How to get the body you want this summer

May 21, 2015June 4, 2015

How to get the body you want this summer

Start loving the one you already have…

I’m feeling excited. Not just because summer is coming but because change is afoot and I like it.

After having seen the fun pictures of fashion blogger Callie Thorpe and friends at Evans’ #stylehasnosize launch last night, I felt something stir from within. It was a feeling of excitement: that a culture of not just body acceptance but body celebration is growing from within the fashion industry and it’s been a long time coming.

People Magazine have endorsed plus-sized Tess Holliday's status as the world's first supermodel to be a size 22 by putting her on their cover this week. Tess, 29, - who became the first size 22 model to sign with a major modelling agency in January this year - recently shot a campaign with Benefit Cosmetic and has appeared in Vogue Italy. — Tess causing a storm on the cover of People magazine this week

Add to this, plus size model Tess Holliday’s feature on the cover of People magazine published today. According to her Instagram post this morning, her remit to the magazine was “I wanted show my body off & they listened”. The result? A beautiful woman creatively captured by photographer James White at home in her own body. She was not an unwanted guest there – she was there by choice and it shows.

Like just about every woman I’ve spoken to, my body has never really felt like my own. Granted, I had some special circumstances to deal with – I grew up as part of a controlling religious organisation that dictated just about every aspect of our lives right down to what we thought and how we acted when we were alone. As young women, our bodies were already owned by our future husbands and children and by the congregation for acquiring new recruits and serving the elders. Man-made rules were handed down as the pronouncements of their god. It never quite rang true with me.

So, when I left at 24 and finally got the education I deserved, naturally I had a teensy bit of a leaning towards feminism.

There, I’ve said it. The dirty word that’s been spat out too many times with regard to body issues and obesity. It’s as though the title of Susie Orbach’s totem of a book ‘Fat is a Feminist Issue’ has become an ignorantly misused sound bite for the fat shamers. The loving and taking control of our bodies has become a feminist issue and therefore all about man-hating – like we’re spiders seeking to eat the men that come anywhere near us.

Balls.

They’re our bodies and we want them back because we like them. Incidentally we like men too. The two are not mutually exclusive.

Now, I realise that not every woman has had the same prescribed and damaging upbringing as I had. But I do talk to a lot of women and the same issues keep coming up.

The need to prescribe to a diet – low fat, low carb, no biscuits/cake/chocolate for a month diet. Are you in the Weight Watchers or Slimming World camp?
I’m dieting for my holiday. I’m dieting for my wedding. I’m dieting for my sister’s wedding. It doesn’t matter what the reason is, there is always some external force at work to change the way we look. Somehow this body won’t be acceptable for whatever we are working towards.
I have to lose my baby weight. As if pregnancy, childbirth and the endless sleep deprivation coupled with unbelievable pressure to breast feed isn’t enough (don’t get me started on breasts by the way), then the media is obsessed with dropping the fat ten minutes after you’ve left the labour ward.
A suspended disbelief that one size fits all. If it did, we’d all be wearing the same shoes.
The need to buy and consume what the dieting industry and media are offering, unaware of the irony that our bodies are bought and consumed by the dieting and media industries. Like Tyler Durden in Fight Club says – we are having our own fat sold back to us.

Good grief, this is all starting to sound a little political. Apologies if this isn’t your bag (but if it is, Fat is a Feminist Issue by Susan Orbach is not just a cracking good read, it’s also a practical approach to controlling your weight and The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf is also worth checking out).

We’ll return to the fashion bloggers and why what they are doing is so exciting.

I’ve read enough clinical papers, newspaper articles and media sound bites now to know that the medical community are worried about our health. We have a rising obesity problem in the West and the strain this will put on services is causing great concern.

In some minds, frocks to fit a full bust, bigger belts to cinch a waist over rounded hips and a bikini that celebrates rather than hides a gloriously chunky body are going to normalise fatness and make the problem worse.

But don’t they see? Rather than being part of the problem, beautiful, well cut and on-trend clothes are part of the solution.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and state that I believe we should normalise fatness and please don’t quote me out of context. I believe we should normalise people being comfortable with the aesthetics of their own body – in that they should take ownership of whether or not it is beautiful.

So whether you are fat, thin, dark skinned, pale skinned, male, female, short, stocky, tall, lean or whatever innumerable permutations of the human body apply to you, they are yours and no one should be making money out of telling you that they are ugly and you need to change them.

What about health? Improving health is part of this, it has to be.

So to this end, let’s do something radical and separate health from aesthetics and moral judgement. Lumping these things together is not just insulting it’s profoundly unhelpful.

As I’ve said before, a body that feels strong and cherished is worth taking care of. We can’t all be skinny but we can all tweak our lifestyles (or overhaul them if we chose) to make them happier and healthier. And this doesn’t necessarily have to involve giving our money and self-esteem to a multi-billion pound industry bent on getting us to spend more by hating what we already have.

I digress again.

Back to my excitement.

I am old enough to have lived through the fledgling but influential low-fat movement of the 1980s. Protein came under fire off the back of the food combining adherents of the 1990s and I’m now sitting back and watching the anti-sugar/anti-carb evangelists with some interest and maybe even a little cynical amusement now. As a seasoned 40-year old I can’t say I’ve seen it all but I’ve seen enough to know that things move in cycles, absolute truth doesn’t exist and prescriptive diets are not an effective long term solution for everyone.

My interests have lead me to read so many inspiring, insightful and sometimes utterly radical and frankly confusing books about the body. About how it is so much more than skin, bones and organs – about how society paints meaning onto it, how the image we see in the mirror is not always what’s there and how it is used as a tool to control our choices.

And I feel like we have reached a point where if we see enough images of fuller figured girls wearing bikinis, beautifully tailored clothes and red lipstick, proudly showing off shapely legs and glorious acres of creamy white bust, the aesthetics of this will no longer be wrong, evil and worthy of distaste. In a utopian future, self-body-hatred, which so often leads to a negative relationship with food will be gone, leaving us big bottomed girls to get on with riding our bikes, safe in the knowledge that each heartbeat will be a little stronger than the one before, even if we’re wearing size 20 Lycra. Perhaps next year we’ll be wearing size 18, maybe even a 16 but this will be a by-product rather than a focal point of a healthier lifestyle.

Perhaps this new aesthetic environment will bring a smile to the writers and theorists of my university days – who knows but I like to think that the girls in London this week are edging us closer to our utopia and having a massive amount of fun while they’re doing it.

Notes:

In the film The Full Monty, Gerald says “Fat, David is a feminist issue…I don’t bloody know (what it’s supposed to mean) do I? But it is”. Body dysmorphia and the male body is just as important and I’m sorry I haven’t had the space to include more about this in my blog post.

You’ll notice the bevy of beauties I’m referring to in my post are pretty young women with luscious, bouncing curls, milky skin and wickedly long eyelashes. I realise that some critics, with some justification, will point out that in this they are as much buying into the beauty myth as the rest of the industry but – one step at a time eh?

Weight Watchers, Slimming World and the dieting industry as a whole: prescriptive diets work wonders for some people – they take the weight off and keep it off. For these people, I can only feel joy, it must feel wonderful to feel the benefits of their hard work. It doesn’t work for me and it doesn’t work for others like me – we must find our own way of taking control of our weight. Shaming and name calling isn’t likely to work either.

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May 13, 2015

Namaste

I live on the outskirts of an old military town and since Joanna Lumley’s campaign to improve the lives of ex-Ghurkhas and their families, the area has seen a considerable influx of Nepalese people.

And unlike so many residents who live round here, I have to say I really like these people: they’ve brought a different dimension to the town and I think we have so much to learn from them.

It makes me sad to hear of yet another earthquake in their homeland and I cannot begin to imagine the sadness they must feel, thinking of the communities they’ve left behind. With all the devastating news reports in the media at the moment, I just wanted to say something positive about the people I’ve encountered here, in what must seem like a very foreign land.

Early in the morning, when I’m cycling my daughter to school, I meet small groups of elderly, well wrapped, brightly coloured Nepalese walking in groups along the river path and through the park. “Good morning” they say and in return I offer a “Namaste”. It’s always at this point that they light up and putting their hands together offer many back.

It took me no time at all to notice that this expression conveyed so much more than one of our own English greetings and having never been to Nepal, I thought I’d do a little research.

Just five minutes looking around on the web turned up so much. The phrase literally means “I bow to you”. The small head nod, the hands gently pressing together, the smile that accompanies it, acknowledges the divine spark that resides within us all. It’s more of a prayer than a greeting, so much richer than “good morning”. It’s more involved and wider than just one person acknowledging another. It’s about souls, much older than bodies, passing the time of day.

This made me think about so much I’ve observed recently.

One spring morning about a year ago, I was sat in the car outside my friend’s flat, waiting for him. Next door, a couple of elderly Nepalese ladies stepped out into the sunshine and it was as though the new green leaves and the bright light filled the second woman with something so enlightening, she simply had to place her hands together and say good morning to the sun. My friend is really ill, which I’m finding most distressing at the moment but that one gesture made me smile.

Then there was the time a friend sent me a picture of a small group of elderly Nepalese sat outside his flat in the car park on deckchairs. They were tightly wrapped as it was a cold November day but because the sun was out, so were they. I’ve never been good at hibernating either.

I’ll also mention the elderly Ghurka who I regularly see making his way into town. His slow shuffle speaks of determination despite infirmity or injury. His broad shoulders, muscular physique and strong hand on his walking stick speak of a dignified life at arms for a country far away from the land of his birth.

There seems to be something open and accepting that’s hardwired into the Nepalese people I’ve met. They go outside, explore, find new places – and the library is usually busy with them. On market day, the town is alive with circles of men talking, the women picking over the vegetables on the stalls and in the parks and gardens, they sit and talk in the sunshine.

I don’t pretend to know very much about their land and their diverse culture. I know there are divisions in the country and that it is recovering from a brutal civil war. The town in which I live is groaning under the weight of this sudden population increase (which I believe has more to do with policy than people) and even the local MP has voiced concern over the locals’ inability to find a park bench to use at peak times. I’ve also read about their caste system, their gender roles and their religious and ideological divisions but I can only go on the elderly Nepalese people I’ve seen (I believe the young have their own basket of problems) – and what I’ve seen is a quiet, respectful, considerate people with a great sense of humour and a thirst for human experience.

I’m not a religious person but I think the concept that we all carry a spark of the divine within us is a sensible one. If, just if, the idea that we all harbour the same life force is true, wouldn’t it clear up so many modern-day woes? Wouldn’t so many of our negative emotions like jealousy and fear which cause so much hurt become not just futile but useless?

There are so many souls hurting in Nepal today because the earth shook – again.

Namaste.

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Woodworm

The first of a series of pieces from the Queen Mother of Small Things. Written over ten years ago now, it was a time when we were helping my Granddad live through terminal cancer. Mum has written a lot about this time in her life.

Woodworm

I am helping Dad in the garage, sorting out his wood for the fire. It is in the middle of July and the weather is cold for him, and there’s a lot of rain about. Dad is feeling miserable and needs some cheering up. He is old and very sick with cancer and it is a matter of a short time and he will be gone from us.

What is upsetting and a long pause for thought, is that this wood he will burn, he has been saving up for forty years. Being a carpenter, he used to make furniture at home in his spare time: tables, bookcases and cabinets to mention a few. So over the years he had acquired a great deal of wood under the floorboards, in the garage and in the outhouse.

Beautiful reddish brown mahogany, yellow-brown teak and various other timbers, all had been saved for better usage. All these off cuts are free from woodworm and still have their original smells.

Now with feeble hands, this wood will go to keep him warm or be given away. The task of cleaning out and getting rid of this wood nobody wants is going to take a long time but it is so urgent for him to sort out his prize possessions. Who has the skill to use it? Who has the room to store it? What is the point of hoarding things up?

So I’m helping him, I’m looking at his tired face and thinking that God in his great love and mercy has stricken mankind with sickness and death.

Dad is chopping, sawing and putting the broken pieces in piles for the fire. I’m nearly in tears and pause again for thought. What is the point in being careful?

Dad is shutting the green garage door and walking up to a small seat by the garage window. The thoughts that are going through his head are of sadness I expect. The day is not that cold but Dad’s illness is playing tricks with him. So I pretend to have a shiver “Let’s go in and light that fire”.

I’m opening the back door for Dad as he carries a small bundle of kindling wood towards the Truburn.

I suppose in days gone by, things were in short supply and they got handed around. But today, in this land of plenty, the old values are long gone. As the old folk die so do their stories – and photos too will be destroyed. Once again, a new age of humans will bring in vast changes.

Julia Goldsmith

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April 16, 2015May 20, 2015

The top seven life lessons I’ve learned from running

Think about running and do you imagine slogging yourself until you’re beetroot red and fit to drop? Or maybe you think it’s just for svelte Lycra clad bodies on after-office treadmills? If you do, you would not be alone (and I’ll confess, I used to think like that).

“Are you sure you should?” and “That’s fantastic, good luck” were comments from both ends of the spectrum of disbelief when I introduced my family and friends to the idea that I was going to start running in January this year but I bought my shoes in the sales and from there on in, I was committed to pounding the dirt twice, three times, sometimes four times a week.

Blossom — I don’t stop often but when I do it’s because I need to record something stunning.

I haven’t lost a great deal of weight in the past four months but I have lost a good clothes size and gained a whole cartload of confidence. What I hadn’t expected was to learn so much from the experience but this is how running has changed more than just my physiology:

Keeping going. I have two moments I struggle with on a half hour run: about thirty seconds into it when, despite all the times I’ve done it before, the synapses impishly fire up ‘Can I do this?’ and about a third of the way through, my body groans ‘How much further?’. It would be easy to give up and go home at either point but I’ve learned that these stages pass quickly, happen every time and yes, my body and mind can cope. So now, when I’m propping myself up on the stove cooking dinner after a particularly long day I can say to myself ‘Yes, I can keep going’ when I’d rather collapse in a heap on the sofa and allow the kids to forage.
A bad run is still a run. I read this on the NHS Couch to 5K site and I’ve found this is a concept which stretches far beyond the river path where I run. There are days when tiredness, injury or just plain lack of motivation means I don’t run at my best but effort tends to be cumulative, so whatever I’ve managed to throw at something, however menial it might seem at the time, is still effort. You never know where you’ll learn your lessons, who will find your failure inspiring or what strengths you’ll be building in the process.
Just me and the seagulls – running on an early morning beach
Taking time out is good for everyone. My run is an opportunity for a very special kind of selfishness: I cannot take my children with me; I cannot pop to the shop for bread and milk, they do not fit into my armband and I cannot cook dinner or fold the laundry either for that matter (I feel challenged enough as it is dragging my body over my 3.5k route without having a cooker or laundry basket in tow). Nope, it’s just me, the air and the sound of my feet hitting the ground. It’s good for my cardiovascular health (which means my kids will have me around for longer), my mental health (which means my husband should stay around for longer) and I get some headspace to think. What’s not to like?
Don’t be afraid to run at different paces. I have a charity 5K run to do in September and I’ve just started interval training in order to up my distance and my speed. Being new to running, I hadn’t come across the complexities of training schedules before and six months ago, I would have thought that putting your shoes on and cracking out at whatever pace you could was enough. Now I know that varying pace is beneficial (especially for burning fat and increasing speed over time) but this carries over into everyday life too. Going at something full pelt is not always the best strategy – sometimes slowing down for a while gives a burst of energy, time to think and gets you there quicker in the long run.
Couch to 5K started me running, the stripes keep me going.

The wrong equipment doesn’t have to be a disaster. I’m not good at having other people around me when I’m going through my exit procedure because something always gets forgotten. I have an armband for my phone, a pink water bottle with a handle through it and a little wrist strap for my door key. The one time I left home without my phone I felt quite lost at first. Using it as both a route tracker and music player I used to listen to the C25K podcasts on it. Leaving it at behind, however, allowed me to enjoy the birds singing in the trees rather than a bird chattering in my ear and it just goes to show that some barriers are more mental than physical. Having completed the plan a while ago, I just use it to keep track of time and speed now and run to the rhythm of my feet. There are three things I’d never run without, however: my running shoes, my water bottle and the M&S sports bra which I suspect was made in a Glasgow shipyard.
My body is fit and strong. To look at me, you wouldn’t think I was a runner. I’m a plus size and although I’ve been a vegetarian for nearly twenty years, I’m sure the average Jo on the street would put me down as a poster child for the local pie shop. Truth is, I live on hummus, bulgar wheat and vegetables and yes, the odd bit of homemade chocolate cake. What I have gleaned from the experience is that my body isn’t in the bin just yet. Changing shape is much more important than losing weight for me and that feeling well, building strength and achieving my goals does wonders for the self-esteem. I want to lose weight in order to run and not the other way around.
Do what you can when you can. People often look confused and sometimes uncomfortable when I say that I run because others can’t. Every time I jog passed someone who clearly cannot run because of any number of reasons, I feel happy that I have the strength and ability to do so. A good friend of mine used to run half marathons for charity and now that he cannot run, I run for him. Check out the Silent Bleed link on this site and keep checking back here for more details of the event I’m taking part in later in the year.

Finishing couch to 5K — A little flushed but feeling chuffed. A little selfie moment upon completion of C25K.

You may not be a runner – you may cycle, swim or play badminton but what principles of your own discipline have you been able to carry through into your life? Drop me a comment below, I’d love to know.

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