I Fell Off

Remember when I was really into walking? How I was getting my exercise on and walking with my elderly friends?

I am loathe to declare - I fell off the bandwagon.

After the chair fell onto my foot - just before Easter, I ebbed away from walking. I think I turned into some sort of man - refused to go the doctor, hellz no. I knew it was useless - if you break a bone in your foot, well there's not a lot you can do. I know this because I have broken two toes before and just had to suffer in my jocks. So I hobbled through it, and have only just regained full bending rights of my big toe.
I know. This stuff is what blog posts are made of. Dreamy material Lexi.

But it poses a problem for me. My foot is still not 100% right. And I haven't been walking since.

When I was walking I felt so good. I could feel myself getting fitter, I could feel my body feeling tighter. It was such a great feeling - and it gave me more energy.

I was in this great habit of getting up early - before everyone in the family, I snuck out under the cover of half-darkness, and walked.

Now? I struggle to get out of bed. To drag my sorry ass out of bed and go walking. I fell off the horse - and now I don't know how to get back on.

Hints? Thoughts? Prodding? All are welcome.

And the Fat Boy Slim clip? Yes. Not sure. It made me think of power walkers for some reason..?!

Spin Cycle

A couple of months ago I did a spin class with one of my friends. 


It was at the very height of my exercise binge, and I couldn't wait to hit the pedals and cycle my gluteus maximus into greatness. 


We went after work, got changed with the heady scent of sweat and fitness lingering in the changerooms, and headed into the spin room. 


The walls were painted in black, with neon lighting - remember that from blue light discos? So the lint on my lycra was illuminated. I ain't no Cadel Evans, sisters. 


It was when the instructor came up to me, and commenced adjusting my seat, and then told me that if I couldn't keep up, I should just keep riding, but don't stop, I started to feel the first pangs of fear. 


Then the lights were dimmed and the music (bad music) was cranked up and the disco lights came on. Then I got really worried.


Nevertheless, I forged ahead. I was a warrior. I was like Lance Armstrong meets Fame. 


We started riding. And riding. And riding. After a long period the instructor told us that the warm up was over. There I was thinking the class must be finished. Enough of the pedals. And enough of the damn bike seat. 


The class went on for forty five arduous minutes. The most arduous thing, besides cranking up the dial on the bike, was the bike seat. Cruel beast that it was. 


Why does no one ever talk about that discomfort? 
I felt like John Wayne after a three week horseride. That bike seat bites.


I got home, inspected my property and vowed to never return to spin. 
And I haven't. 


After consulting the interwebz, it turns out us ladies can inflict a lot of damage on our lady parts due to a fraction too much friction from those no-good bike seats. 


The next day the gals at work asked how the class went. I told them it was more painful than childbirth. You know when the baby crowns. Yes. That bit.


I'm not going to beat around the bush. No. I'm talking about what lies beneath the bush. That bike seat hurt. And I'm never going back. Ever. 


Why didn't anyone ever tell me about the cruel beast that is the bike seat? You and me, we need to talk. 


(This article on SMH brought these memories back, bubbling to the surface. That cruel wench of a bike seat.)


image via Somewhere in Seoul

I May Have Rigor Mortis

Yesterday, as punishment to myself for not walking or running or doing anything for almost two weeks, I totally caned myself. I went on a six km walk/jog - or wag as I affectionately call it. 


I branched out of my usual walk/run/jog/feel-like-I-am-dying and did lunges, and manoevred my way around the streets like a crab. Thankfully no one else was about (that I could so), so I don't have to feel so self-conscious about what everyone's thinking about that nutty woman. 


And then it started to rain. I was only 2/3 way through my planned run - and it started raining and raining. As further punishment, I made myself stay put - where once I would have scurried home. I may have even pretended I was preparing myself for Tough Mudder. 


Over 6 kms later, I went home. Half elated, half dog tired. Then I forced myself to carry some heavy hard rubbish from the back of the house to the foothpath. Four trips in total. I am such a beefcake. 


My sneakers were trashed, I was covered in mud - and so I finally made it into the shower. 


Sadly I neglected to stretch *forehead slap* and as a result, I am now walking like the Tin Man. I think I've got a severe case of rigor mortis. 


And then I dragged my sorry ass out of bed this morning, and did it all over again. 

The Walkers

Each morning they embark on their own routines. In half-darkness they walk, sometimes together, usually on their own, lapping one another, stretching. Sweating.


There's one guy that is easily identified by his voracious appetite for red t-shirts. Each morning he walks - he's wearing a red t-shirt. Except for this week he's switched to blue. He runs one lap, then sets himself up in the cricket nets. Stretching. Pushing. Pulling. After a while he exits, runs a couple of extra laps, and heads off for the day.

Then there's Peter. Lovely white-haired Peter. He must be at least 80, he walks, we lap one another, we wave hello, we chat on every second lap. He stretches using the fence. He must have lived here forever. He's heading off for four months overseas. 

A woman - whose age is difficult to determine turns up. Her ponytail swishes side to side as she runs, effortlessly around and around the oval. She stretches with another woman (who is older and curvier), they chat as they run, under the gum trees, around to the side where the sand flicks up into your sneakers.  

Frank is there most mornings. He's a jovial man. We chat politics, war and walking.

Occasionally there are other walkers, but for the most part, it's the usual suspects. Occasionally an elderly woman will brave the slightly sodden grass, walk a few laps, but then she's out of there. Sometimes one of these women will wear a visor, or those sunglasses that flip up and down.

Some mornings see the beginnings of the sunrise. The most spectacular of which featured pale pink and lilac. Streaks of colour like a melted ice-cream. But the next day, markedly less memorable, golden clouds wafting in the sky. Yet it held on to its own beauty, though simplified from the previous.

Most mornings I walk to the dulcet tones of Ira Glass from This American Life. Perfectly timed, and I can get lost for an hour, listening to someone talk about someone else. Sometimes I carve things up and set my iPod to shuffle. Although it's risky with a mix of Playschool mixed with Rihanna mixed with Justine Clarke.

Without even thinking about it, I've become part of the community. Sometimes a silent community, or sometimes a community where a wave or a 'Good Morning' is enough to pass muster. It's comforting to share other people's lives daily. It's a really new sense of perspective, and one that I like.


image via Semantically Driven


Tell me - how does this happen??

Hooked. On Exercise.

I know. You read it right. I am completely hooked on exercise. I have rarely ever been so excited to get out there, but there you have it.

I am so hooked on exercise that I've started waking up before my alarm goes off.

I am so hooked on exercise that it's started infiltrating my dreams.

I dreamt my sister had exercise gear on sale (neither of my sisters are sportswear retailers?!) - and that besides flicking through a rack full of size 10s (RATS!) - I found a pair of exercise tights that were made from the most magnificent fish scale looking fabric. Rainbow fish scale looking fabric.They reminded me of the Rainbow Fish book (pictured). Immediately I grabbed them. And started inventing excuses to exercise just so I could wear them. (They were kind of like these, but more purple. And they could breathe).

My usual exercise gear entails a pair of black Target leggings and one of Matt's tees.

But these fish-scale tights. My oh my.

I woke up totally enthralled and told Matt we just had to go looking for them.

Of course we never found them.

But if you spy some fish-scale tights, please do let me know. Apparently they are the magic key to me continuing on my love affair with breaking out a sweat.

The Many Faces Of Me

I am so many different people in my daily life, to so many different people - as you are.

I guess I've put myself on the backburner for a while, and as a result, I've added a few extra kilos to my frame. Which explains why I've thrown myself like a crazy lady into walking. Why I've been trying to glamify my salad days to myself. And why I've got an acute case of the Flat Stanleys.

Tiny doesn't help when she comes up and squeezes my stomach and says: "Ohhhhh squishy, squishy," then grappling for any - and all - other squishy parts of my body. She does however redeem this act by telling me repeatedly, emphatically that she really loves my squishies.

It is endearing.

But my squishies are not so endearing.
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When I was about 22 I joined a group with a personal trainer. Not for weight loss, but to get a toned, strong body. We met three mornings a week, and ran through the Botanical Gardens (my favourite), ran up and down the steps of the Opera House, it was a wonderful - if exhausting and exhilirating - start to my day. At the end of the program I had the strongest, healthiest body I had ever had. I felt amazing. Because my body was strong.
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I weighed myself today and for the rest of the day felt this immense disgust with myself. Inside I thought "I used to be lighter!" - and losing weight felt out of reach.

If you don't know me, I am tall-ish, and you may not notice my weight gain. Or if you do - you're too polite, too well-mannered to say anything. But I feel it. I see it in the mirror. Too many Haigh's chocolate frogs for me.
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So what I'm going to do: I'm going to make myself a priority again. I'm going to get that lean and strong body back. It might take me a while, I'm going to find some exercise that I dig on - there must be something - I want to feel like that strong, all-powerful woman again.



image of Kate Moss by Mario Testino - amazeballs

The Birds Are Busy

A while ago I wrote about my desire to become a morning person. Well it's eluded me. Until this morning when I scraped my body out of bed at the spritely hour of 6:30am. That was half an hour of snooze-buttoning, but I made it!

I went walking, and the sky was alive with the sound of birds chattering and singing. It was a beautiful thing and I wouldn't have been privy to it if I'd have stayed in bed.

I then went on an hour of power, walking around my oval, and was joined by the over-60s club. I said hello to my new friends and walked and walked, and got 12 laps this time. My new PB.

You don't need to fear, this isn't about to become an exercise blog.

Not when I have Tiny waiting at home for me, and she greets me with "Mama, I decorated myself!" You don't say. I did initially only see her face, then she revealed her legs.

Yesterday the Doctor noted that "Tiny is crazy and dramatic". Bingo.

Old Year's Resolution

I don't do New Year's resolutions. It sets me up for failure, and I'm not signing up for that.

So today I went and exercised my little hiney off. Well. I did go for a really big walk, that turned into an intermittent walk, that ousted the crankies, and the filthies, and made me come home with a sore hip but a brighter attitude.

Exercise is really good, huh?!

I have been struggling to find a place to walk around here. I don't really enjoy walking in our neighbourhood. But tonight I found an oval in our neighbourhood. I thought, yes, I will do 5 laps of this oval, and I wound up doing 10.

I got a headstart on resolutions and I like it.

Sayonara 2011. I hope 2012 is bountiful of blessings, brightness and bold new moves.

Happy New Year my beautiful friends. x

Way To Make Me Exercise

Yep, just for the laugh factor, this would make me exercise.

Tess of the D'Aggervilles:: Day 1

So it's day 1 of Back In The Habit. I went walking. I took my iPod and it ran out of batts after one song. Great preparation on my behalf.

And I totes looked like a complete dag-o-rama in my get up.

I've long thought about exercising VS fashion. And wondered this very point:

If you wear great exercise gear, does it make you more prone to enjoying exercising? So me wearing uber daggy trackies that skim my ankles, and just looking like I rolled out of a jersey workshop, does this impede my ability to enjoy exercise?

Would I enjoy exercise if I invested in my exercise wardrobe? I'm not talking decking myself out in latest and greatest from Stella McCartney's Adidas range, but if I made more of an effort to look good would I feel good?

So Day 1 of Back In The Habit has me asking some really big First World Questions. What's the answer dear reader? Invest in some quality spandex? Or should I keep walking the moors like Tess of the D'Aggervilles in my baggy trackies that are too short?

The Day The Doctor Scored A Goal Against Wendell Sailor

Sponsored by Nuffnang

We headed to the Marrickville PCYC on the weekend to check out the Tetra Pak Kids event hosted by sport start Wendell Sailor and chef Darren Simpson. You can find out more on their Facebook page.

If you know me, you know I am not an exercise junkie, I wish I was that way inclined, but Lycra and I just aren't great friends. I was thinking we'd check out the action for an hour or so, but it was two and a half hours before we headed out with two totally pooped kids. It was that much fun.

The smalls had a great time getting active - playing soccer, racing against one another in a jumping castle obstacle course, playing some kind of skittles game in teams - or drinking carton after carton of milk (Tiny).

The Doctor took on king of the kids, Wendell Sailor, and scored himself a goal. Proud moment - even though the Doctor has NO idea who Wendell Sailor is. The photo is stuck on his bedroom wall - ready to go to school for news.

Darren Simpson demonstrated just how easy it is to make rice paper rolls - and eat them in one mouthful. I was salivating and a little dirty I didn't get to try one. But thems the breaks folks. I'll just have to make my own with the little people.

There were people streaming in throughout the afternoon, it's a free event, and it really does reinforce how fun being active can be and how quick and easy healthy eating is (and how the smalls love being involved making quick eats!).

You can check out a whole repertoire of Darren's easy and delicious - nutrilicious (see how I made that word up?!) recipes here.

And if you're like me, and need some hints to get active - in a fun, foolproof way, Wendell's got it tapped here.

And if you'd like the opportunity for your children to be worn out, you can check out the Tetra Pak Kids events at two more Sydney locations:

Penrith

Saturday 16th April 2011

Penrith PCYC, 100 Station Street, Penrith

12-4pm

Campbelltown

Saturday 23rd April 2011

Campbelltown PCYC, 95 Minto Road, Minto

12-4pm