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.

The athlete is back (kinda)

Yay, tonight signals the start of the 2008/2009 volleyball season and I can’t bloomin’ wait. To be more precise, volleyball season starts again in September but pre-season training starts tonight and after three months off I’m am itching to get back on court.

I’ve even bought new knee pads for the occasion – not because I’d worn mine through (diving is for people with small boobs or those who don’t feel pain. Or those who like pain, even) but because the smell could probably be bottled and sold as a lethal weapon. See how considerate I am to my fellow players?

Anyway, tonight we have been summoned to training (in Leicester, ‘cos that’s who I play for, even though I live in MK) a good 45 minutes before it actually starts so we can be drilled over what’s expected from us during the season. What will actually happen is we’ll spend a good 30 of those 45 minutes catching up on gossip.

The league will change a bit this season – the Women’s National Volleyball League, that is, which means more travelling and therefore more squabbling over who pays and who doesn’t pay for petrol. What with the the credit crunch and all this is a serious issue and no doubt high on the agenda. I think they also want us to wear matching trackie bums to all away games too. So we’re talking seriously important stuff here.

Anyhoo, although I’ve been playing netball over the summer (probably the sport I am technically better at) volleyball comes first. I guess this is in part to do with ability but also to do with the social side. Volleyball clubs rock.

We’re supposed to work hard over our fitness during the summer as training is about technique and not so much about fitness. Fitness is done in our own time, say the coaches. I have been keeping fit (points to smug face) so shouldn’t feel too terrible when the coaches get us to run round the sports hall 10 times to warm up (points to sweaty brow).

There may well be new folk there tonight too which means more competition for our places on court, eek. That means I have to make an effort too. Bring it on!!!

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.

Wading through April

Today is the last day of March which means tomorrow will be April. No flies on me, eh! As much as I’m glad the clocks have gone forward and we’ll get lighter nights, I’m not looking foward to April; it’s gonna be a long month.

Why? Well, my dreaded CRT will be issued this Friday – the first essay/exam type thing as part of my CIPR Diploma and it means I need to pull my finger out and do some work. It means dedicating any free time I have to reading, studying, revising, researching - what ever you want to call it - so I actually know what I’m writing about.

This will be made increasingly difficult by the fact that three out of four Saturdays in April are taken up with work commitments. Well, the first one is my CIPR tutorial at the London Met Uni, then I have to interview some Naval pilots at a degree ceremony at The Barbican the following Saturday and then attend a degree ceremony in Torquay the Saturday after that. 

Add these work commitments and study/essay writing – I have less than a month to complete two essays and send them off - with the fact that I’ve launched my pre-summer fitness campaign and already I’m starting to loathe April.

If I want to look like a goddess on the beach this summer I need to start working on the old health and fitness routine now. I started this yesterday with a run (well, it was more like a long walk with a short run in the middle), a stint on the cross trainer and a few weights and sit-ups. I now have a huge blister on my heel and will no doubt hobble around the korfball court tonight.

So, April is gonna be a long month and one where fun things will have to take a backseat while I concentrate on work and study, with a bit of fitness in between. But it’s only one month and when May comes round it’ll be time to enjoy myself – or reward myself, even, for all my hard work.