“It’s been a long time, been a long time yeah yeah”


Over the years, I’ve shifted away from this little blog because I decided that I didn’t like the narrow focus I’d constructed for myself. I was all about the FITNESS and the FOOD and the DIET and once I got engaged and started moving around the world again, I didn’t know how to blog about other stuff. So I abandoned this space and moved on to other blogs that died slow, sad deaths too. 

I lost the ability to be honest and true in my writing. I started writing for everyone else, for an audience, but, if I’m being honest (which is the whole point of this post), I never started blogging for everyone else. I started blogging for myself. 

Where am I now? 2014. Married, living in Melbourne, Australia, trying to get pregnant, starting a new job shortly just as my husband is planning on starting his own business. There’s a lot on my plate and I need my own space, so here we are. I doubt I even have any readers anymore, but if anyone finds me here, welcome to my little corner of the world. I can’t promise coherent posts or a coherent message. You’re not going to get sponsored reviews and posts coming out of the wazoo. There’ll be some worky work stuff, some meal planning, some how-the-hell-are-we-going-to-live-on-one-salary stuff, some damn-I-hate-fertility-treatment stuff. But one thing I can promise you is that it’s going to be HONEST and REAL. 

Here’s a coffee and a comfy chair – welcome.

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A new year, a clean slate


Baby-lifting-weights

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve fallen off the wagon big time but I’ve been getting back on slowly.

Since being made redundant, I’ve been going to the gym more regularly and I’m back to lifting weights, however puny these weights are now, since I have no strength left. There’s something rewarding about your muscles being sore after a good workout. And it’s giving me some structure to my days, which is good.

I’m currently the heaviest I’ve been for 4 years and I’m back at my original starting weight when I started this blog. Quite sad about that really. I maintained 20 pounds lost for a good 3 years and then bam! But nevermind, 2012 is going to be a good year.

It’s going to be the year that I get back to regular gym attendance and regular weight lifting.

It’s going to be the year I get back on course with my eating.

It’s also going to be the year that I get back to writing more regularly and focus on the creative side for a bit more. I’ve said this before but I’m determined this year.

I’m also going to be a more regular presence online so be prepared to read more ramblings (if anyone is still actually reading).

I hope 2012 is a good year for everyone. It seems that 2011 was a bit of a joke for many of my friends and I think we’re all due a good year now. You with me?

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Why are we ashamed to eat?


Today I went out for brunch with two of my Canadian friends who’ve been working/travelling around Australia (Ana and Christina) and Christina’s mother, who’s been in town visiting her. It was a bit of a farewell brunch for Christina since she’s off travelling and then back home to Canada.

Four ladies and I was the only one to order and eat a full meal.

Now, I realise this may be one of the reasons that I’m feeling fat and unfit and I am focusing on making better choices but dammit, when I’m hungry, I eat. When I order a meal, I eat it and I enjoy it. Every. Single. Bite. I try to choose something off the menu that I know I’ll enjoy because I like to eat. I enjoy good food and good flavours. Love.Them

One ordered an orange juice and a coffee, claiming to have already eaten breakfast. Another ordered a fruit salad and while she finished it and it looked yummy, it was a small fruit salad. Another ordered the same meal I did and left at least half of everything on the plate.

I cleaned the plate. The veggie hash brown? Yum. The spinach and mushrooms were perfect and the poached eggs were, again, PERFECT. I enjoyed every single bite and could have eaten more, but I didn’t.

Honestly, brunch made me sad. Why is it, as women, we’re almost ashamed to have an appetite? Ashamed to enjoy a meal and take pleasure in it. We’re taught that this is a sign of gluttony, that it’s not something to be proud of. People who enjoy their meals that much are stereotypically NOT thin and fit and healthy. And I hate this.

Last week, I caught up with an old school friend who I haven’t seen in over 15 years and she’s painfully thin. I’m sure she’s suffering from anorexia but we didn’t mention the word itself. She’s aware that she’s not healthy and she’s working on changing that but I look at her and I feel sad. She doesn’t see food as pleasure. It’s a way to get herself healthy again but it’s not something to be enjoyed.

I want to be healthy and fit and feel pretty but I also want to savour every bite of food I eat. I want to enjoy the flavours mixing in my mouth. Maybe I’ll always be a little curvaceous because of that but I’d rather that then leaving food on my plate in order to look like I have no appetite.

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All I want is sleep


For the last week or so, I’ve been incredibly tired. Waves of exhaustion just flow over and for about 15 minutes, I’m ready to collapse, and then it passes for a while and I get a second/third/forth wind. I get this tired fairly often and for years, I’ve put it down to my asthma, despite rarely getting any of the usual asthma symptoms. I don’t wheeze, I don’t cough and I rarely get chest tightness. But I get tired. So, so tired.

Most doctors I’ve been to have seen a diagnosis of asthma on my chart and immediately put most of my health complaints down to the that. You’re tired? Asthma? You’ve been coughing for over a year? Asthma (actually walking pneumonia but who’s counting?). So it stands to reason that I’ve stopped going to the doctor over being tired because who needs to be told the same thing over and over again when I know what they’re going to tell me to do?

This time, The Boy convinced me to make a doctor’s appointment and even though I was sure I could parrot back what the doctor would say, I made the appointment. Oh, the things you do in your first year of marriage! So yesterday, I called in sick and made my way to the doctor.

I’ve been going to the same practice for years (from before I moved countries) and most of the doctors there are good but they tend to see ‘asthmatic’ and go with that as their first diagnosis. This time, I saw a new doctor who ordered up a bunch of blood tests to check my iron, folate and thyroid (among others). I’ll find out if there’s anything in it on Friday.

So, until then, I’m yawning through my day and trying not to snore but feeling a little more hopeful that I’ll be taken seriously instead of being fobbed off as just another asthmatic. After hearing about cancer diagnoses coming out of nowhere, I’d rather be tested for anything and everything than be dismissed.

Maybe it is all in my mind. Maybe it is my asthma. But I’d rather know than self-diagnose and keep doing what I’ve always done if it’s not really working.

 

Bad Luck


There are words I never want to hear really. 

Vascular mass

Lesion

Surgery

These are not very nice words at all and even less nice (I know, my grammar is terrible today) when they are said in relation to your right eye. The right eye which has really given you no trouble at all, other than being a little weaker than your left eye. Your right eye whose only fault to your knowledge is to be a bit short-sighted.

Apparently you were wrong. Because the aforementioned right eye has something in it – a mass, a lesion, another word for a Thing at the back of my eye which has possibly created the scarring my optometrist saw almost a year ago.

My mother is busy remembering every concussion I’ve suffered (I remember about 3) and any injury that could have been close to my eye, even though the doctor yesterday said that I could have been born with it or it could just be bad luck. Isn’t that awesome-sauce? Bad luck.

I’m panicking slightly a lot – over the idea of surgery. But of course I won’t know anything until next Thursday. Ten whole days away. Because the ophthalmologist I saw yesterday is not a surgeon and referred me (fairly urgently according to the receptionist) to a surgeon. He started the appointment talking about how my eye looked like something he sees in 60 year olds (which makes me feel awesome, so mature beyond my years) but probably nothing to worry about for at least 20 years and then very quickly, once he’d spotted the Thing at the back of my eye, progressed to how I should see a surgeon and probably get that taken care off, quick smart. Awesome.

After hearing this, I had no desire to cook a healthy dinner. I had no desire to be healthy at all really. Why be healthy when I have a Thing and it’s probably due to Bad Luck? So we ordered pizza for dinner (which was actually pretty healthy considering) and I snacked on chocolate for dessert. I did not eat the chocolate cake in the fridge but I wanted to. I did not exercise. I did not write. I played with the dog we’re dogsitting and I watched MasterChef and I read.

And today I feel panicked and annoyed at the futility of doing everything right. I hate waiting and not knowing and feeling terrified of having my worst case scenario play out. I probably should have made my worst case scenario well, worse. Well, actually it was worse in my head – I imagined being sent straight to hospital with the doctor going “I’ve never seen it THIS BAD before” so this isn’t as bad. They wouldn’t make me wait 10 days if it was terrible, would they?

So now I wait and try to turn on my healthy impulse again and ignore the voice inside that says it’s pointless and life is about Bad Luck. Bah

Fantastic weekends


Fantastic weekends include Bailey’s milkshakes on the balcony with The Boy.

They involve enjoying the first barbeque on the in-laws’ new barbeque – sausages and coleslaw and kids running around.

Fantastic weekends involve brunch with out-of-town friends and enjoying catching up over eggs and toast.

They involve sitting on the couch with the doors open, enjoying the sunshine and napping and half-watching weird television.

They also seem to be involve a lot of eating and drinking and result in a Sunday night of feeling QUITE bloated.

And while I don’t regret anything from the weekend, I hate this feeling on a Sunday night. I hate the promising of diets on Monday and EXTRA intense workouts all of next week.

I know that I enjoyed the weekend. I know that I could have eaten less and still enjoyed it though.

So next weekend, I will enjoy the weekend WITHOUT the bloating.

Keeping Busy


After all the excitement of the past few weeks/months, I’m at a little bit of a loss. I came home to no work on my plate and not much to keep me busy. All my projects finished up nicely (ish) before the wedding and it was lovely to be away not really worrying too much about work at all, but now the email is quiet, the bank account emptying and the boredom mounting.

So, in the interests of keeping my butt off the couch and my brain from melting into oblivion, I am getting back on course with the whole healthy living thing. Yeah, that. Remember when I used to exercise, like, ALL the time? And eat right? And think about muscles and weights and running a 5k one day? Yeah, I know, it was a long time ago but I’m getting back there.

I picked up some awesome deals thanks to Grab One and Groupy, the New Zealand Groupon equivalents and this week, I set about using them. First up was a voucher for three box fit personal training sessions at my gym for $49 – which is about how much one session would cost alone. So I booked in for that. Next up was a great voucher for some reformer pilates sessions at Peak Pilates, which is a brilliant Physio and Pilates chain right up the road from me (literally actually, it’s 2 minutes away!) which would usually cost somwhere around $200. So I signed up for that.

I had my intro class on Monday and I’m hooked. They worked one-on-one with me, looking over my posture (not good thanks to that whole right leg being longer than the left) and went through a bunch of important positions and moves, correcting me along the way. I really enjoyed the attention and knowing that I was in no danger of getting hurt by doing things wrong. That’s what I hate about the big classes where you’re one of 20 people and the instructor has no way to correct everyone.

And then I had my first actual class on Wednesday. At 7am. Yes, it was tough getting up for it. Yes, I contemplated staying in bed. No, I don’t regret it at all. I am OFFICIALLY addicted. The class was small – they always are a max of 5 people but there were only 2 of us – so we both got tons of attention. I knew I was working my muscles hard and properly and I felt it. It was an hour class and we worked every part of the body. I’m so not a morning person but this was a great way to wake up. Of course, I was so paranoid that I was going to oversleep that I woke up at 5am and then every 20 minutes after that. But no matter, I booked in again next week and once my 3 sessions are finished, I’m going to sit down with the budget and work out if we can afford me doing more. Because I might be in love with pilates.

But that was not all I did on Wednesday. No no. I had my first box fit session and Mae kicked. my. ass. My heart rate rose right from the get-go and did not drop the entire time. I guess 2 months of no exercise at all means you’re one unfit, puffing billy at the gym. We did sprints. We did speed pyramids, with “rest periods” of wall sits – apparently the gym wall needed a lot of propping up – and then more speed pyramids. We did crunches and jumping jacks. We also cursed Mae out repeatedly. And booked in for next week and more hell.

So today my body is aching, but in a good way, a way I haven’t felt for a while and I’m loving it. Because seriously, my brain might be turning to mush while I’m out of work, but my body certainly will not.

Happy Thanksgiving to my U.S. peeps and enjoy the turkey!