In Holiday, Italy, random thoughts on July 29, 2010 at 9:55 am
It’s that time of year again, my favourite time. The time when I flit between frantic exercising/dieting and staring at my reflection in the mirror going: ‘But why do I look so crap? I am trying so hard!’
Yes, it’s holiday time, and holidays wouldn’t be holidays unless I put myself through the awful pressure of needing/wanting to lose a stone in a fortnight when I know damn well that my body isn’t made to be half a stone slimmer.
It’s not helped by knowing I am going to come home fatter – we’re heading to Tuscany, land of olive oil, pasta, wonderful breads, cheeses, Prosecco and wines…mouth watering already. So even if I do persevere with my no bread no alcohol no sugar no fun diet for the next two weeks, I’m still going to expand like a puffer-fish within two days.
Me in my maxi dress
So in some respects, why bother? My diet is not aided by my recent discoveries of two wonderful Midlands businesses: Kiss Me Cupcakes
and Cherry Sprinkes
, both of whom create the most exquisite, cost effective and delightful cup-cakes imaginable. I blame both of them for my new addiction.
Delicious mid-morning/afternoon/night snacks courtesy of Kiss Me Cupcakes
I’m hoping to offset the icing with a lot of walking – I want to explore Pisa and Florence as well as spashing around in the pool with my little cousin. I’ve got about 15 days until D(eparture) Day and am on a mission to feel more minnow than whale-like in my bikini.
There’s no room for error or over-packing this time; we’re flying RyanAir, so obviously space is precious and I’ve had to explain to my shoes that I have to travel light and they can’t all come along for the ride. I guess the packing nightmare will be next week’s concern…
In Uncategorized on March 4, 2009 at 11:03 am
My loathing of running is well-documented. I love the idea of it, being free, in the open air and feeling the world rush by as I pound the pavements, but in reality, the stitch and the feeling that my lungs have filled with blood put me right off.
But my friend Darren (who frankly hardly had to worry about the love-handles anyway) has embraced running this year. He’s lost a stone and is suddently super-hero fit – running between six and twelve miles a night (although why you’d do that when you could watch 24 escapes me). He’s lined up to run two races in the next two weeks – one a half marathon and one a 21-mile jaunt.
He’s never felt better and I am almost tempted to give it a go myself. I might wait til it gets a bit warmer though, and no doubt I’ll find a number of other reasons why I shouldn’t. There’s a little park/nature reserve thing about half a mile away from home, so in theory, I could start with a Sunday morning stroll and work my way up.
I could be one of those revoltingly fit women you see all kitted out in lycra and iPods jogging along to Beyonce or something. I do like the idea.
Hmmm. Watch this space.
In Uncategorized on February 26, 2009 at 11:20 am
I am gradually getting back on the right track at last. I’ve reacquainted myself with the cross-trainer and the bike, and last night when Mark got held up and couldn’t pick me up from work, I resisted the taxi rank and walked home – hindered a bit by the high heels, but no doubt working the thighs that bit harder.
One of my key incentives to keep up the regime returned to the screen last night. Ever since I discovered Desperate Housewives a few years ago I have longed to look like any one of them. This series, even though they’ve deliberately tried to make them all that bit more downtrodden and less glam (except Edie, naturally), I still find myself looking wistfully at sunshiney Wisteria Lane and thinking how much easier it would be…
The night before I watched Britain’s Poor Mans’ version of DH, Mistresses. I loved series one but this one is just depressing to me. I hardly live in dreamland and I’ve never believed in fairy tale endings but I can’t help but sit there shaking my head Daily Mail-reader style at the sad state of affairs there. I gave the second episode a go, but given the way that two of them, both apparently tremendously successful, beautiful and with the world at their feet, are on a self-destruct mission, I think I’m better off spending 9-10pm on Tuesdays at the gym on my quest for Gabrielle Solis perfection. Humph.