"How many kids do you have?"

“None.” I couldn’t have thrown the answer at her fast enough. Because I answered so quickly and bluntly, the poor girl knew she had just made the biggest faux pas in customer service - NEVER ask a question if it might offend. I remember once when I was working at a pet shop I asked a woman how her day had been. She answered with “I’ve been at a funeral all morning” and burst into tears! At 15 I had NO idea how to handle this and probably reacted exactly how this young girl had done with me.

Back to my recent traumatic experience - if it wasn’t already embarrassing enough for me, the mid-20’s (and rather attractive) man sitting all of two metres away instantly became engrossed in the blank screen on his phone like it was transmitting his own personal message from space. Good cover, buddy. He was obviously taught well.. “When a woman is embarrassed or angry, AVOID AVOID AVOID!” Now in the girl’s defence, I was ordering Chinese takeaway for one at 7pm on a Friday night like a cat lady, but still. I’m 22, not 40. She then gave me a free bag of prawn crackers (her way of apologising I assume) and they were gulped down in my depressed rage when I got home. I threw out half the bag though, had to remind myself why I wasn’t eating KFC which was what I really wanted.

The fact that I even have to justify my age sometimes completely enrages me, but that probably just secures the fact for some people that I’m just going through a mid-life crisis. Bastards. Now why it cuts me so deep is because I’ve always been considered “mature” for my age, and I’ve always taken this as a compliment. Women my age are generally intoxicated, inappropriately dressed and looking like that weird hair mass that you pull out of your shower plug – or at least this is what I see at 12am on a Sunday morning when driving through the valley. Now when I’m finally allowed to drink again (Thursday baby!) I am only aiming to be the first of that list. I’m still wayyy too large to be inappropriately dressed, that’s for sure! But I’m working on it.

So being considered “mature” was never really any skin off my nose. But what I want to clarify for everyone is that “mature” and “old” are two very different things. Mature is recognising that I am still relatively young, but I can mix in different social circles.. and do it successfully without looking like someone paid me to be their arm candy (and at this weight, anyone who offered this would have to have rocks in their head). Asking how many kids I have assumes that I’m old enough to have several kids… that themselves are old enough to eat Chinese food. Now she didn’t ask me “do you have any kids?” no. That I could have handled. But instead she asked how many kids I had, indicating that she genuinely believed that I had children.

My age and how old I look has long been a sore spot for me and frankly, I’m glad I’m getting the chance to let it out in this self-indulgent manner. This all first started when I was 12 years old and visited some new friends of my parents with my mum. They had a daughter who was about 16 at the time. She kept staring at me and once we finally got to talking, she asked me if I was 25. TWENTY-FUCKING-FIVE. Are you kidding me?! Now because I was actually 12, I thought I was the shit. Here I was, practically an infant and someone thought I was mixing it in the big, bad world. Flattered, I told her that I was only 12. I could have picked her jaw up with a shovel. In hindsight, she probably didn’t really have a good gauge on age, but still.

Now to the most offensive age-related moment of my LIFE. I was with two friends – Alicia and Gemma if you’re reading this – and I had just recently turned 18. Gem turned 18 approximately 7 months before me and Alicia 5 months before me. We went into the Petrie BWS to purchase our alcoholic beverages, proud as punch. For the record, I had a fake ID prior to my birthday. I only had it because a friend was turning 21 and had their party at the Met and I REALLLLY wanted to go. And if you’ve missed the tone from the rest of the blog, ID wasn’t really a requirement when I went places. I looked 30 at the age of 16 apparently. 

So we were in BWS and looking at the fake wine. You know what I mean, that bubbly, sweet stuff that doesn’t fall into any grape variety so it’s given its own heading of “sweet bubbly”? I’m talking zibibbo, yellowglen bella, etc. The stuff you drink when you’re young and want to look like you drink wine, when in fact it’s basically a vodka cruiser tallie. Then the 40-ish woman working in the store comes up to us and asks for identification. Gem and Alicia pull theirs out and as I go to pull mine out to show her, she puts her hand up in a halting motion and says “Oh no love, I don’t need to see yours”. I was dumbfounded. I mean it’s one thing to not ask for someone’s ID, but it’s a whole other thing to STOP THEM WHILST THEY ARE GETTING IT OUT! Just be bloody polite and look at the thing!

Confused as to why she didn’t ask for mine I made a comment to the girls along the lines of “obviously I look old enough, ha!” To which this woman replied “I thought you were her mother” POINTING TO ALICIA! You could have knocked me over with a feather (even at this weight)! I stared blankly at the woman for a second, trying to come to terms with the slap across the face she (basically) just gave me. I then proceeded to tell her that I was in fact the youngest of the three of us and had actually just turned 18! This was then followed by your typical smartass comment of “if this happened X weeks ago, you would have just served a minor!” Awesome, Jem. You stuck it to her… except at the time of saying this you were old enough and even a few weeks before that you had an ID that covered you. Gooood work. 

So what I’m trying to say is that this whole old/mature thing is not new to me. It’s been happening now for over a decade and yet every single time, it cuts just as much. This time when the weight comes off, I’m going to be that typical early 20’s woman – intoxicated, inappropriately dressed and looking like the hair mass you pull out of your shower drain – and LOVING IT.

Ciao!

            Starting weight:         101.6kg

            Current weight:           93.6kg

            Total weight lost:        8.0kg

An infamous girls weekend and the Byron Lighthouse Walk

This week involved an infamous girls weekend. To any woman (or man) who has endured a girls weekend, you all know what I mean. Too many bottles of wine, too short skirts, too many inappropriate public conversations and too many dares. The trip was going to be bittersweet for me - I was SO excited for a weekend away, however I had already made the ridiculous decision not to drink in February. So far I had not caved into the temptation of intoxicating myself with delicious fermented grapes (sounds a bit feral when it's said like that, doesn't it?), but this weekend was going to give me the ultimate test.

There were five girls on this trip - Lauren, Lisa, Sam, Alicia and I. Alicia and I decided to give our savings accounts a workout on the way down via Harbour Town. Now this was my first real shopping trip since starting this whole journey, and I was TERRIFIED. It had the chance to go very well, or very, very badly. Spoiler alert: it was awesome. One of my favourite brands (Veronika Maine), I went down a size in my dress. Given that the one I really really liked was only in a size 16, I bought it anyway to have it taken in. I know I know, seems pointless, but when the original price is $280 and you get it for $67, having it altered is still a saving. Back off. Ladies - you totally know what I'm talking about. I was riding on a huuuge high and fortunately for Alicia, I didn't spend my entire week's pay in two hours. Thank Christ for Alicia, otherwise the remainder of Byron I would have to beg for my food... which isn't that much different to what I'm doing now anyway.

When we arrived in Bryon, we met the girls and headed off to the pub. For anyone who knows the Beach Hotel in Byron, you know how great this bar is. Wicked view, huge space and plenty of sun drenched seats. What I forgot about Byron was how ridiculously hot everyone is. How could I forget that?! So the girls were off to get their wine and here I was with my soda and lime. It sucked and I was so pissed off that I couldn't just have a drink. However when the girls were onto the third bottle of wine, I was feeling less and less like a drink. Playing catch up had often bitten me in the arse before so I definitely wasn't going to tempt it this time. And given how unbelievably attractive everyone was in the venue (including my own ladies) the appeal of the calories wore off eventually. Next time I was back in this place, I was going to look like these people God dammit!

The conversation eventually turned into devices used to make a man clean your floors on his hands and knees, the coloured handkerchief code and corn dogging (all things you're welcome to look up in your own time!) much to the disgust of the older people near us. In our defence, it was hilarious and educational.. I will certainly think through wearing the colour brown in future, that's for sure. Then it became time to get ready for the night's festivities! Here we all were, showered and getting ready.. the girls are in their skimpy underwear, looking sexy as hell, and then here I was in my full body shape wear, looking like I was wearing a full length bandage. NOT SEXY AT ALL. But I would die without that bad boy - it saves me in dresses I couldn't otherwise wear. So I dealt with the fact that even if I was single, getting with a guy was basically impossible and proceeded to get dressed. I won't lie, I was happy with the end result. Dress looked good, hair looked good, make up looked good. I mean I wish I could pull off the clothes my friends were wearing (short, tight, hot), but no one in that pub had consumed anywhere near enough alcohol to handle that sight. Nowhere even near close enough.

I still didn't drink. Even on the persistence of Lisa who held a drink up to my mouth every 30 seconds, I did not give in. I couldn't believe it! It was SO HARD. I really didn't expect this to be this hard. All I wanted to do was jump the bar and skull every bit of wine in sight, but I wasn't going to do that - 1) because I was in a dress and if that bad boy went up, it would set off a chain of violent vomiting for all other patrons, and 2) because not even superman could propel 93kg high enough to clear that bar, and I certainly wasn't about to give it a good ol' crack.

I had made it clear to my friends that Sunday morning I was doing the Byron Lighthouse walk. It was general consensus that I was doing it on my own which suited me perfectly because I could (not so) silently die along the way and no one I knew would be aware of just how unfit I am. Riiiiight before bed the night before though, at 1am, I had changed my mind. I didn't want to do it anymore, and went to bed with the intention of not doing the walk. When I got up at 7:15am though, I had changed my mind again. Yes, I am a Libra and I am completely indecisive. So I got dressed and was on my way. After leaving the room I had realised that I forgot my runners, however at the risk of Alicia murdering me for making any more noise (I wasn't exactly quiet getting ready), I committed to the walk in thongs. I have walked numerous times before in thongs and this was just going to be another tally to add to the list. So be it.

Cruising to the walk in my car, I parked and began the journey. Within about 50m of walking, I was puffed. It was barely even a hill! I soldiered on whilst noticing that there were two different classes of people there with me - the serious athletes who probably run the entire walk, up and back, then have four raw eggs and then completes a triathlon, and the Byron women (very similar to the Ascot women).. coffee in hand, Lorna Jane head to toe, pushing a pram with a full face of make up on. No discredit to these women at all, hell - they were here and doing it! Good on them. But the other factor I was very aware of was that I was the youngest person here. By about 20 years. I imagined everyone else my age was probably either recovering from the night before or were on their boards ready for the morning surf. I tried surfing once and epically failed, so I'll stick to my land based sports for now thank you.

I eventually got up to the lighthouse, ready for the downwards decent. I was tired and emotional already, so it wasn't a great start, but the view was incredible. I remembered that that exact moment exactly why I loved Byron all of this time. The cruise down was easy, greeting everyone along the way while they stared at my thong-dressed feet with utter confusion. I didn't have the time to explain my situation to everyone, so I settled for a simply smile and continued on my merry little way. To anyone who knows what I'm like with directions, you'll think this is hilarious - I got lost. Well not lost exactly, but went the wrong way and found myself on a beach. It was then another 76 stairs back to where the track I was meant to follow was. SEVENTY-SIX. It was torture. I got about half way and then started to consider if I could walk the rest of the stairs on my hands somehow.

I eventually made it to the headland which is where I took a celebratory photo and posted onto Facebook - now no one could tell me I didn't do it! Then it was the ascent back up to the top. I thought I was going to vomit, and being overtaken by a 60+ aged couple who weren't puffed in the slightest, it's a lot more embarrassing than you imagine. Even more so when you've had to stop and take a breather, sweaty and red whilst not quite being able to breath. I was breathing in so hard I think I may have even stolen the oxygen they were trying to breathe! Alas I survived the walk back to the car and felt pretty bloody impressed with myself. Here I was looking like a disgusting mess, but a disgusting mess who had just achieved two things - not drinking all weekend and completing the Byron Lighthouse walk. I saw both things through and although my food may not have been perfect on the trip, I was feeling awesome about myself. Hurrah! Good luck raining on my parade today ;)

                              Starting weight:         101.6kg

                              Current weight:           94.2kg

                              Total weight lost:        7.4kg

PS: Here's a sneak peek at an updated photo of me. All honest opinions welcome!

Hamilton Hill Walk

It sounds bad, doesn’t it. Well it is, and I learnt this the hard way. So hard in fact that I’ve been too exhausted to write my week 6 blog (well, that’s what I’m convincing myself of anyway).

Now my boss warned me that it would be a tough walk, but unlike me, she didn’t exaggerate about how crap it really was. Her description was “it’s a hilly walk, but you feel good at the end of it. I still struggle with it a bit but we can struggle together”. My description to someone else would be more like “it’s complete hell. I’d rather burn my feet on hot coals than experience that ever again. It’s 60 minutes and it’s all uphill except the last 5 minutes where you get back to your car. I thought my life was ending and I’m pretty sure I mini vomited on three separate occasions. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy and it wouldn’t even be worth it even if there was a whole mud cake at the end of it”. So you can see why I probably wasn’t as prepared for torture as I could have been given my boss’ detail of the walk. But, I was determined to do the walk. Well, that and my boss simply doesn’t take no for an answer.

So we were off on our walk with her daughter and friend in tow. At about 500m in, we reached the incline. My boss turned to me and said “this is hell, you’ll be struggling by the top of this one!”. Determined as hell, I gave it my ALL, which is surprisingly more than I thought I had in me. By the top of the hill I was breathing a little heavy but certainly nothing like I thought I would be. Now I won’t lie, but I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself. Here I was, completing this “horrendous” hill and still feeling like I didn’t have to continue on my hands and knees screaming “go on without me!” war-style. I pretty much thought I was Michelle Bridges at that moment, getting carried away with how fit I was and thinking about what mountain I should take on. That mountain soon became clear – the mountain between the perception I had of myself and reality.

Next it was hill after hill. Even the flat parts were inclines, and they led onto the hills that were just steeper inclines. Some parts were so steep that the only way up was by stairs! I could just feel myself ready to explode with obscenities, ready to curse at anyone who passed me. No man, woman or child was safe from my fatty fatigue.

Onto my third hill (20 min) and having no clue of where I was going, I was ready to wave the white flag (my underwear). I could just feel myself getting red in the face and I made no effort to hide the fact that I was struggling. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear my panting and gasping for breath in Mount Gravatt. It was horrendous.. you know that sound that stuffy dogs make when they’re buggered and they sound like they're choking on their own skin folds? Well I was the human version of that. Sweaty, red and panting… doesn’t get much sexier than that! And if that wasn’t bad enough, my boss’ slender 19 yr old daughter and friend were just bouncing along in front like it was NOTHING! I was beyond embarrassed and I just couldn’t handle it. I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even manage to sulk about it! Now that’s saying something.

At one point, coming up what seemed like the 5,000^th step I had passed, I considered turning around. I genuinely did.. and I would just run (read: chunky skip) away so my boss couldn’t chase me fast enough. I mean, at least I knew the way back was down hill and I didn’t face any more torture! However at the risk of having to see her the next day and, well, every day after that, I thought otherwise. I’d never live it down, that was for sure. Thank Christ the end was soon in sight as from the Clayfield lookout, it was predominantly downhill. I had never been so grateful for gravity in my entire life. For once it was working for me, not against me.

Alas, I did it again the next day. I know right, stupid. And yes, I still struggled just as much (if not more) while abusing my boss in my head for convincing me to do it again. Buuut, if I were to see this through properly, I’d have to agree to some sort of physical exertion as often as possible, even if I temporarily hated the person that put me in that position. I survived without needing an ambulance so that’s what is important J not being able to have a drink after though, that was my breaking point. I didn’t have a drink, but my God could I just imagine myself downing an entire two bottles of wine (remember people, I don’t do things half arsed… excuse the pun).

Oh! And you might remember last week that in my cake-deprived depression I set myself a mini-goal of being under 95kg by 10 February. WELL I DID IT MOTHERTRUCKER!!! That’s right, this flabby is getting fit!

                                    Starting weight:           101.6kg

                                    Current weight:             94.5kg

                                    Total weight lost:         7.1kg



Welcome February!

January down and we're into February. Certainly with a few hiccups along the way, but good to see you've all hung in there with me ;)

Firstly, I would like to apologise to everyone for this week's post. You've all come to know and love the hilarity in my posts however this week's is a little more solemn and thought provoking. I guess I was bound to have a week like this along the line somewhere though!

Not only have I committed myself to healthy eating this month, I've jumped on board with two new additions this month - joining a gym and not... drinking.... for an entire month. Good grief. I'm pretty sure coffee and alcohol were the only things getting me through this whole thing! Nothing too adventurous occurred last week except for being sprung eating Hanaichi at the local shopping centre by two housemates of an avid reader of this blog. Whoops. As much as I considered brushing past this little slip up, I knew I would be reminded of it later. So, there it is! I ate deep fried chicken smothered in a curry sauce on rice. Am I glad I ate it? Well, yes and no. By the end (and no, I didn't eat it all.. I left a few grains of rice) I felt like crap physically and mentally. It was no where near as enjoyable as I remember it being which is probably attributed to my new way of life. It wasn't tasty and it felt heavy in my stomach. Such a disappointment feeling so detached from what was once one of my favourite foods :(.

This shitty feeling continued well into the next day when, as punishment, I had a tuna and salad mountain bread wrap for lunch. I'm probably meant to say "it was so refreshing and tasted so good!" but could not be further from the truth. It was bland, boring and I wouldn't torture my pet with it... if I had a pet. I had three bites and binned it - a new form of diet! I sulked for the rest of the day but even at the thought of that dung wrap I was NOT hungry, and that's how I stayed until dinner time.

This week I caught myself thinking of a lot of situations that I may stand to face. The most depressing one being that I am off to Byron Bay for the weekend in mid-February with my sister and a group of friends - AND I CAN'T DRINK. I keep reinforcing to myself that this is for me and my health, future and well-being, but that certainly isn't making it any easier! All I want to do is kick back, watch my trashy TV shows (Gossip Girl and Jersey Shore, anyone?) with a bottle of wine. I'm not going to kid myself or any of you that I'd stop at a glass because I wouldn't. Simple as that. Well, I guess that's why I'm cutting out alcohol this month :S.

The other thing I've been considering is my goals and where I've set them. At the moment I'm 96.3kg, so practically no movement in the past week. It has me a bit down in the dumps, but I'm not expecting mountain-moving weight loss every time I jump on the scales (the mountain being moved is my thighs of course). Then I wandered off in thought...

Last time when I lost 10kg, I weighed 74kg. This time when I hit the 10kg down mark, I'll weigh 91.6kg. That's still 7.6kg heavier than my starting weight last time (84kg). And when I was 10kg down last time, I only had a measly 4kg left to lose. This time, I will still have 20 whole kilograms left to lose! I won't lie, it instantly made me feel exhausted even just the thought of it. I imagine some of you are pretty shocked to read it like that. Welcome to my reality.

In order to not lose sight of the ultimate goal, I've decided to set some mini goals along the way to keep me happy and motivated. Goal one was losing 5kg which I have achieved! Woohoo! My next goal is to be under 95.0kg and I'm hoping to achieve that by Friday 10 February. After that, my next goal is my 10kg down mark (91.6kg) and I'd LOVE to hit that by the end of Feb. Not loving my chances (especially given my falls of the bandwagon of late) but I'm going to give it everything I've got!

As I've began to get my diet in check, which was the biggest hurdle for me without a doubt, it's now onto the exercise :-/ which I am certainly less excited about. My boss has roped me into doing the Hamilton hill walk with her next Monday and I'm assuring myself that I will go through with it. Therefore over the weekend, I'll set up a course of ropes to pull me up the hills because I am sure that this is not going to go/end well.

Also what I plan on doing with each week now is adding my stats to the bottom of the post to ensure I'm still including some detail of my weight loss (the single reason that I started this blog in the first place!):

                             Starting weight: 101.6kg
                          
                             Current weight:  96.3kg

                             Amount lost:        5.3kg

That's all for now folks! Stay tuned for when I kick the exercise component into gear next week ;)

Ah, Melbourne

Melbourne. What can I say? Food, coffee, shopping... I was completely in my element. As Melbourne was well on the cards at the time that I made the moronic decision to blog my weight loss, I knew this was not only going to be a kilojoule-laden holiday. It was also going to be something you were all welcome to read about.

Given that my holiday was going to be public, you'd think I'd make some form of conscious effort to avoid binging. I didn't. On occasion, I found myself eating when even the thought of food was repulsing due to the quantity I had already consumed. Naturally, it was all washed down with a jug of sangria. Hmm. In my defence though, this was fuelled by a particular holidaymaker who himself is addicted to spending and alcohol. Baaad mix with me.

All in all though, I came out of the trip pretty good. At my end-of-holiday weigh in, I only tipped the scales by 200g. This was attributed to the fact that we walked a LOT of places even though trams were an option. I couldn't work out the trams and I'm ridiculously impatient so walking became the daytime norm. Pretty freakin' happy with my minimal weight gain given that it could have been MUCH worse (for the sake of another guest, I'll refrain from saying anything else on this topic - after all, this is about me embarrassing myself). So what did I indulge in? Well some of my food choices were strawberry crepes, moussaka, chocolate mousse cake, gnocci, rack of lamb, meze plates and plum liqueur chocolate tart. Drinks-wise I consumed my weight in coffee, sangria, cider, cocktails and champagne. Snuck in some water here and there, but I can do that in Brisbane. Needless to say I did not go without. How I didn't need to book a second seat to get my other arse cheek home is beyond me. Oh, one other meal I had was a Melbourne favourite - the chicken parma. These were continuously raved about during our trip, so on a whim I decided to order one before heading to the Aust Open final. This chicken parma even comes with its own story!

So here I was on the second last day of our trip. I had certainly made no effort to curb my indulging, however over the past 3 weeks of controlled eating (minus the occassional blow out that you can read about in earlier posts), my ability to eat my plate, Vik's plate, and whatever Alicia doesn't eat on her plate, was gone. After our first meal in Melbourne.. together with a meze plate and sangria.. I was ready for a nap. I wasn't on my A-game. Anyway, where was I..

I ordered the chicken parma at a pub, much to the disgust of my fellow patrons. Adam's face said it all - you are about to gain 10kg from that meal alone. Challenge accepted. Although feeling a little guilty, I reminded myself that I came here with full intention of letting loose (and loosening my pants). Then out comes this glorious feast of chips, salad (pointless) and a whopping great big crumbed chicken breast. On first bite I was in love. Probably because it was deep fried. I made my way through the entire parma (ham removed) and continued to graze on chips. That's when I noticed Vik's plate, swimming in gravy. If you don't quite know my food habits, let me fill you in. Gravy is number one on my list. If it could be served as a drink, I'd do it. There is no better savoury delight on this earth than the brown gooey glop. Delicious.

As mine did not come with gravy, I hit a food low as I stared at his plate. Then I went in for the kill, ready for my chip to absorb the glorious sauce. I was not prepared for what intervened. At half way of my chip's journey, Vik SMACKED my hand, pointed in my face and bellowed "NO!". The pointing continued as I sat there, chipless and stunned at what just happened. It was like I was a dog he caught chewing on his shoes! I mean, are you kidding me?!

For the record, this is not the first time he has used this approach on me, but it was certainly the first time in public. I had no idea what to do, so I reacted the only way I knew best. I crossed my arms, put my head down and proceeded to sulk like I was three. Ace. Within about 20 seconds, Vik had just realised what happened. His gravy rage had taken over and he was not willing to share with the one person who would take gravy over oxygen. The bewildered look on the poor guy's face was gold (in my eyes). He persisted in apologising to me and trying to explain that he was looking out for me. Looking out for me?! More like protecting his beloved gravy! I responded to every word spoken with a grunt or a groan whilst turning away from him with my arms still folded, in a true childish manner. How this must have looked to the table behind us I can only imagine.

Given that this man has grown to know exactly how to fix things, he allowed me to mop up his gravy with my chips. This was a short-lived win for me, as reality sunk in that I just threw a tantrum.. in a public place with friends around... BECAUSE OF SAUCE. Unbelievable. Here I was thinking that I had really matured through this process, but I couldn't have been any further from the truth. So after I had finished stomping my feet (causing a small earthquake) and screwing up my face to make a point (I'm embarrassed even admitting this), we spoke about a more suitable way for Vik to address my issues when in public if I lose control. This no longer involves a rolled up newspaper when I piddle on the floor.. metaphorically, of course *shifty eyes*. I was also expected to take more control of my choices when dining out, realising that the food is fuel for my body rather than my body being a pyramid where I need to store every treat I see for my next life. It was leading to one huuuuge pyramid!

So that was Melbourne.. well, the food side of things anyway. By the end of the five days I was physically, emotionally and financially drained. Time for home and to settle back into reality, whatever that is from here.

PS: To anyone hitting up Melbourne soon - you MUST go to Pellegrini's Espresso Bar for dinner. Ask to be seated in the back if it's possible. The coffee is fantastic, the pasta is unbelievable and the chef is a delight!!!