Focus on fitness

Volleyball and netball season has drawn to a close and now my writing course has ended I find myself with a fair bit of time on my hands. With no more volleyball or netball training/matches until August (save for the summer netball tournament if it goes ahead) what on earth will I do with myself? Well, crack on with the next fitness campaign, of course..

My buddy reccommended a personal trainer to me and this little bundle of fitness – her name is Jade – has put together a six-week training plan tailored to my needs and aims.It rocks, in a “no pain, no gain” kind of way!

What do I want to achieve?

• To look like Kelly Brook in six weeks. Actually, just to look and feel fitter will be fine
• To notice a difference in my shape, noticeably the muffin top which volleyball and netball seem to neglect
• To give me a focus over the summer
• To maintain/increase fitness levels ahead of the new sports season
• To make sure I look hot on the beach in July

So, Jade has taken the above into account and meticulously put together a programme of activity, which includes five days of exercise per week, with two rest days. Activities include swimming, biking, running and a series of weights and evil lunge type exercises to boot. Jade talked me through the programme to make sure I was happy and inside I was chuckling to myself ‘cos she kept referring to me as an athlete. She knows all about my volleyballing and netballing activities and has therefore labelled me of athletic ability. I like it!

I started my programme today with a half hour sesh of weights and lunges, plus the plank and a bit of wobbling around on a fitness ball, followed by 50 minutes in the pool where I managed 88 lengths. I was knackered. I’m not used to weights and lunges and I felt a bit sick after doing some backward crunch things. And while 50 minutes in the pool did drag a bit – and I looked like a wrinkled prune when I got out – I felt bloody good, if a little tired, afterwards. That’s the feeling of achievement my friends!

Coupled with a decent diet and a whole load of discipline I’m hoping I stick to this programme and see the benefits come mid-June. Jade also said you need to eat every three hours or the body thinks it’s starving and I know this is something I can stick to. Sadly, you can’t snack on cakes and biccies, boo.

Tomorrow’s fitness agenda comprises a half hour run which will be a challenge – I’m a crap runner and usually give up after 10 minutes – so it will be interesting to see where I get the stamina from. Wish me luck!

Size zero campaign

Since January I have been busting a gut to crank up the fitness and achieve a hot bod. Muffin tops and love handles are sooo 2008.

Me and my buddy call this the Size Zero Campaign. Okay, so we don”t actually want to look emaciated and sticky out bones isn’t a good look, but we do want to become toned goddesses, turning heads wherever we go. Not unreasonable?

So, how do we set about achieving this near impossible goal? Well, we now have a team fruit bowl at work (but our director keeps bringing in cakes in a bid to thwart our efforts, damn him) and we joined the gym.

Now, I play sport four times a week as it is so squeezing three gym trips in as well is pretty tough. But, in the name of Size Zero, that’s what has to be done.

So, my mate Ruby does her little terrier routine on the cross trainer followed by weights that Geoff Capes would struggle to lift and I try and stay on the running machine without falling off. The cute guy in the little vest is a huge distraction and when my water bottle fell out of the holder and onto the treadmill I swiftly decided hurdling wasn’t for me.

S0, 40 minutes of cardio a day and you’re golden in terms of health and fitness, apparently. So why, after weeks of sweaty workouts and the fruit-induced toilet trips do I still look EXACTLY the same?

Okay, so maybe the love handles have slimmed down a bit and my jeans are a weeny bit looser so now I can actually breathe in them, but I’m still a size 12. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but I don’t feel I’m getting a good enough return on my investment, that’s all.

My volleyball coach has noted an improvement in my performance on court and this is no doubt to do with practically living in the gym, but still. Where’s the Size Zero version of me? Buried deep beneath the size 12 version, that’s where.

Okay, so I have fallen off the wagon a few times – I am only human – and sometimes cakes call my name and force me to eat them – but I’m pretty damn active and expected weight to fall off me like water out of a fountain. Nope.

I think the problem is – and bear with me, here’s the science – that I workout at cardio level which means struggling to breathe, a rapid heart rate and losing vision due to the amount of sweat in my eyes. This is the workout I like.

What I’m supposed to do (I think) is to work out at fat burning rate which involves being able to breathe, lower heart rate and only mild sweating. Which makes you look like a pussy in the gym! But that’s how you burn fat as opposed to just getting fitter. Oh dear.

I think this is where my competitive edge does me no good. If there’s a guy on the cross trainer kicking out his arms and legs at level nine, then I automatically want to crank my machine up to level 10, I just can’t help myself.

Hmm. The Size Zero Campaign continues… Watch this space…

Boot camp

Last night I went to boot camp, an kind of exercise class/circuit training set-up, with some of the girls from work. Oh. My. God.

This class is for men and women, although it was mostly the latter, and the fitness instructor was a tad scary. Super fit, super glam and the sort of woman who made tracksuits look good. She was actually really nice although she did make CK do five press-ups for yawning.

I won’t bore you with the ins and outs of what happened during this hour-long fitness sesh but needless to say, by the end of it, I was drowning in my own sweat and had pretty much lost the feeling in my arms and legs. Which made driving home a tad uncomfortable!

Some of the girls, amazingly, didn’t seem to break a sweat and walked out looking just as glam as they walked in. This is not normal. Maybe CK and I hammered it more than others a) because we had the men next to us and our competitive nature made us want to keep up and b) because we were newcomers and wanted to make a good impression to scary fitness lady.

Defo going back next week. No pain, no gain!

Sporting overdose?

Hmmm. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s such a thing as too much sport and exercise? I’ve had a sport-themed week this week and I have to say, I’m struggling to keep my little eyes open as I write. And it’s only 3.30pm!

Monday was an hour an a half of netball training during which the coach warned us that the intensity would only increase from here on in. I practically slipped off the car seat on the way home, I was so sweaty; probably because I paired up with a 14-year-old whipper snapper for one of the drills and she ran rings around me. I hate the youth!

On Tuesday I biked to and from a bellydancing class (yes, that’s right folks, I said bellydancing) which my work buddy roped me into. It’s actually good fun, although incredibly embarrassing and certainly not for the self conscious, and although not a cardio workout it does wonders for your core stability. Am starting to wonder if my core is a bit rotten!

Wednesday was two hours of volleyball training. For some reason training was rammed with newcomers this week and all those hot bodies in one room did warm the air a little. It was a physical session but my coaches noted my “improved fitness”. What they didn’t note is that I struggled to get out of bed the following day.

Yesterday I biked into work and then joined some work buddies at a Body Blast class. While it sounds painful, it wasn’t as hard as we were expecting and I was a tad disappointed. We did lots of lunges, crunches and core strengthening exercises and lots of weights too, but the instructor needed to push us harder. We wanted to feel the burn! Great 90s dance tunes to workout too though; I was half tempted to boogie my way through the class.

And today, Friday. I biked into work today but that’ll be it as far as exercise goes. All this exercise is making me feel great – I’ve been super productive and wide awake, although this is a problem when it comes to bedtime. I’m always in bed by midnight at the very latest usually but this week I haven’t jumped into bed until as late as 1am ‘cos I’m so pumped. I’m hoping this is just a temporary side effect ‘cos I’m truly knackered today and a little bit achy.

Oh well, I’m sure my good work will be undone this Bank Holiday weekend as I attend my mate’s hen weekend. I was charged with food shopping for the 10 of us and there’s a lot of cake, crisps and wine sat in the boot of my car, waiting to make the journey to Nottingham with me this evening. Oh well.

So sick of other people’s diets

I must have reached the age where us girlies start fretting about our weight. Well, I think girls of any age fret about their weight but lately it seems like some kind of epidemic has taken hold. All I hear is “I’ve started a healthy eating regime”, “I’m on a diet”, “I need to lose weight” or ”I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been”. Bla bla bla bla.

Honestly, who cares? Yes, I would love to shed a stone but if it means starving myself, avoiding any kind of occasion where there might be cake and pretending to be satisfied after scoffing a rabbit food lunch, then I’m just not interested.

Maybe I’m unsympathetic to diets because they just don’t work for me. I’ve tried a few out, just like every other gal on the planet, but for me it’s more a scientific experiment than an attempt to shed poundage. I did the Carol Vorderman detox diet some years ago and wrote a weekly column for the newspaper I was working for. It was pure hell and the column inches were the only thing that got me through it. I felt shite, had a permanent headache and wanted to chew my own hand off at the end of the month. I did feel wonderful after four weeks, sleeping like a baby and bouncing around with energy. But I’d only lost a couple of pounds.

I did lose a bit when I did the five day tree syrup diet. Basically had to substitute food with a gloopy drink for five days and although I had a nice flat tummy at the end of it, I was utterly miserable. I like eating food, I like the taste of eating food and I want to carry on eating food. I don’t want to swap my size 12 for a size zero if it means no more rare steaks, chocolate brioche or cheesecake.

I understand some people want/need to lose weight but most of the people I know who say they’re going on diets actually don’t look any different afterwards. If I’m going to the effort to eat celery for a fortnight I want to look damn good by day 14!

Nope, diets are not for me. That said, if I didn’t play sport I would be the size of a house. For me, exercise is a fun way of ensuring I can eat like food it’s going out of fashion. Okay, so I can’t shake off the love handles, but if we all had figures like pencils life wouldn’t be very interesting would it?

Doughnut anyone?

A sign of age?

Okay, so I am still the right side of 30 but I am seriously noticing the difference between 18 and 28. I played a lot of sport when I was 18 and I play a lot of sport now, the difference being I could walk off a netball court 10 years ago feeling a bit hot and sweaty but generally fine. Now I walk off court looking like a sweat-soaked beetroot, pain in at least two joints and usually needing a walking stick to get out of bed the following morning.

Yesterday, for example, I played in an all day charity volleyball tournament. By the end of the day I was shattered – not helped by the huge amount of cake I consumed (cake stall funds were all for charity and I had to do my bit) – and in a bit of pain. My dodgy ankle was swollen and aching when I removed my trainers, I somehow strained the back of my knee a few weeks back and volleyball only served to aggravate it, and my wrist and my back hurt too.

And last week, when I played netball against a team of 14-year-olds, I seriously felt old. They were young, agile, fit, as tall as me, and ran rings around us. Yes, we were more experienced, but that doesn’t mean much when your opponents are three stone lighter and don’t yet know the meaning of calorie counting and high BMIs.

Even when I was off court (we rotated players every now and then) sweat was still pouring off me and I could feel my red face physically warming up the room. This never used to happen! I must be getting older.

I’m now sat at my desk at work and my shoulders ache. Moving from my chair is a struggle as I seize up if I sit still for too long. Maybe I’m just not as fit as I should be, or maybe the fact I’m heavier than I used to be means I’m putting more strain on my body and this is its way of complaining?

But I take comfort in the fact I’m not alone. Yesterday’s tournament was filled with people limping off court, clutching their backs, wearing ankle and knee supports and generally looking pooped. So I’m in good company!

Beach body or beached whale?

My pre-summer fitness campaign has taken a bit of a nosedive in recent weeks. Although I started with the best of intentions, I need to give myself a bit of a kick if I don’t want to look like a beached whale when I hit the Costa Del Sol next month.

Last week I failed to do any exercise what so ever – and I can’t even remember what my excuse is. And last night, although I planned to jump on the cross trainer as soon as I got home,  instead I curled up on the sofa and fell asleep in front of Hollyoaks.

The weekend’s antics were no advertisement for good health either. It was my mate’s hen weekend and although it involved a lot of walking across town, it also involved guzzling copious amounts of alcohol, several trips to Wetherspoons for burger and chips, dancing in killer heels (although this could count as exercise?), danish pastries for breakfast, not enough sleep and not enough water. It also involved pulling my hair in a ridiculously tight side ponytail and wearing so much glittery eyeshadow I struggled to blink.

So, I must get back on track. The hayfever/cold I seem to have developed isn’t helping – I feel a bit fuzzy and sound a lot like a man – but that’s no excuse if I want to beat the bulge. And, as I refuse to diet, exercise is the only way.

I don’t think tomorrow’s volleyball AGM counts as exercise either, although it may give my eyes a workout – trying to keep them open – and probably my mouth too – I usually have a lot to say!

A bit ambitious?

I usually embrace sporting opportunities, be it a game of netball, a run (or rather fast walk) around the park or some whacky new fitness class for a giggle. But there’s a time and a place for sport and I’m concerned that tomorrow morning won’t be it.

Tonight I’m hitting Brum for a girly night out with one of my bestest chums – having managed to shake off her new boyfriend. Three’s a crowd and all that plus I couldn’t find my gooseberry costume anywhere.

So, it’ll be just the two of us and if previous nights out are anything to go by, tonight could get messy. But my other friend is expecting me to sweat is out at a midday fitness class in Leicester tomorrow, followed by a session in the gym. And there’s nothing wrong with that, I’d usually lap it up. But with a hangover? With serious sleep deprivation? With severe dehydration? I sense I may be a tad grumpy come lunch time.

I imagine tomorrow morning going something like this:

• Wake up to sound of very loud noise and wonder where the hell I am and what that beeping noise is (alarm clock)
• Wipe the eye bogies from my face and peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth
• Try and sit up without feeling sick
• Trip over mate on way to the toilet and then just sit there for ages
• Head to the kitchen, stub my toe on an empty wine bottle and tread on discarded and dried up contact lens, which now resembles a shard of glass
• Search for liquid refreshment – no Lucozade, only pinot grigio, so plump for warm tap water instead
• Attempt to pull on my trackies and hoodie and look like an athlete, no time for shower
• Scrape hair off face and tie in an off-centre ponytail
• Recycle last night’s eye make-up and grab car keys
• Hit the motorway, feeling not all that in control of the car
• Pick up friend and get comments like “you look like shite”
• Make it to exercise class and crave Nurofen for thumping headache
• Fail to sweat because body is trying to hang on to every bead of moisture, as dehydration does its worst
• Snap at friend who’s super alert after staying in last night
• Drown myself in the swimming pool – anything to stop the pain
• Get rescued by fit lifeguard but lose my bikini bottoms in the process
• Die of embarrassment as fit lifeguard hands his phone number to my mate

Okay, so maybe I’m being a bit negative and over dramatic but I think a session in the gym tomorrow – no matter how much I want to do it at the moment – is a tad ambitious after a night on the tiles.

Am I a well person? Hmmm

A trip to the occupation health department at work today has informed me of the following – my blood sugar and cholesterol level are excellent, meaning I have a balanced diet and I’m not diabetic. All good.

However, apparently I am a binge drinker whose BMI is teetering on the edge of “overweight”.

They were offering these screenings at work and I thought I may as well go along. I had no idea about cholesterol etc and whether mine was good or bad so it was interesting to find out, even if it did mean stabbing my finger and seeing blood.

Now, I don’t smoke, never have, and I do up to four hours of exercise a week. Excellent, said the nurse. What about alcohol consumption? I explained that it’s quite difficult to work it out on a weekly basis. I can easily go a fortnight without touching a drop and then consume three bottles of wine or equivalent on a night out. Hmmm, she said.

“I know it’s not the healthiest way to drink,” I blurted out, but it was too late. The “bad for your liver” speech had started. I know that this way of drinking isn’t good and that a glass of wine a day would be better for me. But I don’t always fancy a drink, especially not on a school night, and when I do go out or have a special event to attend I like to make the most of it.

“I’m sure as you get older you’ll binge drink less,” the nurse said. “Yes” I replied, “Because my hangovers are getting worse.”

Right, onto my BMI which is 25 apparently. Anything above this and you’re classed as overweight. I’m teetering on the edge apparently although I’m not convinced the BMI is a good measure of a healthy weight.

I don’t confess to being a skinny minnie but I don’t think anyone would class me as overweight either. I play a lot of sport, am tall and a size 12. Pretty normal really. But what BMIs fail to take into account is muscle.

A lot of my friends are athletic folk and therefore carry a bit more muscle than the Average Joe. But, as muscle weighs more than fat, this tends to have a negative impact on their BMI. A few of my friends have been classed as obese – which is just plain libellous in my view.

The nurse also asked me about stress management. I didn’t tell her about the mass of ex boyfriends buried under the patio but explained that my sporting activities took care of all that. This has definitely been proved by the six-week break I had when I rolled my ankle. Stress build up and anger was present on a daily basis. Friends will confirm this. And I defo put weight on during this time, adding to my inflated BMI

So, am I a well person? Generally yes, but I need to change my drinking habits (unlikely) and lose a bit of weight (possible, since I am reclaiming my fitness level after the ankle injury and have embarked on my campaign to get a body fit for beach exposure come June).

Back to training

I made a return to volleyball training last night after a five week break. I’d forgotten how it feels when you haven’t touched a ball for a while – bright red and stinging arms from passing, stiff fingers from volleying and sore shoulders from hitting. Oh, but it was all worth it.

It was great to run around, get a sweat on and see the girls again. My right ankle’s still weak and my good left ankle was twinging as I keep shifting my weight to that foot when I jump, overcompensating I guess. But I can’t wait to be part of the team again this Sunday as we face our last two National League matches of the season. And it will be so good to go out on a high so I’m keeping everything crossed.

It did make me chuckle last night to see how the players have progressed through the season. The captain has her swollen thumb strapped up, there are a few of us in ankle supports and one of my mates had a knee brace on which made her look like a robot on court. And they say exercise is good for you?