Exercise, Life Journey, Mental Wellbeing, Stop Smoking, Weight Loss

To Post or Not To Post

It’s been some time since I’ve posted. For the first time in nearly a year of writing this blog, I’ve actually not felt like writing. That’s highly unusual for me, but there are reasons behind it, as you’ll soon find out. Anyway, I don’t know what has compelled me to proverbially pick up my pen again, but I think it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve got  much to catch up on, so I’m going to post 3 separate articles – this one, another tomorrow and the third on Friday morning.

I always said I would be honest when I wrote this blog and not sugar-coat anything or hide anything, in order to show the real story of weight loss, exercise and adopting a healthier lifestyle, like a real, normal person. Everyone knows it won’t be plain sailing, but sometimes things can get the better of you. What you have to remember is that we are human. It’s not like typing a command into a computer and everything just slots into place. Scientists always talk about factors and variables – things that affect the outcome of an experiment. In life, there are many variables, and if there were no tough times, no-one would have to go through a journey like I’m going through. Ever. So it’s not the things that happen to you that you need to worry about, but how you react to them and what the hell you’re going to do about it.

All my good intentions that I talked about previously for 2014 have been hijacked severely, through absolutely no fault of my own (for a change!). The last four weeks have been consuming, confusing, saddening and frustrating.


I attended the funeral of my great-uncle (Gran’s older brother). Of course this was a sad occasion, and many ask what all the fuss was about. He was 94, in excellent health up to 12 months previously, and died in no pain.
In a way, I sort-of agree – after all, he’s had good innings and was fit as a fiddle, sharp as a tack long after many others of his time were failing and ailing. Of course the funeral made me sad, as I’d had a great time with Uncle W, and used to send him letters talking about the farm and all the goings-on.

This is not what upset me. The funeral service was as lovely as can be, and everyone was very proud of a very extraordinary man. What upset me was my wee Gran, nestled in between the rest of us, sitting proudly and delicately wiping away a stray tear between readings – clearly proud of his achievements and the man he was. She coped well throughout the whole ceremony, and as she stood to leave, dissolved into uncontrollable sobbing. That ended me. My grandmother is 91, and has survived and coped with the loss of many. She shouldn’t have to go through this again at her age. For the first time ever, I saw my gran as a poor little old woman. And that made me sad.


My running has been going really well, and I was getting excited for my upcoming race at the beginning of March. I’d been reading a lot of magazines and website articles about how to plan a year of races – plotting in my head the best time to do what, with whom and how. This really gives me structure to my exercise and helps to keep a focus when things get tough. I’ve stuck to my half marathon training pretty rigidly, so I know this is something that works for me. Lists, plans, numbers – everything that makes me tick! Even reading about it makes me want to go out and run 😀

It’s out the window.

All of it.

Look back at some of my more recent posts. Look at the weight loss. Back and forth, back and forth. I assumed the cause of this was my mental barrier at 12 Stone. Not so. There may be an underlying factor. I’ve found out that I have a problem with my left ovary, and not only is it causing hormonal strife (I thought my ridiculous mood swings were due to stopping smoking) it can, indeed cause issues with losing weight. DAMN YOU. This, however, is not a problem. It’s the fixing of the ovary that’s the problem. If I don’t have an operation, it may render me useless for having children (I don’t have any, and at thirty, won’t be leaving it much longer) and could cause further complications. I’m not even bothered about having an operation, it’s WHEN. Anyone who has had experience of the NHS will know that although generally it’s pretty good (Hell, in Scotland we don’t even pay for drugs anymore) they are notorious for being excruciatingly slow for procedures that aren’t life-threatening. I could be called in within a few weeks, or it could be months. The average woman recovers from this procedure in 8-10 weeks. No bending, no heavy lifting and certainly no running for at least 2 months. Raging.

I can’t plan. I can’t register for races, (well, I could, but might end up bankrupt) and I can’t plan training. When I found all this out I swear, I was the angriest woman in the world. I finally get my shit together and sort myself out, and now a gimpy ovary is going to ruin my racing plans for most of the year. I actually thought, “What’s the point?” I can bust my ass and still watch the scales yo-yo from week to week with no control over it, and then I get to sit on my fat ass for two months like a bloater, ending up back where I started.


Bring It On, Sissy

One of the traits I recognize in myself is the fact that I’m a typical hot-headed Italian. After I’d spewed all this information out at my other half, my mum, and my friends, stomped about, slammed a few cupboard doors, threw some plates (okay, I made that one up) I got drunk and went to bed early. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, but it always works for me.

I woke up the next morning, and thought REALLY hard about how I struggled with my weight the first time round – being out of breath after a 5-minute walk, looking frumpy in everything, and just generally hating myself at 21. I thought about struggling with my knee, and how it affected my exercise.

Then I thought about my first few runs last summer. I thought about the ‘Happy Wardrobe Dance’ and how amazing it feels when clothes fit that you couldn’t fasten. I thought about the joy of beating Walter into submission when it’s a loss on the scales. I thought about how I never, ever want to lose the freedom of running ever again. I have to keep fighting. I NEED to keep fighting. I’ve worked too hard and come too far to sling it in the slag heap now. Even if I gain everything I’ve lost over the course of this fiasco, I’ll know I’ve kept up good habits and pushed as hard as I can, so that when I am fit, I’ll just be carrying on as normal. I also reminded myself that this operation is the means to an end – once I’m better, I should have no further complications and hormonal blips, so my weight-loss efforts will be rewarded as normal. So now I’m ready. Bring it on, Sissy.

So you can see why I’ve not had a notion to write, as I’ve been digesting all of this in my little brain and turning it into positives wherever I can. A few days after the funeral, I called my Gran, told her I loved her and that I was as proud of her that day as she was of Uncle W, and promised her that if anyone else passes away, I’ll pop a cap in her ass so she’ll never know. She laughed. That’s a good sound.

As for my weight loss, I reminded myself that my weight won’t necessarily go up, it could also come down….. aaaah, see? In the run up to race-day I’ve been pretty nervous and not eating as much as normal, but I made sure I had plenty of carbs the night before and a good breakfast on the day. I weighed in at home on Friday morning as I couldn’t make class on the Saturday because of my run, and the scales read 11st 13.5. My scales read half a lb heavier than my leaders, and I knew it might be a fleeting number, so I ran upstairs and did the quickest Happy Wardrobe Dance you’ve ever seen! It put me in a great frame of mind for my race, and I knew I’d got my mojo back.

The size 12 jeans are ON!


1 thought on “To Post or Not To Post”

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