exercise, non optional
Well with January almost complete, finally I feel ready for the beginning of this year’s fitness content. I purposefully waited until the end of this month in hopes of dodging the ‘new year’s resolutions’ drivel, tediously thematic this time of year. Truthfully, I will never view exercise as a resolution because it’s obligatory. I resent the faithful influx of people crammed onto my gym floor in January because by Febuary 1st, it’s back to it’s usual capacity. I believe setting exercise as a resolution will inevitably lead to abandoning it entirely, because let’s be brustally honest here; most resolutions are overly ambitious, flimsy and likely to dissipate a few weeks into the year. I have eaten 3 enormous pasta dishes after swearing off all carbs this month. I still haven’t sold what I don’t want from my wardrobe yet, a resolution I dragged into this year with a vigour. And the html/ coding classes I promised to take? No, those haven’t happened either. Exercise isn’t a resolution, it’s part of life. We all have a body and our bodies were made to move. Like our hair must be washed and our teeth must be brushed. This approach renders it non-optional, you have to do it. You simply have to do it. So, I thought this post, in collaboration with Primark, could sit as a reminder to get to the gym as often as possible this winter for no reason other than you have to. On another more satorial note, their latest collection of fitness apparel is absolutely my favourite yet. And I finally have a gym bag instead of the crusty old tote I previously used.
weight gain, confidence loss
December was the worst month of my life, genuinely. I already spoke openly about my abortion on snapchat, a procedure I’m not ashamed of but one that kept on giving: the delight of 3 extra kilograms were my weighiest christmas present. Now, this was mostly hormonal bloatage but it made me feel horrific. I could barely peep at myself in a mirror. Throw in the emotional surges I was experiencing which unsuprisingly prompted me to eat more of everything and for about a month, I hated myself with an angst I haven’t felt since the teenage era. Currently, I am still a little heavier than my normal healthy body weight of 57 kilos. I am not overly preoccupied but I have been spending every single night at the gym. I am hoping to shed the extra weight slowly by Febuary 14th when I have a Valentine’s date with myself. I haven’t felt this heavy since my booze soaked University days where I’d easily devour an entire loaf of toast. Now, I’m sure some bitter idiot will accuse me of an eating disorder, but let me just say: body weight regulates and I simply feel most comfortable at 57 kilograms because that’s the weight I’ve consistently been for a long time now. Last January, my anxiety ate away at my weight and I lost a significant amount, I felt just as uncomfortable, but instead of bloated I felt like a ghost. I simply want my normal weight back, the old usual me. AND I’d rather share this tiny struggle with you than claim self-love is as easy as loving a puppy. Sigh, if only it were. My abortion shone a light on another side of the female struggle and I’m still wrestling with it now. For a few weeks my body was preparing for another human to move in and grow. That kind of preparation doesn’t go away immediately. But, exercise has been bringing me back to myself. It is a stablizier within my very emotive, melancholy prone mood and a solid construction in rebuilding my body confidence. I usually adore my body and I’m sweating my way back to that love, one day at a time. So, let me say this, nothing does more for our confidence as women than exercise. Not makeup, not the expensive heels or the perfect dress ; those are simply frilly externals, decorations at most. Love comes from the inside and what better way to strengthen it than with strength itself? I hope like me, you are powering through. Be it an abortion, menstrual cycle, a break up, a magazine editorial or #bodygoals on instagram, our environment is constantly bullying us. Exercise makes us a tiny more resistant to the bullshit everyday, I promise. And for those of you that want to call me a murderer, go ahead, tell me I deserve the curse of extra weight or whatever else. I made peace with my decision, please respect that. I am not afraid to tell the world about my abortion. Women need to talk more openly and I am happy to encourage that dialogue however I can, even if it means a few spiteful comments along the way. Exercise keeps me sane in the sea of negativity.
same 2016 routine for 2017
Not much as changed for me; running 5 times a week and a weight-training focus on each muscle group, not once like in 2016 but twice a week. This means double the amount of my least favourites: push-ups and sit-ups, but hey there is a pride to be found in the struggle. 2017 is also the year I started squats, previously I relied on my HIT runs for leg muscular strength. I am now good friends with the 24kg kettleball at my gym, together we swing around in pain as I awkwardly dip up and down, hoping no man will look at my sizeable butt. I drink a litre of carrot and ginger juice everyday, which I make at home because it’s cheaper, a kilo of carrots is 73 cents here in Spain. I gulp 3 litres of water too, my desk is more a space for the cluttering of empty bottles than it is for my computer. I avoid gluten with the exception of my Sunday cheat day where I sit around like the slob I truly am and eat pizza, cake or whatever other calorie-crammed desire comes my way. Enormous salads and baked salmon are my clean preferred meals as of late, but I’m fickle and that is prone to change. Pasta made from lentils (no wheat) is still a creation that deserves a reward, curing so many of mid-week carb cravings. And finally, my enormous box of new workout gear from Primark in the most chic pinks, metallics and black, ofcourse, always my favoured work-out shade (it hides the sweat marks best). In this garb, I am a HIT running ballerina instead of the red-faced weirdo I actually am at the gym. Kudos to Primark for making this month of sweating, a sophisticated affair.
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