Tag Archives: exercise-dodger

Resident Of Lazytown

So my conscience was poked a bit when Susan asked me on Wednesday whether I’d resumed workouts and whether I was still swimming…the answer is no. And Susan, by the time you’d passed further comment relating to how much you’ve always admired my drive and determination in pushing on with the workouts, I was shaking my head in embarrassment with my hands covering my ears. The truth is, I haven’t done much since before Christmas.

I know.

That situation needs to change, I recognise that. I full intended to go back to swimming straight after the new year, and I would have, except I had a small cyst taken off the side of my jaw and I had to have stitches in my face. They’re out now though, and I still haven’t been back to the pool so what does that tell you? As excuses go, it was quite a good one, although at this point I can’t quite remember what excuses I used running up to the holiday season as to why my activity had tailed off. Too tired, not enough time, full of cold…I suspect I used all of the above at least once or twice as I descended into inertia.

I’ve been light on the workout front since I had my knee surgery. I was due to go back to it in early November…by that time my knee was well up for it but sadly my head was not. There’d been a few changes at the Kingdom of Pain that I didn’t much like and it didn’t hold the appeal it once had, plus the rigid timetable had always been challenging in terms of getting there, so I moved on to pastures new. Well, technically I just moved on, since I haven’t yet settled into any particular new pasture worth noting.

There are lots of things I fancy doing, you know? I fully intend to resume my swimming because it’s a great way to decompress and I really do love it. I’d like to do more of the spin classes that we enjoyed so much a couple of months ago. There are a couple of other classes at the same place which look and sound like they might be fun, and I’ve also got access to thirteen leisure centres and almost five hundred classes a week as part of my swim membership. I’ve got lots of options, but I’ve been so busy considering all of them that I still haven’t gotten around to hauling my fat ass out of Lazytown and actually doing anything.

And I can feel the difference. In addition to the extra weight that managed to find its way back into my pants, I feel sluggish, you know? I’m loitering in that place where the less I do, the less I want to do and it’s incredible how quickly my body and mind have both embraced the armchair mentality. It doesn’t help that the evenings are cold and dark, and in winter my one hundred mile round-trip commute seems even more wretched than ever. By the time I get home it already feels like there’s hardly any evening left to enjoy so it’s an easy gimme for the Asshole voice to convince me that staying in and relaxing is the only feasible option.

Except it’s not really, is it? I should be heading back to that place where the more I do, the more I want to do, not the other way around. Maybe now I’m getting some traction with my food plan I need to broaden my focus and make a real effort to burn a few calories.

Later on today I’m swimming for the first time in almost a month. There, I’ve said it out loud now…it’s a commitment to myself. And y’all heard me, right?

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Why Am I Even Debating This?


I don’t know about you but these dark and cold mornings are not supporting my efforts to get up and out of bed with any kind of enthusiasm, especially when I’ve booked into an early morning exercise class. I must have laid in bed for twenty minutes or more yesterday trying to think of an excuse why going to box-lite was a bad idea.

It’s a good job I came up blank otherwise that snooze button would’ve been pushed with indecent haste. But I couldn’t help thinking, as I drove to the Kingdom of Pain how draining it is every day to have the same debate with myself on a loop. I should go – I don’t want to go – I need to go – I’ll go tomorrow instead – can’t, won’t finish work on time – I could book in and then say I’m stuck in traffic – stop being ridiculous, I’ll enjoy it once I get there…on and on and on. Every time.

Why do I do that? I do enjoy it when I get there, and I enjoy the feeling afterwards. It’s just the thought of going in the first place that puts a spanner in the works. And that doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, let’s imagine for a second that I was going to the cinema, which I also enjoy. I wouldn’t have to steel myself to get off my arse and go, would I? And the cinema doesn’t even leave me with a surplus of endorphins to make me feel good. Well, unless Hugh Jackman’s in the movie, obviously. *Leers*

I can’t think of any other example of anything where I like doing it but try my best to come up with reasons not to do it. Other things which I don’t especially enjoy doing, like housework, or supermarket shopping just happen without this ridiculous negotiation with the asshole voice, so what is it about exercise that makes it different..? The long standing hatred of getting off my arse which I’ve harboured all my life is clearly more deeply engrained than I realised.

I don’t hate exercise now, but my mind is taking quite a lot longer than my body to cotton on to that fact and get with the programme…I went from hating it, to being irritated by the fact that I had to do it (and just getting on with it through gritted teeth) to the point where I am now…I appreciate the opportunity to poke those endorphins and feel like I’ve earned my tired. And yet. I still have to negotiate with myself before I can bring myself to to pull on my stretchy pants and go work out.

Is it just me? If you want to tip the contents of your own head out and share any insight you may have as to how I can flick the switch from let’s discuss this to let’s go, well that would be awesome. I often hear people say yeah well that’s non-negotiable, and that’s what I want to get to, you know? That place where working out is non-negotiable instead of it being up for debate every single fucking time.


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Making Like A Sloth

Sloth Rainforest Two Toed Lazy Mammal Hanging Sloths

Did somebody pinch some time from me this week? I blinked and all of a sudden it’s Friday…how did that happen? I suspect it’s a combination of me feeling as rough as toast in the first half of the week, and being so busy at work that I’ve mainly come home every night and conked out in the chair with an overwhelming sense that I’d run out of steam.

I went back to the Kingdom of Pain last night for the first time in over a week – I haven’t been working out on the advice of his nibs, who said I had to wait until I was feeling better and I didn’t take much persuading to stay home to be be honest. Me and my reclining chair have had a beautiful thing going on this week.

It’s strange though, despite the fact that yesterday on the way there I was half hoping God of Pain would  say no, not yet, go home you’re still sick, afterwards I could feel the energy coursing through my body, like I’d swallowed some kind of magic potion. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’d rasped and wheezed my way around the pain stations and wanted to die several times over whilst I was actually doing the do, but somehow it managed to perk me up.

Isn’t it amazing how easy it is to forget that that happens? I feel tons better today.

I’m celebrating my birthday tonight with one of my best buddies…my birthday was actually yesterday but it was a work day and a very busy one at that, so tonight I shall be mainly letting my hair down and drinking gin, which is sort of mandatory when we get together…we only really manage it once in a blue moon. It won’t get too messy because a) I’m being very very good and gin tends to make me misbehave (depending on your perspective 🙂 ) and b) I have an early start tomorrow.

Me and my boy are taking my mum to London to see The Lion King…it’s her early Christmas present, because when you get to your mid-eighties it’s all about making memories isn’t it? We’ve seen it before, a couple of times in fact but mum hasn’t and she’s going to love it. So I’m very excited…it’s going to be a lovely weekend with lots of treats which is exactly how it should be on your birthday weekend, right? I even have new pyjamas to lounge about in during our gin-fest, and there’s nothing quite so nice as fresh-out-of-the-bag PJ’s. It’s my idea of heaven.

So things should be back to normal after the weekend…my lurgy should be long gone, there’ll be no election shenanigans to keep me up late and glued to the TV and I can settle back into the routine of work, working out and picking over every bump in the road with you lot.

Happy Friday everyone…chin chin, and have a cracking weekend 🙂


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You Bet Your Sweet Ass I Would


It’s funny you know, the way in which our chatter back and forth can gently set me straight about things which have bothered me. It’s one of the most special things about the friendship and support that I’ve found in our little community – your perspective on things often changes my own, and when I’m getting chewed up about stuff, a wise word here or there gives me pause for thought.

Something Fleury said last week really resonated, when she was empathising about the gym instructor on the ship making me feel awkward about getting involved in the fitness classes. Fleury said you know if she’d worked for you, you’d have had a come to Jesus moment with her…you bet your sweet ass I would. And that got me to thinking.

I’d taken six lots of gym kit with me because I’d planned to work out every day. And when I didn’t, I found myself feeling a bit defensive about it…I just had this nagging feeling that I’d failed. Another good intention gone out of the window, you know? And that’s an uncomfortable place to be…my Asshole voice was all over it.

Anyone who’s ever failed at anything will understand how that feeling of not doing what you know you should do can put a real dink in your self-esteem. My failure to get into the gym and work out chewed at me all week, even with all the active stuff I was doing like climbing mountains and the odd waterfall here and there. It especially got to me when I was packing to come home and I had to move a ton of freshly laundered and mostly unused exercise gear back into my suitcase from the drawer where they’d largely been ignored all week.

That woman, the gym instructor…for all her golden limbs and rippling abs, she wasn’t a fitness guru to the stars, you know? She wasn’t some kind of world renowned personal trainer who could cherry pick her clients and charge them a fortune to help them sculpt the perfect body. She worked on a cruise ship, and she had one job. She was there to make me feel welcome, and included, maybe even inspired…well breaking news, she failed. She did a shit job at making me feel welcome and included because she was way too far up her own bum. Her problem, not mine, right?

I had one job too – to maintain a focus on my healthy lifestyle whilst I was enjoying myself on holiday. And despite giving the gym a wide berth, I did exactly that. She failed, but I didn’t. And once I’d gotten my head around that, I stopped feeling bad about ducking my work outs.

I wonder whether she ever gave me a second thought? You know, whether she ever wondered what happened to the fat blonde who was there knocking on the door as soon as she got on the ship, making noises about wanting to work out because she’d lost a bunch of weight and was in training for something or other…blah blah blah. I doubt that she did, in fact I barely made it onto her radar whilst I was stood in front of her but to be honest I don’t really care. I’m over it. I popped the balloon and let it go…she was a dick, The End.

Fleury’s perspective helped me to process all that…I might have got there on my own, eventually, but it’s awesome to be able to turbo-charge my thought process using a healthy dose of common sense from one of you who’s walked a mile in these battered old shoes and picked up a little wisdom along the way.

I didn’t fail.

You all make a difference with your comments and your insight, and I’m forever grateful 🙂


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Cutting All Ties

Frayed rope about to break isolated over a white backgroundOne of the thoughts on yesterday’s post from Margaret made me howl with laughter. In case you didn’t see it, having just read about my love affair with the big fat leather recliner and how I’d been reluctant to haul my ass out of it, she suggested I kick it out into the yard and torch it. Once I’d stopped chuckling I came out in a cold sweat at the prospect of getting rid of it. I mean it’s so comfy…the comfiest chair I ever owned. I couldn’t.

I know it’s got very close links to my old life, as in I’ve spent years letting the big old frame envelop my big old arse and tip me back at the push of a button to the optimal angle for scoffing cheese-balls in front of the telly. But I’m hoping I can continue my love affair with it in my skinny life once I’ve shed the fat suit. I’ll just leave out the eating bit, and maybe self-impose a few ground rules, you know? Must do x, y and z first before any contact can be allowed between arse and seat cushion…

Thing is, I’m a bit tied to that chair. I don’t mean in a dodgy Fifty Shades of Grey way obviously, I’m too old for that shit even if there was a bloke brave enough to take me on. But daft as it sounds I’m really attached to it. I mean aside from the fact that it’s a great chair, it totally lends itself to the fact that I like to sprawl.

In the comfort of my own home, I can’t remember ever really sitting in a chair with everything where it should be you know? Feet on the floor, arms on the arm rests and so on…other folk did that, but not me. Even as a kid I remember watching TV whilst sprawling on the sofa, because…well, chairs were for the grown-ups. So even though I am a grown-up now, the fact that the chair kind of unfolds itself and offers a perfect platform to drape whatever bits of me wherever I like works, you know?

Given that I’m not inclined to go cold turkey and cut all ties with it, there’s definitely a pull towards my old life that I need to watch out for, which is more pronounced when I’m sprawling in that chair. Remember in the An Old Shoe In The Gutter post, I talked about how getting a new TV knocked me sideways because all I wanted to do was lay in the chair and eat whilst I watched it? There you go…my head just seems to make that association. I need to learn to disassociate, you know, cut ties with the memories of being a lazy bum rather than with the physical objects. Basically get over myself.

There are a few people I know, or know of who’ve taken pretty drastic action to ensure that they don’t repeat destructive patterns associated with their former fat life. Sean Anderson, one of my favourite weight loss transformation bloggers cut all his ties with refined sugar a couple of years ago because he figured out that if he didn’t, he would put his food sobriety at risk. That’s a bad-assed move, because it really restricts your food choices, but it works for him and I’m glad it does. I’ve considered it myself but just like with the armchair, I’m not quite brave enough to flex those scissors. I’m not sure enough that I need to.

That said, if I get to the point where the armchair once again becomes synonymous with cheese balls, it’ll be out in that yard quicker than a flash, you can trust me on that one. I’m curious, is there anything you’ve had to cut all ties with in order to move forward with your new normal?


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