Sunday afternoon after we got back from our lovely weekend escape with the Woog clan we got some drive through Maccas because we had been driving for 3 hours, we needed to feed the kids and it was easy. I rolled a medium Quarter Pounder meal (standard procedure for me) and nailed that quicker than you could say “slow down you fat mole”. It hit the spot. Tasted good for 3 seconds. Then it was done. I got home, started to unpack, despair over my washing pile and then about 2 hours later I started to feel my old friend heartburn a knocking on my chest. It starts with a niggle of an ache. Right in the centre of my diaphragm and then slowly makes it’s way right through to my back. Sometimes I can keep going about, doing whatever I am doing, and other times, like Sunday night it floors me. I am incapable of moving. Agitated. SO uncomfortable. I could only sit upright, close my eyes and deadset meditate through it. Trying to get through each minute, because it was a minute closer to it being over. Sometimes it lasts 40 mins, sometimes longer. Sunday night it lasted for hours and hours and developed into me throwing up every 30 mins or so for most of the night. It’s the pits. I’ve seen my Doctor about it, got some new meds and will see a surgeon in a months time.
But I know that the main reason it’s declined over the past few months is my diet. My lack of exercise. Those old chestnuts. It’s time to turn this around, again. Just like I do every 6 months. It’s time to shift those 5 kg’s that I have packed on with each biscuit and piece of white bread with peanut butter slathered all over it I have shovelled into my mouth over the kitchen sink. It’s time. Again.
Friday afternoon I was lucky enough to have a one on one personal training session with Linda (Eden’s sister) who does this professionally. Linda is tops, she is a little pocket rocket with a body like a rock. Mole. But the best thing about Linda is that she was like me, just a few years ago, doing the same thing until she started to exercise with a trainer and now, here she is 10 kilos lighter and those bits on her stomach like Pink has. Or had. You know the ones? CUT. Can you imagine being cut? Me either.
We ran, we skipped, I wet my pants, we boxed, we did resistance training, I swore at her, we raced each other up the backyard, we stretched and then, thank GOD, the hour was up and we were done. I was waiting for that adrenalin to kick in, and for that elation to kick in, it didn’t. I just felt woozy and my poor body was in shock. And then for days after I was barely able to move.
But something did shift in me. I know I need to do this. I know it makes me feel better when I do. I know my mind will be clearer because of it. While I can’t have a personal trainer with me every few days helping me out I do have a plan showing me what to do. I will have someone checking in on email with me. And I have myself, willing myself to do this. Because at the end of the day the only person choosing to shove a neenish tart down my throat, or going for a run, is me. Right?
So it’s time, to do this. Again.