Big people in small boxes

I'm all for mindless crap. I love it, share the shit out of it, would waltz with it on a Friday night if I could, but a line must be drawn. These quizzes we all engage so much in are just dumb. Like truly and utterly stupid. Yes yes I get it, you like to do them because they while away some time in the day and really who doesn't want to find out what kind of cookie they would be - salted caramel by the way, I don't need a quiz to tell me that. But really they are the most banal, pointless expressions of self that have ever existed, ever. Here's why:

They put big people in small boxes and they do so completely shamelessly.

Which is fine when you're finding out what animal/ poet/ planet/ country/ molecule/ colour/ piece of machinery you would be - just a bit of harmless fun, right? But then we get to the issue of identity. How single are you? For instance. Like finding out that you're just a little bit single will provide you with the relief you need to get back out there and give it your best shot. DON'T panic, you are in fact only 15% single. Or, oh shit, you're like 85% single but it's ok because you said you like pizzas on a Thursday after 7pm so you're clearly a strong independent woman. PHEW.

Earlier I took this quiz out of curiosity. I mean, I feel pretty taken with my boyfriend of almost two years, but you can never really be too sure exactly how single you really are. I almost stopped halfway through but had the thought, what if they are taking the piss out of themselves and at the end they say 'come on guys, how many times you masturbate/drink wine alone/go to bed before 12 has absolutely no bearing on anything other than your personal life choices.' But no. Instead it was revealed that I am, in fact, very very single. Sorry Nick!


You may wonder why this bothers me. Indeed why have I climbed atop my soap box once more? It's not because I really think anyone pays any attention or even that the creators over at Buzzfeed (who I really love by the way) are doing these mega mountainous never ending quizzes in seriousness. What annoys me is that this is journalism these days. This is what reaches the most people, gets the most shares. It will out-circulate issues of sexism and abuse and persecution - yes this is true escapism.

Photos by Brandon Douglas and Jose Ramiro

'Barefaced selfies' - why?

I am a little bit confused. So ok, the ‘barefaced selfie' nomination craze that quickly went viral last night is for a good cause, especially if people actually donate some money to cancer research. But, isn’t it just a little bit ridiculous? I mean, what exactly are we trying to say here? That wearing no make-up is so daring and out there and brave that it is reminiscent of the courage of cancer patients? Or perhaps we’re saying that by stripping down to our true selves we’re able to focus on what really matters such as inner beauty, or accepting our own pure physical finesse - free from the barriers constructed by abject social oppression and the media and Photoshop and gay fashion designers and the god damn Kardashians and school playgrounds.

I don’t get it.

It is not brave to take a picture of yourself on Instagram, run a filter over it and post it with the tag line ‘Man I was dreading being nominated, betches. But what goes around comes around LOL…I nominate XXX.’ Did you donate some money as you pondered the exact phraseology that would perfectly capture your horror at the world seeing what you actually look like? If so, my point is moot. However, I'm willing to bet many don’t because partaking in a trend that is so completely narcissistic often results in a mind blank on the reason you're doing it in the first place. No judgements here, ladies - I stood in front of my mirror this morning and snapped the shit out of my rather fabulous outfit. I feel no shame.

None-the-less, the positive product of such strange campaigns is the conversations they generate, which do the trick of raising awareness, although one would have to wonder who in the internet whoring world isn't aware of cancer. Regardless, bringing it to the forefront may spur a few to action and this is, of course, a good thing. But why can't these internet crazes be something more creative, like wacky outfit posts, grandest gesture videos, random acts of kindness. Instead we get all excited over barefaces and absurd alcohol concoctions, like we have to prove something yet none of us are ever exactly sure what that something is. I have no conclusion, it's an on-going bafflement. 

NB. Since writing this post I have noticed more ladies putting an image of their donation on Facebook alongside the selfie. This is brilliant and exactly the point I was making - if you're actually doing it for the cause then good on you, otherwise it's just another selfie. It will be interesting to see how much is raised from this and I will write a follow up as and when. However, I also donated but just missed out the 'bare selfie' part.

Acne is a bastard and so are you

Saying you have acne is a little like admitting you’re obese - a tad over weight, a touch spotty, pimply if you may, sounds ever so slightly more palatable, despite the fact that you, as a visual entity, exist, spots and flab and all, for the giddy masses to see.  The reason for this is the terms 'obese' and 'acne' have developed such negative societal connotations. They are associated with being ugly, unsightly, kinda gross. The bastards.

The thing about acne though, the thing that really chunks my chain, is you can’t fucking help it. It just happens to us unlucky sods whose faces are like neodymium magnets for whatever the hell it is that gives us spots but leaves the fresh faced, burger scoffing arsewipes alone. It’s not fair.

I am 26 years old and I have struggled with intermittent bouts of acne (phew, feels better now it’s out) since I was just a glimmer of a concept in my spotty prepubescent father’s testosterone fuelled man-brain. Thanks paps, much appreciated.

I have tried everything. Antibiotics – both local creams and pills – lotions, potions, bleach (the safe kind, I think), herbal supplements, more creams, special make up, special washes, oils. I even drank tiny vials of brown liquid that I’m pretty sure consisted of blood and coffee as a desperate Chinese remedy attempt to be free. It did not work.

Sometimes I’m fine. Like the times when the wind doesn’t blow too strong, nor the sun shine too hard. The times when I sleep to just the right amount of milliseconds and the bath water is the perfect temperature and the cars on my walk to work don’t exceed the speed limit…it goes on.

So now I am taking a whole new approach. I have decided I’ll try anything. I am a desperate woman with a bitter soul and a deep loathing for those smooth faced wankers. I am trying the whole healthy living thing. Bloody revelatory. I’m taking my makeup off with coconut oil, Oil pulling at night, eating all the vegetables (but not too much fruit cos sugar and shit) I can find, cutting the booze, upping the exercise, not eating ANY GLUTEN AT ALL, cleansing with an over priced Clarisonic, taking multivitamins, vitamin B, cod liver oil, evening primrose, a specially obnoxious kind of vitamin C and by jingo jango, I think it might be working. Just.

So to all those reading this who roll out of bed to a smooth face no matter the climate, dump donuts down your throat and sing hallelujah in a hot bath drinking whisky, smoking a cigarette and eating a mars bar. Legitimately and from the bottom of my cold, dark heart. Fuck you.  

Vibrate that flab away

The gym junkies/phonies/triers/troopers amongst will likely have noticed the token vibrating machine most gyms have, stood gathering discarded sweat particles in the corner because everyone is too scared to use or even go near them - they have no obvious instructions and vibrating aimlessly in public is a look fit for no fool. Well it turns out they actually do have a purpose, or at least I hope they do because I'm currently investing a fair amount of time and money into using them.

I started at Vibrofit in Hove last Friday and have been every other day since. The sessions last half an hour so are perfect for a quick lunchtime workout and my muscles ache the next day, which very likely points towards some kind of happenings. Without a doubt this is a fun experiment and even if I don't have the buns and abs of steel we all know I deserve by the end of the five week trial, I won't regret my investment and may very well sign up for monthly membership.

The actual process is very enjoyable and the time flies by. It does feel a little strange sometimes, especially in the more secret of private places but you soon get used to it and realise you're almost certainly not going to fart. If you do have to let one go though, the sound of the vibrations acts as the perfect ruse.

I'm pretty sure that this, combined with my new healthy lifestyle approach, will produce some fab results. If it doesn't I will be embarrassed because I fully intend to post before and after pictures so that will suck. Or I'll just suck it all in.

Booze talk

I have come to an almost shocking alcohol-related realisation, which has prompted me to act with more determination than a simple 'it's good for my health' could ever do. This is it:

1. Alcohol makes me act like a twat
2. Alcohol makes me poor - what a twat

Basically my findings were conclusive. Acute twatness. Twatly squared. Twatosity.

The case studies:

Money -

I tend to go out most weeks and if I don't go out I will drink, like drunk drink, at least once a week so I used a calculator and worked out that on average I realistically spend, give or take, £30 a week on the good stuff. That comes to a badonking £1560 a year. I found a round the world travel ticket for £1200. I could be in the Bahamas but instead I am a twat.

General twat-like behaviour -

I'm not about to repeat my mistakes across the internet waves for all to read and chortle and point, so instead let us take a look inside. How many times have you woken the day after a heavy night and had to apologise to everyone you know? Or have lay under the covers hoping to emerge in a Cormac McCarthy novel? Or, horror horror, thought 'who the HELL is that in my bed'? If you are thinking 'no, not me. None of those things rings true' then you are a rare non-twat amongst (although you are a liiiiiittle bit too self satisfied for my liking).

So there you have it. A big old 'what the bloody hell on a Sunday dressed in palms leaves and a bra!?' I am putting my foot down now - not in a straight edged, quitting kind of way but in a, ever heard of moderation you big loony, kind of a way. Who's with me??

Image by boreme

It's not that I can't, I just don't want to

I am not a quitter. I'm just no good at it. I am a doer of excess and a little bit of a silly human but I am nay a quitter. I tried, honestly I did. Last month I quit alcohol for two weeks, which was fine but to be frank it was really bloody boring. And time went slower, which you would think is a good thing but actually when you're living in molasses it's not. Then I quit sugar, did that for two weeks too. There were definite benefits to that, my appetite reduced and I slept better but I didn't have the patience or discipline to look at the ingredients in everything so there was certainly some accidental sugar consumption and you know what? I have come to terms with it.

This is my realisation: Life is not about denying yourself simple pleasures. It's just not. Life is about balance and sometimes about going really fucking crazy and eating a whole bag of crisps or all the cheese and wine you can find and feeling grateful you are in a position where you can even enjoy such pleasures in the first place.

I don't want to live my life thinking 'I want chocolate' but denying myself it because I somehow think that makes me a better person. I am not good at the denying thing. So instead I am taking a new path, a path of doing rather than stopping. For too long I have told myself 'I don't have time to exercise', whereas now I am telling myself 'I don't make time for exercise'.

I went back to the gym yesterday and I worked my butt off and I felt great. Tonight I will go for a run and you know what will be waiting for me when I get home? Several bottles of wine, every imaginable cheese, bread, crackers, chutney and my lovely girl friends. You can sit in the corner and eat celery if you want but I sure as a mole lives in a hole will not. This will make me happy. As Eve Ensler said: 

“Good is towing the line, being behaved, being quiet, being passive, fitting in, being liked, and great is being messy, having a belly, speaking your mind, standing up for what you believe in, fighting for another paradigm, not letting people talk you out of what you know to be true.”

Why is sugar in EVERYTHING?

Did you know that sugar is in everything? I'm pretty sure it may even be an active ingredient in toilet paper, weaselling it's way into the blood stream via 'hush we all have one' erm, routes. Bastards. To make it more frustrating, when there is no sugar there's this massively evil poison instead. It pretends to be your friend but it most certainly is nay. Obesity, depression, cancer - all side effects of a life spent without sugar. And seriously, who has time to make honey-based treats for a quick one stop sweetness pop? By the way apples do NOT count as a sweet treat and I may have trained snipers on your house who can see if you're disagreeing with me.

Anyway, despite the fact that I got off to a rough start (I ate a bar of chocolate on day three because it was really early in the morning and I had literally forgotten I wasn't allowed it), I am managing to avoid the sweet sweet taste of great. This is day five. I am also certain I have superpowers I never knew existed. It's exciting. Really.

But. The thing is. Alcohol has a lot of sugar in it, right? And, well, we decided that removing sugar and alcohol, while still being expected to function like decent human beings in our decent jobs that we like with people who deserve to remain unmurdered, would just be an unethical and rather idiotic move. So I am getting acquainted with the red vino, or rather, catching up like old friends. Not too much though of course, because I also have to go running four times a week...yippppeeee!!

Yesterday I even went in the rain, battled the elements, almost got blown into the sea - I am risking my life for my determination to be fit and have slamming abs. But the good news is, when I started out running the 1.5 miles (ish) from my flat to the old pier and back, it took me 25 minutes, which is shit but yesterday I did it in 10, which is much more respectable. The moral of today's post is - if you don't want to do it, you're probably very normal and no one can really blame you for it because it sucks. However, when you make yourself do it anyway, you'll feel like a hero!

Next post I am tackling my fear of vulnerability - it's bound to be a thrill.

Oh honey, I'm sweet enough

So I'm doing something silly. I'm quitting sugar for the whole of February. 

Once upon a time I was the little blonde girl who bought 100 penny sweets with a pound, because back then when a merchandise was named after a price, that is exactly what is cost and plus I really really really like sugar. Now I am the brunette who will stride towards the honey jar for that mandatory hit of hoochy mama when the tide's running low.

Why?

Because it's a challenge. Also, my friend Alice co-runs a blog called I could never do that, where every month they try something new that they thought they could never do. Well I love that idea and wanted to get involved so...here I am. Chomping on a rope of nerds with a chocolate bar in my other hand and some smarties up my nose. Sweet Jesus I will miss you guys. I know you know.

Why I will be fitter

I have recently read a lot of articles discussing the issue of fat shaming - big people are beautiful and fat is just a factual word awarded negative connotations. I agree with these articles, I find inspiration in the humour and poignancy of their words and I am an active advocate of the delightful symphony of beauty. Weight is almost always the least important factor, happy eyes, confident smiles and kind words are by far the more integral. 

However, as someone who lost over four stone about seven years ago, I know first hand how uncomfortable it is to be fat. I don't mean the stares and the mean words, I mean the physical discomfort that comes from your thighs rubbing together in the summer and carrying around so much extra weight that your back hurts and you tire easily. I never want to be fat again. I simply feel more comfortable in my own skin when I weigh less.

                                       

                                        

Over the years I have been travelling around, having a blast and paying less attention to my health. I haven't put on weight but I have lost a lot of the fitness and strength I built in my quest to be healthier (and thinner) all those years ago - I climbed to the highest point of the Atlas mountains like a freaking don! This is the first post in my blog, which is dedicated to mapping the course of my return to fitness. I admit that losing weight is a factor in this, I would preferably like to be a dress size smaller and feel more comfortable in a bikini in July. However, I know there is nothing wrong with my body now, that I am beautiful and proud and I have no intention of pointing at each imperfection in disgust. This is me.

But there is always room for improvement. For me, 2014 is set to be the year of the self. 

This blog is a personal challenge made public. Not only am I challenging myself to get fit enough to do the Tough Mudder in June but I also want to re-address my lifestyle as a whole. I have had enough of spending too much money on alcohol and cigarettes and weekends spent feeling rotten and gouging on food that my body doesn't need, ignoring the food it does. This blog is a personal challenge to change my whole lifestyle, to move through a list of things I have always wanted to do but put off and to do so on a budget of no more than £10. 

So to 2014 - health, aspirations, self control and achievements. Wish me luck!