A tri-ing sport

So the months of muscles are sadly over and the triathlon training has begun, and, wow, is it time consuming. The problem is I'm not training for one sport, I'm training for three. I've read that in triathlon training you're supposed to concentrate on your weakness, but what happens when you analyse your times and work out that every aspect of your triathlon (swim, run, cycle and transition) are your weakness.

Triathlon training should be periodised across a year, with a foundation, preparation and competition phase.  I, however, have chosen to start my training right in the middle of the season.

So, I'm concentrating on technique and strength and hoping that these (rather than fitness training) will help me improve my times. So, what does a week's triathlon training look like.

Monday- Easy swimming technique practice followed by "Brick" session (extended spin class and treadmill run)

Tuesday morning - Weights
Tuesday afternoon-  swimming stroke correction

Wednesday -  1.5 km ocean swim with the Manly Bold and Beautiful crew from Manly to Shelly and back again. (This can be followed by a run to Queenscliff beach and back)

Thursday - Weights

Friday Morning - yoga
Friday evening- Manly dualthlon - Shelly beach swim and run to Queeenscliff and back.

Saturday morning 32 km bike ride with the Bay Bug group around Homebush Bay
Saturday afternoon - Indoor climbing (this is not part of the training, but I just can't give it up!)

Sunday - rest or light yoga and meditation

All this and I am doing the shortest competition distance triathlon, a sprint distance of 750m swim, 20km ride and 5km run. Can you imagine how someone who does a iron man triathlon (3.8 km swim, 180 km ride and a marathon) must train.

Months of Muscle: Losing and Winning

So, you know about the month of muscle but what what you may not know is, at the end of it all there is a prize, with a trophy.

When I was a kid my sister had trophies, and medals. I'm guessing if i saw them now they would be small plasticky things. They are probably also a lot smaller than I remember ***, but boy I used to spend time staring at those trophies ... and wishing.

So the thought of winning that prize kept me motivated, and, like the other awesome people who did the program with me, I thought I was in with a chance.

Sadly, it was not to be **** and last night, at the finale party I started to get a little down. And then someone did something special. The winner of the last round pulled plastic medals out of her purse and hung one around each of our necks. In an instant I was reminded that we were all winners. I didn't take that medal off all night and at the end of the night I hung it with my triathlon, half marathon and city to surf medals as a reminder of just how far the month of muscles has brought me.

But the medal reminded me of much more. It reminded me that my original goal was to wear my bikini to finale night and whilst I had technically worn my bikini (I threw an orange see-through dress over the top) I hadn't really fulfilled my goal. So I whisked my dress off and danced, hands above head in bikini and high heels.

And suddenly ... I was the winner ...


*** I've found that as I've aged things have become smaller. The big pineapple and the big banana in particular.

**** You should see the abs on the fantastic guy that did win ...

Months of Muscle: The results

So, what does three months of struggle and strategic application of fake tan get you:

• 55 push-ups on toes in one minute
• Wall squat for five minutes and 20 seconds
• 5 chins ups
• 120kg leg press
• Almost 1 minute off my 1km sprint time trial
• 2.4 kg of new muscle
• 500gm less of fat

And this ...

Now bring on the triathlon season ...

Months of Muscle: The affair

It started off as nothing at all. A few flirtatious moments. The odd sideways glance. But isn't that the way these things always start?

Pretty soon, the heat picked up and I found that I couldn't stop thinking ... what if?

Then there was the physical contact. It was supposed to be nothing, but the heat and intensity of the passion couldn't be denied. I kept going back for more.

It meant nothing, I swear. Not then. Not like us. Did I ever think it would lead me to break my commitments, all my promises to you? No. it's just, well, we'd become repetitive. Every day, every week began to seem the same. Day in, day out, our relationship had become a hard slog.

I thought 'one time can't hurt' but one time was enough to get me going back for more. The passion when we were together was intense. The laughter , the sweat, and the tears.

Then the demands started. Demands on my mind, demands on my time. Suddenly,  there were commitments, financially and emotionally, and my new love became hard to hide. Now, I know, there is no going back, my heart has moved on.

I'm sorry months of muscles I'm leaving you ... for a triathlon ...

Super Saturday

Anyone doing the Michelle Bridge's program will know what Super Saturday means. Torture!

In the Lean and Fit program (last round) Super Saturday meant burning a minimum of 1000 calories. Achieving a 1000 calorie burn took two hours of running and three hours of indoor climbing **.  In the Months of Muscles Michelle and her team have developed new forms of torture, including triple sets, drop sets, supersets, compound sets and pyramid sets of weights aimed at killing even the strongest of muscles, followed by 3 rounds of a circuit of absolutely unthinkable activities, including my all time favourite (not) the Turkish-Get-Up. ***

But today's Super Saturday is the toughest yet. Because this week we're doing Super Sunday instead and today is a rest day.

Bet you didn't know we got a rest day, but there's one a week, and for good reason. The rest day gives our muscles time to recover, to repair and to grow. It is the rest days really that help us achieve our goals as without a rest day we wouldn't see such dramatic improvement.

But, between you and I, I struggle on rest days. I think I should be busy, I think I should be doing something. I think about my goals and feel frustrated I'm not actually doing anything to help myself move towards them.

Except I am- somewhere deep inside I know that. I need to learn to take it easy, to give some control over to trust in everything the experts say, and take a rest day. It's just not as easy as it sounds.



**'Super Saturday' inevitably leads to 'in bed by 8.30 Saturday night'

*** I'm not sure why the Turkish get the blame for this hideous exercise. I don't suppose it is the national pass-time in Turkey but it has definitely put me off traveling there just in case I find whole suburbs of people lying on the floor holding weights above their heads, standing up with weight still lifted above head and then lying down again all red-faced and panting.

Months of Muscle: It's just not working out

Since embarking on the Months of Muscles a new word has entered my vocabulary. No, not just my vocabulary but my head. That word is 'training'.

You see, I never used to 'train' I used to 'workout'.

So, what's the difference? Simple, 'working out' is really about what you see in the mirror. Training is pushing yourself to see how far you've come. But more than that, training is about setting, and reaching, a goal. Training has a purpose, a destination. Athletes train. Gymnasts train. Normal people, people like me, workout.

And my training doesn't only happen in the gym but in the kitchen, and, for the first time I'm not thinking about diet as a way to control weight but as a way of fueling my body to help me meet my goals.

When you tell people you are training they will automatically ask 'What for?'. And, up until this year, I would not have been able to give them an answer. But now, with goals firmly set in place I can.

Months of Muscles: The strongest muscle

1985 was the year of my HSC and, having given myself an almost impossible goal, I studied every night and every weekend, for eleven months. **  Which meant that the Summer of 1985/86 was the summer to break free,  the summer of beaches, parties and pubs. It was the summer I first saw a friend topless sun bathing ***, the summer I had my license and could drive anywhere I bloody wanted, and the summer I kissed a boy, even though I had a boyfriend.

My then boyfriend was the non-dancing type, and I swear I have a memory of him wearing a cap rigged up with its own drink holder and straw that connected  two UDL cans of Jack Daniels and Coke to Marie Bell's 18th ****. This new boy was a dancer, and boy, did we dance. I can still smell his cologne, feel his arm around my waste as we danced to Mental as Anything's 'Live it up' and see his feet jiving to 'Wake Me up Before you Go, Go'.

The inevitable kiss (well, more of a snog really) happened the night after we'd been to see Pat Drummond at the Pennant Hill's pub, where (not that this was any excuse) I had been drinking Tia -Maria and milk all night. He drove me home. I knew what was about to happen, Mount Colah was about 10km off the direct route between Pennant Hill and his home in West Pymble. He was driving me home with purpose.

The Eurythmic's Must be Talkin' to an Angel was playing on the radio as he leant in to kiss me, and, as the song was finishing, he whispered in my ear 'must be an angel' and I never felt more desirable.

The next day I woke up sick to my stomach, I just wasn't the cheating kind of a girl, and, even though we vowed to still be friends, we stopped seeing each other.

The heart is nothing but a simple muscle, but like any muscle it can be trained, get stronger and weaker, and like any muscle exercising it lays down memories and, even 25 years later, I only have to hear one song to feel his breath on my ear ... 'Must be an angel'.



** I missed that goal (UTS communications) by some marks, but if I hadn't missed it I wouldn't have met my first husband, and wouldn't now be seeing my amazing girl through her HSC. It's strange the way life works out.

*** Sandie Flynn - you were such a rebel

**** This picture is from the patent application for the hat which was granted in, you guessed it, 1985

Months of Muscles: A compelling goal

I've been going to the gym for years and getting, well ... nowhere really. Sure, I was relatively fit and healthy for my age but if you'd asked what I got from all of the hours I spent in gyms I would not have been able to answer.

It was only when I took my first round of Michelle Bridges 12 week body transformation that I realised the importance of having a goal. It's the great motivator. During all those wretched hours spent training and eating right you can visualise yourself achieving your goal and it really gets you through. And then, once you reach the goal, you get to celebrate it, and look back at how far you've come, and there is a sense of empowerment in that.

For many people weight loss is a great goal because it is simple and it is measurable, but what happens when you don't want or need to loose weight.

Last round of the 12 week body transformation I had the half-marathon to get me through, but during the Months of Muscles finding a goal that is strong and compelling enough to sustain me through 12 weeks of hard work and consistent eating has proven to be more difficult.

One of my main motivators is the bikini, but it turns out that it's not quite compelling because I just don't care enough with what other people think of me**. Another is to climb the overhang at indoor climbing, which was fine, until I reached that goal in the first four weeks of the program.  Seeing the weights I can lift go up,  some abs peaking through and being able to do three whole chin ups is probably reward enough to keep me going for a while, but is nowhere near the driver that the half marathon was.

Some people doing the program have been complaining about losing their mojo, and I guess I can see that if I don't reassess my goals in the next week or two that I'll be in the situation too. After all mojo is just a cooler word for drive, and how are you going to drive if you don't know the direction you're headed.

** Although I have heightened the goal somewhat by committing that I will attend the finale party in my bikini (gulp)

Months of Muscle: Obsession is not always our friend

So, I'm happy to admit I have somewhat of an obsessive personality. This has been so helpful and useful in my life. It has helped me save a school.**, run a half marathon, and brought me career success. In short, it has driven me, whilst not always to excellence, to accomplish so many things.


But 'all or nothing' is not a very balanced way to live and by slowing down a bit during the month of muscle I've come to realise that this all-encompassing focus and determination is not always my friend. When you wear the blinkers of obsession and focus you can sometimes miss out on some pretty exciting stuff going on to the left or right of you. 


One of the things I am learning this round of Michelle Bridges 12 week body training is to take it a bit easier. ***  I am learning to accept that the ups and downs, the good days and the not so great,  are all part of the journey. The journey is never a straight line, but a winding path but maybe that winding path is OK, because it will take me to places I never see if I hadn't wandered along it. The most important tool to me you get there is patience. I write it like I know it and practice it, but it's a hard lesson to learn. Meanwhile - I'll stay positive and have faith that I'll get where I want - or at maybe even somewhere else that is equally as interesting.




** It took number of years, special protests, parliamentary inquiries, petitions, letterbox drops and eventually the support of radio shock jock Alan Jones , for a group of parents and community supporters to save that school. I remember being up until midnight preparing submissions and presentations. I have a very clear memory of a friend picking her sleeping eight year old from our sofa and carrying her home at one in the morning. 


*** I lied, I am TRYING to learn this, but got somewhat derailed by a triathlon on the way. 

Months of Muscle: The triathlon

I remember the night before the half-marathon. I tossed and turned all night and when I did sleep I dreamed of the race (actually of not making the race). I wondered at the time why I bothered to put myself under such unnecessary stress and vowed never to do it again!

Which is why when the opportunity came up I jumped at the chance of participating in a triathlon.

I have less than two weeks to prepare. I haven't run since the half-marathon. I haven't swam for more than two years. I haven't ridden since I was about 12. My only access to a bike is my daughter's already second- hand mountain bike.

Not to mention that the triathlon breaks all the Month of Muscle no cardio rules.

But I just couldn't help it ... it was a challenge and I had to take it up.

No doubt, the night before I'll be tossing and turning again. But then something (past experience) tells me that when I cross that finish line it will be worth it.

Now let me see if I can still ride ... I've been told it's just like riding a bike ...

Months of Muscle: My father's arms

My father had strong, golden arms. Taut forearms that expanded as they grasped a saw, or reefed in a halyard. Rounded shoulders that filled his tailor made suits as he kissed ** my mother goodbye at the bottom of the stairs at 7.20 every weekday morning. Large safe hands that grasped the bowl of his pipe in one hand and the steering wheel with the other as we sprinted from scenic lookout to scenic lookout on our annual two-week driving holiday. Biceps that could lift me effortlessly up onto his shoulders during a family bush walk. They were muscles honed from building a boat, hammering up the wooden frame, sanding back the fibreglass.

These were not arms built in the gym. They were built in the workshop and the garden, built from raising three children, from loving a wife, from the struggle of someone, so very much loved, who always had a slight air of discontent about him.

These were the arms that could lift me into the tumble dryer for the ultimate game of hide and seek.***;  the hands that were sent, reluctantly, to discipline us; the arms that grasped the rudder, steering us safely through a storm while my mother vomited nervously off the side of the boat and I slept unknowingly below.

My dad is older now, and very much changed, smaller but no less diminished,  less muscular but just as strong.



** Actually it was more a pash than a kiss, given with the force and passion of someone who might be leaving for nine months, not just nine hours.

*** We were a close but odd family. It wasn't unusual for my siblings to find me hidden in the most obscure of spots. None-the-less I think we had a relationship with our father that was envied by the other children. In a time where women did the child rearing and men 'brought home the bacon', my friends  would line up to be tickled by him (which you could do then, but wouldn't dare do now).

Months of Muscle: Blame the bikini

In the 1960s Emily Post decreed, "A bikini is for perfect figures only, and for the very young." 


Now, being on the wrong side of 40, with a build designed to keep the Scottish winters at bay, this, to me, sounds like a challenge! So I have promised my Michelle Bridges Lean and Strong 12 week Body Transformation team mates that I will wear a bikini to the finale party. Oh dear. But I am a person of my word and intend to do just that.


The issue is of course, and I am not alone in this, that 18 years ago I had a child, and it seems quite likely that that skin once stretched so much I resembled a whale not a person ** is unlikely to 'spring' back to shape, no matter what the mix of cardio, weights and abs. Still, with role models like Pink, The chic from terminator two and Hale Berry as role models, my team mates and I are giving it a try.


We're watching what we eat (limit alcohol and sugars, increase protein) pumping iron and, most of all, working those abs. We have faith that, no matter what, there will be some change.


And if it doesn't work, well maybe it is time for us (or at least those attending the finale party) to change our idea of perfection. 


** Some women glow when they are pregnant. If I glowed it must have had a sour green tinge to it as I spent the first six months of my pregnancy overwhelmed by a feeling of seasickness. 

The Months of Muscle: The cardio freak

I've been told that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. So, the half-marathon now behind me, I have moved on to the Months of Muscle. My aims: to get stronger and more toned, to re-discover my abs (actually not sure if I ever discovered them in the first place) and to climb that blasted over-hang at indoor climbing.

I've just finished week two of the month of muscle and this is what I've discovered - I'm addicted to cardio.  I love that 'I can do anything' feeling I get half an hour or so after a 600 calorie session.  I love knowing I'm burning off unwanted calories. And I love being in that mindset where I can't possibly think about my problems because I'm too busy thinking how I'm going to keep going.

Still, I've been told it's difficult to build muscle and keep up such intensive cardio (something complicated about the additional calories burned being taken from your muscle). So I'm going (almost) cardio-free for the next ten weeks. I'm eating (eek) more and concentrating on protein. I've thrown away the heart rate monitor **. I'm pumping iron, doing some yoga and some climbing, and that's it! Might not seem like a change (I've swapped going to the gym for ... err ... going to the gym) but when cardio is like your drug, giving it up is just like withdrawals. 

The first week I almost constantly felt like crying, like I was in a small boat heading for the edge of the waterfall, I kept paddling but knew that, with just one strong current,  I would be sent over the edge. The second week has been better, I upped my weights and felt it the next day ("please don't make me go  down those stairs"). But I still looked longingly a the treadmill, thought lovingly and perhaps with more passion than they deserve, of the days of treadmill intervals.

The Months of Muscle: it's a challenge, but I think I'm up for it ... 

** Actually I've lost the heart rate monitor, if anyone finds it let me know

This is why I'm hot 10: Half Marathon- It's the loneliness that's the killer

It's not the 21 km of the actual half-marathon that takes the courage and perseverance, it's the 400 and something kilometers you rack up in training for it. It's getting out of bed at 5 in the middle of winter when your family are still sleeping. It's the long Saturday morning run along the industrial banks of the Cooks River ** that lasts for more than two hours. It's hours doing interval sprints or rolling intervals in the treadmill. It's doing it, just doing it, knowing in the end there's no prize, no stadium no gold medal. ***

Was it worth it. Well, I rang my husband and blubbered like a baby at the end. I was so proud of myself and this achievement that marked three months of intensive focus on my health and fitness. I felt transformed, from the girl with all the consolation stickers in her little athletics book to ... well ... an athlete. 

They offer a service now where you can view yourself, from a couple of angles crossing the finish line. I've watched mine a couple of times, examined my face intensely. There was no joy, no punch struck into the air. Maybe it was because I was exhausted, but maybe it was because I knew ... a real athlete would complete a marathon. 

Bring on the next challenge: The months of muscle.  

** River is a euphemism, in many parts it is more correctly titled the Cooks Drain.

*** There was however a silver medal I refused to take off for 24 hours. It's still hanging in our bedroom where I can see it from bed.

This is why I'm hot 9: I think the world should be a fair place

The other day at work we were asked to write down our beliefs and values. My number one was that 'I think the world should be a fair place'. I think over my life I have done a few things to help make it that way.

But the truth is the world is far from fair. That's why I'm dedicating my half-marathon run to Amnesty International. This year amnesty, a worldwide movement of people campaigning to protect human rights, celebrated 50 years of human rights campaigning. Here are just three of their recent secesses:

Earlier this year they celebrated the Australian government’s announcement of a nationwide plan to combat violence against women and their children. They had been campaigning for such a plan for nearly five years, and it’s arrival marked a huge win in this campaign.

Amnesty International USA recently celebrated the abolition for the death penalty in Illinois, making it the 16th state to abolish this antiquated, ineffective and inhumane punishment.

Aung San Suu Kyi spent 15 years under house arrest after she peacefully protested to win power over the government's oppressive regime in Burma.  For years Amnesty supporters have been working tirelessly to bring about change and in 2010 the global campaign resulted in 110,000 actions, emails and letters calling for her release, together with the other 2,200 other political prisoners in Burma. Aung San Suu Kyi was released on 13th November 2010, sparking worldwide celebrations.

You can sponsor me simply and easily by clicking on this link.

http://www.gofundraise.com.au/page/Adrienne_Jerram

You will receive a receipt immediately and you can even leave a personal message on my page - please be nice! : )

I'll do the hard work on the day - your part is easy.

This is why I'm hot 8: I got it from my mama

There are many things I inherited from my mother. My fondness for a fireplace, that look I get when I don't really like something but will understand and put up with it anyway, my short stature. But more than that I got an ability to embrace change, when really all you want is to sit, in front of the fire, watching your favourite program on the TV, sipping tea like it is sweet comfort.

My mother grew up in less than prosperous circumstances in the terraces and tenements of post-war Edinburgh, raising two younger brothers, learning how not to parent (one egg and a pint of milk does not a dinner of scrambled eggs make!) and developing a passion for a life more comfortable.

My Dad came to her, with careless feet and Buddy Holly looks and a plan to go to Australia. A plan of which she wanted no part, but ended up buying, partly because my father was so persistent but also, more simply, because she loved him. As she stepped on that boat (plane travel wasn't for ordinary people then) she was leaving her friends, family, possibly believing she might not ever see them again. But she managed to pull her much yearned for comfort from the thought that 'she was saying goodbye to the cold and snow forever!

Move forward twenty years and still living in Sydney Australia, my mum has built a routine which enabled her to build and maintain a house, sing in the choir, coach softball and raise three children while working full time. Washing at our place was done everyday (towels on a Thursday, sheets on a Saturday) except Sunday, and there was satisfaction in just having it done. It is in the height of my Mum's new found comfort that my dad announces plans to build his own boat and sail it around Australia. And so, again, she gives up everything. But, through the churn of the storm and the flatline of the doldrums she pulls comfort from the maintenance of her routines. Dinner at six, lunch at 12, the floor gets swept everyday regardless.

It takes a special person to embrace adventure, when your sole ambition is for the comfort of quiet life. But hasn't my mother had some experiences as a result. She's coached a winning softball team,  sailed alongside a pod of dolphins, risen on the king tides of Western Australia, traversed Bass Strait, driven to almost every lookout to Australia, written a book, learned to cook (and then not cook) proper scrambled eggs - with cheese. She has experienced things, held ambitions for her children, that a poor girl from Edinburgh should never have been allowed.

It is a very special talent to pull comfort from the most uncomfortable of circumstances,  but this is my mother, this is her special skill, and I really, really hope I've inherited it.

This is why I'm hot 7: I am unwritten

So it's taken 43 and a half years and a 12 kilometre run but I've finally realised this ... we can be anything we want to be. Sound like a cliche? Yes it is, but maybe there is some truth in it. I can redefine myself by what I do today, not what I was yesterday, or ten, or twenty years ago. Too used to being the short tubby unco girl who couldn't colour between lines, it's only now, in my 40s that I've discovered what I was too busy in my 20s to find out. I can be what I want.

Those who know me will know I'm doing Michelle Bridge's 12 week body training program. In that program I've connected with people that have changed from 145kg and totally defined by their weight, to having smoking hot bodies and a whole new lease on life. When I started the program I didn't think I had much to learn, how wrong I was.

Thanks to Natasha Bedingfield on my run today I couldn't get these words our of my head

"I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined. I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned."

Haven't heard the song, its awesome listen to it on youtube 

Ten things I like about me: 6- I can run 10 km

OK, so some people are going to read this and think "10km, I do that before breakfast everyday". Others are going to think, "I have trouble walking 10 metres to the fridge". The fact is, we are all have our own goals, and while I didn't know it, this is one of mine.

I'm not a natural runner. I sometimes wonder if everyone else was born with some special spring in their feet that help them with running. At the amazing Cate's bootcamp it's always me tailing behind the rest of the group by some minutes.

But this morning I set myself a goal to run 10km, and I made it, without stopping, not even on the hilly bits on the way back home, despite the Cooks River smelling worse than an old pan toilet.

It's a cliche to say that we are all capable of much more than we know- but it turns out it's true.

I'm dedicating this blog to the awesome Fran who is an inspiration and a model for how much we can achieve. Good luck tomorrow Fran.

Ten things I like about me: 5 - I'm a great mother

Not so long ago this is probably something I never would have written about myself.

The proof of the pudding, is however, in the eating. And my daughter is everything I hoped she would be. Kind, passionate, beautiful, genuine, quick-whitted, and a great shopper. ***. And, while I didn't by any means do it alone, I know I put together a pretty good piece of her.

It's taken courage and strength to let her go and be her own person, to allow her make mistakes. Tempting as it was to cosset her, I didn't and I'm glad. There is so much pleasure in watching her grow and learn on her own terms, in her own way. 

She's a great teenager and will soon be a fantastic adult and I was one of the people that made the wise choices that gave her the space to be that way.

*** Well everything but clean, but clean came pretty low down the list.

Ten things I like about me 4: I'm creative

I've always admired sculptors and their ability to eek a form from something previously shapeless. I marveled at their skill that I so obviously lacked. For years I thought the Gods of creativity had denied me. Then, thanks largely to a broken heart, Kate Walker and Jo Cohen I discovered writing.

I have the stories I want, no need, to write lined up in my head like peak time buses down George St. Some of them I've written. Others I just toss around my head whenever I have a spare moment.Some are fleeting, I've no sooner thought about them than they're gone. Others are more persistent, sleeping  most of the time, only to poke their heads out from under the covers whenever my life gives them a nudge, whispering their stories with deafening clarity and voice.

Ten things I like about me: 3 - I think people are good

I don't know how, where or why we first form our opinions of the nature of human beings, but somehow, despite evidence to the contrary on the news every night, I've ended up with a belief that people are basically good.

I don't care that I might be labelled naive, or gullible, I'm always going to think the best of you. Ask me to look, I'll see your good side every time.

When you manage a team you can either think they are a lazy bunch of good for nothings who are in for the pay or you can cherish them, nurture them, go on a journey with them. I choose the second path.

Ten things I like about me: 2 - I saved a school

Okay, so I didn't save it on my own, but I was part of the small core group that did, and I can honestly say that if I hadn't been involved, that school might not be there now.

It was 2001 when I tuned into the news and heard my daughter's school, along with some of the most disadvantaged schools in our area, had been slated for closure. They expected to get away with it, and if not for a handful of inner-west die-hards like me they just may have.

It took two years, two reviews, several media events (including one involving the King's Cross Bikers), Australia's best known sculptor, a parliamentary inquiry, an Alan Jones intervention, a serendipitous meeting with a demographer and, eventually, a looming election for the government to realise we had a point and decide to keep the school open.

The closure was an injustice, not just against me personally, but against the community. The government picked us because they thought they would get away with it. Over three hundred children now attend that school, which also boasts high parent participation, an organic garden and exceptional results in the basic skills test.

I'm glad that we won, but more than that I'm glad that we fought and kept on fighting even when others told us to give up. I'm a fighter and won't stand for injustice. And that's definitely something worth liking about me.

This is why I'm hot!

I was brought up Scottish and I would like to say, as only a Scot could that we're not the most expressive of people. In fact, dour is perhaps the best adjective to describe us. We take our porridge with salt, need I say more.

At Mt Colah Public School a girl's worst crime was to love herself. ** I can see it now, hanging out in the giant gnarled and knotted roots of the flame tree, watching a willy-willy toss a faded twistie pack across the playground  'Her? Nah I don't want to hang out with her, she loves herself'.

Put these two together and you find a person who seldom utters a good word about herself. So, in order to unleash unprecedented positivity, for the next ten days I am going to blog about the top ten things I love about me.

Thing to love number one:
I'm persistent. Give me a task and I'll finish it, build a wall and I'll scale it. I get through, I tough it out, the word 'can't' is not in my vocabulary. It might not be perfect, but it will be done. I get it from my Dad *** My Mum calls me 'Miss Stickability'. I take it as a compliment.


** And being a 'lemon'. If you were good looking (and didn't 'love yourself') the only way not to be a 'lemon' was to pash a boy behind the dunny block. Harsh times.

*** My Dad spent 5 years building a 30 foot yacht in the backyard after work. An hour here, two hours there, until it was done. Not perfect, just done. I remember the neighbours being a little surprised when it floated, and even more surprised when, years later, it took them on a year-long circumnavigation of Australia.

The ballerina within

It is not often we get to live a childhood dream. Even rarer is the chance to live a childhood dream we never knew we had. Let me explain.

When I was growing up I had the only mother I knew who didn't sew. We had a sewing cupboard at home; anything that went in there was never worn again. I was the kid with the sticky-tape school uniform hem. **

The consequence of this was that I was banned from taking any dance class, particularly ballet which was sure to result in an end-of-term concert before which parents (read mothers) would be presented with material and a pattern and asked to produce a costume.

My mother was, of course, saving me from disaster. My lack of coordination was legendary.

I remember watching as the girl across the road drew shimmering, pink, pointe-shoes from a silk pink shoe bag and explained that she had graduated from demi-pointe to pointe. She also owned a tutu and leg warmers and one of those pink stretch wraps that ballerinas used to keep warm, a pink stretch headband and a picture of Dame Margot Fontaine. ***

So imagine my surprise when I had the chance to dress as a ballerina for a fancy dress party and my inner ballerina took over. For the first time in my life I entered a dance shop, bought shoes and a tutu and in a crazy fit of wanting, a pair of baby-pink ballerina tights. That night I put them on and spun around the kitchen, I never wanted to take them off. And at the party, well I spun and spun, I flew into a man's arms and he lifted me effortlessly above his head.

We never really grow up. Inside all of us is the childhood ballerina, just bursting to get out


** My mother is a small, fiercely-intelligent Scotswoman who raised three small children thousands of miles away from her family. There was very little she wouldn't do for us, but she knew her limit, and the sewing was it. Mum worked full time as soon as I (the youngest) went to school. Like any Scot she was economical and efficient, particularly with her time. Perhaps the most valuable lesson she taught me was how not to iron. Step one - don't buy anything that needs to be ironed. I remember her clearly eyeing a chambray shirt, rubbing the fabric between fingers that so much resembled my own, screwing up her nose and walking away with a swift, 'Needs ironing'.

*** I once hit this girl over the head with her own worn teddy bear until her nose bled. I don't remember why.

Changing rooms

Fitness is a lonely place. No matter who you work out with, or take your motivation from, in the end it's comes down to you; you and the road, you and your bike, you and the voices in your head.

So, how glad am I that I have my change room buddies. I feel like I know their lives, jobs and families, yet I've never been to their homes. I know their struggles, their ups and downs, and they know mine. Our conversations are restricted to 7.20am-7.45am every Monday and every Friday, but that doesn't stop us finding out about each other.

I'm told that no one makes friends in the men's change room. It's more about comparing penis size, maxing out the deodorant and then getting the hell out of there before someone notices you're checking out the size of their penis.

Maybe men are happier to walk a more lonely life, but I'm glad i've got my change room buddies, and I'm sure they are glad they have me.

Exercising the courage muscle

I don't think anyone who knows me would think me uncourageous. I've helped save a school, climbed some sheer rock faces, lived with a 16 year old girl.

Still, when it comes to standing up for myself I often go to water. I've been short changed and walked away because I didn't want to cause a fuss, taken sub-standard service, backed down to a colleague and generally turned the other cheek so often I'm starting to get a crick in my neck!

So this year I've decided to flex my courage muscles.

Fast forward to a trip to the hairdresser. I'm sitting in the chair watching my hair being blow dried, and far from being the golden blonde I asked for, it's grey, very grey. And I'm still on the war against aging, so I'm not at all ready or prepared for grey. Tears welled in my eyes. I pictured myself walking from the hairdresser and not returning. Tears turned into rage as I stared harder and harder into the mirror.

Then it happens. It starts as a gurgle in my chest and rises up through my throat and before I know it I'm saying 'It's really too grey'. In a second I'm back at the basin being washed and toned. Half an hour later I'm out of the salon my 'natural' golden blonde.

My hairdresser didn't get cross or upset with me, he just dealt with it (and gave me a discount!)

Building muscle is not easy. The only way they grow is when you work them out, hard. Watch out world, I'm in training.

Stickers

When I was little I participated, along with my brother and sister, in Little Athletics. Every week, along with hundreds of other kids from the Hornsby area I would show up and run, jump, walk and throw my heart out.

Problem was, while my sister was a champion and my brother pretty decent too, I was ... not.

At Little Athletics we were all given a book and every time we competed in a race we received a sticker; blue for first, red for second, yellow for third. My book was filled, absolutely choc-a block, with purple. These were the consolation prize, thanks for showing up stickers. I once received a yellow sticker because there were only three people in the race. I was so proud!

My mum has since described to me the pain of seeing her child turn up to a race, again and again, only to be trailing the other kids by some distance. She tried to tell me to stop but, apparently, I couldn't be convinced. It still pains me today to think of that book of purple stickers.

The other day my mum called me 'Ms Stickability'. She thinks I will stick at anything.**

There is a skill in life of sticking with something until it is no longer beneficial. There is skill to letting go.

Now that Fit and Fabulous February, maybe the new lesson to learn is letting go.

Bye bye Feb. Hello March!

** My dad built a 30 ft yacht in the backyard in his spare time. For more than five years he'd get home at 6pm (having left at 7.20 that morning) eat dinner and then go out and work on that boat. Weekends were spent laying and sanding fibreglass, painting, sawing, building. There was a period where the whole family was itchy from continued exposure to fibreglass. And Mum wonders where I get this 'stickability' from.

Come climb with me

I wrote, early on in February about presence. Every week I go to yoga and struggle to be present. The most challenging times are in the least challenging poses, when my mind will wander off to home or work or (more commonly) breakfast.

The one sport I've found that really clears my mind is indoor climbing. Honestly, you're suspended in the air, 50 metres above the ground, the only thing you can think of is the next hand hold or next foot hold and making it to the top.

I've had times when my mind has been spinning, obsessing with a particular thought. One climb will clear it.

If you'd like to try climbing but never had anyone to try it with you let me know. I'm happy to meet up and have a climb.

Ten reasons why

Feb is nearly over and it's time to celebrate the fabulousness in our lives. Here re the top ten reasons why Amelia (my daughter) is awesome **

1. She is the best, most loyal friend anyone will ever have
2. She will never tell your secret to anyone
3. She describes herself as 'not short, just fun sized'
4. Her Facebook comebacks make me LOL
5. There is no one in the world more patient with children
6. A letter from my 92 year old, dying,Grandmother is one of her most precious possesions
7. She loves the Beatles
8. She knows the moves to every dance
9. She found fun at an 80th birthday party
10. She cares about the important stuff 

Last year her teacher wrote on her report 'the classroom is a better place because Amelia is in it'. I think my world is better because she is around.

** For those interested Amelia chose today's topic

Take it away

My normal nights involve, almost in their entirety, preparing for the next day. Every night I lay my clothes out for next morning ** cook my egg white omelette (unless Ali does) make up my protein shake, and assemble my lunch. So on Wednesday night I decided to give myself a break and on Thursday I lived on take away food.

Now, take away (and cafe) food is tricky. You can never be certain exactly what goes in it (who would have thought there were 9 grams of sugar in a Big Mac or at least 400 calories in a blueberry muffin?). But I wanted to try it for a day in Fit and Fabulous February to see how I went and to prove you can choose healthy take away options.

Breakfast was a delicious quinoa porridge with stewed apple and a tablespoon of yogurt from Organicus in Manly. The bowl was so big and filling that I couldn't finish it. It felt like the perfect chill-post-yoga breakfast. This was probably my smartest choice of the day. Quinoa is high in protein, and for what feels and looks like a carb, low in carbs. ***

Lunch was supposed to be two vietnamese rice paper rolls, made by ICMS term one hospitality students. But they'd done such a great job I decided to buy a salmon sushi roll too. The big shock, I'd always thought of sushi as 'diet food' but when I looked it up I'd found I'd added 300 calories (just under a quarter of a day's intake) to my day's calories by adding that sushi roll. That's the main problem with buying your lunch. If you're like me your eyes will be way bigger than your stomach, it's easy to get carried away.

Dinner was a serving of Hoi Dub Bub, a Japanese dish with salad, raw fish and (more) white rice from Dong Hae in Campsie.

Yeh, so you're better off putting the work in and cooking and preparing, but there are definitely healthy options out there and I think I did OK. In fact I'm thinking of giving myself Wednesday nights off and making every Thursday take away day.

** This has to be done as it is a proven fact that one has absolutely no fashion sense at 5am. Also the chances of forgetting to pack your undies at that time in the morning are much greater.

*** For those that read my last blog on Quinoa, I decided to brave it again, this time without the drastic consequences.

Having one of those days

You know those days, well, today was one of them. You get bad news. You jump on the scales only to find out after a week of serious exercise and calorie counting that you put on a kilo (Grrr). You lose your trainers with your $500 orthotics in them.

You're pretty down. And then someone, out of the blue, gives you a gift, a gift  that reminds you of everything you are and everything you could be. And then someone else send you a youtube link that is totally inspiring. And then someone else sends you a link through facebook, a volunteer opportunity that fits so well it could have been glove designed just for you.

I'm not a religious person nor do I really believe in fate, but sometimes I really like the way this universe works.

Cauliflower never tasted so good - Ali's Cauliflower Mash

Ali's major contribution to my health this Fit and Fabulous Feb has been this fit and fabulous cauliflower mash recipe. ** 

It will remind you of mashed potato but with fewer calories and way fewer 'evil white carbs'. It works out to be around 175 calories for the whole recipe. That's only 44 calories per serve. Team it with a 200gm serve of white fish and you have a whole plateful at less than 300 calories.

Ingredients

1 whole cauliflower

1 cup water

1 vegetable stock cube

2 cloves garlic

4 tablespoons lite sour cream (or no fat sour cream if you can find it)

1 tablespoon caramelised balsamic

¼ cup white wine

1 tablespoon grated parmesan

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp ground cardamom

Salt and pepper to taste

Method

Cut cauliflower into florets

Boil/stem/microwave cauliflower with stock cube and garlic cloves until cauliflower is tender

Retain liquid

Put cooked cauliflower into a food processer.

Add all the other ingredients and as much of the retained liquid as necessary to achieve the desired consistency (think mashed potato).

Add salt and pepper (and anything else) to taste.

Why Cauliflower is good for you.

Cauliflower contains allicin, which can keep your heart healthy and reduce the risk of strokes. Eating cauliflower can also help to maintain a healthy cholesterol level.  Folate, needed for cell growth and replication is also found in cauliflower and cauliflower is an excellent source of fibre. Most recently, scientists have found that cauliflower contains indole-3-carbinol, a substance that can affect the metabolism of estrogen in the body, and prevent breast and other cancers.

** He has also contributed in many other ways, including going along with my crazy aqua aerobics class, keeping me company at 6.30am spin, and digging through mounds of lost property, twice, to try and find my lost trainers.

Shoes!

Sarah Jessica Parker can definately rock a pair of high heels, but I wonder if she knows she's helping the world to shorten their calves one stilletto at a time.

High heels have never been so high, and so trendy. I blame Sarah Jessica Parker who can even make the normally trashy shorts and stillettos combo look amazing.

I haven't always worn heels. In the early 90's I was a confirmed Doc Martens fan (I had a pair of size six greasy bucked Docs I wore all the time). It was my friend The Glamourous Jas who introduced them into my life. At first I saved them for special occassions, but now, let's just say I'm starting to feel my height.

I didn't realise how often I wore heels until I walked into the staff kitchen at my work bare-footed, and a colleague asked if something was wrong, before realising it was just that I was two inches shorter than normal.

But heels are not good for you. They throw your body out of allignment, put super amounts of pressure on your feet and limit the motion on the ankle joint. I know all this and I'm certain that Sarah Jessica Parker and her alter-ego Carrie Bradshaw did too. I have lower back aches, strange rough patches on the bottom of my feet and exceedingly tight calves.

I'm like the smoker who never reforms because they never think the worst will happen to them. I just can't give up my heels!

Socks!

This week I bought a pack of new socks (5 pairs for $4 from Coles, great value). And it was just as well they are cheap because I know that, in two or three weeks, I'm only likely to have one or two of those socks (non-matching) left.

My father has a theory about socks disappearing. I don't quite get it but it's something to do with quantum physics.

Personally, I believe that your likelihood to loose your socks increases with their necessity in your life.

I work out six times a week. I'm a sockaholic. So my ability to hang on to the suckers is low. My husband on the other hand (while working out like a demon in Feb) has much less of a requirement and seems to be able to hand on to them for years.

If anyone else out there has a theory on where all my socks go, I'd like to hear it. Especially if you are the bastard stealing mine.

The great sacrifice

So far, for me, Fit and Fabulous Feb has been no great sacrifice. I drink, but not that much and not that often-  I can take it or leave it. Sure it's a pain to get up at 5am to exercise, but once I'm up and going it's a great feeling. And I actually enjoy eating an egg white omelette.

But today I made the ultimate Fit and Fab Feb sacrifice. My morning cappuccino.

Anyone who knows me knows my standard order, skim cap with one and that I like to nurse it, for ages, ruefully taking the last sip almost an hour after I started it. For years, many, many years, it has been my morning companion. There may have been people who have not known me without a coffee in my hand. I've driven out of my way, to find the best cappuccino in the Inner West (or Manly), turned up late to many a meeting, all for my skim cap with one.

But this morning I changed. I've looked at what I'm eating and realised some calories have to go. There are around 75 calories in my morning cappuccino, and an additional 35 calories in the teaspoon of sugar. That's over one twelfth of my daily calorie intake.

So this morning I bought a macchiato** . No sugar.

I still get the caffeine hit, but without the 110 calories. But sadly downed, not over an hour, but in less than 5 minutes.

May seem like a small sacrifice, but as I sat in front of my computer this morning, my hand reached a number of times for the coffeethat had been finished an hour before, and I was very sad not to see it there.

** What? You didn't think I was going to give up coffee altogether did you. That would be crazy!

Water, Water everywhere (and not a drop to drink)

When I was a kid I used to love a drop of Sydney tap. Drunk straight from a tap or bubbler on a hot day, there was nothing more refreshing. If someone had told me 20 years ago that I'd pay money for water (the same stuff you get from the tap) I wouldn't have believed them. What's happened in those 15 years to make water one of Coca Cola's top selling drinks.

Number one reason, a massive public relations and marketing campaign from bottled water producers has led us all to question the purity of tap water. The average bottle of water costs 2.53 to buy, compared to a mere 1 cent a litre to get it from the tap. Each year there is billions and billions of dollars of sales in bottled water. Think about it, and you'll work out that an investment of millions and millions of dollars in a PR campaign can quickly pay off. Ironic when it is estimated that about 30% of bottled water sold, comes directly from a tap.

It only takes a quick stroll along the banks of the Cooks river at low tide to see the effect all this bottled water drinking is having on our environment. I would estimate that 60% of the rubbish in the river is from discarded water bottles. ** It's sad to note that these bottles will take more than 1000 year to degrade.

So, for both the environment and my hip pocket, I've decided to rediscover my inner child and go back to loving a drop of Sydney tap.


** Curiously the remaining 40% seems to be rusting shopping trolleys. I m not, however advocating for the end to the shopping trolley, that would be too much.

Addicted

Hey you! Yes you. Come closer. I'm about to reveal a secret. Don't tell anyone but I have an addiction.

Every morning I wake and my heart thumps for it. I hide it from other people and have taken to doing it alone, in my car. No one else has known the depths of it ... until now.

My every waking moment is consumed by killing pigs. Not actual pigs. Small green pigs who hide in stone, glass and wood houses and often wear helmets. That's right, I'm addicted to Angry Birds.

For those who don't know Angry Birds is an 'app', an evil app, that involves firing birds from a sling shot in order to kill pigs (well, why wouldn't you when those evil little pigs have stolen your eggs).

It's good to know I'm not alone. More than 50 million people have downloaded Angry Pigs, making it one of the most mainstream, and addictive, games. Around the world almost 1 million hours of Angry Birds is played every day. There's even talk of a movie.

When I'm not playing angry birds my other addiction is watching TV shows about people with addictions. Shows like Eataholics, where people are addicted to one type of food. On Eataholics last night one unfortunate fellow was addicted to Yorkshire Pudding (eating 24 puds a day). Another woman was addicted to cheese and consumed more than 550 pizza a year.

Why are we always addicted to the things that are bad for us? How much better would the world be if I was  addicted, say, to consuming my recommended daily intake of fibre each day, to hanging out the washing, or to finishing my next book.

And how much better would the world be if those 1 million hours spent killing cartoon pigs each day was devoted to, say, world peace.

Contentment

I often think back to when I was younger, slimmer and, well, less droopy and wonder why I wasn't more content with my body.

I also wonder if, in twenty years time, when the wrinkles and cracks have really set in, I will look back on the body I have now and wonder why I wasn't more content with it.

My yoga teacher told me the other day that the path to contentment is to want what you already have. I think she's right.

425!

425! That's the number of calories I burned in 6.15am boot camp this morning. Which is amazing because at 6.14am I thought i was going to get out of boot camp all together.

By Thursday morning I'm usually pretty tired. This morning I was more tired than usual as I was still recovering from the Great Valentines Opera Trauma (see Tuesday's blog) which kept me up a couple of hours after my normal bed time. Add to this the fact that I am usually the bright red person puffing and panting and bringing up the rear and I was not at all looking forward to boot camp.

Boot camp starts at 6.15, but when the instructor hadn't turned up at 6.14 my heart I wa thrilled. How many mornings had I prayed that The Amazing Cate would sleep in. My mind wandered to all the lovely things I could do with my morning. Leisurely breakfast by the beach in Manly; complete my to do list before anyone arrived at work to interrupt me; grab a snooze in my car. I was ready to make my way to the nearest coffee shop when I saw The Amazing Cate striding towards me. My heart dropped, my legs turned immediately to jelly, I thought of a thousand excuses why I couldn't participate.

As soon as boot camp started everything changed. I found that I wasn't the slowest but one of the fastest and strongest (different people participating not any new-found ability on my part). I sprinted around the running track. I boxed like a demon. I planked like the wind! My heart rate reached 98% of my max. And after all the running and boxing I  ran all the way up Marshall St**. Without even stopping.

The mind is an amazing and powerful thing. By 7.15 the power of positve thinking can help us achieve things that we never would have thought possible at 6.14

** I grew up at the bottom of a hill with a one-in-four gradiant, Marshall Rd is steeper.

Party!

I was reminded by my daughter's seventennth birthday party how much I used to love a birthday party when I was a kid.

The red a-line party smock. The broad white head band. The knee-length white socks with the frill I was only allowed to wear on party days. Even getting dressed for them exciting.

Then there were the games. Pass-the-parcel,  where the prize in the centre was coveted by every child in the room. Pin the tail on the donkey, where there was real and serious danger of sticking that pin in another child's eye, and the world's greatest OH & S risk -muscial chairs.

Today, our kids parties are more planned affairs. During pass the parcel (or parcel-parcel as my daughter used to call it) the music is timed so that every kid gets to unwrap a layer and under every layer is a prize of equivalent value to the last. Pin the tail on the donkey is played with velcro. Musical chairs seems to have been banned.

I never won pass-the-parcel as a child, but it never stopped me feeling the excitment as the newpaper bundle passed through my hands. Today the kids take their expected prize (of equivalent value to their friends) and stick it, absentmindedly into their pockets.

Yes I'm getting old (and you can tell because the above was just one long sigh of 'in my day') and wow kids have some great stuff available to them now but I have to wonder if they're not missing out on something too.

All about love

Yesterday was Valentine's day. I blogged about an avocado keeper. My romantic gift was a new bicycle seat cover.

My special Valentines treat was a visit to the 'opera'. I've never been to the opera before, but I'm assuming this was no madame butterfly. The orchestra sounded like castrated dog wailing. The singing sounded like the mating call of the cat. To hear someone scratch their fingers down the blackboard would have been sheer relief. After taking a short nap during the middle of the show  (I had to do something to distract myself from the extraordinary screech projected at me from the front of the room)  I awoke to find the lead character singing to a giant purple plastic horse that was being led across stage by a guy in pyjamas. It was at best 'avant guard' at worst one hour and forty five minutes of my life I'll never get back. I would have left at intermission, but there wasn't one.

Valentine's day is not love.  Love is laughing about the good times and keeping laughing through the bad times. Love is sitting calmly next to your wife, knowing she would quite happily plunge a knife into your thigh for bringing you to such a god awful place. Love is forgiving your husband because you know he meant so very, very well. Love is the gift of an avocado keeper or presenting your love with a bicycle seat cover for Valentine's day because you know she's just not the kind of girl who wants flowers.

The invention that changed my life

Occasionally Ali gets carried away and purchases an item or two from a dodgy catalogue. They don't always work out. (I'm thinking particularly of the anti flea cat collar device that was supposed  to emit some kind of flea repelling sound but which i believe to be a piece of coloured cardboard.) This time, however Alistair, against my better advice, bought an item that changed my life.

The avocado keeper (pictured below) is a truly wondrous thing!

It was my my brother who introduced me to the avocado. It was winter, he was home with a broken leg, I was home from uni on a mid-year break. Avocado on toast with salt and pepper became our new favourite lunch.

Avocados are a superfood. They have been found to help prevent various types of cancer, to lower cholesterol. It's rich in folate which can help keep your heart healthy and help prevent stroke. the avocado can even help with the absorption of vitamins in the foods you eat alongside it. They are high in vitamin E and in antioxidants that are said to be important in preventing aging.

I love to eat some avocado everyday but as they are high in fat (good fat I know) and calories, I rarely eat a whole one. Before the avocado keeper my fridge was filled with browning half avocados.

But now, I can keep a half an avocado for three or so days before it starts going brown. I have no idea why no one invented one before and why it has taken so long for me to welcome this little darling into my life.

Why Andy can't put on weight

I have a colleague who can't put on weight. Honestly, I've watched him down three people's deserts in one sitting. The other day he ate chocolate cake for breakfast. He deserves to be huge. But he's not.

I've always wondered why, until I watched him at one of our events. He charged around the place, setting up, taking down, talking, dancing, sliding the giant slide, jumping hugging.

While I sat, like a proper adult, watching on the sidelines, he was like a child, totally absorbed and having 100% fun.

I remember being at primary school, and still playing at lunch and recess, but when I reached year 7 it became somehow uncool to charge about the playground (now more respectfully called a quadrangle) and cooler to sit around talking about how often we shaved our legs and the new blue eyeshadow we bought on the weekend.

I know we have to grow up, but do we have to loose our energy and spontaneity too. Maybe we should all just start channelling our inner Andy.

Better to have blogged and lost than never to have blogged at all

I'm not sure if my friend Jo has read this blog but if she has then she will no doubt have noticed the many and various spelling and grammatical errors. The other day I spelled queue, 'cue' and I'm sure there are many more than that.

My friend Shari says that the art of writing is the art of applying bum to chair. She's right. Many of us dream of writing, but we're held back of our fear of producing something far from perfect. It takes a certain amount of courage to be prepared to make mistakes. To risk writing crap.

Kate Grenville,who dreams up her best ideas in the shower,  talks about the beautiful perfection of the story before she commits it to paper. At that moment, she says, it's perfect.

The thing is, I'm busy. Gym, work, child, life. A never ending succession of alarm, gym, work, home, preparing for the next day sleep, alarm, gym,work ... you get the picture.

So my choice is this, dream the perfect blog and never write anything, or blog with a few inconsequential ** spelling errors. I choose to blog! 

** I apologise to Jo for the use of the word inconsequential. Spelling and grammar are important. I know.

The morning after ...

Boys reading this close your browser now, for it will neither interest or amuse you. Women, listen up because this is important! **

We've all experienced those 'morning afters'. The night before it all felt right and, oh, so good. You were bouncing, glowing, on top of the world. You had never felt so confident, so ... fulfilled. And then, the morning after. You feel different, flat, let down, there are moments when you wonder if you made a mistake.

The same feeling, over and over again, every time we get our hair cut.

No matter how much we love our new cut and colour, no matter how good our hairdresser is,  the day after a visit to the salon all of us experience Post Haircut Stress Syndrome (PHSS). You go to bed with quite possibly the best haircut ever. The first thing you notice when you wake is that is looks flatter, or fizzier than the night before. So you try and work with it, only to find it looks less and less like it did when you stepped out of the salon. The more you fiddle, brush, blowdry or staighten the worse it gets. In the end you give up and wash it, blow dry it, even try the outrageously expensive product that worked so well in your hairdressers hands. And that is the end of your salon perfect hair.

When my daughter was 12 I took her for her first full salon cut and blow dry. (12! What are we doing to our children people? I'm certain my first blow dry was the day of my Year 12 formal). The hairdresser worked wonders with her formerly unrully locks. My daughter was so excited she made me take a photo to send to her Dad. I still have that photo. Her eyes are shining and and she is beaming. She really thought her hair would be that way forever. I considered warning her about the existance of PHSS but I couldn't just rip her last moment of innocence from her. I knew that she would learn ... soon enough.

** Probably not as important as the situation in Egypt,  however I bet as you read this there are Egyptian woman waking up with PHSS looking for someone who understands.

Stamp!

When I was in sixth grade my teacher had a set of stamps lined along the edge of her desk. I can still picture them now. Wooden, well-worn and and hand-inked from an battered, blue-stained pad. Each stamp had an individual design. If I close my eyes I can see them now. The rounded 'good'; the floral border around the oval 'very good', the long thin 'excellent', and the stamp-of-all-stamps the 'special merit'. With it's swirled writing, this was the stamp we really wanted. And if we went above and beyond we could even earn a special merit with a gold star.

We used to cue with anticipation at our teacher's desk, work in hand. What stamp would we earn today? She would sit in her chair pondering our work with a slight head-tilt. We would watch, hearts pounding as her hand passed over each stamp in turn.  If it came to rest on the 'special merit' we would almost burst as we watched her arms tremble with the force it took her liver-spotted hands to pound it into our work. I can hear the noise, the definitive thump as the stamp pounded it's judgement into our pages.

Our teacher was old (although probably not nearly as old as I remember) and sadly died a long time ago , but sometimes I wonder if I'm not still queuing for those stamps.

Killer calories

There must have been a time in my life when I didn't consider every little calorie I put in my mouth-but I don't remember it.

As a child, I was convinced by the presence of a sister with an unnaturally flat stomach and above average athletic prowess, that I was fat. I was, at most, chubby.  I used to lay on my bed every night and wonder what it would be like to be skinny. I remember thinking it would be good to be pregnant, because once the baby was born I would be thin. (I was young, very, very wrong and kind of ... well .. weird).

So I've always thought about it, a lot. But I've never really understood them ... until now.

A calorie is a mesure of energy, to give it it's true definition it is "a unit of heat equal to the amount of heat required to raise the temperature of one kilogram of water by one degree at one atmosphere pressure." Now, I have gone over and over this statement and still have no idea what this means or how it relates back to what should and shouldn't be eating. But. here are the top five things I have learned this February.

• To loose weight you must expend more energy than you consume. So, your calories out need to greater than your calories in.
• One pound of body weight is equivalent to 3500 calories. So to loose  just one pound (just under half a kilo) a week you need to eat 3500 fewer calories than you consume in that week (roughly 500 a day). (Makes you wonder how the biggest losers do 15kg in a week!)
• This can be achieved by both reducing your intake of calories, or by increasing the amount you expend.
• Different foods have different 'thermic effects'. That is some take more energy to burn than others. Dietary fat, for example has very little thermic effect, while protein is harder for the body to process and has a much larger thermic effect.
• To be really healthy we need to have include food from all the food groups in our diet (including fat and carbs) and make sure our diet is colourful, plenty of green, red and orange!

The foods to avoid are not a surprise to anyone. Face it, we know before we put them in our mouth that a Krispy Kreme doughnut or a bowl of wedges isn't the  best thing for us.

My heart is all a flutter

Yesterday I wore my heart rate monitor for 24 hours, just to measure how many calories I burned in a day. the magic number was 2462 (more than 300 burned while sleeping!). I found the whole thing fascinating, got completely obsessed and, quite frankly, was possibly more than a little boring on the subject.

Here are some of the things I learned.

My maximum heart rate is estimated to be around 180 bpm (very roughtly calculated as 220 minus your age) . The fastest my heart ever beat was at 94% of my maximum (in track 5 of a spin class). When sitting at my desk working my heart was beating at  between 42 and 44% of my maximum (around 75 bpm) standing it was closer to 50 but while having coffee with friends or eating dinner at home I was more like 38% of my maximum (around 68 bpm). Climbing stairs got me to about 60% of my maximum (around 108 bpm) .

All of this burned 2462 calories.

Tomorrow I calculate my average daily calories and see how they measure up

All hail to the trainer

Aly forgot to take his shoes to RPM (spin) yesterday and so had to sit the class out. So naturally, I decided to give him a work out of my own (get your mind out of the gutter people).

Inspired by watching a aqua class and Sydney's high temperatures I decided we'd jump into our pool and get water work out. This is what I learned ...

It is not easy to be a trainer. Firstly there is the planning and researching the best exercises. Then there is getting the balance right -you can't let them get too bored, there needs to be enough repetition, but not too much.

Also, an hour is a long time. Not a long time, say, to watch an episode of "The Biggest Loser" - an hour of the biggest Loser passes in a flash. But if you have to keep someone motivated it seems to take forever.

I think the low point of the class may have been when the post-it-note I wrote the list of exercises on blew into the water and sunk to the bottom of the pool.

So, to anyone who has ever trained me, to Lou Lou, to Nina and especially to Amazing Cate. I raise my protein shake to you. I now appreciate the effort you all go to every week to make your sessions interesting and inspirational.

Keen on Quinoa

Quinoa (pronounced much to Ali's amusement as 'keen-wah') seems to be today's new wonder food.

A grain-like food, quinoa was once considered the 'gold of the Incas' because it provided warriors with sustained energy. it's also high in protein and amino acids.

I've been hankering to try it ever since Arthur, the Mexican retail student who from time to time sets diet and exercise plans for me, put it on my 'to eat' list.

Now, Arthur is a guy who is serious about his diet and exercise. On graduation day he was so concerned we wouldn't have healthy enough food and he brought his own tins of tuna. The result is pretty amazing. In an end of term video he was cast as 'the incredible hulk'* and there were absolutely no need for special effects. This guy is ripped!

I had Quinoa in my cupboard for about three months, but was unsure what to do with it, until I found a breakfast recipe for Quinoa porridge in Michelle Bridge's new book 'Losing the Last 5 Kilos'. (It's awesome, you should buy it).

So we made the porridge and it was with great excitement that I ate it. It wasn't nice. And the after effects! A couple of clammy and lengthy trips to the bathroom were required.

My point is this. Not every health fad is for everyone. Take advice, try it, but if it's not serving you, feel free to discard it and try something new. I know I will be.

* I lied, Arthur was actually cast as 'the incredible sulk' who broke down crying at any sign of danger. He is, however, ripped.

Too damned hot

Ten good things about a hot, hot day.

1. The comforting smell of the stiff, clean washing when you pull it off the line, only an hour after you hung it out
2. Floating on the pool with a good book
3. Our beautiful Sydney beaches
4. The sizzle and spit of the evening BBQ
5. Cool sparkling mineral water with a squeeze of fresh lime
6. Remembering when you were a kid and you forgot your thongs (flip flops for my American readers) and you had to choose between burning your feet on the scalding tar or walking through a bindy-eye patch - ouch.
7. Watching the grass grow
8. Knowing that you'll be pining for it in the middle of a grey winters day
9. Slipping on a summer frock
10. The cool relief of a southerly change.

I've been doing yoga for a while now but it's taken me this long to realise that things can be easy or things can be hard - it all depends on how you choose to react to them.

Rejoice in this beautiful summer day people. 

Presence -part two

Twice a week I attend an early morning boot camp run by my work in the beautiful surrounds of Shelly Beach, the Manly Headlands and the area around ICMS

It's probably my most dreaded activity of the week. It's not the instructor, she's passionate, creative  and enthusiastic. It's the running.

Some people have bodies built for running. I have a body built (courtesy of my Scottish heritage) for surviving Scottish winters and eating porridge made with salt. I seem to be missing some kind of underfoot spring that allows normal people to take long loloping strides. And every week there I am bringing up the rear.

But this week, boot camp was going to be different. This week we were doing 'water work'. At last, I thought, it will no longer be me trailing the group. Only one problem. I'm short. Maybe a good half a foot shorter than the other participants. So when the others were bounding through chest-high water, I was struggling to keep my head from going under. I was cross. This was going to be my week.

That's when I decided. I had to change my thinking. Maybe I was the fortunate one. I mean, I was getting the better workout. I started to feel better, lighter ... for about 5 seconds before I got knocked down by wave! Still  for those 5 seconds I was 'the fortunate one.'  I had been present. I had chosen how to react to my circumstances.

My aim for next week is to try and re-focus my mind for an entire boot camp session. I'm going to take each run one step at a time thinking 'I am the fortunate one, I am the fortunate one.'

And maybe by the end I'll actually believe it.

Stuck for a healthy dinner party recipe this Feb - try this salmon dish

Salmon might be relatively high in fat (but only when compared, say, to other fish, not when compared  to a bacon double cheese burger) but it's good omega three fat. And it's so delicious and filling and ... did I mention delicious. Bring this recipe out if you have a dinner party and want something quick and easy to cook that's yummy, healthy and low in evil white carbs.

Ingredients
2 bunches baby bok choy
4 salmon cutlets

For the sauce
2 TBL fresh lime
2 TBL sweet chilli saice
1 TBL fish sauce
2 TBL sesame oil
2 Garlic cloves chopped
2 TBL grated giner

Method
One hour before serving mix mix all ingredients for the sauce. Cover the fish in 2 tablespoons of the sauce and allow to marinate for an hour.

Close to serving time, stir fry the remaining sauce in a wok. After about 1 minute toss in the bok choy and cook for a further 2 minutes.

Meanwhile, fry the marinating fish- The amount of cooking will depend on the size of the cutlet but it shouldn't take longer than three or four minutes.

Serve the salmon on the bok choy. If you are (god forbid!) eating carbs at night time you can also serve with rice.

Moving with a tribe

I mentioned in my intro that this year Ali and I decided to bring our tribe along with us on fit and fabulous February. Our tribe are our firends, colleagues, acquaintances, gym buddies and their friends colleagues etc etc.

For those of you who read the master -Seth Godin you'll be the familiar with the concept of tribes. If you haven't read his book, buy it, it will bring out the tribal leader in you.

My colleague reminded me today why it's important that we don't do this FFF thing alone- why we move in tribes.

Once a month at work we have cake. And not just your ordinary cake; this is a slab of  luscious, moist, thick iced chocolate cake with extra layers of dark and white chocolate. While cake is not officially banned in fit and fabulous February - me and my colleague are aiming for weight loss and good nutrition, so eating that chocolate cake wouldn't have helped.

My colleague spied me in the room and said out loud. 'I'm only going to have chocolate cake if Adrienne has it.' Needless to say neither of us had cake.

Our tribe keeps us motivated and honest we help each other stick to our commitments. Long live the fit and fabulous February tribe!

Presence - February 1

Sometimes I think (if I take the time to think at all) that I live every moment planning for the next. My mind is busy A new goal. New plans. And what for?

This morning before my yoga class I pick a card from a pile that are always left in a bowl at reception. The cards carry messages designed to guide your yoga practice.

The card this morning was 'presence' and it had some impact.

My daughter has grown up. A blink of the eye. A lifetime missed. So busy.

Just for now I'm going to take from time ... for now.

That's why this February I'm going to practice presence.

About Fit and Fabulous February

Every February Ali and I endure fit and fabulous February. This year we're taking our tribe with us.

Why fit and fabulous February?

1. Shed those Christmas kilos
2. Set our intentions for the new year
3. It's the shortest month of the year.

We encourage everyone to set their own spiritual and physical goals for February. We encourage no drinking. My goals are:

1. Get back the bikini body
2. Get home by 6.30pm three times a week
3. Cultivate presence