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 called 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?

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