The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

The Great Lanterns

Our beginner's luck in the garden has run out. I should have known better than to crow about the tomatoes and salad leaves so much!

Gareth had carefully nurtured three pumpkin plants from the seed packet with a view to carving his very own pumpkins this Halloween. They were truly thriving for awhile there but I think we started the process about 2.5 months too late so now we've run out of daylight hours for them to grow.

So here are the results of the pumpkin harvest with a matchstick for scale!

Maybe we'll draw some faces on 'em with markers and they can spook the sparrows.

I've never been one to apologise for not blogging because it sounds bloody ridiculous, like you're some sort of media baron with slobbering fans are hovering by the computer clicking reload all day long when in reality everyone has 100 other blogs to read not to mention jobs and lives and stuff. But my efforts this month have been shambolic and I just wanted to say it's not because I'm wildly busy and/or have nothing to say; I do, but I can't seem to get the words out in the right order. I've got three drafts on the go of equal rubbishness. I'll have another crack on the weekend.

Hope you all have a rockin' weekend!

I struggle with the technology

Hello! If there is anyone out there who subscribed to the Two Fit Chicks podcast in iTunes over the past month or so, you may not have automagically received the latest episode because... well, I'm not quite sure. I was trying to add a picture to our iTunes listing and I tweaked the title so it used the word and and not an ampersand (&) and I think that screwed it all up.

So if you Unsubscribe from the podcast, then search for us again in iTunes or click this link, then re-subscribe, it seems to fix it!

This is the Podcast Help Desk equivalent of Turn The Computer Off Then Turn It Back On Again.

Thanks Diana for the heads up :)

Honestly! Podcasting tip: If you're going to badger people to listen to your amateur productions you should really get the fundamentals sorted first.

Episode 03 - Two Fit Chicks and a Microphone Podcast

There's a new podcast episode today! And unlike Episode 2, this one didn't take 14 hours to edit because I finally managed to record the audio properly. Woohoo!

The theme this week is goals. How do you approach them? How do you make 'em happen? How do you make sure they're  not quietly abandoned like the great knitting project of 1987 or that bloody Hundred Push Ups Challenge?

» Click here to listen to the podcast on the official site, TwoFitChicks.org

Give me a shout if you have any problems listening to it, if you should feel so inclined to listen, that is.

Another entry tomorrow, and I promise there won't be too much bitching about the end of Daylight Saving and this crippling darkness, even though it's an annual blogging tradition.

Fitness Fantasies

I want to know about your fantasies. Tell me every filthy detail!

Don't worry, this site hasn't been hijacked by a sleazy spammer! I am talking about fitness fantasies.

You know how people say, "well it's all very well for Oprah with her personal chef and trainers and all!" blah blah blah. Well let's just pretend we're in an alternate universe in which money and time are no object. In terms of fitness and healthy livin', anything is possible. Anything at all. Nothing is too ridiculous.

What would you do? Who would you like to meet? Where would you go? What would you purchase? What would you like to try?

• I would go on a poncy yoga retreat (for beginners) on an exotic island where you get massages and tropical fruits between the bendy classes.
  
  
• A gym would open up at the end of my street with Body Jam, Body Pump, yoga, Pilates and spinning classes at times very convenient to me.
  
  
• Just in case I couldn't be arsed walking to the end of my street, there'd be a magical home gym in my fantasy spare room. It would have one mirrored wall, gobs of free weights and kettlebells, a punching bag, a spinning bike, a treadmill and a cushioned floor so I bust some kickboxing moves. Oh oh oh and a widescreen wall-mounted telly to do workout DVDs.
  
  
• I would visit Cathe Friedrich's gym in New Jersey and attend some of her classes.
  
  
• I'd have a personal training session with Bob and Jillian here in Scotland. It would crack me up no end to walk up Dunfermline high street with Jillian Michaels and see her WTF-ing at Greggs The Bakers et al.
  
  
• Before she nipped off back to LA, Jillian would make me a personal MP3 workout so I could do cardio with her yelling, LAST CHANCE WORKOUT, GINGER! I really need heavy-handed motivation when it comes to cardio.
  
  Note to Jillian: have you considered selling downloadable audio workouts, a la iTrain or CardioCoach? So cheap to produce, so much less work than that fancy WiiFit stuff!
  
  
• I would have a wardrobe makeover with a crack team of fashion experts, They would bring the clothes to me as shops make me grumpy.
  
• I would have an Access All Areas pass to the London 2012 Olympics. Just to watch, mind. No athletic delusions here.
  
  
• I would have a column in a mag like Zest or Self for which I'd be obliged to try a different and wildly expensive sport every month and it would pay so handsomely I wouldn't have to do anything else.
  
  
• I would have an endless supply of ultra-flattering Ellie Gray contour gym pants.
  
  
• And non-skanky quality gym t-shirts.
  
  
• And it would be great if they could all be self-laundering.
  
  
• I would have an endless supply of TJ's Crunchy Roasted Almond Butter.
  
  
• I would have a massive vegetable garden where everything always grew properly. There'd be delicious selection of baby salad greens growing all year round regardless of neglect and snails.
• Someone would invent a bra as effective as the Enell but not in that creepy fabric.
  
  
• I would have the Mother of All Fitness Gadgets strapped to my wrist. Stylish heart rate monitor GPS route planner barcode scanner MP3 player Swiss Army Knife... that's another post altogether.
  
  
• I would posses a gym bag that can actually contain all of my kickboxing sparring gear PLUS my yoga mat... so on Monday night everyone at kickboxing can stop making the "Whoa, are you going camping again?" jokes every time I tumble into the room like a packhorse

I could go on all day but I will spare you.

Dr G has shared his fantasies too:

• To be totally fit and buff without any effort and/or drug abuse on my part to avoid putting on my annual "winter coat" of lard.
  
  
• To be able to consume copious amounts of real ale, crisps and chips with curry sauce without any effect on my waistline.
  
  
• To have time and health to complete all 283 Munros, including overcoming vertigo to do the really dodgy ones.

This post was inspired by the amazing Angie of You Look Fab who recently wrote about her fashion fantasies.

So... do you have any fitness fantasies that you want to share? Please be as elaborate, wild and unrealistic as you like. The wackier the better!

Soon To Be Named Podcast - Episode #2

The DG/MizFit podcast is back! We're somewhat grappling with the technology but making up for it with wild enthusiasm.

I hope that one day soon I'll be able to breath out of my nose again, but it was not to be during this episode. After three whole weeks of not needing to carry 27 tissues on my person at all times, the sneezefest returned on the day of recording. BAH! I think we managed to remove all the HONK HONK HONK bits but it's a little dodgy. We're still learning.

In today's episode: we finally announce the podcast name, bring you news and answered questions, and talk all things running with a special guest expert.

Listen right here:

Powered by Podbean.com

Or download the whole epsiode to your computer (MP3 format).

We're also on iTunes! Once you have The Name, search for us on the iTunes store and if you fancy, you can subscribe and have us automatically haunt your computer.

UPDATE: or just click here to go straight to iTunes... let's make this easier :)

Bon weekend, comrades.

Peep peep

This week is proving to be a wacky one. But there has been home made baked beans, a beer festival*, a lovely blogger gathering and my brand new British citizenship so aside from wanting to hurl my computer out the window, all is well. I should get back to editing my nose-blowing out of the podcast, so... what's shaking with you? If you were a chocolate bar which one would be? Or similar comment-provoking question to feebly make up for the blogging silence :)

* the beer ran out at 9PM. The organisers had to run to the supermarket for more. For shame!

Elie Chain Walk

"What are you doing on the weekend?" asked my lovely boss.

"We're going to do the Elie Chain Walk."

"Is that the one with the chains and cliffs along the coast?"

"Yep!"

"Did you know a man died doing that last year?"

Hmm, thanks boss.

Elie is a charming village on the Fife coast. We've passed through it many times on our way to Anstruther's famous fish and chips but had no idea the Chain Walk existed until someone posted about it on Gareth's favourite hillwalking forum.

Named one of the Best Walks In Britain by the Daily Telegraph, we were hooked by this description:

"The Chain Walk forms a side-loop to the tranquil, 90-mile Fife Coastal Path... The fun chained section – a kind of British via ferrata – hugs the sea from Elie village, careering round the cliffs of Kincraig Point to Shell Bay...

Together with footholds, a series of eight fixed chains 10 to 50 feet long provide something to cling to as you slither up, down, along and over alarming rocks while waves crash in from the Firth of Forth. Children aged nine and over can tackle this breathtaking route, which defies being termed a mere "walk". This is adventure. Stay away near high tide."

It turns out the poor man was walking along the tops of the cliff when he fell, not doing the Chain Walk itself. Still, it was unnerving on Saturday to be greeted by a sign featuring stick figures in peril:

It was very windy but the tide was low and it was miraculously bright and sunny. There's no way in hell I'd have done it if there'd been the slightest hint of moisture on those rocks!

Nobody seems to know exactly when or why the chain walk created but most seem to think it was during the 1920s. I'd like to think they made it just for fun. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking and the whole time I wanted to yell HURRAH in a jolly Famous Five manner. I haven't climbed anything since the monkey bars in primary school. I loved hauling myself up the rocks, grasping the chains with shaky hands, heart pounding as the waves smacked the cliffs.

Here's Dr G in action...

And here's me inching along not realising Dr G was snapping away on his phone. The resolution is shoddy but you can just see how the seat of my trousers almost wore away from sliding down rocks on my arse. Not good with descents as you know, so an arse makes a handy fifth limb!

Just have to note that for once I was not the clutz of the day! Gareth slipped on a slimy rock in a flat, non-perilous part of the journey. He even did the comedy flapping hands as he tumbled onto his butt. He was not injured which left me free to cackle, which is totally acceptable since he has mocked my misadventures many times before.

My photos don't really do the Walk justice as I was too busy trying not to fall into the sea to take proper ones. I tried to make a video of Gareth darting across the rocks but forgot to switch off the time-lapse mode. So hope the words convey that this was a ripsnorter of a way to spend a Saturday morning! If you ever find yourself in Scotland in decent weather I'd highly recommend it!

Here's some good photos elsewhere:

• These pics capture the journey with cliffs and crashing waves
• A moody shot of the beach
• Stunning landscapes and folk danging from chains on a blog called Tinned Tomatoes

The End of Summer

Have you seen the tomatoes? Do you want to see the tomatoes? Come closer! Let me show you the tomatoes!

I'm hoping that this tomato hysteria means I'll get all the excess exuberance out of my system now, so if I ever become a parent I won't bore folks to death by shoving dozens of blurry photos of my shriveled offspring in their faces. Here it is sleeping. And here it is screaming. And here it is screaming from another angle. Here it is screaming with snot streaming out its nose. Isn't it stunning?

Seriously, the tomatoes are ace. They've turned the greenhouse into the jungle.

I can't believe we grew enough stuff to fill a bowl. I wish you could smell how good this smelled. Also shown: a few kickarse little chillies.

Five months of labour has produced approximately two punnets of cherry tomatoes. It may not be time and cost effective but it's been excellent learning something completely new. And the mind-blowing taste made it all worthwhile. If you think I'm exaggerating just ask Gareth. I think I've mentioned before in the six years I've known him he has only ever used three different phrases to positively describe anything in life: food, holidays, hot chicks, concerts, books, thrilling sporting events, etc:

1. Pretty good!
2. Not bad!
3. Alright!

But when he ate a tomato straight from the vine on the weekend he actually paused in his tracks and said, "Whoa. That is amazing."

!!!

Now summer is most definitely over and things are happening on the farm behind Cow Poo Manor. Namely, the complete destruction of the Cow Poo Pile!

Sunday morning:

Sunday afternoon:

Indeed the mound was not just for decoration. They ploughed it all into the fields once the hay had been harvested. Now they've put in something else (gee I'm down with the farmer chat). I spent Tuesday evening watching seagulls chase the tractor.

I want to be a French librarian

Now these are the kind of working hours that I aspire to. I was briefly in Picardy, France for the day job this week and saw this sign at a library:

It's good to be back home. Once I've tackled my mega pile of laundry I'll wrote a proper entry. Bon weekend, mes amies!

Pretty Darn Healthy Homemade Granola

O granola, how I love thee! Such sweet, oaty, crack-like goodness, cunningly marketed as a health food.

I've wanted to make my own for years but was put off by the oil and sugar found in most recipes. I don't mind a bit of oil or sugar but The Mothership raised me to believe those things have no place on the everyday breakfast table. Coco Pops were more evil than Stalin in our household.

I've obediently stuck to unsweetened muesli or porridge as an adult, but I'm haunted by the memory of a Marks & Spencer number called Seriously Nutty Crunch. I bought it just the once in 2003 when I first moved to Scotland and finally understood folks who ate cereal straight from the box. Phwoar. Nutritionally speaking it was basically crushed up cookies, but ever since I've longed for CRUNCH in the morning.

Last year I bookmarked Orangette's acclaimed adaptation of a Nigella Lawson recipe, but it had quite a bit of honey and brown rice syrup so I knew I'd go Seriously Nutty if I made it. I also found a few apple juice-sweetened recipes but they still contained a fair whack of oil or butter.

Then recently in one of those random blog excursions, I was staring at a photo of a cupcake then clicked a link then another then another and landed on a blog called Delicious By Nature where there was a granola with no oil, just one tablespoon of maple syrup and a blasted-up banana as the main sweetener.

It sounded too weird to possibly work, but work it did! It was proper crunchy like the Seriously Nutty stuff, but with a mild sweetness that falls into my personal definition of a genuinely healthy breakfast. No bullshit calories here. I was worried it would taste too banana-y but the flavour is subtle.

You could go as poncy as you like with the ingredients but the basic version contains ordinary things I already had in the cupboard: oats, seeds and/or nuts of your choice (I used sunflower and walnuts), cinnamon, vanilla extract, maple syrup (I subbed honey), a pinch of salt (optional) and a trusty banana!

All you do is whizz the 'nana into oblivion along with some water, the cinnamon and the dod of honey, resulting in an unsightly brown goo.

 

Stir that into the dry ingredients, spread it out on a baking tray then bake for about 40 minutes, stirring regularly.

The original recipe said put it on a foil lined tray which gave me soggy granola welded to foil.

I hacked it off into a non-stick roasting tin then fluffed it up, returned it to the oven and it turned out beautifully.

BANANA GRANOLA

Serves: about 6
Source: Delicious By Nature

200g (2 cups) rolled oats
(I used jumbo oats. You might need more if your banana is huuuuge and the mixture looks too wet)
1 ripe or frozen banana
3/4 cup water
1 tbsp honey
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp sea salt
30g (1/4 cup) walnuts, chopped
30g (1/4 cup) sunflower seeds

1. Preheat oven to 190°C/375°F.
2. In a blender or wee food processor, zap together the banana, water, maple syrup, cinnamon, vanilla, and sea salt until smooth.
3. In a large bowl, toss the banana goo with the dry ingredients.
4. Lay out the mixture in a single layer on a baking tray, either non-stick or lined with baking paper.
5. Bake for 40 minutes until oats are starting to brown. Check every ten minutes and give it a good stir, breaking up any big clumps. Don't panic if it looks really soggy to start with, it does crisp up eventually!
6. Remove from the oven or let cool inside the switched-off oven if your oven is rubbish like mine.
7. Crunch away with milk or yogurt n fruit. Huzzah!

I don't know how long this would last, considering it contains a fresh banana and all. This batch lasted less than a day in our house as Dr G was particularly enthusiastic. I can't wait to try again with different nuts or seeds. Maybe a shake of nutmeg too. You could add dried fruit of course but I like my granola fairly plain. I reckon pecans would be brilliant but they can be pricey... walnuts are a good value nut.

(I don't eat breakfast on the grass; it's just impossible to get decent natural light inside our house of an afternoon now that summer is dead and gone. Sniff sniff.)

UPDATE:
For those who were asking about the calorie content, click here. This is based on 6 servings. Personally I would get 8+ servings out of it, but a lot got stuck on the foil! It also depends on the way you use granola. You'd get less serves if you like a bowlful with milk, but I use it more as a condiment on top of my fruit and yogurt, so it goes further.

Greetings from the Lake District

Dr G and I have escaped to the Lake District this week. Hooray for holidays!

I was planning on a week of tea and scones and reading books but of course with Gareth around it's always slightly more strenuous than that. So we stomped up a wee hill and I must confess I did a bit of bitching and grumbling because it was raining and it was windy and it was slippery and there were loose rocks and I forgot to bring my sticks.

My main issue was that it was steep, because who would have thought a hill could be anything but flat and gentle? Honestly it was such a pathetic display that I cracked up laughing at my own ridiculousness. I really do try to like hillwalking for the sake of our marriage, but some days you just can't even fake it! :)

On Monday we played Pitch n Putt golf. I'd not played golf before but both my grandmothers were ace golfers so surely it would be in the genes? Not quite. I came this close to manslaughter charges. On my very first shot, somehow I whacked the ball into the safety barrier net thing, which I still do not understand as I was clearly aiming for the green. It freakishly whizzed through a tiny gap between the net and its metal frame, ricocheting off the frame then smacking hard into the wall of the golf shop... missing the head of a little old lady by an inch!

She had been quietly sitting on the veranda of the wee shop well behind what she rightly thought was the safety of a GIANT SAFETY NET. I rushed over to make sure she was okay and apologised profusely and she really was far too gracious about it. She was laughing! Maybe a brush with death makes you laugh? I would have demanded I buy her a KitKat at the very least.

Meanwhile Gareth had dropped to his knees - I thought he was shaking from laughter but he said it was sheer relief because he saw it all in slow motion and thought I was off to jail, for sure. Holy crap what a terrible moment. Very Nice Lady, if you ever find this website somehow (perhaps by googling "pitch and putt ginger menace") once again, I am so sorry!

Incidentally Gareth kicked my arse, 2 holes to 7.

So I'm keeping things low key for the rest of the week. Thank you everyone who listened to the podcast! We have no idea what we're doing but we're having a lot of fun doing it. Once I'm done with hols and a work trip next week, we'll get cracking on a podcast website and a new episode. Thanks again for giving us a go!

Drumroll Please...

Announcing the As Of Yet Unnamed Podcast, featuring me & my mysterious cohort. In order to find out who, give us a wee listen!

Serving suggestions:

• Bring us along on this weekend's run.

• Tote us in yer mp3 player to the gym for a listen while you lift.

• Crouch in your office or cubicle while you pretend to work

Why is the podcast as of yet unnamed? What on earth do we plan to cover? Why have we chosen to inflict this all upon you, the innocent masses? Have a listen to find out all the answers and more.

Click here to download or listen now with this handy widget thingo:

Powered by Podbean.com

P.S. Please be gentle... we're flaming amateurs! Still learning how to press the buttons, etc etc. :)

Why did you get so fat?

Howdy! I am having a busy bugger of a week so I found this entry that I wrote back in January 2008 but couldn't find the nerve to post at the time.

Lately I've been doing a bit of publicity for the book; email interviews and the like. I always get stuck on one inevitable question:

Why'd you get so bloody fat?

(not actual phrasing)

Every time I see that question I sigh at the laptop screen. It sounds so accusing, like I committed a terrible crime.

"I don't knooooow" is always the initial answer. Then I poke Gareth in the ribs. "What should I say?"

"Just say you were really hungry! I dare ya."

Seriously, it's a difficult question. It's easy to be flippant like I was on the About page: It was a love of Nutella that knew no bounds. Then there's the basic mathematical reason: Ate more food than my body required.

Calories in, calories out; who ate all the pies. Just like losing weight was just eating less and moving more, right? If it was really that simple, I'd have just posted a food log for the past seven eight years instead of these endless sprawling brain dumps. Calories in calories out is a how explanation, not a why.

It's especially tricky to answer the question in a precise, soundbitey manner. It took 23 pages to explain. And of course being a chronic procrastinator I left that section right until last. I thought the other 90,000 words were a bastard to put together, but the 5000 words of Introduction were the worst. I was eager to drive on to the guts of the story with all the happy adventures and improved self-image, but the allegedly fabulous transformation wouldn't be convincing unless the scene was properly set. How the bloody hell does someone reach nearly 160 kilograms at the tender age of 23?

I gave my sister the shoddy first draft of the Introduction back in April. She told me bluntly that I wasn't being honest. "You're glossing over everything," she said, "And hiding behind jokes. You have to dig deeper."

Of course I got defensive and bawled my eyes out, because I didn't have time to bloody dig deeper! And I didn't want to, either.

But we talked it through for two whole days, picking over the past. I was afraid of offending people. I was afraid of sounding sorry for myself. I was afraid people would think I was making excuses. I was afraid of looking like a dickhead in print. It was confronting to stop and think about how I got into such a big fat mess. Why did I let it carry on so long?

The Introduction was finalised five days before the manuscript was due, after endless consultations and rewrites. I was happy with it in the end, but be buggered if I can reduce it to one simple sentence. There are no easy answers. I really did love my Nutella, but food was more than just food. From a very early age it was always there, easy to find when lonely or angry or anxious. And the more I ate the more I felt detached from my body and just lived inside my head. I'd barely notice another layer of fat wrapping around me, then another and another, like rings on a tree.

Baltimore or Bust

Hey there Americans! Have you heard about the FitBloggin Conference in Baltimore next March? It's the brainchild of Roni Noone of Roni's Weigh fame:

The FitBloggin conference is for all those that blog about fitness, wellness, good food and a healthy lifestyle.

The goal of the conference is "to educate, inspire, share, network, and learn how to blog your way to a healthier you" but one could also see it as, "most excellent chance to meet lots of blogging pals in one go and bring back a dozen jars of American almond butter".

I'm pinching my pennies and wondering if I could swing it. March is often a bargain time for airfares. Anyone out there going along?

Red Hot and Blue

I settled my debts at yoga! I was on time and wore correctly-fitting trousers, too. I apologised profusely for doing a runner last week and I think it's all cool now. I bought a six-class card to clearly establish that I'm not a crook.

Later on we were doing a twisty move and the teacher said kindly, "The other leg, Shauna" (I had left and right mixed up as usual). Then she said, "Wow, it's only your second week and I remember your name already! I'm normally rubbish with that."

"That's because she didn't pay," grinned one of the classmates. "You'll never forget her name!"

In other news, I scored my blue belt at kickboxing on Sunday!

I almost called in sick but that would have meant doing the grading another day, which would mean having to retain the moves in my brain for longer. Plus I wanted to progress with my Belt Buddies. We've been together since White... you can't break up that party!

It was ninety minutes of hell, comrades. Of course you should expect it to be harder the higher the grade but, man. It was hard to tell if it was the lingering cold or just the grueling-ness of the task. It was difficult staying upright at times; a punch would start out strong then wilt by the time it reached the target. The hardest part was concentrating on the instructions long enough to execute the moves. We finished with six one-minute rounds of sparring, a blur of thrashing arms and watery eyes.

Afterward we got our individual feedback from the coach. He was very kind and said I did well but I, rather knackered and delirious, kept interrupting with tearful rants. I coulda done better. I don't feel well. I can kick better than that. I'm always the dunce of the group. I HATE being the dunce of the group. Rah rah rah!

This illness has been much like the stage of drunkenness when your mouth takes off and way down in the background your brain is faintly pleading, BE COOL, MAN... but noooo, the mouth keeps going, so all you can do is listen to your own voice then cringe later on.

The fever is gone now but I feel high as a kite. It's a year since the first grading and I can't believe I've now got a blue belt. I love the whole kicking shebang so much. The people, the learning of new stuff, the general feeling of kick arse-ness. It's so addictive and empowering, even when you're Full of the Cold. I'm determined to work harder and more consistently and be fitter and stronger by the time we get round to Purple next year.

I've been recuperating since Sunday, belated doctor's orders. That is aside from the yoga class. We had to stare into a candle and meditate at the end. It was odd but lovely to let the mind go quiet and listen to the tumbleweeds up there.

Dry Your Eyes

The fever is giving me weird dreams. Last night I played tennis against World #2 Andy Murray. The court was made of dirt - not nice Roland Garros clay; more outback Australia dust. Andy was whipping my arse and I couldn't figure out why, until I looked down to see I was playing not with a tennis racquet but a TEASPOON.

"It's not fair," I whined, "How'm I supposed to beat you with a teaspoon?"

"That's the least of your worries!" said Andy Murray with great contempt, "DRY YER EYES!"

That's another brilliant phrase picked up in the UK. Try it next time someone is being a big moany wussypants. Summon as much disdain as possible as you sneer, "Ahh, dry your eyes!"

I went to the doctor today who said I might feel shit for another couple of weeks, which isn't handy with our kickboxing grading on Sunday. Might need to see if I can postpone. Anyway, at least it's definitely not swine flu!

Now back to bed. Bon weekend, comrades!

The Yoga Thief

Our Scottish Phrase of the Day is: "full of the cold". I'm currently full of the cold. Woe!

In Australia I used to say I was under the weather or fluey or getting slaughtered by the snot monster but over here people tend to say I'm full of the cold.

Not sure if this means if you sleep with unsavoury people you might end up Full of The Clap? Or if someone talks rubbish they are Full of the Shit?

Prior to filling up with The Cold, I made my shambolic return to yoga on Monday. I forgot to pack my pants, as in trousers, and didn't realise until I went to get changed after work. So I raced to the shops but the only ones I could find were two sizes larger than normal. This was not really a problem for my ultra-sturdy thighs but very troublesome at the waist, as I discovered at 5.52 PM, trying to hitch them up as I galloped to the high school where the class is held.

I was late and sweaty so had to hurl the mat down and try to switch into om mode right away. Helpfully the class is in the library so you automatically feel the need calm down and be quiet. Most of my exercise is of the "push your body til you feel like you're going to spew" variety (kickboxing and RPM), so it's good to be balancing things with the yoga and salsa.

The teacher was lovely with that low, soothing Yoga Voice. She loaned me her belt thingy to assist my hamstrings. They're rubbish at the best of times but I've hurt my knee again (another story) and when I lay down I couldn't raise the right leg off the floor any higher than about 45°. Meanwhile everyone else had a nice 90° or casually flung their leg over their head. All in good time ladies. All in good time.

I was worried I'd be zonked afterwards but I felt really energised. I said my thank yous then scurried down the road to kickboxing. Already I was convinced I'd stick with this class, unlike the one I did back in 2007. That one was in a crowded room at an awkward time with a little too much chanting. 

It wasn't until halfway through kickboxing that I realised with horror that I didn't pay for the class!!! I rushed in and out so quickly and completely forgot. What a numpty! What kind of animal does a runner from a yoga class?! The lady must be cursing my name in soft, earthy tones. First I steal her animated .gif and then I steal her expertise!

By the time I finished kickboxing her other class was over, so I left a frantic message to explain that I'm not really Full of the Crime, just in an awful hurry. Next week (if I'm Emptied of Cold) I'll be more organised.

Under Construction

I'm starting a yoga class on Monday. Woohoo! I was Googling around and found one that slots in nicely in the wilderness hour between work and kickboxing. It's a short walk from work to yoga then enough time afterward for the short walk to kickboxing. Giddyup... such convenience and efficiency gives me a thrill. I normally spend that hour mucking around at home doing very little, so I may as well get bendy.

Also, I was sold by the sexy animated .gif on the yoga website:

If fashion is currently embracing the 1980s, then surely in Internet Years we are due for an animated gif revival?

O Bountiful Harvest

The first home-grown tomato. Behold this wondrous bounty! Enough to feed a family! Of fleas.

 

Love its bulbous face and jaunty green hat. It's begging to have eyes and mouth drawn on it. But too late... it's been scranned. That brief moment was quite delicious. But after all those careful months of watering and feeding and gently shaking the plant to help the pollen it felt like you were eating your own children. Sweet, delicious children.

Even better was the wee fella I picked yesterday from the weirdo feral plant (we have four tomato pots in all). I don't know what the hell breed this one is; some sort of cherry tomato. It was a cast-off from Gareth's dad; a mere stick at the time. Now it is taking over the greenhouse. In the past week it's gone from three little green blobs to dozens of little green blobs. It's taken root beneath the pot and is shooting extra arms all over the place, threatening to choke its neighbours. Nature! What a beast.

Anyway. The other day there was a chef on the telly waxing lyrical about summer tomatoes, groaning and guzzling with seeds and juice splashed over his face. Nothing like fresh off the vine, blah blah foodie piffle blah blah. But this cherry tomato from the beasty plant... holy moly. I'd absentmindedly plucked it off the plant as I was watering it, and actually staggered backwards at the taste, it was so shockingly sweet and tomatoey, it made my eyeballs hurt. How could something so small be so powerful and good? I wanted to ring up the newspapers and parade around town with a megaphone, sharing the news of this moment.

Oh man I had other things to report but it's 11.15PM and my brain has closed up shop. Think I am coming down with something. Non-swiney, mind you. Will just hit publish instead of faffing about any longer. Apologies for abrupt ending! Hope your week is treating you well.

Spin and Surrender

Spinning class was about to start. I was making my usual frenzied adjustments to the bike. Why can't they invent a "Remember Settings" button, so the seat and handlebars automatically ping and zip into place? It takes me at least ten minutes of wrestling and I never get it the same from one week to the next.

It's the same breed of panic as when you're at the supermarket checkout doing the juggle of debit card and shopping bags and purse and soup tins, trying to get your shit organised before the chick starts flinging the next person's groceries at you. I haaaate the thought of being left behind at Spinning, still frowning on the floor when everyone else has pedalled off to nowhere.

Finally I was satisfied with the seat height and was just about to climb aboard when a girl with a swishy ponytail appeared beside me.

"Ohhh..." she sighed, "You're using this bike?"

"Yes." I swished my hand to indicate my padded seat cover, my water bottle nestled in the cage; my custom handlebar configuration.

"Ohhh... really? That's my favourite bike. I always use that bike."

This is where any reasonable person would have said, "Ohhh... really? Well that's my favourite bike TOO and I got here first. So rack off."

But noooo. What did I say?

"Very sorry," with only minimal sarcasm. Then I removed my seat cover and water bottle and shuffled off obediently to another bike!

!!!!
Why did I DO that?
What kind of spineless gimp am I?

Honestly, this happened a month ago and I am still kicking myself in that futile George Costanza kind of way.

Maybe I didn't want to make a fuss because there's only six people in the class, so starting a bike turf war would make the atmosphere awkward. Or maybe my inner high-school-student-with-inferiority-complex automatically surrendered to the whims of the ponytailed popular girl?

Either way I seethed throughout the class, even during the evil interval track, when the seething was near audible as it merged with sweat. It would have been something like: Sssssssszzzziiiffcaarrrrgh!

One thing you could hear was the squeaky wheels of my second-choice bike, the crappiest bike in the room, going EEE EEE EEE EEE in time with my furious cadence.