I was always more inclined towards eating and lounging on my sofa, than following the healthy eating and exercise routine. Know what I mean? I know I'm not alone and, like a few million other females out there, went from skinny, gawky kid to chubby teenager and life-long weight battler. I personally blame boys (even the ones I've never met) as I am sure it all went down hill as soon as I discovered them!
I was drawn to exercise quite late in life really - too late if I'm being honest. I'd watched my weight fluctuate for many a year but it wasn't until my late 30's that I was forced to treat the matter with any real seriousness and realised I'd run out of excuses. I was aware that exercise was the key to weight loss but I had no idea how to go about it and knew that without proper advice I'd lose interest and give up.
Of course it goes without saying that the fabric known as Lycra should be banned by Law, and whoever invented it dragged through the streets, flogged and ceremoniously (or unceremoniously for that matter) burnt at the stake. (Swiftly corrects spelling from 'steak'), Hmmm ... is food never far from my thoughts? However, I digress. On with the Lycra (gulp) and into the Gym goes I. Now, come on, who, in all honesty, genuinely likes a gym? God they're impersonal hell holes, staffed mostly by spotty youths, who've not yet achieved that happy pairing of a bottle of facial cleanser with cotton wool, and who frankly look barely qualified to switch the equipment on, let alone entice me to want to entrust my overweight body or my cholesterol-filled arteries. All this for a not inconsiderable sum of my hard-earned cash! Well, round of applause please, because I lasted ... ooh I don't know ... a couple of months of sneaking in at 6 o'clock in the morning, adopting something that approximates a trot on the treadmill and eventually sloping off to shower. Incidentally, why are gym showers so slimy - even the brand new ones! Eventually of course, the novelty wore off and I stopped going.
Hubby and I were going through a house move when, as briefly alluded to above, the slight matter of an investigation into the possibility of having an hereditary heart condition, led me to be seated in front of a Consultant, who uttered the words "we'll be operating within a year if you don't do something about it". Thems the kind of words that make you sit up and smell the coffee, (and I hate coffee) but it did the trick. My thoughts changed to "new home; hopefully new me". Once settled into said new home, I started thinking about the idea of Personal Trainers. Yes, well it all sounds very "Madonna" doesn't it? But then I thought why fork out on a monthly basis for a gym membership when (a) I hate going and (b) I don't use it enough to justify the cost and yet knowingly avoid going for weeks on end whilst still paying. How many of us have done that, and still are?
So, a search of the internet brought me to the lovely Harriet. We met for a consultation where she was faced with a "blob", feigning a desire to want to lose weight slowly and carefully, using that recommended mix of healthy eating and exercise, when the reality was, of course, I was secretly praying this woman owned that magic wand which would reduce my weight in a couple of weeks without the need to reduce my intake of food, thank you very much!
I created a 'gym' at home (AKA the smallest bedroom) because I was sure, and determined, that I'd never need to set foot outside the house to get fit. Thanks to a company bonus, I bought a treadmill, and assorted paraphernalia and I was ready for the overnight transformation! Little did I know that my trainer was an ex-Marathon-, ex-anything-hardcore runner and fitness fanatic, who had no intention of letting me skulk away in the top corner of my house. We started off with the treadmill of course while she gauged what I was capable of doing, which was not a lot at the time. Eventually the day came when I was told I was going outside - the idea of which filled me with horror until I realised I had a good time! As the weight came off, the running began. By 'running', understand I use the term loosely but I have a style of my own and whilst I won't break records, it suits me fine! A few 10K races later and I'm an athlete (in my book!)
Of course what makes having a supportive hubby extra special is having one who never exercises, and yet offers to come out and run with me so I can train. For this run he dons a pair of old plimsoles, shorts and tee-shirt and off we go. I keep my eye on him and he's not keeled over yet, so all is well. I use my experience to tell him to take it easy, slow down the pace as we approach the first of a couple of killer hills on the route, and sod me if he doesn't jolly well trot up these damn hills like a gazelle. I huff and puff my way behind him, while he's skipping down the other side barely out of breath! Bless all husbands: can't run with 'em - can't kill 'em!
Meanwhile, back to the topic of my Personal Trainer, having a huge repertoire of torture at her fingertips, she moved me on to weights, abdominals, lunges, squats .... and now boxing! Why do my eyes light up when the boxing gloves and pads come out? I appear to have an unnatural affection for punching the living daylights out of my poor trainer - and it's such fun! Let me clarify - it's the pads I'm hitting, not Harriet! It certainly relieves the stress of the working day. I land some whopping punches, that surprise even me! Everybody should have a go at Boxing!!
Harriet has recently started outdoor Circuit Training Boot Camps, so every Saturday I join her and a bunch of other like-minded idiots, in the vicinity of Hatfield Forest. We start off with a warm up, then pair up and navigate the assault courses she sets up. When we've completed one circuit, we change to do whatever running challenge Harriet has up her sleeve for us. Then it's back to the circuit and on to tummies, planks, press ups and eventually a cool down. All in all, an hour of heaven, during which we hear the familiar cries of "Are you holding your tummies in?" or "You're half way; keep it going", and my personal favourite: "if you can talk, you're not working hard enough" God she's a doll! And this, dear friends, is why I have her listed in my phone not by name but as "Torturer". Call me sentimental, but it's been a few years since I met her and I can't bring myself to change it!
In these days of economic downturns and tightening of purse strings, quite of few Trainers are turning to this form of outdoor exercising. They are finding it hard to get one-to-one business, after all it's seen as a bit of a luxury. In my case, having visited the consultant a year later and being told that my arteries are completely normal, I credit Harriet with helping me save my life so I personally look on her skills as a necessity.
If you're looking for a different sort of exercise, outdoor Boot Camps, are cheap and cheerful. You'll get a great work out where several hundred calories get burned away in an hour. They're starting to pop up in local parks all over the place. The down side of course is that local Councils have picked up on this and started making noises about charging Trainers an annual fee for holding these sessions! Personally I think that's going to be impossible to police, but I hope it doesn't become a reality. So far so good for our group. In fact the worst we've had is a herd of bewildered cows coming over to watch us and, in one case, try to eat the equipment. They were a beautiful herd, co-ordinated in matching black and white hide. We, however, were a herd of disheveled women in a mix garish work out clothing. No wonder it wasn't too long before they turned on their hooves and wandered off in search of some decent grass.
I was drawn to exercise quite late in life really - too late if I'm being honest. I'd watched my weight fluctuate for many a year but it wasn't until my late 30's that I was forced to treat the matter with any real seriousness and realised I'd run out of excuses. I was aware that exercise was the key to weight loss but I had no idea how to go about it and knew that without proper advice I'd lose interest and give up.
Of course it goes without saying that the fabric known as Lycra should be banned by Law, and whoever invented it dragged through the streets, flogged and ceremoniously (or unceremoniously for that matter) burnt at the stake. (Swiftly corrects spelling from 'steak'), Hmmm ... is food never far from my thoughts? However, I digress. On with the Lycra (gulp) and into the Gym goes I. Now, come on, who, in all honesty, genuinely likes a gym? God they're impersonal hell holes, staffed mostly by spotty youths, who've not yet achieved that happy pairing of a bottle of facial cleanser with cotton wool, and who frankly look barely qualified to switch the equipment on, let alone entice me to want to entrust my overweight body or my cholesterol-filled arteries. All this for a not inconsiderable sum of my hard-earned cash! Well, round of applause please, because I lasted ... ooh I don't know ... a couple of months of sneaking in at 6 o'clock in the morning, adopting something that approximates a trot on the treadmill and eventually sloping off to shower. Incidentally, why are gym showers so slimy - even the brand new ones! Eventually of course, the novelty wore off and I stopped going.
Hubby and I were going through a house move when, as briefly alluded to above, the slight matter of an investigation into the possibility of having an hereditary heart condition, led me to be seated in front of a Consultant, who uttered the words "we'll be operating within a year if you don't do something about it". Thems the kind of words that make you sit up and smell the coffee, (and I hate coffee) but it did the trick. My thoughts changed to "new home; hopefully new me". Once settled into said new home, I started thinking about the idea of Personal Trainers. Yes, well it all sounds very "Madonna" doesn't it? But then I thought why fork out on a monthly basis for a gym membership when (a) I hate going and (b) I don't use it enough to justify the cost and yet knowingly avoid going for weeks on end whilst still paying. How many of us have done that, and still are?
So, a search of the internet brought me to the lovely Harriet. We met for a consultation where she was faced with a "blob", feigning a desire to want to lose weight slowly and carefully, using that recommended mix of healthy eating and exercise, when the reality was, of course, I was secretly praying this woman owned that magic wand which would reduce my weight in a couple of weeks without the need to reduce my intake of food, thank you very much!
I created a 'gym' at home (AKA the smallest bedroom) because I was sure, and determined, that I'd never need to set foot outside the house to get fit. Thanks to a company bonus, I bought a treadmill, and assorted paraphernalia and I was ready for the overnight transformation! Little did I know that my trainer was an ex-Marathon-, ex-anything-hardcore runner and fitness fanatic, who had no intention of letting me skulk away in the top corner of my house. We started off with the treadmill of course while she gauged what I was capable of doing, which was not a lot at the time. Eventually the day came when I was told I was going outside - the idea of which filled me with horror until I realised I had a good time! As the weight came off, the running began. By 'running', understand I use the term loosely but I have a style of my own and whilst I won't break records, it suits me fine! A few 10K races later and I'm an athlete (in my book!)
Of course what makes having a supportive hubby extra special is having one who never exercises, and yet offers to come out and run with me so I can train. For this run he dons a pair of old plimsoles, shorts and tee-shirt and off we go. I keep my eye on him and he's not keeled over yet, so all is well. I use my experience to tell him to take it easy, slow down the pace as we approach the first of a couple of killer hills on the route, and sod me if he doesn't jolly well trot up these damn hills like a gazelle. I huff and puff my way behind him, while he's skipping down the other side barely out of breath! Bless all husbands: can't run with 'em - can't kill 'em!
Meanwhile, back to the topic of my Personal Trainer, having a huge repertoire of torture at her fingertips, she moved me on to weights, abdominals, lunges, squats .... and now boxing! Why do my eyes light up when the boxing gloves and pads come out? I appear to have an unnatural affection for punching the living daylights out of my poor trainer - and it's such fun! Let me clarify - it's the pads I'm hitting, not Harriet! It certainly relieves the stress of the working day. I land some whopping punches, that surprise even me! Everybody should have a go at Boxing!!
Harriet has recently started outdoor Circuit Training Boot Camps, so every Saturday I join her and a bunch of other like-minded idiots, in the vicinity of Hatfield Forest. We start off with a warm up, then pair up and navigate the assault courses she sets up. When we've completed one circuit, we change to do whatever running challenge Harriet has up her sleeve for us. Then it's back to the circuit and on to tummies, planks, press ups and eventually a cool down. All in all, an hour of heaven, during which we hear the familiar cries of "Are you holding your tummies in?" or "You're half way; keep it going", and my personal favourite: "if you can talk, you're not working hard enough" God she's a doll! And this, dear friends, is why I have her listed in my phone not by name but as "Torturer". Call me sentimental, but it's been a few years since I met her and I can't bring myself to change it!
In these days of economic downturns and tightening of purse strings, quite of few Trainers are turning to this form of outdoor exercising. They are finding it hard to get one-to-one business, after all it's seen as a bit of a luxury. In my case, having visited the consultant a year later and being told that my arteries are completely normal, I credit Harriet with helping me save my life so I personally look on her skills as a necessity.
If you're looking for a different sort of exercise, outdoor Boot Camps, are cheap and cheerful. You'll get a great work out where several hundred calories get burned away in an hour. They're starting to pop up in local parks all over the place. The down side of course is that local Councils have picked up on this and started making noises about charging Trainers an annual fee for holding these sessions! Personally I think that's going to be impossible to police, but I hope it doesn't become a reality. So far so good for our group. In fact the worst we've had is a herd of bewildered cows coming over to watch us and, in one case, try to eat the equipment. They were a beautiful herd, co-ordinated in matching black and white hide. We, however, were a herd of disheveled women in a mix garish work out clothing. No wonder it wasn't too long before they turned on their hooves and wandered off in search of some decent grass.
Brilliant!
ReplyDeleteVery honest and very inspirational. I love the thought of hubby trotting up the hill whilst you puff and pant behind. I also can picture the cows, looking very natty in thier outfits, popping over to have a look.
5*****
Excellent post! You have a really fun style and a great way with words that makes reading what you write so enjoyable. More please and well done, you're a natural! xx
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