I'm Walking on Sunshine

Wooooooo~oo~oo, I'm walking on sunshine woooo~oo~oo, and don't it feel great!!

Gosh it's hard to write lyrical sounds like woooooo~oo~oo on paper! In my head (OK, I am actually singing it out loud) it sounds perfectly right though. Ever tried to type the theme music from Jaws - yeah, it's tough!

To be accurate, I am actually walking (well running) on clouds. Yesterday Muscle Man and I finally treated ourselves to new joggers. It's shameful to admit that since my post a few months back, which featured pictures of my toes poking out the side of my shoes from all the kilometres I'd run in them, I have only just replaced them. Yes. Shameful.

None the less, lectures aside, yesterday we went to the local Athletes foot and took the time to use their fancy 'footprint' system and have proper shoes fitted. I must admit that when the sales assistant came out with a pair of fluro green men's shoes, I baulked. I humoured him and tried on the pair before bluntly advising that whilst the correct fit was important to me, vanity was also, and I would not be caught dead sprinting down the street looking like I had giant boogers on my feet. That and the fact I am actually a WOMAN and would happily try on ladies shoes!

As if that wasn't bad enough I was then asked to roll my pants up to my knees so he could see me 'walk' in my new feminine shoes. "What's so bad about that" you ask, well, aside from the fact it was a work day and I was in my lunch break wearing work pants, a shirt, winter jacket and ASICS socks under my boots (yes, not even black socks or stockings - call the fashion police), I had also not shaved my legs in a number of weeks (*cough*, *splutter*...months). Suddenly the 'booger' shoes looked appealing and my claims of vanity were rapidly coming unhinged.

As I sheepishly rolled up my pants I added my disclaimer "Ummm, I'm a busy Mum of two you know, I haven't had a chance to shave my legs this week..." at which point I spied Muscle Man giving Mr Athletes foot employee a knowing glance as if to say "Yep, it's bad, and I have to live with her" (for that I ain't shaving till winter ends now).

Embarrassment aside I tried on two pairs, pranced around the shop briefly all to aware I was looking ever more ridiculous by the second and happily settled on a lovely pair of Nike running shoes.

What a difference new shoes make. I've run 15kms in them over the last two days and felt like a deer leaping through a Field of daisies. Yes, call me Bambi.

I hear by pledge that I will not leave it till I hit the "million km" mark in these shoes before I change them again. The feeling of new shoes is just to good to neglect! Can't wait to take them to the road tomorrow!

The art of Procrastination

Procrastination - According to some random online dictionary, the definition is as follows:

pro·cras·ti·nate: To put off doing something, especially out of habitual carelessness or laziness.

I could be overly sensitive, but that definition is needlessly harsh, don't ya think? Some tasks just suck and quite frankly procrastination is the best defense. In fact, I'll go as far as to say, it's the smart defence!

I must admit, I have the art of procrastinating down pat. Be it waiting for the storm clouds to roll in on a sunny day to avoid hanging washing on the line (OK, that's pessimism), eating to avoid cleaning, sleeping to avoid eating, reading to avoid sleeping, emailing to avoid working...the list is endless.

When it comes to exercise I must say I procrastinate right up until the eleventh hour. Sexy Twin is very diligent when it comes to her run and schedule. She wakes up of a morning promptly feeds her baby, organises her school aged child and drives her to school before coming home, putting the baby to bed for her morning nap, and then jumping on her treadmill to belt out an inspiring 7.5km run! Sexy Twin is wiping of the last bead of sweat as I am rolling out of bed and debating how to start procrastinating my day!

I must admit, I am envious that she is so disciplined in this regard. I am envious that in many respects she has her run done and dusted whilst I am left with the knowledge that at some point in the day I am going to have to stop avoiding the inevitable, and attempt to work my arse off! That said, I am not a morning runner and generally find that my best runs are mid-late afternoon when I have coffee coursing through my veins, food in my belly, child related frustration or exhaustion to run off, and limited hours in my day to continue making excuses.

On Monday I was home from work with Jim being unwell. Bob was fast asleep and I was being habitually careless and lazy (yep, it sounds harsh). I was avoiding any form of heavy lifting, light dusting, gentle cleaning, and endless washing. I was also vehemently avoiding exercising.

To be honest I was busy making a cubby house with Jim and regaling him with childhood stories and tales from my own cubby house building days (Sexy Twin and I even made one with running water once - ya huh - cool, we know!). As Jim and I lay under the kitchen table (ahem, cubby house) which I'd dragged into the lounge and draped with blankets, I reflected on the fact that no matter what I do to avoid exercise, no matter what things 'pop up', nine out of ten times I still make the choice to go for a run or lift my weights - it just happens later than originally planned, but none the less, it happens.

At some point it's like I just snap. I realise that time is of the essence and that the feeling I will have once my run is over, is complete calm, complete satisfaction, bursts of energy and a new found vigour to *think* about other jobs at hand and face my children with a loving smile despite the observance of Jim's having wee'd down the heating vent whilst I was busy sprinting my way to a tighter butt (true story).

In this regard I suggest we change the definition of procrastination. Surely it's only careless and lazy if you don't get around to the task at hand at all. In which case I actually think my form of procrastination is admirable! No matter how lazy I try to be, I've well and truly been bitten by the endorphin bug and eventually they have me up and running. Now, where can I find the cleaning bug.....?

Here is the proof of my attempt at exercise avoidance, and yes, my toddler thinks he is the 5th Wiggle!

Body Image and our example!

The latest edition of Health Smart magazine has hit the shelves, complete with my little tidbit to the editor of course ;o) A particular article which caught my eye instantly, titled "The Shape We're In" has a brilliant comment;

"If every women in the world woke up, slapped herself on the head and said: 'I'm happy with who I am' entire economies would collapse"

How true. Socially we are so attuned to seeing 'perfection' splashed across the television, Internet, magazine covers, billboards - everywhere - that we have this predetermined idea in our minds about what is the perfect body, what is the perfect shape.

It would seem that if you are not able to fit into a string bikini, sport the perfect golden sun kissed glow, have a scar, stretch mark, cellulite dimple in sight, and an IQ over 100, you just don't cut the mustard. You probably eat it yes, cut it no.

But when did we become so unrealistic and obsessed with body image? When did we go from worshipping curves and stunningly voluptuous womanly bodies, to craving, and promoting, waif like praying mantises.

Yes, it could be easily said I am jealous. In some part I admit I am, but surely that's based on my own learned perceptions of the 'perfect figure'. I will never be caught dead in a bikini - the fact I'd have to have it custom made to fit my so called bosoms, lefty and righty, is a large deterrent sure, but generally I accept I don't have the figure which we deem acceptable viewing when clothed in the likes of a piece of string. Not to mention one look at my array of road map stretch marks and I'd have people asking for directions!

I also will never be so thin that should I turn sideways you'd lose sight of me. Do I wish I had a sun kissed glow all year round, no cellulite, stretch marks or wobbly bits of skin? - you bet, but that said, it is my fervent belief that in this life time, it really is more important to model inner traits such as kindness, patience, acceptance and so forth.

Am I saying that being healthy, fit and sexy are not important? No, I strongly believe they are, hence my own quest to be healthier and fitter, but I also believe that you can be sexy at any shape or size. Beauty and body image is not mutually exclusive to size 8 models. To me health is FAR sexier than size.

The last few weeks I've wasted too much time and emotional energy obsessing and stressing over my own body image. I find it goes in cycles. Some weeks I will feel fabulous, exuberant and confident. Others, not so. Overwhelmingly though I am all too aware of the fact that at the heart of the issue, these things do not make a person worthy. A slender person is absolutely no more deserving or unique than a person sporting a muffin top and a vast array of chins, it's just that we are programmed to feel more favour towards thin, attractive people.

Images of attractive, slender people are splashed in front of us so often that it is no wonder if we don't fit the mould we convince ourselves on some level that we are not 'up to scratch'. Surely I am not the only one who notices advertisements featuring a leggy, waif like blonde, are then followed by Lite N Easy, Tony Ferguson or Jenny Craig. Target marketing at it's best!

One day I hope to be blessed with daughters, and the notion that they too may be exposed to the same images we are, is alarming. How can we as parents set the best examples for our children and instill values in them such as self-respect, self-belief and true beauty. The beauty that comes from within.

For Muscle Man and I we hope that our actions reflect a desire to BE healthy. A desire to live a life filled with trips to the park, Frisbee in the backyard, jumps and flips on the trampoline and a healthy attitude for exercise and nutrition.

In this vain, I realise unequivocally that I need to start setting the example by not forcing myself to engage in daily activities or exercise which are to my own detriment. I have become increasingly aware that I have at times called myself "fat" in front of Jim and that at the tender age of 3.5 he is already capable of forming, and attributing my thoughts with his impression of a "fat woman". I am ashamed to admit the above, but I do so with a view to recognise that even the smallest actions on our part, will reflect the thoughts our children will take, and make their own.

The shape I am in is a good one. I could improve on my health, I could improve on my fitness, but the most important thing I could improve is my body image!

My Biggest Ally

Today has been a pretty emotional day! There is no real reason for it, just one of those random odd self-depleting days where perspective seems hazy and emotions run wild.

After a failed shopping attempt this morning (DAMN JEANS SHOPPING) I came home feeling quite despondent. Stupidly I pulled out a pair of bathroom scales and on I hopped. Well, aside from the fact these particular scales are broken, I was wearing jeans, leather boots, and a winter jacket. Needless to say the scales are now 'officially' broken!

So, after bursting into tears I fired off an email to Muscle Man. It was a very self pitying email. Similar to this:

"Woe is me, I hate my body, why can't I be Elle McPherson? Why can't I have skinny genes in order to buy skinny jeans? I want my cake and to eat it too, chocolate sounds good. Did I mention I hate my thighs? That reminds me, I'll have KFC for dinner a chicken thigh would be great. Why does clothes shopping suck so much? Can I have liposuction....blah blah blah"

Now, you have to imagine me sitting at my computer, tears streaming down my face, mascara staining the computer desk, violins playing in the background and guttural sobs coming from me as I give the keyboard the thrashing of it's life (Yes, that time of the month is fast approaching - either that or I am up the duff!!!).

Well, being the wonderful Muscular Man he is, this was the email I found after jumping off my treadmill.....

You know, I love your body, always have through the many different stages that it has been through. I will continue to because I love the person you are too.

You work hard, at times I reckon too hard. You need to learn that enjoyment is key to looking and feeling good too. If you feel like you're just slogging, then everything goes with that.

You'll always have hips, sexy hips. You'll always have a great butt.

Take a step back and take a week off. Evaluate what is important to you and then plan what you are going to do. Look at different things that will help you feel positive and make you want to attack this with all your mind,body and soul.

Sadly we have to work to look a certain way. You've said it before and now you have me believing it too, you feel better for working hard, but it has to have the balance and the right attitude which you are possibly lacking at the moment.

Maybe re-balance, run 3 times a week, not 6. Do 2 weights sessions and then on the other days when you feel like you should be doing something, go stretch and relax. Maybe we get a Pilate's DVD that you can do when you feel like you should be doing something.

I'm a poor model too, I slack off all the time then hit my straps like I've only got a day to live. Maybe a bit of consistency from me, including running with you 3 times a week and doing Pilate's at home with you is going to be a help.

That's what I'm here for baby, to help you. Let me know what you need.

I love you.

YES, give that man a prize! I feel loads better thanks to those jogging endorphins, but it has to be said that Muscle Man is right (there's a first time for everything right...and a last). I think my next entry I'll focus on setting some new goals, a new exercise plan and striving to achieve the balance I am so clearly lacking at the moment!

Oh, and no, he only has a sister - no brothers!

Words of Affirmation!

OK, so despite the cheery, easy-going, attitude and tone I express 95% of the time, I am human and fallible and therefore, I have moments of weakness and despair! Usually I can ride them out pretty well and just put it down to "that time of the month". Of course NO ONE else is allowed to imply that's the reason for my being blue, but between you and I, more often then not it is the underlying reason I feel so "fat" some days.

The last few weeks however I have been particularly critical of myself and I think it's been evident in my blogs of late. I keep scalding myself for bringing the tone of my blog down, but then at the same time I also want to be someone who others can relate too. I know that most people in this journey are going to have hours, days, weeks, months and even years of berating themselves and despairing over their weight and body image.

I am in the 'weeks' phase at the moment. I am sure it has to do with the dreaded P word and so I am trying to take it in my stride and be as kind to myself as possible, but then at the same time I am having moments of self loathing where seeing my reflection is enough to have me consider crying (yes, I only consider - I'm too tough to cry).

As hard as I try I can just be so hard on myself and even my last 2 years of learning to have positive self-talk is only going so far at the moment. So, rather than sitting in my lounge room berating myself over the muffin top spilling over my tracksuit pants, I have decided to take affirmative action and remind myself of the enormous life style changes I have made. I truly believe some healthy self-assessment and affirmation is a MUST on this vicious cycle of weight loss.

So, here goes:

1. I have lost in excess of 20 kilos! All through my own hard work, perseverance, determination, assertiveness and self belief.


2. I have gone from a couch potato to a runner! Previously running to flag a bus caused heart palpitations, now days I could outrun the bus (OK, slight exaggeration, but hey!)


3. I am a size 12!!! Before losing weight the only thing I owned remotely close to a size 12 was my size 9.5 shoes!


4. I am setting a great example to my children. I will be an active, involved Mother for years and years to come.


5. Muscle Man and I have a much better sex life (sorry, 'TMI' I know, but it's TRUE).


6. I have more confidence (yes, it has a way to go yet, but it can only go up from here).


7. I have more energy. Before energy was found in a small silver can called Red Bull, now it's found in the feeling after slogging out a 7km run!


8. I looked like this.. (exhibit A) and transformed myself to look like this (exhibit B). Speaks for itself. Yes, I was slightly intoxicated in exhibit A, BUT that does not account for the bowling ball face.
   

Now I also want to remind myself of a few reasons why it's OK to have a little podge around my middle, why it's OK to enjoy the occasional indulgence and moderation, why it's OK to have a day off exercise and enjoy the indulgence that day may bring.

1. Bob is only just 9 months. I know my body likes to hold onto extra weight whilst breastfeeding and for the sake of nourishing my baby, that's OK.
2. I can, and have achieved my fitness and weight loss goals in the past, and will continue too do so.
3. I am making a very real effort every day to keep myself fit and healthy. I have learnt and adapted life long behaviours that will continue to improve my health, fitness and self respect.

So, if you are a little like me and are in a bit of an emotional rut, maybe it's time for some positive affirmation, positive self-talk and a piece or two of chocolate - GUILT FREE!

**You'll have to take my word for it that I HATE that first picture. It's horrible, absolutely horrible! But honestly, what good is a FAT TO FAB blog if there are not some fat and fab pics :o)

Could it be a Plateau?

Damn I hate that word! Plateau. It's the kind of word that has to be said with an air of disdain when saying it. A word that violently and frustratingly rolls off the tip of my tongue and brings tears of bitterness to my eyes. OK, so slight exaggeration but creative flair has to be accounted for in all my stories.

Last night as Muscle Man and I were having dinner, I pursed my bottom lip and in an annoyingly pouty tone announced that I have hit a plateau!! Muscle Man remarked that the glass of red wine in one hand and pork crackling in the other might be adding to my so called plateau. How rude!

Indignantly I reminded him that wine is my only vice and 8 out of 10 times I choose and will eat the healthy, nutritionally balanced meals. If anything there would be days where I am not meeting my daily calorie quota, rather than the other way around. So, what is the problem? Why do I feel like I am stuck on struggle street not loosing an inch of weight or a centimetre of size.

I've always carried the most weight in my mid section. A number of years ago I attended one of those L.A Weight loss style centres where they charge you one mortgage payment up front to draw your blood, advise you of your weight, and then throw big scary words at you before asking you to sign your soul to the program. Of course they forget to tell you that to actually join the program you need to take out a small loan and be prepared for pessimistic and catastrophic words and syndromes to be thrown at you every time you front up for a new blood test!

After my initial consult I walked away with a hole in my pocket and the knowledge that I apparently had metabolic something-or-other failure (I was distracted by the fact that the guy informing me of this condition and it's associated outcomes, was easily 50kgs heavier than I was). Along with the disheartening information that I was apparently unable to lose weight easily, I was also faced with all these side affects of this so called syndrome. Heart failure, infertility, varicose veins, FAT, acne, bad breath...oh the list went on. I walked out convinced I HAD to join their program or otherwise any efforts on my behalf were hopeless and futile.

In the end the sheer cost of the program was the deterring factor (well that and the fact it was hard to believe the program had results when the persons providing it had such evident weight issues also). I've never really been one for labels. My family has a strong history of depression, and aside from the fact I find it very hard to understand at times, I refuse to believe that because it's there, and the genetic timeline, is evident, that I don't have some control over the outcomes myself. Well, I felt the same way about this metabolic syndrome thingy-ma-jig.

Turns out I CAN lose weight on my own without the aid of blood tests, beetroot juice, starvation and various other methods of torture. However, it's no secret (to me at least) that it is DAMN HARD WORK! Sometimes I just feel like throwing my hands in the air and screaming to the weight loss Gods WHY ME?!?!!? Why did I have to be one of the unlucky ones who has a cup of tea and gets bloated. Why did I have to be one of the ones who was born with chubby thigh rolls that never disappeared, one of the ones who still looks 6 months pregnant when her children are 12 months old. I have ALWAYS had a muffin top, I've always had a bigger butt and I have always had a distinguishable donut if I clench my hands around my belly and make a circle with the excess fat!

I'd be outright lying if I said that I am just blissed out with my body now. I am not. Whilst I completely recognise and appreciate my efforts, and can see the hard slog I've given it, I can also honestly say that it frustrates me that I can jog 30kms in a week, eat healthy and nutritionally balanced foods all week and still not budge an inch!

Ahhh, you see this is where the "P" word comes in! Despite Nardi's Wii fit advising me I need to lose another 8 kilos to be in the centre of my healthy BMI, I know that I am happy with my weight. The number on the scales really does not distress me so much these days. No, it's the image I see when I look in the mirror, or put on a pair of low cut jeans. The bulges that spill over in the moments where I let my guard down and rest lazily on my residual baby belly.

I do understand that for anyone reading this who may be at the start of their weight loss journey, you may think "What is this crazy girl whinging about" and I admit I feel a sense of embarrassment or guilt that I do feel this way, but I also want to be transparent and honest in my personal observations that this weight loss gig is constant! I am yet to find the point where there is no such place as hard work or sacrifice. For me, it's always hard work, because for me the battle is raging in my mind.

I guess that's a blog for another day though isn't it. Healthy body = healthy mind or healthy mind = healthy body?!

The Daily Grind!

If only I was referring to Arabica, Colombian and Porte Rican...sadly though, I am talking about the daily grind of work. I'm back. I had forgotten how much organisation and energy working in paid employment and tending to children simultaneously requires. It really is go, go, go from sun-up to sun-down!

This week I am participating in induction training. I have started work in a new Government Department (hey, I live in the Public Service Capital after all) and despite having spent the last 7 years of my employment, in the public sector I am back at square one learning about Australian Public Service values and codes of conduct (and not by choice mind you) BORING.
So, today as I was sitting in the most enthralling training session known to woman (ahem) I started day dreaming.....as I do. Normally my day dreams are squarely centred around fleeting rendezvous with Wentworth Miller (Prison Break) but today I was day dreaming about my life on maternity leave - I know, it's a shock (anyone who knows me will tell you I am not stay-at-home-Mum material. Sad, I know).

Well, as of last week I was still looking at large quantities of spare time each day. My time. Sure, I have young children at home, so life is busy, but ultimately I still had chunks in my day where I could decide that it was time for a run on the treadmill, I could do weights in front of the TV, I could load the boys into my jogging pram and take them for a run. I also had time to grab a coffee with Sexy Twin, go shopping, read a chapter of a good book, blog uninterrupted, talk on the telephone and of course, make play dough (or egg carton caterpillar's as it may be).

I know that what I am about to say is taboo, and possibly an unpopular train of thought, but it's my blog and I'll risk it.....here goes......In my personal opinion and from my 3 1/2 years experience and 2 children (disclaimer: the view about to be expressed is subject to change if I deem fit, as more children come along) being at home, whilst hectic, chaotic and stressful at times, was still not as bad a gig as some make out to be.

I think there is a national consortium on how Mother's are 'supposed' to feel whilst at home. The image that runs through my head is a haggard, sleep deprived, no make-up, tracksuit pant wearing, breast milk crusted on my shoulder, spinach in my teeth, no time for a shower, coffee addicted, placenta brained, flabby mess. Truthfully, not every day is like this. In fact only one day a week is - MONDAY!

Sure, some days are harder than others (such is life), some days I want to sell Jim (he is 3 after all) on Feebay and some day's I want to lock myself in my room and have a good old cry, but mostly I find being at home pretty easy and for a good portion of my day I am able to dictate and control the events which occur around me. There are no Ministerial reports to be written, articles to be actioned for the media, investigations to pursue, arses to kiss, butts to wipe (Oh wait, yes there are). You get the idea though.

Well today as I sat in my uncomfortable chair, thinking about how much fun Muscle Man was probably having with Jim and Bob at home, and wondering when I'd fit my run in, I realised, this is life - again! This is the daily grind, and just like before, I have to schedule in time to run, time to exercise, time to make my healthy snacks and lunches, dinner menus on the go and clothes laid out, or in my worst case scenario - ironed - the night before work.

Yes, I am back to living in the land of the Weight Watchers motto:

If you fail to plan, you plan to fail!

Well, I'll be damned if I am a failure! No way, no how. Anyone who knows me will tell you I am a perfectionist (with the exception of housework) and once I make my mind up to do something, I generally do. In this case, my mind is made up to continue my exercise daily and manage a busy work and home life whilst trying (usually in vain) to achieve some balance.

So, the last two evenings after work I've come home, kissed all my boys, listened to tidbits on their enthralling and relaxing day (yes, I am jealous) as I strip my suit pants and jacket off, unzip my boots, change into my sports bra and proceed to grab my singlet and jogging pants. "Follow me and keep talking" is a common saying in my household. Muscle Man has been known to stand beside the treadmill, regaling me with anecdotes from his day whilst I slog out my 30 minute run and remind myself the benefits of making the time to do so.

Tonight I am going to soak in the tub and try and remind myself that after work is the daily grind of making time to exercise when all I feel like doing is begging Muscle Man for a foot rub, but tomorrow morning as I arrive at work I'll have the opportunity to drink the Arabica coffee beans and start all over again - hey, at least I am a fit and fabulous working Mum right? ;o)