The World According To Me

I made it, albeit with a cosmo induced hangover (I know, I know, cosmo's are soooo 2004). My appointment turned out to be with the bloke, whom I spent the entire hour trying not to look in the eye lest they belay my very real intentions to be to really, really, really good and healthy from now on (and not have dirty hangovers). I was also convinced I was sweating out that stinky alcohol smell too. But before I left home I had downed about 2L of water and had to walk about a kilometre to pick my car up from outside the pub where I'd left it the night before, so I was feeling more 'together' than I otherwise may have been.

I had to fill out their 3-page questionnaire on what my goals are and what I eat for breakfast and how much exercise I already do at the moment, etc. I decided not to try and sugarcoat it to make myself feel better so when we were discussing my answers later I explained to him that I feel as though I'm an all or nothing person when it comes to fitness. I will be going to the gym 5 times a week without fail and will be feeling great and that it will take one tiny disruption to my routine and I will fall off the wagon, after which time I will be attempting to fuse to the couch while stuffing my face with twisties.

We then went through the fitness assessment including being weighed (!!) and finding out my body-fat percentage. Whilst I am relieved that I am more me than fat, there is still a lot of room for improvement. We went through some basic exercises in 30 second blocks to get a bit of a yardstick to work from herein - 30 seconds of tricep dips, crunches, squats, bicep curls, push-ups, step-ups etc, all the while with my heart-rate being monitored to see how my body was responding to the effort (poorly!).

So all of that took about 40 minutes. For the remaining 20 he guided me through what he said would be fairly typical of a session - basically more weights. I would expect that in an actual session there would be a fair proportion of cardio as this is what I feel that I need and this is also where I will benefit from having someone beside me, pushing. Because I am, fundamentally, quite lazy when I am only accountable to myself. Thus the whole motivation behind wanting to go to personal training from the outset.

All in all it was really great, although I would like to perhaps work with the lady trainer there to see what the difference is. I am told that she is a lot tougher, and that may perhaps be better suited. The dude was good, but there was a lot of 'that's excellent, keep going you're doing great' type of guff which made me a little wary.

So hopefully this week I'll get a call to sort out when I can start going on a regular basis. I'm planning on one 1-1 session and one small group session per week. This way my bank account won't get completely broken and it leaves me some nights to go to the gym and work it out for myself.

Yay!

# posted by Kymmy : 1:43 pm  1 Comments

How many times can you hold up a pair of shoes to someone and ask "How much would you pay for these?", have them answer (the actual amount they guess is not important) and then you say "How does three dollars and forty cents sound, huh?!".

The correct answer is eleven. Twelve if you count the person who says "I wouldn't pay anything for those". But I don't count that person. That person has no place in my life.

# posted by Kymmy : 11:05 am  0 Comments

Last weekend I was supposed to go and see this personal trainer to have a fitness assessment and find out exactly how fat and unfit I have become since I got my winter lazy on. The day before I received a phone-call postponing the appointment because of a "scheduling conflict" and to my surprise, I was actually disappointed. Usual disappointments for me include; realising I have no sweeties in the house when I am stoned, the quality of television on Thursday nights, and men (generally), but certainly the prospect of not having my arse handed to me on a sweaty platter by someone I am paying an exorbitant amount to would not usually have me feeling let down. So you know, there's something to ponder. Weird.

In any event I am now booked in to go and see her/him (there's a boy personal trainer and a girl personal trainer and I am not sure which one I am seeing or would prefer to see) tomorrow morning. After my appointment I hope to be motivated, pumped up and inspired, with "Eye of the Tiger" playing on repeat in my brain. In reality I am expecting that I will come away wondering how I let myself go so badly.

Because I am easily distracted, this reminds me of the time a friend of mine went to a new gym and they did all her measurements etc, including her body fat percentage. She was (and is again) a big girl, but she was distraught when her body fat levels came in at 52%. FIFTY TWO PERCENT. She said "Kymmy, I'm more fat than I am me". We laughed then and I still laugh now, but for the love of God I hope that doesn't happen to me tomorrow.

# posted by Kymmy : 10:03 am  0 Comments

I have missed all possible episodes (2) of 'Farmer Wants A Wife' and now I won't be able to watch it at all. Don't judge me for wanting to.

I want to live in a cosy apartment by myself and have everything I need within reach of the sofa. I want to live in a cosy apartment by myself and have my whole home heated, negating the need to turn on the electric blanket on my bed two hours prior and run the gauntlet from overheated lounge room to bed-warmed-on-one-side-only through the freezing house when I want to go to sleep.

It is nice to hear the message tone on my phone beep nowadays. There is a 65% chance the text is from a boy in Adelaide and if so, there is a 80% chance the content could be described as 'sweet' or 'interested'. If the message is received after 9pm on a weekend then there is a 97% chance that said content could be described as 'reflective', 'flirty' or 'hopeful'. On a mostly unrelated note I have booked flights to go back to Adelaide in 6 weeks time for another mini holiday.

I posted here a few weeks ago about how slobbish one of my housemates was. I was angry. I took the post down a couple of days later. A couple of days after that we had a booked-in, sit-down 'house meeting' where over wine I called her a slob and she called me moody and now we're the best of friends again. She is coming to Adelaide with me.

I am booked in to have a fitness assessment with a personal trainer on Saturday morning. As described to a friend in an e-mail, I need a "massive kick to the box" to get me back on the wagon. I desperately want to look and feel better this summer than summers past. Desperately.

I like using the word 'box'. Don't judge me for doing so.

If one has 'feelings' (what are they again?) for a boy with whom one has made the sex with on a number of occasions and thinks one actually has a connection with and then said boy wants some advice and warm soothing words because he's accidentally going to become a dad and is scared it is perfectly acceptable for one to tell him he is a dirty whore and to get your fucking hand off my leg while you tell me about your impending parenthood, fuck you. It is then required that as one walks out of the bar with a head full of wine stemming drunken tears while muttering 'I can't believe I held out for him' that your best friend puts her arm around your shoulders, makes clucking noises and declares that you are far too good for him anyway. Even if deep down you know that you are not good enough and that is precisely the problem.

I want to go to Spain.

Riddle me this - why the fuck would I accept a friend request on Facebook from an ex-boyfriend who had done the dirty on me and I have had absolutely no contact with since we broke up (aside from screening calls) and do not ever want to hear from again? In the event that he is reading this blog, which I am fairly certain he does: Fuck off and leave me well alone, yeah?

I like the taste of chardonnay too, too much and this disappoints me. Why can't I like drinking a slightly non-bogan wine, say a Sauvignon Blanc or a Pinot Gris?

The answer, my blogfriends, is that as much as I hate it, I am more than a little bit of a bogan.

If all was right in the world I would be having a baby this week. Not all is right in the world.

I am booked in to have a sore, probably infected, wisdom tooth pulled tomorrow. In the chair. I only go to the dentist when I can eat no longer, but fear of pain does not influence my decision. Fear of having my bank account emptied rules it.

The reason I don't take my car to the mechanic as often as I should is based on the same reasoning.

One thing I love about winter is observing the obsession that Agnes and Esme have with the gas heater in the lounge room. They jostle for the best position and start out like snuggly little kitty-loaves, paws tucked in and tail wrapped firmly around, but as they get warmer they stretch into the most wonderful positions. Esme does one on her back, with all fours in the air, not a care in the world . As they get warmer they get more pliable and placid. By 9pm I can arrange Agnes like a doll. It is most fun.

I am not enjoying my job.

I have cooked 'balanced' meals almost every night for the past week. Except for Friday, when I ate warm bread and yoghurt based dips. It floated in my belly atop the wine. How's that for a curdling visual.

When I walked to work this morning the air was so cold and sharp it felt like it was slicing through my throat. I took in the deepest breaths I could and it was the most alive I have felt in a long time.

# posted by Kymmy : 12:19 pm  1 Comments