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

Day 19 of Frocktober: *GULP*

Holy guacamole girls. Today I dragged out from the archives one of my all-time favourite vintage dresses. One I snaffled from Bondi markets about 76 years ago. I LOVE this dress. Alas, if I want longevity in the dress I either need to:
a) lose weight
b) lose 2 ribs
c) put an elastic band in the dress

The last couple of days I've given Betty Draper a run for her money, honey. Yesterday's dress was a neon vintage number (which I will post, just don't have the photo right now), very 60s. Today is harking back to the 50s. I think?!

Frocktober has not only helped me raise a tidy sum of money for ovarian cancer research, but it's also made me think about how I dress.

I've become accustomed to wearing jeans. And jeans. And more jeans. All. The. Time. I haven't even touched those denim delights in 19 days. I looked at them a little forlornly on the weekend, but truth be told - I am loving having an excuse to frock up, every single day. Which is very nice if you can move in said frock. Today. Yeah, not so much movement going on. I've really filled that little sucker out, and not in a good way.

There's a lesson there: if you don't want indentations on your torso from where your dress is waaaay too tight, don't wear it. A good warning would be when you have to ask your husband to zip you into it.

Tomorrow = smock.

Please note, I had to climb through dirt, shrubs and cactus for these photos. And then I flipped out and thought there *might* be a snake in my midst. Vanity Fair - you reading this?