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.

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)

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.