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