In August my bezzy mate got engaged to her fella (who I set her up with 4 years ago - you can thank me later luv). I was made up for them and even had a little whinge at my desk in work when she rang to tell me. Tellin' ya, motherhood turns you into an emotional wreck, whinge at the drop of a hat these days.
I knew for a fact I was gonna get asked to be bridesmaid (chief bridesmaid if you please) and proceeded to absolutely crap myself for a couple of weeks. I am officially in fat bastard territory. I estimated that I needed to get back to at least the weight I was for my own wedding (5 years and 5 stone ago). Then they booked their wedding for next July. Are ya messin'?! 5 stone in less than a year. 'Kin hell.
Anyway, it was clear that just arsing about on Slimming World (and let's face it, that's what we all end up doing most of the time isn't it? Starting off with great intentions on a Thursday night after group. Come Saturday night, you're scranning on a big fat pizza and then devvo'd when you stay the same on Thursday and have to part with another fiver to listen to some auld bird chatting on about being constipated!) was NOT gonna cut the mustard here. I was gonna have to get my fat arse moving...and pronto.
Aaaages ago, I downloaded the Couch to 5k app. Kept saying I was gonna head out that door for a run, never happened. So when I rejoined the dreaded gym (£47 a month and you know 3 weeks down the line you're gonna be swerving it again) I decided to give it a whirl on the treadmill.
In the 1st week, you don't run more than a minute without having a little break to catch your breath and, you know, not die. 2nd week it steps up to a maximum of 90 seconds at a time. Both of these weeks (you do each workout 3 times in a week then step it up the next week) left me sweating profusely.
From the start of the 2nd week, I was already working myself up into a right flap about the 3rd week. They wanted me to run for 3 minutes. 3 frigging minutes. That's double what I was running in week 2 and that gave me a stitch. A stitch, haven't had one of them since school cross-country. I was clearly going to die.
So yesterday off I went to the dreaded gym. Picked a strategically placed treadmill so as to minimise the number of people who could see me making a sheeeow of myself. And off I went.
Yeah, I was beetroot red and sweating profusely. Yeah, I was gasping for breath and my legs turned to jelly. But I DID IT! I didn't die, not even close and when I got to the end of the last section of running, I was that pleased with myself, I could have cried (see earlier comment about motherhood turning me into an emotional wreck).
The only thing that pulled me down was the other women in the gym. Hair and makeup perfect, dressed in fashionable workout gear and running along without breaking a sweat. If you're not a sweaty mess, go home luv cos you're not doing it right!
Monday 24 September 2012
Tuesday 18 September 2012
Giving it a whirl...
So here it is, my 1st blog post. I'm an avid reader of several blogs, consider myself quite a decent writer (by virtue of the fact I know how to use an apostrophe) so thought I'd give it a whirl. Might be absolute shite like but there you go.
Suppose as it's my 1st post, an introduction might be a good start so here's a few things about me.
I'm a serial dieter
The above statement pretty much defines my adult life.
As a kid and teenager, I was blessed with a fabulous metabolism that allowed me to eat copious amounts of crap, never exercise and maintain my size 8 figure (I'm nearly 6 foot tall too).
Then, some time around my 18th birthday that bastard metabolism went and buggered off on me. Gutted.
It left me with an insatiable appetite, an aversion to physical activity of all kinds and an ever expanding waistline.
For practically the last decade I've been on and off diets with varying degrees of success.
Sitting here right now, I'm 4 weeks into my latest Slimming World venture and nearly a stone lighter. Still wearing size 20 leggings though. I am officially a fat bitch albeit a slightly less fat bitch than I was a month ago. That's progress, I think.
I'm a smart arse
All through school I was consistently at the top of every class. Except for P.E. of course, my nemesis.
I never had to work very hard or indeed at all to maintain this status. It just came naturally.
I left 6th form with 4 A's at A-level (and we're talking proper, old skool A-levels here, not that AS level bollocks they do nowadays) and headed off to Oxford. Told you I was a smart arse.
I despised every dull minute of my lectures, tutes, basically everything involving academic study. I'd gone from being a big fish in a small pond to being a small, lazy arsed fish in a massive pond full of big time geeks. I left after a year. It's a wonder I lasted so long.
I'm a full-time Mummy (who works part-time)
I can't stand it when people state their job as "full-time mum". WTF is that supposed to insinuate? That those of us who go out to work are part-time mums? Cheeky bastards.
I'm a full-time mum, I also happen to work 3 days a week. This enables me to do those little things like paying the mortgage, clothing and feeding my child and going on several holidays a year.
18 months ago we adopted a little man who is now nearly 3. He makes me smile more than anything in the world, makes me laugh everyday and also drives me completely insane since he generally doesn't listen to a word I say. Don't get me wrong, he's not naughty naughty (like drawing on the walls and breaking stuff naughty) he just likes to do his own thing.
The 2 years leading up to this little whirlwind joining our family were not the best, to say the least. Now I wouldn't change a thing. I really don't think I could have biologically created such a brilliant kid. After all, with my genes, they'd end up chubby, ginger and annoying.
I'm a bad crank
I get a chip on my shoulder about the funniest little things and randomly about people I don't even know (celebrities, work colleagues of my hubby, people in the supermarket).
This is probably where most of my blog posts will come from. I've got a lot of anger to vent about inconsequential things that I know I should just let go of but I can't.
So there we go, there's a few little bits and pieces about me. If you've got this far, kudos to you. I've even bored myself. Will have to think up some better material.
Suppose as it's my 1st post, an introduction might be a good start so here's a few things about me.
I'm a serial dieter
The above statement pretty much defines my adult life.
As a kid and teenager, I was blessed with a fabulous metabolism that allowed me to eat copious amounts of crap, never exercise and maintain my size 8 figure (I'm nearly 6 foot tall too).
Then, some time around my 18th birthday that bastard metabolism went and buggered off on me. Gutted.
It left me with an insatiable appetite, an aversion to physical activity of all kinds and an ever expanding waistline.
For practically the last decade I've been on and off diets with varying degrees of success.
Sitting here right now, I'm 4 weeks into my latest Slimming World venture and nearly a stone lighter. Still wearing size 20 leggings though. I am officially a fat bitch albeit a slightly less fat bitch than I was a month ago. That's progress, I think.
I'm a smart arse
All through school I was consistently at the top of every class. Except for P.E. of course, my nemesis.
I never had to work very hard or indeed at all to maintain this status. It just came naturally.
I left 6th form with 4 A's at A-level (and we're talking proper, old skool A-levels here, not that AS level bollocks they do nowadays) and headed off to Oxford. Told you I was a smart arse.
I despised every dull minute of my lectures, tutes, basically everything involving academic study. I'd gone from being a big fish in a small pond to being a small, lazy arsed fish in a massive pond full of big time geeks. I left after a year. It's a wonder I lasted so long.
I'm a full-time Mummy (who works part-time)
I can't stand it when people state their job as "full-time mum". WTF is that supposed to insinuate? That those of us who go out to work are part-time mums? Cheeky bastards.
I'm a full-time mum, I also happen to work 3 days a week. This enables me to do those little things like paying the mortgage, clothing and feeding my child and going on several holidays a year.
18 months ago we adopted a little man who is now nearly 3. He makes me smile more than anything in the world, makes me laugh everyday and also drives me completely insane since he generally doesn't listen to a word I say. Don't get me wrong, he's not naughty naughty (like drawing on the walls and breaking stuff naughty) he just likes to do his own thing.
The 2 years leading up to this little whirlwind joining our family were not the best, to say the least. Now I wouldn't change a thing. I really don't think I could have biologically created such a brilliant kid. After all, with my genes, they'd end up chubby, ginger and annoying.
I'm a bad crank
I get a chip on my shoulder about the funniest little things and randomly about people I don't even know (celebrities, work colleagues of my hubby, people in the supermarket).
This is probably where most of my blog posts will come from. I've got a lot of anger to vent about inconsequential things that I know I should just let go of but I can't.
So there we go, there's a few little bits and pieces about me. If you've got this far, kudos to you. I've even bored myself. Will have to think up some better material.
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