After day one’s disastrous attempts at shifting those inches, I decided to go into ‘desperate measures’ mode. The idea that I needed some extra incentive so early into the diet shocked me into raiding my box of tricks in the next level up from whence I’d started.
Today I initiated the mission by raiding my photo-box for shots from earlier years to shame me into action . ‘Compare and contrast’ always works when all else fails. There I found my wedding photos from ten years ago, still beautifully presented in their glossy album. Inside revealed the images of a bride far more youthful than now and a slender size ten. The washboard stomach and toned arms created just for that day have since stretched into an ironing board stomach which sits atop as I work. I don’t even want to THINK about the bingo wings which are desperately trying to cultivate themselves as each day passes.
The power of nostalgia and reminiscence did wonders as I mentally measured up my workload ahead… and within less than a month! The decision was made quickly. I would stick to grapefruit, vegetable soup, wholemeal toast and fruit all day to see how I would cope.
On top of this, I dug around for my old VHS tapes of Mr Motivator ( remember him??) and fitness DVDs of every ailing celebrity under the sun. I found requisite determination to try and tone this butt into looking like part of the human anatomy and less like a dead-heat in a zeppelin race. By early evening, my dieting had proved a little tedious but thoroughly possible. I’d had my first successful day of self discipline.
All I needed to complete the day was a successful session of exercise and I would feel settled into a mode of positivity. Newly kitted up and ready to go in no time at all, I cleared the decks in the sitting room and warned all family members of low flying limbs for the next hour. I then proceeded to follow the instructions of my chosen TV teacher eagerly but without any trace of gracefulness whatsoever. There I continued for the full hour; leaping , lunging, star-jumping and running on the spot over a highly polished wooden floor. Inevitably I went absolutely flying several times and must have appeared like a complete lunatic to anyone passing our front window. But here was a mum on a mission and nothing was going to stop me. I’d even remembered to dust off my pedometer for charting my glorious hour’s intensive workout.
Once the hour of physical mayhem had ground to a relieved halt, I checked my pedometer for success. A half decent 263 calories and 8,091 steps completed. I momentarily wondered if that would have been enough to even touch the damage i’d done the night before at my girlie dinner. Happy with my efforts nevertheless, I collapsed gratefully into my bath while the children sprinted back to the tv downstairs; squabbling like crazy having been starved of their favourite programme for an hour.
Whilst soaking the limbs I reflected on the reasoning for all this pressure on myself for the sake of one night, essentially. Why did I feel the need to look so presentable when actually it shouldn’t matter too much. Was it a secret fear that when the clock struck 12 on my birthday night, I would suddenly turn into a pumpkin? Was it the silent, insidious effects of every magazine and newspaper in popular circulation permeating my thoughts with a necessity for a need to be super slim, super glam and superhuman? Was it that desperately clichéd fear of ageing , making me turn into a glamour-junkie automaton?
The answer to those questions seemed to return as ‘no , not really’ in each case. More the fact that during the last year in my thirties I have indulged far too much in the good life, with work and play crossing over much too frequently and resulting in enormous fun, but gradual midriff spread.
Whilst swinging from the chandeliers with a glass of Veuve Clicquot is wonderful fun, it plays havoc with the saddlebags over too many months. Any more protracted indulgence and my liver would be suffering from repetitive stress disorder; my hips would reach across two separate time zones.
They keeping telling me that ‘Life Begins At Forty’, so for that reason I feel it’s time to push onwards and upwards. Health, fitness and a peppering of light glamour lay ahead~ I just have to put the work in to reap the benefits.
Positivity is the key- let’s aim for day three!!
©Tess Egerton 2011