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 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 matching 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.

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)

'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.

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.

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