I’ll admit something to you….weight and I don’t get along, we never have. Mainly because me and chocolate biscuits get along much better (I’m an eat cake work out later kinda gal) but when I hit the 60 days until Africa mark I decided to become serious about getting fit and healthy for my travels.
3 months around Asia last year got me pretty fit since I was climbing volcanoes and going on four dives a day etc losing me a tonne of weight (well not a tonne, that would just be ridiculous but you get my meaning) and whilst I’ve kept up my fitness levels with work outs since I came home, I decided to get more serious about it and began running recently. Turns out, running and I don’t get along either. Not because I don’t enjoy it; I do *clears throat and looks away* but because it turns me from looking like a lady into something more akin to a Ribena berry bouncing down the street.
But if I want to look bikini body ready then I have to get passed the fear that a really hot guy is going to see me in Ribena mode and keep working out. I also have to get passed the fear of what these say….
When I went to be attacked by a Nurse last week (aka have my yellow fever jab) she decided to do the whole kit and caboodle check so I had my blood pressure taken (A okay) and I was also weighed. I think every woman on the planet will agree when I say that the scales (and more importantly the needle marker) are possibly the worst invention in mankind. Oh how that needle mocks you as it decides whether it wants to make you put down or pick up that packet of chocolate biccies (personally The Devil would have to pry the packet out of my cold, dead hands before I gave them up but that’s just me).
And so I’m about to go against everything that life has ever taught me (and that men always get told off for)…I’m going to tell you how much I weigh. *Oh no, someone in the front row has fainted with shock!! Quick, pass those chocolate biscuits so we can increase their blood sugar levels!*
Are you ready?…
12 stones exactly, 76k or 168lbs for everyone that isn’t British or old.
You know why I’m telling you? Because it doesn’t matter. I have curves in the right places, dropped 2 dress sizes through my Asian adventures and feel pretty damn good about my body. I lost about 28 lbs when I was away but have put it all back on in MUSCLE yet I’m still the same dress size. THAT’S why it doesn’t matter; because I may be heavier than your boyfriend (and I’d be the one offering HIM a piggyback) but you’d be wrong to call me fat.
Numbers don’t account for everything…if they did, every bodybuilder 6ft and under in the world would be classed as morbidly obese. There are times where you just have to say ‘enough is enough’ and care about your fitness/how you feel rather than become a slave to numbers.
If your clothes fit you better than they used to, you’re able to climb that volcano without needing air rescue and you can fit into the wetsuit without looking like an extra from the Michelin Man advert then who cares how much you weigh?!
Are you brave enough to reveal YOUR number?
p.s. Anyone got any chocolate biscuits? I seem to have run out?! See, this is exactly why I don’t like sharing them, even with sick people!!