To get up and walk away would be too easy

At the beginning of this year, I set myself a vague goal of being in the 80s by the time I turned 30.
As each month has passed and I have drifted further from this goal, it reduced to 'being in the early 90s' to now 'just being in the 90s'.

Now that it is just 5 1/2 weeks, I realise that I weigh 5kgs more than I did at the start of this year when I was making that goal. I made a goal, but not a plan. And in the true definition of insanity, I have expected a different outcome from essentially carrying out the same actions.

While I have tried cooking more and eating real food, I have still been eating crap. As much as I have wanted to be more active and re-joined the gym, I have still spent a lot of time sitting around (more so, because for the first time in 3 years I have an inactive job as well).

I did a Whole30 last year in July, where for 30 days I had no sugar, grains, or processed food of any kind. With just that, and no extra exercise (although working in a vet clinic, and at the zoo once a week), I lost almost 5kgs in that month. So I know I CAN do this. And I know the benefits of doing it. A close friend of mine is doing it at the moment and absolutely hulk-smashing it.

So what is holding me back. I CAN do this.

May is going to be a month of prioritising myself and the things that I want. I WILL go to the gym at least every second day. I WILL set aside time to play (well, learn to play) the guitar at least every second day (I got it for Christmas and think I have only picked it up twice). I WILL turn off the computer at 10pm each day (at the absolute latest - 9pm will be even better and I will aim for this most days) and go to bed (it is acceptable to read for a while to fully wind down). I WILL take lunch to work each day. I WILL cut out the crap I have been eating and drinking. I do have a few events on during May which will involve some off-roading, but these can be isolated and do not have to run over into other days. I WILL stop spending money on frivolous things (mostly the aforementioned crap food) and put more effort into saving. I WILL put some effort into my hair and makeup each morning before work (it is ok to get to work half an hour later for the sake of feeling better about myself, considering I have a flexible start time). I will also blog a little every day, because I enjoy writing (even if it is technically typing) and it's a great way to reflect, and keep myself accountable as well.

I am committing to this for a month. This should will help me to set up better habits going forward, and make it easier to carry on. I shall set it up so that I can start my 30s with a bang and be the best person I can be.

When a heart breaks no it don't break even

Tomorrow, it will be 10 years since Jeremy passed away.

I didn't find out until August (the day before Daffodil Day actually - which always tends to be my 'Jeremy' day - also previously known as the day I used to go and get ridiculously drunk, for a few years in a row....). We had a very on-off kind of 'thing' (not technically a relationship, but an exclusive casual situation) for just over a year. At the time, we were off. In fact, I would've just seen him a few weeks before the accident (motorbike crash), but we had a habit of not being in touch for a month or two - it worked for us. Being what we were, we hadn't met each other's families, or a wide range of each others friends. So it wasn't until August when his Mum went through his phone and contacted everyone on it that I found out. And then, it was through a mutual friend. Can't blame her for not wanting to ring someone named Candi I suppose (plus I could've still been in his phone as Candi-ass, in which case, probably not a call you want to make...). Luckily when his Mum asked said friend if he knew anyone named Candi, he said yes and that he would let me know.

I still remember that phone call as if it was yesterday.

The next day, I met up with that friend, and another mutual friend, for a drink and our own chance to process what had happened. And then I went off to a Shihad concert with a group of other friends. I didn't tell them what had happened, because I knew I would lose it, and I was finding it hard to keep a grip as it was. I sat in tears through the opening acts (admittedly, it was Fur Patrol which is not a favourite anyway), and then managed to get up and enjoy the mighty Shihad. It wasn't until I was dropped off home that I finally texted my bestie to tell her what had happened. I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. I actually could not get the words out of my mouth.

The next few days were a blur. I think I existed on a moro bar and a small bottle of coke each day and that was it. I don't remember much else. And then I went down to Dad's for the semester break because I couldn't sleep in my bed, and when I did, I woke with horrible nightmares.

Some would look on it and wonder why it affected me so badly, when we weren't a full on relationship. We were never madly in love or committed to each other. We knew each other less than a year. And you know what, I couldn't tell you for sure.

He was my first "love", or something similar. Hell, he was my first everything. At times he drove me mental, including wanting to suffocate him in his sleep when he was snoring loudly (best friend kindly offering to help get rid of the body if required). On the outside he could be a macho little shit, but he was also kind, funny, sweet and generous. He told me I was beautiful, and made me feel like it could be true. He used to tell me that when I moved back to Palmy he'd come and visit. I remember feeling ridiculously giddy the day he told he how much he liked me, because it was such a big declaration for us. He was great for me, and even now it helps me realise what I need in a future partner. He didn't tolerate my shit. If I hit him, he hit me back, and properly. He was assertive, but not aggressive (and I need someone like that to stop me from being a brat I guess).

It could be that what I grieve for most is the "what-ifs". What would've happened if we had sorted our shit out, or if he had stuck around.

Despite searching for his death notice in the paper that year, and multiple times over the years, it wasn't until last year that I finally found an article regarding in the accident. Perhaps I wasn't supposed to find it until then. It was when I had moved back up to Auckland, which already brought the memories flooding back. I couldn't go and visit him, as he was cremated, but I still went to where the service and the ceremony had been held to try and get some kind of connection. It hit me hard, and maybe because it was finally real. It wasn't some Shortland Street plot where he could come back, or that maybe it had all been faked or some horrible mistake and that I'd get to see him again. He was really truly gone, and I would never see him again.

Since he has been gone, I have become much more accepting (sometimes even welcoming) of spiders. I no longer scream and kill them on site (unless it's a whitetail of course). Jeremy had this tattoo on his left thigh, that took up the whole front of his upper leg, of a spider (similar to a grey house spider). The first time I saw it, I almost cried. It gave me such a fright, especially considering how arachnophobic I was. Poor guy - not really the best reaction to have when you see a guy in his underwear for the first time..... But since then, there have been spider visits. The first was when I moved back to Dad's, and a fairly large grey house spider moved into the bathroom. Dad didn't see it for ages. It lived in the window surround, and seemed to appear only when I was in the shower. I had to get out mid-shower and find Dad one time just so he knew I wasn't making up this 'phantom spider' that no one else ever saw. At the point, it occurred to me that if Jeremy was to come back as anything, it would be as some sort of pervert spider that spied on me in the shower. I named him Bob, and he remained living in the bathroom window until Dad moved out of the house a year later.
The next spider was in Wellington. When I moved into my first flat, a grey house spider moved into the bathroom window there. My flatmate assured me she hadn't seen it until then, and he was large enough that you couldn't really have missed him. I managed to convince her (I think?) to leave him there, and nicknamed him Van (part Outrageous Fortune, part name of our street). Another day, I was in the shower in that same house when a spider fell out of nowhere onto my arm. It gave me a fright and I shook him off. And then turned off the shower and tried to rescue him.
And then when my ex moved out of our flat at the end of 2011, another of the same spiders moved in outside my bedroom window, visible when I closed the curtains each night before going to bed.

I plan to commemorate the 10 year anniversary this Daffodil day by getting a spider tattoo on my thigh (on a much smaller scale!). And tomorrow I am going to a comedy show with some family so that will help me get through the day. Perhaps with a drink or two as well.

There's no need to apologise, I've got no time for feeling sorry

For all my talk about finding the gym easier than eating right, I haven't been in a week. It should be fairly easy to get back into though, so I'm not too worried.

Although, I had a lazy indoors weekend, and spent far too much of it sitting down, for now my right hip is very sore. It did not enjoy being inactive after all...

In terms of food, I am slowly getting there. Last week, for 3 days out of 4 (I had 1 day off work due to feeling rather icky), I made and took my lunch. A couple of days of thai green chicken curry with cauliflower rice (delicious, and filling, though I did make wayyy too much "rice"), and then one day of rice-less sushi. Yummo. Carrying on again this week - today (and tomorrow) I had kumara, zucchini and lamb salad. So good. Lamb is so tasty. Breakfasts are not great, but I am getting food in the morning so that's a start. Dinners are improving - though I definitely do need to increase my veggie intake at these meals because it is lacking somewhat at the moment.

People around me are currently meeting their goals. My initial thought is one of a bit of jealousy. But then I realise that they've earned it, and I have not put in the work. And then I get disappointed and frustrated. My next step is to realise I can do this too. It is inspiring. And nice to have real people do it, that I actually know, rather than just people online (e.g. NF - although their stories are amazing inspirating too), because I can relate more to them.

Although you do get those people, that once they reach goals or lose weight and get healthier, think they have the right to tell you everything you're doing wrong, and seem to think they are better than you. I hope I never become one of those people. And if I do, I give you permission to call me out on it, or slap me in the face - whichever works better for you.

I'm also re-realising my need for fun. I used to be fun. I used to want to actually do stuff. It doesn't help that I'm living in a city where I don't know many people, but I need to make more of an effort to put myself out there. I've joined a few groups on Meetup, but to be honest, cost is the main thing that stops me from actually going to events. I have a pretty tight budget at the moment, and I would rather save my spare money for the 'Canadian Cause' (future travels), than spend it on brunch or lunch or movies....

I also need to set aside time, preferably every day to actually learn to play the guitar (I got one for Christmas and I think I have got it out to try to play twice...). I want to become a more interesting person. I want to be someone who plays an instrument, and who has adventures.

I awoke only to find my lungs empty

On Monday, I was woken up by a particularly horrible dream. My dad's colleague had come to my house to tell my that Dad had had a heart attack. In the dream, I actually fell down in tears. The colleague told me that he wouldn't carry on telling me anything unless I blew my nose and calmed down (WTF?), and then said it was a result of Dad not looking after himself properly, and that that was easier for him than dealing with everything.

Amazingly, when I woke up, I wasn't in tears, nor did I cry, which is usual for me and how I've woken up every time I've had a similarly themed dream in the past. Instead, I felt physically nauseous. And this lasted for most of the day.

It's taken until today for me to conclude that this dream was a lot more about myself than him. I mean, part of me recognised that if this actually happened, I'd be lost. I rely on my Dad a lot, as well as him being the most important person in the world to me.

But this morning, I realised that this could be me. I'm not really looking after myself (possibly because it's just easier not to - at least in my current frame of mind), and if I carry on something bad will happen to me. After witnessing a friend/colleague after she lost her (21 yr old) daughter a few years ago, and how awful that was for her, I would never wish for a parent to have to bury their child. It's too horrible to even contemplate. Aside from anything else, I don't want to cause my Dad that much pain.

All my life I've been searching for something

So I had a thought earlier this week after going to a rodeo on the weekend. There was a kid sitting next to me, who might have been about 10(ish) years old (I'm pretty crap at determining ages). He went off to get some food, and came big with a giant can of energy drink. My initial thought was "What the hell is a kid doing drinking that?" (caffeine, sugar, etc), and then I thought "What kind of parent lets their kid drink that?". Is it really any different than drinking an ordinary soft drink (except these kids were already super annoying, so I can't imagine that much extra energy would help...).

When I think back to being a teenager, there was always coke (the cola, not the white powder) in the fridge, and pies in the freezer. These were kind of my default 'after-school' snacks. I don't remember if I used to eat breakfast (if I did, it was probably just toast and marmite or peanut butter, or a muesli bar on the way to school). Growing up (primary school), Dad used to make us sandwiches to take to school, along with the little bags of potato chips and a muesli bar or similar. Once at high school, it was the chippies, muesli bars, sometimes sandwiches (making them ourselves now though I think), or else just having cash and buying a cookie time cookie, or a pie, or a lasagne square at the school cafe was the norm. Dinner was usually home cooked - meat and 2 veg kind of meals - and eaten at the table, and almost always followed up by eating chocolate biscuits on the couch while watching TV. Maybe some more coke. Friday nights were takeaways - fish and chips and then sometimes McDonald's when that arrived in our little town.

Mum attempted suicide when I was 14, so in my 2nd year of high school. At this point, Dad spent less time at home, coming home later (don't blame him, I tried staying away from home longer after school too to avoid going home to mum). I remember turning to food for comfort when I got home, and then locking myself away in my room and reading or creating an imaginary life in my head that didn't suck as much as the real thing. This is around the time I started to put on weight I think. I was a bit chubby, and got teased already (the joy of teenagers' cruelty).

Anyway, so I was thinking the other day that maybe I need to try to 'mother' myself a bit.  I need to treat myself as I plan on treating my kids when/if I have any. Cook them (me) breakfast, pack lunches, good dinners, no junk food, active lifestyle, etc. The things i would like to have in place, and have as a good example for any children. This is easier thought/said than done, but I think this could work. I missed this growing up (I mean, Dad was great but he wasn't the 'at-home' parent, and even now he still has his own issues - like eating a whole block of chocolate in one sitting). Before I eat something, or when buying food, thinking about whether I would like to let my kids eat that, or drink that, or whatever.

Still I'm convinced that wondering 'what if?' is the worst thing there is

My goal for this week is not to consume any soft drinks, and to drink primarily only water. I have done well so far, although I have had one hot chocolate (the lovely ladies at work are impossible to resist).
Next week's goal is not to consume any processed sugar, which should include hot chocolates sadly. If it wasn't for my friends in the cafe I would find this much easier to give up. If I just get them onside to not allow me to get one for a while, we should be okay.

The more I think about it, the more I realise that a lot of my weight is guy related. I mean, I know its a self-esteem issue most of all. And I think if I lose weight I'll have more luck with the opposite sex (has definitely been true in the past, although this could be due to increased confidence rather than just physical appeal, etc). But I think this is also what is stopping me subconsciously from following through with my good intentions (the road to hell is paved with them don't you know?). Because of the low self-esteem, I don't think I'm good enough as a person, and its just more convenient to blame this on weight, or something like that. It makes more sense in my head, but I still feel the need to type out some ramble as well to try to process it a little more.

In the meantime, I'm still a little in love with a friend of mine who loves me as a friend. To the point that even without thinking about him at all recently, I managed to have a bit of a steamy dream about him last night. This does not help. And I think that I could never be with him because I'm not his type. And even if he went 'off-type', I would always be thinking that I'm not his type, unless I got fitter and lost some weight. And while I think this is a good reason to do so, the fact that it might not work out, or be amazing and be just what I wanted - both these options scare me into doing nothing at all.

My hormones are in overdrive at the moment too. To the point that while walking down the street with a friend last week, I got so distracted by a hot guy (mmm, the arms on this guy) that I lost my train of thought and actually stopped talking altogether. One of those moments where I kept on walking but my head was contorted with trying to still remain looking at him. Crikey! It was fairly hilarious, and luckily my friend just laughed at me. Slightly embarrassing though....

Found a box of sharp objects, what a beautiful day

I am currently reading this book.

A friend's mum recommended it to me several years ago, and my Dads partner bought it for me for Christmas one year (I had asked for it, it wasn't intended as an insult - though I think his ex would've bought it for me too but out of spite.....)

Anyway!

It is a good read so far (and quite humorous which I like), although nothing new yet. Having been through a few counsellors means that I've done this stuff already. Hopefully it still has something to offer in terms of my very damaged psyche.

I was reading it this morning on the bus, and it managed to make me mad. There was a comment about how even if you switch to healthy eating, you will still need to reduce your intake, rather than just eating as much healthy food as you like. Grrr.

Why so angry? Well, while I admit this advice probably does help for a lot of people, I'm not one of them. Even if I do binge eat, it's normally the type of food rather than huge quantities of it. I currently am not eating enough food (although the small amounts I do eat are high in calories, but it still comes in short of my daily recommended total). When I was at Uni doing my VN Diploma, I went through a few months where I would eat 1 or 2 muesli bars a day, and water, and maybe a barley sugar or two (so that I didn't faint in the clinic), and that was about it. Sometimes, a sandwich. On top of this I was doing a lot of practical time in the clinics, on my feet for 6 hours at a time, and going to the gym a few times a week. I was also having down-there issues with unexpected bleeding and whatnot, so I went to the doctor. Who proceeded to tell me the only problem I had was that I was obese and that I needed to eat less, and move more. And that was it. I know now that the restricted eating meant my body was in starvation mode and rather than losing weight, it was clinging on to what I did have for dear life. But if I had followed her advice I would've stopped eating mostly altogether while still gymming it, and I would have been in for a big crash
(And when I went for my next smear it turned out that my cervix was very unhappy and ended in a biopsy or two and a lot of pain - which may not have been avoided if she had done her job properly, but I would've been able to get it sorted and be in less pain sooner than I did - bitch. This is also why I do not trust a lot of doctors).

Just needed to get that rant out.

An ominous landscape of never ending calamity

I am 30 in just over 2 months. In fact, 2 months and 4 days left of my 20s.

At the beginning of this year, I set a goal of being in the 80s by the time I hit this new decade. That has not happened. I am now planning to just be in double digits by then, and to leave any triple digit weights in my 20s - that is when it started and when it shall finish. I CAN do this.

My plan for April is to sort my head out. Make an inspiration board, listen to myself, get some affirmations going, try to figure out who I am and then, more importantly, who I want to be, and start becoming that person. Read a few books, gather some intel, re-read It Starts with Food. And then for May, I may do a Whole30 again. Cut out crap processed foods, sugar and grains, and focus on real food. Junk food will become a deviation, and not the norm like it is now.

I also want to do THIS. The website tells me it is currently 79 days away. I will need to pay by the 9th June to get a decent price. I can do a 6km option. I have 79 days to train myself to be fitter and stronger - and that starts today.

Just need to remember - you can't outrun your fork.