The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Dinners with Bloggers

I did some quality blognobbing while in New York. Meeting bloggers always turns out to be the highlight of my travels. Aye, even better than the food!

When I started blogging in 2000 people would gasp in horror if you mentioned meeting Internet Folk. Axe murderers! Unwashed nerds! But now everyone spews their guts online so it's cool.

Gareth has come to enjoy tagging along, too. We rock up to our destination and he says with infinite patience, "Any appointments? What stranger are we dining with this evening?"

Seems Brooklyn is where the bloggers are at; we spent half our time over there. On our second night we met up with Pamela in Park Slope. We've been blog buddies for yonks and finally met at BlogHer last year, so I was dead chuffed to see her again.

We started off with a spot of neighbourhood window shopping. I fell in love with a robot sculpture in a hipster boutique - it had a ye olde box camera for a body and flash bulbs for eyes. But it was $600, dammit. We also rummaged through vintage clothing shops, in which I realised I'd need to drop at least another twenty pounds for vintage clothing to be really viable. Then I decided I couldn't be arsed and would just have to stick to H&M.

Bubble and Squeak

Tonight I went to my pal V's house to practice kickboxing in her back yard. When she called up with the invitation I automatically said, I caaaan't. But then I remembered - no Moonwalking, no DIY... I'm free! I'm freeeeee! I dropped to my knees, Tim Robbins in Shawshank style.

We were joined by fellow kickboxing fiend H, and the three of us literally kicked each others arses in the fading light while Max the Dog growled at nothing in particular.

The love affair with kickboxing grows hotter every day. I'm clobbering people in my dreams. I've added in another class too, more advanced and full of intimidating fighter chicks. But it's like what Gareth says to me when I don't want to order in restaurants because I worry they won't understand my accent, "It's good for your development!"

. . .

Things that don't make much sense

#1 - How I can persuade myself to go for walks lasting up to eight consecutive hours, yet at the end of every working day I struggle to walk eight seconds to the kitchen to wash my revolting coffee mug.

#2 - How I have a website with my weight posted on it and a book with my weight written in it, yet I run away screaming when invited to a WiiFit Gathering because I don't want everyone seeing my BMI.

. . .

Dudes, we have CARPET! After bare chipboard for nine months, every step now feels like we're bouncing on the moon. It's added a pleasant dimension to the 100 PushUps Challenge; it smells fantastic when I collapse to the deck. Only downside is I have to re-learn how to be cautious with wine and beetroot.

We also have a COUCH! Although I kind of miss the fold-up camping chairs, the way they make you stink like an Arbroath Smokie.

. . .

I also unpacked the new scanner that we've had for three months, which means I've finally scanned my List of Dinners as some folks kindly requested. You'll see it's a total dog's breakfast but it's purely designed to jog my memory when doing the weekly meal planning, because I always forget what the options are.

Note: "Dr. G Soup" is a recipe that Gareth devised. I haven't chopped him up and turned him into soup.

. . .

Rhiannon and I were in the queue at H&M yesterday when a girl came over and asked politely, "Are you Shauna Reid?"

I tell you what, my heart hammered ninety to the dozen. Have I stolen something by mistake? Have I parked illegally? But I don't even have a car!

Then she said, "I read your blog!" My face burned and words deserted me and I think I might have said something really stupid. But I did manage ask the lovely lass her name. It was Sarah and she said she has a blog too.

HELLO Sarah, if you're out there! Thank you for saying hi! I'm sorry for being a gibbering fool. I was just a wee bit embarrassed because I knew when you came over I had truly slovenly posture and a surly I Am So Over This Shopping Trip expression. If I'd been more organised I would have been doing bicep curls with those 6-pack socks they always have at the checkouts, to be more inspirational blogger-like!

Chocolate Therapy

My mother is usually the calm and organised type but I enjoy the rare moments of panic, because she sort of throws her hands in the air and shrieks, "Shit! Shit! Shit a brick!"

I am having a Shit Shit Shit A Brick kind of week. Not only is the Moonwalk on Saturday, my pal Jenny arrives from Australia. Then Rhiannon arrives next Tuesday and we're going on a mini road trip. I can't wait to see which version of a Scottish summer we encounter - pouring rain or mauled by midges?

The flat is almost finished - no couch or carpet but the painting is done and Dr G put down a sexy new kitchen floor. There is the small issue of complete lack of things upon which guests can sleep. No food in the cupboards no accommodation booked no clean clothes no sleep no mercy at work no idea what to do about my stupid Moonwalk Bra of Doom etc etc but we're totally calm and cool, really now.

Things may get a little haphazard around here for the next couple of weeks but rest assured I'm planning to answer your burning questions such as, "How do I stay on the wagon?" Hopefully by then I'll have figured out the answer for myself!

. . .

Aside from boundless support and inspiration, one of the very best things about blogging is International Parcel Swaps. Like old school pen pals, but TASTY! Earlier this year Gracie in Alabama was pining for Tunnocks Tea Cakes so I sent her some sickly Scottish treats and she sent me a bulging box of American candy, complete with bottles of ale for Dr G !

More recently Amanda, an Australian expat in The Netherlands, expressed her longing for Tetley tea so I pounced on the opportunity. I exchanged 240 Tetley tea bags for THREE boxes of my favourite Droste cocoa!

I first fell in love with Droste for aesthetic reasons on a trip to Amsterdam - the chick on the cocoa box is holding another cocoa box with a chick on it who is holding another cocoa box with a chick on it who is holding another cocoa box with a chick on it! And so on. This is known as the Droste effect and can keep the simple-minded amused for hours! Just imagine my eyeballs spinning round now that I have THREE!

When I first started lard-busting I was hooked on low-fat sugar-free just-add-water hot chocolate sachets, the ones with 275 unpronounceable ingredients. A colleague used to scream at me in the tearoom, "THEY GIVE YOU CANCER!" but I guzzled on defiantly! Then one day I admitted that I didn't really like the taste so switched to old fashioned cocoa and real sugar. Gasp!

But as they say so persuasively on the Green & Blacks website, one teaspoon of cocoa is only 12 calories. I have three, but that's still only 36. A teaspoon of sugar is 15 calories. Cup of semi-skimmed milk, 115 calories. So 166 calories in total.

I also make it on the stove now, after adding up all the time I'd wasted mopping up the microwave. I liked it served it in a Starbucks mug that I got for free at the Society of Authors conference because it's so thick and cuddly.

(Many authors removed the mugs from their goody bags, as if loathe to sully their authorly lips with merchandise from a corporate behemoth. "DUDES ARE YOU CRAZY", I wanted to say as I swiped an extra one, "They just told us that the average British author earns less than £5,000 per year and you're turning down a free mug? Flog it on eBay for 10p or use it as a begging bowl!" )

So yes, 166 calories is more calories than the old diet sachets but the whole cocoa ritual tastes and feels  more satisfying. Thank you Amanda for enabling the habit! I will think of you while I sip away and watch the mighty Dutch footballers at the Euros.

I'm really quite delirious today; apologies for loopy nature of this entry. Take care, dear comrades!

Not At All Half-Assed Interview with Jennette Fulda

In a crowded session at last year's BlogHer conference in Chicago, I sat next to Jennette Fulda, the famous PastaQueen. I couldn't focus on the panelists or the bizarre audience questions ("I've been blogging for a whole month. Why don't I have any readers? Where is my money?") as I was too busy marveling at how surreal the moment was. Just a few years earlier, the two of us would have taken up twice as much space.

I stole a sideways glance and noticed she had her legs crossed, too. Did she do that without thinking now? Or did she still feel a flutter of awe that such a simple movement was now possible?

I had a million questions for Jennette. Because how often do you meet another person who has lost half their body weight? Who also blogged and wrote a book about the process? Who also is a Scorpio? (hehe)

Jennette's book Half-Assed: A Weight Loss Memoir has just hit the shelves. It's an cracking read, beautifully written and brimming with Jennette's trademark wit. I developed a sore neck from nodding, relating so much to her experiences. But I also appreciated the differences - Jennette has an incredibly calm, level-headed and rational approach to life that I only wish I could relate to :)

Dietgirl is today's stop on Jennette's Blog Tour, so I finally got ask her a few nosy questions. Read on for the answers.

Comeback #457

Back in the saddle today! It's been three weeks of sickness and sloth and sloppy eating, with no exercise except the blowing of the nose. I hit the wall in York yesterday as I stared down into the remains of a tasty pub lunch of steak pie with mash and veg. My belly burbled, Why are you feeding me all this pastry? And all these animals? Why haven't you been taking me for walks?

I have long accepted that there will always be times when I lose it for awhile - circumstances conspiring to disrupt the routine... or me just eating too bloody much. But it is weird, even in the actual moment of overdoing, I don't seem to feel the old shame and panic anymore, nor the urge to carry on scoffing into oblivion. It's more like, Righto. I'll enjoy this here pie now and get on with the porridge and kickboxing as soon as.

But lordy it sucks getting back into the routine. How many million times have I been here? I had a nice healthy salad sandwich for lunch and stocked the desktop pantry with oatcakes and apples and bananas and oranges and peanut butter but I just wanted to bellow, BORRRRRRRING! like Homer Simpson. Then I arrived at the gym for kickboxing after a shitty day to discover I'd left my trainers at home. Nothing like that spluttering rage that comes from doing something stupid that can be blamed on noone but you. I stomped back downstairs and said to the receptionist, "I left my shoes at home! Can't do the class! What a shame eh?" Then my friend Vicky arrived and pointed out I still had time to trot home and get my shoes and only miss ten minutes. "OH ALRIGHT THEN," I said. Foiled!

But I'm glad I fetched them, even if I arrived back in time for a fitness test. Apparently they do this every six months. This annoyed me because we had a CHART to fill in and lack of exercise has left me weak and totally not PRIMED for the event... so my chart wouldn't be as good as it could be! I got all competitive and pathetic and even stole glances at other peoples charts in order to become even more competitive and pathetic. It was all, how many quivering push ups can you do in a minute (bugger all), how many axe kicks (57 left leg, 60 right), how many backhanded fist punch thingoes before you swear your arm is going to fall out of it's socket (170-something), how many lunges (barely 20! stupid knee!), how many straight punches... I can't remember but surely it was HEAPS!?

I take the mouth-frothing desire to improve these statistics as a sign that I am on the comeback trail, despite still not being able to hear properly. Woohoo!

. . .

First law of blogging: Never blog after midnight. Second law of blogging: Never blog while upset. I did both at 1AM today in spectacular fashion. SCORE!

Then after much tossing and turning I woke at 5AM feeling like a twit. So I deleted the entry, forgetting that all the people subscribed to the site via the RSS feed had already seen it. Derr! Sorry you guys had to witness such raw panic in motion.

The gist of the entry was: I received an email from someone who was extremely angry that I hadn't responded to their email of three weeks ago. My tiny mind made the short leap from one angry person to the possibility of whole armies of angry persons - due to the current backlog of emails - and all of them thinking I was a heartless evil sell-out. Thus I spewed out the 1AM Entry o' Turmoil!

Important lessons have been learned here. One, You just cannae please everyone.

Two, there's only so many hours a day. Day job, family, friends, book stuff, bathing, kicking things - these must also be dealt with and I've been trying like a bastard to keep up with it all. I get such really hilarious, heartfelt and/or heartbreaking emails and want to break out the Scotch Finger biscuits and blether with you all, but I need to be realistic about what can physically be done each day.

Three, my contact page needed a tweak. For a long time I've had a disclaimer that responses can be slow due to my o'erflowing inbox, but because of the current volume the disclaimer needed to be strengthened.

Cheers m'dears and hope your Monday is/was a goodun.

Every Body Needs Somebody

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a lady in possession of a few unwanted pounds must be in want of a buddy.

Well, it is true in the case of lovely Piabella of The Belly Experience. She wrote recently:

"I need a buddy. Someone to encourage me and keep me going and let me bitch to them about the bad times and celebrate the good times, and I could do the same for them."

How does one find a lard-busting companion?  We have blogs and online forums, but a one-on-one comrade can be invaluable. Someone to check in with over a morning email. Someone to yap to about the nitty gritty of your lunch, your exercise plans, your urge to bury your head in a bag of Doritos. This kind of everyday communication is great for accountability, ideas and a mutal cheer squad!

Yet it can be hard to find such a person in the Offline World - not everyone knows someone who can truly relate to their plight. What we really need is a Match.com for lard-busting. Like romance and dating, we all have a vaguely common goal - instead of Getting Laid, it's Getting Healthy.

But while we're all in the same general lardy boat, different people are looking for different things in their companion, depending on where they're at in the process. For example, this might have been my Personal ad in 2001:

But now it would be more like:

Which brings me back to our Piabelly. Could you be her perfect email buddy?

Piabella is 28 years old and lives in Australia. She would like to lose around 30 kilos (66lb). She is currently trying for a baby. She is moving to New Zealand soon. She is not fussy about where her buddy comes from, the magic of email means we can be flexible. She writes a cracking blog and has recently joined a gym. Here's a wee bit from our chat:

"I guess what I'm looking for is someone who has just started a weight loss thing, cos then they'll be in a similar boat to me, someone who wants a bit of encouragement and is willing to give a bit back, willing to rant about food and exercise and listen to rants, and listen to me talk about how proud I am that I've managed to drink more than one 600ml bottle of water in a day. They can also brag about their water drinking capabilities if they wish!"

Does this sound like you? Do you need a buddy? Be bold and brave and drop our lady a line - piabelly at gmail.com!

The People That You Meet

Ooh ooh ooh I can't believe I neglected to mention my latest bout of Blognobbing. You know, like hobnobbing, except since it's famous bloggers it's blognobbing!

A couple of weeks ago I met Australia's favourite globetrotting poledancing triathlete Skinny Latte Phil in sunny Edinburgh. She was up here checking out the Fringe Festival and has just posted a lovely entry about her adventures.

It was great meeting her in person. Sometimes you read a blog and wonder if the blogger will be like the blog in real life. Then POW! You meet them, and it's just like the blog has grown a voice and arms and rather sexy legs. It's all real, baby!

Phil seemed to like Edinburgh, which really warmed the cockles of my psuedo-Scottish heart, because I demand that everyone loves the city as much as I do. She'd taken in a lot of theatre and shopping and then we took in a helluva lot of vodka. So much so when I ran into some good pals afterwards at Guy Pratt's hilarious show, I couldn't remember one of their names. Eek!

I think because so many Antipodeans make the trek to the UK that people don't always realise just how difficult it is to find your feet. And find shelter, employment and sanity. But Phil has hit her stride in London now. She's full of plans and dreams and enthusiasm. Go you good thing!

Dr G took a pic of us which I uncermoniously nicked off her blog. Pink cheeks ahoy!

Tomorrow I am meeting K and Rosemary. 2007 has been a year of top quality blognobbing, what with all the lovely Americans, the Greek Goddess Argy, etc etc. But I still pine to meet all the Aussies. PINE, I tell you! Someday, someday. Sniffle.

. . .

In other news, I did a wee interview with Weight Loss Tips today. Check it out!

Tote-leh Oarsome

It only takes a few days in a foreign country to start picking up on their lingo. Thus after just a week in Chicago I manage to absorb the word "awesome". I thought Americans only said that on the telly but many folk I met used it frequently! So now I've been saying it, except my accent is rather screwed up these days so I say totally in a vaguely Scottish way ("tote-leh") and awesome in an alarmingly nasal Australian way ("Oar-some. Mate!").

Anyway, I'm not going to keep banging on about BlogHer because I'm sure it must be tedious to read, but I just wanted to preserve in writing about two more OARSOME people I met.

Meeting Jillian Michaels

Holy jet lag, Batman. When I finally went to sleep last night I'd been up for 30 hours, and now I'm awake again and still buzzing. Bzzz bzzz. I feel completely delirious and insane. Am I annoying you yet? Huh huh?

Let's begin with a burning question from the last entry - What is that yellow goo with the pretzels? On the left is mustard, on the right is some sort of Processed Cheese Produkt. Which didn't really do much for my tastebuds. So I ate two Chicago hot dogs to compensate ;)

Another question - Is Jillian Michaels wee or are you eleventeen million feet tall? I'm 5'8" and she is tiny! As Jen said, you could fit her in your handbag. And smuggle her out of the country so you could put her on your mantelpiece at home. Which is what I am sure many of us wanted to do after that soiree.

I had another one of those You've Come A Long Way Baby moments when everyone was lining up to have their photies taken with her. Despite Jillian being minuscule, I did not for one moment hesitate to get in the frame with her. Instead of fretting about our David/Goliath contrast all I could think was, "I cannae wait to show this to the blogging dames!"

All weekend I shocked myself at my ridiculous levels of boldness and enthusiasm. I think folk may have thought I was on drugs. Maybe it was the jet lag or maybe it's because I've been very busy and isolated this year and haven't been out of the house much -- but I just wanted to yap to everyone and hear all about their lives. I wanted to jump into photos, I wanted to tackle people to the floor and tell them how tops it was to meet them in the flesh, I wanted to burst into tears about 10,000 times. I didn't think about my arms or wobbly thighs or my bite-infested ankles.

I feel like I've shaken off so many old doubts and insecurities. I'm pretty damn excited about life lately. As the leather-trousered Mr Morrison sang in Light My Fire, the time to hesitate is through.

Righto. Focus Shauna, focus!

Okay, today I will zoom in on the Jillian Michaels Lunchtime Chinwag. The AOL Body folks sponsored some lunchtime chats with various health-type people, so I pounced on the chance to meet The Buffed One. I thought there'd be hundreds of chicks in a barn and Jillian would be a dot on the horizon, but there was only a dozen or so, clustered around a table. It was all very cosy with some very honest and frank conversations.

Jen wrote an excellent recap of the discussions if you'd like to know the nitty gritty, so I will just sprout my impressions. I'd only known JM from two episodes of The Biggest Loser I saw in Australia back in 2005, in her hyper fembot trainer mode. She was equally hyper in person, but also warm, kind, funny, wise and so generous and open. She only had to be there for an hour, but she stayed for two - answering our questions, cracking jokes, offering advice and insight and juicy anecdotes about the show.

I was busting to ask her a question, so I sat there listening while I mulled over the possibilities:

1. How do I get arms like that? How many reps? How heavy? Huh huh huh?
2. Did you notice any difference between the Australian and American Biggest Losers? Which country had the whiniest losers?

Hehe. Instead I asked her about giving advice. I get lots of emails from people with oodles of weight to lose saying they don't know where to start. What did she recommend I tell them?

I do get a bit angsty-pants when answering emails, because they're often heartbreaking and I desperately want to say something helpful. I realise people have to find their own answers, but I know when I was getting started I was gagging for a wee spark of encouragement. So I usually write about what worked for me - baby steps, finding a source of support, and forgetting about the big fat picture and just focusing on ONE tiny thing. Like say, decide to go for a 20 minute walk, twice a week (or in my case, it was 5 minutes before I thought I would keel over). Once you have that mastered, you pick another new thing and add it to your fledgling repertoire of healthy habits... and so on, until you have almost tricked yourself into being healthier :)

I guess I was sneakily looking for some reassurance from Jillian's answer. She said the two big things were 1) getting educated  and 2) getting support. And baby steps. I snavelled Jen's summary from her entry:

In the real world, [Jillian] said, people need to find a support system first, and tell their cheering section exactly what kind of support they want. After educating themselves a little on exercise and nutrition, wanna-be losers should make sure to start slowly with activity, but they should start right away. "Just go for a walk, get outside, find things you like." If they don't love exercise, they shouldn't be surprised, Jillian said, because "there's never a moment when I'm lifting a weight or doing a push-up where I think I love this! But I love the results." The first step for many people, she said, is "just not moving backwards" -- once they stop gaining, they can start the weight-loss process and get more fit.

She also talked a lot about the word balance. This was the big key to her approach. You have to find a way to juggle all the variables in your life so that being healthy is both sustainable and enjoyable. I remember a time when it seemed bloody impossible to me that it really could be that simple. But if you're willing to take the time to figure out what works for you, and do what you can feasibly stick to instead of driving yourself mad with unrealistic expectations or someone's elses notions that you must do X exercise Y times a week and eat Z... then suddenly everything really does slot into place. And you just end up healthier, on your own terms and your own pace, without so much angst and stress.

She also talked about how many people have an "all or nothing" approach to fitness and weight loss - if you're a perfectionist it can really paralyse your efforts. She said something like, "Just say your car has one flat tyre, would you go crazy and slash the other three?" No, you would just fix the one tyre then move on and start a new day...

One thing she said resonated with me like a brick to the noggin - "Successful people fail all the time". Nobody gets anywhere interesting without screwing up royally along the way. That sang to me in so many arenas, not just the fitness stuff. "Success is about attrition," Ms Jillian concluded, and I wholeheartedly agree. Just dig in, get your claws dirty and hang in there for the long haul, baby! Even when everything goes stinky. Especially when everything goes stinky.

Evidence

You asked for Chicago photies and I shall obey you!

Exhibit A: Token Food P0rn

American Snacks were provided yesterday afternoon so I got to experience Chicago Dogs and these giant pretzel things, served with mustard and a delicious pile of yellow goo!

Exhibit B: Brush With Fame

Jen and I went to a lunch with Jillian Michaels, trainer extraordinaire from The Biggest Loser show - just a dozen or so chicks sitting round chatting to this superbuff dame. She was only obliged to be there for an hour but instead it almost hit two because she just wouldn't shut up, in the most wonderfully open, honest way. Sweeeet.

Exhibit C: Windswept Vixens

Back: Jen of AFG and YAWWBlog, Queen Jennette. Front: Corinna of Celebration of Curves, that Dietgirl weirdo, Wendy! Five chicks who happen to write about their bodies sometimes. But a helluva lot of other stuff too.

Late last night I also got to hang out with Weetabix but I was too intoxicated to remember to take a photo! But you will just have to take my word for it that she is hilarious, foxy and a most generous hostess to boot.

Over the past year or I've felt a little lost. First I went through a phase of being rather obsessed with reaching my magical goal weight, then lately I've moved on from that obsession and lumped with a sinking What The Fuck Do I Do Now feeling. Because I've spent 6.5 years pouring so much energy into Operation Lard Bust. I've wondered and worried as to what I'm all about; what there is to me aside from being The Chick That Lost Heaps Of Weight.

But meeting all these foxy vixens this weekend has truly kicked me up the butt. I met them because of what they've written about their body Issues, but now I've found out more about what they do and what they think about when they're not talking about their butts. So it's a timely reminder that there is so much more; that I have done so much more with my life than this. And I can do so much more. We all can. You can look after your body and get healthy and sweaty but it's just one cog in the wheel. Rock n roll.

Hail To The Queen

Very quickly and shoddily written first impressions from Chicago!

Chicago - rockin'

Jetlag - turns me into a babbling moron :)

Deep Dish Pizza, slice of, eaten at midnight - will take approximately seven weeks to digest

Meg - hilarious, wonderful, even-better-in-person got me smashed on a margarita!

Jen - warm, funny, oozes intelligence and a great gal for a good chinwag :)

PastaQueen - tall, slinky, gorgeous complexion, witty... she's not The Queen for nufin, people!

Pamela - We meet at last! She is a lovely, lovely woman and I can't wait to chat to her more. I also met her wee son and her Scottish husband and I almost burst into tears o' joy at hearing his accent. Mmm, Scottish accent.

Kate - Another chick who just radiates so much intelligence that it makes you swoon. I was glad to chat to her for a few wee minutes :)

Weetabix and Sarah - I managed not to squeal like a fangirl and even tho I only got to talk to them briefly they were incredibly charming. I hope to stalk them further today!

Wendy - Oh man. Mah hero! She did a great job on the Bodies panel yesterday. I hope I get to chat to her again, and I hope I don't make a dick of myself. I stood up in the panel yesterday and sprouted some incoherent babble and did you know what I thought? "Aww man. I can't believe I sound so stupid in front of WENDY."

Hehe.

Sorry this entry is devoid of all style, wit, substance, editing, etc etc but it's breakfast time and I don't see the point of being at a blogging conference and spending your whole time behind a computer. That's what you do back home in your jammies! Now is the time for pressing the flesh. And eating the free bagels.

A quick word about the Bodies panel yesterday - I felt quite gutted by some things I heard; the thoughts we have about ourselves. I just wanted to crash tackle some people to the floor with a bear hug. Because I used to feel like that and I remember it all too well. And though I will never be a You Go Girlfriend Love Your Body type of person, I have to say how amazing it feels just to enjoying occupying my skin, every lump and bump. I just want to eat up the world with a spoon, the same way I used to do with the Nutella. I wanted to tell people that it is possible to get a different place, even though it's a very loooong and wacky road to get there.

Here Comes The Sun

Remember the old days when I was hysterical about keeping this blog anonymous? After a very public outing to friends, family and colleagues via the Scottish papers I thought, "Righto, that's it. Finally everyone knows." But there was one frontier that I'd forgotten, and that's Folks Back Home. Home, as in the wee town where I grew up.

When I left for university in 1996 I was already a considerably lardy lass, about 100 kilos (220lb). I managed to gain a spectacular 59.2 kilos (130lb) over the next five years and was so bogged down with shame and loathing that I basically became a hometown hermit. Whenever I went back I'd hide out at Mum's house, not telling anyone that I was around. We'd go out shopping but I'd insist on waiting in the car, not wanting anyone to see me waddling down the aisles. I lied my way out of many parties and reunions. It wasn't until I was back down to about 120 kilos that I started venturing out again. I remember feeling rather smug and evil, "MWAHAHA. Nobody will ever know how big I got!"

But now people have found the site and the truth is in here. It's nae bother now, though. I yam what I yam, I was what I was. It's all me, no matter what size the undies are. So welcome aboard, old chums :)

. . .

Speaking of friends, I finally met my dear mate Argyro in Athens this week. The Greek Goddess first wrote to me many years ago when she found this blog and I was instantly charmed by her passionate prose, endearing English and general lust for life. Her blog is private these days but she's an inspiring dame for many reasons, one of which being she's lost over 50 kilos.

Argy was one of the first people I ever "met" who'd lost a shitload of weight so I was overjoyed to find someone who understood all the crazy things you go through. I have a tendency to get intense and obsessive but like to smother those feelings with lame jokes. Argy always cut right past the jokes and made me get to the honest guts of the matter. She's a good egg, I tells ya.

I've not met many fatbloggers in person yet but from my limited experience I can already see one pattern. People are always smaller than you'd imagined. It must be the way we describe ourselves in our writing, full of sprawling adjectives. We speak of mammoth chests, loaf-like arms and bulbous butts that knock over children and trash cans when we walk down the street.

It happened when I met Lainey last year. She stood up from her chair to greet me looking bloody gorgeous and I remember thinking, "Where's the rest of her!?" Likewise in wee small hours of Friday morning when I stumbled off the plane, there was Argy holding a rose and looking SO bloody tiny. I don't know if we describe our bodies in such terms because this is the way we perceive them, or maybe we're trying to lower expectations? Hehe.

I know Argy mou has a lot of fans out there so I'm happy to report that she is even more brilliant in person. After about 27 seconds lounging in her stylish abode, it felt like I'd known her for a hundred years. Do not hesitate to meet her, and I'm especially lookin' at you Cat :P

So we had a lovely five days in roasting hot Athens. Argy is an extremely kind and generous hostess. After all these years of tantalising descriptions, I finally got to sample her culinary skillz for myself. Oooh yeah. Stuffed peppers with bulgur wheat and loadsa herbs, pasta with lobster sauce, pungent homemade pesto I'd sell my grandmother for. We made Greek salads sprinkled with the famous herbs growing in pots on her verandah and ate cherry tomatoes still hot from the vines. I ransacked her gigantic jar of homemade pickled veggies and we sampled her homemade peach liqueur, warm and potent from baking on the windowsill. Everything tasted so pure and clean and fresh and made you glad to be alive.

It wasn't all about the food, of course! I met her family and friends and swam and pottered around Athens. We went shopping. We went to the farmer's market. Hang on, that's more food, innit?

I also thought I would wilt away while visiting the Acropolis. It was 41'C (106'F) in city on Tuesday, and lord knows how many degrees hotter it was up there on the hill with the sun bouncing off all the bright white columns of the Parthenon. DUDES. I was frying, despite giant hat and 27 layers of sunscreen!

(NB - I was at the Acropolis by myself so a nice American tourist took my photie. She put me in the corner! I promise I wasn't doing the old Fat Girl Hiding trick :)

But my most favourite part of the trip was when we were lazing around at 4AM, talking about everything under the sun. Inevitably the subject of lard-busting would come up from time to time, and it was heartening to see we've both reached a peaceful place with food now. A year ago I'd have been sick with worry, going to Greece for five days with all that amazing tucker to tempt me. But these days I'm more calm and rational and in tune with the ol' body. And although my jeans felt a bit snug on my return, I got back on track right away. I can finally enjoy food passionately but moderately; there is no more Crime and Punishment mentality.

. . .

I've been back in Scotland for three days but my head is still reeling from all the sights and senses and emotions. There's so much more I want to say, and no doubt will end up writing on WNP, as that's where I keep all the travel stuff. But what I do know is that the more I venture out into this world, the more I learn. I see things in different ways and feel my mind opening up, exploring and discovering again what's important.

PEOPLE! That's what's bloody important. Not wobbly bellies or doughy arms. I was so scared of people for a long time, hiding away in my house with the blinds drawn; thinking I shouldn't disturb anyone with my lardy presence. But now I'm determined to make up for those lost hermit years. Life just gets so much more interesting when you reach out and connect with the humans. I'm determined to make a better effort. There are some bloody brilliant people out there. One day we all shall have that Fatblogger's Convention.

Right now I've got a huge stack of emails with a Reply To label stuck on 'em so I'm going to get cracking. Bon weekend, comrades!

The Deep End

I'm going to take swimming lessons!

In the last two years I have re-learned to run and re-learned to ride a bike, so now it's time to face my ultimate fear and re-learn to swim.

Swimming is associated with so many traumatic memories and body image issues, not to mention the fact that I have always completely sucked at it! But I am just in a Fear Facing mood right now, so I want to conquer this one once and for all.

Also, winter is sneaking up again so I want a new exercise that will keep me motivated but won't be murder on my knees. My father-in-law contacted his friend who's a swimming teacher and she's up for teaching me, so tonight I'm going to call her and then I'll go forth and buy some swimmers and then I'll get my chalky white arse back into the drink.

Consider this my public declaration of intent. Feel free to hunt me down and thrash me with a branch if I don't follow it through.

Before long I will have the complete set of Triathlon skillz down pat! Of course, it would have to be a very special Triathlon for the Chronically Hopeless:

SWIM - Frenzied dog paddle across the council pool.
BIKE -  Ten minutes in a straight, flat line because I'm still scared of hills and corners.
RUN - Actually can we make that a walk, since my knees are cactus? A slow, shuffling walk.

Och, you gotta start somewhere.

Just to explain my current arse-kicking frame of mind. I had yet another revelation on Friday. In brief: I am chicken shit!

This was brought on by the whole Television Thing. When I was initially approached about the Sky News story I completely freaked out and said No! I had nightmare visions of my big mug on the telly and panicked. What if they made me climb into my fat jeans? What if I looked hideously fat and everyone laughed? What if what if what if?

I got off the phone and told my colleagues about it. They were amazed that I'd said no, saying it would have been a nice opportunity. But I came up with a dozen reasons why I shouldn't do it, concluding with, "I'm too fat to be on television."

An hour or so later it all sank in and I thought, "Oh god, what have I done? That would have been a fab opportunity. You. Bloody. Moron!"

In the end, thanks to the lovely Emma Robertson (journalist extraordinaire who wrote The Scotsman article last week), I managed to get back in contact with Sky on Friday morning. They wanted to do the story straight away! FARK! Thanks to my faffing about the day before, there was no time to angst over wardrobe choices. Luckily I have the best colleagues in the world. Not only did my boss let me nick off for a couple of hours, my mate Alex drove me to the shops so I could get a top that didn't have lunch stains on it, then drove me into town. What a legend. At the last minute I ran to the chemist and got some nail-polish remover and rubbed off two weeks of crusty, chipped nail polish, which was just as well since they did some close-up shots of me typing! Note to self: Be less slobby!

It was all over so quickly. I was so nervous I thought I'd throw up, but the Sky people were lovely. They just plonked me onto chair, asked me a few questions, had me do the pretend typing then I was all done! Cool.

On the way back to work I kept thinking about how much I have changed since the fat fighting started, but also how much I haven't changed. My reaction to the whole media madness last week proved how in many ways, I am still holding on to my fat. I am still letting it hold me back, even though so much of it is physically gone. I am still using it as an excuse not to push myself. I am still scared.

I don't want to be like this any more. I am tired of doubting myself and being timid. I know I have made real, albeit slow progress towards accepting that I've changed and declaring some ambitions (such as the book project). But sometimes I still feel like an Apologetic Fat Girl, afraid of making a noise and taking up space.

On Friday night I decided to write an entry for my other blog and finally "out" Dietgirl. I had a good cry as I wrote. It took me two more days to work up the nerve to post it. I barely slept all weekend, knowing I'd kept a massive external and internal transformation a total secret from some really brilliant friends around the world, for really demented reasons. But when I finally did it, it was like the last big cloud had been lifted.

So now I feel like I am finally being honest, to my friends and to myself. More accepting. No more hiding. It's time to push forward and work harder. To live a little less in my head. To stop clinging to the old excuses and not be such a chicken.

And that's when I figured I may as well learn how to swim again, while I'm on a roll!

The Fatbloggers Convention

Why hello! I'm crawling out from under my rock to tap out this wee missive.

It's been a bizarre couple of days. Yesterday it was happy days with The Scotsman story coming out and having a hoot on radio. Then I discovered late in the afternoon that the story was to be reincarnated for another publication. Oh. That article came out today and it was cool, but the PHOTO. Oh lordy, the photo. It was another from the Scotsman session, and as I described to a friend, I look like a big blue lump in my stupid blue top. Mama Smurf! This is not exaggeration or self-deprecation or paranoia, I look awful. It's not online but don't ask me to scan it in coz it ain't happening, kiddies. I care about your retinas.

There's just rolls everywhere, fabric clinging in all the wrong places; windswept hair. And I'm squinting like a sailor searching for the shore. My husband is a kind-hearted diplomatic bloke who knows how to soothe the female ego, but even he actually did a double-take and admitted, "Whoa! That's a shocker!".

Out and About

Well apologies for the radio silence around here folks. I've been busy curled up in a ball in a dark corner, rocking back and forth and speaking in tongues. It's been an interesting week, to say the least.

Basically, Dietgirl has been OUTED to all and sundry. I admit that I am a doofus when it comes to all things mathematical, arithmetical and statistical, so perhaps that's why I'd convinced myself that even though the Sunday Mail sells millions of copies, none of the 80 or so people in my building would be among its readers. I mean, surely they'd go for something a wee bit more highbrow?

But noooo. I tiptoed into the office at 7.30AM on Monday morning and was ambushed by a colleague in the foyer.

"Hello!" I said.

"Well HELLOOOO!" she grinned, "And how are YOUUUU?"

Uh-oh.

"I opened the paper and I thought, that looks like SHAUNA. And it was! Oh my god! I got the shock of my life!"

"Oh!"

And so this went on all week. There were a lot of smiles and heads shaking in disbelief, there were jokes and funny looks and hush-hush conversations. Some people even bought the clipping in to pass round their department. It was weird, weird, weird.

But everyone has been lovely. Surprised, but lovely and supportive and kind! But I was still so embarrassed, because even after losing a chunk of weight I am still bigger than 90% of the people I work with. I wanted to get a t-shirt that says I'M NOT DONE YET. If anyone so much glanced at me I wondered if they were trying to picture me twice as wide. I've only lost about 10 kilos in the time I've worked there; they haven't seen any dramatic change. So to see my former GIANT BLOB BOD floating across their Sunday paper would have been a bit of a shock.

I was mildly irritated by one person who cornered me and said, "I heard about your article. It's amazing. But I just can't picture you being so... so... you know... big! I mean, 25 stone!" Her face wrinkled up with mild distaste as if she'd said, "I mean, two vaginas!" or "Sleeping with horses!".

Sometimes I think I should have been an alcoholic, it seems a more socially acceptable character kink. Obesity just isn't glamourous and it seems to make some people uncomfortable.

There was another terrifying moment when one of the guys on my team came up to me on Tuesday and said, "Soooo... I've got a big fat beer gut, eh?"

"What?"

"I read your site last night."

"Oh?"

"I was reading October 2004 and you were describing someone very familiar!"

Shit shit shit! I'd written about him! What had I said? Was it bad? Then I remembered I'd written about how he'd lost an absolute stack of weight and was showing everyone how loose his trousers had become. And I was flamingly jealous of his success as I couldn't bust an ounce at the time.

So it was okay! I'd written nice stuff about him! EXCEPT for that bit where I said he used to have a big fat gut and an assortment of chins! Holy crap. I can't tell you how surreal it was to hear your words back in your face from a real person, after secretly typing away for years and years thinking only the imaginary cyber peoples were reading. And can you imagine how he must have felt to discover someone was talking about his baggy trousers on the internet?

So the week was like every blogger's nightmare come true. At first I felt guilty, embarrassed, extremely silly... oh, you name it.

The Scottish Companion has been copping it too, since our wedding photo was screaming down half the page, stopped only by a small article on Marilyn Monroe's lesbian affair. He got a text from a friend on Monday morning, "Mate, when you get married people usually put a photo in the local rag, not the bloody Sunday Mail!"

Then all his work colleagues have been giving him shit, and a client even called to say, "Nice to see you've found yourself a little wife on the internet."

Arrrgh! The article really does imply that we met online. Not That There's Anything Wrong With That! I jumped down poor Beckie's throat when she commented how nice it is that so many people find lurve online these days. I am so sorry Beckie! I overreacted because the comment sent me into a panic, thinking all my colleagues would think that I was some sort of desperate Mail Order Bride putting my fat ass up for sale on the net. But of course, people hook up all the time online without being of the Mail Order persuasion. I've had some choice liaisons with internet folks in my time, thank you very much; so I'm all for it. Love is love whether you found it in the pub or on the 'puter.

I know some of you have been mortified on my behalf to be suddenly thrust into the spotlight, particularly when I have so ferociously (hysterically) guarded my anonymity for the past 4.5 years. I've been careful to keep my fat writing from my non-fat writing; to use pseudonyms and not write anything that could weed me out in a Google search. It seems ridiculous now that just a few months ago I finally worked up the nerve to tell my own bloody husband about the site. Now it's all out there baby, and I have lost the last place I could hide and let loose and truly be myself.

I spent a couple of days mourning that. Dietgirl has been an outlet and a refuge during this whole lard busting journey. I never stopped to think about how the article might change things, and now it felt strange and scary not have that private space.

Yet I was determined to look at this experience in a positive light. For one, it's nice publicity for Erin's book in the UK. And if anyone I know bothered to check out this site, they probably got bored real quick then got back to their lives.

Plus it's a real hoot to be able to say you were tabloid news.

Most of all I've learned that it's time to stop hiding.  Back when I was twice as big, I felt like half the person I wanted to be. I felt like I had to hide myself away from the world and make as little fuss as possible. Since I took up so much physical space, it was like I wanted to make my personality as small and muted as possible. So the virtual space was where I could stretch out and have fun.

I no longer need a secret place to be my real self. Because I am finally being my real self all the time now, out there in the big bad world. I am sick of leading this stupid virtual double-life, it has been bloody exhausting. This isn't to say I'm ditching this site, I'm just ditching the bullshit. I'm sick of worrying about what people think when they're probably not thinking anything at all. So... let's just get on with it.

Highway to Hell

Let's be honest about this whole Fat Blogging thing. Sometimes it's great, sometimes it sucks. Sometimes you're truly on fire and all you want to do is write about your fat and your amazing progress. Other days you're just bloody sick of counting calories or fat or sheep or whatever and therefore cannot be arsed with blogging. Some days you are full of insight, wisdom and amazing moments of personal growth; other days you are deep in denial and/or a bucket of ice cream. Sometimes you will read a blog and feel empathy or inspired or humbled or teary; other days you will read a blog and think, would you just stop your whining and get on with it it!

The trick is to understand that we are all on different paths. And while all our paths are long and bumpy and go up and down, noone is on the same path at the same time. While you may feel on top of the world and focused and fired up, someone else is going through a downer, or just priortising other things in life rather than fat busting.

What is the point of this little rant? I dunno. I guess when you've been writing about blubber and reading about blubber for a very long time you start to see patterns and cycles. I've seen a couple of bloggers writing about rough times lately and they've gotten some comments along the lines of "What's with all your negativity?". Sometimes other bloggers have fallen off the wagon and felt reluctant to write about what they're really feeling. But honest writing is the best writing. I guess I am just saying for the bloggers - let it all hang out. We love you whether you're losing buckets of kilos or taking some time off. And to the readers - remember to put on your empathy hat. It's a real person you're reading about, and real people have ups and downs in life.

. . .

The Perfect Day went just perfectly, huzzah! Well, until 10pm when I made a batch of Anzac biscuits. SC has band practice on Friday nights and when the band comes over afterwards, they sit around drinking tea and eating biscuits (cookies) - usually cheap, nasty ones make with hydrogenated vegetable oil -because they're just so punk rock. I have been "educating" my husband (read: being bossy and righteous) about the perils of trans fats and told him if they're going to eat cookies, why not have some nice homemade ones full of oats and really not that much butter and sugar. Well this batch was a different recipe - less butter and sugar, more oats - and worked out to be quite low in calories and fat. They looked awful though, like small, mean little rocks. So I decided to eat one to make sure they were edible. I was so bloody annoyed for ruining my perfect day! So annoyed that I ate two more. Ha ha ha! Luckily I only made a half batch so the guys ate the lot when they got home.

Och well. Apart from that I am feeling great this week, eating well and moving my lardy arse. I even Body Pumped at home on Saturday night. I really need to move some furniture around - the barbell is so long that I keep clonking it against chairs and windows. Either that or we need a bigger flat. Hmm... Someone asked if Body Pump is available on DVD. It's only available in gyms that have the Les Mills range of fitness classes. The only reason I can do it at home is coz I've done the classes so many bloody times I am able to repeat the moves like a robot! It's the easiest class in the world to do, especially if you're new to exercise, so I can't recommend it enough.

. . .

Has anyone cooked millet before? I bought a bag of it from the health food shop awhile back and have no idea what I am supposed to do with it. All suggestions welcome!

Perfect Day

I want to today to be Perfect, dammit. I am still using Weight Loss Resources to plan and track my food, and it tells me at 87.5 kilos wanting to lose at the rate of 0.75kg per week, I need to eat 1537 calories per day.

This didn't happen yesterday, even though I ate exactly what I'd planned in the Food Planner. Except I added some leftover sandwiches at work, some globs of my homemade hummus and carrots, numerous nibbles while cooking tea and a huge bite of SC's chocolate chip biscuit. That all adds up pretty quick.

So today I am publically declaring my intention to have a Perfect Day and stick to my plan. Maybe this way I won't have sneaky calories that may fool the world but not my hefty arse. As of lunch I've had 795, leaving 742 for the rest of the day. This is plenty for some fruit, a pre-run snack and my Mushroom Burger dinner. There is really no need for me to eat anything more than that. Ooh how nice it would be to say I actually stuck to the plan. I am determined, woo!

. . .

Tales from the Scale is now on Sale! (How Dr Suess is that sentence?)

It's a real live book! It's not in the UK til June, no idea about Australia; but in the States (and Canada, I believe) you'll find it in all good bookshops and on Amazon. In case you missed me crapping on about this before, Tales is the creation of fitness blogging supremo, Erin Shea. Apart from her own delicious writing, the book also has contributions from a whole bunch of groovy blogging types, such as Mopie and Robyn. Robyn was the very first weight loss journal I'd ever read, way back in 2000. It was through her hilarious and insightful writing I finally began to believe it was possible to lose a megaload of weight. Needless to say I'm dead chuffed to be in such good company. I really enjoyed the read - the stories will make you laugh and cry and think and realise you're not alone in this lard-busting caper.

I finally got hold of a copy last week and all I can say is... wheeeeeeeeeee! Seeing my name above my chapters in a real live book was the biggest thrill. I was trying to act all cool and nonchalant with SC, saying how I was just a few pages in amongst a whole lot of other pages in Erin's book... but then the glee won out and I had to jump up and down for awhile. This is something I've dreamed of my whole freaking life. I remember being six years old when all my wee friends wanted to be firemen or teachers or astronauts, I'd always say "I want to be an author". I dunno where I heard the word but I liked the way it sounded; if you can imagine a tiny Aussie accent: OR-THA!. All I ever did was write and write and write. I'd go into my own little world and I was so happy there. I always had several plays and "novels" on the go, always stapling the pages together to "publish" them. The highlight of my year was summer holidays when Mum would bring home one of the computers from her school so I could write all day long and pretend I was a real Ortha.

Somehow in highschool I lost that innocent love for writing; I was so sidetracked by homework and teen angst. It wasn't until after university when I discovered blogs that I remembered how much writing used to thrill me, how it feels so natural and essential and right to me like water or chocolate. I know I must sound so terribly immodest but I just had to say how exciting it was to see that book. A dream come true. I feel teary now just thinking about it. Best of all my Mum doesn't know anything about it yet - I sent her the book in the post for her birthday so it should be a great surprise for her.

So thank you Erin for letting me be part of the project amongst such esteemed company. Now you lot, why not go forth and buy the book? You won't regret it.

Bon weekend!

The Modern Age

Would you cop a look at all those ideas for workout DVDs in the last entry? Thank you SO much to the groovy groovers who posted their favourites. Feel free to keep adding your comments, other people seem to be finding it handy too. I had no idea there were so many out there.

. . .

You may remember me mentioning the lovely Julia, who has in the past sent me sporty clothes and helped me get started with running. She has just started a blog herself, as she's aiming to blast away 5 stray post-baby kilos in the next 5 weeks. She's also training for a marathon! 5 days a week! She needs a cheer squad so why not head on to Five in Five. I give it 5 stars. Hehe.

. . .

Speaking of fabulous people you meet via the internets, I have to talk about Jillian again, San Francisco hostess-extraordinaire. You may recall me mentioning how Scottish Companion, my then-fiancee, did not know that I knew Jillian through Dietgirl. I just told him we'd be staying with This Chick I Know From The Internet. As the big day loomed I just couldn't seem to bring myself to tell him the truth, still feeling strangely embarassed about the site and the fact I'd kept it from him for so long. Jillian told me she'd go along with whatever I decided, she and her hubby were even training each other to call me by my real name and not Dietgirl, ha ha!

Finally when we were sitting in Amsterdam airport waiting on our connection, I decided to 'fess up. We were tired, dishevelled and barely coherent, so the timing was perfect!

"Hey Scottish Companion," I said nervously, "I have to come clean about something."

He turned paler than his already pale Scottish Complexion. "Oh?"

"I didn't meet Jillian through my blog. I met her through this other blog I have. It's about losing weight and stuff. And I've had it just as long as the other one. And I put in about the same amount of time on it. And people read it just as much."

"You are kidding me?"

I babbled on about being sorry for not telling him and blah blah blah, but he just said, "Jeez you had me worried! I thought it would be 'Wedding's off'. The last time a girlfriend said she had to come clean about something it was REALLY BAD! This is totally cool!"

So I told him a wee bit more about it and how there's all these groovy diet blogs and it's really motivating and blah blah blah. He couldn't believe I'd managed to keep it quiet for so long but he thought it all sounded very cool.

Anyway 12 hours later we sat in Jillian's SF kitchen and I told her that it was okay, HE KNEW THE SCORE! She seemed relieved, hehe. And as she prepared some verrry delicious salad plus soup with teeny tiny alphabet pasta in it, she told SC how she'd been reading Dietgirl for ages after someone at her Weight Watchers meeting mentioned it, and that it had been a fun and inspiring read. Well I tell you what, it was SO freaky to hear a real live person talking about this site, a person you'd only just met knowing all this stuff about you. It was like it finally dawned on me that the website was a real thing about a real person that people actually read while sitting down in front of their computers with a coffee. Until then I think I'd naively thought I was just tapping out my rants and raves and they just sort of floated around in the ether and some otherworldy beings left comments now and then.

And she talked about how she'd witnessed Dietgirl slowly transform from being very large and lonely and struggling with depression to someone significantly smaller and happier and about to be hitched. And I sat there thinking, "Holy shit! She's talking about me! I did all that stuff that she read about it! So that's who I've been writing about all this time! And now I am on the other side of the world about to eat her soup with teeny tiny alphabet pasta in it. How freaky cool is that!?"

Later as SC and I were drifting off to sleep at the jetlagged time of 7.30 PM, he snuggled up behind me and told me he was so proud of me and just amazed and awed that I was doing something that was helping and inspiring a lot of people. I squirmed and was too mortified to speak for awhile. But here's what I said to him and what I want you to all know.

"Well, hold on there tiger," is what I said, "I'm not like Oprah or anything. I am but one drop of oil in the large, vast deep fryer of inspirational bloggers out there."

I read a helluva lot of diet, health, fitness blogs, whatever you want to call them. It's the first thing I do when I get to work every morning (what a dedicated employee). Every day, without fail, there will be something there to make me think or smile or cry or giggle. Some  of you inspire me to run, some inspire me to cook some aduki beans, some inspire me to like myself more, some make me stop my whining and get on with it. No matter what mood I'm in, there'll be someone feeling the same way or someone who'll say the write the perfect thing to snap me out of it. This blog palaver has been the most important tool I've had while busting this lard. Not those bloody Slimming magazine stories where they say, "I walked the dog and ate fun-size Mars Bars and lost a steady 1 kilo a week!".

No, us bloggers are all in it for the long haul and share our ups and downs. We share information and inspiration and understanding. Think of your non-blog circle of friends out there in the Real World. How many of them are on Lard Busting Missions? How many of them understand your freaky struggles with Whole Pints of Ice Cream and love/hate relationship with the scale? How many of them are interested in talking about squats and omega-3s and calories burned?

So I just thought we should all stop and think for a wee moment about how cool this stuff is. It's only since I met Jillian and confessed to SC that I think I really fully appreciated just how important it is. So lets all gather in a big circle, group hug then hump each others legs like overexcited terriers and thank your chosen deity for bringing us the technology. RAWK!