Losing focus and an inspirational woman...

I think the hardest thing about any weight-reducing and exercise regime (still can't bring myself to use that hateful word 'diet') is keeping the momentum going.

The first week you may be full of resolve, what you need to achieve is clear and besides, it's fun to have a new project, something to direct your attention towards.

Similarly, during those weeks where the weight has demonstrably and undeniably dropped, it is easy to keep going with it, the results are in, it's paying dividends, and you are happy to keep on going.

It has been scientifically proven
that you can't watch watch this programme
without a glass of wine in your hand..

The trouble is those weeks when nothing happens; your weight either stays the same or even creeps up a little and frankly you're bored of doing stomach crunches and jumping jacks. You're heartily sick to the eye teeth watching 'Two Greedy Italians' without a glass of wine in your hand. You are tired of being this person whose whole life has been hijacked by this 'self improvement' bullsh*t and you just want your old life back again (even if you know damn well that your old life meant being immensely dissatisfied with your appearance).

So yeah, last week was a bit like that. Belligerently I bought wine mid-week and ignored any form of exercise, telling myself that life is too short and besides, who cares what I look like?

I think we all have these sort of weeks so I'm not going to beat myself up about it. But it's important to keep the eye on the prize and that's where inspirational stories really help.

I met my friend P when I lived in the desert city of Al Ain, close to the Omani border. We both hung around in the same group of expat women, all of whom were relatively new to the country, and all of whom were dealing with the bizarre, frustrating but quite often hilarious way of life in the UAE.

Collectively we would meet up at the mall for coffee, or get drunk at the Horse & Jockey, or at each other's villas (remember that 80s party? I wish I had more pictures...)

P was a bit of a yo you dieter and as far as I knew had battled with weight on and off over the years. Funny thing is, it's only recently when she posted photos on Facebook of herself back then, that I realised how overweight she was at the time. It might sound a little disingenuous but I didn't really notice, mainly because she was smart and beautiful and a good laugh.

She's been on a weight loss journey of her own, with the help of Slimming World, and she has been steadily losing weight over the past three years. Like everyone's her life has had some dramatic ups and downs over this time, but she has stuck with it and kept going and simply not allowed anything or anyone to stop her.

I'm so impressed with her resilience and feel - and sorry to come over all American here - but humbled by her journey. I've had a lot less to lose and yet have figuratively and actually stamped my foot, pouted my lips and made a big deal about it. Compared to what P's had to go through, my journey is hardly worth mentioning.

To date she has lost almost 80lbs and is half a stone away from her goal. She looks amazing, more beautiful than ever, full of youth and vigour and has a wonderful future to look forward to. I'm dead proud of her.

P, I hope you don't mind me mentioning you in this blog post, but you gave me such a shot of inspiration into my arm this morning, I simply had to.

Race you to the finish line!x

Baby weight and why we should leave new mums alone...

(I'm not writing about myself today since I have absolutely nothing to report. However an article I spotted on Facebook earlier lead me to writing today's post...)

I try not to read celebrity gossip too much, the obsession with weight and appearance drives me nuts. However I must admit to silently cheering last July when Kate Middleton, several days post-partum, appeared to the world’s media looking, well, five months pregnant. In a time when it is only acceptable for post-baby celebrities to look as if the pregnancy and ensuing baby never happened, I felt that Kate was particularly brave.

We seem to have forgotten that gestating and delivering a baby takes a huge toll on our bodies and we don’t simply ‘shrink back’ to pre-baby bodies overnight, even if the media would have us believe otherwise by endlessly printing annoying ‘How I got my body back’ articles.

Now I'm not claiming my weight-gain has anything to do with my last baby, it hasn't. I got back into shape fairly quickly after I had him in fact. But I do think society puts enormous pressure on women to lose baby weight quickly, and this can often tip women into despair if they don't manage it.

A controversial picture has been doing the Facebook rounds recently, featuring mother of three fitness enthusiast Maria Kang looking super slim in a bikini, surrounded by her baby and two toddlers. Overhead is the caption, ‘What’s your excuse?’

Aside from the astonishingly patronising tone of this, Ms Kang seems to miss the point that most new mothers are exhausted, sleep deprived and otherwise occupied in the weeks and months following childbirth, and the last thing they need is to see photos of smug post-baby fitness fanatics berating them for not being in similar shape.

In a recent study, Dr Julie Wray of Salford University found the accepted wisdom – that it takes just six weeks to be ‘back to normal’ after giving birth – was a fantasy, concluding that it takes closer to a year for a woman to fully recover. Certainly this has been my experience, although I too have succumbed in the past to the pressure to lose the baby weight as quickly as possible.

After having my first child – fueled by a story I’d read about Catherine Zeta Jones on a treadmill just hours after giving birth – it became a point of pride for me to regain my pre-baby shape. And so, as soon as I got home from the hospital I embarked on a ludicrous 80 sit-ups a day regime in a desperate bid to flatten my stomach. Nobody told me that my abdominal muscles needed eight weeks just to knit back together and that the sit-ups were actually preventing this from happening. I only discovered my error when I complained to my district nurse that my stomach seemed make a funny triangular shape whenever I sat up!

Sometimes I think our generation of women have gone slightly mad, going to enormous lengths to disguise what is only natural; as if inhabiting a post-baby body is something to be ashamed of rather than celebrating. Back in my mother’s day, women stayed in hospital for two weeks after giving birth; these days we’re sometimes home in a matter of hours! Again the message seems to be ‘pull yourself together, stop making excuses, and get back to normal quick sharp!’

And it’s not just the media that exerts this pressure, other people – especially women – can be remarkably tactless at times. Three days after giving birth to my youngest child I returned to the delivery ward to complete some paperwork. The nurse behind the desk – yes a health professional - eyed my still-swollen abdomen, laughed and said ‘are you sure you’re not still pregnant?’ which frankly went down like a lead balloon. I’d like to say this was an isolated incident, but annoyingly the same hilarious comment was made several times over the following days. Lucky for me it was my fifth baby, so I knew quite well that it takes several weeks for the uterus to descend back into the pelvis again, but to a new mum the first sight of a post-baby belly can be quite a shocker.

And so, as a bit of a veteran of pregnancy and childbirth, I’d like to humbly offer some advice to new mothers or those who are soon-to-be, and it is this: Chill! Enjoy your new bundle, cuddle them, bond with them and, just for a while, forget about what you look like, because at the moment it really doesn't matter. Babyhood is fleeting and you won’t get this time again. Your favourite jeans will eventually fit – I promise – but for now just be kind to yourself.

Good news!

I didn't post this yesterday in case I was being premature and my water balances were messing me around, but since this morning's weigh-in confirms the fact, I shall now share it with you all.

I'm 69 kgs!!!

In English that's 10 stone 12lbs. I'm in the tens!!!!

Oh joy, oh rapture, the pleasure of all that effort paying off is amazing and I feel wonderful. Of course still several kgs to go, but much like reaching your 20th week of pregnancy, I've passed the halfway mark and am now on the home stretch and that is a relief.

I realise I should be wearing the yoga pants I wore in the picture on the first blog entry, but I couldn't be bothered to put them on and besides, I like this dress...

So, Champers all round I reckon! Am busily making a chocolate fudge cake in between typing, since my daughter is home from boarding school this weekend for the first time since she left.

Whooppeeee!!!

To celebrate I'm posting a recipe I nicked straight from Facebook, but it looked too good to not share, and damned the calories!

So, happy weekend! (Or enjoy what's left of it to those of you in the Middle East...)

Chocolate Salted Caramel Tart Recipe:

Makes 6 small 8-cm tarts or one big 22-cm tart

For the Crust:

• 110 gr butter, softened;
• 100 gr sugar;
• 1 large egg yolk;
• 130 gr all purpose flour;
• 30 gr cocoa powder.
In a large bowl, beat butter and sugar until creamy. Beat in the egg yolk. Combine the flour and cocoa powder and add them to the butter mixture. Mix in until it just comes together. Roll out the dough or form it just pressing it with your fingers into 6 8-cm rings laid down on a paper lined baking tray. Fridge the tarts shells for an hour to set. Meanwhile preheat the oven to 180º C. Prick the tart shells all over with a fork and blind bake until cooked through, about 15 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

For the Caramel:

• 125 ml water;
• 400 gr granulated sugar;
• 60 gr glucose;
• 125 ml heavy cream;
• 110 gr butter (if using salted butter skip the salt below);
• 15 gr flaked sea salt.
In a saucepan, whisk together the sugar, glucose and the water and bring to a boil. Salt can be added at this initial step (skip if using salted butter), but I prefer to add it at the end in order to preserve the salt crystals. Cook without stirring until amber colour, if using a candy thermometer it should reach 180º C . Remove the pan from heat and whisk in the butter and the cream until smooth. Pour caramel into cooled tart shells and refrigerate until firm, around 4 hours.

For the Ganache:

• 120 gr heavy cream;
• 120 gr high quality dark chocolate
• Sea salt or kosher salt for garnish
Bring the cream to a simmer. Then pour the hot cream over the chocolate. Wait for a minute, then stir to obtain a smooth ganache. Pour the ganache evenly over the tarts and refrigerate for further 4 hour. Before serving sprinkle with sea salt, but not before as it will melt away.

Tip: If you have any caramel left, wait till it hardens, then tear small pieces of it and dip them in dark chocolate.

Konga in the outback and the redefinition of self...

This morning I did something I haven't done in a very long time; I attended an exercise class at our local hall.

I've been threatening to attend this class for pretty much the whole ten months I've lived here but it took until today to actually make it in the door (the last time I tried to attend it was cancelled which I decided was an omen).

To be fair, the reason I don't usually go for this sort of stuff is because they tend to be in the mornings and bringing the baby along doesn't seem wise, although on occasion I have tried it.

When I was in Perth I once brought him along to a Zumba class, reasoning I could sit him in his buggy in the corner of the hall, where he would sit happily and watch the class. I'm an optimist like that.

Of course this didn't happen. Ten minutes in he clambered down and began exploring. A room full of frenetically Zumba-ing women is no place for a wandering two-year-old and after I'd sent him flying to the ground for the second time with my shimmying bottom, it was clear that my time was up.

To be honest I wasn't that upset. My face was redder than any human's should be at that stage.

But this morning I woke with resolve. I would try it again. He's older now and less likely to interrupt, so I sat him in his buggy, with two books, a drink, a snack and a warning.

This time it was Konga, which is a mish-mash of dance, kickboxing, Pilates and everything in between. (Please note, not to be confused with 'The Conga' which is a drunken human train weaving itself around a hotel bar at 3 am following a wedding.)


And I'm happy to report that it was vigorous, sweaty and yes, hard! To date, apart from my (very occasional) swims, the majority of the exercise for this regime has been in front of YouTube. And while this is certainly effective (to the tune of 5kgs!), it doesn't quite have the same effect as engaging with a real group.

Pride dictates that, when you reach a point when you're so knackered you want to lie face down on the floor, you will soldier on when surrounded by a room full of women who are equally fagged. With YouTube you (well I), simply press pause for a moment while gathering my strength for a moment, which can, I suppose, be detrimental to the particular movement.

As for the baby (OK he's three but since he's the youngest he'll always be 'the baby), he sipped, snacked and watched, waving occasionally and refusing to run around the hall with the other two toddlers in tow. I can't help but feel he won't be so docile next time but we'll deal with that when it happens.

When it was all over I was left feeling jubilant, energized and happy that I can now add Konga to my eclectic little workout pot of Jillian Michaels (for when I'm feeling fat), Tiffany Rothe and the New York City Ballet Workout.

Weight-wise the dial is still tantalisingly hovering just under the cusp of the 70 kg, but I'm confident with this new addition to the regime I will be hitting those dizzy lows soon. Overall I feel smaller than I did six weeks ago, without question, and that will have to do for now. However I do find that this heightened awareness of food and weight is resulting in some pretty impressive baking storms in the kitchen on occasion.

Yesterday I baked enough to cater for a small wedding and my husband and children were packed off to work and school this morning with more than they could hope to eat. I allow myself just a nibble on a corner, but in a way that's enough.

Another side effect is the deluge of body-skimming dresses I've recently purchased, a little prematurely I might add, but which I simply couldn't resist after trying one on in a shop recently.

Losing weight isn't just the dropping of numbers on a scale, it also redefines how we perceive ourselves, and my body image over the past two years has been horrendous, filling me with shame and self-loathing. As the pounds drop I feel I'm welcoming back an old friend who had gone walkout for way too long.

Of course my inner feminist screams furiously at me for quantifying my worth by my size, but it's hard not to; we are conditioned to do this from a very young age, not always consciously, but by osmosis, particularly if we had mothers who constantly dieted and talked about their weight.

But to stay positive about all this, I'm trying to focus on taking care of myself better, of prizing this body I have. I regularly read The Times columnist Melanie Reid, who incurred a spinal chord injury from a riding accident a couple of years ago and has paralysis in much of her body.

Excellent read...

While never preachy, she regularly gently reminds us that these bodies we have are wonderous machines which we should never, ever take for granted.

I'm trying to do that, and as I lie reading in bed each night - currently A Lady Cyclist's Guide to Kashgar - free of alcohol, and exhausted from exercise, I can congratulate myself that I've tried my best that day to make this body better than ever (and we won't mention the messiness that is the weekend...that doesn't count, this is purely a five day a week experiment!).

Nothing tastes as good as fitting into a pair of shorts...

Something truly wondrous has happened. Indeed, truly wondrous. And I'm not one given to exaggeration, which of course you all know by now.

Last year I bought a pair of denim shorts from Next. Denim shorts used to be my uniform of choice in the UAE, teamed with a vest, and I thought this look might suit the outback. And as far as I was concerned a size 14 would be plenty big enough. Plenty!

Apologies for the selfie of my crotch, but it had to be done.

It wasn't. Oh I managed to wrestle myself into them, after a stint lying flat on the bed and a lot of not breathing, but once I was upright again the look was sort of, err, muffin-that-won't-stop-expanding-in-the-oven-and-has-now-spilled-over-onto-the-rest-of-the-tray-chic. In short I looked like Vicky Pollard.

And so, I struggled back out of them and sent them to the deepest, darkest bottom drawer of hatred, a place reserved for a worrying large proportion of my clothing.

But today, most precious reader, emboldened by a particularly good weigh-in (on the verge of tipping into the 60s - any day now), and feeling particularly light and slim of waist, I decided to see if the banished shorts might fit any better.

Reader, they slid on and buttoned up without a whisper of protest and I am now full of renewed resolve (I had been contemplating a mid-week bottle of red to share with DH, but not now!).

So today's lesson is this: the hard slog of working out day in and day out, not to mention sacrificing the mid-week wine, can be demoralising at times and you will feel like quitting. Quite a lot in fact. Certainly during this process so far I've had many, many moments like this. But no scale, no measuring tape, nothing, can make you feel as good as slipping into something previously unfittable. This makes it all worth while.

So one goal has been reached and the next is in view, namely the size 12 denim shorts sitting sadly in that same, dark drawer. 

Ditching the sadism...

Well today I come to you slightly more upbeat and decidedly less truculent than yesterday. The scales indicate I'm almost back to the 70kgs I was so pleased about two weeks ago. Thank god. A lesson has been learned and that is for sure; don't become complacent with any weight loss you might manage, and don't expect it to turn the other cheek just because you are having a bad week. Sending my daughter away gave me a mental hall-pass - or so I thought - to drink mid-week, to not bother with my workouts, and guess what, I gained back a couple of kgs. What on earth did I expect?

But I have better news. I've ditched Jillian Michaels and her sadistic 30 day shred. Yes, you heard me Jillian, I QUIT!

Having been doing these workouts on average five or six times a week for the past month or so, I realised I was dreading them more and more, and what's more, they weren't making a huge difference to me. The introduction of the softer, more balletic workouts a couple of weeks ago, lead me to Tiffany Rothe, who not only does a ballet workout, but has a series of 10 minute workouts on YouTube which tackle different parts of the body - from her 'Get your sexy back!', to her '10 minute booty shaking waist workout'.

These workouts concentrate on lady figures - waists, hips, bottoms - rather than Jillian's '24-things-you-can-do-with-the-plank' approach, which I despised beyond words. I love them, they make me sweat every bit as much as Jillian but without hating every minute of it. Also, being just 10 minutes a go, you can decide to spend as little or as much time as you want, hopping from workout to workout. They're quite addictive actually.

One thing I've noticed with the massive array of workouts available on YouTube is the prominence of ultra-difficult, contortionistic (is that a word?) type workouts out there. As if the more difficult it is to get into the position, the more effective it is. But I disagree with this. If you're trying to do jumping jack while in the plank pose, I reckon its efficacy is reduced by the effort to maintain the pose. Workouts don't need to be difficult to be effective.

So I've been working with Tiffany all week, and the results are every bit as heartening as anything I did with Jillian, and perhaps even a little better since - I'm sure my waist is looking trimmer than this time last week.

Poor St Valentine, where's the love?

So it's Valentines day, a day when we celebrate a match-making priest who was especially keen on conducting secret marriage ceremonies for Christians, much to the chagrin of the Emperor Claudius Gothicus, who ordered he be stoned to death. When that failed, he had him beheaded instead. Ooh I've come over all romantic...

I considered going out for dinner with DH tonight to the one inn we have in the town, which, as ambient as it is with its topless barmaid and enormous TV, I eventually decided against, opting to cook instead.

Am going to try this I think - it's dead easy and really doesn't require instructions, but have added them anyway. To follow will be yesterday's creme egg brownies with cream...

Carrots with Chickpeas and Pinenuts

Ingredients: 

Add caption

olive oil
1 red onion
2 cloves garlic
tin of chickpeas drained and rinsed
4 carrots, peeled and shaved into ribbons
handful of pinenuts
1 x tsp white wine vinegar
1 x tbsp flat-leaf parsely
salt and black pepper

What to do:
- heat oil in frying pan over medium heat. Add onion and cook until soft
- add garlic and cook for a minute then add chickpeas, carrots and pine nuts. Cook until pine nuts are toasted
- drizzle with the vinegar, add parsley and salt and pepper to taste

On being fat and forty...

So as myself and DH power-walked around our little town in the outback of Western Australia last night, swatting the pestering flies which hovered in the air around our heads (yes, those cork dangling hats we see in the movies make sense), and trying to talk over the chatter and squawk of the corellas which are absolutely everywhere here, I pondered on this whole weight-loss lark.

What occurred to me as I sweated, panted and swatted, was that had I done this much exercise ten, or even five years ago, I would be hovering around the nine and a half stone mark by now. No question about it, regardless of diet or alcohol intake.

So what is it about getting a little older that makes our bodies so resistant to change? Well according to a book by Pamela Peeke, 'Fight fat after 40', our metabolic rate drops at a rate of at least 5% a decade after we reach our 20s, and after 40 our stress levels rise causing fat to gather around our waists.

Quite simply, after 40 whatever worked for us before, won't work any more and it's time to take stock of our entire routine.

How unfair this is on women! Like watching the sand disappear through a timer, I feel like my youth is beating a hasty retreat and I'm literally clutching at straws to keep it all together - the desperate workouts, the bi-monthly hair dye, the diet almost completely devoid of carbs. Conversely DH eats what he pleases and is slowly greying in a sexy, older man kind of way. His face carries the etchings of wisdom and experience, he's still climbing the ladder to a fulfilling career. In short, he's still 'got it' and he's still relevant.

Not only am I battling weight gain - and the odds are against me - but I haven't even done anything of note career wise yet. And telling myself that Mary Wesley was 71 when her first novel was published has stopped being a comfort and more of a threat.

So fat and unfulfilled, I may as well simply give up and wait for the grave to open up before me - double width because by then I'll be at least 40 stone.

But wait, according to Peeke, all is not lost! No, all this unpleasantness can be completely reversed if one only sticks to her advice. And it is this: for those of us over 40, it is possible to regain our former trim bodies if we simply ensure we get 45 minutes of aerobic physical activity five or six times a week - basically every day. In addition, make time for at least 30 minutes of strength exercise twice a week.

Also, cut down on portion size; that 25g of cereal recommended on the back of the box? Try that, turns out that's how much you were supposed to have all along! If this is difficult try using a (much) smaller bowl. Or better still, go without - or eat cotton wool, that will fill you up!

See, it's easy ladies! So easy I don't know why I didn't think of it and make that million writing this depressing book, since the advice is as plain as the nose on your face! Basically eat practically nothing, workout every breathing moment of your day, and you too can be not quite so fat as you are now!

This advice makes me want to punch a kitten and then make these brownies (below), and I don't even have a sweet tooth or, for that matter, hate baby cats particularly. In defiance I am going out to get these ingredients RIGHT NOW!

Ingredients

• 3 oz semi-sweet chocolate chips
• 1/2 cup (113 grams) room temperature butter
• 1/2 cup (100 grams) brown sugar
• 1 egg
• 1 cup (120 grams) all-purpose flour
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 18-20 mini Cadbury creme eggs, unwrapped

What to do:

1. Heat the oven to 350F. Line an 8X8 inch baking pan with parchment paper.
2. In a microwave safe bowl place the chocolate chips. Microwave, 30 seconds at a time, until melted. Stir to combine. Set aside.
3. In a mixing bowl, cream the butter and brown sugar until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes.
4. Add the egg and stir well.
5. Pour in the melted chocolate and keep stirring.
6. Slowly add the flour mixed with baking powder.
7. Spread the batter on the bottom of the prepared pan and press in the Cadbury creme eggs.
8. Bake for about 30 minutes or until the top is set and firm to touch.
9. Let cool completely before cutting into bars.

Enjoy!

Desperate measures to smash through the barrier....

I refuse to continue posting the day in the post-titles for this blog since it only draws attention to my lack of progress. My weight has stubbornly remained around 71kgs and I can see a pattern emerging where my weight is yoyo-ing from one end of the week to the other. In other words the weekends aren't really working out for me.

So I feel a little despondent and know that I'm going to have to try much, much harder if I have any hope of smashing through the 70kg barrier. Of course I could just try out the brilliant technique employed by one of the Miss Venezuela contestants in order to lose weight I suppose. Apparently the woman in question had a plastic mesh patch surgically attached to her tongue - a technique developed by, yes you guessed it, a Beverly Hills surgeon - which makes eating solid food painful. Yes, it's an actual thing! (Note to self, never, EVER, live in Beverly Hills)

What a revolting idea!

Or I could just stop being a lazy, wine-guzzler at the weekends and try to stick to water for a few weeks. I know deep down that I will have to do this if there is any hope of dropping the remaining pounds (I wonder if it is possible to be put into a coma for a couple of weeks, you know, just to get over the worst of it?)

The task for this week is to double my exercise to see if it makes any difference. Instead of one Jillian workout and one gentle ballet workout each day, I'm going to do two of both (or add in something new). I know it's time consuming, but life in the outback means no traffic or shopping queues, just lots of time stretching out between making school lunches and and washing uniforms. I'm sure I can fit it in.

Day 29 and time to get back on the wagon...

Really? Day 29 and I'm hardly any further on than I was on day 1. Last week's distractions did me no favours weight-wise but I'm back now, determined to crack on with this. Not least because I'm a little embarrassed that I haven't progressed further than I have - I did after all go public with this in the hope that it would keep me on track. This tactic hasn't exactly worked so far.

The weekend, as predicted, took no notice of my weight-loss regime. And although I did a lot of walking around the city with my daughter, over-awed by the sight of shops and cafes, this was counteracted by the ridiculously over-priced wine and kettle crisps from the mini-bar in our hotel room, that I sipped and munched in bed with wild abandon.

During the weeks leading up to our trip to Perth, I had imagined the weight loss would be complete by the time we left, and I would be swanning around the city looking sleek and sexy. My airport outfit was to be a pair of white size 12 jeans which currently lay despondently in my bottom drawer, unworn and unloved, teamed with a silky Monsoon top which I bought when I was last pregnant and which has never fitted. Airport chic is an important aspect of any journey, and who doesn't want to look like Victoria Beckham coming through arrivals?

I notice that Aussies do airport chic very well, in fact I would go as far as to say it was invented by them. Waiting for my return flight yesterday, I was struck by how very sleek the women looked with their Grecian sandles, silk shift-dresses and large sunglasses, all polished off with an oversized handbag.

I looked NOTHING like this...

By comparison I looked dishevelled and lumpen, my Boden dress alarmingly unfashionable and creased from hours of driving around the city trying to get from City Beach to Fremantle and back again without the aid of a sat nav (no easy feat ladies and gentlemen). My face slightly greenish from the stress of driving an automatic car rental with a foot break so sensitive I spent the entire weekend being thrown forward every twenty seconds (I was beeped on average once an hour).

My hand luggage consisted of a $7 bag from K-Mart, covered in ink stains, and a school bag I had bought for my nine-year-old, stuffed with school stationary - which is impossible to buy up here in the outback - as well as two dumbells I'd promised I'd get for DH.

The whole look was less Victoria Beckham and more Jo Brand.

So today is day 29 but also day 1 of the 'no more excuses' regime and besides, I've promised daughter that I will be wearing those size 12 jeans next time I see her. Onwards and upwards.

Day 24 and I'm not really trying this week...

This is a quick one today, I have actual paid work to finish which I must crack on with, but I wanted to check in and update my progress, or rather lack of.

There is a self-hijack button somewhere in my head, which has a tendency to go off whenever I get ahead in anything, and this weight-loss thing is no exception. Having reached 70kgs last week, and the euphoria which accompanied this, I've managed to avoid sticking to my regime for the past several days and I'm trying not to think about my weight.

I'm  not making excuses - honestly I'm not - but I am premenstrual which does tend to tip me into irrational territory, as well as the fact that I'm flying down to Perth tomorrow to put my eldest child into boarding school for the first time, something which fills me with complete terror, guilt and worry.

So the upshot is, I have no progress to report other than the health-plan is sort of on hold until Monday when I'm back home, less one child.

To compensate with lack of content here, I'm going to cheat and add another recipe. It is for kale crisps which, let's face it doesn't come close to replacing Kettle crisps or Doritos, but sort of satisfies the cravings a little. You can actually buy these from the supermarket for a ridiculously exhorbitant cost; much cheaper to buy a bunch of kale and make them yourself. Plus they're super easy to make.

Kale Chips/Crisps

Ingredients

bunch of kale

olive oil

flavourings - salt/paprika/chilli/cumin...whatever you like

What to do:   

• Remove kale leaves from stalks, then tear them into bite-size pieces.
• Toss leaves in a bowl with the oil and flavouring
• place on a baking tray and stick in the oven (180 degrees) for 10-15 minutes until crispy)

Day 20 and why giving up meat is good for your diet...

I mentioned on day one that I had recently given up eating meat. I won't say I'm vegetarian since I still eat fish - not sure what the correct term for that is, vegefisharian? - but I've found this change to my diet has been extremely helpful in my pursuit of a slimmer, healthier me.

I've noticed that excluding an entire food group is a very good way for you to focus on what you do eat, and can make you far more discerning about your food choices.

It also makes you creative; there's nothing easier than throwing a steak on the barbie or stir-frying some chicken breasts, but when you are making a main meal out of vegetables you really need to use your imagination a bit.

Another upside is that you won't find yourself picking at kids' chicken nuggets when they come out of the oven, or stuffing half a sausage roll in your mouth while you clear their plates.

I promise I won't turn this blog into a food blog, but I simply had to share a recipe I tried out last night - again from Sarah Wilson's 'I Quit Sugar',  which is a wonderful source of low-carb recipes and helpful tips to reduce your sugar intake.

This recipe is substantial enough to work as a main course, served with a nice salad, and even DH was begging for more - more zucchini cheesecake I mean...

Zucchini (or courgette) Cheesecake

This is simply delish!

Ingredients

coconut oil/ghee/butter/oil for greasing

2 large zucchini (or in English, courgettes)

550g ricotta (I couldn't get any so used mascarpone)

3/4 cup parmesan (again, couldn't get this -darn living in the outback - but cheddar will do)

2 green shallots, chopped (I used onions)

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1/4 cup chopped dill (I used a tsp on dried)

zest of 1 lemon

2 large eggs, beaten

1/2 cup crumbled feta

What to do:

• grease a baking dish and preheat oven to 170 degrees
• grate the zucchini (if you have a shredding disc on your food blender, use that, or if like me you don't, you'll be stuck doing it manually which is laborious but worth it). Sprinkle the grated zucchini with salt and leave for 15 minutes before draining as much moisture as possible from it.
• mix the ricotta, parmesan, shallots, garlic, dill, lemon and eggs together
• add the zucchini
• pour into baking dish and bake for an hour. Remove from oven and crumble feta over the top, before returning to the oven for 25 minutes. 
• allow to cool for a few minutes
• dig in!

                     

Day 19, a small victory and a carb-free recipe...

Dear reader, it is my proud duty to bring you good tidings this dazzlingly bright Pilbara morning, and it is this: This diet-hating bookworm has dipped to the dizzy low of 70kgs. Yes, 19 days ago I was 75kgs but let's dispense with silly kgs because quite honestly I don't really understand them. 19 days ago I was a thundering 11 stone 11 lbs and this morning I am 11 stone. That is pretty impressive and just goes to show that paying attention to what you eat, making an effort to exercise and ditching the mid-week wine can make a huge impact on your weight.

To celebrate, I'm going to share a recipe from Sarah Wilson's brilliant 'I Quit Sugar'. Don't be put off by the title, it's a really inspirational book and contains the basic science surrounding sugar and the western world's growing dependence on it, as well as tons of sugar-free recipes.

The truth about sugar...

It turns out that the demonising of fat that went on 20 or 30 years ago, as well as the deluge of fat-free products which became mainstream in its wake, was a false message. The sugar was the real demon, and as products were rendered tasteless by removing the fat from them, sugar was added to make them more palatable. If you take a jar of normal mayonnaise and compare the sugar to a jar of low-fat mayonnaise, chances are there is far more sugar in the fat-free one. Result: the western world is now dependent on sugar and fatter then ever!

It's a sobering thought that sugar is pretty much added to everything we buy these days, from bread to pasta sauce, and if you want to avoid it you have reassess your entire lifestyle and learn to cook - and fast!

This recipe is particularly tasty, easy to make and a nice treat for a lazy Saturday morning breakfast, with not a scrap of sugar in it!

                         

Bacon & Egg Cupcakes

Ingredients

Coconut oil or ghee for greasing (I use whatever I've got - butter, olive oil...)

6 rashers bacon

6 eggs

crumbled feta (optional)

chopped chives or any other green herb (optional)

What to do: Preheat the oven to 200 degrees and lightly grease a 6 cup muffin tray. Use the bacon rashers to line each cup and then place in the oven for five minutes or so. Remove from oven and crack each egg into each cup and sprinkle the cheese and herbs on top. Bake for 15 minutes then remove,  allowing them to sit for a moment before removing from tray.

As an alternative use smoked salmon instead of bacon, or you could use a broccoli floret and whisk the eggs and pour onto the broccoli.

Yum and not a carb in sight!

To find out more about Sarah Wilson's book, go here - www.sarahwilson.com.au

Day 18 and a change of tack...

So my weight has remained stubbornly hovering between 71 and 72kgs and I'm a bit peeved to be honest.

My diet is blameless: I eat two or three times a day only and this is made up largely of spinach, baked fish, poached eggs, very small amounts of grains such as quinoa or freekeh and tons of salad leaves.

I ate one small chocolate biscuit wafer the other night and I don't even know why - I don't have a sweet tooth. I think I was just feeling rebellious.

I've been doing two Jillian Michaels workouts a day: level one on my own in the mornings (albeit with lots of children milling around), and level two in the evenings with DH after our evening walk.

I've kept wine to weekends (with the odd slip-up on a Thursday, but considering the above this is a small crime overall).

And so, I've decided that while Jillian might be making all sorts of amazing things happen under my skin and in my muscles, she's not doing a whole lot to make me smaller, so I'm going to change direction a little.

And the solution is my old friend, ballet.

I felt as ridiculous as this!

I started ballet classes in my early twenties and it kept me slim and able to spend enormous amounts of time out clubbing, drinking and generally carousing, without ever getting fat. I loved it although pirouhettes on a Saturday morning after a big night out can be tricky.

And apart from the time in my 30s - having just moved to a new city - I rocked up to a so-called 'adult' ballet class, and was subjected to an hour long lesson surrounded by giggling 12-year-olds, (the teacher said the adults would 'be here soon'...they never arrived) I've never had a bad experience in a ballet class. (I'm cringing just writing the above - oh the humiliation of trying to keep up with a bunch of lithe, pubescent girls!)

After baby number four I was topping the scales at 78kgs and decided to go back to ballet, within six months, without any other alteration to my life, I had lost roughly 10kgs. So it definitely works.

I've done the New York City Ballet Workout (see below) many times - I have the book and DVD - but it can be a little tough going for a beginner, but this morning I happened upon Tiffany Rothe workouts, which are short and easy to follow. They focus on a different part of the body each time, so you can pick and choose. God I love YouTube - it makes living in the middle of nowhere bearable!

The thing to remember about ballet is that, unlike our friend Jillian's frenetic workouts, the exercises may seem rather low impact. But similar to Pilates, what they do is strengthen and stretch the muscles to create a toned and slender body. You don't see many female ballet dancers with hulking great muscles now, do you?

So yes I will continue with the hateful level 2 workout with DH in the evenings, but my new daytime regime will consist of gentle plies, tendus and ronde de jambes. Let's see if it makes a difference...

And if you're up for a challenge...try this!

Day 16 and another word on workout wear. And a soup recipe...

Apropos of yesterday's post, I just HAD to post this photo I came across in The Times this morning. It accompanies - ironically enough - an article about workout wear and features the photograph below, from the new collection by Stella McCartney for Adidas. And I can't detect a hint of irony when the journalist writes: 'Happily, brands such as Stella McCartney for adidas have helped shift the perception that all women are pink-lovin' Barbies and subtler hues now abound.'

Really, is pink really so bad that this is a suitable alternative? I'd rather look like Barbie than a deranged angler any day...

Rain-mac and fishnets anyone?

But I guess as long we have super rich people, we'll also have ridiculous clothing to assuage their need for over-priced crap and the Emperor's New Clothes will always be a relevant and cautionary tale...

Names! Names! Names!

Anyway, today I've come over all Nigella-esque, and have decided to include one of my favourite recipes in this blog. Being a soup recipe, it's not exactly rocket science, but for me soup is a magical food that at once fills you with warmth, scatiety and comfort, while delivering very little in the way of calories. This combination for me is a winner.

And so, here's my recipe for - Warm and Spicy Pumpkin Soup

(disclaimer: I'm not big on measuring stuff, preferring to use my own judgement, which is why I struggled a little with the measurements below - if you feel you need more or less, go with your instinct)

I stole this picture off the internet because I didn't bother to take one of my own...but I promise, it looks exactly like this!

Ingredients: 

Half a pumkin - any kind (you could use parsnips, carrots, swede also, but I find pumpkin easier to prepare and tastier)

1 x onion

1 x tsp of garlic (or more...I use more but then I like strong flavours)

quarter of a teaspoon of crushed ginger

1 x tsp of cumin

1 x tsp of coriander

1 tbsp of Vegetable Stock (I use Vegeta gourmet stock)

2 x tsp of lime juice

Cream (optional)

Chili powder/pepper to taste

What to do

This is a really easy recipe and once the pumpkin has cooked takes me just minutes to prepare.

You could go through the arduous task of peeling and and slicing the pumpkin and then boiling it, but I simple cut it in half, scoop out the seeds, and place it on a baking tray and stick it in the oven until it's done. I cover it with tinfoil to stop the top burning. It can take at least half an hour to cook - maybe more...

Don't do the next step until the pumpkin is cooked - prod it with a knife to see if it's soft.

Chop the onions any old way (it won't matter, you'll be blending this), and toss them in the soup pot with a little oil, garlic and spices. 

Remove the pumkin from the tray and place it on a plate or chopping board (or something..) and simply scoop out the filling - which is by now nice and soft - until all that's left is the skin.

Toss the pumpkin flesh into the pan with the onion and spices and let it sizzle for a minute or two.

Pour in the stock (which you've made up with water...basically fill the pot to three quarters of the way up) and let it all simmer for a few minutes.

Add the lime juice.

Blend the whole lot together. (I use an electronic hand blender, it's so much handier since you can blend it all right there in the pot without all that messing around with stand alone blenders).

When it's all smooth, taste it to see if it needs salt/chili/lime juice (which I like to use to add a little zing).

For DH I mix in some cream as I serve it, it makes it taste a little richer. For me, oh goddess of the diet, I do without! (You could add greek yoghurt, but it tends to clump once it hits the hot soup, so you'd need to give it a little whiz with the blender...it's just too much trouble for me...)

Sprinkle with a green herb - coriander, chives, parsley - anything, it will just make it look prettier...

This is delish, healthy, full of nutrients, and can do for lunch and dinner without a hint of guilt. You can even spoil yourself with a slice of bread for dipping if you're feeling really naughty!

Now, where's my cook-book deal?

Day 15 and a word about workout gear...

I got the seven-year-old to take a photo of me this morning, in order to compare with the dismal photo posted on day one of this challenge. But I refuse to share it with you since I haven't changed in the slightest. No, despite the swimming and the sweat-inducing workouts, the austere diet and the week-day alcohol-ban, I look EXACTLY the bloody same, just a bit sadder.

But I won't be put off, I know there is no way my body can be experiencing all this health and well-being without benefiting in some way, even if it's not exactly showing yet, so I shall soldier on.

This morning, as I prepared myself for my morning workout with Jillian, I realised I couldn't find my workout pants. I need to point out that the laundry room is basically a giant mountain of clothes which are sometimes tossed into the washing machine, washed, hung up to dry, then thrown into the cupboard where they remain until someone pulls them all down on to the floor while looking for something else, which sees them rejoining the mountain of washing and going through the entire process again. A bit like Buddhism for clothing (don't analyse that analogy too closely).

In short, it is impossible to find anything in there and I was forced to continue on with the workout in my nightie, plus a bra for safety reasons.

'So what?' I reasoned, 'workout clothing is just another way to get people to spend money - you can really workout in any loose clothing - a nightie will be JUST FINE!'

As I began the jumping jacks I suddenly realised the reason we have tight-fitting, lycra leggings for this sort of thing. The only way to describe the noise is to imagine the sound that two sea lions might make while having sex. SUSLAP! FUFLAP! CUCLAP!  as my thighs beat each other into submission to the beat of the music.

I sounded like humping sea lions...

'What's that sound mummy?' asked the passing nine-year-old. 'Oh, oh nothing...erm...' I muttered before pressing the pause button and going in search of something suitable from the washing pile.

But I must admit I do like to shop, and the best part of starting a new hobby or activity is shopping for the gear.

Before I had babies, I once decided to start flamenco dance classes and spent a pleasant afternoon buying the shoes, a long skirt and a CD of flamenco music to practice to. I looked forward to discovering my inner Latina, to unleash the JLo from within. Tragically my flamenco career was short-lived; one lesson of clattering about behind the rest of the class, trying to stomp to the off-beats, left me hot and humiliated - especially since Esperanza the instructor insisted on pointing out my mistakes to the rest of the (incredibly experienced) class. An hour later I skulked out of there, never to return.

I've always promised myself I'd one day give flamenco another try, and those shoes have followed me half way around the world, and are currently sitting despondently at the bottom of my wardrobe...

But the fact remains, it's time to go out and buy some proper gear, my one pair of K-Mart sweat pants just won't cut it I'm afraid. I need gear designed to hold in the flab so that it doesn't attack me while I'm working out. And it helps if it's a little attractive and feminine - hey anything helps when you're flat on your back, sweating like a pig, trying to keep up with the DVD while your family step over you on the way to the fridge.

I wonder if Sweaty Betty deliver to Australia...?

Day 14 and 'help!' my enthusiasm is waning...

I'm two weeks into this experiment now and have hit that stage where I'm a little bored of it. My weight is stubbornly stuck at 72kgs and I can't help but feel that losing anything further is impossible. I haven't exercised in three days, slumped on the sofa all weekend watching movies, and am generally feeling crappy and dispirited and in need of an injection of enthusiasm for this process.

Found this on Pinterest...it's not really helping...

I think part of the problem is my overall approach to this process is a little vague. Although I would never join something like Weight Watchers, I can totally see why they work. Ditto specific diets - Paleo, 5:2 etc.. because they provide you with something to focus on. But because food is not my focus, I'm struggling to find something that I can focus on.

After I post this I am going to take my measurements and keep track of them each week. I'm well aware that weight can fluctuate up and down due to time of month, water retention etc. so it's more useful to assess the centimetres.

I'm also sticking a photo of me in a swimsuit - taken four years ago - looking much smaller than I do today, in the hope that it will encourage me a little.

If you have any other suggestions or ideas to spark some enthusiasm, please post them below, I need all the help I can get!

For now, I'm going to climb back up onto that wagon, put Jillian Michaels on the laptop and force this body to burn some calories...

Day 10 and 'drinking; a love story'....

So the scales went up a little this morning, which only served to remind me that you DON'T WEIGH YOURSELF EVERY DAY!! I should know this by now, but the thrill of the scale going down a little can make your day. Conversely, should it stray in the opposite direction it's enough to make you feel like sinking down at the door of the fridge and stuffing yourself with cheesecake. Or, if you're me, grabbing a box of cheap wine and taking to the bed with a copy of 'The Illuminati: Facts and Fiction'.

Which brings me to today's topic. Drinking. It has to be addressed I think.

Let's get it out the way. I love drinking - I loved it from the very first time I tried it. For me it turns up the colour of life to 10,  it fills me with happiness and love for all, it transforms the dullest night into a festival of rainbows and fireworks. It's transformative. It's magic. Or as Caitlin Moran puts it - you're now 'boarding the sky-sailing pirate ship to whiskey Valhalla.'

DH likes a drink too, but in a different way to me. He'll say of a night, 'I think I'll have a beer or two tonight' and then goes on to do just that - has a beer or two. Then he goes to bed content, the drinking is over.

Dude where's my wine?

I don't understand this type of drinking. I honestly can't see the point.

For me, having a drink is a gateway into a parallel universe, where everything oozes with potential, the night brimming with promises. With alcohol I can happily watch a three hour documentary on helicopters and manage to find it interesting. The kitchen becomes party central, the dullest person in the world becomes a fascinating project for me to fix. As one of my oldest friends from school once put it: 'all my friends might have left the pub, leaving me with the saddest, oldest drunk in town, and I'll still stay for another drink'. There is a reason we were friends.

This is also the friend who introduced me to the 'three drink rule' whereby if you stray beyond the second drink and onto the third, all is lost for the night since reason has now beat a hasty retreat, and the party is on. And it's not uncommon for DH to walk into the kitchen at midnight and discover me pulling everything out of the cupboard, looking for an old photo album while yelling into the phone 'I've got to find that photograph - wait, wait, I think I have it!' 'What are you doing?' he'll ask, 'It's only Tuesday!'

Frequently, on a Friday or Saturday night, DH will grumble, 'there's feck all to do tonight, wish we could go out', and I'll be genuinely confused by his comment. There's wine in the house isn't there? What's the problem? The night is our oyster! - who knows where it might lead? The alcoholic carte blanche that the weekend presents offers a cornucopia of opportunities; from singing a karaoke version of 'Cool for Cats' by Squeeze on the kitchen table, to heated discussions about the death penalty for apostasy in Islam. It can mean long, drunken phone calls home to my brother in Ireland to complain about the Australian government's obsession with immigrants, or plans about how we're going to open a bijou guest-house opposite the seafront in Kinvara whenever we manage to actually save some money.

Of course there are times when drinking is not my friend, when reason flies out the window. Like the New Year's eve party I hosted in Al Ain, which saw me kneeling at the ipod player for two hours, obsessively searching for a Michael Buble song which I didn't even have on download  (I was asleep by 11pm and missed the whole party), or the time I sent a whole table of drinks flying at one of DH's staff Christmas parties, (he was made redundant a couple of weeks later...).

But overall drinking is a joyful experience and one which is best confined to weekends considering the above, and looking forward to it can make the endless exercise and cottage cheese worth it.

So here's to Friday night and the ride to Valhalla....