I’ve decided to overhaul my entire blog and turn it into a healthy lifestyle/fitness blog instead. No more movies, books or random musings; more diet plans, chats about cardio and slagging off carbs.
HAVE I FUCK!
That will not happen on my watch, I can promise you that. However, I did want to blog about the gym today, simply because it’s Something I’ve Been Doing lately. If you’re not into this shit, please don’t read on, I’ll be back for the usual hi-jinx soon!
Before I start, a little background. I’ve never really disguised the fact that, like many women, I have struggled with body image. I’ve hated myself and my looks for at least two thirds of my adult life, and isn’t that a disgrace? Isn’t it a horrible thing to think that anyone would look at themselves and feel shit?
I can’t honestly say that I feel like a fucking goddess every day of my life but I have started to get to grips with accepting who I am. By making sure I’m around positive people, reading and following some amazing bloggers and generally have a good old talk with myself, I think I’m finally getting it.
A few months ago though, I felt very bad and honestly, it wasn’t about how I looked, it was in how I felt. I was tired all the time and by Friday, when the weekend officially kicked in, that was it. Getting dressed and out of the house, even to grab food felt like the biggest task.
I took myself to the doctor and nothing came up. In the end it was a suspected virus. But I felt like it was a flashing neon sign urging me to do something for myself. So I joined the gym.
For the record I used to work out with an old friend back when I still lived at home. She would say things to me like “Oh bless you, you do try Christa!” and “You’re just very big boned” as a means to motivate me and I never felt good about myself. I quit easily then assumed all gyms would be full of preening prickheads like her and avoided them for the next 20 years.
I was wrong and right about that. My gym is full of posers, and a surprising number of teen boys who think it’s a youth club. But nobody gives a jeeping fuck about me in my joggers, sporting a cherry tomato hue in the corner – and that’s the beauty of all this. I can just get on with it and no-one cares.
I feel brilliant at the moment. I love the feeling of setting out to do something and actually completing it. I feel stronger. And that’s all I really wanted from this.
I am not counting calories, aiming to be thin or dieting. No sir. That road leads to ruin and is fraught with failure.
Also, I’m thinking about learning to lift weights. Can you even imagine?