The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Livin On A Prayer

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"Today's class will feature no less than three Bon Jovi songs," our Body Pump instructor gleefully announced this afternoon.

Oh hell yes! Way to turn around my bitcharse disposition in one sentence. You cannae beat a bit of the Bon. The tunes turned out to be a really dodgy techno remix of Living On A Prayer and two inferior newer songs, but it did the trick. I don't know where I'd be without exercise to elevate my mood. In jail, probably.

I had a Bon Jovi Flashback in the middle of the Tricep track and nearly dropped the bar on my nose from laughing. The day before my last high school exam, me and three good mates went to Sydney to see Bon Jovi in concert. My first concert ever! Unless you count that Elton John tribute guy who played at the local greyhound track when I was ten.

When you lived in a far-flung rural town the only way for kids to get to concerts in the Big City was by charter bus. It took about five hours, excluding vomit stops. Since this was 1995 there was only a cassette player on the bus and the self-appointed Overlords of the Cassette would sidle up to the driver and bat their eyelashes until he put their tapes on. It always fascinated me how on a bus full of strangers a clear hierachy of popularity would establish itself within the first fifty kilometres. Anyway, we were approaching the outskirts of Sydney; so close to Bon Jovi we could smell the acid wash, when a rather tired and dull blast of guitar dribbled forth over the speakers.

"What the hell is this shit?" I snorted to my friend Jenny.

There was an outraged intake of breath and one of the Cassette Chicks spun around in her seat, fixing  her kohl-rimmed eyes on me in what we call back home a Death Stare.

"This shit," she hissed, "Is Bon Jovi's latest album!"

Oh. Well. It was shit.

Anyway that has bugger all to do with anything, doesn't it? I have an almighty backlog of posts but had pangs of self-consciousness every time I sat down to write. It's been odd trying to get back into the groove after my Internet Exile. It's like I had amnesia and stumbled across my belongings like a stranger... I write about my blubber? On the internet? Why would you do that? Why would anyone read that?

And then I watched some really depressing documentaries about wars and poverty and felt guilty for writing about trying not to eat things for almost eight years.

More soon, comrades! :)

Astounding Feats of Arithmetic

The Scottish Government is running a campaign for a healthier nation called Take Life On. Billboard sayz: change your life by swapping plate of flaccid chips for plate of pasta.

Some folks will get all snobby about it and suggest refined white pasta with a token blob of tomato goo isn't particularly nutritious. Then there's the billboard with a beer on it, imploring you try one night per week without a pint. But the campaign is all about the value of small changes adding up to a healthier you and I'm all for that. You gotta start somewhere, says she who once Drove Thru four times a week.

Must say though, first time I walked past that billboard I thought, "Ooh. Quite fancy chips for my dinner." I've been living here too long!

. . .

100 PushUps Update

Good news: I can now do 12 consecutive proper push-ups! (started out at 3)

Slightly crappy news: I needed to do 16 in order to progress to Week 3. FAIL!

Now I have to repeat Week 2, which had already taken 3.5 weeks to complete. At this rate I will be the World's Oldest Blogger by the time I get to 100.  But my goal for six weeks was to get to 20, so I'm on my way to being able to respond if someone barks, "drop and give me twenty!"

Well... at this stage I'm only any good if conditions are perfect - properly hydrated, well rested, no kickboxing class the night before, not in a bad mood, etc. One day I'll work up to a Spontaneous Show-off level of pushup prowess and I'll drop to the floor in supermarket queues just because I can.

. . .

Any mathemagicians out there? Dr G and I have been having a heated debate about my push up statistics, namely by what percentage I have increased my ability. Could do 3, can now do 12. One of us says 300%, the other 400%. We'veve been sitting here scratching our heads for an embarrassingly long time!

Our excuse is that it's 1AM and we also had a very very late Friday night. Actually Gareth has that PhD so he really has no excuse at all. I am so brain dead that I just asked him, "Is magician spelled with a J?"

Shauna used to be able to do just 3 push-ups, but can now do 12.
By what % has her push-up ability increased?
300%
400%
I'm not going to dignify that with a response,
you pair of numpties!

Free web polls

One Hundred Push-Ups

Who's up for a new challenge? Andrew is taking on One Hundred Push-Ups. It looks to be the Couch to 5k of the push-up world, a six-week program designed to gradually build your strength for the mother of all moves. From the website:

"If you’re serious about increasing your strength, follow this six week training program and you’ll soon be on your way to completing 100 consecutive push ups! Think there’s no way you could do this? I think you can! All you need is a good plan, plenty of discipline and about 30 minutes a week to achieve this goal!"

Holy exclamation mark, Batman!

I like how they say "on your way" to completing 100 consecutive push ups, because right now my efforts are rather weak and wobbly and I'd be happy to work up to 20. We do a lot of push-ups in my kickboxing class but there's only so much you can progress with one class a week. I like the idea of a real concerted effort to improve - not only the quantity but the quality of the reps.

It's also a convenient wee challenge - I can do push ups anywhere, and unlike this stinking Moonwalk it's not going to take over my life. Or puff up my hands.

So I'm in, baby! I'm going to take the initial push up test tonight then start next Tuesday 17th, giving myself a couple of days to rejoin the living après-Moonwalk.

Anyone else fancy it? It'll be tops. And there's nothing quite like knocking out a few push ups to make you feel smug, strong and sexy.

Further reading on the joys of push-ups for young and old, large and small:

• New York Times - An Enduring Measure of Fitness: The Push Up
• Fitness Fixation - More Determined Than Ever
• Stumptuous - Mistressing The PushUp

(Proper entry re Moonwalk later today!)

Feats of Strength and Stupidity

I've been feeling kinda strong and feisty lately with all my kickboxing and weight training, and last night I gave Gareth a stunning demonstration. He was checking the kitchen floor for loose tiles and asked if I could help him move the washing machine. Two minute job, nae bother.

Separate laundries, a.k.a. utility rooms, are not common on the tiny isles of Britain. At least not in our sector of the housing market. So the washing machine is usually in the kitchen, wedged under the counter.

Ours machine is clunky and heavy so shifting it is a two man job. But I wanted to prove my brute strength and usefulness so I started dragging it out myself.

"Whoa!" said Dr G, "Nice one, She-Ra!"

I beamed.

"Can you just move it a little bit more to the right?"

I tugged with a Monica Seles urrrghhhh. There was a CRACK. Then a whoooosh. Then Gareth was almost knocked off his feet by the mighty jet of water that shot straight into his belly.

"You broke the hose! Turnitoff turnitoff turnitoff!"

"What? How? Where!?" I helpfully threw my hands in the air.

The severed hose writhed and the water spewed, rapidly flooding our stupid little kitchen. Gareth fought his way to the cupboard under the sink. Washing powder, garbage bags, shoe polish and sponges plopped into the water as he dug around for the switch.

Finally there was silence.

"I'll get a towel," I said.

"This has done nothing to improve your reputation for having No Practical Skills."

"This wouldn't have happened if we lived in a civilised country where laundries are not just for a privileged few!"

So apparently the hose is attached to the washing machine with a screwy-in-thingy and the screwy-in-thingy snapped right in half. Hopefully I can track down a new hose soon as it would be nice to wash the 27 towels it took to soak up the chaos.

"What were you trying to do there?" Gareth was laughing, despite being soaked to the bone, "You're always so violent. No more kickboxing for you!"

It seems funny now but last night it felt like the straw that soaked the camel's back. I  wanted to throw myself into the puddle and thrash like a toddler. This Fixing Up The Flat bollocks is getting old. Why does Two Minute Job task turn into an ordeal? Why can't we just live in a dorm with a futon and a cardboard box?

I think Dr G has had enough too, going by his expression when he sat down on the couch last night and stretched his feet out under the coffee table, only to smash his toes against the microwave I'd neatly stowed there. Mess! Destruction! Trip hazards! Floods! Enough!

And what the hell does this have to do with weight loss, you may ask. Well. Perhaps we could fashion yet another weight loss analogy. Weight loss is like moving a washing machine because... people will tell you that it'll be be quick and easy and painless but the reality can be very very messy and make you very very cranky.

Dip Dip

I have a burning ambition to do a tricep push up. Also known as a close-grip push up and probably seventy five other names, but it's the one that looks like this.

I cannot do 'em for the life of me - I barely manage a standard push up! For years I've jealously watched people churn them out at Body Pump classes while I slumped on my mat. There is a strange beauty in that neat up and down action... it's like the human equivalent of a collapsing ironing board!

I figure this time last year I couldn't do tricep dips and now I finally can, so maybe in another years time I can do the pushup. At this rate I reckon could work up to a pullup in approximately 75 years!

Plankety-Planks

I have gone plank mental lately! I used to hate the plank, but now I lurve the plank. Embracing my inner sulky six-year-old, I hated planks purely because I couldn't do them. WAH.

We did a lot of planks in my old pilates class and I truly stank. My arms would give out and I'd dive to the carpet. But for the past few weeks I've been tacking on this wee six-minute plank segment every couple of days. On-your-elbows planks, straight arm planks and reverse planks that you seem to hold forever. In my case it was about five seconds. But suddenly on Friday, I could doooo the bastard planks! I kept up with Cathe and held 'em all for the entire time. I even chucked in some side planks at the end for added torture.

I'm a big fan of weight training but I'm trying to do more stuff with my own bodyweight. After all, it's a heavy ol' body! There's plenty there to resist without always needing to drag out the dumbbells. I like the look of this crazy 7-Minute Weight Loss Circuit, as Marla has been doing of late. The Mountain Climbers and lunges would be too dodgy for my knee but there's some good ideas there.

. . .

When I started my lard-busting caper in 2001, one of my motivations to get smaller was to one day possess a decent wardrobe, free of polyester and appliqued kittens. But despite dropping many sizes I have yet to get adventurous. I've been awed by blogging comrades like Kathryn, Phil and YP who've swathed their saucy slenderised selves in all manner of foxy frocks. I just can't seem to get the nerve to do this myself. All I've done for the past six years is buy jeans and plain tops in the next size down. Just look at my progress pictures; I just keep downsizing the same bloody uniform!

Laziness and tight-waddery are a factor, but cluelessness has much to do with it. I went straight from being a little kid when your Mum picks your clothes to being a Large Adult with no choice but the trusty Uniform. Now that I'm finally spoiled for choice I'm not good with the choosing.

All I know is that I want to feel more girly, while I am still actually reasonably girly. I am nearly 30 years old and have never worn a dress aside from my weddings. I am so entrenched in my jeans-and-top uniform that my mother-in-law was worried that I'd get married in them. Ha! So the other day I went KA-RAZY and bought a frock. It's a bit plain but I figure I have to start somewhere, eh? (Here's a pic but my camera's colour has gone wonky. Stupid shoes for demo purposes only. And transparent legs = four years in Scotland!)

I think I am ready to have some fun with clothes. It's just fabric after all; it can't bite you. I am a sucker for 10 Years Younger and all those makeover programmes; I wonder what it would be like to wear knee-high boots or crazy jewelery or a colourful belt. I've never owned a belt. I always had my guts to hold my trousers up, after all!

Maybe this summer I will go radical and buy some clothes with actual colour! Maybe a pattern! Maybe a skirt or two! All the possibilities make me nauseous, but I don't see the point in busting all this blubber if I'm not going to enjoy it.

. . .

I am cuckoo for tofu lately. Never used to like the stuff, unless it was microscopic cubes floating in a bowl of miso soup. But we needed some protein variation in our pseudo-veggie household so I thought I'd give it a go. I consulted the trusty Leith's Vegetarian Bible (tip top wedding pressie from Sandra!) and found a stir-fry recipe.

You chop the tofu into cubes and marinate it for twenty minutes in soy sauce, garlic, lime juice with a dash of honey and sesame oil. Then you drain it, reserving the juicy goodness. You put the cubes on a tray then zap 'em in a hot oven for 20 minutes til they're nice and golden.

I just stir-fried a bunch of green things from the fridge (broccoli, snow peas [mange tout to the brits], green beans, swiss chard [or some leafy thing, never can tell what's what], green pepper [capsicum to the Aussies]) with a handful of frozen edamame and the leftover saucy stuff. Then plonked the crispy tofu on top to serve.

It was very green, but bloody beautiful and wholesome to the MAX! Total tofu convert now. Tofurkey for Xmas 2007!

The Doctor Is Out

I'm obsessed with stability ball pikes, or rather my complete inability to do them! Check out this handy video to see what I'm on about.

That nubile wench Cathe Friedrich manages to get into a completely vertical position, toes on the ball and butt in line with the hands. Then does twenty perfect repetitions. Me? I can just manage to pull my ankles onto the ball before dive-bombing onto my nose.

The whole move feels totally wrong, but I think that's what I like about it. I like feeling awkward and clumsy. I spent so many years trying to keep my large body as still as possible, so not to disturb anyone with my wobbly presence. Shuffling from the fridge to the couch to the bed to car to the job to the drive-thru -- that was about the extent of my movements. These days I want to make up for lost time and arrange my body into complicated positions (stop snickering). Upside down, underwater, backwards, sideways, one hand, no hands.

I used to stay still because I didn't want to look ridiculous but now I just want to move, and the more ridiculous it looks the better.

. . .

Watch Your Portions Week went well! There was an initial mourning period as to just how puny a proper portion of rice looks, but I'm used it now. Sniff.

This week is Listen To Your Guts Week, in which I aim to teach myself to Stop Look And Listen before eating. Am I actually hungry or just bored or cranky? You'd think I'd have mastered all these basic concepts by now, but I reckon everyone can do with a refresher course now and then.

. . .

For the dear soul who came here searching for "dr gillian mckeith perfect poo chart", I urge you to check out this cracking article in today's Guardian: "Doctor" Gillian McKeith - A Menace To Science. Thanks everyone who pointed it out!

Raising Hell

My fellow Americans! Or rather, people who read this site who are Americans!

I stayed up late last night watching your Superbowl thingy, in an attempt at cross-cultural understanding. I must say I am more baffled than ever. There seems to be ten dozen people on the field at once, and they only jig about for a minute before everything stops again. I calculated at that rate of action half time would be about 3AM my time. So I had to go to bed. I only just found out that Prince was the half-time spectacle. PRINCE! With a cleaning lady headscarf! I'm gutted to have missed that.

Meanwhile in the UK the Six Nations has started, with not a shoulder pad nor a Billy Joel in sight. Just poor Scotland being destroyed by England, no thanks to the return of that that prodigious bastard Jonny Wilkinson. As he kicked goal after goal, all I could do was bitch at the telly, "Why's he doing that crouching-toilet-praying-yoga pose? STAND UP STRAIGHT, dammit!".

No doubt I was just cranky as it was the third day in a row that I, coincidentally, could not stand up straight. Earlier in the week I'd done a killer lower body workout that included calf raises. It sounded innocent enough - standing on the step on my tippy-toes and going up and down 100000 times. The next day I rolled out of bed and discovered a world of pain. My calves were mooing, as Maggie would say. I could not straighten my legs. I had to stagger around the house in the above Jonny Wilkinson semi-squat, with Gareth behind me cackling, "Get a move on, Granny!".

It was a full five minutes before I could rise to my full height. Ahh the agony. The sweet, delicious muscular agony! Those calf raises better have done good things for my chubby legs or ELSE. Today's the first day I've been able to rise from a chair at normal speed!

You know, I'm sorry these entries have been so breezy lately. So flippant; so What I Ate For Breakfast, if you will. I do have more profound and thoughtful things to say but haven't sat down to write them out properly as I've been a wee bit busy. I'll get onto it quick sticks.

Apart from the screaming calves, I've been enjoying that Arc Trainer thingy (thanks for your thoughts on that one, by the way) and enjoying long winter walks in the great outdoors (thanks Global Warming!).  I'm also celebrating the return of the kohlrabi to the vegie box delivery, and the mysterious disappearance of AN INCH from each hip, waist and bust in the past two weeks. HURRAH! My jeans are no longer strangling my internal organs! I call that progress.

Disastrous Thighs

I was walking along the beach, or more like waddling along the beach because the sand seemed so thick and heavy I could barely lift my legs up and down. I was hot and uncomfortable as it was, but then I had to walk past a bunch of tanned and buff blokes who were posing on their towels.

"I spy with my little eye," said one of them, smirking at me as he took a sip of beer, "A pair of disastrous thighs!"

"Disastrous thighs!" I sputtered to Gareth, as I awoke from this seaside dream. "Can you believe that? What a bastard!"

"Why disastrous thighs?"

"I dunno, I think it was meant to rhyme with eye. Anyway, he was having a go at my thighs!"

"Hmmm. Looks like you're paranoid about your legs on a sub-conscious level!"

Could be, Fred. I feel so content with the ol body these days, but perhaps deep down I'm convinced that is only because I'm no longer living in Australia where you have to display your pale, blubbery pins for three quarters of the year unless you want to die of heat exhaustion. THANK GOODNESS I live in Britain where it's almost winter and this is the view from your window at 4 o'clock in the afternoon:

I'm not going to leave the house at all, let alone leave the house in an outfit that would reveal any ghostly flesh.

. . .

Does anyone remember Operation Push-Up? I made it a new year's resolution to build up to proper push ups on my toes (aka "Man" Push Ups... snort!). In January I could do half of one, which was really more like a direct belly-whacker into the carpet when my arms collapsed. I managed to get up to two in May before I had to abandon the mission when I injured my neck/shoulder and had all that physiotherapy. Grrr.

Since I got the all-clear in July, I've slowly been rebuilding my upper body strength. It's only been the past ten weeks that I've consistently managed two proper UB weights sessions per week. And I'm finally seeing some results! I read Krista's Mistressing The Pushup advice, and started with push ups on the wall, then kitchen counter. Because my knees can't stand any pressure on them, I had to skip the next stage altogether - knee push ups. So I've just been doing one or two wobbly full bodies then gone back to my trusty wall.

Today I was doing my Pyramid Upper Body DVD and the warm-up called for knee push ups. "RAH! I told you before, I can't do those!" I yelled at the laptop. Instead of watching Cathe with my hands on my hips I decided to try as many as I could on my toes. And I managed eight! Slowly! With good form! WOOHOO! I couldn't bloody believe it!

Okay, it's hardly enough to get me into the army but it's a helluva lot better than my previous zero. If I ever get to the stage where I can actually Drop And Give You Twenty, I will make a movie and upload it for you all to marvel and/or snigger at my sheer athleticism. Mwahaha.

System Status

Going For Gold Status Report! Things are going well this week. I have been feeling completely overwhelmed by things lately so taking it One Meal At A Time seems to be helping.

My swimming teacher had to cancel last night and I contemplated crawling into bed with a book. But I did Cathe's Pyramid Upper Body instead. The woman is not paying me to say this, but her goods work well for me coz it's the bossiness of a Body Pump class without having to leave the house and your crappy breakfast-encrusted t-shirt. PUB is my Lazy Day DVD because it only uses dumbbells - I just reach right under the bed for em. As opposed to workouts that use the barbell, which involves moving furniture and futzing around changing the plates. You have to be in the right mood for that sort of palaver!

So it's lazy, but it's hard. You start with 12 reps at the lightest weight, then 10 with medium, 8 with your heaviest, then work your way back down through the pyramid. Its very fast, simple and efficient. You just whip through each body part - chest, back, shoulders, triceps, biceps - and before you know it you're a crumpled, whimpering heap on the bedroom floor. But then you have to recover for the abs section.

I only did the 30-minute Pyramid Up last night, but I think when you feeling out of sorts it's better to do something, anything, exercise-y, rather than sit on your arse. I have to keep the momentum going and keep moving forward. Pow!

I also wanted to say cheers for all the lovely comments and emails of late, they are soooo appreciated. Thank you. Thank you...

A lot of people have mentioned deep-water running, would anyone mind saying a bit more about that? Google is rather vague. My gym only has Old Lady Aqua classes on weekday mornings, obviously nae good to me; so is this something I could pursue on my own?

Hope you all have a tops weekend :)

Heavy Metal

Grunt! Urrgh! Mrrrgh! Oof! KAPOW!

I've been a complete stressmonkey this week, and had almost convinced myself that hit of Green & Blacks was the answer. But on Thursday night I spied my dumbell collection under the bed, all lined up in a neat silvery row. They were calling out, Remember us?

Weights are my favourite exercise when I'm crabbit. I like the routine of dragging out Reebok step, tying my greasy locks into ponytails, placing all the dumbells in numerical order, closing the blinds and cranking up the DVD on the laptop. All that organising has a soothing effect!

I'm still on my Cathe Friedrich kick. Since I hurt my knee I haven't been able to do Body Pump classes at the gym, as squats and lunges are agony. So I stick to Cathe's upper body DVD's. The moves are gruelling, but her all-American winning smile never wavers. She's motivating without being nauseating.

And just like my beloved Body Pump classes, Cathe bosses me around and tells me exactly what to do. I am lazy, people! All I have to do is Obey Cathe and I'm guaranteed to wind up in limb-trembling agony without any thought on my part.

I don't even mind that I've done the tapes so many times that I know what's coming. I still feel a wee internal woohoo every time she grins, "We've got a TOUGH workout ahead of us today, are you ready?".

Sometimes I'll chirp back at the screen in an unconvincing American accent, "I'm TOTALLY ready Cathe!"

Thursday was Chest and Triceps. First up was the dreaded dropset of 72 pushups, which I am still doing wall-style (a tip from Marla!). After that it's bench presses and flys. Then you remove the risers from one side of your step so you can do incline presses and flys.

The incline was when I became aware that all the stress had somehow evaporated from my body. All the crap I'd been panicking about all week suddenly seemed a lot less important. If I hadn't been pinned down by 15 kilos of metal, I would have slid off the step in a blissful puddle. There's something about the repetitve grunt of the movements that clears my mind; the simplicity of lifting those dinky dumbbells up and down. Many people complain weights are boring, but I like them because they're boring. Once you know what you're doing and what muscles are meant to be screaming, you can just switch off your brain. You are free to daydream of bunnies or shoes or sushi while your body sings along without you.

"You did a GREAT JOB!"  Cathe cheered, 45 minutes later. As she always does. "I'll see you NEXT TIME!".

I felt completely relaxed and rebooted. Lately I've been distracted and antsy, so exercise had fallen by the wayside for almost two weeks. I'd almost forgotten I had a body; I was just a nervous, blobby brain floating round aimlessly. But now mind and body were hooked up again and I could get on with things. I love you, exercise. Let's never fight again.

I emerged from the Bedroom Gym red-faced and stinky. Gareth enquired with a twang, "How was your TOUGH WORKOUT?"

"Cathe said I did a GREAT JOB!"

"Will she see you NEXT TIME?"

"Oh yes."

I'll crack on with Back, Biceps and Shoulders today. Huzzah!

Hope you're having a GREAT weekend. I'll see you NEXT TIME.

The Potato With Eyes

A few months ago I was at the Barn for a Body Pump class. There were two instructors up on the stage. I'm not sure why they have two. Maybe it's so one person can walk round the class helping people while the other teachers. Or maybe it's because when you're teaching a class in a basketball court, you so get exhausted from shouting to make yourself heard that it's nice to swap the microphone with the other instructor halfway through.

There were a lot of new people that night. And it's always the same story. Bad form ahoy! Wonky squats, swinging bicep curls, awkward lunges. I remember the first time I did Pump in 2001. I knew diddly squat about squats. It's a crazy new world in there! Now I watch people wrestle with the bar and squint at the stage, trying to absorb so much new information. I want to run over and say, "Don't give up, pet! It gets better!"

On this occasion there was one woman doing a particularly unusual interpretation of a squat. As the track went on, I saw Instructor 1 (who was on the mike) glance at Instructor 2, nod their head towards Wayward Squatter then grin. I2 looked and smiled. And so it went on for another few minutes. Nod. Grin.

Then Instructor 1 actually rolled its eyes. I2 shook its head with a hint of exasperation then decided to step in. In the most un-freaking-subtle way possible. I2 threw the bar down with a mighty clang that echoed round the court, jumped off the stage and ran over. I2 stood beside the Squatter and demonstrated the correct form.

Maybe I am just an oversensitive fatass, but I found myself getting rather angry and defensive on the Squatter's behalf. Sure, the instructor was nice to help her out, but crikey! Every single person was staring, trying to be casual about it as they sank deep into their bottom-half squats. The Squatter was clearly flustered, and the more I2 corrected her, the more she'd fluff it up.

I remember the first time I rocked up to a group class; all the fretting I'd done about even turning up; how fragile my resolve was. I was just looking for confirmation of my fears that I shouldn't be there, that I didn't belong. I already feel like an idiot simply for daring to be in the same room as these nubile regulars, resplendent in my baggy trackpants and oversize t-shirt. I recall looking in the mirrors and thinking very specifically that I looked like a potato.  A potato with eyes, standing in a sea of celery stalks.

So if my instructor had done the eye-rolling, half-smirking, dramatic bar-throwdown thing with me, I would have slunk out the door and never come back.

I just wanted to yell at them, where's your empathy? Isn't fitness meant to be for everyone? You may not be able to relate to the Squatter's overweight body, but haven't you ever been crap at something before? Were you ever a beginner or did you emerge with those muscles straight from the womb?

I am hyperconscious of not forgetting what it feels like to be right at the start of a lard-busting journey. It would be all too easy to be smug, arrogant or complacent. It is possible to be proud of your own achivements without sneering at the efforts of others. Especially since we're all just a few skipped workouts and a bag of cookies away from being there again.

(The Wayward Squatter never came back.)

. . .

I ranted about the above to the Scottish Companion months ago when it happened - I bet he thought I'd let it go by now! No way, mate! You know I just use you to test out my material before I write it on here. Hehehe.

. . .

Now this is sobering reading. And while you're there be sure to read Renee's Biggest Loser recaps. We don't get that show in the UK (at least not on Freeview) so I'm lapping it up!

. . .

So I lost 0.9kg (2lb) this week. Woohoo! That's 75.7 kilos (168.8lb) gone in total. "You've lost a whole me!", said the Scottish Companion. How bizarre.

This new softly softly approach feels so much better. There's balance. No extremes or denial. I ate the 0% fat yogurt and the sunflower seeds but I also factored in the three slightly stale Mint Slice biscuits (brought all the way back from Oz by a good mate). Softly, softly!

Push It Real Good

Yesterday was the first class of Push Up 101 with the Scottish Companion. It wasn't really a formal lesson as such. Just me attempting to do a push up on the living room floor. Then him telling me that my bum was sticking in the air and my hands were in the wrong spot. Then me screaming, "Yes, WELL, I don't know HOW to do them properly so if you could just TELL me how do them, NO DON'T SHOW ME, I could watch you do push ups all day and not learn anything!". Then him patiently explaining that my hands in the wrong positon; then me doing one very creaky, not-very-deep full push up before collapsing face first into the carpet.

Push Up Count for 2006 = 0.5

It can only get better from here.

. . .

Cheers for the positive response to the last entry, especially the idea of the healthy food blog. Now begins the typically long and tedious process of designing the blog templates and getting it all perfect before I even write a single thing. My goal is to have it up and running by the end of January. I'm currently fussing over a name for the new baby. It was much easier coming up with names for my other blogs:

• What's New Pussycat had humble beginnings as a What's New page for an old personal homepage, so it was a simple and unimaginative matter of adding "Pussycat" to the end of it.
• The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl started out as pure sarcasm: like my latest attempt to lose weight would be So Amazing, YEAH RIGHT! Also, I had a hilarious image in my head of myself in a lyrca bodysuit, attempting to fly off the couch (complete with cape, and mask to cleverly conceal identity on the big bad internet).

So I want something concise, catchy and not too obvious. No puns allowed. I don't want it have the word "blog" in it either, nor any of the following: food, cooking, kitchen, eating, healthy, chow, fare, fayre, gourmet, delicious, fresh, pig trotters.

I thought of simply calling it Ginger. Because ginger is fresh, healthy and easy to spell. Also because Ginger is what British people called redheads, and I am a redhead. It makes sense to me, anyway.

The Scottish Companion suggested a few variations: Ginger Beer, Gingerbread, Ginger Cream, Ginger Snap or Ginger Root. I rejected the lot of them, despite his fierce lobbying for Ginger Root, "Come ON! The Australians will love it!".

I've also considered calling it Mrs Feta. This was the title of the Dietgirl entry in which I declared, "I freaking LOVE feta and would leave SC and marry feta if it was socially acceptable.". I thought that might be a good title, as I do indeed freaking love feta cheese. Plus it's wholesome and relatively healthy, which is what the blog will be about - wholesomness and relative health ;) And I like the idea of Mrs Feta as another wee persona to play with, a la Pussycat and Dietgirl.

So what do you reckon? Ginger or Mrs Feta? Or something else altogether. Do you have any ideas? Please don't say Ginger Root because that is not an option!

DIY Body Pump

A piddling 0.2 kg loss this week. I was going to get all pouty that the scale isn't reflecting my efforts but then I realised my efforts weren't that great on some fronts. We went Up North for the weekend, stayed in a B&B and went out for dinner; then indulged in that grand tradition of the Full Scottish Breakfast (bacon, eggs, sausage, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms - but no black pudding for me). Then Monday night because we still had the hire car we drove out to Anstruther to reputedly the Best Fish And Chips in Scotland, and ate fish suppers by the seaside.

I don't feel one tinge of remorse for all that. Why? Because I just bloody felt like living life last week and not fretting over weight loss targets. There was sun in the sky for once, we had a car for once and neither of us were busy for once; so we took full advantage of it.

I still did all my exercise (walking to work, two Body Pumps, three running sessions and a yoga DVD) so I was at least keeping up the exercise. Last night I tried on my wedding dress since it was our Two Months Anniversary, and I am pleased to report that I can now zip it up ALL BY MYSELF! Two months ago it was a fifteen minute two-man job with lots of swearing and sucking in of stomachs. It fits so much better now, especially around the hips and thighs. Looks like Mistress Julia's running regime is helping with the lard removal!

. . .

There were so many trains of thought sparked by your reactions to last entry that I don't know where to begin. Thanks for your responses! Some of you were apologising for hijacking the comments or cluttering up my inbox; this is never the case. These kinds of discussions are invaluable. Not only do we get comfort from knowing we're not alone in feeling this way, it also helps us to see things in different ways and to consider other people's ideas. Then perhaps what you thought was an overwhelming or scary issue can seem a lot more managable.

I guess what I learned most from it all that it has taken time to change my body that it's only natural that the mind will take time to adjust. Best of all I feel like I am well on my way - it's just those PMS days that it can all seem too much.

Rosemary Grace asked if I thought it was harder to adjust to "normality" than it was to take on the journey to get there. In some ways I do, because this Adjustment Phase I'm in is all mental and emotional, whereas my focus in the Journey Phase was more physical.

If you think right back to before the Journey started, ie joining Weight Watchers in 2000, I'd just come through a few years of bad depression as well as some intense family dramas - a phase of life where it was all about emotional/mental work. So it was great to launch into WW and focus on a practical task. For the past four-and-a-bit years I've tinkered away at my health and fitness - changing the way I eat, learning to move my butt, buying skinner clothes, etc etc etc. It's been a very practical, absorbing project that required me to learn a new way of life.

That's not to say the Journey part hasn't brought emotional changes, lord knows I have written enough about that. But for the most part I've been able to put my brain on hold. And once I'd learned what to do with my food and exercise, my life got bloody busy with this crazy run of gigantic, life-altering changes - two years of travel, working two crazy jobs, falling in love, getting married in a big freaking hurry. Sooooooooo, for the first time in yonks I actually have time to reflect on what all this physical change has done to my head. Finally talking about this stuff to the Scottish Companion has dredged up the muck in my brain so now I think it's time to deal with it.
. . .

Anyway, that's enough Dr Phil for one day. What else has been happening? We bought a set of weights for home. Just some cheapie dumbells and a barbell from Argos. There's only a couple of Body Pump classes per week that I can make at my new gym, and it's even more difficult with my running schedule. Plus I have been trying to sell SC on the amazing wonders of resistance training. He refused to try a Pump class with me, saying the music was too poncy. So the weights at home were the compromise.

Being a sad Body Pump geek, I came up with the ultra-geeky idea of downloading some BodyPump songs and putting them on my iPod Shuffle so I could make my own Body Pump class at home! I googled like mad til I found this blog that is actually devoted to Body Pump songs of yesteryear. Don't you just love the internet? It is a sanctuary for every kind of geek there is. So I spent HOURS there last Tuesday reading up on all the cheesy techno songs and cooing "oooh I remember that Lunge track! Sweeeeeet!". Then I went crazy on iTunes, downloading songs and assigning them categories (Abs, Shoulders, Chest, Squats, etc etc etc), then making playlists for my very own Pump class.

Thursday night I got out the weights and hung the Shuffle round my neck. It was simulataneously thrilling and Really Freaking Sad that I could remember the moves for an entire eleven-track "class". I just churned through like a robot, knowing exactly when to do single squats or bottom half or super slow; remember which triceps bits used the barbell and which bits were plates or pushups. And some of the songs were ancient, like from 2001 when I did my first Pump class as a 120 kilo lass. It was awkward manouvering the barbell in our tiny bedroom, and I used a camping mat in lieu of a Reebok step for the chest and triceps. The only dodgy bit was during the Chest track, when I pushed the bar up for the Clean and Press, it got caught underneath the neckcord of the iPod, donking my forehead and flipping it up over my head, wrenching out the earphones. After that I put the iPod under my t-shirt so it couldn't move. Overall it was just as an effective workout than if I'd been at the gym, with a bonus geekgasm element.

UPDATE - October 2005 - Hello Google visitors and emaillers! Sadly there is no such thing as a Body Pump DVD. The only way to do Body Pump is to find a gym that holds the class. Check the Les Mills website to search in your area. If you read this entry you will see that I simply had downloaded some of the songs and did the moves from memory in my living room. This is in no way affilliated with Les Mills International.

There are many home fitness DVDs available that incorporate similiar resistance training into the workouts - try FitPrime, The Firm or Cathe.

Back In MY Day

There was a cracker of an article the last Observer Food Monthly about food in the Olden Days. They interview some senior cits about their memories of food and eating over the years. It's fascinating stuff. We take for granted the absolute abundance of food choices we have today. During the war years these people ate the likes of powedered eggs and Mock Apricot Flan (made with carrots and margarine). Mmm mmm.

A great quote from 91-year-old Bill Deedes:

I don't think it is the food people eat today which makes them unhealthy. I can't blame the supermarkets or fast food. I blame it on the ubiquitousness of the motor car. We really don't eat much more than people did in the18th or 19th centuries, but we need to learn that if you do moderately frequent exercise you can eat more or less whatever you want. We mustn't put too much emphasis on what is eaten, rather on what activities are done. I go for walks in the wood and I drive golf balls in a field near my house most days.

Marguerite Patten, 88 was a home economist to the Ministry of Food during World War II. She used to go about the country doing cooking demonstrations to how to make the most of their food rations. This part in particular was food for thought:

Today, I think that we are a divided nation when it comes to food. Half of us love food and cooking and the other half subsist on ready meals. I have nothing against ready meals per se... but it does make me angry that we worked so hard to keep people healthy during the war, with so little food, and, now we have an abundance, a great number of people are nowhere near as healthy as they should be.

You can read the full article here.

. . .

Most of my gym classes are at 6pm, and since the gym is next to my bus stop I usually go straight there after work than going home first. I arrived at 5pm yesterday and instead of curling up on the lovely leather couches for my usual catnap, I thought maybe I should actually use that time productively. So I ventured into the cardio theatre.

I have been at that gym for about 16 months now, and had only been on the machines twice before. It just intimidated the hell out me, that endless grind of treadmills and skinny people all slick and shiny with sweat. But today I thought to hell with em! I am paying just as bloody much, I have the right to gallumph on a treadmill. I did 20 minutes on an incline, including five whole minutes of running!  I never really timed how long my bursts of running were when outdoors, so I was well pleased to see I could keep going. That ain't no marathon, so stop laughing - but I had to save some energy for my Body Pump class! Also I didn't have my running shoes on, I didn't want to wreck my legs. So I hopped off and did 15 minutes on the elliptical machine. Fark! I'd forgotten how evil they were! By the time I shuffled into my Pump class my legs were jelly.

Needless to say the class hammered me. I hadn't been for five weeks. Ouch. And the instructor was Kiwi Vanessa, who is officially The Best Instructor In The Universe. I think I have one of those non-sexual crushes on her. She is so nice but so tough so I can't drop my weights coz I want to impress her. Ha ha! Anyway, she is totally bossy and prowls around the class correcting people's form. I didn't get corrected once, woohoo!

I have been taking Pump classes for close to three years now and I managed to pick up tips from her last night. She has the most incredible way of describing how these exercises are supposed to feel, how you should be moving. For example, in the Back/Hamstring track when you do the clean and press move, most instructors break it down by saying you do an upright row then flip the bar under, then up into the shoulder press. Which is correct, but as Vanessa pointed out, a lot of people end up finding their shoulders are doing their work, not the legs. So she suggested you don't do a complete upright row, maybe just halfway, then when you turn the bar over and catch it, you let your thighs take the impact. So you're almost in a squat position. Then when you push up, make sure your legs and arms straighten simultaneously to make sure it's your legs doing the work. It is impossible to describe this but just that subtle change of not doing a complete upright row really made me feel a difference.

Another tip she had was about tricep press-ups. Instructors always give an alternative for normal press-ups, ie. on your knees, but they aren't as good telling you what to do if you're too weak to do tricep pressups. Vanessa actually gave a beginners variation so you can FEEL SOMETHING even if you're a spazz like me. I had been mucking it up all this time.

I felt so inspired and happy after the gym last night! So did my sister. And unlike Tuesday night, (Return to Body Jam) I didn't make a dick of myself. Tuesday night Vanessa was getting us to practice a samba move, a backwards step, and I stepped back alright - straight into a pile of Reebok steps. It is very hard to hide quietly up the back of a class when 30 people turn around to look who's making that bloody racket.

Are You Ready For My Jelly?

Sometimes I feel I should write a new entry, it's usually on a Wednesday or Thursday. But it seems every time I write such an entry and crap on about how good I'm feeling and how I KNOW I'm going to lose on Monday, Monday rolls around and then I gain. And then I get upset about the gain and I feel to disappointed to write. But if I don't write in here at all, I miss the support and feedback from you guys and I end up gaining.

Hmmm.

Anyway, I had a good week last week, I got back on track with my eating. I did three Pump classes. I LOVE the Pump classes! It's been about five weeks now and I am sprouting muscle like you wouldn't believe. It's hard to see under the fat, but baby, you can FEEL IT! Oh I love it. My quads (front of thigh) are so hard. Hee hee. I made my flatmate feel them. Feel my legs! Feeeeeeeeeeeeel them! And my arms! Phwoar! There's so much muscle there now. What a pity about the flab covering them, eh?

Anyway, I love the weights. It's so fun! So so so good! I love it. It's easy to push yourself in a Pump class, because all you have to do is add more weight to your bar. First class I could only use the smallest weight (1.25kg on each side = 2.5 kg all up) but now I am squatting with 10 kilos and my other weights have gone up too. LOVE IT! Love it love it. It can only get better, baby! More weights. More more more. Of course, the secret is good form, so I only increase the weight when I am confident that I am doing the exercises properly.

To show how addicted I am: Monday night I do Pump at 6.30. This means I have to Weigh And Run at WW. It doesn't give me much time. So I weighed and ran and arrived at the gym at 6.25pm. And there were NO WEIGHTS LEFT! Despite us booking our place in the class and everything. Even if there HAD been weights there would have been no room on the floor. There must have been 35 bloody people jammed into that room. And we were #4 and #5 on the list! I was so angry! They shouldn't overbook like that. All we could do was leave. The gym floor was too crowded to work out there, too. So I had to storm home. I was so pissed off! I had been looking forward to the workout all bloody day long. Wah. I felt all ansty and cranky for the whole night. I guess I am addicted to the rush of exercise. Who would have thought that fat ol ME would love exercise? Amazing.

Anyway. I gained 0.1 kg at WW. That is like 0.05 lb. Pah! I should have gone to the bathroom before class! I was positive I'd had a good loss, I felt smaller, but then we had a big lunch at work, whereas I normally eat very light on Mondays. So of course I was all thunderously cranky after that. I felt like never coming back to WW. Seriously, what is the point? I am building muscle like a mofo so the scales are not my friend. I need to focus on the other things I'm doing well.

Hmm what else? I am still hooked on Body Combat. Pow! Great stress release. I also even tried a new class called Body Jam, which is basically dancing! You do hip hip songs and latin and R&B, it's SO much fun. I was absolutely TERRIBLE at it. My legs kept getting all tangled up, it was such a fast pace, and the moves so complicated! I'd never sweated so much in my whole life! But I didn't care, I kept going. It was a lot of fun. How could you go wrong with a class where you get to shake your ass to Destiny's Child singing Bootylicious?

I am telling you people, exercise is GOLD. Exercise is amazing for your body. Your body will love you for it. In January, I could not walk ONE BLOCK without stopping and clutching my chest and feeling like I would cry from exhaustion. I was in serious trouble. But now! Man! I can't get enough exercise! It makes me feel good! WW meetings can not give me that kind of motivation and inspiration.

The key is finding an activity you like. People told me that when I started, but I said "I don't like any activity!". But that was a cop-out. You have to work to find it! Try different things. I've tried walking, I've tried gym workouts (treadmill, bike etc), I've done swimming and now classes at the gym. And FINALLY I worked out that the classes are what works best for me. I just turn up there 4-5 times a week, and for a good solid hour I work out, and I am told what to do, I am pushed, I am not allowed to stop. I don't have to think for myself. I can't make excuses. And you know what else? There's MUSIC! I listen to music all the time at work to get me through the day, so why not apply that to exercise? I find it easy to exercise when I can move my butt to the beat.

So I finally worked out what works for me. It took about 10 months of trying to work it out. You could probably do it sooner. But hey, I am big fat slug and I'm slow :P So there. But I urge you, stop fretting over the scale and MOVE YOUR BUTT :-)

Finally, I love you lovely chickens who wrote/guestbooked over the past month when I've been in a very bad sad depressed way. You lifted my spirit so much and while I still have a few more emails to write, I have nearly replied to everyone. You have no idea how much of a reality check you collectively gave me. It really means a lot. THANKYOU so much.

Well, my fitball class is on soon so I better go. Cheers!

Tutti Fruiti

There's an apple, an orange and a banana sitting beside me on my desk, and I can't decide which one of them to eat. None of them are appealing to me right now. Why aren't any of you Mars Bars? Useless bastards.

So I gained last night. An almighty 0.1kg, which equates to 0.22 of a pound. If I'd made another trip to the loo I'm sure I would have stayed the same. Mwahaha.

I didn't get upset, I didn't cry, but I made a brief statement of justification to the WW leader and the weigh-lady, describing briefly my rigorous weight-training schedule and the subsequent "fucked-up-ness" of my performance on the scales lately.

They were in complete agreement with me, saying that it would benefit me more in the long term to stick with the weight-training, the leader lady even threw in a heartwarming anecdote about a guy who climbed Everest and "If I looked at the whole mountain I'd never had climbed it. I just had to take it step by step". So despair not about your mountainous bulk, the WW team assured me, you'll get there slowly but surely.

Though reassured by their words, I was thoroughly disgusted at myself for being such a whinging git. Why the need to justify that pissy little gain to them? Why do I need to justify anything? Week after week I see people at WW get on the scale and gain and say "Oh, it's that time of the month, wink wink," or "Those chocolate biscuits were calling my name!" or "I didn't have time to exercise!" or whatever. Excuse after excuse. I guess I just wanted everyone to know that I AM NOT LIKE YOU PEOPLE! I bust my ass at this weight-loss caper so don't go thinking I am gonna give up! I am not one of you! I am not making excuses!

Aye.

I went to the gym a couple of hours later for our "heavy night", in which we do 3 sets of 6 reps on about the nastiest weight you can manage without dying. I love the 3x6 night, I feel so strong and foxy afterwards. Plus I managed to do my entire 20 minutes of cardio without dying. I know 20 doesn't sound like much but I'd already been dragged along by the dog for our daily walk, plus the hella heavy weights. I did a bit of an interval thing on the treadmill for that 20 mins, 3 minutes brisk pace then turn it right up so I am walking FLAT OUT for another three. Second interval I hoisted the treadmill onto the #5 incline and walked uphill. Ahh my calves! It was fantastic. It's much more fun fooling round like that than to just walk at the same pace the whole time.

Speaking of weights, I received a copy of Weight Training Workouts That Work from my Amazon.com wishlist. But it said on the invoice thingy that I'd ordered it myself? Que? I am sure I would have noticed a big chunk out of my credit card (Amazon.com prices converted to Aussie dollars is horrible). So which one of you lovely folks bought it for me? Please email me so I can thank you properly, I am very grateful and it's a cracker of a book! Thanks so much! :)

So, it's a new week and I am determined to do well. I booked myself another re-assessment at the gym on September 24, so I can get my measurments done again and see if there's any difference. So that's two weeks for me to KICK ASS so I can get the best possible assessment results.

Maybe if I chop up all the fruit onto a plate and make a banana mouth and apple wedge eyes like when I was kid, this fruit will seem more exciting? Hmmm.

Grunt Yourself Thin

I've discovered pumping iron is far more fun if you grunt and carry on like Monica Seles. You know, that lovely "urrrrrnnnnnnnurrghhhhhh!" sound she makes when she whacks the ball? I like to do that when doing my gym thang. It cracks me up, and it's always easier to work out if you're having a laugh. You don't notice the glorious ache of your limbs so much. Plus it gets up the nose of the serious gym junkies, who prance around wearing tiny shorts and air of superiority, like they've got a ruler lodged firmly up their arse.

Just don't grunt too loud, otherwise you'll look like a real dickhead.

Last night I dreamed of the Weight Watchers scale. I really do look forward to my weigh-ins, unless I know I've had a crap week. But most Monday's I am jittery all day, coz I am just so damn keen to get on that scale. This week I must be keener than usual, coz last night I dreamed I sprinted into the WW class (okay, more of a gallumph than a sprint) and knocked over all the people obediently waiting in line and declared that I MUST be weighed right now. I barged the weigh-lady out of the way and lined up the weight then hopped on. The bar thingy went down with a BANG, that nice decisive sound when you KNOW you've had a good week. So I started moving the slidey thing down to get it to balance. But then weigh-lady hopped up and started fiddling with it, and it started swaying wildly.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT SCALE, WOMAN! I CAN DO IT MYSELLLLLLLLLLF!" I was screaming. But she persisted and I woke up ranting and raving and not knowing what the hell I'd lost.

Wonder if that's a good or bad omen for tonight? Or perhaps a subconscious memo: Miss Dietgirl, You Are Obsessing Too Much.

Never!

Silly Gym Vultures

My co-worker was absent on Monday, came in Tuesday, went home after a few hours, came in today (Wednesday) and had to leave to go to the doctor, then calls up the boss just now to say the doc gave her a certificate and she will be off for the rest of the week.

This girl is ALWAYS sick. She averages a day off every week. She's had this horrible, phlegmy, rattling cough for weeks now that makes my skin crawl. She's always pale and pasty looking. She's very thin.

She also has a family block of chocolate on her desk which serves as her breakfast and a snack thoughout the day. She drinks about four cans of Diet Coke. She has McDonalds or KFC for lunch three or four times a week. She smokes like a chimney.

It just really gets my hackles up, coz she has the nerve to say, "I dunno why I get so sick." Arrgh! And of course I have to bust my butt doing extra work in her absence.

I just never see her eat anything of any nutritional value whatsover. Even when I was eating like an insane pork back in January, I would still eat a shitload of fruit and vegetables. (Yep, slice up some fruit on top of that icecream baby, that'll out the fat, eh? :P) This girl just eats really, really badly. And the smoking doesn't help either.

Grrr.

Anyway, I don't want to sound preachy or smug. Fred has the smug thang pretty much covered :P It's just the more I get into this caper, the more aware I am of these things. Fair enough if she takes bad care of herself and doesn't complain and is happy, if people want to live that way, well good for them. But when she drags her sorry self to work and moans and groans and coughs in my direction then takes heaps of days off at the company's expense, THEN it pisses me off.

Grrr.

...

I've come to the conclusion that those vultures at the gym doesn't know squat about fitness. I don't know much either, but I am paying them $500 a year (which amounts to about $2.20 in US dollars. Our dollar stinks) for the privilege of shaking my blubber at their holy domain and while I have no problem with the actual facilities, I have a problem with the staff.

I've had three fitness assessments now, and while they all coo and cheer over my progress, they won't listen to me. They are so pre-occupied with weight loss. Sure I want to lose a helluva lot more weight, but now I am more about getting fit and eating healthy, because that is how I have to behave for the rest of my life. So I say to them, I feel stronger and I need to push myself more, can you give me a decent weight training program? Back in April, Allison says, no no, no weights for you! You'll get disillusioned coz your weight will go up coz muscle weighs more than fat! Blah blah blah!

The uneducated me back then, when I had no mind of my own, when I thought that I knew nothing because I was a stupid fat girl and only OTHER PEOPLE could tell me how to transform MY body, just nodded in agreement to Allison and continued with endless cardio.

Then the other day, Fitness Chick Cathy FINALLY gave me some weights to do. I was happy. BUT she got me sitting on each bloody machine for all of 5 seconds and told me how to do each exercise, but didn't give me any advice on form or what muscles it should be working, how I should feel, etc etc. Plus all the weights she gave me were upper  body. What about my chunky legs?

So I've been reading like mad about weight training for women, all the benefits of it, suggested programs. I feel like I do a fair bit of cardio walking the dog every day, so I want to use my gym time more effectively. The most brilliant site I found via Poundy is Krista's Women's Weightlifting Links n Lessons page. It's an amazing resource, completely non-commerical, just non-bullshit sound advice from a girl who's hooked on the iron. I have literally read every word on that site twice over and found it invaluable.

What could be particularly interesting is her page "No Fat Chicks", it's all about "why overweight beginners rightly hate aerobics classes". If you're overweight and cardio (walking, cycling, whatever) is really stressful on your joints, Krista says weight-training is a must. Sound bizarre? Go read that page, I urge you. She even sets out a very simple 12 week program. It focuses on your eating and exercise, both weights and light cardio. I really wish I had found this back at the beginning, it's really great stuff and SO reassuring for a big fat pork like me that THERE IS HOPE FOR YOU!

Anyway, I had a point here. Hmm. Oh! Yes. Silly gym staff.

After reading Krista's site I knew I needed to overhaul what I'm doing at the gym. I was catching up with a friend of mine the other day and turns out she has been doing weigh training for aaaages and she really knows her stuff. She used to play soccer for Australia so she knows a lot about fitness and nutrition and actually lost about 20 kilos herself, she used to be a mini-pork, and has kept it off for 5 years.

There was none of the silly crap the gym vultures try to feed me. So she offered to help me come up with a program and show me how to use the equipment properly! Brilliant! I will have to smuggle her into the gym somehow, since she's not a member. Maybe she'll fit into my backpack, she's pretty teeny...

...

And finally, I am really lacking in things to wear right now, and really lacking in funds to buy new clothes. Urgh. The more weight I lose, the less content I am with baggy clothing and hiding. I want to show off my body a little more, even thought it's still hefty. But you look slimmer in clothes that fit you properly than baggy clothes. Some pants  I have to pull right up nearly to under my boobs, just so they'll have a hope of staying up! So yesterday I decided to look back through the wardrobe archives, the ghosts of Sizes Past, and found my old suit, size 20, last worn in mid-1998. The jacket didn't fit by a long shot, but THE PANTS, baby! I got into the pants! They fit just fine and were only the tiniest big snug across my thighs when I sat down, but highly wearable!

Sure they were from K-Mart or some such place, where the sizes tend to be a bit more generous, but still! Wow! Pants from three years ago! That just rocked my world.

Speaking of sizes, was reading a story the other day in an Aussie magazine about clothing, and I did not realise the difference in clothing sizes. An Aussie size 12 is a SIZE 8 in the USA! It always floored me when they'd say "such and such model is a size 2" and I'd say "what the hell kind of whisp of air can get into a size TWO?" but now I realise a size two would actually be 6-8 here. And my sisters Gap jeans from when she was in the states were a US 8, which is an Aussie 12! So she's not such a skinny whore after all! Ahahahahaaaaa!

I'm kidding! I love my sister! By the way, she reached her WW goal last Monday and is now starting maintainence! She rocks! Woo!

SO when I say I got into size 20 pants yesterday, that is size 16 to you Americans.

All I can say is, don't ever come to Australia and buy clothes, coz the tags will be two sizes up, and how crushing would that be to your self esteem? :P