I was talking to my mother recently about one of my (many) faults. Envy. I explained to her that I generally feel happy about my little ‘lot’ in life – my apartment, my job, my pay, my life – until I look around me. Then I see friends / people who – earn more, have better places, cushier jobs, partners with whom they share expenses, mortgages and their lives – and I feel discontented. “It’s not fair,” I think. “Poor me,” I think.
I forget about those millions who are homeless and living in poverty or violence. It is all about me and I feel envy. I feel injustice and I feel (and act) like a ‘victim’.
I hate these feelings of envy and injustice and talk about myself as being self-absorbed. Self-obsessed.
But, when I do psychological tests, or other personality quizzes the results rarely indicate this. In fact it is the opposite: I am ‘socially intelligent’, knowing how to act with people in different situations; I feel a sense of responsibility to others and care about their feelings and welfare… blah, blah blah.
This is kinda true. I know that. In some ways this is a good thing. I am overly cautious about others’ feelings, in group situations I ensure that everyone gets a say, I encourage the quieter members. But I am also overly sensitive to others’ pain and hurt. I feel the need to make things better. I explain away others’ insensitivity; I intervene to soften someone’s tone without trying to offend either party. It can be hard work. I continually monitor peoples’ reactions as I speak to them - which means I give them what they want to hear.
Essentially, I am a people-pleaser and it can be exhausting. It can also mean that ‘I’ am lost along the way. What I really want to say and who I really am is cast aside as I become who others need me to be. And what I am realizing more and more is that, I can only see myself through the eyes of others.
For a long time I have known that I worry too much about what others think of me. How I am perceived. I can only see myself reflected in the eyes of others. When asked why I want to lose weight, my responses are about how others perceive me: so men will find me more attractive; so people won’t judge me in a certain way…. My reasons are never about me.
Here at the fat camp, these issues are becoming more evident. I struggled through my first two weeks here (http://rockafellaskank.blogspot.com/2009/05/fat-camp-one-week-down.html) and was horrified, not at how unfit I was, but that I was more unfit than others. I hated that I lagged behind. I hated that any athleticism I once had, was gone, leaving me wallowing in others’ perception that I never had any.
Partway through the second fortnight, my attitude is different. The fitter bunch has gone; the newcomers are less fit. Less athletic. I am no longer the least fit. In fact, I have to be positive, strong and encouraging for their benefit. I can’t whinge and complain as I know they are doing it harder than I am. Once again I am able to be strong and supportive.
Those that were here during my first week keep commenting on the change in me. I have tried to explain, but am not sure I have succeeded. They do know about this weakness though. They keep picking me up on anything I say that is about how I am perceived. Here at the camp we are told that we need to focus on ourselves. Here it is supposed to be ‘all about me’. Not the ‘me’ that others want or need us to be, but the ‘me’ that remains when everything else is gone.
For me, I am not yet sure I know who that is. But my search will continue and I hope to find her.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Fat camp - one week down.....
One week down and 3 to go (http://rockafellaskank.blogspot.com/2009/05/fat-camp-beginning.html). The thought still depresses me. I guess I know I am not ready to go home. I would still be tempted by tinned caramel and meringues. By chocolate and hot chips. Here we learn that ‘food is fuel’. Full stop. That we are not meant to savour it; to enjoy it. Or to crave it. I don’t know that I want to live by that mantra. We also learn that we should be ‘living in the moment’. This is a biggie for me – a constant worrier about what is to come. Nonetheless, I want to ask how, if we are living in the moment, we don’t enjoy the food (that we are eating in that same moment).
Many diets and dieticians tell you to focus on what you are eating. Savour it. Enjoy it. They tell you not to eat distractedly in front of tv or shovel food in while reading, but to savour every morsel.
Either way, I like to think that one day I will be able to think of food without having a lot of baggage attached to it. I know I need to break the nexus of food and tv, food and reading, food and sitting, well…. food and everything really. I need to live a life where I have things other than food to fill it. Whether that mindset will be broken here, I do not know.
I survived the 1000 steps, though what I wasn’t told was that the walk TO the steps was as bad as the steps themselves. Another camper walked with me and encouraged me the whole way. Her distraction tactics didn’t entirely work and I whinged the entire time, but I did make it. Only 46 minutes of agony.
Unable to ‘live in the now’ I started obsessing about having to do the same climb in a fortnight. Plus a hike up a long incline (mountain type thing) next week. As I have said before, I know that worrying doesn’t help, but as yet I am unable to prevent myself from doing so. My first goal, is to allow myself to worry but then tell myself that there is nothing I can do about it and that it doesn’t matter if I struggle.
What I am slowly coming to terms with is that I am unfit. Overweight and unfit. I did know this, but suspect I have been in denial about the extent of my problem. Though I am the least fit I have perhaps ever been in my 41years, as I have a fairly athletic history, I expected to be able to perform better than many people here. That has not been the case. In fact I am ranked in the bottom two of all twelve. Having said that – that ranking mostly relates to activities that involve us doing inclines and hills – at which (you now know well) I under-perform on.
My biggest fear coming in was that my injured ankle would hold me back. In all honesty, it is only my fitness that is holding me back. The trainers have not been sympathetic to my injury, rarely offering me an alternative to running and games in the sand (the latter jarring my foot quite a bit).
After one week, I am unable to detect any improvement in my fitness. Logic, however, tells me that I can only be getting fitter. Perhaps the heavy, aching limbs prevent me from feeling lively and energetic.
On a more positive note, I am trying. When told to run, I try. I cannot run far and yearn for the days – even a year or so ago – when I was able to build up to 20mins on the treadmill. But those that know me, know I do complain when given a challenge, but then go ahead and do it anyway. My pilates instructor will attest to the fact that she will tell me I have to do 15 repetitions of an exercise. I start complaining halfway through, but usually determinedly do 20. Failure is not an option. Giving up is not an option, but for the first time (and if honest), I suspect I have to realise that mediocrity is what I am fated to achieve here and all I can strive for.
Meanwhile, I head into week 2. I can only hope that before I know it, I am back here, reviewing that week. In retrospect week 1 has flown past. With tightly-programmed days and essentially no free time until after dinner, the day is taken away from us. We move from one activity to the next. While a couple of people who have been here for sometime, skip activities, the rest of us do not dare. And, most of the classes (complementing the exercise) are enjoyable.
Adro Sarnelli (winner of Biggest Loser here in Australia and who owns the camp), himself, is affable and charismatic. He is genuinely committed to this place and to us. To our journey. Passionate about his cause – weight loss – he is happy to share his successes and failures with us. He also answers obscure questions about his time on “The Biggest Loser” with good humour and patience.
Other than the manager, Dante, we are entertained by a group of trainers and support staff. The guests themselves reflect mish-mash of society. Younger than I imagined and slimmer than I imagined, I am the third oldest guest and third biggest person here. We have mostly bonded as a group, though obviously some getting along better than others.
Here we are laid bare. Much of our bravado and the barriers we have built around us are broken down so our raw selves are on display. Sometimes it isn’t pretty. But it is real and I guess that’s all that matters.
Written on 16th May 2009. Subsequently posted.
Many diets and dieticians tell you to focus on what you are eating. Savour it. Enjoy it. They tell you not to eat distractedly in front of tv or shovel food in while reading, but to savour every morsel.
Either way, I like to think that one day I will be able to think of food without having a lot of baggage attached to it. I know I need to break the nexus of food and tv, food and reading, food and sitting, well…. food and everything really. I need to live a life where I have things other than food to fill it. Whether that mindset will be broken here, I do not know.
I survived the 1000 steps, though what I wasn’t told was that the walk TO the steps was as bad as the steps themselves. Another camper walked with me and encouraged me the whole way. Her distraction tactics didn’t entirely work and I whinged the entire time, but I did make it. Only 46 minutes of agony.
Unable to ‘live in the now’ I started obsessing about having to do the same climb in a fortnight. Plus a hike up a long incline (mountain type thing) next week. As I have said before, I know that worrying doesn’t help, but as yet I am unable to prevent myself from doing so. My first goal, is to allow myself to worry but then tell myself that there is nothing I can do about it and that it doesn’t matter if I struggle.
What I am slowly coming to terms with is that I am unfit. Overweight and unfit. I did know this, but suspect I have been in denial about the extent of my problem. Though I am the least fit I have perhaps ever been in my 41years, as I have a fairly athletic history, I expected to be able to perform better than many people here. That has not been the case. In fact I am ranked in the bottom two of all twelve. Having said that – that ranking mostly relates to activities that involve us doing inclines and hills – at which (you now know well) I under-perform on.
My biggest fear coming in was that my injured ankle would hold me back. In all honesty, it is only my fitness that is holding me back. The trainers have not been sympathetic to my injury, rarely offering me an alternative to running and games in the sand (the latter jarring my foot quite a bit).
After one week, I am unable to detect any improvement in my fitness. Logic, however, tells me that I can only be getting fitter. Perhaps the heavy, aching limbs prevent me from feeling lively and energetic.
On a more positive note, I am trying. When told to run, I try. I cannot run far and yearn for the days – even a year or so ago – when I was able to build up to 20mins on the treadmill. But those that know me, know I do complain when given a challenge, but then go ahead and do it anyway. My pilates instructor will attest to the fact that she will tell me I have to do 15 repetitions of an exercise. I start complaining halfway through, but usually determinedly do 20. Failure is not an option. Giving up is not an option, but for the first time (and if honest), I suspect I have to realise that mediocrity is what I am fated to achieve here and all I can strive for.
Meanwhile, I head into week 2. I can only hope that before I know it, I am back here, reviewing that week. In retrospect week 1 has flown past. With tightly-programmed days and essentially no free time until after dinner, the day is taken away from us. We move from one activity to the next. While a couple of people who have been here for sometime, skip activities, the rest of us do not dare. And, most of the classes (complementing the exercise) are enjoyable.
Adro Sarnelli (winner of Biggest Loser here in Australia and who owns the camp), himself, is affable and charismatic. He is genuinely committed to this place and to us. To our journey. Passionate about his cause – weight loss – he is happy to share his successes and failures with us. He also answers obscure questions about his time on “The Biggest Loser” with good humour and patience.
Other than the manager, Dante, we are entertained by a group of trainers and support staff. The guests themselves reflect mish-mash of society. Younger than I imagined and slimmer than I imagined, I am the third oldest guest and third biggest person here. We have mostly bonded as a group, though obviously some getting along better than others.
Here we are laid bare. Much of our bravado and the barriers we have built around us are broken down so our raw selves are on display. Sometimes it isn’t pretty. But it is real and I guess that’s all that matters.
Written on 16th May 2009. Subsequently posted.
Fat Camp - the beginning
Day 3 at the fat camp (http://rockafellaskank.blogspot.com/2009/05/fat-camp.html) and the last day and a half have been amazingly confronting. I can only hope that this experience – challenging as it currently is (mentally as well as physically) - helps me grow as a person.
Physically the camp has been hard, from the fitness test the morning after our arrival (day one) and the subsequent ‘outdoor’ training which meant running up and down hills. I have long-hated hills since an episode in Zimbabwe, when I found it really hard and got incredibly sick, climbing the stairs out of the ravine after whitewater rafting at Victoria Falls.
I came with an injury and the trainers have been spectacularly unsympathetic. Instead I feel like a hypochondriac of sorts when I remind them that I am not supposed to be actually running (or fast walking) this week. In fact I ran on my first day here and have continued to do so, hampered more by my fitness than my foot.
Existing on 800 calories or less a day is easier than I thought, particularly when your day is filled with exercise, classes and cooking. And, when you retire to your bedroom at 7pm with only sleep on your mind.
To date, we have essentially had three training sessions a day. Unfortunately many of them involve hills.
Yesterday, Day 2, I started to miss the things we go without. (Absolutely no carbohydrates or sugar – including fruit, some veges, and milk-based products). As someone who had been binging on hot chips and tins of caramel with meringues and lemon crème yoghurt (don’t cringe, I assure you that the combination is lovely), I suspect I will feel the loss. Of the 12 campers here sharing my pain, 8 are in their second fortnight. They tell us the detox is horrid and they all suffered to varying extents.
So far, my symptoms have manifested in grumpiness. Yesterday the manager here told me I HAD to try the stuffed mushrooms at lunch. I refrained from telling him that I was 41years old and, ‘didn’t he think I had tried mushrooms before’. I was very good the night before and tried the cauliflower mash (it was promised to be like potato mash – it wasn’t). In the end I ate the mushroom toppings for a 42 calorie lunch. And I was like a petulant child. More than ever I wanted to go home and the idea of living like this for almost 4 more weeks felt like more than I could bear.
And when confronted with a post-dinner stretch and meditation session at 7.30pm I wanted to revolt. I just wanted to go to bed, I didn’t want more – even if it wasn’t exercise. Again, I was petulant.
I heard last night that this morning’s pre-breakfast exercise involved driving to some mountain, so I obsessed about what would be before us. It wasn’t a huge climb, but up and down and around the mountain, with some pauses to run up hills and stairs on the way. Towards the end (of the hour or so) I wanted to throw the towel in. I rarely give up. If ever. Today I came close. I wanted to just fall over in a heap and have someone else take care of me (like my fantasy of being hospitalized and being taken care of!!!). Instead I had to keep going and eventually staggered to the end of the hill as we completed the training session. I wanted to swear and scream. I wanted to vomit and almost did on the crowded bus trip back to camp.
Having recovered from the early morning training session and had breakfast, we were to embark on another training session. On the schedule it read ‘interval’ training. This I understood to be in the gym and, like yesterday’s aerobics session, more in my comfort zone.
Instead the trainer gave everyone a choice and all bar two of us voted for outdoors. Obviously in the absence of equipment, I knew the training would involve that which I feared most – more hills. I was furious with my fellow guests. I was furious with my lack of choice. As I walked near the back of the group (down the first hills) I was livid and I was upset. Again I was the petulant child who didn’t want to play.
The trainer instructed us that we had to run up and back down this hill a number of times. Instead I walked at the back – not fast and not caring – with an injured member of the group. The trainer seemed to have forgotten that I had an injury anyway. I suspect he just thought I was fat and lazy. While I did the work, I wasn’t happy and in the comfort of my fellow guest, I burst into tears. In her third week, and the heaviest girl in the house (I am next) she was sympathetic.
I know myself well. It isn’t exactly the detox that is throwing me. The experience has been emotionally confronting. I am a control freak. I live alone, I am responsible only for me. I organize my own work program and that of others. I usually have complete control of all aspects of my life. Suddenly I am here and I am in control of nothing. I cannot decide what I want to eat. What I want to do. Instead we have a menu we adhere to. We have a 9.30pm curfew – which isn’t required as we are in bed by then anyway. We are told when to be where and where to be when.
In addition, obsessive by nature, I have tried to live without numbers for some time. Recalling my devastation each time I stepped on the scales I stopped weighing myself. At one point my doctor had me on a ‘healthy eating plan’ which didn’t allow me to count calories, or points, or fats, or any other kind of number. I was nervous about the seeming lack of parameters or controls, but it worked. For a while.
Here, it is all about the numbers. We wear a heart rate monitor all day. It is programmed with our height and weight and so it counts our calories as we burn them off. I easily burned off over 5000 on my first full day – and consumed less than 700 (though not all days have I burned off this many). We religiously write down our calories as we consume them and our calories burned after we expend them.
Day 4 has seen an improvement in my state of mind. Despite four training sessions today I feel much better, though some of this could be because those sessions involved no hills and no queasiness. It meant that I could engage more with my fellow campers and I attempted to be less negative about the whole experience. I really struggled on the previous two days. I hate to think how the others have perceived me. I am hoping that my stay here and my mindset are starting to turn themselves around.
We have a session tomorrow that involves climbing 1000 steps. Everything I hate in one fell swoop. I have obsessed about it since learning of it but realize there is nothing I can do in advance. Worrying won’t help me at all and in fact, it means my dread grows. My certainty that I am not capable of doing them needs to be challenged – I realize this. I can’t even imagine how hard it is going to be. Am I resilient enough? I never give up but I wonder if pushed hard enough, will I? I can only hope not.
Written on day 4 (14th May 2009). Subsequently posted.
Physically the camp has been hard, from the fitness test the morning after our arrival (day one) and the subsequent ‘outdoor’ training which meant running up and down hills. I have long-hated hills since an episode in Zimbabwe, when I found it really hard and got incredibly sick, climbing the stairs out of the ravine after whitewater rafting at Victoria Falls.
I came with an injury and the trainers have been spectacularly unsympathetic. Instead I feel like a hypochondriac of sorts when I remind them that I am not supposed to be actually running (or fast walking) this week. In fact I ran on my first day here and have continued to do so, hampered more by my fitness than my foot.
Existing on 800 calories or less a day is easier than I thought, particularly when your day is filled with exercise, classes and cooking. And, when you retire to your bedroom at 7pm with only sleep on your mind.
To date, we have essentially had three training sessions a day. Unfortunately many of them involve hills.
Yesterday, Day 2, I started to miss the things we go without. (Absolutely no carbohydrates or sugar – including fruit, some veges, and milk-based products). As someone who had been binging on hot chips and tins of caramel with meringues and lemon crème yoghurt (don’t cringe, I assure you that the combination is lovely), I suspect I will feel the loss. Of the 12 campers here sharing my pain, 8 are in their second fortnight. They tell us the detox is horrid and they all suffered to varying extents.
So far, my symptoms have manifested in grumpiness. Yesterday the manager here told me I HAD to try the stuffed mushrooms at lunch. I refrained from telling him that I was 41years old and, ‘didn’t he think I had tried mushrooms before’. I was very good the night before and tried the cauliflower mash (it was promised to be like potato mash – it wasn’t). In the end I ate the mushroom toppings for a 42 calorie lunch. And I was like a petulant child. More than ever I wanted to go home and the idea of living like this for almost 4 more weeks felt like more than I could bear.
And when confronted with a post-dinner stretch and meditation session at 7.30pm I wanted to revolt. I just wanted to go to bed, I didn’t want more – even if it wasn’t exercise. Again, I was petulant.
I heard last night that this morning’s pre-breakfast exercise involved driving to some mountain, so I obsessed about what would be before us. It wasn’t a huge climb, but up and down and around the mountain, with some pauses to run up hills and stairs on the way. Towards the end (of the hour or so) I wanted to throw the towel in. I rarely give up. If ever. Today I came close. I wanted to just fall over in a heap and have someone else take care of me (like my fantasy of being hospitalized and being taken care of!!!). Instead I had to keep going and eventually staggered to the end of the hill as we completed the training session. I wanted to swear and scream. I wanted to vomit and almost did on the crowded bus trip back to camp.
Having recovered from the early morning training session and had breakfast, we were to embark on another training session. On the schedule it read ‘interval’ training. This I understood to be in the gym and, like yesterday’s aerobics session, more in my comfort zone.
Instead the trainer gave everyone a choice and all bar two of us voted for outdoors. Obviously in the absence of equipment, I knew the training would involve that which I feared most – more hills. I was furious with my fellow guests. I was furious with my lack of choice. As I walked near the back of the group (down the first hills) I was livid and I was upset. Again I was the petulant child who didn’t want to play.
The trainer instructed us that we had to run up and back down this hill a number of times. Instead I walked at the back – not fast and not caring – with an injured member of the group. The trainer seemed to have forgotten that I had an injury anyway. I suspect he just thought I was fat and lazy. While I did the work, I wasn’t happy and in the comfort of my fellow guest, I burst into tears. In her third week, and the heaviest girl in the house (I am next) she was sympathetic.
I know myself well. It isn’t exactly the detox that is throwing me. The experience has been emotionally confronting. I am a control freak. I live alone, I am responsible only for me. I organize my own work program and that of others. I usually have complete control of all aspects of my life. Suddenly I am here and I am in control of nothing. I cannot decide what I want to eat. What I want to do. Instead we have a menu we adhere to. We have a 9.30pm curfew – which isn’t required as we are in bed by then anyway. We are told when to be where and where to be when.
In addition, obsessive by nature, I have tried to live without numbers for some time. Recalling my devastation each time I stepped on the scales I stopped weighing myself. At one point my doctor had me on a ‘healthy eating plan’ which didn’t allow me to count calories, or points, or fats, or any other kind of number. I was nervous about the seeming lack of parameters or controls, but it worked. For a while.
Here, it is all about the numbers. We wear a heart rate monitor all day. It is programmed with our height and weight and so it counts our calories as we burn them off. I easily burned off over 5000 on my first full day – and consumed less than 700 (though not all days have I burned off this many). We religiously write down our calories as we consume them and our calories burned after we expend them.
Day 4 has seen an improvement in my state of mind. Despite four training sessions today I feel much better, though some of this could be because those sessions involved no hills and no queasiness. It meant that I could engage more with my fellow campers and I attempted to be less negative about the whole experience. I really struggled on the previous two days. I hate to think how the others have perceived me. I am hoping that my stay here and my mindset are starting to turn themselves around.
We have a session tomorrow that involves climbing 1000 steps. Everything I hate in one fell swoop. I have obsessed about it since learning of it but realize there is nothing I can do in advance. Worrying won’t help me at all and in fact, it means my dread grows. My certainty that I am not capable of doing them needs to be challenged – I realize this. I can’t even imagine how hard it is going to be. Am I resilient enough? I never give up but I wonder if pushed hard enough, will I? I can only hope not.
Written on day 4 (14th May 2009). Subsequently posted.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Fat Camp
I have this song in my head. It’s one from Play School that I used to sing to my niece when she was little, “We’re going on a bear hunt…”. Instead the words in my head are, “I’m going on a fat camp….”.
I tend to blame almost everything on my weight. (Although not global warming or the international economic crisis, ‘cos that would be just plain silly!)
But stuff that is wrong with my life I believe can usually be traced back to my weight problems. When they started back in 1983 the issue was a different one to that I have now. I became very thin. At that point, a relationship was established between my mind, my body and food that I have been unable to overcome.
Fast forward to 26 years later and the problem is the opposite. Over the intervening years I have lost and gained 10, 20 and 30 kgs a number of times but I keep going back. There is no middle ground for me. It is all or nothing. Eating badly isn’t just a chocolate bar. It is family block after family block. It is hours, days and weeks of binging.
While my weight is the (sole) biggest issue in my life, it is the impact that it has had on my life that devastates me.
I have always been single, never loved or in love. I blame this on my weight and how I am perceived, not only by others, but also myself.
Confidence that I lack in the workplace and while with friends is generally because I feel fat, unattractive and unworthy. A failure. It plays on my mind and undermines other aspects of my life.
And, even though I know that guilt and self-loathing will follow, I can’t stop myself. Overeating and drinking is usually the only thing that provides any comfort. The irony is not lost on me – that if I ate and drank less, I might have a man or a family beside me providing that comfort. Instead I fill the abyss with calories.
The spiral is ugly. The fatter I feel, the less I exercise. For someone who was once athletic, I know this is a waste.
I fear I am now perceived as a frumpy middle-aged woman. And more than self-loathing; I now feel extreme regret. That I have lost 26years of my life that I can never regain.
While I feel stymied – unable to act, I am forcing myself into a lifestyle change that I hope is not too late.
I am going to a fat camp. For one month. I wish it were longer. I wish I could emerge like a swan from the prison that has been my body and my life for 20 years. Instead, I have one month and I can only hope and pray for change. Physical and mental.
I realize of course that I shouldn’t call it the fat camp. It is, in fact, called The New Me Retreat (www.thenewme.com.au). Run by the winner of the first series of The Biggest Loser (in Australia), Adro Sarnelli, it is based on the series’ premise. A house of people and lots of exercise. You have to be 20kgs overweight to go. You can only go for a minimum of 2 weeks.
I’m not sure what to expect. (When I was wealthier and lived overseas) I visited a health retreat in Queensland – a couple of times. While the experience was amazing and made me reconsider the direction of my life, the focus was more on recharging one’s batteries. Though health and fitness was on the menu, the experience was luxurious and featured pampering treatments and meditations.
I am expecting the fat camp to be different. Hard. Challenging. While excited, I am also approaching the month with dread and nervousness. I can already imagine the burning in my lungs as I struggle with a hill or sprints. And, my expectations are high. I am expecting a change. In me. “A New Me”. Someone who, at the end of this experience (which includes the weeks and months after), looks like they should and is motivated to keep it that way. Someone who loves life. And themselves.
I tend to blame almost everything on my weight. (Although not global warming or the international economic crisis, ‘cos that would be just plain silly!)
But stuff that is wrong with my life I believe can usually be traced back to my weight problems. When they started back in 1983 the issue was a different one to that I have now. I became very thin. At that point, a relationship was established between my mind, my body and food that I have been unable to overcome.
Fast forward to 26 years later and the problem is the opposite. Over the intervening years I have lost and gained 10, 20 and 30 kgs a number of times but I keep going back. There is no middle ground for me. It is all or nothing. Eating badly isn’t just a chocolate bar. It is family block after family block. It is hours, days and weeks of binging.
While my weight is the (sole) biggest issue in my life, it is the impact that it has had on my life that devastates me.
I have always been single, never loved or in love. I blame this on my weight and how I am perceived, not only by others, but also myself.
Confidence that I lack in the workplace and while with friends is generally because I feel fat, unattractive and unworthy. A failure. It plays on my mind and undermines other aspects of my life.
And, even though I know that guilt and self-loathing will follow, I can’t stop myself. Overeating and drinking is usually the only thing that provides any comfort. The irony is not lost on me – that if I ate and drank less, I might have a man or a family beside me providing that comfort. Instead I fill the abyss with calories.
The spiral is ugly. The fatter I feel, the less I exercise. For someone who was once athletic, I know this is a waste.
I fear I am now perceived as a frumpy middle-aged woman. And more than self-loathing; I now feel extreme regret. That I have lost 26years of my life that I can never regain.
While I feel stymied – unable to act, I am forcing myself into a lifestyle change that I hope is not too late.
I am going to a fat camp. For one month. I wish it were longer. I wish I could emerge like a swan from the prison that has been my body and my life for 20 years. Instead, I have one month and I can only hope and pray for change. Physical and mental.
I realize of course that I shouldn’t call it the fat camp. It is, in fact, called The New Me Retreat (www.thenewme.com.au). Run by the winner of the first series of The Biggest Loser (in Australia), Adro Sarnelli, it is based on the series’ premise. A house of people and lots of exercise. You have to be 20kgs overweight to go. You can only go for a minimum of 2 weeks.
I’m not sure what to expect. (When I was wealthier and lived overseas) I visited a health retreat in Queensland – a couple of times. While the experience was amazing and made me reconsider the direction of my life, the focus was more on recharging one’s batteries. Though health and fitness was on the menu, the experience was luxurious and featured pampering treatments and meditations.
I am expecting the fat camp to be different. Hard. Challenging. While excited, I am also approaching the month with dread and nervousness. I can already imagine the burning in my lungs as I struggle with a hill or sprints. And, my expectations are high. I am expecting a change. In me. “A New Me”. Someone who, at the end of this experience (which includes the weeks and months after), looks like they should and is motivated to keep it that way. Someone who loves life. And themselves.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Twilight - the series
When I started this it was about my oft-used coping mechanism of watching and re-watching certain comfort movies.
I went off track sometime during the draft, however, as I talked about my latest crutch and it seems that this has turned into a review or analysis of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. So, I will have to get back to the coping mechanisms later as I ponder the success of the novels: Twilight; New Moon; Eclipse; and Breaking Dawn. (Known from here in as 1, 2, 3, and 4 out of laziness). After all, it is rare that something can incite anticipation and passion in teenagers and adults alike. So why, I wonder, is the series so popular?
I have one friend who has read them for the vampire factor. Not a goth, but an intelligent and articulate mother, she loves all things other-worldly.
I don’t. If there was a reason I initially rebelled against reading the novels, it was for that exact reason. I don’t like the Sci-Fi or the Fantasy genre. Sure, I want to escape from the mundane-ness of my life, but not quite that much. Also putting me off was the fact that the novels targeted young adults – an audience I deviate from. Significantly.
I started inadvertently about six months ago. Almost by accidence or circumstance. My local library has new novels on weekly loans. And there it was, sitting there one day and so it was borrowed. In desperation (of reading fodder) more than design.
Immediately I was addicted. I remember my early thoughts. There, one Saturday afternoon in the bath. It was an easy read. Simple and welcoming. I read it in one sitting – in a couple of hours. And I was desperate for more.
What was it then; that drew me (and others) in? After recently re-reading the series, a number of things strike me.
It is the ultimate fairytale. Good girl falling for the bad guy. Not just a bad guy, but a superhero bad guy. Interspersed with hints of Jane Austen’s Mr Darcy, our hero, Edward Cullen is wealthy, dark, brooding, intense and enigmatic. He is fiercely protective of young Bella Swan and her honour. He is every girl’s (whether we admit it or not) ultimate fantasy.
Bella on the other hand, is described as nothing special. Attractive, but not beautiful. Awkward and shy. Though a novelty for the small town of Forks, she is pretty normal. Spectacularly unspecial, in contrast to Edward’s beauty and prowess.
Theirs becomes the ultimate love story.
Book 1 drew me in. Book 2 I hated. Fortunately for author Meyer, I had read the excerpt online of what was to be (and may still be) Book 5 (Midnight Sun) - Book 1 from Edward’s perspective. This novel provided much context and made me realize (retrospectively) that much was missing from Book 1. What surprised me the most, was – even though I knew what happens – I loved the draft Book 5 and wanted more. I wanted her to finish it. I wanted more of Bella and Edward.
After the disappointment of Book 2, I continued reading. I realized in retrospect that Book 2 provided context for later storylines, but it lacked everything Book 1 offered – Edward and Bella – the love story. I had heard from a friend that Book 2 was a let-down so I stuck around for 3 and 4, which I devoured with relish.
Having said that, I am unashamedly critical of parts of the novels. Meyer skips periods of time and then goes into detail about others and I felt as it was missing huge chunks of the storyline. I read on her website, that after Twilight, she wrote Forever Dawn, which further explored the Bella-Edward love story. She said it was around this time she got the publishing deal for Twilight and learned it was being marketed as Young Adult (YA) Fiction. She says that Forever Dawn wasn’t suitable for the YA market, so she shelved it and set about writing New Moon. She was therefore writing Book 2 as Book 1 was being edited. When she found that Jacob Black took over Book 2, she had to go back and weave him more into the storyline of Book 1. I wonder if that’s why Book 2 suffers. Perhaps she set out writing with no direction, other than to defer the Edward-Bella love story until she could work out how to weave it into the YA genre.
In some ways I can understand young girls’ adoration of the novels. In some ways they are a tad self-indulgent. Every fantasy comes true. Everything is a tad too perfect. Bella gets to remain the centre of attention, adored by some, hated (seemingly irrationally) by others who go to any end to see her destruction. Some of this is too contrived and, though it didn’t interfere with my reading, I consciously eye-rolled at the storyline from time to time.
Throughout the series I managed to ignore the lack of realism. I mean, the likelihood of our heroine coming across a vampire and werewolf in middle America? It was only the level of self-indulgence that Meyer allowed herself that irked me.
I agree though, with those critics who have commented on the extremity of Bella’s weakness and a perception that the ‘damsel in distress is rescued by the strong hero’. Meyer rebuts this, saying that in later novels, Bella in fact saves Edward. True, but only when she becomes a superhero herself. She explains that Bella seems weak in comparison to the Cullens and the werewolves. I am sure this is the case, but the constant references to Bella falling asleep and having to be carried around and her constant exhaustion offered me pictures of a pale, weak girl. Not a potential role model for young women.
My rant over, I must admit I can only recommend the novels to a potential audience.
I am not sure if author, Stephenie Meyer is a literary genius, but she has got a way with a storyline and she presses all of the right buttons, to draw us in and make us want more.
I went off track sometime during the draft, however, as I talked about my latest crutch and it seems that this has turned into a review or analysis of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. So, I will have to get back to the coping mechanisms later as I ponder the success of the novels: Twilight; New Moon; Eclipse; and Breaking Dawn. (Known from here in as 1, 2, 3, and 4 out of laziness). After all, it is rare that something can incite anticipation and passion in teenagers and adults alike. So why, I wonder, is the series so popular?
I have one friend who has read them for the vampire factor. Not a goth, but an intelligent and articulate mother, she loves all things other-worldly.
I don’t. If there was a reason I initially rebelled against reading the novels, it was for that exact reason. I don’t like the Sci-Fi or the Fantasy genre. Sure, I want to escape from the mundane-ness of my life, but not quite that much. Also putting me off was the fact that the novels targeted young adults – an audience I deviate from. Significantly.
I started inadvertently about six months ago. Almost by accidence or circumstance. My local library has new novels on weekly loans. And there it was, sitting there one day and so it was borrowed. In desperation (of reading fodder) more than design.
Immediately I was addicted. I remember my early thoughts. There, one Saturday afternoon in the bath. It was an easy read. Simple and welcoming. I read it in one sitting – in a couple of hours. And I was desperate for more.
What was it then; that drew me (and others) in? After recently re-reading the series, a number of things strike me.
It is the ultimate fairytale. Good girl falling for the bad guy. Not just a bad guy, but a superhero bad guy. Interspersed with hints of Jane Austen’s Mr Darcy, our hero, Edward Cullen is wealthy, dark, brooding, intense and enigmatic. He is fiercely protective of young Bella Swan and her honour. He is every girl’s (whether we admit it or not) ultimate fantasy.
Bella on the other hand, is described as nothing special. Attractive, but not beautiful. Awkward and shy. Though a novelty for the small town of Forks, she is pretty normal. Spectacularly unspecial, in contrast to Edward’s beauty and prowess.
Theirs becomes the ultimate love story.
Book 1 drew me in. Book 2 I hated. Fortunately for author Meyer, I had read the excerpt online of what was to be (and may still be) Book 5 (Midnight Sun) - Book 1 from Edward’s perspective. This novel provided much context and made me realize (retrospectively) that much was missing from Book 1. What surprised me the most, was – even though I knew what happens – I loved the draft Book 5 and wanted more. I wanted her to finish it. I wanted more of Bella and Edward.
After the disappointment of Book 2, I continued reading. I realized in retrospect that Book 2 provided context for later storylines, but it lacked everything Book 1 offered – Edward and Bella – the love story. I had heard from a friend that Book 2 was a let-down so I stuck around for 3 and 4, which I devoured with relish.
Having said that, I am unashamedly critical of parts of the novels. Meyer skips periods of time and then goes into detail about others and I felt as it was missing huge chunks of the storyline. I read on her website, that after Twilight, she wrote Forever Dawn, which further explored the Bella-Edward love story. She said it was around this time she got the publishing deal for Twilight and learned it was being marketed as Young Adult (YA) Fiction. She says that Forever Dawn wasn’t suitable for the YA market, so she shelved it and set about writing New Moon. She was therefore writing Book 2 as Book 1 was being edited. When she found that Jacob Black took over Book 2, she had to go back and weave him more into the storyline of Book 1. I wonder if that’s why Book 2 suffers. Perhaps she set out writing with no direction, other than to defer the Edward-Bella love story until she could work out how to weave it into the YA genre.
In some ways I can understand young girls’ adoration of the novels. In some ways they are a tad self-indulgent. Every fantasy comes true. Everything is a tad too perfect. Bella gets to remain the centre of attention, adored by some, hated (seemingly irrationally) by others who go to any end to see her destruction. Some of this is too contrived and, though it didn’t interfere with my reading, I consciously eye-rolled at the storyline from time to time.
Throughout the series I managed to ignore the lack of realism. I mean, the likelihood of our heroine coming across a vampire and werewolf in middle America? It was only the level of self-indulgence that Meyer allowed herself that irked me.
I agree though, with those critics who have commented on the extremity of Bella’s weakness and a perception that the ‘damsel in distress is rescued by the strong hero’. Meyer rebuts this, saying that in later novels, Bella in fact saves Edward. True, but only when she becomes a superhero herself. She explains that Bella seems weak in comparison to the Cullens and the werewolves. I am sure this is the case, but the constant references to Bella falling asleep and having to be carried around and her constant exhaustion offered me pictures of a pale, weak girl. Not a potential role model for young women.
My rant over, I must admit I can only recommend the novels to a potential audience.
I am not sure if author, Stephenie Meyer is a literary genius, but she has got a way with a storyline and she presses all of the right buttons, to draw us in and make us want more.
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