Robyn’s Nest

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?

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!

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!

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.

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).

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?

I don’t know what it is about holidays, but I always feel motivated to sort my life out a bit when I get back. Tomorrow I head to France for a week and already I feel that the fresh mountain air will be enough to blow away the cobwebs and inject a bit of enthusiasm into Robyn’s World.

I’m looking forward to putting the following into action in March:

• Start volleyball training again, as ankle should be back to normal, and also go to korfball on Monday nights with the girls from work.
• Run (at least three times a week) to the newly opened Tesco Express store on my estate to pick up a morning newspaper - a 10 minute injection of exercise, fresh air and chance to catch up with the rest of the world.
• Use the medicine ball which is sitting on the floor at home. It’s not going to help me tone up unless I actually use it.
• Use my lunch hour to catch up on reading - CIPR reading list/PR Week and Media Guardian. I will become a font of all media and public relations knowledge.
• Eat better. The last few weeks have seen me shovel all sorts of edible evils into my mouth. It’s time to stock up on the fruit and veggies.
• Take a packed lunch to work. The cafeteria is costing me a small fortune.
• Make a list of all the unwanted things in my flat (two TVs for starters) and try and shift them on the work intranet site.
• Book my next holidays - it’s always good to have some guaranteed sunshine to look forward to. In the meantime I need to ditch the pasty look and get busy with the fake tan.
• Be more efficient at work and try and establish a proper routine.
• Make plenty of time to go dancing with the girlies and catch up with buddies back in the Shire

Today is the most depressing day of 2008, or Blue Monday if you want to call it that. And I do feel a bit depressed.

The weather’s horrible, I didn’t have much of a weekend, my volleyball coach just doesn’t understand me, pay day is still another four days away and I’m feeling increasingly stressed at the amount of diary commitments I have to fulfil. And that’s just for starters. Get the violins out please.

I headed down to London on Saturday (got up at 5.10am to make sure I wouldn’t be late/panic on the trains etc) and when I got home at 6pm my brain was mush. I’ve never been to uni before and this CIPR Diploma is heavy stuff. For every hour we’re in the classroom (one full day per month) we’re expected to do three hours of reading and I ain’t talking my usual thriller/crime drama novels here. We’re talking academic texts - with no pictures!

I feel a little out of my depth too. My class buddies have much more PR experience than me (I got a place based on my NCTJ qualifications) and they all speak the lingo. I don’t. On a positive note, there’s loads to learn, it’ll be a good experience and I’m making new PR mates. And our tutors (if that’s what you call them) are guys at the top of their trade. Quentin Langley and Mike Hogan really know this shit. I guess as a journalist I feel a bit outnumbered by PR bods but it can only get easier.

And how ironic that one of my study buddies is, in fact, one of my colleagues in comms at the OU. We both work in communications yet neither of us had any idea the other would be there. Much amusement.

More sources of depression? I don’t want to sound like a petty child but I’m angry at being benched for one of yesterday’s volleyball matches and the lack of sympathy/explaination from my coach, and the fact some Greek girl from hell seems to taking my court time.

Another? The fact that my spare time has been reduced dramatically and I’ve not got much time for the fun stuff. And the fact I need to do more exercise (fitness is lacking, don’t feel like an athlete, more like a pig with asthma) but instead keep eating chocolate. Damn those leftover Christmas goodies which I just can’t throw away!

So, how to combat Blue Monday? No, I didn’t buy a box of 12 Krispy Kreme doughnuts when I went to Tesco at lunch time, but I think that would help, until the guilt set in. No, I’m looking forward to the fact January is almost over, pay day is almost here and I’ve got some nice weekends with friends on the agenda.