Gait and GOOD GOD.

Life is genuinely full of pleasant surprises. It's the unpleasant ones that stick with us because we are all programmed to get a buzz from outrage/indignation but the pleasant ones are easy to find.

Summer weather in March- pleasant surprise. Re-remembering that the Jubilee means an extra Bank Holiday- pleasant surprise. Fitting into size 14 trousers- pleasant surprise. Realisation that Westfield Stratford is a mere 70 minutes from my front door- PLEASANT SURPRISE!! My husband would argue that this is a dangerous hazard as opposed to pleasant surprise but I would beg to differ. Shops.......EVERYWHERE!!!!! My best mate and I embarked on a Saturday spree and, aside from the fact that for the first 20 minutes she thought she was in the other London Westfield and couldn't work out why everything looked different (after 30 years of friendship with this woman who STILL gets confused by the film 'Sliding Doors', I was unsurprised by this latest revelation), it was a wicked trip. 

The reason for bringing this up, in addition to bolstering the UK retail economy, is that I visited 'The Sweatshop' (www.sweatshop.co.uk). Since starting to move at speed on a regular basis, I have been conscious that the cheap trainers which I carelessly purchased 2 years ago are probably not enhancing my (limited) ability. I'd heard about 'gait analysis' where in certain sports stores you can get expert advice on matching your running technique with the right shoes and I'd always fancied a go. This has become even more of an interest since I discovered that my ankle bones are actually just dropping off the the side of my foot. Seriously. If I stand still, the lumpy bit on the inside of each of my ankle joints are REALLY collapsing. It looks like my leg bones are going to hit the floor. I am Mrs. Potato leg and somebody has just stick a foot on the outside edge of each tree trunk.........My husband, with his usual concern for my welfare and well-being, raised this issue as I stood by the cooker one night. With a subtle “What the f**k is wrong with your legs”, he alerted me to a potential problem.

So, when my best mate told me that 'The Sweatshop' was where she had gone for a gait analysis a few years ago, I thought I'd give it a whirl as we passed the store in Westfield. A genuinely knowledgeable lad took pity on me and sorted out my analysis. He spent AGES moulding things to my feet (note to self, shave your legs before embarking on this activity as you have to roll your trousers up. He tried not to look shocked but I think my legs have alerted him to a level of female cosmetic slumminess that, due to youth and good looks, he has not yet encountered. There was a fleeting moment where he looked like he'd just been told that there was no Santa).

Then he got me to stand on a heat pad, run on a treadmill and filmed my ankles as I ran in various shoes. Even he couldn't hide his shock at the state of my ankles. With a polite, 'Yeah, it's pretty extreme', what he was really saying was “Holy hell woman, how can you walk in this decrepit state”. Ace. The technical term is 'pronated ankles'. Laymans term is 'knackered'. Anyway, 50 minutes later, I have a pair of shoes that I hope will turn back the tide of my ankle decay and some tips on my technique, having experienced an astonishing standard of retail service- another pleasant surprise.

So I now have a new pair of shoes. After my runs and aerobics classes this week, my legs hurt in very different places from usual which I am taking as a good sign that some sort of remedial healing is taking place. Either than or my hairy legs have led a salesman to purposefully mislead me as some sort of punishment for crimes against Gillette.

I ran 5k in 39 minutes and plan to try 6 k this week. I am finding the treadmill more enjoyable than street running at the moment but I think this is because of the leg pain and because 5k routes in the dark are a bit tricky. Once the pain settles and now the nights are lighter, I hope to outdoor it more.

In terms of pleasant surprises, I have also been informed today by my 4 year old daughter that she has a 'tiny baby Jesus in her tummy and he's going to come out at Christmas in the hospital'.

Now, I wasn't present for the annunciation the first time round so I can't compare but as an entirely lapsed Catholic-flavoured Agnostic with an incredibly Catholic mother. I am a little anxious. My daughter becoming a pre-Primary School parent is one thing but additionally concerning it that I am assuming that as the Grandmother of Christ, I will be required to take part in a lot of press events.

This current de-podging has suddenly become more crucial- I can't do the front page of the Catholic Herald in size 14 Kelly Holmes jogging trousers. I am also concerned that perhaps my daughter wasn't the wisest choice for a holy vessel as last week she told her (very) Catholic grandmother that her (long deceased) great grandparents are not now angels but are instead mermaids who live in the sea.

A victory for Disney, zero points for religion.

Dames don't lie..........do they??

It's a bit weird writing a blog. During my teenage years, I was always somebody who wrote a fantastic diary for the first eight days of January..... pages of absolute bollocks, dilemmas about fashion choices and appearances smattered with angst and full of massive grammatical bombs. Then I lost motivation. Ah, much has changed as you can see.

This weeks blog is motivated by spousal indignation, always a stellar motivator.

ME: "Look at this mate. Size 14- LOOK! They fit. Size 14. SIZE 14"
HIM: *smirks* "Are you really getting excited about a pair of size 14 Lycra leggings that are designed to stretch??! Really?!"
ME: "Oh" *makes mental calculations about digging up patio and dragging a bloody corpse down the stairs to deposit it, without disturbing neighbours*

So, nothing like a dose of reality to motivate you.............It did however get me thinking about disappointments in life and led me to compile my top 10. It was surprisingly easy to compile. I fear this is not a good sign.

1) Pirates of the Caribbean 4. Total bollocks. Johnny's only ever un-enjoyable film. A perfect record ruined.

2) Rome. Amazing history but full of people trying to rob you blind and graffiti covering every surface that Ceasar didn't touch. Husband and brother got into fisticuffs with both a Centurion in full costume and a small gypsy pickpocket within a few minutes of arrival.........it set the tone.

3) Pregnancy. Natural process? My arse. Glowing?? Yup, just like radioactive slime- bright green. Ditto gas and air- load of rubbish.

4) Fake tan. No explanation needed.

5) Trips to Ikea. So much promise, so much choice, so much arguing that divorce is on the cards before you even get near the 49p tumblers and candles in the market place. We can no longer go together.

6)  Any beauty product with 'firming' in the title. If you have an unattractive body part and want it both greasy and sticky but ultimately to remain unattractive, you will be satisfied with your purchase. Should you require some sort of cosmetic miracle, you will be most disappointed.

7) Big boobs. This whole process began with my best mate sitting in awestruck amazement as she got her entire head into one cup of my bra. I have always had big boobs- even when I was a slim jim. At the start of this process, my norks were a whopping 38J. I therefore feel more than qualified to offer this advice. Big boobs SUCK. As a gauche teenager, you get the uncomfortable stares and whistles. As an older teenager in nightclubs, you only pull wrong 'uns who have one two track minds. As a new entrant into the world of work, there are genuinely no buttoned shirts that fit properly over big boobs. As a bride, you invariably look as if you have got 'Right Said Fred" trapped beneath your corset which aee not very wholesome or virginal. As a breastfeeding new mum, you are in very real danger of smothering your offspring. As a post natal blob, you are left with delightful feet warmers which require the type of scaffolding last seen constructing the London Eye. There are no benefits.

8) Hot summer weather. Burnt, sweaty, itchy, red eyed and dripping. I have also spent the last 10 summers overweight so add 'sartorially constricted' to that list. I am a DELIGHT in August.

9) Birthdays after the age of 30. 

10) Expensive haircuts. Look AMAZING in the salon. You can never, ever EVER replicate the look again. After the first wash, it's game over. Return to 'cat dragged through hedge' style just with fewer split ends........and a much lighter wallet.

Yup, off to find that shovel and loosen a few patio slabs.......

Horses for (3) courses (and pudding) .......

This week has been a trip down (repressed) memory lane. As I experiment with healthy cooking and eating and try to maintain order in the chaos of my life, I have had a few moments of reflection.

You see, I decided that if my weight loss is going to be a bloody slow process then I need to stay mentally motivated. My genius plan? To mentally rehash all of the weight related embarrassments that I have had in my life to shame myself into continued motivation,what a frikkin road trip of delights that proved to be. The upshot? It drove me to cake. Aces. Well done me. However, it may provide amusement/support/hilarity if I share these with you.........I see more cake in my immediate future.


1) The wedding Dress

It was the week before my wedding and after a year with frankly scant regard for the natural laws of weight loss, I was cruising through my wedding preparations with absolute certainty that my inability to lay off the pies would have absolutely no impact on my nuptial radiance or indeed girth.........eejit. Having been measured as a size 16 at the appointment a year ago, I had indeed embarked on Slimming World for a few months prior to the wedding. I felt smug. I had lost a whopping 4 lbs. I was to be a mere sylph on the big day. In my head the poor seamstress was weeping and stripping fabric from the dress with howls of,

"Never in my life have I met such a slim bride- how will I reduce it in time??" (clasps hands to head in theatrical manner).

What I had FAILED to account for was that in the period between the original appointment and the start of Slimming World, I had troughed like a Trojan and had increased my weight by at least three quarters of a stone. I may have lost 4lbs but I was still a good 6lbs heavier than when I was measured. You can see the problem. It did not end well. With just 7 days until the wedding, the dress did not do up. I wept and defended my weight loss (truly, I completely believed that I was a sylph) and my poor, lovely friend and bridesmaid had to endure me making catty remarks about the seamstresses accuracy and agreeing whilst secretly, she knew the truth.

She is a wonderful friend and to this day, she blames the shop when we talk about the dress- I will always love her for that. The shop INCREDIBLY obtained and provided the dress in the right size with no extra costs.I'm still confused about that. I never wrote to them to thank them........ungrateful cow.

2) Rolls and tarantulas

On our road trip honeymoon in the USA, we spent a night at the Grand Canyon on a ranch. Part of this involved a horseback ride across the dessert. Ace. It has subsequently transpired that I am allergic to horses (see point 3) but at the time, my face swelling up and my eyes streaming and itching like the devil himself were just put down to hayfever.......As delightful as these symptoms made me look, I had also chosen to wear an entirely inappropriate t-shirt which was at least a size too small and paired with equally unflattering pedal pusher jeans. I was also sunburnt. I was looking guuuuuuuuuuuuud. We were riding our horses with another couple from Liverpool who were really sweet. As a red faced, blind, itching, sausage in an overly tight skin, you can imagine I was having a LUSH time. Then the bloke from Liverpool spotted a real, live tarantula scurrying across the path........it was at this point of pure, itchy, burnt, blind terror that the Native American guide felt that a romantic photograph would be appropriate, taken from underneath my horse to really capture all the rolls of flesh around my chin and waistband. I have tried to bring myself to scan in the photo into this blog post but despite the level of honesty and self exposure I am aiming for, I actually can't bring myself to to do it. It is too awful. I look like somebody has maced Jabba the Hut, stuck him on a horse, overdone the blusher and then given him the fright of his life. Fantastic.

3) The heavy hen

My lovely friend was having her hen do in Edinburgh and a horse ride in the nearby countryside was planned. Unbeknownst to me I was nearly 2 months pregnant with my daughter but was at least 4 stone overweight. The hen do comprised a lovely group of girls, none of whom were larger than a size 12. I was a size 18. One by one we were fitted for hats- none fitted me. I should point out that whilst my cheeks and chin are sizable, the circumference of my head is not 'fat' it is naturally MASSIVE. My mother never fails to tell me this on my birthday......it's a yearly high point.

Having got a hat from what I suspect was a 'special' cupboard, we were taken out into the yard to meet our steeds. One by one, the little ponies trotted out and one by one, svelte ladies got on board (I don't speak equestrian- do you 'board' a horse??). I waited. And waited. Everyone had a horse but me. Then, very subtly, the ground began to shake. The vibrations and indeed the accompanying noise increased until I became extremely worried- Edinburgh was once a volcano, perhaps we were having a Dante's Peak moment?? At the point at which I thought it might be time to start running, a horse the size of  2 double decker buses was brought through the yard with at least 4 stable hands holding onto it. I forget its name- it was something like 'Goliath'. This was to be my 3rd time ever on a horse- I was still recovering from the Grand Canyon trip.

The stable hand laughed and said, "He's a bit lively today, we'll take it steady if we can but whatever you do, don't panic". Frikkin ace. And so with a heavy heart and by now streaming eyes and nose, the giant hen, in her giant hat got on her giant horse. Wonderful.

4) Oooooh, due soon then!

I was 3 months pregnant with my son. A stage of pregnancy where a bump is imperceptible to anyone except the pregnant woman who is DESPERATE to show so that people can fuss over her (come on, we all know it's true). I did not have this problem. I genuinely looked 7 months pregnant. I had piled on so much weight that frankly, I looked pregnant between pregnancies but at 3 months pregnant, I actually looked like I was almost done. In this hormonally charged, emotionally fragile period in my life, I had not one, not two, not three but FOUR women give me knowing looks and say 'not long to go now love- this end bit is the worst isn't it". Ace.

5) Tummy control pant FAIL

My lovely mates were getting married in a fairly compact registry office where seats were limited and so a few of us were lingering around by the door. It was the first time my and the boy had been to a 'do' since our son was born 4 months before. I had hauled myself into the sort of tummy control pants which smooth your tummy in a way but also manage to make every part of you a little fatter to compensate- spreading the fat around as opposed to hiding it.

One of our mates was heavily pregnant and the best man had been told to find a seat for the heavily pregnant friend (who the best man didn't know) and take her to it.........you can see where this is going.

I was duly approached and told that a seat was reserved for me as it wasn't fair for a woman in my condition to have to stand. My husband and my other mate who was with us fell on the floor in paroxysms of laughter not often seen in a registry office on a Saturday morning......snot and dribble was involved. The (very lovely) best man was MORTIFIED. I was strangely zen about it and genuinely wasn't offended (I was too busy wondering where I'd put the receipt for the bloody pants) but have made a mental note that when old age and incapacity strike both my husband and indeed RD (you know who you are.....!!), bloody revenge will be dealt out.


It is these little nuggets of happiness that will keep me going through this (more than likely) long journey to slenderhood. I didn't have a moment this January of any sort of epiphany- there was no similarly embarrassing or shaming incident to prompt this journey. It was just the realization that I have actually spent the last eight years overweight and if I don't address it, these embarrassing incidents will very likely become an occupational hazard.


I should point out that I am MORE than able to embarrass myself without being overweight. Aged 16, I tried to break up a nightclub fight between two of my male friends. I was confident that with the dazzling allure of my metallic  Miss. Selfridge lycra dress and spice girl heels, I could wow them into peace. I could not. The bouncers ran in from both sides, knocking the boys to the floor and me with them. It was a foam party and we all went under the foam. They were dragged out and I was nowhere to be seen. I was fished out of the foam by my confused best mate with my dress over my head and covered in one of the boys' blood and lager.

Embarrassment is an old friend of mine.......when I got home, my dad thought I'd been shot. That would have been a less humiliating explanation.

I write this to raise a smile and to point out that I am all of the parts of me, in this current incarnation. I am the sixteen year old foam-party scrapper, I am the eighteen year old podium poppet in her Lycra, I am the twenty-four year old snuggled up on the sofa snaffling ice-cream and changing her physiology through sloth, I am the bride in denial and I am the mum-of-two who loves to write and thumps through the days causing chaos. I'm all of her.

  And she's trouble.