No Fear November

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I decided that November would be about doing things even though I was afraid; about not letting fear get in the way of taking on challenges.

November has been a good month.

Here are some of the things I did in No Fear November:

  1. Walked into a spin class late.
  2. Dealt with a frog without running away.
  3. Went to the dentist, and booked a follow-up appointment.
  4. Went to different classes at the gym with unfamiliar instructors.
  5. Wore MAKE UP and FAKE EYELASH THINGIES and did a saucy photo shoot for beloved.
  6. Wore a singlet in public.
  7. Drove beloved’s big dyke truck car a lot.
  8. Dealt with Medibank after they screwed up my health cover, without getting overwhelmed and just letting it go.
  9. Made a list with nine items on it, instead of an even and pleasing ten.

The thing about fear is that it’s relative. What sends me into a blind panic may not barely cause a ripple for you. So my list might not look like much. For me, though, these are things that would not have happened if I didn’t have #nofearnovember in my head. Or they would have, but with so much anxiety and panic that I would have been projectile vomiting the entire time.

Just accepting that I was absolutely going to do something even though it scared me removed that element of power that anxiety can have over me. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t always pleasant. But I bloody did it.

So what now? Do I go back to letting anxiety be the boss?

No.

I discovered that I actually kind of like letting my stubbornness be the boss instead.

No Fear November is going to lead in to No Doubt December. For December, I’m going to believe in myself.

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Beloved, the flatmate who isn’t the flatmate anymore and I all completed the Santa fun run on Sunday. It was incredible to do the 6km with these two women by my side: Beloved, who has stood by me and loved me and even put special cream on my chafed bum. The flatmate who isn’t the flatmate anymore, who has been my best friend for over ten years and has seen me at my absolute worst and loved me through it. I had wanted to use the run to see how my time had improved over 12 months. I wanted to run as much of it as I could, and use to prove to myself how much had changed.

Here’s what changed:

I had no nerves. I was fine in the crowd and chaos. These things are routine for me now. I didn’t huff and puff at all. Walked and enjoyed it. Didn’t take many photos – I just wanted to soak it all in.

It wasn’t about the time. Or the agility or the speed.

This one, after 12 months, was about being thankful. For what my body has done. For the journey so far. And for the people by my side.

With those things, but especially the last one, how can I have any doubts?

No Doubt December. Are you in?

All is well

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It’s been another big week at The Naughty Corner, one that I ended in Sydney with my sister for early birthday celebrations. We tend to do a lot of giggling, a lot of gazing at her dog and discussing his resemblance to Dad, and a lot of watching Harry Potter.

I was only there for a couple of nights, we have a huge week about to kick off here in Newy so it was back home to do a spot of pressure washing. I love this. It was a bit shocking though, to see how much mould and grot can accumulate when your back yard has no drainage. These are my sexy legs afterwards:

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I’ve gotten myself into the routine of getting up an hour earlier than I need to, then having some quiet time watching the day start. We live opposite a park, so it’s usually pretty quiet at that time. Just birds waking up and random people off on a run to start their day. And I watch them run and wonder what is going through their heads. I tend to have an internal mixture of Christmas Carols and theme songs that provide the soundtrack to my own walks and runs, regardless of what I have playing through my earphones. I’ve accepted that I’m not the kind of person who is cool enough to trot along in time to something more modern and sophisticated. Besides, I quite like carols.

The flatmate who isn’t my flatmate anymore is coming up to visit this weekend; I am so freaking excited about it. There are some people you miss, but then there are others where it feels like they are missing from you. That second one is the flatmate who isn’t my flatmate anymore. I have other friends like this, they’re pretty few and far between though, which is what makes them fit into that second category. I think eventually you work out who your people are, and then you treasure the guts out of them. Yes, the guts.

It’s nearing time to start the day. We have a To Do list that’s a mile long. But all is well. Life is changing, life is the same, life is trundling along, life is happening.

And all is well.

PS It’s not too late to donate to the Variety Children’s Charity as I get ready for the Santa Fun Run this Sunday!

Other things

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I am deliberately not writing a damn thing about the decision that was made by America. Instead I am going to write about other things.

When I was in year 5 or 6, we had that school captain/house captain thing happening at primary school. I went for both roles, and I have a vague memory of going for school captain in year 12 as well. I had no success, and this was possibly a good thing for all concerned. I know in high school one of my platforms was that the girl’s toilets needed to be fixed – we had a situation happening where there was one roll of toilet paper and each girl needed to take what they needed before going into a cubicle to smoke or gossip. This was because I went to school with people who felt it was clever to throw full rolls of toilet paper into the loo. Toilets were never going to be a strong platform, maybe I was just ahead of my time, who knows.

Doing life with teenagers again as an adult, I often found (and still find) myself thinking, “What the hell happens inside your head to think that this is a good idea?”. I am thinking this again today, regarding the decision I shall not write about.

I woke up this morning. I’ve settled into a routine where I wake up, sneak out of the bedroom, make a cuppa and go and watch the morning unfurl. It’s a beautiful little zen time for me. And I did it again today.

Then I heard beloved wake up, and Zelda prancing to the back door.

Then we made a second round of cuppas. We said good morning to the fur babies. Threw the ball a million times. Harry had his treats. We did the morning poo patrol. A couple of loads of washing. Mundane, mundane, but life.

And it’s carried on.

From the moment I read my first Harry Potter book, I immediately fell very much in love. They’re my go-to when a bit of normality is required. Yes, I am aware of the irony of finding normality in a fantasy series. But it works for me.

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How are you faring today?

What would you do?

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I’ve come up with an idea.

It’s based in that feeling. I don’t know if it’s a feeling only I get, or if other people get it too, so bear with me and I’ll flesh it out for you a bit.

You know that rising jittery feeling you get in your tummy when something you’re scared about happens? Or even looks like it might happen? What about when all paths seem to be leading to you having to compromise on things that you have avoided because they make you anxious? Are you like me, and refuse to do things because you honestly don’t think you can? Or, commit to doing something, then pull out at the last minute because it’s just too scary and confronting?

These are the things that have governed so much of my life. And at 38, I’m calling bullshit on those things. They are valid – this is not about saying you shouldn’t be scared or anxious or any of that. Because those responses are always valid. You’ll get some gurus who tell you that fear is irrational, I call bullshit on that, too. Fear is totally rational. It’s generally based in experience, or research, or gut instinct. Three things you cannot refute.

But what if it didn’t control your life. What if?

Just over 12 months ago, I made a choice to change my life. I suddenly had an ankle that wouldn’t let me down. And I had realised that unless I worked on my health – seriously worked on it, getting my weight under control and increasing my fitness – I was signing up my family to the heartache of another sudden death.

So, I made a choice. And it was a choice. I had two options: keep going how I was, convinced that my body wasn’t able to do anything to help me and to continue to be lost in grief; or just test out what my body could do, and turn that grief for my mum into a motivator.

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It was not easy. It. Was. Not. Easy. Not at first. But slowly, it became routine. Get up, go to the gym, walk slowly on a treadmill. Or get up, get my shoes on, and walk slowly around the block. I started where I was, probably at less than where I was, so convinced was I that I couldn’t do anything. But the thing is, I started.

Which leads me to now.

Throughout this experience, the biggest thing that has held me back has been fear. Even now, when I know I can do all sorts of stuff. It’s almost like a habit, to doubt myself and come up with reasons to be scared.

But imagine what we could do if we removed fear from the equation.

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I have deemed this November to be NO FEAR NOVEMBER. I’ve challenged myself to turn off that fear reaction. Because ultimately, I still have those doubts about what I can do and how far I can push myself.

#NofearNovember is about doing things anyway, until I find out that I can’t do them.

We’re 9 days in to November, and so far?

I’ve gone to a different class at the gym, with an instructor I don’t know, and been totally fine.

I changed plans and rescheduled stuff, and been totally fine.

I organised a confronting Christmas gift for beloved (big shout out to Style By Divine and Pearl Davies), and been totally fine.

On Saturday I’m taking on my first Park Run. And I’ll be totally fine.

The thing is, I’m still scared doing these things. But I guess there comes a time when you have to again, make a choice. Be stopped in your tracks by fear, and regret the fuck out of the things you don’t do.

Or.

Do them until you find out that you can’t.

#nofearnovember

Are you in? Use the hashtag and show me what you’re going to take on. Or, search it on your social media to see what I’m up to.

A HUGE thanks to Josephine, Suzi and Alice who have all gotten behind me with the Variety Fun Run – you can still donate, the link is here!

 

Just an update

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Today is Friday.

Actually, no, no it’s not, it’s Thursday. Sorry about that.

All week there has been social media and news reports and updates about that tragedy on the Gold Coast, at one of the theme parks. Four people died. Tragic, yes. But do we really need all the updates every half an hour? And the recordings of people who were there and the people who say it’s in bad taste that they could still buy their souvenir photos from other rides and the people that say they were on that ride once many years ago and oh my god it could have been us? Something like this happens and the attention whores come out to play don’t they. I’m looking at you, Mamamia. I’m not downplaying the tragedy, or the heart-wrenching world the families are now living in. But god, when did it become so vital that we knew every single detail about every single event?

My memory of this particular theme park? About four years ago we went there, beloved and I and the Bear and her mini-me and beloved’s kids and one of their friends. And I was too fat to fit on the first ride I tried to go on, so then I was too scared to try to get on any more after that.

I would fit on the rides now. But to be honest I don’t know if I want to go back there. That extremely overweight, morbidly obese fat person mentality is really hard to change, to realise that I don’t need to hang on to it and wear it like a coat of distancing from the world anymore.

I haven’t seen a lot of writings about how to recover from what I am affectionately naming “Fat Head”. It’s a brain space, that I believe anyone who has been significantly overweight learns. The mentality of automatically grabbing the absolute biggest sizes in clothing stores. Of walking straight past the majority of retailers because you still assume there’s no way their clothes would fit you. Of sitting carefully on fold out chairs, in case you flatten them, of coming up with reasons not to sit at all in case you flatten chairs. Of realising that the foibles you have long focused on – gut, arms, arse – that they’re becoming less of a problem, but you just can’t see it. You just can’t see it.

You just can’t see it.

So I’ve decided I’m going to do some exploring into this Fat Head thing. What it is, how it gets there, and how to change it. Not today, I have other shit to do, but soon.

What is driving this for me is the sheer frustration I cause myself. I spend so much time thinking I can’t do things. But I actually can now. I can.

This photo is the most recent update. The left is last Friday night, before I disgraced myself at a local bar thanks to a steady stream of cocktails. The right? About 4 years ago.

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I feel so sad when I look at the girl on the right. She has the same brain as me. The same musical talent. The same heart, the same attitudes. She treats people well. She cares for others. She loves long and hard and is devastated when she sees people feeling hurt or sad, and tries to fix it. She loves animals and the quirks in life. She laughs, and means it from the pit of her belly.

But she’s a before photo, and she didn’t even know it at the time. Maybe learning to love that girl on the right is at the beginning of unravelling Fat Head.

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I’m not where I want to be yet, in terms of weight loss. But I’m getting closer each day.

But essentially, this is just an update.

Do you know what I mean by Fat Head? Have you experienced it?

 

 

Two

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Two years ago, I was waiting.

The surgeon was running late.

I got a call from my sister, who was quite worried about things.

Beloved was by my side, the queen of my army of supporters.

And we waited.

Finally, I got wheeled off to surgery.

Drifted off to sleep, and woke up with a brand new ankle.

The original injury happened around seven years earlier: I’d fallen down a flight of stairs, severing the ligaments that support my ankle and gravelling off the end of one of the bones. The surgeon I had to see at the time looked at my body, looked at the xrays, and said (and I’ll never ever forget this) “If you were an athlete, I’d fix it. But you’re not”.

So, for the next seven years, I broke my ankle. Again and again. Or twisted it. Or sprained it. And it got worse and worse.

Then I saw another surgeon.

This man, he became one of my heroes.

He took one look at my ankle, gave it a tug and watched how that pull had no end point except for when my skin got too tight.

He told me how he would fix it, and when.

On surgery day, he was running late.

So two years ago, I was waiting.

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I didn’t know it then, but that surgery saved my life. It certainly altered the path of my life. It took another surgery on my calf, a procedure on my Achilles and a shit load of physio to get me walking correctly again.

Exactly twelve months after I took my first steps, I did my first fun run. The Variety Santa Fun Run, raising money for the Variety children’s charity. I got slightly lost on the course and did an extra kilometre, but I did it.

Since then, I’ve done at least one fun run a month. I’m not sure on what the final tally is, but I’ve collected a swag of finisher medals and shirts and bibs.

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So far this year, according to the app I use, I’ve clocked up almost 800km. Just me and that repaired foot. And I still, still, get that buzz of joy every single time I start.

It’s not until you’ve been unable to do something for so long that you realise how much you love it. Love the freedom that being functional offers. Love the sense of achievement that one step after another brings. It’s been hard though. Realising that the barrier that I had for so many years no longer exists.

It’s so hard to explain, the fullness of the emotions that surround this day. Grief, for the years spent just… unable. The joy at these new days – and yes, even after two years, they’re still new days. The sheer amount of time I lost, not able to do stuff. The things I avoided. But now, the almost daily surprises I get when I do something that I couldn’t do. Or when I jump on and off beloved’s truck tray, then realise that I stuck the landing.

I stick the landings now.

In November, I’ll be back where I started with these fun runs. To finish off the year of fun runs, I’m taking on the Variety Fun Run again. I’d love it if you could throw in a buck or two, to help Variety help kids in need. Here’s the link for my profile.

It’s funny. It’s joyful, but it really is a sense of sadness about those years spent thinking that the first surgeon was correct; that I didn’t need or deserve surgery because of my body shape.

Well. I’ve fucking shown him.

But I know, without doubt, that I couldn’t have done it without that new surgeon, beloved and my beautiful army of supporters.

Thank you.

 

Catch Up

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Hello!

This has been a while coming, life has been life and lifing away and the blog fell a little to the wayside. But here I am.

What’s been happening? I did the SIDS Stampede in the Hawkesbury with my sister:

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This was a great fun run, down at my old stomping ground. It was peculiar because the start line was just outside the church where mum’s funeral was, and for a moment, I remembered different moments, kind of like photographs of memory, from that day. But then the countdown started and I saw a friend from primary school and then we were off, running and walking and raising money for SIDS.

And I did the Raw Challenge at Doyalson, with beloved and my legend trainer:

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As you will see in the above picture, I bit off another challenge: wearing a singlet. Wearing. A. Singlet. I haven’t worn one of those in years. I think probably the last time I wore one would have been when I was a kid. Or even when my parents put me in one of those baby Bonds singlet thingies. Did they even exist all those years ago?

Anyway, anyway.

I went back to old Sydney town again, to have quality hang time with my beautiful nephew, Rory the dog. He’s delightful. I put him down a slide at the park several times and he didn’t run away so I am assuming he liked the experience. I also made him a bong. Don’t be naughty that’s not what I mean. I got a bottle, put a hole in it then filled it with doggy treats. Cheap homemade Kong, but out of a bottle = bong. That’s my story anyway. Seriously he is the only dog I know who will then lie on his back and hold onto his bottle like a baby. Little furry dickhead.

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The great clown epidemic has struck the Hunter and so far I have spotted two clowns. Actual time seeing clowns: roughly 2 minutes. Actual time worrying about seeing clowns? Fucking hours. I get that it’s in fun, but here’s the reality. Lots of people have clown phobias. Most people I know will object to people jumping out and scaring them. Many more people will object to seeing someone on the side of the road dressed as a clown holding a weapon, particularly at night. Fear does things to people. It stops them going out. It steals their sleep. It can result in tears and terror and panic and meltdowns. So even though it is in good fun? Fuck off with your clowning. Just stop it. Think about long term consequences for the people you are scaring. Go read a book or watch TV or go for a walk or something else. Dickheads.

So, one more thing to tell you.

After almost ten years, I resigned as a Cub Scout Leader. That’s right, Skunk has officially left the building. I have no idea how many kids I have met along the way. I can’t guess at hours I’ve spent as a Cub Scout Leader. You can’t really number them though. I started Cubs when I moved to Newcastle. When I got here, I didn’t know anyone, I had no confidence, I was sad and lonely and didn’t think I could do anything. So I decided to volunteer. And as an ex-teacher, it made sense to do something with kids. So I popped on that uniform and off I went. It was hard to carry on after my heart group was closed down (3rd Mayfield), but when the next chapter opened at a different Group, I gave it another shot. And I don’t regret it. Kids are great, for an hour and a half at a time, anyway. But the thing is, I’m not the same person I was ten years ago when I started. And this is a good thing. But it meant that it was time to move on.

Here’s how I explained it to the kids, one Monday night:

Pop your hand up if you are ten. Tell me some of the differences between when you were first born, and now. Walking, talking, eating, wearing shoes, knowing right and wrong. All these changes, have they been easy? No. But have they been mostly pretty good? OK. So there’s another change coming up. But remember, change can be OK. When you were babies, I began being a Cub Scout Leader. And look at you now! Big ten year olds. We couldn’t keep you in nappies forever, could we. And just like you have grown and changed, so has Skunk. So Skunk is going to stop being your Cub leader. Because there are other people who deserve a chance at hanging out with you all each week, and because I feel like things have changed lots for me, so I can’t stay anymore.

And they were fine.

Our final night was a black and white dress up. Here’s my costume:

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Aside from all that, and just to keep you updated, I’ve carried on with the gym stuff. Even when I don’t want to. Especially when I don’t want to. Most days, I’m out there slogging my guts out. Here’s an update, and also another reason why I can’t carry on with Cubs – I don’t want to buy a new shirt!!

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How are things with you? Did you miss me?

 

Picture This

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As far as I can see, the one thing that will absolutely be given to you with wild abandon and on a sparkly silver platter is a photo of a penis. The dick pic. Personally, I am not too sure what the fuss is about. In fact, I don’t know any person who has ever been delighted and overwhelmed with feelings of love and joy after receiving a dick pic.

In years gone by, we relied upon personality and witty repertoire to attract potential suitors. In some circles this has been simplified to one duck face in exchange for one naked mole rat, and badda-boom badda-bing, we’re away.

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Naked Mole Rat. It could be worse.

But again, I am yet to meet someone who has rushed out the door to meet someone after they have been in receipt of an image of a fellow’s naked mole rat. So obviously, I am generalising.

The thing is, I’ve recently been part of some discussions regarding this phenomenon. And to be completely honest with you, the chatter and comments are not about berating the owner of the photographed penis – they tend to revolve around total mystification about what on earth prompts this kind of thing.

I’ve done the online dating thing in the lesbian world. Number of unsolicited pictures of boobs or lady gardens: ZERO. None. Nil. Not a single one. Or pair, in the case of boobs. There are two possible reasons for this, as far as I can see:

  1. I was not worthy of receiving such pictures.
  2. Women… we just don’t do that shit.

I can honestly say to you at 38 years of age, I have never once been tempted to stick a camera between my legs and send the result to people I have never met. Or anyone, actually. Maybe I’m just not living on the edge. But the idea has never entered my head.

I guess the female equivalent to the dick pic might be the selfie? Social media is awash with these suckers, and there are NO RESTRAINTS with the selfie. Young, old, male, female – add a few filters and you’re looking fine and dandy. Which actually makes me think that maybe we’re like peacocks gone wrong. The male peacock fluffs out his feathers in an attempt to attract female feathers, while the female… um, I don’t know what the female peacock does. Actually is she even called a peacock? Is she a peavag? The big questions.

I wanted to research dick pics, to see if there was some kind of social liberation movement regarding it. I typed “dick pics” into Google and waited for the results. This was my face:

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And the results came up. Link after link.

And I’m sorry, but I just could not bring myself to click on a single one of them.

Here’s my summary:

If you have an appendage worthy of a dick pic, you stand tall and proud. But keep that pecker to yourself. If you’re a selfie type, you stand tall and proud… but this one is getting closer to where I reckon we need to be. Selfies tell a story, capture a moment – and while the dick pic might do the same, I want to see your eyes when you’re proud of something.

Because there are things way more attractive than the naked mole rat, and any other appearance of beauty.

Confidence. Humour. Time. The ability to maintain a conversation. Self respect. Respect for others. The ability to care for others.

And at the end of the day, those things are worth more than anything else.

Dashing

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It’s taken a week to write this post, I’m not too sure what the hold up was about – I had a ripper of an earache, things went slightly batshit busy, and any time I had to sit and write turned into time to sit and do nothing. But here it is.

On Sunday, I did the Dungog Dash with beloved and my sister.

This year has been the year of the fun run/walk. It started back in December, with the Santa Fun Run, and will end at the same event this year. I basically decided to pick the thing that was scariest, then do it over and over again until I convinced myself that I could. And it worked, and more than that, I’ve discovered that I love it.

Dungog was slightly different to the events I’ve done so far, it turns out. What attracted me to this event was a) it was helping out a community that was devastated by an East Coast Low last year, and b) it was open for dogs to participate. We didn’t take our furries, but I got to see SO MANY DOGS. Heart warmer, right there.

The problem was that I got slightly confused and registered beloved and myself as dogs. It was going to be a very long 6km on our hands and knees, but I was more concerned with the bum sniffing that seems to be the standard way dogs greet each other. It was an easy fix but we were slightly worried about completing the course when there were so many trees that needed to be weed upon.

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Ready to go. Completely not dogs.

So the other thing about the Dungog Dash is that it’s cross country. I had absolutely NO IDEA it was a cross country event. Until now I had always done walks and runs that were on clear pathways – a lasting caution from the ankle reconstruction. But, onwards we go.

The first hill was enormous. But the dogs could do it, which meant I could do it too. With beloved beside me and my sister powering on ahead, we climbed that first hill. And it went on and on and on.

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The first hill.

What could have been a challenge too great turned out to be a beautiful morning walking through some amazing scenery. And with every single step, I realised that I wasn’t having to second guess where my feet went. I was able to walk and leap and run and jump and climb and skid and just do it without having to think about safer ways to do things. I am never ever taking the ability to move and do stuff for granted, not ever. It’s not a perfect ankle but I can do more than I have been able to do in years and years. And I love it.

All was well until we started going down the last hill. By this stage lots of people had gone before us, so the track through the grass and mud was well worn. I was having a panic because this part of the track wasn’t clearly marked, and as I do when I am in panic mode, I turned my ears off.

If I had turned them on, I would have heard beloved tell me to watch where I put my feet at the bottom of the hill.

If I had listened to her, I would have avoided this:

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Mud butt

Truthfully, that landing on my arse knocked the panic out of me and as I jumped to my feet, I looked at beloved who was trying desperately not to laugh. I took her hand and together we walked to the finish line.

The Dungog Dash was brilliant. Beloved and my sister loved it, too.

Even though it was more than I thought I could do. Even though panic set in. Even though it pushed my understanding of what my ankle could do. Even though it took two washes to get the mud out of my tights.

It was brilliant.

Challenge: Powercamp.

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You might recall my post regarding Spin class – a bit of a beginner’s guide to doing one of those bike classes at the gym. Well, today’s post is about Cross Fit. I have done four of these classes now, at my brilliant gym Planet Fitness at Charlestown. As an aside, this is the gym to go to if you’re nervous about the gym. The people are lovely, it is welcoming and completely non-confrontational. You can wear your fancy pants gym gear or, like me, you can fluff about in tights and a shirt that is way too big. What you wear is not important. The main gist at Charlestown Planet Fitness seems to be that if you get through the door you’re a bloody champion. And I like this attitude.

So, the cross fit classes at Planet Fitness are called Powercamp. Planet Powercamp. You can check them out here.

Here’s the Hot Tip list for Powercamp:

1. Don’t wait until you think you can do it. Just do it. You will see all ranges of fitness, ages, sizes, genders and clothing at a Powercamp session.

2. The activities for the session will be written on a board in a tone of pink that I initially thought was menacing, but now recognise as a bit of a line in the sand. Part challenge and part dare, the list that you are greeted with each session changes, seems long at first but as you move through it the satisfaction of making a mark on the floor for each round is awesome. Because you will get through that list.

3. What if you can’t? My biggest challenge has always been the head game. I get so stuck thinking I can’t. But I can. And when there are things on that list that I am not yet able to master, there are options to change it around. However – it’s surprising how quickly I’ve starting thinking that it’s time to add plates to my bar, or to rope my trainer into helping me to knees-to-chest hanging from a bar instead of lying down. The reality is in a class session there is a range of abilities and fitness levels. And the people who run the classes, they know this. So there is always, always an option to get the same benefit from the exercise but in a different way that is appropriate to your current level. So yes. Yes, you can.

4. Bounce factor. This is, for me, a two bra class. Actually, life in general has become a two bra event, due to my escaping boob skin. But yes. You will bounce. But the thing is, nobody gives a damn. Nobody is watching you. They’re just getting through their own cycle of exercises to the best of their own ability.

5. Satisfaction rating? High. When I walk in and see the workout for the day written on the board, I confess that I panic a little bit. But when I am done? When I know I have given it everything I have? When I see that I am getting further and faster and better technique? And when I am dripping wet with sweat and my legs are aching and I’m gulping on my water bottle like it’s a nectar from the gods? There’s only one word. Proud.

Powercamp is 100% less scary than it sounds. For me it comes back to the head game: knowing the skills I have, the fitness I have, and pushing that knowledge further every time.

It’s not easy. But if it was, would it really be worth doing?

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Cross fit. Have you done it? Would you do it?