66 posts tagged “women”
Yep, this morning was my last chance training session. Because tomorrow is the day I go shopping for a pair of swimmers.
See, I've been trialling this new way of living where I take one day at a time. Just live that day. Don't worry about the future and forget about the past. The one flaw with this plan is that one day you happen to glance at your calender and realise you'll be leaving for Thailand in three weeks and don't have a thing organised.
So I'm off to the big(ish) smoke tomorrow on the dreaded swimming costume search. I will have an egg on toast and a glass of juice before I go so I feel fortified and strong. You don't want to risk any mid afternoon blood sugar level drops because that could lead to depression and feelings of self loathing.
One thing you must remember when trying on swimmers is that there will be none of those awful change room down lights that show up every dimple of cellulite, on the beach. Another thing to remember is that 99% of people are perfectly average just like you. So unless there happens to be some sort of super model convention happening where we are I should be fine. And if there is...... well best not to even contemplate that.
But I am shopping for swimmers at a great time. I've just lost 7 kilos so I'm feeling pretty damn fine and this morning I managed to fit into a pair of size 10 Cue pants which didn't hurt the self confidence either. Plus it means I have something to wear to my nephews wedding next weekend.
But the main thing going in my favour are the people I'm travelling with. There will be my daughter Kimba and her friend Nat, both 21, almost 6 feet tall and gorgeous, and there will be Lizzie, 17, beautiful, all dark and mysterious. So no ones even going to be looking at me.
Of course Jem will be there as well. She's 5 years younger than me at 40. She's at that difficult age where you still feel like you have to show you've still got it. Whereas once you hit (almost) 46, you're not as hard on yourself. I mean there comes a time where you just have to say, this is it. This is me. I eat healthily, (well, except for the wine, but its not going anywhere) and I exercise like a demon, and this is as good as it's going to get. And its not that bad.
However, having said all that, I still find shopping for swimmers to be the most horrendous job out there. Hopefully it all goes to plan.
I admit to being a Denise Austin fan. Even though she never shuts up. And she always lies. But you get used to that. I now know that when she says
just one more
She doesn't really mean just one more. She means just that one more then a few more after that.
I've been doing the Fat Blasting Yoga dvd. Its pretty strenuous. And just when you think its over she brings out the stability ball and does another 15 minutes.
When I first started doing it a few weeks ago my legs would be wobbling and shaking from the effort but now I'm pretty good. My thighs feel like they're packed with cement actually. Jem was feeling them the other night and said I'll be able to crack coconuts with them. Which I guess could come in handy someday.
And I've lost 5 kilos which is also pretty handy. 4 more to go. But my aim is really firmness. I want to firm up all those bits that start going soft after 40. You know where they are. Triceps, back fat over the bra, thighs, well lots of places really.
And I made this magnet a couple of years ago when I was trying to lose weight and I think its time to put it back on the fridge to help the cause. Because she's 52 and looks pretty damn fine. And firm. Thats my aim. To be fitter at 50 than ever before. So I have 5 years up my sleeve.
I was reading a post by nonya about the perils of public toilets and it reminded me of an email that arrived the other day. Because really, there's nothing much worse than a public toilet experience is there. Especially when you go in and someone is doing a poo. Which I always think is totally uncalled for. I always feel soiled for the rest of the day. And I worry then that the poo person will get out before me, then the next person will come in as I'm leaving and think I'm the poo person. But I am definitely not the poo person because I will wait days before I poo in a public toilet.
Anyway here's the email.
When you have to visit a public toilet, you usually find a line of
women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn,
you check for feet under the cubicle doors Every cubicle is
occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down
the woman leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch.
It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your
pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum,
no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if there was one, so you
carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum would turn over
in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!) down with your pants and
assume ' The Stance.
In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake.
You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or
to lay toilet paper on it, you hold 'The Stance.'
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you
discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser.
In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Dear, if you
had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet
paper!' Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the
one that's still in your bag (the bag around your neck, that now you
have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That
would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's
still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.
The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of
your chest and you and your bag topple backward against the tank of the
toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing
your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the TOILET SEAT.
It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too
late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and
life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet
paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,
because you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet
seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases
you could get. By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose
against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that
covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.
The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab
onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the
wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a sweet wrapper
you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the
sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic
sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and
walk past the line of women still waiting
You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the
very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from
your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?)
You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and
tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this..
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and
left the men's toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why
is your bag hanging around your neck?
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest
rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains
to the men what really does take us so long It also answers that other
commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand
you Kleenex under the door.
Why does everyone wait until I'm on the treadmill before they decide they have to tell me something really important!
Is it too much to ask for 50 minutes (in a row) to myself. Obviously yes.
This has been going on for fifteen years.
When the kids were little they'd give me about ten minutes alone before they'd turn up in the garage wanting to tell me something, or have a fight about something, or had hurt themselves on something.
And now its Daz.
This morning he roamed back and forth in front of me a few times so I was sure to see him. He blew his nose, spoke to the dog, bashed things about in the kitchen until finally I got off and said to him -
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT
Turns out he wanted a couple of invoices typed up. Now I'd just like to point out that we're talking 7.30am here. Thats the trouble with having a home office, people think you're on call 24/7.
I was really really cranky.
really cranky
Why do you love your body?
Sponsored by Body by Victoria®from Victoria's Secret.
Well, thats funny actually that you ask.
My body, Your body, The Body.
I don't know if its big news around the world, but here in Australia its pretty huge. Now if you don't know, there's really no easy way to break it to you. So brace yourself.
Elle McPherson has cellulite.
I know, its shocking isn't it. I've only just come to terms with it myself.
Can you imagine, a 45 year old woman with a bit of cellulite on her thighs. She should be shot really. Thats if she hasn't already done the job herself after seeing her lovely self plastered over a full page magazine spread, with people debating should she or shouldn't she wear a short skirt, is she or isn't she mutton dressed as lamb. I mean really, how long did we expect her to remain flawless. 50, 60, would we still be calling her The Body when she's 70. I mean she does have A Brain as well you know.
And do you know that in the same magazine (I was in the waiting room at the dentist), I discovered something else important.
Did you know that apparently in the eighties, Madonna had flabby arms. Those were the exact words. Flabby arms. Well, she fixed that problem didn't she. No flab there any more. But I'm glad we're still discussing it twenty years on.
And the thing is, I'm never sure if these revelations are supposed to make me feel better or worse about myself. I think they're supposed to make me feel better. I'm supposed to take some sort of pleasure in other peoples supposed flaws, ridicule them, and feel better about myself. And I say flaws, but believe me I do not see cellulite as a flaw, or a trouble zone. I hate those words - flaws, trouble zones, character lines.
So, what was the question again? Oh yes, why do you love your body. Well I don't really. But it does the job its meant to. It gets up early in the morning and it goes for a run. It spends the day carrying around my heart and my lungs and my brain and my soul. It is healthy and fit and strong. It has tattoos and pierced ears. It has cellulite and wrinkles and freckles. It has double jointed fingers and an extra ankle bone on each leg. It has given birth to three children and breastfed them. And its strong enough to haul my disabled fathers body around when he falls in the shower or can't get out of bed. And I'm pretty sure it's shrinking.
Anyway, who stands around saying they love their body???
And what the hell happened to Vox Hunt.
BRING BACK VOX HUNT instead of qotd.
I was wondering last night when, or even if, Elle McPherson is going to cut her long hair.
I was watching her on Top Model at the time. I don't just sit around thinking about Elle McPherson and her hair.
But it is luxurious and I did have a moment of envy as I grabbed a handful of my own hair that is currently in recovery from the razor treatment it received. But it still sits around my shoulders, and Elle and I are about the same age. And it is something I have pondered before.
At what age are you too old to have long hair? Or are you never too old. When I was younger I always thought that once you hit 50, long hair just had to go. But as I hit 40 and head towards 50, I'm changing my mind.
Ok, firstly (if thats a word), I refuse to do the perm. Even if its the purple perm. And I won't do the middle aged lady bob either. Oh, I'm not a fan of the grey bob. But I don't want to look like Heidi's grandma either, with a long tatty grey braid twisted into a bun. (I don't actually know Heidi's grandmother by the way, so she could have a crew cut for all I know). Which raises a good point. I've seen a few old ladies with really close cropped hair and they looked pretty funky. And I have seen a terrible long hairstyle on an old lady. Its grey and it hangs around her shoulders and its always a bit dirty and very thin on top.
So I don't know. I like my hair shoulder length, but up. Which makes me worry that I'll end up with some sort of bun style that I let loose at night and brush 100 times before I go to bed and let it float around my pillow. Softly. Which of course it won't because my hair has the texture of steel wool. But I'm sure they'll have invented something by then to fix it.
It's a quandry.
Is there an age where you shouldn't have long hair anymore?
I've had my share of varicose veins. And probably have plenty more to come. In fact I've had so many veins either ripped out of my leg, or injected and shut down, that its a wonder my leg is not just a withered husk of skin hanging from my hip.
Veins are like roads my doctor told me. The blood finds a way it likes to go and then just uses it all the time, and your vein gets bigger and more used up and then the valves won't close properly, and next thing you know, you have a varicose vein.
And your brain is kind of similar, but with thoughts. Circuit roads. The more you have certain thoughts, the easier it is for your brain to think that way. So you can retrain your brain to have more happy, positive, calm type thoughts. I was reading this in a book called Happy At Last, whcih was pretty interesting.
Foe example. Say you are stuck in a traffic jam and you start getting stressed. And you start swearing and slamming the horn and getting cranky, then you just started that little road in your brain, a little connection. And the next time you're stuck in traffic, your brain will go - ahhhh, I know what they want me to do, because they did it last time, so it's easier for you to be cranky and stressed again. But, if you're sitting in the traffic and you do a bit of deep breathing, listen to a bit of music, watch the birds fly by and stay calm, then that connection is made, and the next time you're in that situation again, thats what your brain will want to do.
It takes a while though. Like anything, you have to practice it for about three months before it becomes a habit. So you do it with any thoughts, even just smiling. And so even though your little smiley road circuit in your brain might start out like some dark little track that only a mountain goat can find his way through, if you just keep doing it, before you know it you'll have a huge smooth four lane highway with B double size happy thoughts rolling along it.
Now, back to the veins.
Do you know how they strip a varicose vein? I had to have a huge vein stripped, a main vein. One that runs from your ankle to your groin. And what they do is cut the vein at the ankle and cut it at the groin. Then they start at the ankle and feed a tube up the vein, all the way until it pops out at the top at the groin. And when it pops out these little hooks spring out and catch over the top. So then they grab the tube at the ankle, and rip it as hard as they can and pull the vein out. And yes, there will be bruising.
And I was looking at the doctor when he was telling me they would be doing this, and I said
won't I bleed to death? Aren't there other important things attached to that vein, that should stay that way?
But he said apparently not. He said if they went in and cut all the connected veins with a scalpel then I would have a major blood loss problem. But he said if you just rip them out, it's so traumatic that all the other veins just clamp shut. But what about the blood flowing around, where will it go now, how will it travel. And he said, it just finds a new way.
Amazing really, the old body, and how it just works (most of the time).
Imagine being the first person who ever had their veins stripped.
Okay - now we've never tried this before, but this is what we'd like to try.........
Ever since I did a month of painting, the arthritis pain in my fingers has been terrible. I've even had to start buying gadgets to help me open cans and stuff. I'll go back on the mobic for a week but I'm not supposed to take it for long periods because it raises your blood pressure. So I was doing a bit of research on other things like diet, supplements that might help. And I came across an article that suggested I should eat a lot of
shark fin soup
mussles
tripe
pigs trotters
hmmm, I have to say as a non meat eater, who is not a big fan of seafood, that sounds pretty awful
There seem to be a lot of different opinions out there regarding diet and if it helps or not. Some people say tomatoes should be avoided, some say white flour, others say avoid dairy others say have it.
Ah well, as Pat Rafter once said - Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean you know anything.
I was at the bakery yesterday and I was having trouble getting coins out of my purse because I'd just been in the freezer section at the supermarket so the fingers were pretty stiff. And the woman working there told me a story about how she used to work at a chemist, and this old man used to come in and his arthritis was so bad that his hand was totally curled into a claw. But he could do this trick where he could roll a twenty cent coin right across the back of his knuckles.
I just looked at her, not sure how I was supposed to respond to that. As if maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have claws, as long as you can do tricks with them.
I'll be the freaky old lady in town. All the kids will be saying
Man, have you seen that old witch with all the tattoos and the CLAW!! She can do some mean tricks.
Have I mentioned that I hate painting ceilings?
Patterned tin ceilings. That you have to dab dab dab the paint into. With undercoat, then two coats of colour.
Sigh.
I've done my room, Lizzies room and now I'm onto Lloyds room.
And while I've been painting I've been listening to the television. And I can not believe the shit that is on day time tv. And all those informercials. Does anyone even buy any of that stuff?
Today I was on the ladder painting and I started laughing so hard I had to get down.
It was an advert for a skin care range called meaningful beauty. (As opposed to the unmeaningful type I suppose). And there is a doctor, who is such an expert in the beauty industry that he is called the youth guru. And apparently he is so good that you can spend three hours sitting in his waiting room, waiting to see him. If you were so inclined. I guess he doesn't make appointments.
But I know his secret.
It's a melon.
A rare melon mind you. Grown in the south of France. With SUPER antioxiants. And they have taken these super melon antioxiants, and put them in a cream that you only have to pay a small fortune for, to put on your face.
And it's funny. Because last night I was watching Rick Steins French Oddyssey cooking show. And he was in France as well.
Eating melon.
Just standing in the melon field, with a knife, slicing the fresh melon and eating it.
And he took a melon back to the farmhouse and he made a salad. With melon, tomato, bocconcini cheese and fresh herbs, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
And I reckon it was ten times, fifty times, better for your skin than any cream could be.
And even though I was laughing, I felt sorry for all those women who believe the hype.
I saw a woman today with the most pronounced dowagers hump I've ever seen. And I hang around with a lot of old people.
Her body was a hairpin bend.
Her head was trying to do a U turn.
She was crossing the road and I'm not sure how she could even see it was safe to cross. She couldn't possibly look straight ahead.
And I sat there watching her sending a message to myself
eat more calcium
eat more calcium
eat more calcium
Because I don't eat dairy. It aggravates The Wierd Undiagnosed Throat Problem that I have. (Which has been particularly bad this weekend I'm sure due to the consumption of a chocolate sundae on friday night).
However I do have calcium supplements. The bottle sits on my kitchen bench where I forget to take them every day. And I know I just have to get into the habit of taking them. It just has to become a habit. A teacher once told Lizzie you have to do something 50 times before it becomes a habit. I guess unless it's heroin or crack, then I'd seriously reduce that number.
Although a doctor once told me that calcium is only a very small part of bone health. Exercise is more important. Weight bearing exercise. When you work your muscles, they pull on the bones and that makes the bones strengthen. I will be highly suprised if I ever break a leg bone. My thigh muscles are huge. I've been cycling a lot and the other day I tried on a pair of jeans that hadn't fit me for a while and although they now fit me around the waist, they are very snug around the thighs.
And I did drink a lot of milk as a child. And they say thats important. We had a guernsey cow that Dad used to milk every morning. He used to set off with the dog, with some fat wrapped in a tissue. He'd rub the fat on the teats of the cow - who's name was Guernsey - then throw the tissue with the smeared fat on it to the dog. Then he'd fill a large silver pail with milk and brink it back. We used to let it sit overnight so the cream rose to the top. And then we drank it. No homogenised, pasturised in our house. Just fresh milk. So I hope I banked up a fair slab of calcium from that.
But yes, ladies, exercise, up the calcium intake and remember,
SQUEEZE your shoulders back every time you think of it.
SQUEEZE.
