So whilst everyone else appears to be slaving away to get themselves beach body ready – I took a more laissez fair approach and just went with what I had. Whilst hairy legs, bushy under carriage and a wobbly bottom are not to be ashamed of I have to say I felt rather less pleased with my decision once I had squeezed myself into my swim costume.
I wouldn’t say that I am overly vain about my appearance but this was a step too far for even my broad shouldered ego. Pre-holiday I had admitted that yes I had gained a few pounds and was in fact the same weight now as I had been when pregnant. Alas this time the culprit was not a 7lb baby but a rather serious issue with burgers. Despite knowing that I was larger than I have ever been I still made the some what rash decision of buying all of my clothes in a size 10. This turned out to be particularly ridiculous when it came to putting on my swim gear. You could say I mastered the floss but not quite the way you would imagine.
The holiday clothes issue was quickly rectified by a couple of new outfits. Obviously that didn’t fix the state of my hair which is in that tricky phase of growing out my pixie cut. Still that phase continues and like I do every time I go through this I vow never to cut it short again. But I know, and I am sure you will have been there too, that this is cyclical process and I will indeed go through his again in a few years time! Still with my wobbly hairy bits covered and an improving tan I made it through the week without having too many hang ups about my appearance.
Now back firmly on UK soil the decision to join the gym before my holiday was a good one. You see this time rather than join a state of the art, fully mirrored, poser gym. You know the ones I mean – full of beautiful 20 somethings in Lycra, looking fabulous barely breaking a sweat whilst running 10 miles. I joined a ladies only gym – where they promised no mirrors and no judgements. They set me up with my own programme; measured all my wobbly bits and spent time taking me through the whole circuit. So when I got back from my hols; feeling fat and a bit self conscious this was all ready for me to start tackling the problem.
So off I trotted on Thursday afternoon – down to my new gym. Where so far I seem to be the youngest person there, but that’s great too. Everyone was nattering and made me feel really welcome. No one cared how many miles I could run or whether my trainers were cool. We were all there for the sole purpose of shedding just a few pounds so we could get our trousers done up again and hopefully increase our basic fitness level just a touch.
It’s strange to me too find myself looking forward to going back again next week. I am only planning on going 3 times a week but hopefully that will make all the difference. Who knows maybe I will get the exercise bug and turn into a real gym bunny. For now my 30 minute low intensity work out makes me feel better in myself and I am sure that I will start to see some results soon with regards to my trousers 👍🏻
So you might be wondering how the exercise plan is going – no doubt you are ready to hear tales of how I have motivated myself to lose at least a pound or two… well no!
Really this site should be called fat bum won’t exercise… I have had my FitBit on which gives a surprising insight to how much walking I do. Considering I now spend most of the day in the car, I can still clock up 7000 steps most days. Of course that’s does not negate the fact that I eat burger for lunch almost every day. Add to this my excruciating back pain (it’s the sitting all day) I have to admit that the motivation for exercise is severely lacking.
You see I start of with great intentions. Today for example I was going to do the park run with a friend – but she didn’t text so I just kept that suggestion on the downlow. Now I am lying in bed drinking a full fat latte from Nero; nursing the heartburn that was a consequence of the freshly baked croissant that accompanied said coffee.
People tell me that once I start to exercise it becomes addictive. I find this hard to believe – chocolate, cigarettes and shoes are addictive but exercise? I can see that it makes you feel good and you get a sense of achievement but I can’t imagine it is comparable to biting into a bar of Dairy Milk straight from the fridge…. mind you if I never get started I will never know!
Perhaps I should set some personal achievable goals. Of course today’s goal is to get out of this bed and do the 18 loads of washing. If I have the energy after that and my spine doesn’t feel like it’s on fire I could do a 20 minute jog. But really I would rather sit for 20 mins and drink a brew. Preferably while the kids play quietly in the other room. See I think this might be the crux of the issue – I don’t want to ‘waste’ my 20 mins of down time from the small ones to go for a run. I want 20 minutes for me to relax, drink a hot cuppa or have a quick shower. There are not enough 20 minutes in the day and I don’t want to spend time doing something I know I will initially hate!
(As if to to emphasise my laziness the other half has suddenly dropped to the floor and done 20 push-ups. He is working on his beach body…)
I should be working to be ‘beach body’ ready myself. The prospect of putting this post-2-children body into a bikini is not something I want to think about. Don’t get me wrong it looks alright under clothes but bikinis don’t give you a lot of space to hide. Beside which the bottom half of my legs will never tan. I will do that thing where you only get brown knees and the bar across your feet where your flip flops are. You would think that the bikini thing would push me to tone up this ass – it doesn’t I will just buy a bikini with short bottoms!
So I think this post explains that I am fundamentally lazy! Does anyone have a suggestion as to how I can get myself motivated??
Alas the demise of the thirty-something has me in its clutches. A fun packed night these days involves a hot brew and an episode of Game of Thrones. Preferably curled up under my cosy chinchilla style white blanket in my best PJs and slippers. Of course there is the occasional glass of wine, but that usually ends up giving me a headache and flushed face. Nope its time to admit that I am now well out of the cool zone. Rubber stamped by the fact that I cannot stand gin. Its no good to me it just tastes like tree.
It was always said that life begun at 40 but nobody ever told us that once you hit thirty things start to head south. I don’t mean the kind of south for the winter kind of south either – well unless you mean my tits. They are definitely in search of the equator.
I have to say the decline of my health, waist line and ability to withstand large amounts of alcohol certainly crept up on me. One minute I was a lively, go-getting, stay up all night twenty-something. I could squeeze into the latest fashions and I didn’t feel out of place in All Saints and Religion. I could rock a spray-on pair of jeans and a backless-frontless top with minimal tit tape and a towering pair of knee high boots. Nowadays the only way I could handle any of the above would be to have scaffolding rods under my nipples, and an exceptionally strong pair of spanks and blister plasters. Of course being less concerned about being cool and more into my creature comforts has its benefits. I can honestly say that no fucks are given about what other people think. Finally I can have my pixie haircut and geeky glasses, and not give a monkeys whether either look like I just got off the cover of Vogue. (Trust me I don’t, but like I said, no fucks given). Equally so I have no issue leaving the house in my ‘dog walking’ coat if its pissing with rain. I guess in a way the thirty-something period is quite liberating.
Still the one area that really gets my thirty-something knickers in a twist (believe me those gran pants can still get bunched in your fan-a-lan) is that I am ridiculously unfit. Yes I know we should all be gym-going, smoothie drinking yoga masters – but I am not. The crux of the issue is my love of food, all food really but top of the list has to be cheese, english breaksfasts and chips. None of these things are helping my declining waistline. Now whilst I may still look a size 10 on the outside, inside I have fat person arteries! So, I have set myself a challenge… I have decided it is time to undertake a couch to 5K programme.Ok so when I said I had decided it made it sound like a new idea didn’t it? Well that’s not strictly true. You see I decided this over 2 months ago. In my excitement I brought some new running shoes and a running outfit. (I said I didn’t shop at All Saints any more, I didn’t say I had given up shopping!) My shiny new trainers have sat untouched since I unwrapped them. Except for the day I lent them to my mother to walk round Birmingham in… I think if I am totally honest with you, and myself, there has been more couch to kitchen than couch to 5K.
To save myself from the slow demise of a thirty-something and to I have decided to share with you all my journey to fitness. It’s not going to be pretty – in fact its probably going to be quite sweary and sweaty. Keep up to date with how I am doing by following my story here. Oh and if you see me lycra clad and red faced, just walk on by and avert your eyes. It will save us both a lot of embaressment…