Tag Archives: exercise-dodger

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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Because, Because, Because


Today’s been one of those days where I’ve got on my own nerves. I woke up at around 7am and cussed myself for waking too early on a day when I didn’t need to be at work. After practically frog-marching my head back to sleep, it was well after 10am before my eyelids dared to try again, at which time I cussed myself a second time for sleeping too long. Of course it didn’t occur to me that I could have set my alarm for the time I was hoping to wake up…that would have been too simple, right?

After grumbling to myself that I’d wasted a chunk of the day, I proceeded to make myself some breakfast and waste a chunk more of it by watching TV and mooching on-line. Then I fixed some lunch and burned another couple of hours. It was only when Charlie’s dog stare became so uncomfortably persistent that I forced myself to get dressed and go out and walk him. It was the very last thing I wanted to do, to the point where I almost didn’t.

To be honest, I’ve got an issue with that. I’m mad. All the way around our usual three mile circuit I’ve been battling the Asshole voice who is in fine fettle today. I feel really frustrated that some days, despite being eight and a half months into this regime it still doesn’t feel like my new normal. My head seems very quick to forget that I’ve taken a big step away from the life I was living before and still tries every trick in the book to throw that rusty nail under my wheels.

In times gone by my Bank Holiday Monday would have been spent in the armchair, and the Asshole voice has been busy trying to stir up resentment that today it wasn’t possible. And a few of the barbs have hit home, you know? For God’s sake woman you’re not a machine…it’s the only day you’ve had completely to yourself and there’s no good reason why you can’t just relax and kick back…

Listening to that, and buying into it is what allowed me to languish in my big fat leather recliner until well after 2pm. Shaking myself out of that reverie was tough, and had it not been for the doggy death stare I might have still been there now. That same voice followed me all the way around our eventual walk, pointing out just exactly how much my knee was hurting today where it hasn’t so much recently. Take an early left and head for home, this isn’t doing you any good.

Of course it was doing me good, you fucking ejit. This whole thing is doing me good. It’s a shame that my head doesn’t always get with the programme but seriously, dude, the only reason I used to spend so much time in that armchair is because it was the only place in the world that I could get comfortable. Because I was so fat. Because outside of working hours I practically lived in the armchair. Because I couldn’t get up and walk the dog for three yards without hurting, never mind three miles.

Today, I could. And I might have had the Asshole voice playing on a loop in my head, and my knee might have randomly started aching a bit but in the grand scheme of things it hardly matters that it took me a bit longer than usual to get my motor running today…the fact is I did, eventuallybecause I can.

Remembering things I couldn’t do before, and the fact that now I have choices where before I didn’t…that helps, on days like this 🙂

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