Another challenge

I bet you all thought I'd died or been mistaken for an illegal immigrant and been locked up, didn't you? Nope, just slack and doing nanna type things like going to bed early or had a gutful of computers (I work on them all day) and wanted to do weird, deviant stuff like read a book or (and this will shock some of you who are addicted to myspace or facebook) TALK to my family and friends. You know - face to face. Freaky.

I have also been nursing wounded pride (and toes) after running at high speed into one of our lounge chairs at William's birthday party in January. Did you know that modern lounges have surprisingly solid bases and as you approach 40, your turning ability and reflexes are not what they could be? Came as a shock to me too. So, now that my toes are no longer black and purple (one or two have healed in interesting positions) I am back to running and working a sweat up at the gym. I am also slowly taking off the weight I put on when I hurt my back, so I can now look down and actually see my toes, which is very exciting. I am also working hard on a plan which involves me only having to do 10 hours work a week and still get a good salary, but to be honest, most of those jobs involve painted on latex, spanking and high heels. To be honest, I have enough trouble with sweat pimples in unfortunate areas (be sure you want to know before you ask where) and latex is just not going to help. And my toes are still too sore for super high heels.

So, as I have obviously been off my meds (not really, still on the happy pills), I have signed up for yet another "challenge" at my gym, which starts in a week or so. I have been put into the "echidna" team, which I think means by the end of my first hard training session I will be a grumpy, prickly, odd looking freak who will curl up into a ball at the first sign of my personal trainer. No different to normal, really. It looks a lot like the one I did 2 years ago (you can read it at the start of this blog) but I reckon this time I will post a list of "things you really need to know before you sign up for something like this". Do you think "Run screaming from the building" would put people off?

Mystery of time

I am back into running again, as well as hauling myself up and down Mt Ainslie 5 days a week. Believe it or not, I actually tried to combine to 2 and by the time I jogged 100 meters I was sounding a lot like the little engine that was having an asthma attack. This week I decided to try another walk and was thwarted not by the fact that exercise is still something that is hard to place above lying on a lounge and drinking hot chocolate but the fact that it was about minus fricken' 5 and blowing a gale. I know that I could have gone to the gym that night and used the treadmills, but hey, when you are a world class athlete like me, you know when not to overtrain. That said, I did hit the treadmills today and managed to run for 30 minutes non stop, which is a breakthrough for me. I know that my next step is to get to the stage where I am not looking longingly at the clock doing the countdown and wondering how it is possible that when you want to hit the snooze button, 5 minutes just flies by and on a treadmill everytime you look at the display you swear you have run a marathon and yet only 10 seconds seems to have clicked over.

On the family front, I feel I have officially hit old fart status with Cameron turning 7 on the weekend. There was left over creaming soda and fairy floss, which I am very disappointed to say had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever, but I am happy to report that coca cola and cold and flu tablets do wonderfully when you need a pick me up. Next time you need to survive a birthday party with a bunch of hyperactive kids, I highly reccomend this remedy to get you through work the following week. Until you've experienced it, believe me, it makes the events they do on Gladiator look like a tea party with teddy bears with a love of lycra.

That's a nice hat

In my effort to show that I am not just a participant in resoultion day , I have continued in my training at the gym and walking up Mt Ainslie 3 times a week. Today was one of those days, however, where I think it was lucky I made it out of the changeroom. I am running on a severe lack of sleep at the moment, so by the middle of the day I am finding myself a bit tired and concentration is not what it could be. After attending a fun session on "what is metadata and why is it so fab" (I don't think that was the official title of the course, but it sums it up pretty well), I toddled downstairs to get changed. My wonderful husband, Tim, always makes sure I have a cap of some kind packed in my gym bag so I don't get my nose sunburned - it is black and has a breast cancer ribbon on the front of it. Today I got changed and was about to head out the door when I realised I didn't ave my cap. I unzipped my bag, grabbed the black, round object inside and whacked it on my head. Just then one of the other women at work came in the door and stopped dead, giving me a really weird look. When I glanced in the mirror, I realised I had placed my carefully folded black BRA on my head. Oh god. There is just NO recovery from a situation like this, so I just kept on trucking out through the door and removed it on the way (bra, not the door). Adds new meaning to having boobies on the brain. Sigh. Surely Cathy Freeman never had to deal with this sort of crap.

Resolution day

Happy new year to all out in Internet land. We have made it through the silly season more or less unscathed, although my mum did go for the sympathy vote by throwing herself over the handlebars of her pushbike on December 23rd and smashing her wrist to pieces, requiring surgery and several bits of titanium to put it all back together again. She will now be international woman of mystery when going through the security screening points at airports. We met my sister's new beau, who seems very nice and I only managed to give my liver a moderate caning, so I am guessing that this sedate behaviour means I am well and truly looking down the barrel of middle age. As long as I am not required to act like a grown up most of the time, all will be well.

I managed to keep on the fitness wagon over Christmas but I have to say now that the new year has rocked around, I am noticing a phenomenon that I would like to call "resolution day". It occurs on January 2nd (once everyone is over their hangovers). In the week between Christmas and new year, I could have jogged naked around the lake in Gungahlin and no one would have noticed, as the bike paths were devoid of all signs of hum life. Probably would have been some collateral damage to the local duck population and various parts of my body which just don't bounce like they are meant to, but I am pretty sure I wouldn't have been arrested. At my local gym I could have worn a Borat style mankini and the only people suffering would have been the gym staff, as the local gym junkies were off somewhere else. Then, suddenly, January 2nd dawned and BAM!!! you could not run more than 10 paces (a challenge for me on some days anyway) without coming across another jogger/runner/bike rider/power walker or person engaged in the "I really shouldn't have eaten that extra 10kg of lobster at Christmas" purge. Now, if making New year resolutions work for you, tops. My approach to new year resolutions is to see how quickly I can break them, so I will be interested to see if the crowds thin at all over the next month or if the "resolution" holds firm.

Anyway, happy new year to all, hope santa was nice to you and I'll be back to bore you all again soon.

The mountain and the mojo

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.

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.

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.

Pants on fire

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

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