28 March - Advice nobody wants

Ok it had to happen. I finally told a friend who’s overweight and self pitying about the world giving different rewards to beautiful and ugly people (not a good thought to hold even if you think it’s true), that it was time to tackle her ten year old problem of going up from size 8 to 14/16, instead of letting it ruin her self-esteem. And that as it was only a stone, stone and a half max, it was not a huge obstacle, could be done in a couple of months starting with a detox and/or a holiday in Thailand and that I was on hand to help and support and use all the tricks in the book – no booze, no bread, exercise mate, but that she probably had to commit some money to herself for the trip/some one to one training, some good stuff like powerplate or bootcamp pilates or some quick psycho or hypno-therapy to tackle the root of the problem ie. comfort eating and those vicious cycles of staying in a rut and suffering from mild depression.

Of course I said it nicely, choosing my words to express caring, not judgement. At the end of the day ‘(it’s night’, says my friend S. when she hears this cliché’) I don’t care how my friend looks, she’s my friend and her weight doesn’t affect me, but it affects her happiness and ultimately her health, and I thought she deserves to be happy and it all starts with small steps blah blah. I have several other friends of various ages who are overweight, four spring to mind immediately, but because they don’t ever express that it makes them miserable in any way (except the odd moan about not finding good clothes) I have never thought of commenting at all.

What do you think happened? She hasn’t spoken to me in nearly 3 weeks. Am still waiting. And I’ll wait. Have considered ringing to say ‘Oh come on!’ but would make it worse no doubt. Someone pointed out that as friends we’re required mostly to just listen and nod. That may be so, but it’s not and never will be my way. Or rather it is, for long periods of time and then I think ‘Let’s do something’. Shame.

A little later, work colleague announces ‘I’m so disgusted with myself, can’t fit into my clothes, that’s it, I have to lose some weight, diet next week, gym every day’. The one next to her says ‘Great, my husband is away for 2 weeks and I want to detox, I need to lose 5kg’. So I feel I have to join in as this is said towards me and I say ‘Cool by me, I can do with having healthier stuff, I need to lose 1kg round my thighs, look how tight my trousers are on my legs today’. They look at me and say ‘You don’t need it, you’re so tiny’. But I know best than to accept and agree. That would seem self-satisfied and smug, so I continue ‘Shall I just buy us a lot of fruit and veg next week, we could eat half a grapefruit before lunch to speed metabolism and bulk up on vegetables….’ One interrupts and says ‘No, I can’t do it quite so full on, I will just cut out some stuff like chocolate’, the other one says 'I can only do veggies with humous dips'. Liker er... humus doesn't contain a ton of oil and fat. I let it pass. I think it’s best if from now on I re-act the well tested man’s way which is NEVER, EVER to say anything and ignore any issues to do with food /weight as I had to stop myself there as was about to say ‘If you’re not serious about it then what’s the point?? What do you mean you won’t eat veggies and fruit by the truckload, how do you think the fat’s going to dilute and exit your body? How do you think avoiding pasta if you still have beers after work is going to make any difference?' Cleary, am hopeless. Shall stick to the blog.

8 February - Le ski c'est chic

Especially if you can people watch in Meribel and Courcheval (colonised by russian oligarchs complete with own magazine in Russian featuring lots of ads for bodyguards, helicopters, diamonds and furs). But seriously, am now the proud owner of not one but two pairs of fabulous apres-ski boots, with various furry bits that delight me every time I stroke them (one is fake fur and the other one is er.. real, but it's only trimmings darlings, don't hold it against me, it's none of the precious ones anyway... not fox, not mink etc). And they were a serious bargain as in the sale and when I said 'Est que ce vous pouvez me donner un bon prix pour le deux?', the madame said 'Cent euros?' and I said 'Done' , as previous prix was 3 times as much. Happy as larry and faith in the bloody French was restored. That being the night also that the restaurant owner in St Martin gave us all a free lift five or seven miles down the road instead of calling joe le taxi. On previous holidays we've had to walk or beg after discovering that rich local taxi drivers down tools at ten pm or so having no need to put in the extra hours for more fares.

But I digress from the main subject. Yes, I can now do red runs happily (in good visibility that is) and so next time I'll be able to avail myself of the full complement of 600km of slopes (not for nothing is Trois Valles the largest resort in the world blah blah blah). Glorious. And no falls and no fallings out with the other 11 on the trip and especially pleased that Toph took to the slopes greedily too. His previous sorties had been in the minus 20 degrees offered by north American slopes in January and as such a totally not enjoyable trip or two fending off nose frost bite. He's not good enough to appreciate that the weather may be shit ie no blue skies and freezing, but that the snow is generally better over there. But he's with me now on the 'never in deepest winter'. I made a note several years ago to refuse any trips prior to March. Sorry, life's too short to be cold and eating indoors. Vive le sun which burnt my face despite lashings of factor 25 (I was too mean to go purchase total protection, but I know when I spot new lines I will regret it).
And another good news is that despite eating like a pig (for my standards that is, I have to note that I declined the dessert on offer every afternoon and night except for the creme brulee), my ass is apparently very much tightened, so said the BF on more than one occasion as I paraded around the sauna, and I didn't compare too badly with the 29 year old Polish beauty in the jacuzzy with us (G's girlfriend).

Phew, more when I get back the full use of my limbs, which of course are still throbbing a bit and that includes the arms, am not in the flush of youth anymore and it shows in muscle fibres taking some time to reform. Darn that it's awful grey and rainy here as usual...

I should also record a James Bond little feat performed by Toph. It happened like this. I had booked a much needed and difficult to obtain as they're super busy/booked up, one to one lesson with a ski instructor. For 3.45pm on Day 4. At 2.45 pm we go down (there's 4 of us) and at a crucial meeting of pistes, Toph insists that the best way back is via Piste 2. I disagree. And as we descend it's obvious we've gone the wrong way and will end up at a ski lift that we will have to take back up to the top where we've just come from and descend the way I thought we should in the first place. Bear in mind that this is possibly the 3rd time Toph ignorres my superior sense of direction and takes us down the wrong way.

And so it is that we start the queue for the skilift wiht lots of other people. None of whom is in the same foul mood as me, thinking, great, I'll miss the lesson, it's not the money, but there are no more to be booked and even if there were I don't want one on Day 5 just before my holiday ends, I need it NOW. On the gondola Toph is still arguing that we can make it... I say no we won't as it's now 3.15 and we have to go up and come down and for me it's almost the end of the day and I know full well accidents happen mostly when you're tired and my legs are tired.

Poor D. is on the gondola with us and has to listen to couple's spat. He stays out of it, especially when Toph suggest that as D. is the fastest/black run skier, he could ski down very fast and reach instructor and salvage part of my lesson. D. ,er, stays out of it. So we get of at the top and Toph who's not a great skier, takes off at major speed. I do worry for him but, I stick to my end of the day speed. And also because I'm enjoying my strop. As I turn at the last bend before the final slope into 'town', I see Toph and instructor below waiting for me. Instructor is not bothered though he points out that it's gone 4pm and by the time we take a lift up and come down, my lesson will be reduced to 30mins as he has another client after me.

But I take it, and tell Toph he can join. It's kind of useless but I appreciate the Milk Tray effort. Friends again. Ten years ago I'd have stormed off nevertheless, but I've grown up.

29 September - Women, they talk too much - p2

Well, yes, am aware of the irony of having a part 2 on this post, clearly I also write too much....

Recently I went to a yoga one-to-one with a new teacher I like and she told me so much about herself even though I was making the right signs about leaving, you know, jacket on, bag on shoulder, standing next to door, opening door to hallway (we were in her flat). Well, she’s trained as an actor before turning to yoga so it does fit my mental pigeonhole that they mostly are people who desperately need yoga calming them down or saving them from various addictions. M. told me she has also written a screenplay about a yoga teacher, how very postmodern and she arrived frazzled at one session and wanting to calm down she told me the Jubilee line was not working, and about the taxi driver who asked her what she teaches and she didn't want to say as she was not the picture of a yoga teacher but a madly stressed person (she was coming from her group therapy session don't you know) and btw, there's a scene just like that one in her screenplay. Then she told me about her Iranian father and the near rape in India with her friend and the 4 guys with long knives/swords and and and ... I'd already said I was ok, hadn't minded waiting too much but I really had to be out of there by 9.30 so, er, can we get on with it? I sympathised and had, in woman's communication etiquette, tell her how a mugging left me pretty nerved shakey many years ago and I wasn’t hurt either but yeah, it stays with you so had you had real violence done to you there’s no way you’d recover that fast or well but it’s all so much and now we have to chant the darn prayer which I will never learn and she insists in making me repeat line by line after her. I only want to learn the moves, not the philosophy of it, or rather I know the philosophy (roughly) and take what I want from it, not the prayer please. Thank god I nipped in the bud any suggestion of chanting to her altar.
Where was I? Oh yes,

So later on that evening at movie with friends Toph mentions this lush yoga retreat paradise in the forest of Thailand that you reach by trek, boat and the rest, and how we could go there at Xmas/new year and I find myself surprisingly sanguine about not wanting to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no escape routes and having to make friends with crazy people, there ain’t a single one who’s regular in my experience, not talking about yoga pupils but yoga teachers in general and plus it’s just too claustrophobic. And yes, you have to make friends because if you don’t, you’re a stuck up bitch and not in the spirit of yoga (and because I'm not really a stuck up bitch I would care that this opinion is formed, rather than not giving a damn) and despite having a blog believe me in real life am a little reluctant to just off load my life onto strangers and just listening would drive me mad. So I tell Toph we can both go to Bangkok and then he goes to retreat and I go to … beach frequented by well fit Israeli military boys and just read and ogle to my heart’s content. I may have to murder the odd juggler or those ones who juggle long bands of fabric or flags but at least they don’t talk and I can look the other way. Or ask them to move from my eyeline.

It surprises me that Toph wants to go on yoga holiday being that it was upon his return from one in Ibiza that he got finally dumped by the ex g/friend. Must mean he was not as traumatised as one would think.

9 August - Bridges & Jogs

Today feel like Madonna or just feel like am having a Madonna day. No, I did not wake up to check whether little David Banda had done his 2 hours of baby yoga and eaten his special rice milk but… because I went for a jog at 7.30 with colleague. Don’t ask, am just chuffed that a three time marathon runner and endurance runner of 60km etc finds me not totally worthless of jogging alongside her. Then had a Powerplate session at lunchtime and then went to beauty place where I had 20 mins of those weird metal pads connected to a machine that sends electrical current to the pads and makes your muscles spasm as if they were exercising. Oh and I rode my bike there. That must make it half of Madonna’s daily hours dedicated to fitness, but the day is not over and I could go to a club and dance if I wanted to. I certainly don’t feel tired. Now, back to planning my next 3 world tours before I keel over at 55. It has to be said that exercise begets exercise. When we turned the corner right on Embankment at Blackfriars Bridge and I saw Waterloo Bridge and the Hungerford pedestrian bridge, for the first time possibly ever I thought ‘Oh, it’s just over there’ (we were looping back to Southwark bridge) instead of ‘SHIT, I hate all this!!! Why am I doing it?’ Quite a nice feeling to have and am aready planning how to go faster. Buy a decent pair of running shoes for a start.

24 April - Newby marathon supporters

If you're ever going to be one, here's some advice because you're not running, or jogging but you're walking and you're standing still on one spot for several hours as you wait for your braver first timer of a friend to wave you by at mile 14 and mile 21 and by that point, certain time projections will be altered.
If the sun is beating down on you... you're toast.
I guess an umbrella would be useful in any weather, lots of food and comfy shoes and no, you can't take anything to read as you have to watch or you miss her/him.

tbc

19 March - Of Snow & Boots

What we learnt skiing… Well, for a start that we are flexible. I knew that, but there’s a huge satisfaction in not having to do any of those pre-ski courses to get your knees to not buckle under you and to know that if you fall, you will stretch but not break. Much more useful would be to try some suffocating exercises so you know what it will feel like at 3300m or rather, up there it feels fantastic, but when you come down you're practically dead beat.

I also learnt not to be better than my man. A lesson my mother has been preaching for years,but what do you expect, I’ve ignored her. Having reached this age still w/o a longterm partner, I’ve decided to bow down to her olde worlde ways and so pretended to be less able than I actually am on the slopes, so that he wouldn’t have a bruised ego.
It worked. Apart from the time I said I’d go and fetch the camera we left with ski-lift operator and which necessitated a 'go back up and come down again' expedition. This had taken us considerable time on first descent as I waited for my man to come down what was for him a too steep piste (they lie to you in the mountains, they may be blue runs in places, but every first 400 yards is a bloody red one at high altitudes). So before I went off on my own I told him that it would take me a while to come back down and to chill. Of course I came down much faster and was considering repeating the trip up again but he’d been waiting for me at the bottom of the piste and I couldn’t just leave him. My bright green kermit jacket identified me too clearly. I did mumble something about how surprising it was to find my legs again and come down faster and he sweetly (I think) appreciated more my self imposed restraints of earlier.

The best part of skiing of course is taking the ski boots off and being welcomed by the softness of moon boots. Maybe this is an easy way to explain S&M to all those who’ve never tried it. The pain part is not so much pain, it’s anticipation of the pleasure of it ending. And like everything it gets easier so you need more extreme thrills. To give you an example, on your first day inside ski boots you feel like your feet have been crushed and mangled and you walk like a clunky robots. As of the second day you’re walking about like it’s normal and all your toes are wiggling and you could practically skip about. You still look at the snowboarders with their softer gear with some envy. They have it easy. No S&M for them, party people that they are. Dope smokers by and large. But you know that for them the pain is all in the butt. Those falls they take, are all crushing their bottom bones. Nothing specially delightful about that pain.
Anyway, it was too short. Bring on Chile in the Summer or next year's season. The landscape in the Alps is the best there is and as I worked out a while back, why go skiing in January/Feb when your breath freezes when you can be much more comfortable in March/April when it's not a tragedy to lose your hat or gloves?