Health is Wealth - Fattie Boom Boom?

To see more by the artist who pained this picture, click here

To see post explaining Fattie Boom Boom click here.

I remember once looking through an old photo album of my days at University. We were out in the sun, probably playing hookie from lectures, wearing shorts, flip flops, sunglasses.

I was smiling, the wind was blowing my hair back - like a fashion shoot. It was one of those perfect photos, the kind you can plan or pose or pay for.

The kind of photo you should frame, or keep on the fridge as a constant reminder that you can look fabulous, like you're having fun, like you're filled with joy.

But, as I looked at it, I wasn't thinking any of that.

I was thinking: "Jesus, I was thin! Why did I spend those days stressing about being fat?"

Health is Wealth - Introducing Fattie Boom Boom

To see the artist's work who painted this picture, click here.

There was a song in the 70's called Hey Fattie Boom Boom. By the wonders of the internet I have found it on YouTube and you can listen to it here.

Hey Fattie Boom Boom
Sweet Sugar Dumpling
Hey Fattie Boom Boom
Let me tell you something...

My family - I was the youngest - used to tease me by singing this song.

I guess that is how I have always defined myself.

"I'm just not that girl," I told She's So Lovely, my therapist.

"What girl?" she asked.

"You know, that girl. The Pretty Girl. The Cheerleader. The Prom Queen. The girl men look at furtively, hoping she won't notice, because they think she's out of their league. Me, I'm one of the boys. They tell me dirty jokes. They stare at my boobs. They try to pick me up because they think they can have me. The fat girl."

There was a short silence.

"I think," she said, "that you need to write about this."

"Write?"

"Yes, write."

And so, I am.

Health is Wealth - Eatathon update

I posted about my Eatathon here.

Here is the update:

• Thursday - 1 cupcake + 1 slide of Baileys cake (it was St Patrick's Day)


• Friday - 1 pint of Chunkey Monkey


• Saturday - 1 cupcake + Half pint of New York Super Fudge Chunk


• Sunday - Chocolate donut + Piece of chocolate cake with custard


• Monday - Slab of chocolate melted in cup of milk to make "hot chocolate"

I choose to see improvement.

Health is Wealth - Food as currency

I spoke to my BFF today. She lives half way accross the world so we don't get to talk very often. When we do, we have a lot to catch up on.

We've both battled the bulge for decades, so we always update each other on what we weigh.

BFF has lost weight and so, of course, I asked her how she did it. She's been going to Weight Watchers - but that's not the magic bullet. She said that she has had a mental shift about food. In thinking about it as points, she has come to consider food in terms of currency. She has $23 to spend a day and, even if she has a piece of cake or something, that's just going into debt.

"The books," she told me, "have to balance at the end of the week."

I think she is a genius. But then, I've always thought that about her.

Health is Wealth - Eatathon with a side of crazy

I can't stop eating.

I'm getting through the torture with Silent Evil (Personal Trainer), I am making changes to how I cook and shop for food based on Softly Concerned's (Nutritionist) recommendations and I am managing work stress like I discussed with She's So Lovely (Therapist).

But I crave sugar and complex white carbs all the time.

Whole pints of Chunky Monkey are inhaled. I get to the bottom of the cardboard container (why bother with a bowl? who am I kidding?) and I wonder where it's all gone and why I only start to really, really enjoy the last two spoons.

Donuts, which never used to enter my mind, dance in my thoughts like an evil version of Fantasia, replacing the elephants doing ballet.

I eat cereal late at night - two bowls, with sugar.

The wholewheat and rice pasta I've stuck to for the last year just don't do it for me anymore. I got up from the couch, where I had been for two days - sick - got dressed, got in the car and went to the store yesterday to get white pasta and ice cream.

I used to have one soy latte a day. Now it's three on average. And not always decaf.

Fluffy Bear cooks a lovely dinner, recipe from Softly Concerned, and I scowl at it, wanting pasta, pasta, pasta.

Since starting my Year to Get Healthy I have put on 3 kilograms. People tell me it's the muscle I'm building in the torture chamber with Silent Evil, but the ice cream and cereal and pasta has to be in there somewhere.

At first my clothes got looser but they're back to being snug now.

And then - of course - I start beating myself up mentally about food and the more I think about what I shouldn't be eating, how much water I should be drinking, what I am going to do better at today, the more I want to run downstairs to the coffee shop and buy a Venti latte and a slice of cake. And even that is a sacrifice because what I really want is the big fat donut covered in icing.

And don't even get me started on the Nicorette/smoking part of it all.

Change, She's So Lovely tells me, is wearing, stressful, hard on a person.

Hmmmmm...

I am the agent of my own sabotage. My own resistance guerilla. I am a terrorist in my own land.

Why?

Health is Wealth - The Cruelest Countdown

Fluffy Bear went to Silent Evil's torture session alone today and she had a new waterboarding technique up her sleeve.

She set up a routine - press ups, lunges, squats with a weight, lifting dumbells and climbing up on a box - but this time do each ten times, then do them nine times, then eight, etc.

Fluffy Bear said the whole thing took almost half an hour and he was cursing me for being home on the couch, ill.

He was given a T-shirt to bring home, with Silent Evil's logo on it. When I asked for mine, he told me that she said I can only get mine when I go to work out next.

That woman is sly.... like a FOX.

Health is Wealth - My thighs doth protest...

Right Thigh: You hurt as much as Ah do, Pardner?

Left Thigh: You f-ing bet Ah do, Baby.

Right Thigh: Actually, let's face it, Beeach, you don' hurt as much as Ah do, 'cos when She exercises, She always leads with Right Foot which means AH do most of the work

Left Thigh: Oh, that is such total BS! She makes sure that She evens it out! She even went Left Foot forward on two rounds of standing when She was doing those weight pull ups. She did, didn' she, Left Foot?

Left Foot: Sure did.

Right Thigh: Oh HE-ELL NO! You did not just butt into our conversation! Get up here and say that to my face! Hey, Left Knee, bend yo' ass so Ah can look Left Foot in the eye and hear what she has to say.

Left Knee: Don' bring me into this.

Brain: Oh stop it, all of you! This behaviour is ridiculous!

Right Thigh: Who the hell asked you, Smarty Pants?

Left Thigh: Yeah, butt out, Brainiac. This is none off your beeswax.

Brain: Everything is my "beeswax", as you put it. I control you all, remember?

Right Thigh: Control this, Beeach.

Brain: That is disgusting.

Left Thigh: If you so damn important, why donchoo send down summa them endolphins for us to feel better, huh?

Brain: Oh my God. I have white trash body parts. What circle of hell is this?

Right Thigh: Who you think you are? F-ing Frasier?

Left Thigh: Mmmmm-hmmm! Tell that Mutha! Goddamn, Beeach, I hurt.

Right Thigh: Mmmmmm-hmmm. Me too. Ignore that Brainiac Bastard. Let's go lie down. Hey Knees! Bend yo' asses! We need to rest!

Left Knee: Oh piss off both of you! Talk to the Hand!

Right Thigh: What da f-k she got to do with it?

Health is Wealth - More Silent Evil

The voicemail message clicked on. It was Fluffy Bear:

"I have one word for you: FOUR! That's the word! FOUR! FOUR!"

He was yelling, a post-personal training rant.

That day, because of our schedules, we couldn't work out with Silent Evil together. At our previous workout, clearly high on endorphins released by pain and suffering, I had somehow agreed to meet Silent Evil for a 7:30am workout, while Fluffy Bear met with her that afternoon at 5.

For the first time since we started working out with her, Silent Evil made me do four rounds of an exercise combination. At first she used to make us do two rounds, and she had pushed us to three rounds in some of our workouts. But never four. Not till yesterday.

My round was:

• Ten pushups leaning on a bar which was set at about thigh height


• Twenty lunges - ten on each side


• Fifteen squats, holding a 20 pound weight


• Fifteen weight machine pulldowns


• Ten flying dumbell lifts, from hands next to thighs to right up above my head


• Twenty step ups onto a box, lifting knee when up on the box - ten on each side

When I got home I told Fluffy Bear what I'd had to do and bet him that he would have an easier time of it because he grunts and groans.

But it sounds like Silent Evil plays fair with her torture.

Equitable Evil.

I like it.

Health is Wealth - More Silent Evil

Do not provoke your personal trainer.

Write it out, like Bart Simpson, on the chalkboard 100 times.

Do not provoke your personal trainer.

Do not provoke your personal trainer.

Do not provoke your personal trainer.

Today, we let her know how much we watch the clock.

"Half way through!" I told Fluffy Bear, patting him on his sweaty back with my sweaty hand once we were thirty minutes in. And then, my first mistake: "Fifteen minutes to the mats!"'

We did more lunges, we did more squats, we did more weights.

"Five minutes to mats!" I panted at Fluffy Bear, tempting fate.

Silent Evil walked us over to the area where the mats are. We began to relax.

HAH!

She veered left, away from the mats, to get one of the Balls of Doom. We had to stand on one leg and toss the ball to each other. Then we had to stand sideways and twist, scooping the ball to our far hip, then toss it to the other person.

Now, surely, I thought, the mats.

Nope.

Time to play tag. Run accross the gym to a little green ball, touch it, run back, touch Fluffy Bear's hand, then watch him run. We were moaning, panting, stumbling. We were delivering a public service to all other people in the gym - making them feel that, no matter how much pain they were in, no matter how tired they were, at least they weren't us. She made us do it five times each.

When we were done, she walked over towards the mats.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Nope.

She stopped at the big plastic balls, the ones that have sand in them.

We had to swing them up over our heads, lunge to the side and hit the ball on our knee, then go to the other side. As soon as he had finished his ten on each side, Fluffy Bear sat down on his ball, panting and rubbing his face with a towel. It isn't very easy to keep exercising when you are laughing.

"The mats!" I begged. "Surely it's time for the mats!"

Nope.

We had to lift the ball above our head, then squat, swinging it down to the floor between our legs, stand up and lift it over our heads again. Twenty times.

Usually we get the respite of the mats fifteen minutes before the end of the hour. Now we only had five minutes left. I was starting to despair.

But, finally, she got out the mats.

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

I'll never mention the mats again.

Health is Wealth - Silent Evil and Noisy Humiliation

The stage was set for disaster the minute we started our workout warmup today.

Silent Evil asked us each how we were doing and the answers included:

• "Exhausted"


• "Not into this" and


• "Pretty crappy, actually"

And it went downhill from there.

The lowlights included:

• Silent Evil turning around and catching me yawning


• Fluffy Bear very obviously flapping the air behind my butt after I let rip and thought I'd got away with it (better still, I thought he might be blamed)


• Watching Silent Evil bring out ten - count them, ten! - of those plastic thingies that you put under a step bench to make it higher


• Fluffy Bear getting nauseous and heading up to the changing room, leaving me to suffer the torture alone.

But wait, dear viewers, that's not all. The pain comes with a free delivery of humiliation!!!

With Fluffy Bear still upstairs deciding whether or not to have a conversation on The Big White Telephone, Silent Evil made me sit on the mat, lean back, bend my knees, lift my legs, hold a weighted ball and move it from side to side.

And... I farted.

Not like the previous Silent But Violent that Fluffy Bear flapped away. No, this was one of those audible explosions, the pressure built by my abs and glutes being at max squeeze, the sound amplified by the mat's slick rubberiness.

And just when I thought things couldn't get worse... somewhere behind me, two men laughed.

Health is Wealth - More Silent Evil

This is a Silent Evil update, specially requested by my dear friend, EverywhereEventually.

"Squat like a Sumo and then pull up a weight to my chest?
Are you insane?"
"Flap my arms like a chicken?
Are you insane?"
"Balance on a ball like a Seal?
You ARE insane!"

This was Fluffy Bear's rant after our last training session.

Squats and lunges do seem to be Silent Evil's go-to exercise. They are the ice cream before she hits us with the evil toppings.

The Sumo Squat and pull was side by side, each of us holding a bar attached to different weights. Squat and hold the bar in front of you, then stand and pull it up to your chest. I timed myself so I was in synch with Fluffy Bear, but us panting and groaning in time for all the wrong reasons actually didn't turn out to be that much fun.

The Chicken move involved taking a handle of the machine, one in each hand, stepping forward with the maching behind you and then pulling your arms together in front of your chest, keeping elbows straight. It was like flapping your way through thick mud. As I progressed through my 15 reps, my lips got more pursed and my breathing out got more pronounced. I am sure that, by the 13th rep, the whoosh could have blown up Marilyn Monroe's skirt from half a mile away.

The Seal involved adopting a plank pose with hands either side of one of those big balls they have in the gym for skinny ladies to do their ab exercises on.

Silent Evil has an annoying habit of making an exercise look like a piece of cake. There she'll be, in her T-shirt and jeans, stepping effortlessly up to the ball, feet placed back behind her and lowering into a perfect plank, steady as a rock. She explained how, if you used your core and back muscles, there should be no wobbling on the ball.

Right.

We looked like we were trying to balance during an earthquake.

So she showed us how to do it again. And of course told us that soon we'd be doing push ups on the ball, and demonstrated a few. These are the moments when I look at how short and thin she is, and wonder whether I could take her down.

So off we went again.

"30 seconds..." sing-songed Silent Evil.

Wobble, wobble.

"2o seconds..."

I started vibrating from head to toe like Puppy Dog sitting in front of us when we are eating bacon.

"10 seconds! Come on my little lambs..."

I was so thrown by this last bit that I forgot the pain and suddenly she was saying we could stop.

"Did you say 'little lambs'?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said, grinning.

"Lambs to the bloody slaughter!" I scoffed.

She just smiled that soft smile.

It really does look a little evil...

Health is Wealth - Yoga people

Yesterday I went to a Yoga class. This is because I cant attend training sessions with Silent Evil this week and she made me commit to doing exercise before she sees me next time.

There is a hierarchy in yoga classes. It's not so bad in mainstream gyms - the real clique effect is reserved for the specialized yoga studios. I've never been to a yoga retreat but I can only imagine the Yoga Alpha competition there is fierce.

At my gym, it's not so much a clique/hierarchy/Yoga alpha thing as a collection of yoga class stereotypes:

• The Ballerina - this, in our class, was the instructor. A real mastery in yoga is not just the poses themselves, but moving seamlessly and gracefully from one pose to another. The instructor was a small woman, perfect body, lovely long hair and she just flowed from one pose to another making it look not only beautiful, but effortless. This person makes you feel like a hippo having an epileptic fit.
• The Porn Star - there's always one, isn't there? The person who goes "oooooooh" and "mmmmmm" and pants effusively. Go get your camera out and do a Paris Hilton in your own home where I can't hear you, you silly cow!


• The Feelgood Factor - this is that one person in the class who - thank God! - is crappier at yoga than you. Every position that I couldn't hold, by the time I collapsed into Child's pose to rest, I saw she was there already. Every time I lost my footing in a balance pose, I noticed that she had stumbled before me. But this person is no fun when you are stuck in a pose and you have to hold it, every muscle quivering, because the instructor is correcting their stance... again.


• The Chatty Cathies - these are two friends who have come to the yoga class suffer from a shared delusion that they are at a tea party, that their stage whispers are inaudible to others who are standing two feet away from them and that they are so fucking important that it is OK if they are despicably rude.

Health is Wealth - Notes on nutrition

As you may have read on here before, this year is my year for getting healthy. Hence engaging Silent Evil, the Personal Trainer, and Softly Concerned, the Nutritionist.

The first meeting with Softly Concerned went well. She takes the slow but steady approach and doesn't bang a big fat health drum in your face, which is encouraging. Then again, she's no pushover.

We started by discussing the medications and supplements I take every day. I'm not sure she was expecting two bags full of powders and pills. 7 daily medications, which I wont go into, and then the supplements:

• Vitamin C powder
• Probiotic
• Multi-vitamin
• Omega 3 oil
• Vitamin D oil
• Fibre powder
• Fruit powder
• Vegetable powder
• Calcium
• For when I know I am going to have a big meal with lots of meat, a digestive enzyme.

The digestive enzyme made her pause.

"I always suggest to clients that they take a plant based enzyme," she said, squinting at the label. "This one has ox bile and porcine - that's pig - extract in it."

"It has what?!?!?!"

Well those pills were introduced to her trash can then and there.

She asked me questions about any digestive issues, my medical history and my family's medical history. She asked about exercise, and I told her about working out with Silent Evil.

"Do you do any stretching?" she asked.

"We do stretching as part of the routine, and I do yoga at home in front of a DVD. I try to get to the gym to do their yoga classes, but it's hard. They tend to schedule them at Housewife Times."

I laughed. She didn't. She took notes.

Then I had to talk through a typical day... what I have for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was amazing, once I had to think back and actually say it out loud, how inconsistent my daily diet is. I wanted to talk about a perfect day, when I'd have cereal for breakfast, a salad for lunch and something nice like fish for dinner, but with the realities of our lives - business travel, work, social life - there just aren't many days like that.

And so I fessed up to those days when I buy a piece of banana bread with a soy latte for breakfast, eat 5 protein bars because I am too busy to go and get food, reheat bolognaise from the freezer without making any vegetables to go with it, get takeout or eat a pint of Chunky Monkey.

She took copious notes at high speed, making no comment. I felt like a child in front of the school Principal.

She said that it was clear from the description of my diet that I eat too many carbs, and that I probably have a tolerance level which, once exceeded, results in some pretty horrible digestive issues. She also said that I should think more about portion sizes.

"What do you cook as one portion of pasta?" she asked.

"75 grams."

"The right portion size for one person is 56 grams."

My eyes widened in horror.

"Yes," she reaffirmed, "it really is. You have to reverse your thinking - more sauce, less pasta."

"I can eat pasta with nothing on it but some chilli oil and grated cheese!"

She said nothing, taking more notes.

"Do you like tofu?" she asked.

I nodded.

"A great way to prepare tofu is to marinade it in the morning and then cook it on a George Forman grill when you get home."

I liked that idea, and smiled. "That sounds great! So far I only really eat fried tofu, but I can see myself cooking that. At least it's not cold and wet and squisy like the tofu they serve at the salad bar."

"Well," she paused... "some people like that kind of tofu. I do."

And she took more notes.

"You said you made bolognese without making salad," she continued. "What I advise clients to do is a veggie selection. Just put out a tray with some baby carrots, olives, cut raw zucchini... even some canned baby corn."

"Oh, riiiight! Then I can just pick at it as I am cooking the bolognese?"

"Yes," she nodded, "and you can even throw whatever is left into your bolognese sauce if you want to."

"Great idea!"

She smiled, and didn't take any notes. I breathed a soft sigh of relief.

"What I also suggest is an Appetizer," she said, "like half a canteloupe."

"Then you are filling up on the fruit before you even have dinner!" I yelped, anxious now to keep her pen away from her pad at any cost.

"Exactly," she replied.

No notes. Success!

We talked a little more about shopping, what products to buy, what we'd do in the next session. And then I was free to come home and order my grill from Amazon, change my shopping list and eat the last of my protein bars and Chunky Monkey.

This is going to be interesting... next time I'm taking a notepad.

Health is Wealth - Coping with Pain at Personal Training

More PAPT (Pain at Personal Training) today. My personal trainer, Silent Evil, was on form, as always.

I have begun to name elements of training to make them bearable.

1. The Balls of Doom. These are balls, like basketballs, which have weights in them, which I have to carry above my head when doing lunges or squats.
2. The Path of Humiliation. This is a clear walkway in the gym which Silent Evil makes me do lunges, squats or jog along, holding weights which cause various degrees of pain. The path goes between the cardio machines, so I can be pitied by an entire row of people who are thinner and fitter than me.
3. The Bar of Whoosh. This is a bar that gets put at about hip height which I need to lean over and do push ups against. The first five are fine but, after that, I start to pant and force air out of my mouth as I push up, with an audible whoooooooooosh.
4. The Boo Boo Ball. When I was a child, I called any scratch or bump or anything that made me sore a boo boo. This ball is a large ball filled with something that's a cross between polystyrene balls and sand. I have to throw it against the wall about 5 feet above my head then catch it and hold it as I go into a squat. It's very boo boo.
5. The Weights of Ache. These are the heavy weights (about 22 pounds) that I have to hold as I walk or jog along The Path of Humiliation.
6. The Pull up and Pant. This is a machine where I have to pull up from a position where my arms are completely outstretched above my head. By the time I'm past the fourth one, I am panting like Puppy Dog after 20 minutes of chasing tennis balls.
7. The Fountain of Phew! Everytime Silent Evil tells me to take a break and get a drink of water, I hobble over to the fountain as slowly as possible with a gigantic sense of relief. Never has a water fountain seemed so fresh, so restful, so beautiful.
8. The Bastard Bubble of Imbalance. This is a bubble of plastic that has been cut in half that you have to stand on and use your core strength to keep your balance. Silent Evil had me put one foot on it, squat, then jump up and over it so the other foot was on it, and squat on the other side. I just couldn't get it right. I kept trying and trying until I put my foot in the wrong place, twisted my ankle and fell flat on my ass. No - wait - it gets better. As I fell, for some unknown reason, I yelled "Damn!" accross the whole gym, thereby ensuring that absolutely everyone looked up and saw me end up in a sweaty, jumbled clump on the floor.
9. The Frozen Clock. From about ten minutes into the training session, I'm watching the clock. The hands don't move. I swear to God Silent Evil has magic powers and she freezes time.
10. The Mat of Happiness. When the mat comes out, we are close to the end and, even though I have to keep working, at least I get to do it lying down. The mat is too short, my hands slip on it when I am doing Downward Facing Dog and it smells of other people's sweat. I don't care. I frickin' love that mat.

We all have our ways of coping with pain...

Health is Wealth - She's in my head...

Our Personal Trainer, Silent Evil, is getting to me.

This morning I woke up with a sore right shoulder. As I lay in bed, I had this thought:

My back always feels so much better after a workout. It's probably the weights and the push ups against that bar. I don't have any weights at home, but I've been doing a lot of push-ups and I'm getting better at it. Maybe I'm ready to do them on the floor, the old fashioned way. And then maybe my back will fell better.

And....

1. I had this thought when I was conscious and rational


2. I was quite serious and not being ironic in any way


3. I believed myself.

What the fuck?!?!?!?!

She's in my head! She's in my head!

Health is Wealth - When are the endorphins coming?

This is what I asked our Personal Trainer, Silent Evil, today at the gym.

When you exercise you supposedly get a little endorphin high from the pain of the exertion. That's why some people get addicted to exercise. But all I seem to get is the pain and no gain.

Goddammit! Where's my high?

Today Silent Evil made us throw a big squidgy ball up at the wall above our head, catch it and then hold it while going into a squat. Then she had us hold a ball - that has a weight in it - step sideways into a squat with the ball down between our legs ("Keep your chin up!"), then step feet together and lift the ball above our heads. We panted and sweated and generally humiliated ourselves down the length of the gym.

The best one was with each of standing at opposite sides of the gym and doing a relay. Fluffy Bear ran to me with a 22 pound weight, handed it to me and I ran back to the dumbell rack. Silent Evil gave me a heavier weight, I ran and handed it to Fluffy Bear, and so on.

This was all on top of the usual side squats, push ups and normal squats. Three - count them, three - rounds of those.

There was one large woman puffing on a treadmill, thank God, or we would have been the only red-faced, fat, old farts in a gym full of bright, young, skinny things.

Of course I am responsible for us having a hard session today. I started off by telling Silent Evil how neither of us wanted to be there. I think she might have taken that as a personal challenge.

I made sure I gave her her cheque for the next month's training as soon as we got there. In my heart I knew that, if I left it till the end of the hour, I'd change my mind and cancel her services altogether.

Finally we got to the part on the mats. There are three or four sets of ab exercises, but I usually enjoy that part, knowing it's something I can do without too much strain, knowing we're near the end and knowing that, even though I still have to work, at least I get to do it lying down.

But it was spoilt today by Her Perkiness. There she was, perfect body, perfect hair (how the hell can your hair look good when you're working out, for God's sake?!), iPod in, pushing herself ubersuperduperhard and counting in a stage whisper as she jumped from side to side or lifted weights or did pushups or whatever imitation of a jack rabbit she felt like doing.

It's really hard, when you are at the end of a hard workout and can see the end in sight, to keep focussed when you can hear "Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!" going on behind you. It's even harder to remember how many crunches you've done when someone else is counting. It took all my self control to stop myself yelling "FORTY-SEVEN! FIFTY-TWO! NINETY-THREE!"

Perky little bitch.

When we finished working out, Fluffy Bear and I said Thank You to Silent Evil and headed to the changing rooms.

"Let's walk like we're really old and can barely stumble," I whispered to Fluffy Bear.

So we limped and groaned up the stairs, providing comic relief for our trainer.

I glanced back at her... she wasn't smiling.

Health is Wealth - Personal Training

We have a personal trainer. She speaks very softly and hurts us, so we call her Silent Evil.

Our first session was painful. We huffed and we puffed and we sweated and she just kept on giving more instructions, quietly, like a leathal weapon with a silencer.

I found myself watching the clock from only ten minutes in.

"Now we'll do lunges, ten on each side," she cheerfully whispered.

I fucking hate lunges.

"Now fifteen push ups on this bar... Straigthen your body, drop all the weight.... Good job!"

My arms are going to fall off! Forty minutes to go... we're already one third of the way in.

"Now fifteen squats," she breathed.

I feel like I'm taking a dump in public.

"OK, now let's do fifteen forward lunges."

I hate hate hate hate hate fucking lunges! Twenty minutes to go....

"OK, sit here and push like this. Let's do twenty."

"Let's"? I don't see YOU doing a damn thing!

"Is the weight OK for you?"

If you mean is it killing me, then yes.

"OK, now let's start at the beginning and do another round."

Let's WHAT?!?!?!?!

Eventually she took us over to the stretching area and she brought out some mats. I started to relax, thinking that here come some nice, gentle stretches, lying down.

Nope!

Three sets of ab exercises. More pain.

Eventually we got to the stretching part. She had us do a routine where we started with Cat Cow back stretches, pushed back into Downward Facing Dog, putting weight on one foot and then the other to stretch calves and then lifted one leg to sweep it forward into Pigeon.

I'm used to yoga, but Fluffy Bear was suffering.

He was ranting when we went home.

"What the hell was she doing? I couldn't even see how she got into those positions, let alone get into them myself! What the hell? [Imitating Silent Evil's soft voice]. First, put your left toe in your right ear. Now balance on your left ring finger. Aaaaand streeeeetch! What the hell with this Yogi Bear crap?"

Health is Wealth - Gym Jam

This is my year for getting fit.

This is my year for getting fit.

This is my year for getting fit!

OK, now that I have convinced myself, perhaps you'll believe me.

Anyway, I've joined a gym and hired a personal trainer.

Getting used to a new gym is always difficult. You aren't sure where anything is, everyone seems to know everyone else and say hello to each other, everyone seems to be skinner, fitter, buffer than you, you don't know how to work the equipment... and, if you are me, you forget your new locker padlock combination and you have to go downstairs, still panting, red faced and sweaty, to ask for bolt cutters.

But, of course, first I had to suffer the unhelpful Third Degree....

"Don't you have your combination written down?"
"Yes, but that's in my purse, and my purse is in the locker."

"Are you sure you can't remember the combination?"
"Yes, I've been trying for ten minutes."

With a clickety-click on the computer keyboard: "Did you register your padlock combination on your gym profile?"
"No, I wasn't told I could do that."
"Well, when you get your next padlock, you should do that."
Deep breath iiiiiiiiin...... Deep breath ooooooout......"Thanks, great idea. But can you help get this padlock open?"

Of course, the male receptionists can't come into the Women's changing room, so along comes an impossibly young thing who's so tiny she makes Keira Knighley look chunky. She can barely get the bolt cutters up to waist level, never mind squeeze the handles hard enough to cut through the metal of the padlock.

And there's always that woman - isn't there? - who happens to be in the changing room at the same time and wants to "be helpful" by making completely obvious observations which she somehow thinks constitute helpful advice.

"Oh yes, you have to get the bolt cutters right in there."
"It works by squeezing those handles together."
"I've seen this done and it can be really difficult."

And the Receptionist, obviously believing in some twisted sense of customer service, refused to let me help. She huffed and she puffed but she couldn't break that lock down.

She went away to try to " see if there were any other bolt cutters" (because that would make a difference) and came back five minutes later, defeated. There were no other bolt cutters. Perhaps she was expecting to find some that came with a special electric switch, who knows?'

She insisted on trying again. It was like watching a stick insect try to fuck a lion.

I blew hard and sent her wispy body flying across the room (OK, maybe it didn't really happen like that) and got at the handles. An oomph! and a quick shove later, the padlock was broken.

So now I'm the fat, silly cow who forgot her locker combination, didn't write it down or register it on my profile and caused all sorts of trouble for the sweet little Receptionist. On the way out I slunk out of the gym, past the front desk, as quickly as possible. If it wasn't for the Personal Trainer, I'd probably never go back.