The New Old Regime

The thought of reunions used to send shivers down my spine. There is a wonderful scene from Grosse Point Blank, a classic reunion movie, that sums up my current though process. A scene where the protagonist, a hired gun, is talking to his wise secretary. A scene, that no matter how many times I watch the film, always resonates with me.

Thinking about it, if I had gone to my high school reunion, it would have been just like the reunion scenes in the movie, same music, same dress sense, just a few more people who were either grand-parents or flannel wearing bogans.

I'm finding myself in a similar situation at the moment. I have a reunion to attend at the start of October.

For once in my life I don't feel like I'm going to turn up and have people say "God, what a moose." I don't feel like I've under-achieved. I know that I've "swelled" a bit, but not that much. I look better now than I did back then. The monobrow is gone, thank goodness. The Noel Gallagher eyebrows have been tamed. The hair is styled - okay sometimes styled. I'm not that flabby. I sort of have dress sense. I have a skerrick of street cred now - even if Jonella says that wearing a pink t-shirt emblazoned with the word "Geek" when running destroys any kudos I may have attained.

However, I'm also painfully aware that the winter half stone has crept on over the last three months and that that I'm not really accepting of this.

I've also signed up for the 12wbt again. The second time I've done this to myself this year, the second time I'm letting myself in for a serious round of challenges lead by the indominable Michelle Bridges. 1200-1300 calories a day, training six days a week for an hour a day. I've signed on to start on 12 September with the rest of them.

With this reunion so close - I'm starting tomorrow.

Three weeks early.

The great thing is that the 12wbt regime makes me feel fantastic. High protein, low in simple carbs and sugar. Sensible but power packed, it gets me where I want to be, and quickly.

Of the training, Pump Class, running and Pinochet will take up the slack. Add in half marathon training, the odd run up the 1000 Steps, taking in the odd spin class, the City to Bay in Adelaide, the Grape Run, long runs to meditation on Saturday momrings... I'll get my six hours in no worries.

It's not that much more exercise Than I've been doing lately anyway. I rather like that my body does what it's told most of the time. I'm really fond of the fact that not much flobs around any more - but it could be better. I've just got to be good with the ice cream and the intermittent snacking and things will fall into place.

I've got something to work towards.

And the theme song for this blog?

An urban battle cry. A great song to set off a great six week's work.

WOOOOOO HOOOOOOO!

It's good to have a managable challenge.

Of Tarot and Teflon

There are rules of tarot reading that cannot be broken.

The first one is never to make grand statements around bad things. You never tell anybody that they're going to get horribly sick or that somebody close to them is going to die. Never. There are are ways of delivering what appears to be bad news. Telling somebody their granny is about to die just aint on. What if they don't? What if it's the other granny? What if nothing happens? What if they get cancer. Tarot readers shouldn't make large negative statements - ever.

The second big rule of tarot reading is when one of your own issues comes up in a reading, do not shy away from looking at what is going on - after the reading is done. You're there for the client. You can deal with your issues later. You have a responsibility to yourself to look at your own crap as well as helping others to sift through their stuff.

The third rule of tarot reading is to always self-protect. Do not take other people's issues on as your own. Acknowledge their pain and suffering, but do not take it on board. It's their pain to deal with - not your own. You can empathise, offer guidance, provide alternatives, but you do not take on other people's pain and suffering and wear it like a lapel pin. Techniques to avoid this crap transference can involve techniques including white lighting, setting up a sacred space to work in, reiki empowerment or in my case, I recite the teflon prayer ("I'm made of teflon - no crap sticks to me". Repeat regularly - it works).

The last big rule of tarot reading is that you never give advice when reading, per se, but provide alternative routes if you can. And if it's all too much - out of your league, realise this, take the time to gently recommend professional help if it's what the cards are indicating - offering no diagnosis, blame or shame, what ever help that may be. This is not copping out. This is being responsible - knowing your boundaries and abilities and recognising that the person you are reading for could benefit from some more guided, pointed, professional help help could be the difference between years of misery and a life which gets back on track quicker.

Thing is, these tarot rules translate easily into four life lessons.
1) Look at things in the positive - giving things a negative slant gets you nowhere.
2) Meet your demons head on and quickly - take responsibility for them sooner rather than later.
3) Put yourself first. Until you are okay, you can't give to others. Never put yourself last as its proof of how you value yourself.
4) Rather than suffer, seek help. Recognise you have a problem and do something about it.

So here I sit as a part of a group of people trying to lose weight. I have a wonderful online support group - absolutely fantastic people. There are a number of groups I'm alligned to. There's the girls from the 12wbt that I know through the Biggest Loser Club - magic people and great friends - they've become a part of my daily life and I'm blessed to have them there. There's the people from the 12wbt that arrange activities that I keep an eye on - great for finding extra boxing classes and people to do runs with.

And there's a couple of other weight loss groups, larger groups, which I'm part of with people at every stage of the journey - from depression, denial, bargaining, anger right through to acceptance.

Eh, I've heard that list somewhere before.

Yes. One of the common elements, the elephant in the room that is rarely acknowledged, is that the psychological side of weight loss is very alligned to the grieving process.

You see it time and time again.

Working through the issues of what is really going on, whether it be dealing with a long undiagnosed or unrecognised depression cycle (Tim Tams are my friend - really they are! Tim Tams make me happy.), to the bargaining moves some of us do (if I go for a ten minute walk that will get rid of the Tim Tam I just ate) to the anger many of us feel and subsequently turn towards themselves (I hate Tim Tams and I'm never going to have one again) to the denial that a lot of us divert to, whether we admit it or not (What me, eat Tim Tams! Never!) to the final acceptance of the real issues (Hello, my name is Tammy and I am a Tim Tam addict. It's been three weeks since my last Tim Tam).

I'm trying to not light of something that's far more serious, but to show a point.

Unfortunately, there really isn't a state which encompasses fat and happy.

Being overweight is just a very long process of grieving.

For many of us who've been blighted by obesity, we've tried for years to hide our pain through a sunny disposition, a wisecrack and the willingness to be invisible. Nobody's pain is exactly the same, but we can all empathise. For those who've been overweight - and not just a couple of kilos, but very overweight, will know what it feels like to be pointed at in the street, have car horns blare at you, to be asked how far your pregnancy is going along, have clothes split at the seems, to walk into a shop and know that nothing will fit, the eyes of the size 8 shop assistant staring at you as if you were dog poo on your shoe. You avoid public transport for fearing not fitting in the seats. You avoid going to bars for fear of being barked at. (And yes, most of these things have happened to me in the past, and yes, it's crap)

Most of us can also recognise the behaviour patterns that come out when stressed or emotional.

When my aunt passed away the other week I turned to my old friend ice cream. Ice cream doesn't make judgements. Ice cream doesn't care if you want ot be completely antisocial. Ice cream, for a minute or two takes the pain away. I'm pleased to also say that in turning to ice cream, I went the one paddle pop route, not two tubs of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia - which I would have done in the past.

I acknowledge the behaviour pattern. I chose to give in to the ice cream, but I also chose to not damage myself and my compromise my weight loss too badly by taking a lesser route. I also made sure to look at why I was doing what I was doing, feeling the pain, knowing full well that these hurts were spiritual and made the choice not to let things spiral further. I'm not perfect by any means, but  my actions were far less self-destructive than in the past.

Which is why I've found myself stepping way from these groups for a while.

To see the pain and frustration on a daily basis is difficult for me. I want to help. I want to give advice. Sometimes I want to slap a few people over the head and yell "STOP BEING SO STUPID! STOP RUNNING AWAY AND TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY - GET HELP!". Other people, I just wish I could pick up and cuddle, wishing there was a fairy with a magic want to take their woes away. Other people I look at and I see a former version of myself. In denial, depressed, scared, angry - wanting for things to change and helpless to do so. These people are the hardest ones of me to look at.

I look at them and I want to ask why they are avoiding getting real assistance? I want to tell them to start changing their thought processes. I want to tell them that this can be a very long process. What they think they want to do in changing their bodies will make everything better is wrong and that changing the inside is the only way to make things better.

And how do I know this. Ten years in and out of very good, focussed therapy - and the knowledge that I'm still a work in process - physically, mentally and emotionally. Also knowing that all of the work I've done has made me far, far more happier with myself and my body. I'm certainly not perfect, but I know that when I take full responsibility for my thoughts and actions I feel a lot more in control. I also know when I reach a point where I have to go seek help - and I seek it quickly. But generally, I'm okay. I'm not the happiest person on the planet, things aren't perfect, but I'm okay. It took me forty years to realise this.

Looking back at all this, I'm not made of teflon - which is why I'm giving the online forums a wide berth for the while. Some stuff that really belongs to other people does stick. Some stuff really does hurt and some stuff makes me despair about not only the person in pain, but myself.

But at least the teflon coating makes it easier to wash away.

The Shaper of Dreams and other Mythic Figures

There have been a couple of mythic references in my life of late.

First up, one came over the internet. It seems I worried a few of my online support group when I said that Project Pandora was over.

Well, it is - when I set out on Project Pandora I stated that it was for the time of the 12WBT (twelve week body transformation challenge) - a project that was very successful. Now that the 12WBT is over, it's time to find a new project, with new goals, and new project name. Pandora was the perfect name for the last project. A mythical figure based in Greek Mythology who held a box that had every human condition, good and bad, within it. When she opened the box, the evils flew out into the world - the only things remaining inside were hope and opportunity. The twelve weeks have very much been a time of me facing my demons and using hope and the opportunity to get on with things. A brilliantly named project.

Working in IT, I've been thrown on some really interesting projects. Project Centaur was about a group of bankers charging like wounded bulls towards an intangible enemy - in this case, a redundant custody system. Project Aquarius was about swimming towards another new custody system at a different firm - it had a bit more purpose than Project Centaur, thank goodness. Project Titan was a Tin Can, String and Whistle initiative to flex a bit of muscle.

So what am I going to call this next round of goals? Well, I had to have a good long think. I delved into my rarely used Classics degree. Neriads, muses, Greek and Roman variations - there was lots to choose from ... what would suit this next phase of proceedings? Something decent, someting strong. Something I could aspire to over the next twelve weeks.

Project Medusa - turning men to stone with a single glance. I think not. Project Persephone? Queen of the underworld, she of the pomegranate eating clan. Hmmm, nope, would give the tendency for depression. Project Prometheus? Nope that was the last six months of last year, tied to a rock having my insides taken out. Project Bacchus.... hmmm, that could be fun, but naming a project after the god of wine, sex and debauchery - yeah, fun, but I could see myself getting very fat and unfit again.

After flicking through a few more Greek and Roman references, I got it. It was there all along.

I'm embarking on Project Morpheus. Morpheus? Wasn't he a character in "The Matrix"? He was. However, he was originally the god in charge of dreams - the shaper of dreams to be precise, and this I very much like.

It's time for me to get dreaming. To work out just what it is I want in life and other things. For the next twelve weeks I know I'll be concentrating on running the Run Melbourne 10 km in under an hour, participating in the city to surf - and hoping to do a better time than 1.40. I also want to see if I can lose another 6 kgs  - taking me down to 20 kilos lost for the year.

Yet, I still need to dream. And dream big. I don't know what that will bring - I leave it in the hands of Morpheus.

The other mythical creature I came into contact with this week was the nature strip fairy.

Who? The nature strip fairy The one that takes you unwanted items away in the middle of the night. You know the one.

See, last week I had a dilemma. I don't condone junking stuff in the street. I try to be a good citizen. However circumstances made me chance it.

My friend Kath, her husband and daughter are moving to Switzerland in the next few days. In talking to Kath over the last few weeks I knew they were ridding themselves of the contents of their house. I put in an offer for both their coffee machine and their microwave - and after a counter offer, a deal was reached.

But what to do with my old microwave Old faithful, purchased on ebay some seven years ago for the grand sum of $30 has served me well. It was still operational but getting a bit rusty inside.

Well, I asked around? Where can you get rid of an old microwave? You can't give them to the local charity shop, they don't take electrical goods. I did a quick sweep of the local streets - couldn't find any skips about the place - not that I condone using other people's skips to dump goods - it's not good karma. The overwhelming response from people I asked  was "Leave the bloody thing on the nature strip. Let the nature strip fairy take care of it."

My first question was "What if the bloody nature strip fairy doesn't want it?" What would happen if I was the person that the nature strip fairy didn't like and for the following two weeks my old microwave was sitting in the street looking all forlorn and me looking really guilty. I felt bad enough about getting rid of the old thing.

I asked about, checked with a few people if they had a shack or a cousin with a meth lab who might like it, there were no takers. It was going to have to go on the nature strip. I was going to have to chance it on "the magic portal" as a friend calls it.

So before going out to Kath's, I lugged the old machine, all 25 kilograms of it, downstairs ready to make my dash. It's really bad form to get caught putting stuff out in the street (unless it's hard rubbish night, which is three months away I believe.).

Just as I was leaving the stairwell, Mr Patel from appartment 14 came home. I waited for him to leave his car and the driveway. I moved with stealth out into the driveway. The coast was clear. Then it was to the gates. Oh why wasn't I wearing black. The "Mission Impossible" theme tune was playing in my head. Doomp, doomp, dee dee, doomp doomp... I made it to the gate, only to hear a line of traffic... I hid behind the bins, 25 kg dead weight of microwave in my arms. After 30 seconds, the cars passed.

I checked the street again. Bloody joggers. Who runs at night! Another run of cars and a couple of women on their evening walk later I managed to sneak out and deposit the offending item on the strip. It was a dry night. No rain was due for days. I had to be a good omen.

The blessing was said for the old microwave, thanking her for the bowls of porridge and ready meals she's heated up for me. I then invoked the nature strip fairy to do her business, with gratitude.

I so did not want to be the person who had the shame of an offending item left in the street for weeks. You have to work all the good mojo you can in these situations.

Seems my spells worked. The microwave was gone by morning. Whether swallowed by the magic portal, dealt with by the nature strip fairy or just picked up by some opportunistic person from the council flats down the road.

I just hope it's gone to a good home. ...

Angels and Demons

Project Pandora - Complete - starting weight 92 kgs - final weight  - 83.8kgs

Project status - very, very successful

I waved my friend off at the Skybus before work yesterday morning. After a weekend that was pretty legendary, this would be he next step in her evolution. I watched a woman who four days before had never been to an airport, scared to travel by herself, unsure of what to do confidently stride onto the airport bus to catch her flight back to Sydney and the embark on the three hour drive back to her home town. From all accounts she made it back home without a problem.

It really was an incredible weekend spent with fabulous people. My friend was great to have around - a wonderful house guest. She said she felt comfortable in my clean, but rather untidy flat. For me, she and I ticked along well and she was no drama having her about. It's interesting that both of us live alone but felt more than happy to share the space - I don't feel that with everybody.

There were also lots of events planned for over the weekend, so we weren't home that much. Shopping trips, exercise sessions, lunches, trips to a national park and of course, the main event, the 12wbt finale party.

Lunch at the Hu Tong Dumpling bar was a great ice breaker - we finally got to meet a couple from the group in person for the first time. People came from far and wide for this party. Brisbane, Sydney, Perth... you name it. The wonderful thing we all found is that although we may have never met in person, we all feel like we've known each other for a lifetime. We're friends online. Some of us use skype to talk to one another, but other than that, other than the Melbourne girls who I train and do the steps with regularly, we'd never met in person.

Completely fabulous it was.

I look at these women with utter amazement. I'd never meet them in my life. What would I have in common with a preacher's wife, a housewife, a day care worker, a night fill manager, a graphic designer an a landscape architect, among others, most of whom are ten years my junior? Seemingly nothing.

However, these women and I have something very much in common.

We're overcoming.

These women are my angels.

We've all been each other's angels over the last twelve weeks. These are the people who've picked me up and dusted me off when things have gone pear shaped, celebrated my wins, ran, walked, climbed and pumped with me - and supported me through this whole process.

I can't thank them enough.

But for all the camaraderie and fun, the demons did come out at times. We all have demons. We've all lost a substantial amount of weight, 20, 30, 40 kilograms - in two cases, one of them has shed 60 kilos from her frame, and my friend, now over 90... You're going to have demons when this happens.

We all know what it's like to be the large one, the outcast, the person who is overlooked. The shy person who doesn't put themselves out there. Some of us have been the butt of jokes, the person who gets stared at, pointed at, ashamed to go places, sometimes made to feel ashamed of who they are. All of us know what it is to be fat. All of us are well on the way to getting on top of this state and fixing it once and for all.

But the mindsets continue. It's a great thing to change your body. In some ways, that's the easy part. The hard bit is changing your head.

The morning after the party, tired, mild hangover beating at my temples, my friend and I got talking over a cup of tea before going off to the gym, a miracle as I'd hitched a ride home with a friend at midnight. Nine glasses of champagne had been enough - and my feet were hurting from standing around in heels. The two staying at mine that night made it  back around three and I had to be up to let them in.

She was telling me about our night filler. 60 kgs lost, looking amazing, a quiet, shy acheiver really let her hair down at the party - which was a joy to see. When I left, she was going at the dance floor like a demon. She looked happy - like the rest of them.

Then the killer. They went for coffee after the club. Our night filler let it be known it was the first time she'd danced in public.

I broke down there and then, crying for the pain of what was, and spouting a few tears of happiness for the life she has found.

Everybody in the group had a moment like this. It was a night to shed the old. It was fantastic.

But our night filler's situation - the do dancing in public. This is indicative what the pall of obesity does to you. It suppresses the joy, the fun, the great things in life.

I know many of you reading this won't get the enormity of this. To have the confidence to dance in public, or catch a plane.Other smaller victories I won't bore you with for long - like being able to find clothes that fit, or to be able to walk and not get puffed or to just feel like you blend in.

Most of us have felt something like this. My angels understand the demons.

And this is what bonds us together.

For me, my demons are still haunting me - although they are lessening. In getting dressed up and having my hair done and putting on make up - I still felt fat. I felt awful on the inside at times. Thankfully not all the time, but the feeling was still there.
I was telling Pinochet about it last night. I'm putting the work in, I'd doing what I have to - but I still feel fat.

My head is telling me otherwise, I see the numbers, feel my limbs growing strong and lean. But I look at pictures of the night and I still feel fat and ugly. Part of me wants to obliterate every photo of me that has been put up online. Actually, that is a lie, there are some good shots out there, but the bulk of them, I'd destroy if I had the chance.

Okay, I hated what I'd let them do to my hair - I feel much better with it down and  wish I'd gone with my gut. I was wearing an old dress, something I've had shoved in the wardrobe for ten years - but it fit well and showed off some of my newly firming curves. And mentally, I know I was looking good. I was looking great.

But the demons arose, and still come up for air. Despite the physical changes which appear to be coming quickly, despite the fact that I'm buying clothes are size or two smaller, that I can run up big hills, pump large weights, keep going after many others have fallen by the wayside, there is a bit inside that feels fat and ugly.

It is slowly changing. I can look at myself in a mirror now and like what I see. I will let people take my photo on occasion. I feel better having my photo taken when I'm in casual clothes, work out gear not dress ups, and I wonder if I'll ever get on top of this.

Regardless, Project Pandora may be over, but the journey continues. I've set myself a few goals for the next three months.

1) Participate in the Run Melbourne 10 km event and do it under an hour. If the Mother's Day Classic is anything to go by, I'm a few minutes off this. Training will get me there.

2) Get below 78 kgs by August - about 5 kgs away, an achievable goal. Then it's off to Sydney to celebrate my 43rd birthday, climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge and run in the City to Surf.

Of the latter challenge, I know my angels with be there on the bridge and on the road to Bondi with me, not only in person, but for those who can't make the weekend - in spirit.

Well these are my challenges. All of the group have set themselves new goals now that the 12wbt is over.

Knowing my angels are there to keep my head above water - it's knowledge enough that I can keep going on this journey.

Pand

On the Absence of Touch

I've wanted to write on this subject for ages, but have never found a way to do it without a heap of self-pity and other morose navel-gazing.

Until now.

Around fifteen years ago, I took on a massage course. There were two reasons for doing this. The first reason was that I thought it a good thing to do as a second job that could be taken anywhere. I didn't realise that I was falling into a vocation.

The second reason was a little more insidious. I partly took up massage to get some touch into my life. Some healthy, positive touch.

The lack of touch in he modern world is a phonomenon people don't talk about that often. People don't really think about it. I used to have a flatmate who said he liked being on crowded trains because he like being touched. At first I thought this creepy until years later, chronically celibate, I could sort of get where he was coming from, not that I'd even consider being packed in with 300 other strangers as positive touch.

Thinking about it, other than my monthly massage, the odd hug from friends, the Maow Maow and Blarney and Barney's kids, I'm rarely touched - making this massage even more important. I know if I leave it more than six weeks I start getting cranky. This positive touch helps to keep my physically, mentally and emotionally in check.

Since qualifying, I've given thousands of massages - bodies of all shapes and sizes. My speciality is feet - my reflexology sessions are the stuff of legend. Even my mother, who has always professed to hating being massaged asks me for one when I'm home. (Which doesn't creep me out at all - just another body on the slab)

Being a massage therapist, I also make sure that I receive a massage at least once a month from a professional standing - it keeps you up on techniques. There is a wonderful holistic practice in my suburb where I go to see my naturopath and my massage therapist - normally the wonderful Yoli who has been beating my tight shoulders into submission for years. Ths month, with things getting a bit stupid, booking to see Yoli was impossible. So I had a choice. Another female masseuse, or Dave.

I chose the latter.

To preface this, the other female massage therapist moans about her husband for the hour of your session. Not wanting that, Dave was the better choice.

Dave is my age, prematurely grey, has bit of a pot belly, wears birkenstocks in summer and he's been my naturopath for over seven years. We have exactly the same sense of humour - which I find very scary.

He can give me a massage, I thought - cool - nothing strange about that. Something different. The only change that would be made is that the knickers stay on. I know everybody in the practice has excellent towel technique, but still... there has to be a modicum of decorum - it's a strange mental barrier that one.

An hour later, I'm feeling wonderful - and no, nothing untoward happened.

Dave appears to have sorted my knee. Actually, Dave has magic hands. And a set of hot towels that just make you feel all floaty and safe. And a great firm but not painful touch. And somehow, he appears to have got my right ITB (Iliotibial band)  into a state where it is moving. Isolated the origin point of the bugger and did some work on it. AMAZING - this is what's causing my knee problems.

But more stunning to me - I'm having a massage and I'm identifying bones. "Is that a shoulder blade?" I asked, "Can you see it?" Yes - my scapulas are finally starting to show themselves - my back fat is going. "And are those ribs?"

Dave laughed at me. "Not use to the new body. Yes, I can feel your bones."

I've never been able to feel my bones - we at least have them near the surface. I knew about the cheek and collarbones, but shoulder blades, and hip bones and ribs - HELL!

"And have you changed your towel supplier? They seem bigger."
Dave once again had a laugh. "You're not quite used to the shrinking thing, are you?"

No. I'm not.

The size 16's are getting baggy. I've been a size 16 since university. There has been times where I will sit in a plane seat and there is barely any room between me and the tray table. Not any more. T-shirts have normally been purchased in an extra large - they're now swimming on me.

And for the first time in ages, I was with a group of women the other day and I didn't feel like the biggest one in the room. I'm starting to feel spacially "normal".

Huge stuff for me.

And having a massage from a bloke. Well, it seems the same thing stands since massage school - if you want your legs done - get a man to do them.

Going to go to bed all smiley now.

Heaven knows what will happen when this bout of singledom breaks. I think my smile might light up the world.

A Day of Blessings

Yesterday morning I rose at 5.50 am, briefly showered, grabbed my pre-packed bag, drove to the airport, hopped on 6.30 Qantas flight to Sydney, dismbarked, found the train station and make the quick trip into the CBD and walked about half a kilometre to be with a special friend on a very special day.

I'll let Amy tell her own story. You can find her blog at http://www.aim-to-change.blogspot.com/ .

I've "known" Amy for three years online. We've been forum buddies - only in the last six months or so we've become friends, along with a group of us who are on similar journeys. We refer to each other as "The Posse". These bright, articulate, fun, courageous wome are there to watch your back, pick you up and dust you off when things get rough, applaud your wins and offer friendship, love and support unconditionally. It's a blessing, not only for this weight loss journey, but for life.

There wasn't a second thought about going to Sydney yesterday. Over the last few weeks the group and I have watched as Amy's jumped through a lot of hoops - at times at the expense of her physical and mental wellbeing. Being there for her photo shoot on Saturday needed to be done - not that she wouldn't have been okay by herself, but I really wanted to lend her some moral support. Both Trin and I felt the same. We were going to be there to help her celebrate as well as let her know she wasn't alone.

Trin and I are in the middle of our own journeys. We're aware of how hard and confronting a total makever could be. Gee, we can get emotional when you buy something in the next size down - what would it be like to be totally transformed?!

Being in Sydney yesterday was a no brainer.

Meeting up with Amy for the first time was like being with a very old friend after years of separation - as if no time had ever passed - even though we'd technically never met. The Biggest Loser support staff were amazed that the three of us weren't the oldest of friends. But Trin and Amy and I are old friends - we've just never physically been in the same space. Strangely, it feels like this with all of the support group.

During the course of the morning, we watched as Amy was tranformed. With a lovely, patient, encouraging stylist and a very down to earth makeup artist our friend was zhushed into the glorious being we know her to be on the outside to match insides - not that there is anything wrong with her outsides now as they normally are. The photographer on hand was a great fellow as well, funny, approachable and able to put our girl at ease.

In the background, Trin and I kept a watchful eye. With the permission of the photographer and crew, I was on the other end of my camera taking photos of proceedings for posterity. Amy couldn't see what was going on in the background - but Trin and I could. We've taken a suitase full of shots to record the day.

It was a great morning, watching over the process as Amy and two others had their photo shoots. At times, there was a bit of chicken dancing going on in the background to take her mind off things (my speciality is the Chicken Dance - goes with my chicken legs) We were there to prop her up when needed and just be there to let her know things were okay.

Things came a little unstuck for a few minutes when they asked her to pull out an "old" article of clothing. I will also let Amy relate this if she wishes to - but it was an incredibly poignant moment as we watched our friend face her former self. A few tears, some reiki and a lot of encouragement and things got back on track again.

I had a chat the managing director of the Biggest Loser Club - a laid back Kiwi, who was mooching around the set. Being the nosy person I am I asked who he belonged to and we struck up a conversation. Had a good chat about life, the club and the journey in general. He asked what I liked about the club. The tools and the forums - realising you're not alone on this journey was a powerful message. And what I didn't like. Well, I found the meal replacements and the express model they have going a sell out - but as an occasional user of the meal replacements I couldn't judge too harshly. And what was the club missing? More on the psychology of the journey. Eating right and exercising is nearly pointless if you don't have your head in the right spot. More should be done about getting you through the journey emotionally. It takes time to get your head around the changes as not only I, but every one of the club members in the room has experienced.

Karen, another club member receiving a makeover was in exactly the same boat. She was shown the photos of herself on the computer and burst into tears. She hadn't realised just how far this journey had taken her. Karen looked incredible. Losing 50 kilos will do that to you. A beautiful spirit inside and out as well - and that not only because she's from Adelaide.

Trin and I now have it in our heads to keep going. We want a makeover! It's quite a few kilos away for both of us, but gee we want one. Watch this space.

Once the shoot was over, after we'd met a couple of contestants who'd come to the studio for further shoots Amy, Trin and I went and found some lunch and has a walk around Sydney, taking in the enormity of the morning. It was huge. What Amy has done is nothing short of incredible.

I'm honoured to call her and Trin my friends.

Of course, the obligatory shots of the big coat hanger and the "Nuns in a Scrum" building had to be taken.

Yeah, I know, you can't really make me out - but I have a waist now and here's proof - and I'm loving that!.. (And just like the Stig, I'm The Pand - nobody knows my real identity...)

After a bit more mooching and some lunch, it was back to the studio to grab our stuff. We left Amy to get back to her sister's place in outer Sydney and Trin and I went to the airport to make our way home.

A day filled with the best blessings imaginable. The blessing of friendship.

The full force of yesterday hit me this  morning. I'm exhausted - a little headachy even. I missed pump - feeling too blah to even give it a go, though I met up with Emm after for a coffee. I cried off the engineering barbeque - too tired. And now I'm off to Blarney and Barney's to wish Chance and Lance a happy first birthday. I made them a cake.

When I told Blarney I wanted to make them a cake she said not to - she'd buy them one. Then I said that I wanted to make them a cake as I don't have kids to make a birthday cake for - and I'd sorta like to make a tradition out of it. So here is a dinosaur cake for the baby dinosaurs (as they are affectionately known) that was made and iced this morning. It's nearly as cool as the "Old Git" cake. Hope they like it - mind you're they're only turning one....

It's been a memorable weekend. I'm pretty sure the weekend in two weeks time will be even bigger. 12wbt finale, the whole of the posse is getting together.

Think I'd better stock up on berocca.

Does my bum look big in this?

Project Pandora Update - Day 44

Current Weight - 85.3 kgs

A couple of people in my support network have brought this up recently. Friends and family have come out and said that they look too thin / a bit sick / they're going overboard.

One of the joyous paradoxes of losing weight is that for all the internal struggles, the public meltdowns, the trials, the sweat, the screaming at your PT that you're not doing effing burpees, the having to say "no" to things you really want to say yes too (ICE CREAM...), the self-sabotage - this is one of the most public private journeys you will ever embark upon.

Sometimes, having your transformation out there will be a great thing. Other times it sucks worse than your grandfather's grungy undies hanging on your very public clothesline for the whole world to see and comment upon. Depending how you are feeling, the direction of the wind, the aspect of Venus and what the NASDAQ is doing, you'll never know how you're going to react to this public outpouring of comments and criticism at any given time.

Thankfully, in my case and for the girls I'm doing this 12wbt thing with, it's been a really positive thing for the most part. We can all see the changes - and it's wonderful.

Other times, things get a big freaky when either you know you might feel like your sabbotaging yourself, or you know you can't stick to the plan.

For me, case in point, I'm going out to dinner on Saturday with some friends. Alice will bring a starter, Pete and Gioia will provide mains and I'll bring dessert. Thing is, controlling the calories for this meal will be next to impossible. Pete's a great cook but is heavy handed on the butter, cream and cheese. Alice is not as bad, but she makes yummy stuff too which I would normally have to say no to.

I think this will be a case of ask for smaller portions and suck it up - it's just one night. I'm making a cake - Pete's birthday cake - for pudding. It's a full fat, chocolate, cream and walnut filled, butter encrusted Gabriel Gate classic. I'm sitting here scowling. It just needs to be done. As it's a birthday cake it will have smarties on top because birthday cakes need smarties. That's the rules.

I'll have a sliver - with some vanilla ice cream thrown in for good measure. And plan a few extra exercise sessions around this indulgent evening.

Then you get the comments that throw you for six and you think "What the hell?"

Case in point. After dream group I stayed to have a quick chat to Viv. We got talking. I need to preface this with the fact that these comments were made with love and admiration and absolutely no offence was taken. If only all comments could come with these emotions attached.

Viv paid me a lovely compliment - I was looking lovely. Thinking, I'm just in jeans and a t-shirt - I'm happy and comfortable. I said thank you.

She then asked me not to lose any more weight off my legs and bum. Nope, that was not on.

Hmm. How am I supposed to make that happen?

I'm sitting here in size 16 jeans - which are comfortable, not too snug and with no apparent camel toe (or moose claw as some know it). My t-shirt - also a size 16 is baggy and I've made a mental note that this one is a good ebay proposition. I'm holding off buying clothes until I have secured a job and maybe lost one or two more kilos - so that snug size 14s can be shrunk into - makes sense to me.

"Pandora, you have no hips or bum, and your legs are too skinny." I had to smile.

"Sorry Viv, can't do much about it. I'm a clone of my mother, who at seventy, still has the second best set of pins I've ever seen. The first best set goes to my eighty-two year old aunt - my Mum's sister. It's genetic."

The women of my family are chook-legged, arseless, hipless wonders (with bellies and big tits). There is absolutely nothing I can do about it. (I'm also thankful I missed out on the tree trunk legs of my father's side)

"How much further do you want to go?" She asked.
"About 15-20 kilos."
"Won't that be too much?"
"I'm still technically classed as medically obese. I know that it's not the be all and end all, but I'd like to have a flat tummy. I won't know until I lose it where how far actually is." was my response.
"Oh - but if you go that far, you won't have a bum to speak of!"

How do you win? Should I be celebrating because I don't have a bum? Or should I be berating myself for not having one.

I shouldn't moan - at least I don't have to ask if my arse looks like the back of a barn. So I don't have any "junk in the trunk" - so be it. Can't do anything about body shape.

I'm also very thankful for the love and support of my friends - I'm just highlighting the irony. Others in my support group have not been so lucky. The taunts have been thoughtless and cruel.

Exercise wise, I'm getting back into walking. The bronchitis knocked me around once again, but rather than go back too soon, an hour of gentle walking today and yesterday have taken away some of the collywobbles. I'll go to Pump at lunchtime tomorrow and be back into it on Saturday with Pinochet. Missing the hard core exercise is one thing I can't be hard on myself for. I've been sick. I haven't been able to breathe properly. Getting better has been my priority. Thankfully, this is something I have full and clear perspective on.

Looking at all of this, I'm realising that there's been a hell of a lot more gained than just dropping a few kilos.

In Limbo

I could describe life as a divine limbo, but that would be simplifying matters.

Hell is too strong. Limbo would be a better word to place where I am at present.

In Dante's Divine Comedy, Dante is taken through the nine levels of Hell by the poet Virgil. He wanders down and down and down meeting all sorts of characters. I've been pondering this a bit. If I were in Hell, just where would I sit? I know that the sixth circle is the place I would fit best, the zone equiped for heretics. This sixth circle of Hell is an interesting place as the portal to the future has been shut out. For a tarot reader, this place would be a true hell, for there are times where you do see the future, but they are pure, unexpected, momentary glances, where you do get a glimspe of the future.

In Dante's world, Limbo, or the first circle of Hell, is reserved for unbaptised babies and virtuous pagans. Well, I was baptised many years ago though I've given back my Christian ticket, and I'm sorta virtuous some of the time - depends how you define being virtuous.

Limbo is a great place. It's where I am at present - well, job wise any way.

I had four company interviews last week. All went well. I have another tomorrow afternoon.

Interview one at a consulting company - it was my second interview. Got on very well with the woman who interviewed me - no-nonsense and straight to the point. It appears I'm a bit pricy. The work looks interesting and varied. Was told I'd hear from them by the end of the week. It's now Sunday. Hmmm. Not holding out hope, but it could be that they are 1) haggling over money or 2) can't be asked to write the rejection letter.

This would be the preferred job - I like the people I met there. I also turned up to the first interview at this company thinking I was seeing an agency - so I didn't have a scrap of make up on my face, I had neat business casual on, my hair had not been tamed into a bun or straightened - it was out in it's rock star glory -  - and I was running 15 minutes late - though I blame the tram and I did call ahead. I gave my best agency schpeil. At agencies you get the following answers from me - among other technical things that they need to know:

Interviewer: What's the difference between telecommunications and banking for you?
Pandora: Telcos have guys in jeans who want to play with electrical things and drink beer. Banking has wankers in suits who appear to make far too much money and drink wine.

Interviewer: How do you deal with difficult people?
Pandora: Offer beer or chocolate - that normally fixes most things. I also do a good line in Buffy and have opinions on some of the Star Trek series.

Interviewer: What are your strengths?
Pandora: I can talk to anybody, I have no fear about asking questions and I have a finely atuned bullshit meter.

Interviewer: What are your weaknesses?
Pandora. I'm from Myponga, South Australia and I barrack for the Crows.  I'm not sure if this is a weakness or a liability. Oh, and I get bored easily. You have to keep my busy or I get destructive. Like a kitten.

Interviewer: What are your career aspirations?
Pandora: I want to be the next JK Rowling, but not so twee.

Interviewer: Why did you move from testing to business analysis?
Pandora: I'm a better fit as a BA - I'm not great at starting at a screen and grunting for ten hours a day.

Somehow, these answers got me a seat on a Business Analyst test (which I passed) and a second interview.

Interview number two on Tuesday was with another consulting company. 8.30 am interview. Also got on well with the fellow interviewing me. This, like the one the day before, was a second interview. This one I was in my best Jessica Rabbit's accountant sister's garb. Not a hair out of place. Was also told I'd hear by the end of the week. Considering that the last time this company told me this it took them nearly a month to get back to me I was not holding my breath. Probably not too expensive for this role, would still be nice to know where I stand. Mind you, having to dress in a suit daily - do I really want to do this? Can I do this? I wear stockings for NOBODY. And I look like a limping transvestite in heels over two inches....

Interview number three on Wednesday was for a contract role with a telco. Excellent interview, but was pipped at the post by somebody with a lot more experience. Was told that if there were two roles they would have taken me on in a heartbeat. Great feedback, and the interviewing PM will send round recommendations and see what goes. The agent was suitably impressed with the feedback so I know I have his attention.

Interview number four was at a mid-level superannuation company. Went back to the agency and said that if they wanted me it would be on a contract basis first up. Didn't get the feeling I wanted to be there - I think I'm a bit rowdy for them. Super companies appear to like their employees to be a bit staider. I'm not like that. No feedback yet. Joy.

There was also the obligatory pimp interviews, phone calls and trawling over Seek.com looking for work.

As I've been off work for three months now, I'm at the stage where I'd be quite happy to go temping now while the right job comes up - answer phones, file, do computer stuff way below my abilities just to get some money in and my brain working. I have a few numbers to call. This is Plan C and will be put into effect before I'm on the bones of my bum financially - but hopefully it won't come to this.

I also have an interview tomorrow afternoon with a health fund for a nerd liaison role with them. (Nerd liaison is my true role in IT. If I'm asked what I do, I normally say "Something with computers," but nerd liaison is my real job description - I sit between the business and the nerds and translate. It's fun in a masochistic sort of way. My friend Mac recommended me for this role. It's also spitting distance from home, the gym. Walking to work would take ten minutes. There are good and bad things about this. I'd miss lunch with friends- but I believe there is a city office that needs regular visiting to see the business.

Something will turn up soon - looking at my cards, things are changing.

Just like me. I watch myself in interviews. Where did this confident, courageous, slightly wacky, rather intelligent woman sprout from? Why are her trousers falling off her hips? Why does she have the inner glow.

This three months "off" has really been a godsend.

Wish me luck the right thing comes soon.
_______________________________________________________________________

Project Pandora Update: Day 35

Current weight: 86.5 kg

It's getting to the danger zone for me. Most of my posse mates are striking issues with their physical or mental well being. Thankfully most of these are temporary glitches and I'm watching as they battle out of the doldrums to get back on track. But I seem to be going great guns still.

This program is fantastic!

I did hit a wall on Thursday evening. Went to train with Pinochet, managed to do two bent over rows, felt ill - rather faint and dizzy - so I excused myself, went home and cuddled the cat in front of the telly. I reckon this was partly interview stress and partly exhaustion. Friday I had a quiet day. Went to lunchtime Pump and spent a day at home with Blarney's cat.

At the start of week six of the program, I'm now 5.5 kilograms lighter, a lot fitter and feeling great.

Every pair of jeans in my jeans drawer now fits me without having to lay in the bed and do them up with a coathanger. This is with the exception of the ones I have from when I'm 23 that I don't dare throw out - they're my super skinny jeans. They're allegedly size 16, but they are more like a size 12. They also have the waistband that goes up to my armpits and are in a fetching acid wash (that has never gone out of style in Adelaide).
But this is the real danger zone. In the past, I get to around this weight and everything comes to a grinding halt. Although I'm looking a lot better - but I have to go on. No amount of compliments will make me stop now. Besides, I'm loving the program and the exercise. Besides, I have an inherent curiousity to know what I look like slim. I have no photos of myself at anything under 80 kilos. I don't know what it is to be slender. I want to find out.

With a current BMI of 30 I'm nearly out of the obese zone - two more kilos and I can call myself chubby. My blood pressure is back in the realms of normal with only the stuff the naturopath gives me for support. My limbs are long and supple. I have visible cheekbones and collarbones once again. My tummy is shrinking to a point where I can imagine it flat - and that is something I haven't felt since I was about 23....

I have to keep going - employed or not.

I've also set myself a new carrot to keep going - If I can get my weight under 80 kilograms, or 20 kilograms loss by my birthday in August, I'm booking a trip to Sydney and going to do the Harbour Bridge climb.

It's been too long since I've been on a plane anyway.

I also want to be around 75 kgs when I renew my drivers licence and passport later in the year. My driver's licence shot has me with five chins and a scowl- I'm at my heaviest and I look miserable.  My passport shot is better, but I'm ten years younger, though from memory, I'm weighting in about 5 kilos heavier than I am now.

If there is one thing I want to get out of this. I want to be able to go through life and not remember significant occasions by what weight I was. This is a sad fact of my life that I no longer want a part of. I just want to be in a healthy weight range and happy with that - and not have to remember the numbers and the misery attached to those numbers.

Other than these minor glitches, I should achieve my goal of an eight kilo loss over twelve weeks easily. If I make ten kilos over this twelve week period - I'll be thrilled. However, I'm still managing the expectations very carefully and trying to keep it real.

My next exercise goals - make it up the 1000 steps in under 25 minutes from base to the top, run a kilometre under 5 minutes by the end of these twelve weeks and go on my first hike.These should be acheiveable.

Bring on week six.

Pandxx

Project Pandora

As paid employment is proving to be a little elusive at the moment, I've resigned myself to feeling secure in the knowledge that I am supported financially and I'm  just getting on with life. Well, I do have enough funds to last for another three or four months, and work will come before that - and it's not that I'm spending all day every day looking for work. I'm doing more than enough to find work - just as I'm enjoying the "me time".

My challenge at this point is accepting that I'm supported by the universe. In this, I feel comforted by tarot readings and other things that have indicated I'm exactly where I need to be. Not being officially employed actually feels really good. I'm very busy, I have a bit of money coming in with tarot, massage, reflexology and other such little jobs. I'm swapping massages for personal training sessions every so often  - which has a few more rewards my end (wry smirk - massaging personal trainers has it's benefits)

Yesterday was a bit different. I drove out to Ballarat to a friend's place to energy cleanse her house. Armed with a sage smudge stick, black candles, Tibettan Bells, incence and a few other hocus pocus items, I returned to Melbourne a few hours later and a few dollars better off, content in the knowledge that my client was thrilled with the work. I also came back smelling like a mix of burning herbs, candle grease and labrador. Ah well, the joys of doing witchy things.

But I go some good thinking time to and from Ballarat. And the conclusion I came to - All is okay. All is exactly as it should be. Stop pressing the universe for more - it will come - you're doing the appropriate yards. And you wont get this opportunity to have some me time for hell knows how long.

I also got to decide the following. So rather than bemoaning not having a job, I've put myself on my own project.

Project Pandora.

All projects need to be named after some Greek or Roman entity. Pandora was a woman who had all the evils of the world in a box - when she opened it all that was left in the box was hope and opportunity. I think this sounds like a very good project name.

I think that's rather relevant. I now have hope and opportunity to get my life back on track - to get the best version of me out of this.This is my time. This is my space. This project is about finding the best me that there is.

Why haven't I done this before, I ask myself.

Well, it sort of comes down to a mix if time, confidence and money. It's the time and confidence I've needed - money's never been too much of an issue. And of course there is hope and opportunity to get this to done at last.

Well, now is time to get going on this project. Like any good project, it needs to be managed, and managed well.

I've mentioned the Michelle Bridges' 12 Week Body Transformation Challenge - well this starts Monday.

This is my Project Management Plan for the next twelve weeks. And what a PMP! Hell, Mish is the Project Director from hell. A really hard task master. In the last few weeks there have been all sorts of pre-project taks to complete.

First up there was kick off - introduce yourself to the others. I'm thankful there's a group of virtual friends who I've known for years through the Biggest Loser Club who are doing this project as well. We're in regular conversations. So I have my posse. I've also thrilled to have my training partners at the gym who are helping me keep on track.

The next task was to look at your excuses for not losing weight. This opened up a minefield. My main reasons for not sticking to these plans - boredom and insecurity. I get bored after a few months of "dieting", then I get complacent and the weight then comes back - albeit a lot slower than in years past and I've kept up a good part of the food and exercise regimes. Now is the time to finish the job. My more insidious excuses are all mental. I tell my self that I have no idea what I will find at the end of the journey. I have no idea what it is to be slim. I have no idea how to be attractive. Well this thinking has to stop - I just have to look at this as an adventure - and I LOVE adventures. We'll work out how to feel pretty inside and out, and what it feels like to be slim on the way. I'm just going to have to build a bridge over those ones.

Task three, Goals. What do I want out of this project? Well the big one for me is to get my BMI out of the obese range into the a little more palatable chubby range. That is currently about seven kilos away. If I could lose 7 kilos in the next twelve weeks I will feel as if I've met a huge goal. I'm not trying to set myself up to fail, but this is an SMART goal. Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic and Timely. If more gets lost, well so be it. I'll aim for seven kilos.


I also have the goal of running a marathon next year  - with the knee injury slowly clearing, and with a lengthy training time, this is doable. I know it's a strange thing to want to do. I wrote about this a few days ago anyway.

Task Four ; Get your gear ready - well, this one hasn't been too bad. I own and use a heart rate monitor religiously. I have good working, reliable scales. I have kitchen scales, an abundance of workout gear, decent trainers. I also have a well bashed gym membership, well know walking/ running tracks available and mates to take along for the ride. That one was an easy task. Done.

Task Five:  Get people on board with what you're doing. Well this is done to - with mixed results. Again, my gym buddies and forum mates have been very supportive. Other friends have not been as easy to sway or have been more negative than required. Going around to people's places where you're offered biscuits and chocolate - keeping strong with that is hard. I don't like banging on to friends about this stuff too often - but the key people have been informed.

My one sticking point will be the my Masonic friends. Three months of either not staying for supper or sitting on my hands as a CWA endorse supper is placed in front of you is going to be hard. Having the old ducks telling you to eat something is almost as bad as having your grandmother yell at you.

Task Six: Clear out the crap from the kitchen. Again, this has been an easy one as I've banished the crap ages ago. Apart from the odd jar of jam, a small pot of weight watchers ice cream and few ready meals, my fridge and cupboards are crap free. Thankfully most of the healthy eating stuff has been well instilled - so that's fine.

Task Seven was to diarise the first month of exercise. Again, this was a bit hard. I hate not having freedom. I know I am down to exercise six days a week for an hour a day. I have no problem doing this, just don't tell me when the hell I'm supposed to do it! It will be done. I do three pump classes, a few runs and a stretch class a week - don't nag me - I'll do it. This one pushed a few buttons. Also, as the job situation is likely to change - I'm not willing to commit to an exercise plan weeks in advance - especially to timings. So I know the exercise will be done - just at what time will not be decided until nearer the time.

We were also asked to do monthy benchmarks  to consider. There needs to be something each month that you're striving for. I'm still thinking about this one. I know I'm down for the 14 km Run for the Kids in April - bung knee and all I'd like to do this in under two hours. Will have to think about the other months.

The last task has just been handed over. What are your starting stats. Height (167 cms), weight (92 kgs on the nose) Chest, waist, thigh measurements have all been taken. Then the killer. Get a starting photo - preferably taken in your knickers. AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH.

Don't worry - I'm not going to post these photos here - I'm far more compassionate than that. I've roped either Kit or Emm to take the shots. They've seen me in the changerooms of the gym, so there are no nasty surprises. This is about the most confronting job we've been asked to do. Having to look at my semi naked body in a photo - crap. But this project is also about facing fears, and facing fears we will do.

So Project Pandora, filled with hope and opportunity kicks off Monday. Twelve weeks, six exercise sessions a week, around 1200 calories a day.

There will be updates, benchmarks

Maybe I should PMP cleaning my flat...

Pand

January's Star Calendar

Okay, what's this all about Pandora?

As most regular readers will be aware, I've been waging a pitch battle with my weight for the last 30 years, without much success - actually, I'll rephrase that, I've had some successes and failures, but I've never got this totally in check. Over the last few years, I've caught the exercise bug and I've managed to keep 20 kilograms off my frame (Yes, I was 20 kgs heavier than I am now - and it was awful), so I should look at this as a real achievement.

Weight and fitness is such a personal issue. I've lost friends over it - one inparticular who thought he was being helpful, but instead he came across as cruel, hurtful and completely misguided. Anybody doing this has to find their own way througn the minefield of diet and exercise plans, timings and the like. It's hard work. It's boring - but it can be done.

The time has come to tackle this head on again.

I'm also lucky because I've been spurned on by the successes of some friends who've had long term weight battles. One, in Adelaide, who I keep bumping into in Melbourne, who is looking amazing after shedding 40 kg, and another, in London, who's almost there now. I've known these guys since university - if they can do it - so can I.

The other blessings I count is my wonderful support network - my gym buddies, my trainer, Pinochet, and the girls from the Biggest Loser Club. It's so good to have people around who know what you're going through. People you can talk to about this stuff - so you don't have to bore the pants off your friends and those who don't have to or want to know about this stuff. (Sorry blogosphere - I do try to keep the weight loss stuff to a minimum)

For me, the biggest thing is accountability. How do I keep myself accountable? How to I reward myself for what I'm doing? How do I keep track of what I've done?

This is where the star calendar comes into place.

It's a simple thing really - sourced from the childhood bedwetting therapy. Wake up with a dry bed, get a star. Okay, the last time I wet the bed I was about four years old. But the reward remains. It's a great way to see how you're tracking along. And getting a star makes you feel good. Really good, strangely.
So, for me, if I stick to my calories each day and get at least an hour's exercise, I get a star.

There are a few pitfalls with this. Firstly what defines an hour of exercise? I don't have to kill myself in the gym every day to get the star. Mixing it up with exercise if vital. So along with the session with the trainer, the pump and spin classes, two gentle half hour walks will suffice twice a week - and once a week I get a day off - bodies need rest.

Secondly, calories are a moveable target. My current target is 1600 calories a day. Because life is life, there are going to be days where you go over a bit - some days you'll go under. I'm sticking my the plus or minus 200 calories to get the star - the closer I can stick to the target, the better. It's all about being consistent.

Lastly, there are going to be days where things go pearshaped. One of my greatest problems is I tend to be a bit all or nothing - and I have to change my thinking about this. Fall off the horse - get right back on next meal. None of this, "Oh, I've had a bad day, I'll just keep on being bad and start again." It's one of those bits of stupid thinking that really does me no favours.

Any other bits of wisdom for myself? Well, there's absolutely no takeaway to be had - Subway isn't takeaway as long as it's the healthy versions of it. I'm still allowed to pinch a chip off Glen Waverley's plate when we meet for lunch. Alcohol in strict moderation. And I'm not touching chocolate or biscuits. I'll scoff the lot, so why put them in front of me? I don't buy them and they're not around the house.

As for my vice, ice cream - I factor this into the daily calories a few times a week. This stops the cravings.

It may seem strict and hard, but I'm managing really well.

This all started on the 29th of December, as I said I was going to do. This was the day after I got back from the Christmas break in Adelaide. It was the day I'd planned to start back on this properly, the day set in my head as the day to start - the day when all temptation would be gone and I could do this without any distractions.

Well here is is. January's Star calendar (with the three days overhang from December)  31.5 Stars out of 34.

Not too shabby an effort.

I'm thrilled with myself. The two days missed were New Year's eve were a barbeque was had where I had far too much dessert and beer. The 17th of January I went round to a friend's place - she cooked a lovely risotto, but I couldn't count the calories. I wasn't too far over, but I couldn't give myself a star in good conscience.

The half a star on the 22nd was given as the girls went over to Pinochet's for dinner. The meal was heathly, but again, it couldn't be counted - but a two and a half hour walk in the afternoon had to be counted - hence, half the star.

I'm also five weeks take away and junk food free.

Oh, my reward for all this hard work. Another bead for my Pandora bracelet. No rewarding with food.

No point rewarding with clothes either - I've lost 4 kgs this month - if things keep going well I may have to replace my wardrobe. But let's not put the cart in front of the horse. This is a one day at a time scenario. Like giving up smoking or drinking - it has to be done day by day. It's the only way it can be done.

Wish me luck.

Pand

Attacking Excuses

Well, Sweet F.A. Day was such a success I reckon I'll try to schedule one in every fortnight. It was a bit of a revelation. Okay, so I ended up taking in an eleven kilometre walk, did some job stuff, went to the gym and did some cleaning - not really doing nothing, but I did it on my own, in my own time, with nobody around asking for my time, advice or energy. It was wonderful. People contact was done on my terms. I came out of the day feeling refreshed and happy. It also set me up for a new set of challenges.

I really have no excuse to not do it again soon.

I've started to look at my excuses for why I don't do things. Most of it comes down to unfounded fear.

In my New Year's Resolution to do something I've never done once a week, it was time to face the biggest gym fear of all. Body Attack.

In my gym career to date I've tended to stick with that which I know about. Pushing weights, seeing Pinochet, cardio machines, rowing, Pump class, running and of course, spinning class. All good. Yet the two classes they offer at my gym more than others were the ones I've never been to - BodyCombat and BodyAttack.

When I went to Combat last week I loved every minute of it.

So when Kitt texted saying I should come to Attack on Monday, I jumped at the chance. If I could do Combat, surely I could do Attack - well that was the theory.

There were a few bonuses to going to this class. Firstly, the instructor, Claire, is a favorite from Sunday morning Pump - that made things feel a little better - knowing Claire, I immediately felt supported - she's used to seeing me rock up just as the doors are closing on Sunday. And allegedly, Kitt would be nearby to make sure I didn't get up to too much mischief..

Secondly, after the experience of BodyCombat - knowing I could do the class and not die, why shouldn't attack be the same? Okay, from the outside it looks like a sponsored group epileptic fit - but maybe it wouldn't be that bad? I could only try. I let Claire know about my current knee problem, she said she'd give me lower impact stuff to do. Then I looked around for Kitt. She wasn't there. Bummer. Would have to go this one alone.

Turns out, once again, my fears were unfounded. Once again, I had a ball. Once again, I kept up well and wasn't a hyperventilating wreck at the end of the class. Once again my fears proved unfounded.

I saw Kitt come in the gym through the corner of my eye. She didn't stop to wave, so I gathered she hadn't saw me. We caught up later - I had to thank her for getting me there in the first place.

So in the past three weeks, I've taken a baby for swimming lessons, done a Body Combat and Body Attack class - what other new things will I find to do now?

So if I'm looking at all my fears, and the excuses I have that keep me from reaching my goals I suppose I have to look at the elephant in the room. Weight loss.

With all of the focus on diet and exercise over the last month, I'm half wondering why I did this - but Ive decided I need to tackle a few demons in my road to reaching a healthy weight.

I'm the first one to pat myself on the back for a start. In the last few years I'm managed to keep 20 kilograms off my frame, get really fit and begin to see myself as something more than a fat, lazy, ugly blob. Since Christmas, I've been back on the wagon - being brilliant with what I eat, keeping my exercise up and losing a few kilos - which feels great. Yet I still feel there needs to be a bit more structure.

In keeping with challenging myself, I've signed up for the Michelle Bridges 12 Week Body Transformation Challenge. It's something some of the girls from the Biggest Loser Club are doing to give ourselves a kick up the bum - and I've joined them.

The program starts in earnest on the 21st of February, but in the meantime, we've been set some homework to prepare ourselves for the task ahead. The first task - look at the excuses you make for not losing weight, or not getting to your goals.

Hmm. Well. let me see. What are my excuses for not losing weight. Not exercising. Not getting down to my goal weight. I'm doing all these things - I've been doing all these things (though the last six months of last year wasn't pretty - but you have to know when to calm it down)

My excuses, it appears, all comes down to fear.

I know I tend to use the busy excuse at times for not exercising - but I know how to come out of this one well. I can't use the no time to cook excuse any more. The last few weeks have got me back into the good habits again. I also don't have the all or nothing approach any more. Fall off the horse as little as possible and get straight back on again - none of this, "Well, I've been bad today, may as well continue" rubbish. Treats, such as the odd bit of ice cream, are also factored in in strict moderation.

So what's my problem? What's my greatest fear about losing weight. After a lot of soul searching , it comes down to two things. I have no concept of what it is to be slender (I'm not using the words thin or skinny - I want to be healthy - not anorexic) The last time I was around my goal weight was during first year university - where I was told to lose ten kilos by the uni doctor - I remember being so humiliated, I never went back there.

The second is more insidious. I get scared when I feel attractive. I don't know how to cope with this. I remember a boss of mine struggling with this - and I know last time I was down around my slimmest two years ago I was feeling the same thing. There was more attention. There were positive comments. There were furtive looks, flirting even. I could buy flattering clothes. And I didn't cope that well.

It seems this is what I have to start dealing with. Conquer these fears and maybe the rest will follow.


Just how I'm going to do this, I have no idea - but at least I know what the fears and excuses are now. That is the true start of the battle. Wish me luck.

On a less angst-ridden theme, the rest of life is moving on nicely. The job hunting is beginning to pay dividends. I've got an interview with the Department of Education for a two month contract tomorrow. Recruitment Consultants are calling back now, so hopefully they will be finding me something suitable soon. I'm hopeful. I feel that employment isn't too far away. The cards are looking good regardless.

As for the situations in the last blog, well, there's been nothing more from Lorelei. I've banished that one from my head - the less said the better.

My aunt, on the other hand, is still very poorly. It's a dreadful situation - she's not improving at the moment. At least I have my sympathy back now and can feel bad for her - and send love to my Uncle and his family. In such a situation, you can't do much more. My heart goes out to them.

The situation puts a lot of things in perspectives. My demons are small compared to what other people are going through at the moment. Because of this I've got no excuse to hunt them down and conquer them.

Pandx

The New Era

First up, a happy new year to you all.

I'm sitting here writing with a clear head, clear skin, clear eyes and the knowledge that the last of the ice cream cassata is in my tummy not be sitting in the freezer whispering "Eat me, eat me!".

After years of hating New Year's Eve, I think last night's events will go down as the near perfect New Year events. Surrounded by friends in the back yard at Blarney and Barney's, only two half glasses of champagne were imbibed - great conversation, a nana nap at about ten p.m. on the couch (a few of us took turns for kips on the couch - we're all getting old), my favourite cat to pat, and home, sober by one a.m. - it was all just right.  There's no more guilt about not going out, dancing and getting mindlessly drunk, there's no more angst about staying home alone. It was great to be around good people, some good food and of course, nice pussy cats.

So now, it's 2011. Now what? 2010 was a big year, what's 2011 going to bring?

Well, the first thing I'm coming to terms with is my between-jobs status. I finished up at Tin Can, String and Whistle on the 22nd of December and drove to Adelaide the following day. Now I'm home with all this time on my hands. The priority after the second week of January will be to look for a new job, but until then, I have a heap of stuff to do. I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that work won't start until hopefully early February and that January is mine to do as I please.

But what to do in January?

I have a whole month to start to rejuvenate my life.

The first thing I've decided on, I need a plan - how to structure my time in this time off. I could spend the month sleeping away, but what would be the point of that? So this month is going to be called 'Reclaim Pandora Month." A time to constructively get my life back in some semblance of order.

First up - we need a few rules and a few minor things help facilitate this.

I have a new calendar, a packet of sticky stars and a new paper shredder.

The rules of January are as follows:

Sticking to all of the rules gets me a star on my calendar. The more stars the better.

Rule One:

An hour  of each day must be spent in the following activities: Reading, writing, gymming/exercising,cleaning/rearranging the flat and as of Tuesday, looking for work and those associated activities. That takes up five hours a day - there will be plenty more to do, but this has to be done.

Reading is one of my great pleasures and I haven't done enough of it. One of my numerous resolutions is to not buy any books until I've read a few more of the unread ones in my shelves, of which there are many. I may also have a book cull soon just to tidy a few things up. As I haven't done enough reading in the last few months, this is a good chance to catch up.

Writing for an hour a day is a no brainer. Whether it's blogging, working on the travel website I do for beer money or starting on that novel or articles for The Age I've been meaning to write - writing an hour a day is a necessity.

My flat needs a complete de-crap. I want to be able to walk into my spare room and not get scared. If I spend an hour a day turfing things out, cleaning, hoovering and the like the place will be immaculate by mid January. I'm not naturally tidy and this will be a chore, but it has to be done. I need to make room for new things in my life.

Starting to look for a job as of next week is also a necessity, but it's not critical at the moment. I'm okay for money for a few months, but I'd rather have a job by February so that I can upgrade my car and save the most of my package. An hour a day means I'm putting in the necessary leg work to find work, but not getting too engrossed in journey of job hunting - which is a bit of a downer at the best of times. To look for work all day, everyday, especially as I have money and time, is just stupid.

I've also got some contingencies in place for this month. I've set out on facebook that my plank is up and I'm happy to read cards, massage, play with feet and do all the hobby jobs I do for money. A few clients a week will pay for the food on my table and petrol. I'm really lucky I have these skills. I'm also arranging contras where I can. I've already talking Pinochet into a massage for a personal training session - not bad, eh!

Exercising for an hour a day also isn't hard. This can be an hour in the gym, or going to get the post in the city, taking in a yoga class, going for a swim. Just something that gets me out of the house and moving about.

Rule Two:

January's daily calories: 1600 per day. (Plus or minus 200 calories)

The big thing for January, the one thing that I need to get in order is my weight. This is my project for 2011. It's a project, and it needs to be managed as such. Done with care, determination and a sense of humour.
As regular readers will be aware, I've struggled with my weight all of my life. It's been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember, taking away much of my self-respect and self-esteem for many years. It's only been in the last three years that I've got something of a handle on what all of this is about. I also have some semblance of self love now - it's a pity to took so long to find. It makes this jouney somewhat more pleasant - believe me.

I know that when my head is in the right space, I can achieve amazing things. Losing weight, as anybody who has tackled this will tell you, is 99% mental. Yes, diet and exercise are incredibly important, but if your head isn't right, nothing's going to happen - you just end up sabotaging yourself - which is what I've been doing for the last long while. Saying this, the sabotage this year meant only being two kilograms heavier than I was at the same time last year - but now, I want to reduce.

Recently, I lost a friend over this issue - well, this was the catalyst that set of the events. This friend went into a two hour diatribe about what I was doing wrong and how seeing me in the state I was was disturbing. It continued the following morning with what were described as "helpful" emails. I snapped and acted out inappropriately, for which I have apologised but this friend has not found the forbearance to forgive me as yet. Such is the power of this topic. Handled incorrectly, you can lose friends over it.

Losing weight is such a deeply personal experience. It's different for everybody. What can work for one person doesn't always suit others. As an example, Atkins doesn't suit me or my lifestyle - I like my exercise too much and I go stir crazy without carbs - but I'm pleased it works for others. I find Weight Watchers expensive and rather one size fits all- just my experience of it as I know it works for thousands.Just not eating is never an option. It's all a matter of balance.

I have a great plan and program that has worked brilliantly in the past which is what I'll be focussing on this year. It comes with it is a fantastic support network, some of whom have become friends. Without the support from the crew from the Biggest Loser Club, I'd be sunk. It also lets me talk weight loss with people who want to talk about weight loss and diets and all of that stuff.

That's another universal truth. Talking about dieting full time is very, very boring if you don't have to do it yourself. The girls from the BLC are my rocks and I'm so glad we're on the journey together.

Losing weight to me is a pure consistency, keeping excellent records and allowing for life to occur in the mean time. It means that the occassional glass of wine or cone of ice cream can happen. It means that you can go out for dinner once in a while. It also means hitting the gym, doing the miles, doing the reps and making sure it's happening regularly. It also means when you fall of the wagon, which will happen, you get back on it immediately. It's as easy as that. It's all in being consistent.

This month lets me get back into the swing of things.

I'm not going to bore you with it any more.

Finally, my resoluions for this year - new job and weight loss aside.

I resolve to go somewhere I've never been once a month - and that doesn't mean overseas - it can just be a new suburb of Melbourne or to a restaurant I've never frequented.
To get at least two articles or stories in print by the end of the year
To have a decent house deposit ready to buy an off the plan apartment by December.
To replace my aging Toyota Echo with a new-to-me Mazda 2 (or maybe new shape Fiesta... ) by June.

And under the proviso that my knee gets better - to start running again. I miss it terribly.

It seems I'm planning a big year for myself.

Wishing you a wonderful 2011. Hope you're as excited as me.

Pandxx

The Other Side of Everything

I am standing in a line, dressed in white; waiting. The room is hot. The scent of incence is soft in my nostrils. I'm underwhelmed by the solemnity which I am supposed to be feeling. Behind me, there is the heavy breathing of a person struggling to walk.  And I realise that if life hadn't turned the way it has, I could well be in the same situation.

Hell Week is nearly at an end, I have made all of my commitments, enjoyed most of them, participated with gusto for the most part and now see that I can rest soon. Well, at least relax in the knowledge I don't need to be anywhere in the evening for a while.

The meltdown of last Friday has also sent ripples into life, providing different perspectives and challenging insights. As much as I hate knowing I suffer from periods of mild depression, I'm almost grateful for the chance it gives me to look at things in my life, and make some changes. Nipping it all in the bud early just means that things get to move a bit quicker. I'm also glad, so glad, I've taken the alternative route for dealing with this. Counsellors, psychologists, dream group all keep things in check. I don't think I'd get anywhere if I was medicated - not that I am critical of anybody who takes this path - I've just fallen into the other side of depression treatment - ant thankfully it works for me.

These insights really started kicking in when I was at my mason's meeting, listining to the person behind me heavy breathing, knowing she was to be barely able to stand for the time required - I started to fret. Was I ever like that? What that what life was going to be like for me in twenty years if I hadn't remedied some of the symptoms and causes? There are a few in the group who are as large, if not larger than I was a few years back. I watch them struggle. I feel their pain - and then count my blessings.

Following the meeting was supper. I try not to stay for supper at these meetings, but there are times when it's unavoidable - like it was on Monday. Supper is lethal. I'm not great around food late at night as I really do have no willpower late in the evening. They put asparagus rolls, the best home made vanilla slice in the world, plates of backlava and curried egg sandwiches in front of me at ten pm - all of my favorite things - and I just hoe in like it's my last meal. Rather than get depressed about what was eaten, I'm learning to just schedule in another run and eat properly for the next week. I no longer get angry with myself when this happens, which now is not that often. Live and deal - it's taken me forty years to get to this. So much better than being angry with myself.

Other insights are flowing - a little harder to fix than getting angry when I overeat late at night. Things I don't know how to fix. Like how to fix being alone? What to do about work? What to do about the fact that friends are morphing and changing?

One thing I do know is that I never make firm decisions when I'm coming out of these cycles. I caught myself thinking, "Gee, why not go internet dating again? What would I put in my profile? "Young 41-year-old, emotionally crippled over acheiver seeks similar"? "Running girl, sick of running away, seeks a stable rock to hide under"? "Nice man wanted for cuddles and more. Players, mummies boys, co-dependents and ferals need not apply"? After a few minutes of pointless pondering, I got rid of this thought very quickly - don't make any rash actions in the time around these cycles. (My forays into internet dating are for another blog - depressive spirals are not the time to hash over the joys of the aforesaid mummies boys, co-dependents, ferals, bogans and the eponymous Boring Richards.)

I just know that things are coming good. The sound sensitivity is fading. I'm smiling more, talking more, getting back into life.

Card of the Blog: The Sun: Freedom, self expression, life force, clarity, optimism.

Like it.

Pand

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 143 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 84 km
Currently reading: Celebrity by Andrew O'Hagan, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 1.6 kg

The Fresh Start

It's nearly the end of January of another faceless year. I've come to the realisation that I need to set some goals, so I may as well do it here, in public, where people can see it, and I can be reminded of the goals I set myself and remind myself to work for these things.

The past few days have been rather confronting, not that gastroenteritis is confronting , more messy, gross and completely humiliating. It's not so much the fact of gastro as the doctors words. 'Watch yourself, you have all the precursors of appendicitis." Again, this fact doesn't stress me out, going to hospital and having a fairly common operation holds no fear for me. It's the recouperation that gets me. Where do I go? Who will look after me? Who would look after me?

The messy bits, the slight fever and the pains have gone but the lingering sense of aloneness remains. I live alone. I'm single. Who would look after me if I was to fall ill? I'm not like my mate, the Grounded Dutchman, who was able to be taken home by his mother after nearly killing himself with his paraglider - I don't have that support network. This bout of uneasyness isnt as bad as when I massaged somebody with shingles- the thought of chicken pox sent me to therapy for six months. I've moved on from this - now I feel the aloneness, honour it, and try to work out how this can be fixed.

So goal number one: Get that support network happening - one who's in my life daily so we can look after eachother. And get that person soon.

I also need to put this one down in print too.

Goal Two: By my 42nd birthday I will be 20 kgs lighter. No ifs or buts this year.

I will probably bore you with with my weight loss and exercise efforts. I've gone from the morbidly obese range to a very fit and well toned albeit cuddly cougar in the last two years - I'd like to see how far I can take this.

Helping goal two along is Goal Three : Run a marathon in the next twelve months.

The last year has seen me go from a sloth to a clydesdale. Two half marathons later, a bout of exhaustion, high blood pressure and depression later, I'm ready to get back to it again. I need this goal, as mad as it may be.

Goal Four: To own my own property in the next two years.

Yes, I'm 41 and propertlyless. Spent my 20s living abroad, living hand to mouth, my thirties in complete denial living hand to mouth and now I'm here, 41 and a bit more solvent. Seeing Ferdy the Financial Adviser on Wednesday.

Goal Five: Get more of my stuff out there and published

Writing documents for a telecommunications company is soul destroying. I've won a couple of short story competitions. I can do it again.

Fighting talk.

Lastly, my tarot card for the blog. Pick a card, any card:

Six of Wands. Victory. Rising above obstacles. Knowing your worth. Seeing things from above. Working towards goals and acheiving them.

Hopefully a wonderful omen.

Pand