Who fucking cares, Christa?, is probably what you’re thinking and you’re right. In the grand scheme of things, who cares how I get my exercise? I care, obviously but something has given me the fear and I haven’t worked out in a room full of other sweaty folk in ages.
I want to get back into it but the mornings are shivery and being in bed is so glorious, how am I honestly supposed to fight that? Plus, I’m busy doing stuff. Who has a spare 90 minutes to walk in one spot trying not to make eye contact with the dude next to them?
My deal with myself was to start going back in October. We’re four days in and I’m still not even remotely interested. I’ve gone out of my way to walk my 10,000 steps a day and tomorrow I swear I’ll walk through the door of The Gym but I can’t think of anything more boring. Yet, I miss that feeling, the one health nuts bang on about: the endorphins, innit?
So, consider me starting off lightly back on the track I want to be on. I don’t want to be as lazy as I have been, cosy though it’s been. I don’t give a fuck about skinny which is handy as I’ve never been that, but I wouldn’t mind legs like lead pipes and buns of steel…
I’ve decided to overhaul my entire blog and turn it into a healthy lifestyle/fitness blog instead. No more movies, books or random musings; more diet plans, chats about cardio and slagging off carbs.
HAVE I FUCK!
That will not happen on my watch, I can promise you that. However, I did want to blog about the gym today, simply because it’s Something I’ve Been Doing lately. If you’re not into this shit, please don’t read on, I’ll be back for the usual hi-jinx soon!
Before I start, a little background. I’ve never really disguised the fact that, like many women, I have struggled with body image. I’ve hated myself and my looks for at least two thirds of my adult life, and isn’t that a disgrace? Isn’t it a horrible thing to think that anyone would look at themselves and feel shit?
I can’t honestly say that I feel like a fucking goddess every day of my life but I have started to get to grips with accepting who I am. By making sure I’m around positive people, reading and following some amazing bloggers and generally have a good old talk with myself, I think I’m finally getting it.
A few months ago though, I felt very bad and honestly, it wasn’t about how I looked, it was in how I felt. I was tired all the time and by Friday, when the weekend officially kicked in, that was it. Getting dressed and out of the house, even to grab food felt like the biggest task.
I took myself to the doctor and nothing came up. In the end it was a suspected virus. But I felt like it was a flashing neon sign urging me to do something for myself. So I joined the gym.
For the record I used to work out with an old friend back when I still lived at home. She would say things to me like “Oh bless you, you do try Christa!” and “You’re just very big boned” as a means to motivate me and I never felt good about myself. I quit easily then assumed all gyms would be full of preening prickheads like her and avoided them for the next 20 years.
I was wrong and right about that. My gym is full of posers, and a surprising number of teen boys who think it’s a youth club. But nobody gives a jeeping fuck about me in my joggers, sporting a cherry tomato hue in the corner – and that’s the beauty of all this. I can just get on with it and no-one cares.
Phew.
I feel brilliant at the moment. I love the feeling of setting out to do something and actually completing it. I feel stronger. And that’s all I really wanted from this.
I am not counting calories, aiming to be thin or dieting. No sir. That road leads to ruin and is fraught with failure.
Also, I’m thinking about learning to lift weights. Can you even imagine?
Les chuchoteuses by Rose Aimée Boulanger in Montreal, Canada (via Google)
Last week at some point a horrible woman wrote a newspaper article about fat people. I won’t link to it, nor will I utter her name because frankly, I feel like contributing to any publicity for her is what she wants, even if it is negative. At this point I can’t even bring myself to slag her off.
As my nasty ex’s great-grandmother used to say, you just have to feel sorry for people like that.
But. In her article, said woman calls out three “size 18, at least” girls for having the audacity to stand in front of her at the airport and not be ashamed of who they are. Oh, did I not point out that all three were “fat, not chubby” and seemed “unconcerned” about their apparent hideousness? I think they might even have been – whisper it – laughing together like they were happy.
Not one of them had the common decency to be covered from head to toe in black, instead choosing to rock a colourful Summer wardrobe.
Say whut?!
The Fattist let’s call her, for she is a ‘self-confessed Fattist’, seems to think that the world should fall in line with what she deems attractive. This to me is like throwing shade on every man and boy with a naked chin.
Apparently, TF has a weight and size restriction on the things she will tolerate and anybody who doesn’t fall in line with this will pay the price. By being slagged off in a national paper (if indeed you can call it that).
Anyway, she’s obviously just ‘being honest’ and speaking out of ‘concern’ for these poor, disgusting creatures right?
The thing is, she could be talking about me. I’m a size 18. Sometimes smaller, sometimes bigger but I’m that size generally. Should I be covering up for fear of upsetting poor souls like TF? Am I that revolting that I should be considering hibernation?
I hate the whole thing. Yes, it is okay for you to have your own personal tastes. Your opinion is yours. If you really feel that way and think that these abominations are seriously harming their health by eating badly and not exercising, fine. But keep it to yourself.
For a start you don’t know what these girls eat (besides the ‘I kid you not’ bag of crisps they munched while waiting to check in their luggage. On a holiday! The horror!). You sure as shit don’t know what exercise they do on a day-to-day basis. Not all fit people are thin and vice versa.
I’m hardly the template for healthy living but apart from cake too many times a week, I watch my calorie intake and workout at least twice a day for 30-40 minutes. It’s ignorant to assume things when you don’t know.
What seemed to perplex her so much more than the ‘dimpled thighs’ and ‘rolls of fat’ hanging over the tops of their vests was the fact that all three girls seem to be living life without being self-conscious. Again, how dare you, girls? Come on, now – self-hatred is the only obvious state for you, duh.
Personally, if the world were full of more people like those three and less like TF in her size 8-10 dress, I think it might be a better place.
And, while we’re at it, I’d give up the notion of ever being thin for genuine self-acceptance. I think we can all learn from these beastly rule breakers in their Summer gear, pissing off strangers without even realising it.
Now, hand me the motherf**king crisps, bitch!
Please note: I may have paraphrased a tad throughout this post but you get the gist.
After I first purchased her, she spent a considerable time leaning against the wall in our hallway. Ignored for the most part, I was too shy to actually try her out. Luckily, with the encouragement of a friend who has taken a hooping course and is magnificent at it, we had a group session during one of our lunch breaks at work and a gang came along.
At first I seemed to be the only one just not getting it, but I’m finally there and getting stronger every time.
Last night I spent 35 minutes in our yard hooping by myself. Salt n’ Pepa’s Greatest Hits provided the soundtrack. Sassy seems to be the way to do it, since there’s a lot of hip action involved.
It’s pretty sexy, once you get over what a tit you look. While I was out there I bumped into every single neighbour we have and the reaction was mixed. The older men looked bemused, while the young couple next door to us thought it looked cool.
That’s the biggest thing for me I think, having gone from being completely non-active to being into keeping fit; getting over myself and how I look to others. Literally nobody cares.
Any way, I’m planning on supplementing what I already do with hooping to tone up my middle. This morning I can feel it in my abs and legs and it feels great. I do want to lose weight but almost as important to me is toning up considerably, so I am feeling pretty good and happy at the moment.
I think about how much I have taken on in the last three months and I think it’s very much a credit to the gorgeous women I work with. They’re all fit and healthy and incorporate exercise into their every day, whilst still enjoying cake.
I don’t think I would have found the transition quite as easy or fun if it hadn’t been for them. So thanks for the encouragement and all the love, girls!
This week I purchased two pairs of ‘running tights’.
I put that in quote marks not because they aren’t what they purport to be but because I’m hardly a runner (yet). I am not using mine strictly to run, but to walk and stomp and throw myself gracelessly about a school hall to the strains of something Latin flavoured (featuring Bulldog).
The thing is, and the clue is really in the title, they are so tight, man. Like bum squeezingly, thigh emphasisingly T-I-G-H-T!
Camel toe checks before leaving the house T-I-G-H-T!
I’m not sure if the world out there is ready for my jelly or even if I am ready for it myself, but I’ve crossed a bridge lately that means I can do things I would never have considered before.
Slap on a long line t-shirt and hoodie and half the battle is won. They make me feel naked which is a feeling I enjoy in the real world but the fact remains, there just isn’t any way to hide exactly what my body looks like in them.
This is my shape and it’s a good one, I suppose. It’s getting stronger but it’s right here and no amount of illusionism can disguise the fact I’m a big girl. Curvy yes, but also big.
(I’m not saying this is a bad thing for fear of sounding like I am body snarking, there is nothing wrong with big as far as I’m concerned. It’s about being happy and comfortable in your skin, and I’m getting there but I’m not there yet). Gottit?
I think this might be the most vulnerable I have felt in a long while, and I’ve been wandering about in sportswear for a few months now, even running in front of ‘real’ runners and strangers.
But the point is, me and my self-esteem rocking running tights are doing it. Like Nike, we’re not just talking about it, we’re doing it.
Swoosh!
Incidentally, I often ask my husband if my arse looks big in clothing and modelling these bad boys was no different. Without hesitation, he always replies with a massive grin on his face:
This week, frankly, has been a little bitch. However, amid the crumminess there are always little nuggets of sheer happiness and that’s something that a bad week cannot take away.
I’m celebrating the weekend by staying in with a head cold and mainlining Parks & Recreation, which is so much fun when there’s an apparent heat wave shimmying around outside.
But meh. My week in pictures.
This Dress
There is nothing, but nothing better for the soul than a good dress. In my world the best ones are always floral, usually tiny ditsy print and the kind of thing I never ever envisaged being into as a glittery dog collar wearing twenty year old (true story).
I got this one through an Instagram sale, from a lovely woman called Sian Kisses (she blogs here).
Buying pre-loved items via Instagram is so very modern, isn’t it? Of course you can’t go doing it willy nilly but it’s the new ASOS Marketplace if you ask me. Plus, you can envisage what an item will look like on you since you have an idea what they person you are purchasing it from looks like size wise, if that makes sense? Good for a curvy girl like me, anyway.
These Guys
God. I love them. They make every day fun and fabulous. If they ever leave me for greater careers (which they will), I will be very sad. I might just follow them around for the rest of my days.
This day we found a secret garden or so we thought, but it only contained gardening equipment. And no dead bodies either.
Being Active
I pumped my way vigorously through two Zumba sessions, masses of brisk walking and next to no hula hooping, but only because my front room is too small to twirl around in. I did plan to teach myself the basics through Youtube tutorials, but it’s just not possible.
My only option is to move outside. I’m going to con someone into giving me lessons for free when the weather stabilises. Fun and frisky!
White Chocolate Mice, Gifts and Simpsons Lego
Sometimes the only thing that will cure a day is an entire bag of White Chocolate Mice. Mmmmmmmmm.
My super-cute husband bought me this gorgeous pin-up box, to keep all my secrets in. It currently contains, simply, a note that says “My dick”. Funny guy…
And Simpsons Lego, which speaks for itself. Lego is my favourite thing in the world almost, I’m a completely obsessed fully grown woman.
A Voluptuous Mind 