Romantic Notions

Ever since I first saw the film “Baby Boom”, I’ve had romantic notions about packing my bags moving to a small town with a population of 50. There I would meet the man of my dreams, who coincidentally would be the only single man in the town, devilishly handsome with a winning personality, a cracking sense of humour and is the local vet. The reality is I’d probably move there, they wouldn’t welcome me because “I wasn’t from these parts” and the only single man would be in his 80’s and not looking for a long term relationship!

  I have similar such notions with yoga. Ever since Geri Halliwell quit the Spice Girls, dyed her hair a subtler shade of strawberry blonde and ditched the Union Jack dress for yoga pants, I have wanted to take up yoga. As the images of Geri doing yoga on the beach in her bikini, whilst NBF George Michael sat there watching, I’ve wanted to take up yoga. Then I could practice my downward facing dog on the beach, whilst my 80’s popstar best friend watched on.

  Last night, my romantic notion became a reality! Although there was no beach involved, no George Michael and I certainly wasn’t a demurer version of Ginger Spice!

  Despite having a hacking cough, I thought it would be a good idea to go along to Body Balance, a hybrid of yoga and Pilates. By the time Lucy and I had got our matts, the only spaces left in the class were right at the front. That in itself was bad enough, but my spot was not only right at the front…. But right in front of the teacher!

  Even when it’s a class I’ve done for a while, I really don’t like standing in front of the teacher, there’s that awkward moment, where you can’t avoid eye contact, you might go the wrong way and bang into them and most importantly EVERYONE ELSE CAN SEE YOU!

  As I practiced my sun salutations and moved into warrior pose, I felt less Geri Halliwell and more Jerry Springer.

“Turn your chest and open it towards the sun” purred the teacher as she stood firm in warrior pose and arched her back. I couldn’t stop the thought of if I turned my chest towards the sun, I’d probably cause a total eclipse!

  In downward facing dog, presented me with two worrying situations

1   1) The man facing me was pretty much getting a full on view down my top! I imagine the sight of my scaffolding like sports bra combined with my jelly belly was hardly adding to his serene and calming experience.

      2) There was every chance I would be suffocated by my own boobs.

I thought by the time we got to the hip stretches I had nailed it, but it turned out my stretches were the body balance equivalent of Joey from “Friends” learning how to speak French.

  At the end of the class as we all lay on the floor and “put down the troubles of our day” and breathed ourselves into a relaxing state, it became apparent that I couldn’t even do that! Having a cough and laying still isn’t really an option so I spent 10 minutes trying not to choke to death, so that I didn’t disturb the class! Fortunately, I was saved by a lady who burst into the room thinking it was the start of the class. She caused such a kerfuffle, I was able to sneak in a cheeky cough.

  So my romantic notion, didn’t quite live up to the reality! But I’m pretty willing to bet before Geri did a handstand on the beach in public, she fell on her ass a few times. So I’ll go back next week only this time, I’ll do the following

1) I'll take my own matt, so I can stand at the back

2) Wear a high neck t-shirt

2    3) Spend the next week trying to convince an 80’s pop star to be my NBF and come to class with me!

Just Keep Swimming

Following on from last week’s blog, my number 1 priority over the last week has been me and making sure my heart gets a bit of TLC. This has taken a couple of forms…. Physical (lots of exercise) emotional (if you’ve not heard from me in the last week, there’s probably a reason for that J )

  The physical exercise has come in the form of “Lucy’s Bootcamp” I stupidly agreed to give my sister the password to my gym membership and apparently that now means she can book me in for all the exercise classes in the world ever.

So far in the last 7 days, we’ve done aqua Zumba (twice) yoga and just general swimming. In the next 7 days we are booked in for more yoga, body combat and spinning. I’ve also booked in to see the gym manager about changing my password.

  All joking aside, I’m glad Lucy has taken the form of my chief motivator, because in the last two weeks I’ve lost 5 pounds and I’ve really enjoyed myself. I’ve secretly enjoyed all the classes and I’ve really LOVED the swimming.

  Swimming formed a massive part of all my childhood activities, in fact I can’t remember a time that I couldn’t swim. My parents took me swimming from a young age, maybe they recognized that when you have a clumsy child, you have to do everything you can to protect that child from accidentally killing themselves!

Baby Katie

  Swimming was something we did after school, I loved my lessons with Mr Rowbottom. He was an ex army PT, who I think still thought he was coaching new army recruits. Having once seen me in my hometown of Kirkby, I was always referred to as “Kirkby” and my friend who once wore a swimsuit that had the word “splash” on it was forever known as “Splash”.

  Despite his yelling and making us dive over that long metal pole normally reserved for hooking drowning kids out of the pool, we all adored him. I think I always deliberately forgot my swimming hat so we could have the following conversation:

Swimming was something we did for birthdays….. swimming parties at Sutton baths, where adults and kids would pile into the pool and then head home for a bar-b-q.

  Swimming was what we did on holidays, playing in the Bournemouth sea, messing about on our beloved inflatable whale, which even though he now has a puncture still lives in my Dad’s garage because no one can bear to throw him away.

Swimming was something I did as a teenager with my friends. We got our Mums to drop us off at the new swimming pool with the water slide and the wave machine. We used our pocket money to go swimming and buy a can of pop and chips in the café afterwards.

  Swimming was something I stopped doing.

  Last week as me and my hideously lumpy bumpy body (which really shouldn’t be on display in public without a warning) got into the pool to do actual swimming. Not just stand there with a cocktail, which is what happens on holiday.

  As I pottled up and down the pool (I’m the swimming equivalent of a Sunday driver) I felt the tension start to leave my body, one length breast stroke, one length backstroke. Up and down.

  As I floated in the embryonic water, I felt the calmness and the peace flood my body. I didn’t care about my lumpy thighs or my a belly that would evoke the green eyed monster in Santa. I only cared about the water and the enjoyment it was giving me. 

   I could hear Mr Robottom bellowing “Kirkby”, I could hear the raucous laughter of Little Katie and Little Lucy as we fell off our inflatable killer whale into the cold sea and I remembered the sheer joy of our childhood parties and hanging out with my school friends.

  Even the angry swimming man in the next lane made me laugh as he aggressively splashed his way up and down recreating the wave machine of my teenage years. I hoped for his other half’s sake he didn’t do “everything” with as much aggression or as quickly!

  Maybe I’ll cancel my appointment with the gym manager and let Lucy keep booking me into classes at the gym!

You Mess with Me? You Mess With MY Whole Family!

I stayed the same this week, which to be honest I was OK with. I think I’ve put my body through so much yo-yo dieting over the years that it really must wonder what the hell is going on.

   From diets that involve a ridiculous amount of cottage cheese, to ones that involve a fruity shake every 3 days, I’ve tried a variety. So I figure now I’m doing it properly, my body is re-adjusting itself and wondering if I’m about to stop the healthy eating and attempt the prawn, pomegranate and pea diet (I’m not sure this actually exists)

  I feel back in control of what I’m doing, I’m planning meals, pointing everything and exercising more too. I’m doing my favourite classes at the gym (willingly I might add) and haven’t received a “we are just checking you’re still alive phone call from the gym”

  Also helping my increase in exercise is the fact my beloved dog Cyril is on the mend and can once again roam the countryside. Poor old Cyril has had a bit of a time of it recently. He had to have quite a big operation on his leg earlier this year and he couldn’t really go on walks before the op and certainly not afterwards. He was on basket rest, which with Cyril was easier said than done. He became a bit of a 3-legged ninja. But now the leg is better.

Poorly Cyril

  Sadly for an active dog, being inactive meant that just like his mummy, Cyril piled on a few pounds, so he’s also been on a diet. Also just like Mummy, the weight is starting to come off and he’s looking good.

  So last week, Cyril, Lucy and I took off to Whitby.

   I love Whitby, it’s one of my favourite places, I love it’s Gothic qualities, I love the fact it still feels like a seaside town from my childhood, I love the cobbled streets, the quirky shops, the little cafes, the beauty of the coast and I love walking Cyril along the beach and then sitting with a cup of tea in a polystyrene cup. I love my Whitby Lucky Duck that sits on my bookcase and obviously makes my house a lucky place to live!

  Last week, Whitby was really quiet and Lucy, Cyril and I wondered around, in and out of shops, up and town the seafront, breaking the day up with cups of tea and a lobster tail. Cyril being Cyril was making friends everywhere we went.

As I stood outside one shop waiting for Lucy, this old couple came up to me and started asking questions about the dog.

“How old is he”

“What breed is he?”

“Did he behave?”

  We generally exchanged the pleasantries of strangers, and then as the couple turned to leave, the woman said these immortal words

  If I’m honest I’m still not sure if she was talking to me or the dog, although as she said it, she did bend to stroke Cyril, so maybe it was more aimed at him, but let me tell you something about pet owners. You tell them their pet is fat, what they hear is “you’re fat”.

  Make no bones about it, I was offended, Lucy was offended, I don’t think Cyril cared. 

 So when I heard the story about the lady who was handed a card on the tube by someone from an organisation called "Overweight Haters Ltd", I felt really angry on the woman's behalf. I was livid that the oldies had said said something to Cyril, who is a dog, but to actively take the time to have a card printed to hand to someone is a whole other level of tosser-ness!!!  Unless of course, the ring leaders are actually an old couple from North Yorkshire wear matching khaki coats and carrying a Roy Cropper style shopper, because lets face it, who knows what was in that bag!