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.