Last week I experienced a defining moment, an epiphany if you will. I finally forced myself to buy and fit new batteries to my electronic scales, a task that would not have been so arduous had they just taken normal batteries rather than alien, coin-shaped, lithium efforts. Anyway, whilst fitting them – and managing to drop the plastic piece from the back of the scales down the toilet, resulting in kneeling and delving whilst wearing one rubber glove, and then washing said piece one-handed whilst still wearing the rubber glove – I placed them on the floor, turned them on and prepared myself for the worst. Fear struck me upon lifting my foot in order to take the first step towards svelte, slinky beauty. This feeling was compounded into horror when, instead of a reading of zero showing the scales’ eager anticipation of their first use in two years, I heard an ominous beep, looked down and discovered that the screen instead read “OL”, for overload, without my foot ever touching them. Words cannot express the feeling of despair when your scales protest at the mere sight of you.
...this, and the fact that my swimsuit doesn't fit is making me seriously rethink my decision to swim 3 miles for the charity for which I work. The simple answer would be “buy a new swimsuit” but when you’re already wearing the “tent” model and the next size up could be stretched over a frame to accommodate 80 people for a wedding breakfast, that’s no easy answer. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure they make them in “marquee”….
Those of you who know me will know that I’ve always been a swimmer, or rather than I’ve always liked swimming. Actually I’ve always liked being in water and the swimming just kind of goes along with that. I’m pretty good too, well, I was anyway. The movement and the technique come quite naturally – it’s merely the stamina and fitness that elude me.
A few years ago I joined a triathlon club in order to get in shape whilst doing something I loved - obviously ignoring the running and cycling. The coaches were hard, the drills were painful and the feeling of completing a session was wonderful – here was something I could do! I would no longer be the black sheep of my family, preferring a lie-in and a slice of cake to a 7am gym session! Of course, this jubilation was short-lived and with in a year I’d given up. Although, to be fair, I never actually made a conscious decision to give up, I just realised that I’d stopped going about two months earlier. The lasting lesson I take from that experience though is that I can, in fact, do it. If decadence and lethargy were not my ruling planets and motivation was widely available, I could certainly do it.
Last month I turned 30 – years old that is, not stone – and now that I’m starting to come to terms with it I think there are a couple of things I should own up to. Firstly, I am fat. This is something I seem to have been avoiding for the last few years, but I’m afraid there comes a time when you suddenly realise that you might indeed once have been slim and lovely, but that was 10 years ago and it’s time to update your residual self-image. No more untagging myself in double-chinned Facebook pictures – it could possibly be time to just admit that I’m fat. Also, I’m old. Yes, yes, I’ve heard that 30’s the new 20, and that wrinkles are back in fashion, but when you’ve spent the last twelve years thinking that you’re 18 it comes as quite a shock. So, yes, compared to the long-legged teenager I thought I was, I am old.
Funnily enough though, age and wobbliness have very little to do with why I decided to swim this 5 kilometre nightmare. It was my boyfriend and his enthusiasm for races and challenges that spurred me on – not to join him and share in his enthusiasm, but rather to avoid being left behind on the couch until I inevitably merge into it and he replaces me. Age and weight were periphery reasons until I thought about them closely and decided, in short, that it would be far more pleasant to be 30 and have the ability to slide into skinny jeans rather that vacuum-pack oneself into Bridget Jones knickers.
Watch this space....
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