smell like farts? Well, it does. Or the raw broccoli was working really well and this couple were passing more wind than our local gas company. Stinky. There was a little girl seated near us who was very good and very cute, laughing at the Elmo they were playing on the children's channel inflight. The guy near her got shitty about the laughing and wanted to be MOVED. Again I fell around laughing when I considered how bad it could be (our trip on the plane to NZ last summer came flooding back. William is just not at sitting still and I think everyone near us wanted to be moved). The flight attendant - more camp than a tent - suggested he could pinch the little girl and make her cry when the shitty passenger demanded that "he should DO something" about the laughing. I nearly spat out my food that was giving a good impersonation of being an omelet. I love it when people who traditionally have to "turn the other cheek" answer back. US customs and immigration went surprisingly smoothly and I had time to wander around LA airport for a while before I had to get on my flight to Chicago. All was uneventful except for when we landed, as we did a few two circuits of the runway waiting for a plane to get out of the "alley" we had been assigned. Must have looked funny from the terminal - a plane doing what must have looked like really slow doughnuts on the tarmac.
Not surprisingly, I slept a fair bit today (1pm when I woke up) as I got only about 3 hours sleep when I was in the air. Went out and about for a walk and found a really nice place to grab lunch - it's called potbelly's and the sandwiches were really nice and not too expensive. I got to people watch as well, which turned out to be really funny. Whilst I was chomping away on my lunch, three young guys went past with a queen sized mattress on a hand trolley. It wasn't balancing too well and they spent a lot of time grabbing it and setting it straight. Then the next trip, two were carrying a table and the other was trying to balance a chaise on the trolley by himself. It wasn't going too well for the time I could see him. Then other bits and pieces were paraded past my window and it occurred to me that I was either watching some students move or the world's most incompetent burglary. Either way, fun viewing. Back at the hotel, I walked into an african american fashion convention and I have to say, if I wanted to get immersed in American culture, this was the night. It was kind of like getting to sit on the set of one of those B grade flicks where there is a lot of portrayal of what we might think is very stereotypical behaviour going on. Most seemed ok, but a few were behaving like real tossers and giving EVERYONE around them so much attitude it was like being in a room full of toddlers who were coming down after a day on fairy floss and cocacola. There was a lot of shouting about "disrespectin' people" and to be very honest, sheer bloody rudeness to the staff working in the hotel. It often strikes me as odd that just because you can afford a bottle Moet (that and long island iced tea seemed to be the drink of choice), some people seem to think that they can treat you like you are a piece of seagull pooh. Anyway, it was interesting to watch. Didn't say anything - didn't want to be disrespectin' people.
The trip itself was pretty good. The only "bad" thing was being seated next to two vegetarians, who ate a lot of raw broccoli etc during the flight. Did you know, that after a while, raw broccoli starts to smell like farts? Well, it does. Or the raw broccoli was working really well and this couple were passing more wind than our local gas company. Stinky. There was a little girl seated near us who was very good and very cute, laughing at the Elmo they were playing on the children's channel inflight. The guy near her got shitty about the laughing and wanted to be MOVED. Again I fell around laughing when I considered how bad it could be (our trip on the plane to NZ last summer came flooding back. William is just not at sitting still and I think everyone near us wanted to be moved). The flight attendant - more camp than a tent - suggested he could pinch the little girl and make her cry when the shitty passenger demanded that "he should DO something" about the laughing. I nearly spat out my food that was giving a good impersonation of being an omelet. I love it when people who traditionally have to "turn the other cheek" answer back. US customs and immigration went surprisingly smoothly and I had time to wander around LA airport for a while before I had to get on my flight to Chicago. All was uneventful except for when we landed, as we did a few two circuits of the runway waiting for a plane to get out of the "alley" we had been assigned. Must have looked funny from the terminal - a plane doing what must have looked like really slow doughnuts on the tarmac.
Not surprisingly, I slept a fair bit today (1pm when I woke up) as I got only about 3 hours sleep when I was in the air. Went out and about for a walk and found a really nice place to grab lunch - it's called potbelly's and the sandwiches were really nice and not too expensive. I got to people watch as well, which turned out to be really funny. Whilst I was chomping away on my lunch, three young guys went past with a queen sized mattress on a hand trolley. It wasn't balancing too well and they spent a lot of time grabbing it and setting it straight. Then the next trip, two were carrying a table and the other was trying to balance a chaise on the trolley by himself. It wasn't going too well for the time I could see him. Then other bits and pieces were paraded past my window and it occurred to me that I was either watching some students move or the world's most incompetent burglary. Either way, fun viewing. Back at the hotel, I walked into an african american fashion convention and I have to say, if I wanted to get immersed in American culture, this was the night. It was kind of like getting to sit on the set of one of those B grade flicks where there is a lot of portrayal of what we might think is very stereotypical behaviour going on. Most seemed ok, but a few were behaving like real tossers and giving EVERYONE around them so much attitude it was like being in a room full of toddlers who were coming down after a day on fairy floss and cocacola. There was a lot of shouting about "disrespectin' people" and to be very honest, sheer bloody rudeness to the staff working in the hotel. It often strikes me as odd that just because you can afford a bottle Moet (that and long island iced tea seemed to be the drink of choice), some people seem to think that they can treat you like you are a piece of seagull pooh. Anyway, it was interesting to watch. Didn't say anything - didn't want to be disrespectin' people.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Glutaeus maximus cactus
I have taken a little break from the strict exercise regime over the last few weeks. No good or worthwhile excuse, just needed some down time to be a lazy sod and blob around for a bit. However, am now back on "the wagon" (or running after it) and decided to get back into things last Sunday when a training buddy of mine asked if I would like to join her for a boxing circuit. I felt this could be a good way to ease back into things, so met her down on the local school oval. Her daughter, who is a personal trainer and gym instructor, was also there and offered to put us through our paces. Cool, I thought, a free PT session. Obvious not only had I lost some muscle conditioning when on my break, but my brain had shut down the memory centres that set off the alarm bells when a personal trainer offer to help you with your workout. Normally big neon signs start to flash, with warning sirens and a voice shouting "she is going to hurt you, get out NOW!!!!".
We started off with some running - my FAVOURITE - and then got into the boxing. I had the focus pads while Leanne punched the bejesus out of me for several rounds. In between each set, Leanne had to run around the oval and I had to do a squat and HOLD IT until she got back. Normally I am a very supportive training partner, enthusiastic and helpful, but by the time 2 minutes had ticked by I was shouting motivating messages like "move faster, you bugger" as it felt like my glutes were trying to set themselves on fire. The wobble that starts to happen as lactic acid buildup reaches the critical phase is also not something that allows you to focus on the positives you are getting from exercising. When she got back I straightened up to do my running and promptly staggered in a zig zag pattern for about 100 meters, bent over at about the 45 degree mark. Hard to move oxygen around efficiently with that kind of posture. I'd like to add that some very fit and healthy young men were playing soccer down the other end of the oval and were observing my efforts with thinly veiled hilarity. I silently wished beer guts, bad knees and them catching their own pubic hair in their jocks whenever they exercised on them as they made "nice running style, love" comments as I trotted past.
So, a fun filled 45 minutes later, I got back into my car and drove home, feeling virtuous about my return to exercise. This self important gloating lasted until I parked in our driveway and tried to get out of the driver's seat, where I realised I had broken my bottom and more than likely would have to spend the next few days in the car whilst I recovered. I managed to lever myself out using the steering wheel and window winder, but found that I was still somewhat stuck in a semi sitting position as I tried to walk inside. Things have improved over the last few days and I am now hardly making any of those involuntary noises I've blogged about before when I sit down or stand up. What a glorious return to the land of the moderately fit and healthy!
We started off with some running - my FAVOURITE - and then got into the boxing. I had the focus pads while Leanne punched the bejesus out of me for several rounds. In between each set, Leanne had to run around the oval and I had to do a squat and HOLD IT until she got back. Normally I am a very supportive training partner, enthusiastic and helpful, but by the time 2 minutes had ticked by I was shouting motivating messages like "move faster, you bugger" as it felt like my glutes were trying to set themselves on fire. The wobble that starts to happen as lactic acid buildup reaches the critical phase is also not something that allows you to focus on the positives you are getting from exercising. When she got back I straightened up to do my running and promptly staggered in a zig zag pattern for about 100 meters, bent over at about the 45 degree mark. Hard to move oxygen around efficiently with that kind of posture. I'd like to add that some very fit and healthy young men were playing soccer down the other end of the oval and were observing my efforts with thinly veiled hilarity. I silently wished beer guts, bad knees and them catching their own pubic hair in their jocks whenever they exercised on them as they made "nice running style, love" comments as I trotted past.
So, a fun filled 45 minutes later, I got back into my car and drove home, feeling virtuous about my return to exercise. This self important gloating lasted until I parked in our driveway and tried to get out of the driver's seat, where I realised I had broken my bottom and more than likely would have to spend the next few days in the car whilst I recovered. I managed to lever myself out using the steering wheel and window winder, but found that I was still somewhat stuck in a semi sitting position as I tried to walk inside. Things have improved over the last few days and I am now hardly making any of those involuntary noises I've blogged about before when I sit down or stand up. What a glorious return to the land of the moderately fit and healthy!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Some changes
You may have noticed the slight changes I've made to the colour on my blog. Very subtle and I am sure that some of you didn't even pick it up. October is breast cancer awareness month and as you know, it is a subject I feel pretty strongly about. So, for this month, it is going to be pink-o-rama on my blog and I know that you all are just waiting for a reason to get out your feather boas and sparkly pink hats. Or is that just me? Maybe it's just me. As you can see below, it's a bit of a thing in my family - my sister and mum are boa people, I just love Annie Oakley
Last Saturday we held a "Girls night in" which is a party/fundraiser for women's cancer. We raised over $1200 and had a great night. A big, big thankyou needs to go to:
1) Wayne, my resident chef and (in his own words) kitchen bitch. He cooked up a storm and as a result, instead of the usual twisties and party pies, the girl's were treated to gourmet food (he's the one in the black).
2) Fruitylicious (I am not making the name up), the local fruit shop and deli up at Gungahlin. They donated a fantastic fruit platter for the night and it not only looked incredible, it tasted great too.
3) My wonderful husband Tim, who worked as food heater upper, waiter and came up with the notion that a hot pink sash looks great over an orange shirt. Thanks also to Tim Blair and my dad, who acted as drinks waiters, food servers and empty bottle cleaner uppers (our recycling bin is chockers).
4) Everyone who turned up, donated money and had a great time.
I think I can safely say, for October, think of pink as the new black!
Last Saturday we held a "Girls night in" which is a party/fundraiser for women's cancer. We raised over $1200 and had a great night. A big, big thankyou needs to go to:1) Wayne, my resident chef and (in his own words) kitchen bitch. He cooked up a storm and as a result, instead of the usual twisties and party pies, the girl's were treated to gourmet food (he's the one in the black).
2) Fruitylicious (I am not making the name up), the local fruit shop and deli up at Gungahlin. They donated a fantastic fruit platter for the night and it not only looked incredible, it tasted great too.3) My wonderful husband Tim, who worked as food heater upper, waiter and came up with the notion that a hot pink sash looks great over an orange shirt. Thanks also to Tim Blair and my dad, who acted as drinks waiters, food servers and empty bottle cleaner uppers (our recycling bin is chockers).
4) Everyone who turned up, donated money and had a great time.I think I can safely say, for October, think of pink as the new black!
The perfect family car
A friend of mine just got a brand new Mazda 3, which is very nice, black and goes very, very fast. He took me out for a spin in it the other day and was talking about all of the great safety features it had, like side curtain airbags, whoopy do dad braking systems, a steering wheel that doubles as a personal valet etc and I got to thinking about when I come into my fabulous inheritance (I know there is one out there for me, I just haven't found it yet), what type of car would I want? I know that I would march into the car dealers and find out if any car on the market would have the features I am looking for in a family car. They would include:
1) One of those safety screens (like they have in banks that shoot up out of the teller's desk when they are getting robbed) that would activate the second sensors from the back seat pick up that Mr Lamie (pronounced lam-ee) has been launched from a child's hand and is on his way to scare the bejesus out of you as you are cruising down the highway at 100km an hour.
2) Automatic ear protection that kicks in the moment a squabble about who is breathing onto who's "side of the seat" in the back. The level of protection increases as the volume goes up. An optional extra would be a hand that springs out from the back seat and physically separates the warring parties so you don't have to try and drive the car with one hand and discipline children with the other.
3) A compartment that opens up in the floor on the driver's side when afore mentioned Mr Lamie ends his impromptu flying lesson and gets jammed under the accelerator and/or brake pedal. The compartment would just open, scoop up Mr Lamie and allow you to keep driving safely, rather than trying to extricate the GOD DAMN toy with your foot and not run up the back of the car in front of you.
4) A pint sized nanny, who can break up the fights, administer orange segments to hungry children, retrieve dummies that have been chucked on the floor and generally act as enforcer on the trip to the local shops.
Maybe I should give up my life as librarian/computer geek and start a new career as a car engineer.
1) One of those safety screens (like they have in banks that shoot up out of the teller's desk when they are getting robbed) that would activate the second sensors from the back seat pick up that Mr Lamie (pronounced lam-ee) has been launched from a child's hand and is on his way to scare the bejesus out of you as you are cruising down the highway at 100km an hour.
2) Automatic ear protection that kicks in the moment a squabble about who is breathing onto who's "side of the seat" in the back. The level of protection increases as the volume goes up. An optional extra would be a hand that springs out from the back seat and physically separates the warring parties so you don't have to try and drive the car with one hand and discipline children with the other.
3) A compartment that opens up in the floor on the driver's side when afore mentioned Mr Lamie ends his impromptu flying lesson and gets jammed under the accelerator and/or brake pedal. The compartment would just open, scoop up Mr Lamie and allow you to keep driving safely, rather than trying to extricate the GOD DAMN toy with your foot and not run up the back of the car in front of you.
4) A pint sized nanny, who can break up the fights, administer orange segments to hungry children, retrieve dummies that have been chucked on the floor and generally act as enforcer on the trip to the local shops.
Maybe I should give up my life as librarian/computer geek and start a new career as a car engineer.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The evils of corprate giants
Recently, a new ad campaign has started up for a certain multi national fast food company which has a catchy little tune , singing about the virtues of bacon. I think that the person who is a songwriter for the Wiggles wrote it, because my 2 year old LOVES it and has taken to singing it at 4am, interspersed with snatches of "twinkle, twinkle little star" and renditions of some kind of made up song. As much as I love my kids, I am having trouble remaining a calm, patient mummy when standing in his doorway at 5am politely asking him to shut up. It is also leading to very ugly scenes at my workplace by 10am, when the strongest coffee in the world is not help and I need to making rational decisions (not my strongest point when I've had 10 hours sleep) about serious work issues. Have also discovered that a keyboard really hurts your face when you fall asleep at your desk.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Milestones, fun runs and gastrolyte
Yet again a lapse between blogs, but have had my head down the toilet with the fabulous gastro bug that swept through Canberra recently. The plus side was that I caught up on a few DVDs that have bee sitting around and have deepened my appreciation of my toothbrush, gastrolyte and ritz biscuits.
The last 10 days or so have been ones full of milestones – I finally hit the official halfway mark in my weightloss (25kg down, 25 to go). It is partly great and partly disheartening. The great part is that I’ve lost 25kg, the disheartening part is that I still have to lose 25kg (at least). I know that sounds really silly, but that’s the way it goes. Another milestone was also achieved – I ran in the Canberra Times fun run with my best friend, Sue. We both agree that the concepts of “fun” and “run” are ones that really never were meant to meet : an oxymoron at best, a completely sadistic idea at worst. Still, I’m the one who suggested it to Sue and then signed us up online so early we had the race bib numbers 13 and 14, so I can’t whinge that much. Someone at work asked me on the Friday what my race plan was. I burst out laughing until I realized they were serious and were waiting to hear my answer. So I told them, in all seriousness, my plan was to stand behind the sign that said “start”, start running when the gun went off, put one foot in front of the other until I passed the sign that said “finish”. My main focus during the race would be making sure I moved enough air into my lungs so I at least remained an attractive shade of purple and, if there was enough energy left, not slipping on the reflective cat’s eyes along the road. This was a specialty of mine in the dim, dark past when I did a fair bit of road running. Looks spectacular (especially if it is raining – those cat’s eyes are like polished glass and you can achieve a cartwheel that a Russian gymnast would be proud of) and often got me a round of applause from those driving past in cars. It was around this stage that this person worked out I was having a bit of fun with them and went off in a huff. Way too serious, some of these runners. I’ve seen myself running and it can’t be described as anything except bloody funny, so I really don’t see what all of the furrowed brows and earnest conversation is about. Also, let’s face it – looking at me, most normal people can work out I’m not going to be braking any land speed records.
Anyway, the run ranged from good to “why did I ever think this was a good way to spend a Sunday morning?????” and I crossed the line in 77 minutes, which I am really happy with. 7 Months ago I couldn’t run more than 500m without having to stop and walk, so 10km is a big achievement. That said, once I crossed the finish line, I staggered around a bit and then had a little sit down on the grass, which was a big mistake because getting back up necessitated a lot of those involuntary noises that tend to come out of you when your muscles really would prefer you to just lie still for a little bit longer. It doesn’t matter that a whole lot of other runners are coming through behind you and may just trample you a bit, it really is better just not to move. I think it sounds a bit like “huraighph” and is often accompanied by a fair bit of levering yourself off your knees and wandering around with hands on hips. Very elegant. One thing that was really great was at the finish line, Tim and the kids were waiting and cheering me on. Something like that makes you feel like the Olympic marathon champion. A very puffed, tired, about to throw up marathon champion, but marathon champion none the less.
The last 10 days or so have been ones full of milestones – I finally hit the official halfway mark in my weightloss (25kg down, 25 to go). It is partly great and partly disheartening. The great part is that I’ve lost 25kg, the disheartening part is that I still have to lose 25kg (at least). I know that sounds really silly, but that’s the way it goes. Another milestone was also achieved – I ran in the Canberra Times fun run with my best friend, Sue. We both agree that the concepts of “fun” and “run” are ones that really never were meant to meet : an oxymoron at best, a completely sadistic idea at worst. Still, I’m the one who suggested it to Sue and then signed us up online so early we had the race bib numbers 13 and 14, so I can’t whinge that much. Someone at work asked me on the Friday what my race plan was. I burst out laughing until I realized they were serious and were waiting to hear my answer. So I told them, in all seriousness, my plan was to stand behind the sign that said “start”, start running when the gun went off, put one foot in front of the other until I passed the sign that said “finish”. My main focus during the race would be making sure I moved enough air into my lungs so I at least remained an attractive shade of purple and, if there was enough energy left, not slipping on the reflective cat’s eyes along the road. This was a specialty of mine in the dim, dark past when I did a fair bit of road running. Looks spectacular (especially if it is raining – those cat’s eyes are like polished glass and you can achieve a cartwheel that a Russian gymnast would be proud of) and often got me a round of applause from those driving past in cars. It was around this stage that this person worked out I was having a bit of fun with them and went off in a huff. Way too serious, some of these runners. I’ve seen myself running and it can’t be described as anything except bloody funny, so I really don’t see what all of the furrowed brows and earnest conversation is about. Also, let’s face it – looking at me, most normal people can work out I’m not going to be braking any land speed records.
Anyway, the run ranged from good to “why did I ever think this was a good way to spend a Sunday morning?????” and I crossed the line in 77 minutes, which I am really happy with. 7 Months ago I couldn’t run more than 500m without having to stop and walk, so 10km is a big achievement. That said, once I crossed the finish line, I staggered around a bit and then had a little sit down on the grass, which was a big mistake because getting back up necessitated a lot of those involuntary noises that tend to come out of you when your muscles really would prefer you to just lie still for a little bit longer. It doesn’t matter that a whole lot of other runners are coming through behind you and may just trample you a bit, it really is better just not to move. I think it sounds a bit like “huraighph” and is often accompanied by a fair bit of levering yourself off your knees and wandering around with hands on hips. Very elegant. One thing that was really great was at the finish line, Tim and the kids were waiting and cheering me on. Something like that makes you feel like the Olympic marathon champion. A very puffed, tired, about to throw up marathon champion, but marathon champion none the less.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The last two weeks Part 2
I bet you are wondering how I can possibly top my last post. What an action packed week! Things calmed down a bit and then revved up again on the Friday, where we attended the birthday party of my daughter's best friend. The amount of noise that 4 girls can generate is quite phenomenal, then throw two excited boys into the mix and you could safely call it a lunatic asylum. Add several pizzas, soft drink and lollies and the result is something that even Dante could not have imagined. My daughter stayed for a "sleepover" (whoever coined that term NEVER attended one, as bugger all sleep actually happens) and we dragged the boys home. William decided that the best way to end the week would be to copiously vomit everywhere for the next 6 hours. Pink, heart shaped marshmallows mixed with pizza and red fizzy drink go a spectacularly long way when forced out at high velocity from a small person and I can now confidently say that all of my sheets and towels are freshly washed and disinfected. The mattress in our room and his room are also very clean. Lovely. We spent the next day lying on the lounge watching kids DVDs as we were all running on very little rest and hey, when you are that tired, "Finding nemo" can make sense to you in a way it never has before. Our daughter was delivered home with an attitude roughly the size of Texas and gave us a lovely preview of how much fun we are going to have when she is 13, when I am planning to lock her in her room and just post food under the door so I don't have to deal with her.
Sunday rolled around and we all seemed to be getting back to normal when Tim came down with the same vomiting bug, which meant not too much sleep on Sunday night, as our ensuite does have a lovely echo going when you're in there. I reckon the poor bloke nearly bought the socks he was wearing back up. Anyway, Monday meant chaos, as Tim is the organised one in our house and suddenly I had to do it. So I cheated - the kids got lunch orders from the school canteen and I have to say I was considering the virtues of packaged, dried noodles for brekky pretty seriously when William decided to plaster his nutella toast all over the chair he was sitting on. Very art deco/modernist but hell on the fabric. Anyway, we somehow made it out the door without anyone wearing their undies on the outside of their clothes or school bags on fire. Various drops offs took place at schools and childcare centres, then I went to work, put my head on my keyboard and had a fabulous day of what I like to call "presenteeism" - I'm physically at work (present) but my brain was in the Bahamas. I think. It didn't send me a postcard. Tim is now much better and is facing the endurance event that is parent/teacher interview night at his school. I never appreciated how hard these can be on a teacher until I ended up married to one - how do you tell a parent that their child is going swimmingly in classes, but something really needs to be done about the way they keep taking their clothes off and running around the oval? Tricky, very tricky.
Sunday rolled around and we all seemed to be getting back to normal when Tim came down with the same vomiting bug, which meant not too much sleep on Sunday night, as our ensuite does have a lovely echo going when you're in there. I reckon the poor bloke nearly bought the socks he was wearing back up. Anyway, Monday meant chaos, as Tim is the organised one in our house and suddenly I had to do it. So I cheated - the kids got lunch orders from the school canteen and I have to say I was considering the virtues of packaged, dried noodles for brekky pretty seriously when William decided to plaster his nutella toast all over the chair he was sitting on. Very art deco/modernist but hell on the fabric. Anyway, we somehow made it out the door without anyone wearing their undies on the outside of their clothes or school bags on fire. Various drops offs took place at schools and childcare centres, then I went to work, put my head on my keyboard and had a fabulous day of what I like to call "presenteeism" - I'm physically at work (present) but my brain was in the Bahamas. I think. It didn't send me a postcard. Tim is now much better and is facing the endurance event that is parent/teacher interview night at his school. I never appreciated how hard these can be on a teacher until I ended up married to one - how do you tell a parent that their child is going swimmingly in classes, but something really needs to be done about the way they keep taking their clothes off and running around the oval? Tricky, very tricky.
Monday, September 10, 2007
The last two weeks part 1
I know I've been offline for a while - the hamster that powers my modem died and I felt a proper period of mourning should be observed before I fired the internet back up again. Have also been a little busy observing various traditions such as father's day, lying on my bed occasionally wondering why I have children and hunting through my cupboards for anything that vaguely resembles vodka. Yes, it's been one of those fortnights.
To start off, father's day this year was a cracker. The kids bought Tim a greenhouse and we spent some of the morning wrestling the bloody thing out of its packaging, which progressed to sitting on the back step with cups of coffee looking at it and trying to decipher the instructions on how to put it together (the kids by this stage had abandoned us but were shouting helpful advice from the trampoline) and then finally we left it in a great big pile in the backyard and trooped off to have brunch/lunch with my parents at a local park. It was a beautiful day - sunny, light breeze and there was enough room in the park for the 100s of people out HAVING A GOOD TIME WITH THEIR DAD (whether they wanted to or not). The park is quite nice too, but due to the drought they have had to drain all of the ponds so there were a number of fraught parents trying to ensure that instead of their kids falling in the pond and getting wet, that their kids didn't fall into a great, open pit and break their arms. It's what family time is all about, really. We ripped around, the kids ran themselves ragged and I found out a new fact - did you know that when a combination of apple juice and potato chips are sneezed into your hair by your 2 year old, it sets like concrete and takes quite some time to wash out? If you ever need to find something that will plaster your hair to your head and make sure it won't move, this is the combo for you. A little chunky and it looks like you have mutant head lice, but I can guarantee not a strand of hair will move.
Once I had de-chipped my hair, it was back to a normal week - school, work etc. Things were going fairly swimmingly until about Wednesday afternoon, when I got a phone call from the assistant principal at my children's school. Apparently, there had been an "incident" involving my middle son, another boy and some urine. Actual details of what led up to this "incident" are a little hazy, but it would seem that Cameron weed on the other boy "on purpose". The AP said he was a little "perplexed" by this behaviour and needed to know if this was something that had gone on at home!! I assured him that it wasn't, all the time wracking my brain to try and think of any incident that may have led to this behaviour - had my insistence on giving him veggies finally pushed him over the edge? Was it one too many screenings of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? Is there a chapter in a parenting book I had skipped called "How to teach your children that weeing on other people is not nice"? In the end we all had to sit down and have a chat and the conclusion amongst the adults was that it was probably one of those "boy things" that got out of hand. That said, Cameron said sorry and I think everyone was ok. I was not reassured by my husband later that day, who told me that at that age, all boys do things like pee up the wall or out of the window, if the bathroom has one. I am now considering boarding up the windows in our bathrooms. It also bought back some wise words of advice from my - just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Or, in the immortal words of the great Australian movie "The Castle" - "get your hand off it, Daryl".
To start off, father's day this year was a cracker. The kids bought Tim a greenhouse and we spent some of the morning wrestling the bloody thing out of its packaging, which progressed to sitting on the back step with cups of coffee looking at it and trying to decipher the instructions on how to put it together (the kids by this stage had abandoned us but were shouting helpful advice from the trampoline) and then finally we left it in a great big pile in the backyard and trooped off to have brunch/lunch with my parents at a local park. It was a beautiful day - sunny, light breeze and there was enough room in the park for the 100s of people out HAVING A GOOD TIME WITH THEIR DAD (whether they wanted to or not). The park is quite nice too, but due to the drought they have had to drain all of the ponds so there were a number of fraught parents trying to ensure that instead of their kids falling in the pond and getting wet, that their kids didn't fall into a great, open pit and break their arms. It's what family time is all about, really. We ripped around, the kids ran themselves ragged and I found out a new fact - did you know that when a combination of apple juice and potato chips are sneezed into your hair by your 2 year old, it sets like concrete and takes quite some time to wash out? If you ever need to find something that will plaster your hair to your head and make sure it won't move, this is the combo for you. A little chunky and it looks like you have mutant head lice, but I can guarantee not a strand of hair will move.
Once I had de-chipped my hair, it was back to a normal week - school, work etc. Things were going fairly swimmingly until about Wednesday afternoon, when I got a phone call from the assistant principal at my children's school. Apparently, there had been an "incident" involving my middle son, another boy and some urine. Actual details of what led up to this "incident" are a little hazy, but it would seem that Cameron weed on the other boy "on purpose". The AP said he was a little "perplexed" by this behaviour and needed to know if this was something that had gone on at home!! I assured him that it wasn't, all the time wracking my brain to try and think of any incident that may have led to this behaviour - had my insistence on giving him veggies finally pushed him over the edge? Was it one too many screenings of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? Is there a chapter in a parenting book I had skipped called "How to teach your children that weeing on other people is not nice"? In the end we all had to sit down and have a chat and the conclusion amongst the adults was that it was probably one of those "boy things" that got out of hand. That said, Cameron said sorry and I think everyone was ok. I was not reassured by my husband later that day, who told me that at that age, all boys do things like pee up the wall or out of the window, if the bathroom has one. I am now considering boarding up the windows in our bathrooms. It also bought back some wise words of advice from my - just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Or, in the immortal words of the great Australian movie "The Castle" - "get your hand off it, Daryl".
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Naked firefighting and toilet diving
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.
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.
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.
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