Singular Scene

So Singular in Each Particular

Living in the Future

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I may have mentioned in these here parts before that I have a not insignificant number of niblings (yes, niblings, look it up).

As a dutiful auntie I do my best to anticipate their birthdays but usually I’m a bit rubbish at being organized enough to get gifts to them before the actual day, more often or not, they’re late.

So, as I was home in NZ in Sept it seemed smart to buy Healy’s* gift while I was there, and having observed his passion for all things Thomas the Tank Engine I inquired of my sis which engine was missing from his set. The reply was Diesel 10, an engine which was unheard if to me it’s been so long since I had little charges who were train mad.

Of course, Diesel 10 isn’t currently in production in the set that Healy owns (don’t get me started on the myriad of versions of TTTE tracks and how easy it is to get the wrong ones!) so some Internet surfing was employed to find one, which I duly did, in Hong Kong.

Had all gone according to the plan the train would have arrived on time, posted direct to his address and all would have been hunky dory! But these things rarely go according to the plan and the package never arrived. So while the vendor gave me a refund, the hunt for another was renewed.

I found one a week or two back, and of course, it wasn’t local, it was in the UK, but as I put in a decent bid which was maximised by the strong Aussie dollar, I sat back anxiously to find out if anyone was quite so desperate as me.

HURRAH! They weren’t, and so after a wee flurry of correspondence with the previous owner, the engine, complete with two troublesome trucks was despatched to NZ.

Here’s the best bit of the whole story… Lil’ Sis waited till I was available on Skype to have Healy open the present while I was ‘there’ so I could get the full impact of what we suspected would be a VERY welcome gift (Diesel 10 is Healy’s FAVOURITE – can’t think why, he [the engine] really is a nasty piece of work!!) … and I wasn’t disappointed… His little face was an absolute picture of delight!! So much so that I got a text message a bit later that read ‘that Diesel 10 is sooo berry cool’. (I melted…)

So here’s to living in the future – where buying almost anything you need is possible from anywhere in the world, and where seeing the joy such a thing can bring is possible from over 2,000 kilometeres away…

*Not his real name.

Weight Training.

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Do not fear Gentle Reader that this is about to turn into a weight-loss blog, I’ve a couple of posts in mind on the issue, and so I’ll get them out and post occasional updates but as there’ll no doubt be something else on my mind this week, please bear with me until then!!

As I mentioned yesterday, I joined the gym.

Previously to moving to Australia (almost 12 years ago) I had been a regular member at a regular gym, one that ran classes. weights and circuits, weight training, personal training etc. and I won’t lie, I actually enjoyed it. I even got fit enough to enjoy running at one point… I know, me, running… We had a contra deal at the office so it didn’t cost me a cent but my tenure there ended when I moved house, my routine changed and rather than make it work from the new address and the new routine; I got out of the habit.

There are three gyms in my current neighbourhood. A fancy nancy big chain gym where you pay over the odds and get a backpack and drink bottle and where getting out of your contract, for whatever reason, is like getting a divorce.

The second which is all about one on one personal training which is a bit too, well… personal for me.

Which left the other one… and happily, that one suits me down to the ground, because, for me, going to the gym has to be a couple of things.

It has to be near enough to home that I don’t have to get dressed and ready for work there… so, given that I live about 7 mins walk from the shops, and by extension, the gym, this was favourable.

The second criteria is that the gym has to be unpretentious – I’m not really sure I care whether a gym caters for men and women, or women only, but I’m not a big fan of the competitive atmospheres you find in some places. It happens that my gym is women only, and unpretentious in that it’s not done up real fancy, it’s small, the trainers are normal everyday girls, not sticks and the members are friendly. In fact, in reading on their website that the gym‘s unofficial motto is “no makeup, no men, and no mirrors” you’ll get an idea of the vibe of the place.

Finally it had to be able to work into my schedule – I don’t mind getting up early in the morning, but I have to be able to get to there, work out, get home and get ready for work and be on the bus by 8.45 so it had to be efficient… If I get a walk in in the morning my circuit takes about an hour – I can’t sustain that kind of time commitment every day – but the Curves workout is only 30min long (plus 10min of stretches). Now THAT’S efficient, and for me, that’s sustainable.

So I joined up. I joined up and I loved it.

Worth the Weight

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I’ve referred to myself about these here parts as comfortably upholstered*. Doesn’t it just make the notion of overweight-ness sound ever so much more pleasant? Like an overstuffed armchair that you just love to curl up in with a book and a nice cup of tea.

However, as any clinically obese person (BMI>30) will tell you (maybe – it’s not something we really like to talk about honestly) being overweight IS an issue, and as fabulous as I know I am despite the extra kilos, my weight does have an effect on my world. It affects how other people see me. My weight affects my fitness and ability to climb stairs, my weight affects my knees, at least I figure that they’re a bit dodgy because of the load they have to carry. My weight, as has already been accounted here, affects my stomach and makes me sick.

My weight isn’t an accident. It’s the result of conscious choices. The choice to eat KFC instead of salad, the choice to stay in bed in the morning instead of getting out for a walk. It’s the result of the choice not to care about the consequences and it’s the result of the choice to tell lies to myself about the nutritional value of the foods I’d rather eat instead of reading the package and learning the truth.

When the accommodations one makes to deal with being fat (plus size shopping, talc for chafing etc. – hey, I never said it was pretty) got to be too depressing, frustrating, or unbearable I’d get out for a walk or pull out the weight watchers books and think about making an effort again, about joining up to WW or Jenny Craig, about signing up to the gym, but the fact is, food is good, food makes life feel better and frankly, chocolate does it better than most.

So, while it doesn’t take a monumental idea to make monumental change, something needed to happen to undo years of behaviour and a lifelong affair with food; something needed to flip that switch in my head.

It happened to me early this year and it was my littler sister who was responsible. She was talking about our Mum who has the same issues with food, who is shorter than me and probably weighs as much – our Mum who has the same denial issues, but whose brain injury makes it harder to get the same kinds of revelations, our Mum who causes us concern because her food issues may well lead her to diabetes and more trouble later on, whose weight and general health could kill her where the car accident 13 years ago did not.

I listened to my sister talking and I thought “If I don’t sort myself out, I’ll end up the same”.

So I joined a gym.

I heard this idea a while back that if you want to make lasting changes you do it incrementally, and that 5% change a day will have exponential results. So rather than jump on an exercise AND diet bandwagon I figured I’d do one thing at a time.

So I joined a gym.

I joined a gym and lost 4.5 kilos.

*In the interests of full disclosure I’ll confess here that I started this weight loss kick at 104.5kg and at 165cm tall that made my BMI 38.4 – today, I’m 99.6kg, still the same height *grin* and my BMI has come down to 36.5.)