I was naughty today... I couldn't resist... temptation.. a little devil on my right shoulder, drop kicking the angel on the left!
I gave in.... my chubby little fingers caressing and unwinding and re winding my tape measure as it sat next to me..
I am weak .. I MEASURED MY CALF!!! ohh yes I did, I couldn't wait two more days.. I suppose it might be better to give into this temptation than spluttering cake crumbs as I scoff something.
Soooooo was it worth it.. YES! In just under two weeks I have lost three quarters of an inch around my calf! lalalaala little jiggly dance... oohh wibbling wobbles, shouldn’t of danced.
I resisted the urge to do any other measurements until Friday.. Honestly though I think this is because I am a little worried that there will be no change else where. I have this little niggling doubt that maybe over night my calf may regrow, or some other bizarre silly thing to knock my confidence….
I keep bringing myself down to earth recently.
I have been a little quiet over the last few days with my ramblings... I have not forgotten you my friends. I was just aware I might get a little boring and repetitive... I need my readers to help keep me strong, I didn’t want you to be running to the hills, as I roll out my waffle about weights, cord knitting and drill instructors.
The Dumpy One has settled her flab-oulous bingo wings and amorous thighs into a routine.
SO have I been a good Short and Dumpy One?
The last few days the rain has been filling the clouds, the days grey and threatening. That little inner voice that whispers 'Your hair will get wet!' ‘Your toes will get wet’ ’Your foot pounding would cause a tidal wave in that puddle.’ has been victorious. No run for me ( run meaning jog walk puff puff puff Huffing). I managed to fit in a few little walks, dumpy little arms powering and pushing me up the hill between rain drops, but no rubber has been burnt off of my poor un abused trainers. I suppose I should be content knowing none of my well earned mud, my working out war scars have been washed away from them.
My little waddling shuffle out of doors is better than nothing I suppose… to get my little puffing heart to thud.
A simple rule of thumb is 100 calories per mile for a 180 pound person. (This little tubby person is no where near that average poundage heheh )
For any other lumpy loveliness that might think that their few thousand steps a day isn’t enough, just remember…
You burn more calories per mile at very low speeds because you are basically stopping and starting with each step and your momentum isn't helping to carry you along. That’s not to say that at very high walking speeds you are using more muscle groups with arm motion and with a race walking stride. Those extra muscles burn up extra calories with each step.
The Dumpy One has turned a little obsessive due to climbing the walls because of the weather. . . . Searching the web for fitness facts, and I even started to count calories, viewing portions sizes and generally annoying myself being fanatical...
I want to drag you into my obsession… Look at my new favourite website http://www.wisegeek.com/what-does-200-calories-look-like.htm. It does exactly what it says! Pictures of 200 Calories of Various Foods.. Seeing a spoonful of peanut butter is a little scary. 34 grams = 200 Calories compared to Celery weighing in at 1425 grams = 200 Calories.
Other facts to get my curvy backside moving…
A pound of fat equals 3500 calories. To lose 1 pound a week you will need to expend 3500 more calories than you eat that week, whether through increased activity or decreased eating or both.
Oooooo I am even boring myself now….
One thing though.. did you realise there are 'servings' in a chocolate bar? Uhuhuh, hmmmm. Not going to comment any further on that one, other than say a serving for me would be a whole bar! (I only nibbled a corner I promise you. biting my lip as I turned away from the smooth taste that caressed my little deprived taste buds!)
Tonight I creak.... I am sat here now flexing my little short tree trunk legs, I could sell myself as a percussion instrument!.
Tonight’s squats were accompanied with miniature drum beats as my knees knocked and clicked with every 'down and pulse!'. At the start I could almost fool myself into thinking there was a cricket inside the room. At least I was keeping a tuneful tempo…
I think I may have been punishing my wobbly bits into submission in more of a dominatrix fashion than I should have…. Equip me with a whip and some spiky heels.
Aches and pains daily reminders of the 90 minutes sessions that I have been pummelling my uncoordinated wobbly bits into obeying.
OOoOoo but I am going to obey my need for beauty sleep now.. If only because it means one less sleep until I can caress my tape measure again!
Isn't it strange the way we reward ourselves...
Sweet dreams
S xx
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Sunday, 6 June 2010
Torturing the body, torturing the soul & chocolate covered raisins! Or...embracing the pudge!
So here I lay on my tummy, stretched across the bed gazing out at the rain drops racing each other down the window pane, as I try to sum up my weekend, tapping and clicking on the lap inter web knee top book thing.
Squishy cushioning spilling forth from either side, as the handles of multiple love adoringly absorb my weight. Cascading pudge with no where to escape but out.
No Short and Dumpy One, it’s not your ample cleavage on your chest that creates this armpit stash. It’s the growing boob garden on your back, and the soft cosy jelly belly around your middle…….
Muhahhaa but that is shrinking. I am still at the stage of pulling an inane self satisfied smug grin as I catch a glimpse in the mirror as I turn to leave the bathroom. I AM FLAB-ULOUS! ( well certainly a little tiny bit less flabby!)
This Dumpy little lady, through the journey of trying to change herself, has stumbled across a new found love of her wobbly bits. Its call
ed acceptance... what an odd time to find it?!
I've dyed my hair, pierced my ears, had a tattooists needle trace lines over my skin, and while I love my breasts, I'm sure I've been a little over zealous in sharing them with the world at times. All in an attempt to gain that instant gratification…. Hearing words like "you look nice today" feels good, especially if we feel like our weight keeps people from seeing us a certain way... but I think I lost perspective.
Because at the end of the day when we take out our piercings, remove that nail varnish, wipe the lipstick away... if we don't feel comfortable in our own skin-- it doesn't matter…
This working out malarkey seems to be have a very odd side affect! The more I do, the less I seem to worry about the here and now! (maybe because I am doing something to change it?) The less sucking in of the tummy as I pass a reflective surface… admittedly though, maybe a few times I have glimpsed at my shadow on a run and sucked in harder than an amorous vacuum on steroids! Once or twice or thrice…. Or more… but habits are hard to change.
At the moment its become less about the physical sucking in of my belly, it's more mental. ..When I do glance down as my shadow blots out the sun, causing ants to wonder if armageogon is approaching, when I catch myself start to sigh yet again about how fat I look, I find myself telling my more fragile side, "Yup, you're fat, deal with it, suck it up." I find that once I admit that physically sucking it in fails to satisfy my need to "look" thinner, I am able to admit the truth and suck it up mentally to gain enough confidence to run head held up.
No body warned me that this exercising could become as addictive as chocolate covered raisins!
No body warned me that I would stop caring what I looked like as I sweated away the pounds! My hair tends to resemble the infamous scene of ‘There’s Something About Mary’, fringe sticking up at 90 degree angles, a result of my self styling hands pushing it out of my face. Mascara melting, to dry and reform in an artwork of squashed spiders legs. Bruises from the equipment contrasting against my pasty white skin.
Why do I keep going !?! Because I love endorphins. I love feeling stronger. More agile. I can tie my shoes without holding my breath. I can pick papers up off the car floor without having to wait until I get out of the car. I don't breathe quite as loudly. I have lost that doddering, uncertain old lady's walk that made strange teenaged boys try to hold doors or carry things for me.!!
Speaking of which….NOBODY WARNED ME ABOUT SHOELACES!
With the amount of time I add extra un demanded squats my glutes should be soild! I just can't seem to keep my shoe shoelaces tied. It drives me crazy, having to bend over to tie them every 5 minutes. Resulting in a double triple dipply dobble knots that result in me almost having to get the scissors, in my hurry to remove my sweaty swollen blistered feet after I have finished before they cook!
(Apparently, for those of you that also share my lack of ability to tie laces…... some shoelaces are made of a material that is slippery and has a round shape. They are practically impossible to keep tied. Even when you double knot them they will loosen, and you'll feel your foot swimming around in your shoe. If that's the case, buy some old-fashioned cotton laces that are flat. They'll tie snugly and will be a lot less likely to untie themselves as you waddle)
This weekend I limited myself to following instructors… I truly didn’t fancy witnessing the nightmarish onslaught of black steel, twisted and hard, encasing the bodies of poor souls. The weight of the device bearing down on the chest of suffering men, sweat dripping from their brow as they endure the pain. Women, strapped onto some tool, stretching their body to and fro as they grimace in agony. Torture devices as far as the eye can see, each imprisoning another wretched body. This may sound like I'm describing some medieval dungeon, but I'm not. I'm describing a horror far worse... the gym.
However my punishment was verging on self inflicted torture! For some bizarre unfathomable reason, I chose to increase the weights I use from 4lb to 8lb. I think in the far recesses of my addled brain I believed it was good to test my body further, to change it up a pace.
Thirty minutes later, my back and shoulders take on the form of jelly! I have not one ounce of strength left to ‘bring you elbows to your ears!’… how strange that after only 1800 seconds, I am unable to lift a match stick and my muscles are so abused that they are hot to the touch….. Today I did feel frustrated.. I truly thought I had increased my core strength significantly… after this form of self harm beating I feel a little annoyed at myself and at my ‘oh so worthy attitude and the I’m doing GREAT motivation’.
I threw quite a few new and imaginative swear words back to my motivated self I can tell you!
Straight after the weights I went into a thirty minute session with the resistance cords, centring on obliques and abs .
How odd that the alien language of ‘Rhomboids’ ‘Grapevine’ ‘Body Wave’ ‘French Press’ ‘Curl’ ‘Pulse’ seems to be slowly making sense! Help help help, somebody help! I think I have been abducted and had a exercise nerd chip inserted! (shame I didn’t feel it
hehehe).
I will not go into the sections or the type of knitting I created with my cords today…. Or how many times I was left standing stock still in the middle of the room trying to loop and re loop and increase tensions. …Lets just say I am working up to making Christmas gifts for all the family at this rate.
I shall leave you with a few questions that have been running through my mind…
When with my co ordination improve?
Does my rippling wobbly jiggly bits burn extra calories as they Mexican wave after each press up?
Why can’t evolution make midges that suck fat rather than blood? Could Mother Nature sort this before my next jog by the river?
Squishy cushioning spilling forth from either side, as the handles of multiple love adoringly absorb my weight. Cascading pudge with no where to escape but out.
No Short and Dumpy One, it’s not your ample cleavage on your chest that creates this armpit stash. It’s the growing boob garden on your back, and the soft cosy jelly belly around your middle…….
Muhahhaa but that is shrinking. I am still at the stage of pulling an inane self satisfied smug grin as I catch a glimpse in the mirror as I turn to leave the bathroom. I AM FLAB-ULOUS! ( well certainly a little tiny bit less flabby!)
This Dumpy little lady, through the journey of trying to change herself, has stumbled across a new found love of her wobbly bits. Its call
ed acceptance... what an odd time to find it?!I've dyed my hair, pierced my ears, had a tattooists needle trace lines over my skin, and while I love my breasts, I'm sure I've been a little over zealous in sharing them with the world at times. All in an attempt to gain that instant gratification…. Hearing words like "you look nice today" feels good, especially if we feel like our weight keeps people from seeing us a certain way... but I think I lost perspective.
Because at the end of the day when we take out our piercings, remove that nail varnish, wipe the lipstick away... if we don't feel comfortable in our own skin-- it doesn't matter…
This working out malarkey seems to be have a very odd side affect! The more I do, the less I seem to worry about the here and now! (maybe because I am doing something to change it?) The less sucking in of the tummy as I pass a reflective surface… admittedly though, maybe a few times I have glimpsed at my shadow on a run and sucked in harder than an amorous vacuum on steroids! Once or twice or thrice…. Or more… but habits are hard to change.
At the moment its become less about the physical sucking in of my belly, it's more mental. ..When I do glance down as my shadow blots out the sun, causing ants to wonder if armageogon is approaching, when I catch myself start to sigh yet again about how fat I look, I find myself telling my more fragile side, "Yup, you're fat, deal with it, suck it up." I find that once I admit that physically sucking it in fails to satisfy my need to "look" thinner, I am able to admit the truth and suck it up mentally to gain enough confidence to run head held up.
No body warned me that this exercising could become as addictive as chocolate covered raisins!
No body warned me that I would stop caring what I looked like as I sweated away the pounds! My hair tends to resemble the infamous scene of ‘There’s Something About Mary’, fringe sticking up at 90 degree angles, a result of my self styling hands pushing it out of my face. Mascara melting, to dry and reform in an artwork of squashed spiders legs. Bruises from the equipment contrasting against my pasty white skin.
Why do I keep going !?! Because I love endorphins. I love feeling stronger. More agile. I can tie my shoes without holding my breath. I can pick papers up off the car floor without having to wait until I get out of the car. I don't breathe quite as loudly. I have lost that doddering, uncertain old lady's walk that made strange teenaged boys try to hold doors or carry things for me.!!
Speaking of which….NOBODY WARNED ME ABOUT SHOELACES!
With the amount of time I add extra un demanded squats my glutes should be soild! I just can't seem to keep my shoe shoelaces tied. It drives me crazy, having to bend over to tie them every 5 minutes. Resulting in a double triple dipply dobble knots that result in me almost having to get the scissors, in my hurry to remove my sweaty swollen blistered feet after I have finished before they cook!
(Apparently, for those of you that also share my lack of ability to tie laces…... some shoelaces are made of a material that is slippery and has a round shape. They are practically impossible to keep tied. Even when you double knot them they will loosen, and you'll feel your foot swimming around in your shoe. If that's the case, buy some old-fashioned cotton laces that are flat. They'll tie snugly and will be a lot less likely to untie themselves as you waddle)
This weekend I limited myself to following instructors… I truly didn’t fancy witnessing the nightmarish onslaught of black steel, twisted and hard, encasing the bodies of poor souls. The weight of the device bearing down on the chest of suffering men, sweat dripping from their brow as they endure the pain. Women, strapped onto some tool, stretching their body to and fro as they grimace in agony. Torture devices as far as the eye can see, each imprisoning another wretched body. This may sound like I'm describing some medieval dungeon, but I'm not. I'm describing a horror far worse... the gym.
However my punishment was verging on self inflicted torture! For some bizarre unfathomable reason, I chose to increase the weights I use from 4lb to 8lb. I think in the far recesses of my addled brain I believed it was good to test my body further, to change it up a pace.
Thirty minutes later, my back and shoulders take on the form of jelly! I have not one ounce of strength left to ‘bring you elbows to your ears!’… how strange that after only 1800 seconds, I am unable to lift a match stick and my muscles are so abused that they are hot to the touch….. Today I did feel frustrated.. I truly thought I had increased my core strength significantly… after this form of self harm beating I feel a little annoyed at myself and at my ‘oh so worthy attitude and the I’m doing GREAT motivation’.
I threw quite a few new and imaginative swear words back to my motivated self I can tell you!
Straight after the weights I went into a thirty minute session with the resistance cords, centring on obliques and abs .
How odd that the alien language of ‘Rhomboids’ ‘Grapevine’ ‘Body Wave’ ‘French Press’ ‘Curl’ ‘Pulse’ seems to be slowly making sense! Help help help, somebody help! I think I have been abducted and had a exercise nerd chip inserted! (shame I didn’t feel it
hehehe).I will not go into the sections or the type of knitting I created with my cords today…. Or how many times I was left standing stock still in the middle of the room trying to loop and re loop and increase tensions. …Lets just say I am working up to making Christmas gifts for all the family at this rate.
I shall leave you with a few questions that have been running through my mind…
When with my co ordination improve?
Does my rippling wobbly jiggly bits burn extra calories as they Mexican wave after each press up?
Why can’t evolution make midges that suck fat rather than blood? Could Mother Nature sort this before my next jog by the river?
Friday, 4 June 2010
Why Invest in a Treadmill?... (ooo the thought of watching telly while exercising does appeal though ooo choices!
Today I decided to pop my phone into my back pocket as I left the house, in order to take a few piccies of the things I see while running. (plus it was an excuse to stop and breathe!)
There was a slight fear that as my curvy bottom jiggled side to side as I ran, that every bounce might loosen the phone from its rather squishy nestled home.
I know photos are exciting! BUT alas, I am sorry, it is still not a sexy little before and after shot.... but I wanted to share with you, or maybe just me, maybe I truly am the only one whom reads my posts hehe, anyway where was I ? Ahh yes .. I wanted to share with you the reason I keep heading outside everyday to rack up my steps, or to jog huff pant huff collapse on my c25k jog.
(Well the wobble is the reason, but this is the reason that my motivated dumpiness is mostly victorius over the lazy wimp who quite likes her wibbly wobbles during the constant internal battle of wills)
Everyday my destination may remain the same, but the view constantly changes. I am a rather lucky lady, even after .....
Thinking I had swallowed a high proportion of the midge population of Leeds! yes yes pretty river, yes yes lovely view of the ruins.. cough cough yuckkk bleerrghhhhh
OOooo how many calories in a fly???
So decisions, telly and treadmill? OR a step outside...
Decisions.. Did you know the activity of watching televison for 20 minutes burns 40 calories, of that the percentage of calorie burn from fat is 60%, meaning that 24 of those calories burnt come from fat alone!! (I am sure the numbers are twisted somewhere, I take no responsibility for it hehehe)
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Mirror, Mirror On The Wall, Who Is the Dumpiest of Them All? ….
Sometimes being on a diet causes us to walk head down, as we enter the bathroom refusing steadfast to greet the eye of the fatty in the mirror. All focus fixated on that damn scale display as we weigh ourselves for the third or fourth time that day. …
Come now, don’t you be denying it!
The little jig the foot shuffle as we kick and wriggle our toes from our shoes, AND THE BIG EXHALE OF THE HELD BREATH, WHEN WE SUDDENLY REALISE WE WERE HOLDING IT IN.. AS IF THAT LUNG FULL OF AIR MIGHT BE ALL IT NEEDS TO TIP THE SCALE OVER THAT HALF A POUND!
This was the reason that I refused to have a set of scales. (I could try the kitchen scales but I foresee a slight flaw in that plan) As I have waffled to you previously, I want any change to be measured or reflected in the mirror, or within myself, and the waist band of my jeans.
Tonight I spent some personal one on one time with my mirror! (why does that sound so perverse, I am sorry hehehe)
I caught myself as I performed the habitual ‘suck’, an attempt to shed a few virtual pounds to deceive myself, squeezing my belly button back into my spine.(All this sucking it in really... well... sucks! )
STOP IT! STOP IT STOP IT SILLY WOMAN!
And so, after a stern telling off to my reflection, exhale and let the wobble be free.
Let’s appraise the goods…..
The very tops of my inner thighs remain star-crossed lovers, and they still re-enact the moving scene of being at long last reunited for a long, passionate kiss.
Words like “Ruben-esque,” “voluptuous,” and “bodacious” ‘’pleasing plump’’ all spring defensively into my vocabulary.
NO ADMIT IT OBESE!
This Short and Dumpy One is prone to spending most of my time avoiding prolonged self-scrutiny in the mirror.
I am most certainly not about to start using the hand-helds so I can get a more accurate look at my all-too-obvious wobbly flaws from all angles….
So tonight I was out of my comfort zone. To appraise and gaze at myself in order to see a change….a difference brought about by stretching my muscles into submission….
Excitingly I DO ! I see it, I keep stroking it! My gaze lingers at the new improved, wholly more kissable region. My neck… and the very top curve of my shoulders… THERE’S LESS OF IT!
Now, I admit - the bra straps should be a giveaway but I honestly was thinking I had stretched the fabric during the recent bouncing boob wrangling.
My back and shoulders always haunted me, they have an evil stalkerish habit of creeping up on me from behind ( lol sorry that was terrible wasn’t it) My shoulders had got closer to my skull steadily over the years of being fat..
It seriously is akin to being attacked from behind. It is an area I could fool myself into forgetting…my main attention centring on the parts I can see on a daily basis. Or the bits that need to be crammed into my ever-shrinking jeans and trousers……
That was until my sister snapped a spontaneous photo of the clan over Christmas dinner last year. My cheeks hampster esque as they were caught in a mid smile, mid chew, my head turned half to the camera, Quasimodo-esque lumps plumping out of my floaty shirt…Layered rolls, tumbling, cascading. Displaced skin. Pudge with nowhere to go but out. Shoulder blade cushion. Armpit stash. Ooohoo MY !! Ohh nooooooo my first introduction to MY shoulder and back Fat.
(I will upload that photo in time. I promise.)
As I do a little excited twirl around the bathroom, trying to catch a glimpse of my back in the mirror, stupidly forgetting I am not an owl with 280% degree vision, I am smiling a rather smug inane grin!
By no means can I see the collar bones, I am no where near elfin neck perfection, the change may only be mere millimetres…. BUT THERES A CHANGE!
A change has occurred through the actions that I had made!
Cue smug happy proud of herself Dumpy lady….. Now where was I ? ahhhhh time to return my attention back to being focused on they wobbly wibbly jelly belly, sprawling thighs, and bulging behind.
Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the Dumpiest One of All?
For once, or maybe at least for just tonight I am comfortable with my tummy, no suckage required because that wobbly jiggly belly is on its way OUT! Slowly, ever so slowly, but for certain.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Thoughts of Walking, and Walking Thoughts
21.30 Here I sit, leaning against the wall, the lap inter web net note top book perched on my knees. For the past hour or so I have been clicking and tapping away as I lose myself in random things on the internet, giving the Short and Dumpy site a rather va va voom face lift, daydreaming away the seconds and minutes.
I know I should have been composing another blog post, thinking about the words to describe my well earned aches, or of a way to play out the embarrassing things I do in a way to bring a smile. Somehow I can't bring myself to complain about the pain I feel today.
22.41 Showered, scrubbed, hair wet and pulled back from my face. Smelling faintly of the ginger and orange blossom soap that I used to wash the day a
way, mixed with Vosene, a comforting smell from my childhood. (the only reason i brought it was for the smell and the memories it stirred). I am ready to bring you back into my world.
Sometimes it is easy to become lost in the labels we apply to ourselves and others. The 'Fat Girl', 'The Blonde', 'That Tall Skinny Girl', 'The Nurse', we all do it endlessly. Sometimes we forget that one person can be many things.
Even I label myself The Short and Dumpy One. This is true and a major facet that makes up and defines my personality. A self deprecating happy and secure wobbly thing. This whole ‘blog’ is built on that.
However, tonight I wanted to draw you in a little into the other side of your narrator. So welcome to my little bed where I sit crossed legged, head down, glasses slipping lower and lower needing to be pushed back every few minutes. The soft lilting vocals of Kate Rusby playing accompaniment to my tapping, almost singing a lullaby to my sleepy fingers as they type, I keep finding them slowing to the rhythm. This is a calmer, more accepting of myself Dumpy One. This is a version of myself that is not focused on my weight or my drive to 'lose it', how wibbly my wobbly bits are today, just a 'me' enjoying the ticking minutes as I lull myself to sleep.
Today was a good day! This Short and Dumpy One feels fully and utterly contented. Soaking up the very last of the remains of the day, as she listens to the sounds of the evening as the breeze blows through the open window.
The contentment lasts until I try to get up hehhe. I had to shuffle to the shower like a little old woman.
Today this wibbly wobbly little lady spent almost all day in the outside world! Pedometer resting on hip, cowboy gun slinger style! The nervous ocd tick of constantly checking it had returned hehehe.
It registered 11516 steps until a wild jiggle caused it to reset.
My face across my chubby little cheeks and bridge of the squit nose, upper shoulders and chest bare a rather rosy red glow where the sun has caught them.
The only purpose of walking today was to complete 10000 steps, no destination, no hurry, just to allow my feet to take me where they wanted to go. I blame walking for my odd mood tonight heeheh and for that I apologise. I have to admit though it is so freeing, to know I am doing good for my body while allowing thoughts to wander.
Lately my brain is whirring and whirling, with seemingly millions of things to deal with and mull over and work through. Walking seemed a release to allow my brain to have full reign.
The pedometer is still fulfilling its role as my favourite new toy.
Allowing me to gauge roughly a bare minimum of the energy I should put into my treks. Not that I cared as I strolled through the shadows of the trees as a soft breeze blew, the sun coaxing people from all warps of life out to enjoy the day.
I would so recommend someone investing in a pedometer. Even a short 10 - 20 minute stroll, just for the sheer purpose of walking for yourself, maybe an escape from the four walls after work, or to soothe a screaming child, feels even better when you glance down and see the numbers racking up.
Before I returned home the Short and Dumpy One was more than ready and warmed up to complete the running training intervals. Today it felt good, I am still totally unfit, I still haven’t mastered the simple art of breathing whilst jogging, BUT I enjoyed it today, every second past the time I should of stopped but pushed on, my smile grew an inch. (Not truly a pretty sight, think the Joker in Batman!)
I have decided that I will repeat this weeks training, doing an additional set of these very first intervals. I want my body to adjust to this running malarkey as a permanent feature, I can afford another week in a life time.
I shall leave you safe from my ponderings tonight. I am sure tomorrow I shall return to my wobbly self. I wanted to record a humorous and candidly honest account of what it feels like, day in and day out, often year in and year out, to be FAT and trying to ‘lose it’; track my progress, my mindset, my success and my failure, personal setbacks, and embarrassing misadventures.
This remains true, but forgive me today for my laid back tappings and musings, like a long and languid yawn-stretch after a long night's sleep, it has recharged me and helped me set a few things straight in my mind. We shall power on to Va Va Voom, but sometimes the opportunity to reflect on the past and contemplate the future is simply yummy, I blame it solely on the pleasures of walking!
(The hill of death with its 20% incline was not a pleasure I hasten to add! Admittedly for the last 5 minutes of the walk before I reached it all my chilled out thoughts were steam rolled by it!)
Tomorrow I shall go into the calorie burn and muscle strengthening of walking more and in a more scientific weight loss kind of way….. I promise.
I hope you lovely readers like the facelift on the page. I think it is rather scrumptious. Let me know your thoughts.
Goodnight and sweetest dreams S xx
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
March 2 3 4 keep it up 2 3 4. Sir, Yes Sir. Bootcamp workouts.
There is not much I can say about today. Not because I do not wish too, more to the point I am unable to!
Descriptive words include: sweat sweat sweat Abs! sweaty sweat sweat ridden sweat.
The instructor was even sweating today! A rather attractive, movie star like sweat BUT I saw it! It was there!
Today I think I managed to persuade myself it was too cold, too grey, too light, too dark, too murky, too brisk, just too much too.. To go out and do my run.
Time to pull out my punishment for being a lazy wimp. BOOTCAMP EVENING!.
War paint on, hair scrunched back, big baggy old t shirt as my camouflage. Muddy trainers acting as hobnail boots.
Somewhere, under the wobbly jelly like, but slightly sexy, well a little tiny bit if you squint, curvy hips and insulating belly my abs are pulsing and fidgeting.
Tonight my drill, sorry workout, required more coordination than I have. At times dumpy little arms and legs were verging on weapons of mass destruction as they whirled, kicked,‘quad starred’ ( no, I still have no idea either!) and ‘hooked’ in time to the beat.
In the end I admitted defeat at some points and just kept moving fighting to stay with the instructor the best I could, doing jumping jacks with wild flaying windmill arms when I got lost. I decided at least I was keeping my little pumping engine hammering.
Sweat is good sweat is good. Keep the mantra up in my head as I wipe it out of my eyes. Certainly not attractive but good!
This workout alternated three sections of plyometric moves (fast paced weight training plus some power moves without weights, short, strong jumping like jumped scissors or jumps combined with push-ups) and three cardio rotations..
The cardio was a shock to my system, totally undiluted it wasn’t the pumping I was used to but with some modifications hooks, kicks and a jump called "shooting the basket" oh yes I felt like a basket player! SCORE! Not so much a military precise boot camp trainee, but at least something different.)
. Before the last cardio section I think most people are almost ready to give up, but the music is so motivating and the comedy moments of the wobbly bits failing remain funny enough, that this Dumpy One put all my energy I had left at this point into it for this last part.
The instructor being breathless as she drilled my body into positions it refused to pivot into had me almost saluting.
I can hear the Thud thud thuddery thud of my heart beat not only feel it.
The cool down (with core training) was more of a warm down for me! With some floorwork mainly abs and pushups.
I actually voiced the words ‘Ouch! Bloody hell! As crunches and abs were held.
Cool down my heart rate maybe, I still have sweat dripping down the cleavage!
I do have a confession to make… I did the majority of these moves without clutching weights.
My next encounter with my BootCamp drill instructor I will use light hand weights. This Short and Dumpy one is not too ashamed to admit I will have to build up slowly and steadily to increase the heaviness, unless I want to end up needing a platoon to scrape me off of the floor.
Gives me a good excuse to spend money on pretty coloured weights though. Wooohooo!
Some women worry weight training with bulk and hulk them up. My point of view is I am already bulky!
After some research, it seems weights help to build lean muscle that will increase metabolism and burn more calories faster than before… that’s what we like :D
AND MAKE ME SWEAT MORE ! Remember sweat is good! We love sweat because it means your body is burning carbohydrates, fats, or proteins to produce energy for your exercise and for recovery.
Sniff, sniff.. Hmmmm still embracing the sweat, but best I run up the stairs and embrace the shower too!
Monday, 31 May 2010
Ooo and I would walk 5000 STEPS, and I would walk 5000 STEPS more. Does not have the same catchy rhythm as the Proclaimers version does it?
Bank Holiday Mondays Escapades.
The Dumpiest One on the block almost tackled a mountain today! Ok ok I didn’t, but it felt as steep as one. One must try to remember, when walking at a fast pace, little wobbly legs powering down embracing the forward momentum, that One must also return and have to use those same little short legs, and power the puffing engine by pumping the bingo winged arms, to make slow painful process back up that disgustingly steep hill!
This hill of doom, will become my marker point, my measure for any increase in my stamina and fitness. One day I will jog up that hill! (I did write run, and technologically crossed it out with the delete key!)
Today the Short and Dumpy ones walk just fell slightly over the two mile mark. Only slightly I must admit, teetering on the edge.
Tomorrow the goal has been set. 10,000 steps. No hip jiggling, no stamping on the spot or hand waggling. 10,000 rubber trainer-ed sole to the pavement steps. I will not be content unless I return home with a blister! (of course this will give me a source of fruitless moaning, whining and whinging of why I cannot move for the rest of the day to make myself a cup of tea)
To fool my muscles into looking forward to this onslaught, I am sending mental pulses to them telling them we are helping to save the planet! The idea being I walk to the place I am normally chauffeured to in order to run. Muhauhuaha should be a good warm up for the old wibbly wobbly calf muscles before I whack out the interval training of the run-jog-pant-puff-huff-collapse. (slightly worried about the walk or stumble back. Also worried about forgetting to remove the pedometer when I start to run, it bouncing off my hip as the ripple of impact travels up my leg and it flying off to ricochet off any poor dog walker passing by)
Talking about things flying off and causing injury…. Tonight I successfully managed to not only make a cats cradle out of my resistance cord, but perfect my talent of looking like a demented kitten chasing a ball of wool. Not only that! I succeeded in transforming it into a massive rubber band and twating and twanging it into my forehead! Oh yes, I am amazing! Not many have this level of skill and ability to look like an escaped clown on day release from pre school! I feel quite proud.
Thirty minutes later the whack on the head must have been affecting me, as a result of the trauma and temporal lobe damage, I did an extra 10 minutes of squats and pliaes, in order to try to coax my wobbly bits into perfecting the proper form, before dancing and gyrating around the room to Rhianna’s Umbrella as I put my cords away. (it was not a pretty sight!)
The other important step I took today, was to take measurements of all of the bits I wish to change. Strangely enough for someone so determined to change themselves and their life, I do not have a set of scales in my home. I refuse to. I know that I would be tempted to stand on them upwards of 3 or 4 times a day, I know this as I have in the past.
My main aim is to start converting fat to muscle which is heavier. I know that within my mind, although I am fully aware of this fact, any increase or status quo (why am I now humming ‘rocking all over the world?) would have a negative affect on me. Not sure I am doing the best thing, but my measure will be looking in a mirror, and also tracking the progress by noting how my clothes are starting to feel looser and by using the tape measure to take mymeasurements.
Daily weighing would lead to discouragement because of the fluctuations in weight that can occur on a daily basis from water retention, especially for women when their menstrual period nears.
Weight can also fluctuate during the time of day so if a person gets on the scale in the morning one day and then in the afternoon the next day, he or she may see a "false" weight gain.
SO, I plan to measurements every two weeks. And to weigh myself once a month.
I am playing with the idea of taking monthly body shots. I will I will I will I promise myself.
Say CHEESE Dumpy One! Noo put that block of dairy down! The other kind of ‘say cheese!’ The camera never lies!
The Dumpiest One on the block almost tackled a mountain today! Ok ok I didn’t, but it felt as steep as one. One must try to remember, when walking at a fast pace, little wobbly legs powering down embracing the forward momentum, that One must also return and have to use those same little short legs, and power the puffing engine by pumping the bingo winged arms, to make slow painful process back up that disgustingly steep hill!
This hill of doom, will become my marker point, my measure for any increase in my stamina and fitness. One day I will jog up that hill! (I did write run, and technologically crossed it out with the delete key!)
Today the Short and Dumpy ones walk just fell slightly over the two mile mark. Only slightly I must admit, teetering on the edge.
Tomorrow the goal has been set. 10,000 steps. No hip jiggling, no stamping on the spot or hand waggling. 10,000 rubber trainer-ed sole to the pavement steps. I will not be content unless I return home with a blister! (of course this will give me a source of fruitless moaning, whining and whinging of why I cannot move for the rest of the day to make myself a cup of tea)
To fool my muscles into looking forward to this onslaught, I am sending mental pulses to them telling them we are helping to save the planet! The idea being I walk to the place I am normally chauffeured to in order to run. Muhauhuaha should be a good warm up for the old wibbly wobbly calf muscles before I whack out the interval training of the run-jog-pant-puff-huff-collapse. (slightly worried about the walk or stumble back. Also worried about forgetting to remove the pedometer when I start to run, it bouncing off my hip as the ripple of impact travels up my leg and it flying off to ricochet off any poor dog walker passing by)
Talking about things flying off and causing injury…. Tonight I successfully managed to not only make a cats cradle out of my resistance cord, but perfect my talent of looking like a demented kitten chasing a ball of wool. Not only that! I succeeded in transforming it into a massive rubber band and twating and twanging it into my forehead! Oh yes, I am amazing! Not many have this level of skill and ability to look like an escaped clown on day release from pre school! I feel quite proud.
Thirty minutes later the whack on the head must have been affecting me, as a result of the trauma and temporal lobe damage, I did an extra 10 minutes of squats and pliaes, in order to try to coax my wobbly bits into perfecting the proper form, before dancing and gyrating around the room to Rhianna’s Umbrella as I put my cords away. (it was not a pretty sight!)
The other important step I took today, was to take measurements of all of the bits I wish to change. Strangely enough for someone so determined to change themselves and their life, I do not have a set of scales in my home. I refuse to. I know that I would be tempted to stand on them upwards of 3 or 4 times a day, I know this as I have in the past.
My main aim is to start converting fat to muscle which is heavier. I know that within my mind, although I am fully aware of this fact, any increase or status quo (why am I now humming ‘rocking all over the world?) would have a negative affect on me. Not sure I am doing the best thing, but my measure will be looking in a mirror, and also tracking the progress by noting how my clothes are starting to feel looser and by using the tape measure to take mymeasurements.
Daily weighing would lead to discouragement because of the fluctuations in weight that can occur on a daily basis from water retention, especially for women when their menstrual period nears.
Weight can also fluctuate during the time of day so if a person gets on the scale in the morning one day and then in the afternoon the next day, he or she may see a "false" weight gain.
SO, I plan to measurements every two weeks. And to weigh myself once a month.
I am playing with the idea of taking monthly body shots. I will I will I will I promise myself.
Say CHEESE Dumpy One! Noo put that block of dairy down! The other kind of ‘say cheese!’ The camera never lies!
The pink Gym ballerina princess, putting the pedal (ometer) to the metal.
Good morning, goooood morning the sun has got his hat on and all my aches have gone away lallalalala ti dum lalal luu do. Sorry that is horrendous isn’t it. More to the point it is not even the slightest bit sunny outside. However, I feel rather good and shiny (not just sweaty from a workout).
SO where did we leave off. Ahhh the wine induced previous post. Skip over that, to a re motivated determined little Short and Dumpy one! So I hear you groan with suppressed excitement hehe, what did I get up to on Sunday.
(completely un related, I love this spell checker, that creeps behind me and automatically places capitals for me when my fingers feel to lazy to stretch to the shift key!)
At the moment, I don’t think I will ever get bored with working out. Why? Presents, shopping, new glittery shiny girly things. A transference has occurred, no longer do I find myself tea in hand about to flick mindlessly over the pages containing handbags, or sigh wistfully at the new and improved conditioning lengthening flicking amazing gorgeoufiy gravity defying mascara.
No, I have new outlets! I find my chubby little fingers tapping against a picture of a treadmill, or a gym bag (well let us not get to far removed from ourselves hehe).
Have you seen all the different candy coloured, pastels, neon 80s coloured range of weights, dumb-bells and a whole lot of I don’t know what gizmos.
Today I was given a new toy. I have a pedometer! After the initially giving into the urge to sit down and shake it about to see how many steps my hands could register, on it clipped to my hip and off out we go !
I was a little wary that it would register double, the step then the jiggle of my hip, then a little disappointed when I realised it didn’t. Grrr.
I think I must of looked a little like a sufferer of OCD, as every few steps up went my shirt to expose my hip as I constantly checked my new little gizmo. Counting off in my head then three seconds later checking my count matched the display. As I settled into the walk my nervous tick of flashing flesh settled down into a more relaxed but still constant hand twist in order to touch it to make sure it was still there.
It felt odd. Not because I didn’t enjoy this form of exercise, but because I was exercising in jeans, and to all on lookers I was just out for a stroll.
The steps mount up so fast, averaging 500 for every 5 minutes. I was working (and walking) my curvy behind off, but not feeling any strain. You know me not one to give my calve muscles a day off, I would peek around the corners and chose a route that encountered a hill.
I set out not knowing or caring where my feet would take me, my only goal was to walk about 2500 steps. Arriving back at my front door, after resisting the urge to walk head down staring at the display for all of 20 minutes, I even shocked myself as it flashed up 4887. I had walking nearly two and a half miles just for the sheer enjoyment of walking, of treading away down unknown streets and lanes, the feeling of rain in the air against my skin. WEIRDO.
Why had I not thought of doing this before?
I have fallen in love with my new gadget, or infatuation? Maybe addiction, as I have decided to try to walk 5000 steps every day. Not around the house, not running up and down the stairs heheheh AS IF THAT WOULD HAPPEN! But open the front door, step put into the world steps.
In fairness after researching some facts on the ‘inter-web’ (see I told you I had turned this fitness thing into my new retail therapy). There are certain ways to exercise and burn fat and this is generally known as aerobic training. This means that you work your heart rate into a certain zone and your body efficiently aims at the fat as well as your carbohydrates. Anaerobic training is when you push yourself harder and your heart rate is above your aerobic zone but you really only attack the carbohydrates. There are different schools of thought on this and I'm no expert.
Now this is where I come unstuck because even at my slowest pace I am above my maximum aerobic heart rate. Therefore, every bit of running I have done recently, I've never been in my fat burning zone. Many rather clever people have hinted at the fact that walking at an even pace, with intervals of faster foot pounding would put me into the right fat burning zone, as well as help strengthen my muscles for my running.
MORE importantly, I get to wear my new toy!
The evening heralded the call to battle of the burn with the instructors war cry of ‘Heel to the Glute!’. Oddly no scream of resistance came from my tempestuous thighs.
IT was weight slinging night! Twisting, turning and you guessed it squatting with my 4lb of bubblegum
pinkness. I had never thought of myself as a girly girl, and certainly not a gym princess wearing matching colours, all tones perfectly balanced. However, enter a little daughter, glitter and my weight. Exit a sparkly disco ball effect bubblegum pink weight covered in glitter. Now for those of you not been acquainted with this substance. Glitter is the herpes of the crafting supply world. Once you have encountered it, it will never ever never vanish!
So as I worked out my arms and abdomen, my puffy pink cheeks completing the ball perfectly, the pinkish hues on my chest and arms picking out the tones in the red glitter, little reflections of light dancing over my skin, highlighting my sweat. I felt beautiful. Heheh honestly I did.
Tonight I found myself looking forward to the ‘Plie’ and curl, how odd it is that within a week I find myself looking forward to a new favorite move that seven days previous had every ligament and joint groaning.
Plie: a wide stance with the toes turned out. Bend your knees over your toes and come halfway down into a demi-plié. By bending deeply until your legs are approximately parallel with the floor. Keep your heels on the floor rather than raising them. Then add lifting the weight hehehe.
So there I was, sparkling like a star, dressed in mat
ching tones of pink, accented with my pink rosy cheeks, performing ballet moves, without the grace or charm or perfect form that should accompany them, but having a rather lovely time feeling like a gym princess.
SO where did we leave off. Ahhh the wine induced previous post. Skip over that, to a re motivated determined little Short and Dumpy one! So I hear you groan with suppressed excitement hehe, what did I get up to on Sunday.
(completely un related, I love this spell checker, that creeps behind me and automatically places capitals for me when my fingers feel to lazy to stretch to the shift key!)
At the moment, I don’t think I will ever get bored with working out. Why? Presents, shopping, new glittery shiny girly things. A transference has occurred, no longer do I find myself tea in hand about to flick mindlessly over the pages containing handbags, or sigh wistfully at the new and improved conditioning lengthening flicking amazing gorgeoufiy gravity defying mascara.
No, I have new outlets! I find my chubby little fingers tapping against a picture of a treadmill, or a gym bag (well let us not get to far removed from ourselves hehe).
Have you seen all the different candy coloured, pastels, neon 80s coloured range of weights, dumb-bells and a whole lot of I don’t know what gizmos.
Today I was given a new toy. I have a pedometer! After the initially giving into the urge to sit down and shake it about to see how many steps my hands could register, on it clipped to my hip and off out we go !
I was a little wary that it would register double, the step then the jiggle of my hip, then a little disappointed when I realised it didn’t. Grrr.
I think I must of looked a little like a sufferer of OCD, as every few steps up went my shirt to expose my hip as I constantly checked my new little gizmo. Counting off in my head then three seconds later checking my count matched the display. As I settled into the walk my nervous tick of flashing flesh settled down into a more relaxed but still constant hand twist in order to touch it to make sure it was still there.
It felt odd. Not because I didn’t enjoy this form of exercise, but because I was exercising in jeans, and to all on lookers I was just out for a stroll.
The steps mount up so fast, averaging 500 for every 5 minutes. I was working (and walking) my curvy behind off, but not feeling any strain. You know me not one to give my calve muscles a day off, I would peek around the corners and chose a route that encountered a hill.
I set out not knowing or caring where my feet would take me, my only goal was to walk about 2500 steps. Arriving back at my front door, after resisting the urge to walk head down staring at the display for all of 20 minutes, I even shocked myself as it flashed up 4887. I had walking nearly two and a half miles just for the sheer enjoyment of walking, of treading away down unknown streets and lanes, the feeling of rain in the air against my skin. WEIRDO.
Why had I not thought of doing this before?
I have fallen in love with my new gadget, or infatuation? Maybe addiction, as I have decided to try to walk 5000 steps every day. Not around the house, not running up and down the stairs heheheh AS IF THAT WOULD HAPPEN! But open the front door, step put into the world steps.
In fairness after researching some facts on the ‘inter-web’ (see I told you I had turned this fitness thing into my new retail therapy). There are certain ways to exercise and burn fat and this is generally known as aerobic training. This means that you work your heart rate into a certain zone and your body efficiently aims at the fat as well as your carbohydrates. Anaerobic training is when you push yourself harder and your heart rate is above your aerobic zone but you really only attack the carbohydrates. There are different schools of thought on this and I'm no expert.
Now this is where I come unstuck because even at my slowest pace I am above my maximum aerobic heart rate. Therefore, every bit of running I have done recently, I've never been in my fat burning zone. Many rather clever people have hinted at the fact that walking at an even pace, with intervals of faster foot pounding would put me into the right fat burning zone, as well as help strengthen my muscles for my running.
MORE importantly, I get to wear my new toy!
The evening heralded the call to battle of the burn with the instructors war cry of ‘Heel to the Glute!’. Oddly no scream of resistance came from my tempestuous thighs.
IT was weight slinging night! Twisting, turning and you guessed it squatting with my 4lb of bubblegum
pinkness. I had never thought of myself as a girly girl, and certainly not a gym princess wearing matching colours, all tones perfectly balanced. However, enter a little daughter, glitter and my weight. Exit a sparkly disco ball effect bubblegum pink weight covered in glitter. Now for those of you not been acquainted with this substance. Glitter is the herpes of the crafting supply world. Once you have encountered it, it will never ever never vanish!So as I worked out my arms and abdomen, my puffy pink cheeks completing the ball perfectly, the pinkish hues on my chest and arms picking out the tones in the red glitter, little reflections of light dancing over my skin, highlighting my sweat. I felt beautiful. Heheh honestly I did.
Tonight I found myself looking forward to the ‘Plie’ and curl, how odd it is that within a week I find myself looking forward to a new favorite move that seven days previous had every ligament and joint groaning.
Plie: a wide stance with the toes turned out. Bend your knees over your toes and come halfway down into a demi-plié. By bending deeply until your legs are approximately parallel with the floor. Keep your heels on the floor rather than raising them. Then add lifting the weight hehehe.
So there I was, sparkling like a star, dressed in mat
ching tones of pink, accented with my pink rosy cheeks, performing ballet moves, without the grace or charm or perfect form that should accompany them, but having a rather lovely time feeling like a gym princess.Saturday, 29 May 2010
Lights Camera..Run Away!
Lights camera action. Ready, set,…Run . A sure fire way to get me moving! This evening I decided to take the decision to have a rest day. A small fragment of me worries that I am using my aches as an excuse, as some kind of get out clause. Maybe a small part of me has succumbed to the self pity, but the majority of my reasoning is I know I need a day to allow my muscles to rebuild at rest to enable me to push forward tomorrow. Maybe I need to remind myself of the reason why I want so desperately to hurt my body, time and again. I enjoy each and every burn.. Why?
Photographs.
This is not going to be a pity me post, this is a post to reinforce the determination that I feel sparking within me.
Recently I tried to start an album for my daughter. Something that she can be handed when she reaches eighteen. A compilation of captured memories that made up her life to this point. Photographs are key, they are able to unlock a memory, a feeling, a sense of time. I had a mass of pictures. Pictures of my baby. From hospital delivery room, to hugging Mickey Mouse. Of godparents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, her dad holding her, gazing down into her face. I was shocked to find how few pictures of me could be found. In fact, the pictures of friends and godparents holding my baby where more numerous. The first few precious moments of her life. There exists two photographs of me with the most important and beautiful part of my own life. One includes just the back of my head!
I know that as “mummy” I will always end up taking a lot of the pictures. However, this is not the reason that I wasn’t in these photos…or most of the photos from my daughter’s early life. The reason is that I was hiding behind the camera. Yes, the pictures needed to be taken to document our little family, but someone would’ve had to have pried that camera from my cold chubby, wobbly, dead hands to get me to actually be in the picture.
I forgot the key reason for photographs…pictures of you, aren't usually for YOU. They are for other people to remember you by. To look at the memories and experiences they had with you.
Looking back it makes me sad. I can never get those opportunities back. Granted, it’s just a picture and I still have the memories, but will I always have them as I get older? And what about my little girl? Isn’t it fun to look back on old pictures to see yourself and your loved ones around you as you grow up? I still don’t feel all that comfortable in front of the camera, but it’s better. I dab on some makeup, fix my hair, and I smile as big as I can. chin down, hair over face. I still feel “fat” some of the time in those pictures, but at least I’m there. And more importantly, I’m working on getting rid of the reasons that I feel this way.
How silly is it that I can feel so beautiful until the flash goes off? How selfish have I been to hide knowing that in a picture you see just one angle, one expression you made for a millisecond, On the other hand, in real life people see at your face at every angle and through different expressions. My face, my body is a combination of all that, and of the inner me. Why do I hide. Why do I really think I look better in a mirror?
Things to consider, is that we normally only see a mirror image of ourselves, a camera will get different angles to what we are not used to. It is as others see us. Pictures are not very good at depth perception, So why do this? Why push and push and fight against the doubt that I will be able to run up that hill? I don’t want to miss out anymore. And there’s no reason why I should. Especially when it’s something I can control. It just should not be this much thought and energy involved in someone avoiding being photographed. Not when I feel this strong and beautiful as I am. I am making a change.
A Wobble a Day Keeps The Doctor Away! (Fridays Post)
Focus, ready, start the clock and skip, jump, go … 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 21 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60!
It doesn’t seem long does it. That is what echoes and repeats around my head as I keep a fast walking pace preparing myself and my wobbly squishy muscles for the next repetition onslaught.
Deep breath and push through. Get to 50, muscles scream at me to halt.
You today join a truly frustrated Short and Dumpy one.
Everything bounces joyfully and eagerly, almost performing a Mexican wave of wobbles at my every stride. Why oh why then is there no spring in my step.
My motivation is holding strong like a little fortress under siege of self doubt. Self doubt seems to have upped its arsenal of weapons in a surprise attack.
Grrr grr grrr hehehe. Today is hard. The frustration comes not from a psychical barrier, but from within. If I look at it, I can feel that my body can go on, do more, but my mind seems to be holding on tight to the reigns. Last nights ‘Heel to the glute!’, my ignoring of the little cries of pain and resistance in my thighs has today resulted in a revolution, the rebellious muscles are having a tantrum with every stride as I run today. However it is my mind that is stopping at the soreness. At some points I ran through it, I completed my 30 minutes, endured the struggle of recapturing the wild bosoms as they vaulted for freedom. Because 'D' sized breasts can bounce an average of 6-8 inches when running! Ouch!
They decide to spend about as much time going up as moving forward. especially the jolting, downward movement. A pair of D-cup breasts weighs between 15 and 23 pounds! Weight lifting as I run heheh.
I even remembered to breathe for at least half of the time.
Today in my infinite wisdom I chose to do intervals of hill and incline running. Choosing a path that required my pounding feet to negotiate corners and different textures. Concrete, grass, woodland path. Without breaking stride. Little short dumpy arms powering and pumping away to urge my feet to carry me that 10 more seconds.
Limping back my mind chose the time to strike. ‘’What is the point of this?’ ‘You do realise you will never be a runner?’ ‘Look at you! Wearing three bras to stop them bouncing.. You can’t stop the rest of the wobbly lumpy bits bouncing though can you. What a sight you are!’. ‘Will take years to change!’.
Then it happened, as my foot took one more step forward, the tired burning calf muscle contracting. The ache, felt good.. .. Felt good as it reminded me it hurts for a reason, it has been used, it is rebuilding, repairing and reawakening.
How good does this feel. Yes this is going to take time, but most importantly MY TRAINERS ARE NO LONGER WHITE. I have proper runners trainers. Ingrained with dirt and mud. Stones trapped in the soles. Creases in the toes.
So today shall be called ‘The Friday of the Wobble’ (physically that’s obvious, as well as mentally)
It doesn’t seem long does it. That is what echoes and repeats around my head as I keep a fast walking pace preparing myself and my wobbly squishy muscles for the next repetition onslaught.
Deep breath and push through. Get to 50, muscles scream at me to halt.
You today join a truly frustrated Short and Dumpy one.
Everything bounces joyfully and eagerly, almost performing a Mexican wave of wobbles at my every stride. Why oh why then is there no spring in my step.
My motivation is holding strong like a little fortress under siege of self doubt. Self doubt seems to have upped its arsenal of weapons in a surprise attack.
Grrr grr grrr hehehe. Today is hard. The frustration comes not from a psychical barrier, but from within. If I look at it, I can feel that my body can go on, do more, but my mind seems to be holding on tight to the reigns. Last nights ‘Heel to the glute!’, my ignoring of the little cries of pain and resistance in my thighs has today resulted in a revolution, the rebellious muscles are having a tantrum with every stride as I run today. However it is my mind that is stopping at the soreness. At some points I ran through it, I completed my 30 minutes, endured the struggle of recapturing the wild bosoms as they vaulted for freedom. Because 'D' sized breasts can bounce an average of 6-8 inches when running! Ouch!
They decide to spend about as much time going up as moving forward. especially the jolting, downward movement. A pair of D-cup breasts weighs between 15 and 23 pounds! Weight lifting as I run heheh.
I even remembered to breathe for at least half of the time.
Today in my infinite wisdom I chose to do intervals of hill and incline running. Choosing a path that required my pounding feet to negotiate corners and different textures. Concrete, grass, woodland path. Without breaking stride. Little short dumpy arms powering and pumping away to urge my feet to carry me that 10 more seconds.
Limping back my mind chose the time to strike. ‘’What is the point of this?’ ‘You do realise you will never be a runner?’ ‘Look at you! Wearing three bras to stop them bouncing.. You can’t stop the rest of the wobbly lumpy bits bouncing though can you. What a sight you are!’. ‘Will take years to change!’.
Then it happened, as my foot took one more step forward, the tired burning calf muscle contracting. The ache, felt good.. .. Felt good as it reminded me it hurts for a reason, it has been used, it is rebuilding, repairing and reawakening.
How good does this feel. Yes this is going to take time, but most importantly MY TRAINERS ARE NO LONGER WHITE. I have proper runners trainers. Ingrained with dirt and mud. Stones trapped in the soles. Creases in the toes.
So today shall be called ‘The Friday of the Wobble’ (physically that’s obvious, as well as mentally)
Thursday, 27 May 2010
'Heel Short and Dumpy, heel' come come
‘’Heel to the glute!’ Nahhooooo (that Nahhhhhhoooo is my muscles refusing)
That phrase is currently echoing around my head. At the time, I was remembering all the little things to write down and amuse on this here ‘blog’. Sadly, all I can seem to recount now is ‘Heel to the glute!’…Nahhhhooooooooooooooo.
I should maybe explain, but I am sure you are aware, the glute is my wobbly bottom. The gluteal muscles are the three muscles that make up the buttocks: the gluteus maximus muscle, gluteus medius muscle and gluteus minimus muscle. (mine are mostly the maximus kind)
Strength and resistance training exercises which are known to significantly strengthen the gluteus maximus include the squat.
The squat, lets make that into a plural for my instructor. The woman is crazed, obsessed. Her main at rest position is the squat! During a thirty minute session, the main core of all the movements include the squat! Squat and triceps curl, squat and lunge, squat and French press, squat and leg lift, squat and lets have a chat!
My poor abused wobbly glute. ….. ‘Heel the glute’ NAhhhhhhoooOOO
SO I should probably enlighten you to my evenings activity.
Today I got to play with my resistant cord. I was so excited as I opened the box. I think it reminds me slightly of the simple pleasures from my youth, as it looks vaguely, ok, very vaguely like a skipping rope. It is a rather wonderful bubblegum pink colour too.
It was only a little into the workout that I realised that this vibrant pink was not to make me feel like a workout princess, but to denote the beginners. Garish green (medium) and plumy purple (heavy) filled the room. Pink means light resistance. (apparently).
I was not entirely sure how many weird and wonderful ways you could work a resistance cord. Truthfully, I am still not, although after that I probably should be.
I have to admit, watching me must have been like watching a demented kitten chase a ball of wool around. Please try to stifle your giggles as I confess I even managed to tie my cord into a knot numerous times.
At one point, place a needle into my hand and I could of knitted you a jumper with it.
Maybe mine is faulty, maybe mine is double the length of everybody else’s. No, maybe I am just a nightmare,
There was a move where you have to loop the handle in through that of the other. This I could do, it was the un-looping I couldn’t figure out. By the time I had looped, un-looped, and re-looped back into another knot, we were moving onto yet another move where you hook the band around your trainer. Well, how the hell does everyone else’s band stay still? I was bending down, twisting and turning, and adding even more, but un instructed squats into the thirty minutes as I tried desperately to keep it in place.
Everyone can so seamlessly change into the next position, their cords already wrapped, looped and held in place while I am still sat cross legged. Tongue poking out in concentration as I try to stuff my trainer into a loop time and again.
‘Time for floor work!’ Time for floor work? I still haven’t completed that lifting pulling stretching elbow in time to lifting the knee as you twist your waist thingy you lot have just done 10 of!
The instructor is so lovely, and I find it so hard to try to find a reason to dislike her, to blame her for this red faced puffy frustrated embarrassment. There is no reason though and I can’t. Her smile stays fixed beautifully on her face as she says the words ‘Heel to the GLUT!’ (NAhhhooooooooooo!). ‘You should feel this ’ ‘This should start to burn.’ Burn, burn? I was burning before we picked the cord up in the so called warm up. I was warm I tell you. I can tell the others are starting to feel the burn too as I gaze at them, wanting desperately to see some small sign of pain. I can see the bands straining, wobbling slightly under the pressure, catch one at least not putting her ‘heel to the glut’.
The pace slows as we start to stretch out the muscles that have been under a constant assault. The instructor makes out this is a treat for our bodies after the workout, ‘You deserve this, you have worked your bodies hard.’
My body does deserves this, this ouch ouch ouch stretch, not because it has worked hard, but because for 29 years it hasn’t.
The words ‘Increase the tension. Hold, and Pulse’ send shivers of fear through me. What kind of punishment is this?!? I thought we were rewarding ourselves!?!
I do feel good though. Now that I am sat here tippy tapping away, I get to look back over the workout as the warm glow still spreads through my muscles as they rest. It feels good, I feel good. Even my gluts feel good!
Tomorrow back to running and my jogging/walking reps. The evening holds the terror of a ‘Boot camp’ workout session. I think I might dress in full army uniform, steel toes caps and camouflage paint and decoy bush. Maybe I could get away with that. As long as my big glute doesn’t give me away as it sticks out between the leafy branches.
It really would be ‘Heel to the GLUT’ then.
That phrase is currently echoing around my head. At the time, I was remembering all the little things to write down and amuse on this here ‘blog’. Sadly, all I can seem to recount now is ‘Heel to the glute!’…Nahhhhooooooooooooooo.
I should maybe explain, but I am sure you are aware, the glute is my wobbly bottom. The gluteal muscles are the three muscles that make up the buttocks: the gluteus maximus muscle, gluteus medius muscle and gluteus minimus muscle. (mine are mostly the maximus kind)
Strength and resistance training exercises which are known to significantly strengthen the gluteus maximus include the squat.
The squat, lets make that into a plural for my instructor. The woman is crazed, obsessed. Her main at rest position is the squat! During a thirty minute session, the main core of all the movements include the squat! Squat and triceps curl, squat and lunge, squat and French press, squat and leg lift, squat and lets have a chat!
My poor abused wobbly glute. ….. ‘Heel the glute’ NAhhhhhhoooOOO
SO I should probably enlighten you to my evenings activity.
Today I got to play with my resistant cord. I was so excited as I opened the box. I think it reminds me slightly of the simple pleasures from my youth, as it looks vaguely, ok, very vaguely like a skipping rope. It is a rather wonderful bubblegum pink colour too.
It was only a little into the workout that I realised that this vibrant pink was not to make me feel like a workout princess, but to denote the beginners. Garish green (medium) and plumy purple (heavy) filled the room. Pink means light resistance. (apparently).
I was not entirely sure how many weird and wonderful ways you could work a resistance cord. Truthfully, I am still not, although after that I probably should be.
I have to admit, watching me must have been like watching a demented kitten chase a ball of wool around. Please try to stifle your giggles as I confess I even managed to tie my cord into a knot numerous times.
At one point, place a needle into my hand and I could of knitted you a jumper with it.
Maybe mine is faulty, maybe mine is double the length of everybody else’s. No, maybe I am just a nightmare,
There was a move where you have to loop the handle in through that of the other. This I could do, it was the un-looping I couldn’t figure out. By the time I had looped, un-looped, and re-looped back into another knot, we were moving onto yet another move where you hook the band around your trainer. Well, how the hell does everyone else’s band stay still? I was bending down, twisting and turning, and adding even more, but un instructed squats into the thirty minutes as I tried desperately to keep it in place.
Everyone can so seamlessly change into the next position, their cords already wrapped, looped and held in place while I am still sat cross legged. Tongue poking out in concentration as I try to stuff my trainer into a loop time and again.
‘Time for floor work!’ Time for floor work? I still haven’t completed that lifting pulling stretching elbow in time to lifting the knee as you twist your waist thingy you lot have just done 10 of!
The instructor is so lovely, and I find it so hard to try to find a reason to dislike her, to blame her for this red faced puffy frustrated embarrassment. There is no reason though and I can’t. Her smile stays fixed beautifully on her face as she says the words ‘Heel to the GLUT!’ (NAhhhooooooooooo!). ‘You should feel this ’ ‘This should start to burn.’ Burn, burn? I was burning before we picked the cord up in the so called warm up. I was warm I tell you. I can tell the others are starting to feel the burn too as I gaze at them, wanting desperately to see some small sign of pain. I can see the bands straining, wobbling slightly under the pressure, catch one at least not putting her ‘heel to the glut’.
The pace slows as we start to stretch out the muscles that have been under a constant assault. The instructor makes out this is a treat for our bodies after the workout, ‘You deserve this, you have worked your bodies hard.’
My body does deserves this, this ouch ouch ouch stretch, not because it has worked hard, but because for 29 years it hasn’t.
The words ‘Increase the tension. Hold, and Pulse’ send shivers of fear through me. What kind of punishment is this?!? I thought we were rewarding ourselves!?!
I do feel good though. Now that I am sat here tippy tapping away, I get to look back over the workout as the warm glow still spreads through my muscles as they rest. It feels good, I feel good. Even my gluts feel good!
Tomorrow back to running and my jogging/walking reps. The evening holds the terror of a ‘Boot camp’ workout session. I think I might dress in full army uniform, steel toes caps and camouflage paint and decoy bush. Maybe I could get away with that. As long as my big glute doesn’t give me away as it sticks out between the leafy branches.
It really would be ‘Heel to the GLUT’ then.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Put the kettle (weight) on and lets chat about Jogging and releasing bosoms to the wild.
The Short and Dumpy one is in pain. Not a nice little stabbing pain that fades away like a paper cut, no .. actual full body (well thigh) dull ache cramping movement inducing noise machine of squeaks pain!
This to be totally honest, serves me right for waking up all smug thinking last nights session with the kettle bell weight only left me with wrist ache(that sounds all kinds of wrong sorry) Running in the rain has awoken the pain that should of been there last night.
I am being a little dramatic. The true extent of the ache is centred on my ankles and thighs , I think the running (I say running when I mean jogging in bursts, huffing and puffing) just tickled the newly worked over areas. I usually have a little calf ache after a jog, it is like a reminder that I have done some good today.
Last nights plan was resistance cord training... now lets not give it a functional name, lets be truthful, last nights plan was pain, stretched muscles, a disbelief any human could be able to do those moves and a determined ugly gurning face
In the end I opted for slinging a 4lb weight about and twisting my abdomen in all kinds of ways in order to ‘Push and Pull’. I wish the instructor sounded a little less like my old midwife.
I did a thirty minute session before tapping away the very first post on this here ‘blog’, but felt we should get a little acquainted before I started to tell you of my achy inner thighs :D.
I think its easy to want to rush ahead and make the most of any new found motivation to really push, but reality tends to hit me full square in the face and remind me that number 1 - I am UNFIT number 2 - I have no idea how to do that lunge. I sweated along as the instructor breezed through the moves, I don’t care that I am slow, that I am sweating and red faced as the beautiful people continue to look like they have stepped out of ‘The Bold and The Beautiful’, or skipped merrily from the screen of ‘Glee Club’. I keep reminding myself that each time it will get easier, and that I am sure that one day my thighs will be persuaded to do that unhealthy looking squat thing. I was surprised at how much adding in a weight could really change up a routine. Honestly though, that little weight seems to get heavier. Saying that I was sweating just after the warm up.
I find it hard to make my wobbly bits shape so seamlessly into the right forms for the exercises. Theres plenty of squats and lunges with biceps and triceps curls, moves that although look pretty straight forward and nothing too complicated , the grapevine, jumping jacks, samba moves and floor work, I know I am struggling not so much physically but perfecting the form. It is FRUSTRATING but it is driving me to keep going as I want to beat my body into submission to pull off those moves.
Today I ran. I will not lie, I put it off until the early afternoon, noting the grey and the rain outside. Who was I explaining that away too, only myself. How pointless are the excuses I can make up, when only I am the one loosing out by making them.
Its raining.
I’m a wimp.
I need a sports bra!
I have a hole in my heel
I feel fat.
I’m constipated.
I’m sore
I’m tired
I’m grumpy
I’m happy
I’m moody
I’m depressed.
PMS
I’m too sleepy.
My heart rate is too high.
My heart rate is too low.
I don’t have a heart rate.
I’m not really a runner.
I’m not really an athlete.
My body fat is too high …
My hair hurts…
It was raining today, and yes I do need a sports bra, but out I went for my 30 minutes of jogging and walking repetitions. I have some silly habits when it comes to this jogging business. It is only been a few months since I started jogging a little. It is only this week that I have put a plan into place. The C25K.
I found comfort today looking around the park as I ran. Yes, there was the lean and slender brand clad beautiful people, complete with air brushed make up and static hair. But also another woman like me. Well, lets not depress her if she was to stumble across and read this, she was half my size but still starting out, and looked to be doing reps similar to myself, running alongside a supportive friend timing for her. It made me smile, knowing that we all have to start this love of running somewhere. (Its not a true love yet for me, its more like an infatuation that causes a hate similar to ‘Fatal Attraction’. Or a crush on some unattainable man.)
At one point I had to over take those walking out their 2 minutes, both hands holding my breasts in place so not to cause injury to the public. This was not a comic moment, this was a bloody annoying constant evil. I have previously had the habit of wearing 2 bras in order to stop the bounce. Not today. Oh no, thinking I knew best, off I went in a flimsy underwired bra. 60 seconds into my first rep, booooing, they sensed freedom and timed their escape perfectly with my up stride. I feared for the mental health of the other runners, as they saw the sight of my bosoms free falling left right up and down bearing down on them.
Another lady was red faced and puffing hard as we greeted each other with a knowing smile. She was much farther along on her running journey and up to what looked like 8 minute reps.
The wide spectrum that we all represented, from perfection to panting heaps, shared a common desire that had pushed us out into the rain. We want to be something more than what we are now.
That or they fancied sight seeing recently freed bosoms returned to the wild.
Note to Self: Only the blessed, or those whom have chosen to enhance upon Mother Nature’s gift do not need scaffolding to stop them clinging to your knees.
This to be totally honest, serves me right for waking up all smug thinking last nights session with the kettle bell weight only left me with wrist ache(that sounds all kinds of wrong sorry) Running in the rain has awoken the pain that should of been there last night.
I am being a little dramatic. The true extent of the ache is centred on my ankles and thighs , I think the running (I say running when I mean jogging in bursts, huffing and puffing) just tickled the newly worked over areas. I usually have a little calf ache after a jog, it is like a reminder that I have done some good today.
Last nights plan was resistance cord training... now lets not give it a functional name, lets be truthful, last nights plan was pain, stretched muscles, a disbelief any human could be able to do those moves and a determined ugly gurning face
In the end I opted for slinging a 4lb weight about and twisting my abdomen in all kinds of ways in order to ‘Push and Pull’. I wish the instructor sounded a little less like my old midwife.
I did a thirty minute session before tapping away the very first post on this here ‘blog’, but felt we should get a little acquainted before I started to tell you of my achy inner thighs :D.
I think its easy to want to rush ahead and make the most of any new found motivation to really push, but reality tends to hit me full square in the face and remind me that number 1 - I am UNFIT number 2 - I have no idea how to do that lunge. I sweated along as the instructor breezed through the moves, I don’t care that I am slow, that I am sweating and red faced as the beautiful people continue to look like they have stepped out of ‘The Bold and The Beautiful’, or skipped merrily from the screen of ‘Glee Club’. I keep reminding myself that each time it will get easier, and that I am sure that one day my thighs will be persuaded to do that unhealthy looking squat thing. I was surprised at how much adding in a weight could really change up a routine. Honestly though, that little weight seems to get heavier. Saying that I was sweating just after the warm up.
I find it hard to make my wobbly bits shape so seamlessly into the right forms for the exercises. Theres plenty of squats and lunges with biceps and triceps curls, moves that although look pretty straight forward and nothing too complicated , the grapevine, jumping jacks, samba moves and floor work, I know I am struggling not so much physically but perfecting the form. It is FRUSTRATING but it is driving me to keep going as I want to beat my body into submission to pull off those moves.
Today I ran. I will not lie, I put it off until the early afternoon, noting the grey and the rain outside. Who was I explaining that away too, only myself. How pointless are the excuses I can make up, when only I am the one loosing out by making them.
Its raining.
I’m a wimp.
I need a sports bra!
I have a hole in my heel
I feel fat.
I’m constipated.
I’m sore
I’m tired
I’m grumpy
I’m happy
I’m moody
I’m depressed.
PMS
I’m too sleepy.
My heart rate is too high.
My heart rate is too low.
I don’t have a heart rate.
I’m not really a runner.
I’m not really an athlete.
My body fat is too high …
My hair hurts…
It was raining today, and yes I do need a sports bra, but out I went for my 30 minutes of jogging and walking repetitions. I have some silly habits when it comes to this jogging business. It is only been a few months since I started jogging a little. It is only this week that I have put a plan into place. The C25K.
I found comfort today looking around the park as I ran. Yes, there was the lean and slender brand clad beautiful people, complete with air brushed make up and static hair. But also another woman like me. Well, lets not depress her if she was to stumble across and read this, she was half my size but still starting out, and looked to be doing reps similar to myself, running alongside a supportive friend timing for her. It made me smile, knowing that we all have to start this love of running somewhere. (Its not a true love yet for me, its more like an infatuation that causes a hate similar to ‘Fatal Attraction’. Or a crush on some unattainable man.)
At one point I had to over take those walking out their 2 minutes, both hands holding my breasts in place so not to cause injury to the public. This was not a comic moment, this was a bloody annoying constant evil. I have previously had the habit of wearing 2 bras in order to stop the bounce. Not today. Oh no, thinking I knew best, off I went in a flimsy underwired bra. 60 seconds into my first rep, booooing, they sensed freedom and timed their escape perfectly with my up stride. I feared for the mental health of the other runners, as they saw the sight of my bosoms free falling left right up and down bearing down on them.
Another lady was red faced and puffing hard as we greeted each other with a knowing smile. She was much farther along on her running journey and up to what looked like 8 minute reps.
The wide spectrum that we all represented, from perfection to panting heaps, shared a common desire that had pushed us out into the rain. We want to be something more than what we are now.
That or they fancied sight seeing recently freed bosoms returned to the wild.
Note to Self: Only the blessed, or those whom have chosen to enhance upon Mother Nature’s gift do not need scaffolding to stop them clinging to your knees.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Hmmm why am I doing this. Who in their right mind would want to cast an eye over my ramblings.
My name is Sarah, I am rather short, and a whole lot of rather dumpy.
Why am I blogging.. oohh I don't think I have ever written that word before, or should it be typed I suppose?.I still do not truly know its meaning.
A few facts will make themselves clear as my 'Blogging' (oohh there it is again) progresses. Fact One: I can not spell. My grammar WILL be terrible. (How hideous is it that I had to spell check the word 'grammar') Fact Two: My brain works slightly faster than my fingers, so if I am excited, angered or just typing oe handed as I glug a glass of wine, many words may turn out like this... hty shuubt ! Fact Three: I waffle, randomly jumping subjects.
So that out of the way, and if you can forgive me for it, lets get 'Blogging' (I am sorry, the novelty of the word will wear thin soon, I promise.)
So, why am I here.
I think this is a little like a diary for me, a way to record the person I am today, and the person I may grow to be. I don't especially believe anyone would be in the slightest little bit interested in my waffle, rambles and day to day me-ness. However, I hope to learn a little about myself, and keep possibly inspiring me, I hope I could maybe help someone too.
I am fat! No I don't mean I am a pretty girl with a low self esteem, or a girl that desires someone to say 'Oh no you aren't'. I am fat. I do not always have low self esteem, sometimes I actually think I am beautiful and sexy and can light up a room, others times I want to stay in my bedclothes all day, not put make up on and grumble in self loathing.
When I jump up and down on the spot, not only do my wobbly bits give me a round of applause, they enjoy the jiggle so much that they keep on going!
When my image does get captured in a camera, which is rather rare, I prefer to work on the principle of being the one to take the photos, either that or make out I follow a tribal religion that believes if I have my photo taken it will steal my soul. Where was I :) oh yes, when my dumpy form is captured on film, I can never see what others do. To me, my eyes zone in on the chin, the belly, the piggy silt eyes if I am smiling. People can say 'Aw that's a lovely picture of you!' To me, its truly disgusting. Disgusting to me as I see myself as a stranger would. I see the big girl.
Give me a camera and I can take a self photo of myself that I am happy with. How? because I will only take it showing my face, decapitating myself from my body.
Here lies the reason for this Blog. I no longer want to be 'The girl with a pretty face'.
I wish I was one of those people that were fat because they ate and enjoy food. I don't. No I won't give you the 'its my hormones' 'I have a thyroid issuse, that no blood can test show up'. I won't say I don't eat bad things while secretly stuffing a cake slice down my throat, crumbs spluttering out in the lie.
What I will say is 'I don't move enough'. I don't I know I don't. Some days I admit, I think I have probably stayed still in one position for over eight hours! I know this is my downfall. This is the force behind this.
Recently I completed an amazing personal challenge. I swam the distance of the English Channel in just over thirty swimming days. (I won't bore you with it but the details and my first 'blog' I suppose is on this link http://www.justgiving.com/swim-the-channel-challenge-for-St-Gemmas-Hospice)
When I set out to start the swim challenge, I think I knew within myself that it was more than possible, but looking at where I was probably thought it would take an immense kick up my behind. I needed a change not only for me physically but mentally, and the idea of helping other people gave me such a drive to motivate me to move my curvy backside.
I remember sitting down to write the charity giving page, the evening of a 'trial' swim and thinking should I set myself more lengths or go for an easier achievable goal. Well, believe it or not setting my daily target at 14 to 18 lengths was a challenge, I gave myself thirty minutes and I needed every single second of those, looking back, it seems an age ago. Hard to believe before the 'trial' swim, I had not dipped one foot into a swimming pool for over ermmmm oooo a long time.
As the days passed, I began to feel my body and squishy muscles growing stronger, allowing me to move faster in the water (not leaner though mores the pity ), I found myself staying in the pool, a little longer every day, until I had noticed I wanted to be in there for an hour. Thirty minutes wasn't enough, I had found I grew to like the ache I got in my muscles, and it was wearing off. It was time to make the decision of an easy life, or of pushing ahead to achieve more. I decided I wanted the aches to remind me of the good I was doing for my own well being, but also of those at St Gemmas. No one would know I could do more, or the lengths were becoming easier, but I knew, and so it was an easy choice to decide to swim for an hour a day opposed to thirty minutes.
It was thanks the people that placed faith in me, it truly was one of the reasons I looked forward to my swim everyday. I found I did not need any more motivation, I wanted to achieve and it made me proud of myself. Truly the support touched me in a way I didn't think it could. People had a belief in me.
What it taught me was I love moving, I love the feeling of my body changing and most importantly, I started to see myself as others did. Not like the photos, but as someone that could change a life. My own.
It also taught me I needed to have motivation from within, not just through the support of others. Why? Because after completing the challenge, I have stopped moving as much as I should.
So The Short and Dumpy Tale begins. This is a story tracing my journey from Short and Dumpy to just Short. The story will unfold itself with who knows what twists and turns, the ending is not written yet, nor the action packed middle. The is the beginning. Please join me on it if you wish. Let's hope the narrator improves.
Be prepared for a rather long winded wordy few Chapters. This tale will need to be a long one.
So here I sit, waffle completed, scribbling (can you scribble on a net lap knee top inerweb book thing?). I proudly completed an exercise plan, factoring in workouts from 'The Firm' (whom I already adore if only for the fact I feel like part of an exercise Mafia.) The Couch to 5k running plan and retained two swimming days a week to unwind.
I admit I secretly know its too much over to many days, but I need this. To rest might help repair and rebuild my muscles, however to pause would mean the internal battle of wills between my motivation and my inner defeatist, a destructive war would rage. There would be casualties. Things thrown and feet stamped.
So here we are, looking towards the first paragraph of Chapter One.....
S xx
My name is Sarah, I am rather short, and a whole lot of rather dumpy.
Why am I blogging.. oohh I don't think I have ever written that word before, or should it be typed I suppose?.I still do not truly know its meaning.
A few facts will make themselves clear as my 'Blogging' (oohh there it is again) progresses. Fact One: I can not spell. My grammar WILL be terrible. (How hideous is it that I had to spell check the word 'grammar') Fact Two: My brain works slightly faster than my fingers, so if I am excited, angered or just typing oe handed as I glug a glass of wine, many words may turn out like this... hty shuubt ! Fact Three: I waffle, randomly jumping subjects.
So that out of the way, and if you can forgive me for it, lets get 'Blogging' (I am sorry, the novelty of the word will wear thin soon, I promise.)
So, why am I here.
I think this is a little like a diary for me, a way to record the person I am today, and the person I may grow to be. I don't especially believe anyone would be in the slightest little bit interested in my waffle, rambles and day to day me-ness. However, I hope to learn a little about myself, and keep possibly inspiring me, I hope I could maybe help someone too.
I am fat! No I don't mean I am a pretty girl with a low self esteem, or a girl that desires someone to say 'Oh no you aren't'. I am fat. I do not always have low self esteem, sometimes I actually think I am beautiful and sexy and can light up a room, others times I want to stay in my bedclothes all day, not put make up on and grumble in self loathing.
When I jump up and down on the spot, not only do my wobbly bits give me a round of applause, they enjoy the jiggle so much that they keep on going!
When my image does get captured in a camera, which is rather rare, I prefer to work on the principle of being the one to take the photos, either that or make out I follow a tribal religion that believes if I have my photo taken it will steal my soul. Where was I :) oh yes, when my dumpy form is captured on film, I can never see what others do. To me, my eyes zone in on the chin, the belly, the piggy silt eyes if I am smiling. People can say 'Aw that's a lovely picture of you!' To me, its truly disgusting. Disgusting to me as I see myself as a stranger would. I see the big girl.
Give me a camera and I can take a self photo of myself that I am happy with. How? because I will only take it showing my face, decapitating myself from my body.
Here lies the reason for this Blog. I no longer want to be 'The girl with a pretty face'.
I wish I was one of those people that were fat because they ate and enjoy food. I don't. No I won't give you the 'its my hormones' 'I have a thyroid issuse, that no blood can test show up'. I won't say I don't eat bad things while secretly stuffing a cake slice down my throat, crumbs spluttering out in the lie.
What I will say is 'I don't move enough'. I don't I know I don't. Some days I admit, I think I have probably stayed still in one position for over eight hours! I know this is my downfall. This is the force behind this.
Recently I completed an amazing personal challenge. I swam the distance of the English Channel in just over thirty swimming days. (I won't bore you with it but the details and my first 'blog' I suppose is on this link http://www.justgiving.com/swim-the-channel-challenge-for-St-Gemmas-Hospice)
When I set out to start the swim challenge, I think I knew within myself that it was more than possible, but looking at where I was probably thought it would take an immense kick up my behind. I needed a change not only for me physically but mentally, and the idea of helping other people gave me such a drive to motivate me to move my curvy backside.
I remember sitting down to write the charity giving page, the evening of a 'trial' swim and thinking should I set myself more lengths or go for an easier achievable goal. Well, believe it or not setting my daily target at 14 to 18 lengths was a challenge, I gave myself thirty minutes and I needed every single second of those, looking back, it seems an age ago. Hard to believe before the 'trial' swim, I had not dipped one foot into a swimming pool for over ermmmm oooo a long time.
As the days passed, I began to feel my body and squishy muscles growing stronger, allowing me to move faster in the water (not leaner though mores the pity ), I found myself staying in the pool, a little longer every day, until I had noticed I wanted to be in there for an hour. Thirty minutes wasn't enough, I had found I grew to like the ache I got in my muscles, and it was wearing off. It was time to make the decision of an easy life, or of pushing ahead to achieve more. I decided I wanted the aches to remind me of the good I was doing for my own well being, but also of those at St Gemmas. No one would know I could do more, or the lengths were becoming easier, but I knew, and so it was an easy choice to decide to swim for an hour a day opposed to thirty minutes.
It was thanks the people that placed faith in me, it truly was one of the reasons I looked forward to my swim everyday. I found I did not need any more motivation, I wanted to achieve and it made me proud of myself. Truly the support touched me in a way I didn't think it could. People had a belief in me.
What it taught me was I love moving, I love the feeling of my body changing and most importantly, I started to see myself as others did. Not like the photos, but as someone that could change a life. My own.
It also taught me I needed to have motivation from within, not just through the support of others. Why? Because after completing the challenge, I have stopped moving as much as I should.
So The Short and Dumpy Tale begins. This is a story tracing my journey from Short and Dumpy to just Short. The story will unfold itself with who knows what twists and turns, the ending is not written yet, nor the action packed middle. The is the beginning. Please join me on it if you wish. Let's hope the narrator improves.
Be prepared for a rather long winded wordy few Chapters. This tale will need to be a long one.
So here I sit, waffle completed, scribbling (can you scribble on a net lap knee top inerweb book thing?). I proudly completed an exercise plan, factoring in workouts from 'The Firm' (whom I already adore if only for the fact I feel like part of an exercise Mafia.) The Couch to 5k running plan and retained two swimming days a week to unwind.
I admit I secretly know its too much over to many days, but I need this. To rest might help repair and rebuild my muscles, however to pause would mean the internal battle of wills between my motivation and my inner defeatist, a destructive war would rage. There would be casualties. Things thrown and feet stamped.
So here we are, looking towards the first paragraph of Chapter One.....
S xx
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