The damaging lack of self-control that could sink the NHS

May 9, 2015July 18, 2015

The damaging lack of self-control that could sink the NHS

What is it about overweight people that reduces some people to hideous hate speak? Is it our chubby cheeks? Our wobbly bottoms? Or our obvious love of lard, burgers and pie?

‘Obese pigs’, ‘people keep putting a fist full of food into their mouths’, ‘stuffing faces’,’ lardies’, ‘being fat is a choice’ and constant referral to laziness, greed and lack of self-control littered a comment section below an article published by the Mail Online this week, written by physician and journalist Dr Max Pemberton.

No stranger to speaking out, this driven psychiatrist and nutritionist wrote a well-reasoned opinion piece about the stress be believes is being put on the NHS by the obese. In terms of style, the article’s awkward use of punning detracted somewhat from its serious content but it’s not that I have a problem with.

Ewww. Apparently, this is what us fatties stuff our faces with all the time. Personally I'd rather go lick the pavement. — Ewww. Apparently, this is what us fatties stuff our faces with all the time. Personally I’d rather go lick the pavement.

The fat shamers of this country are really not helping the overweight to get healthier and unfortunately Dr Pemberton just fed them as much fuel as they wanted. And what pictures accompanied the article? Someone eating a massive burger and two fat ladies sat on a bench overlooking the sea, their rolls apparent but their faces hidden.

Like so many other features about the obese in the media, his words were accompanied by these negative images of fat people as if this is going to shame the overweight, many of whom already suffer from self-confidence problems, into shedding the pounds. It’s simply not going to work.

He’s a psychiatrist. Doesn’t he already know this?

“Most obese people simply do not care about being overweight…we should make such an attitude socially acceptable” he says “that’s not to say you have to be cruel”. I’m not sure I agree with his first statement one hundred per cent but he is entitled to his opinion.

“We also need to address the issue of what is making everyone fat” I agree with him here and his assertion that a fat tax could “fund psychological help to support those who struggle to lose weight”.

Nice one but there are still two conflicting stories running alongside each other here. On one hand, you have the journalist out to sell an emotive article to a readership and on the other, a doctor who wants to do something about the problem all rolled into one. It creates a mixed message.

So, what now? Personally, I’m going to keep on campaigning for more positive images of fat people in the media.

I want to see sexy, vibrant people who pull on their running shoes, go the gym, walk their kids to school, cycle to the shops – because in reality, that’s what a lot of us do.

Yes, exercise alone won’t tackle a weight problem but a healthier feeling body is a body that feels more worth caring for, worth feeding right. Inactivity isn’t a choice for some people but for those that can increase their exercise, what can we do as a nation to get them out, get them moving, get them feeling a part of something? In my mind it’s giving them self-worth.

It’s getting the message out there that you don’t need to be beach body ready, you don’t have to be running ready, you don’t have to be fitness ready. You just need the confidence to get out, do what you can and see where it leads you.

The This Girl Can Campaign. Let's make a change through more body positive and less fat hating — The This Girl Can Campaign. Let’s make a change through more body positive and less fat hating

So, let’s see Dr Pemberton’s article accompanied by a link to the ‘This Girl Can’ campaign. Why not show a plump woman ordering a salad and falafel at a health food van rather than a chap in a chip shop? Let’s show the faces of the overweight so that they become human beings – they don’t want to be bullied or shamed, they want some answers about why dieting for thirty years has got them nowhere.

They want to know why their perceived lack of self-control is somehow worse and more damaging then that of some Neanderthals commenting anonymously on a website.

For the record, I haven’t eaten meat for nearly twenty years – and I’d rather eat the box than the vegetarian crap they serve up at fast food restaurants. I run or cycle at least five times a week, walk at the weekends and eat more fruit and veg than anyone else I know. I was taught how to cook by my mother and at school but I’m also able to learn. I have never smoked and I drink no more than a few glasses of wine a month.

I am not a faceless human lump, I am a vibrant, valid and beautiful human being who is struggling to lose weight so that I can feel healthy. I don’t see that promoting positive images of plus size women and seeing them as fashionable, attractive, valuable human beings makes me part of the “ludicrous cult of the obese” – (to quote Dr Pemberton).

I’m not interested in being the object of hate for some small minded idiots who’ll stub out their fag and open another can of beer, smug in the fact that their vices are more easily hidden.

Hair slapped back, no make up but wearing a massive grin, this is what a size 22 girl looks like after she's been out for a run. Put that in your fat-shaming pipe and smoke it! — Hair slapped back, no make up but wearing a massive grin, this is what a size 22 girl looks like after she’s been out for a run. Put that in your fat-shaming pipe and smoke it!

And as a finishing note, compare the attitude of the fat-haters to the fellow runners I met out by the river early this morning. Slogging my final km, two young women bounced past me, light on their feet and chatting happily. They both smiled huge grins in acknowledgement of my effort and I even got a fist pump. This is what will help us, the fatties, the obese, the slobs, the lumps, the burden on the NHS to lose weight.

Not idiots with empty heads, stupid words and unhelpful images.

May 6, 2015May 6, 2015

My veggie kitchen heroes no 1 – halloumi

Nando's mango and lime peri peri sauce — Mild enough for my tastes, Nando’s mango and lime peri peri is the perfect partner for halloumi

I started this blog series several weeks ago (if you didn’t catch the first one, please read up here). As the weather improves and barbeque season gets underway, I thought I’d post something about a personal favourite that’s also really great for cooking over the coals.

My first veggie kitchen hero is halloumi. This Cypriot cheese really is a handy ingredient to have around. Unopened in the fridge, it will keep for weeks and when you cook with it, absorbs flavours really well. It’s naturally quite salty, delightfully squidgy and for a cheese, handles heat really well, meaning that it can be toasted, griddled or roasted – and it’s great on a barbeque (a meat juice free one, naturally).

Nando’s have a superb grilled mushroom and halloumi burger on their menu at the moment and inspired by this I recently acquired a bottle of their mango and lime peri peri sauce. This was a fine acquisition and I can’t wait to slather it over a few skewers loaded with vegetables, lime wedges and halloumi chunks before slinging them on the barbeque or my stove top griddle pan.

If you’d prefer to make something from scratch, try roasting halloumi in a Mediterranean bake:

Throw chunks of halloumi, two pieces of a quartered lemon, a few par-boiled potatoes cut into cubes, courgettes and a chunky cut red onion into a roasting tin with a couple of glugs of olive oil a little garlic and rosemary. Season to taste (go ease on the salt) – then toss it all together to make sure it’s well covered.
To keep the carnivores happy, make the same thing in another tin with chicken thighs instead of halloumi (allow two, maybe three per person) and then multiply the ingredients in the vegetarian version above, depending on how many you are cooking for.
Roast the chicken version for a good 45 minutes at 200°c (180°c fan) or gas mark 6 for around 45 minutes, turning the ingredients over now and again to make sure the chicken is cooked through properly.
Roast the halloumi version for about 30 minutes, again turning it to make sure the halloumi doesn’t stick.
The chicken version of the halloumi dish above for those who can’t quite drop the meat – it’s easy to cook both at the same time
To slip a little extra nutrition in with some wow factor, try crisscrossing your tray with some stalks of purple sprouting broccoli for the last 15 minutes. Looks good, tastes good.

I cooked this for dinner only last night, chucking in a few plum cherry tomatoes off the vine five minutes before the broccoli. The sweet, sticky sauce it created with the lemon was delightful.

And, I was informed by both my kids that next time they’d both like the halloumi version rather than the chicken. Looks like my husband will be the odd one out for a change.

Most chicken drumstick/thigh recipes work well with halloumi. It can stick to a pan if you’re not careful but oil it well and you shouldn’t have a problem. Sticky, sweet flavours work really well but don’t go crazy with the salt – it’s already pretty salty and it’s easy for it to get overpowering. It’s great with plenty of veg and because it’s already pretty substantial, you can go easy with the carbs, which is fantastic news for a carb-sensitive vegetarian like me.

I’d love to hear about your favourite halloumi recipes or if I’ve inspired you to try something new.

May 5, 2015May 15, 2015

What a fat lot of good weight shaming does – an alternative view of the plus size row

I posted my dismay at some bizarre comments made by the Loose Women team last month about whether high street fashion should be available in sizes above 14-16. Here it is in it’s glory but be prepared to shout at the screen.

So many people were as shocked and appalled as I was that one member of the panel, Jamelia, made an apology the following day. This carried more of the features of a backtrack than a sorry but being an ambassador for ITV’s Good Morning Britain #selfieesteem campaign I guess she had little choice. (But do check out Natasha Devon’s part in the campaign and her bid to banish ‘fat talk’.)

“I do not think it is right to facilitate people living an unhealthy lifestyle” she smiled “I think you should be uncomfortable if you are unhealthy.”

Janet Street-Porter (no stranger to controversy) chipped in with “I don’t want to demonise these girls but at the same time I don’t want to normalise being morbidly obese.” Rolling these two words around in her mouth, her concerns seemed to centre around mobility issues in the short term and health issues in later life. I can only suppose she thought these were valid anchor points for her argument but she soon slipped her mooring when she implied that denying teenagers fashionable clothes would motivate them to lose weight.

So, at what weight does a girl give up the right to feel good about herself? At what BMI does she have to hand over her red lipstick and stockings? At what size does she no longer have the right to wear high heels and up to the minute fashion?

Size 16? Possibly an 18 according to the Loose Women crew (the following day this was increased to 20). Certainly not if you are a size 24 or, incidentally a size 0.

The word ‘kaftan’ was mentioned once.

Tell all of this to successful model, fashion blogger and celebrity Tess Holliday. Sporting stunning looks, big lashy eyes and tumbling locks, her portfolio includes swimwear and lingerie shoots. She has no shortage of va-va-voom but her gorgeous curves fall outside of what our ladies above would call ‘normal’. Seriously though, putting her in a shapeless kaftan would be nothing short of a crime.

(Check out Tess’ blog and see also fashion bloggers Callie Thorpe, Dannielle Varnier, Bethany Rutter, Georgina Horne – find their blogs on my Links page).

L.A. based Tess along with this small group of influential and rather fabulous British plus size fashion bloggers were featured in Channel 4’s Plus Sized Wars – the subject of the Loose Women’s lunchtime chat. (Available to view until 20/04/15 – see Channel 4’s website.)

Aired on the 21st of April this year, the programme explored the fashion industry’s awakening to a previously undertapped corner of the market. Three companies: 80 year established high street staple Evans, Australian Taking Shape and market trader brainchild Yours are after the plus sized fashion conscious girl with an eye for style and money in her pocket.

But, it’s clear from their clumsy comments, that the intelligent media-savvy individuals sat around the Loose Women panel that day had understood little and misunderstood much from the Channel 4 programme.

This in mind, these are the things I have a problem with:

The assumption that every girl who is a size 20 cannot run after her children or enjoy life to the full. I regularly run 4k and cycle 10k and yes, I chase my six year old around the park and regularly run up the stairs (I mean, who really has the time to walk?).
The assumption that feeling uncomfortable will make you lose weight. It won’t, it will make you go eat more cake.
The assumption that everyone who is big is greedy and lazy and therefore deserves to be. This kind of Dickensian reasoning is just ignorant of the kind of mental and physical health problems that can be behind weight issues (and a quick bit of research will reveal the damage done by the bullshit dietary advice about fat we were spoonfed in the 1980s/1990s).
The misleading assumption that teenage girls can be shamed into losing weight. This is a time when a girl’s self-esteem can be at its lowest and is so easily scuppered. If we send out the wrong messages about their self-worth then they are lost. Punishing a girl for being overweight at this age is utterly counterproductive (regardless of what Janet Street Porter says).

What’s next? Punish everyone with an unhealthy lifestyle? Shall we start saying that smokers can’t have coordinating accessories or that drinkers can’t wear makeup?

The Queen of Small Things — What do you think of when you see this picture? Someone who has never smoked? Drinks a few glasses of wine a month? Hasn’t eaten meat for nearly twenty years? Or a girl running in size twenty trousers? Yep, I’m guilty of all of the above.

Let’s separate morals and self-esteem because even bad people can have a good haircut (something to think about in the run up to the General Election).

I think a more intelligent approach is in order:

The ‘This Girl Can’ campaign. A friend of mine teaches teenagers with mental health issues. Her classroom walls feature positive images of women of all sizes sweating, getting strong and feeling vital and she’s had a great response from the girls in her care.
And how about the ‘Too fat to run’ club interviewed running the London Marathon this year? Plus size women can’t run after a toddler? These women run over 26 miles for fun.
What better way to get people feeling good and feeling fit than by telling them that they have a good body, a strong body, a valid and beautiful body that’s worth training?
Promote the message that it’s more important to be healthy than to be slim. For some of us ‘slim’ is a dream in some far off tomorrow. Fit is putting your trainers on or getting in the saddle right now and doing what it takes to get your heart pumping.
Let’s remove the stigma that comes along with being overweight, from health. The focus should be on moving and eating healthily, not on what bad, lazy people fatties are.
Let’s think about the underlying causes of obesity, instead of reducing people to wearing shapeless, unflattering and soul-destroying clothes.
It’s a matter of shifting perspective and opening your mind to the fact that good people sometimes make unwise choices and unwise people sometimes make good choices. There may be an unseen story behind what is immediately apparent.
One of the biggest concerns the NHS has at the moment is the rise in diabetes. Will someone, somewhere please point me to the clinical research that concludes that weight shaming is the best way of tackling this. I’d be genuinely interested in reading it.
Hats off to the likes of Sainsbury’s TU and Mountain Warehouse for their fine ranges of sports/outdoor clothing up to a size 22 – they are the only mainstream places I’ve found stylish running gear off the peg in my size. Shame on everyone else. You’re not helping (but do drop me a line if you’ve found another great source).

Fabulous red shoes — An unbelievably good find at TK Maxx this week, I’ll not be running after my six year old in these but it won’t be because of my weight. I wore them to the supermarket, just because I could.

I’m the first one to acknowledge that the young, curvy body of the beautiful women in Channel 4’s documentary will change when they get older. Popping out a couple of kids and blowing out forty candles on a cake changes a girl and the potential sagging of the later years affects those of us of a more voluptuous nature to a greater extent than our trimmer counterparts. This is one point on which I can agree with JSP but from what I’ve read, self loathing is rarely the first step to making life-changing decisions. I’d say that self-belief and self-worth are probably a better starting point.

So I believe we have a responsibility towards overweight young women but we can’t assume that they’re lazy, greedy and lacking in commitment. They want to feel good about themselves. They want to feel powerful, sexy, valid and we have to help them to do this.

Feel utterly fabulous in this pretty polka dot number from Simply Be

Let’s see more of the well designed fashion Tess, Callie, Danielle, Bethany and Georgina are peddling. Let’s have a bit more body acceptance – no, body joy. Let’s celebrate the feeling of looking good. Us big girls are not all burger eating, couch surfing slobs who don’t give a shit about our cholesterol or heart disease. Some of us regularly run, cycle, dance and swim despite our wobbly bits. And for those who really need to lose weight for medical reasons, let’s make it about medical reasons. Let’s make the journey more positive every step of the way – after all, JSP’s hypothetical size twenty 18-year old might have been a size twenty-four last year and doing up the zip on her new, crisp polka dot frock has made all the blood, sweat and tears worth while.

We just want to wear some delicious clothes and feel fantastic while we do it.

And it’s going to take a bit more than a bit of lunch time chit-chat to stop us.

April 22, 2015

This girl bloody well can

I went for a run along the river this morning. It was all sunshine, ducks nestled in narcissus, water rippling like ribbons tied to a fan, fish wagging their heads to fight the current.

Breath taking as they were, it was not the pleasing ambience that most caught my attention; it was a brief exchange with an old lady out for a walk. And by brief, I mean no more than a greeting and a smile.

If you’re a regular reader, you’ll know I’ve recently finished the NHS Couch to 5K plan (if you’d like a nose, check it out here) and I got a little despondent last week when it was clear that I was a) had not lost weight and b) was unlikely to be running 5K any time soon. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve become so darn addicted to running (non-run days occasionally drive me to twitching in a cupboard) I would have packed it in by now but after some research I found some very reassuring information online.

Firstly, that increased blood volume, muscle growth and water retention can contribute to gaining weight in the first few weeks of taking up a high impact exercise regime. In my case, I guess the hot cross buns with butter that my husband brings to me as a sofa snack offering at around 10pm every night don’t help but I had hoped to see some shift on the scales to accompany the happily re-emerging cheekbones and waist.

Secondly, many people don’t complete the 5K in nine weeks. Some say that it should be called the ‘Couch to 30 minutes’ running plan but I guess it doesn’t have quite the same ring, even if it is perhaps a little closer to the truth.

So the running brings the good vibes, the improved body image, better cardiovascular and mental health and cheekbones but after my encounter this morning I decided there’s one overriding reason why I run. One reason to top them all.

And that’s because I can.

But perhaps it’s even more than that.

The RIver Blackwater — The River Blackwater where I run and cycle my daughter to and from school. Sometimes we stop to play poohsticks.

Because the eighty-something lady I met, albeit briefly, this morning taught me something. The river path is stony and uneven, muddy in places but the water, birds and sunshine this morning felt like spring in a bottle and along the path she came, stick in each hand, shuffling forwards, painful step by painful step. She wore a vibrant raspberry coloured coat, fastened to the chin and a rather dapper looking chequered cap in blue and white placed carefully upon a gently coiffured perm.

She smiled as I approached, a big, toothy grin. We exchanged pleasantries and as I ran past, her head turned a little as she watched me go on by.

There was something in her smile: perhaps a memory of when she could run? I thought of the days before her sticks: maybe she’d chased her children through this meadow or thrown sticks from the bridge with some long ago lover – her mouth and arms open wide with life, air and happiness.

So I run not just because I can but also for those who cannot: for example, my half marathon running friend who fought his own disabilities to raise money for other charities, only to get struck down by a debilitating disease. I run on behalf of my Dad, who’s health now allows him as far as the beach with the dog; my Mum, a breast cancer survivor (I wear something pink every day); and people like the lady I met this morning. These legs are strong, my heart is healthy and although most doctors find my bmi offensive, this is a good body and I’m so very grateful that it works well.

But that’s not all. I’m also running to make a tangible difference. The charity I write for, The Silent Bleed, supports suffers of the rare neurological condition Superficial Siderosis along with their families, carers and physicians. But they need money in order to do this – which is why I’ll be running 5K in October to help bring in the needed funds.

Beating the odds, doing the unexpected, finding new challenges – that’s what keeps us going and moving forward. What do you do just because you can?

April 21, 2015

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

April 17, 2015April 17, 2015

My Veggie Kitchen Heroes

Everyone has their own signature dish they make for guests. Whipping out a roasting tray or a griddle pan and grabbing some garlic from the fridge or Rosemary from the garden, it seems we all have go-to dishes that never fail to delight.

But what do you do if you are normally a meat eater and now have a vegetarian in your midst? You’ve been Master at Arms in your kitchen for years and suddenly your teenager comes home one afternoon to announce that they are now veggie. Perhaps you’ve found out your son’s new girlfriend doesn’t eat meat just after you’ve planned a huge Sunday feast or maybe a colleague is coming round for the first time for a Friday night barbeque and they need a vegetarian option.

Vegetarian scotch eggs — You can even make vegetarian scotch eggs – perfect for a picnic, a summer barbeque or a Christmas buffet.

I’ve known competent cooks to go to pieces and raid the freezer at Waitrose rather than come up with something homemade (and by the way, I’d eat anything veggie from the freezer at Waitrose any day) but if you’re looking to stir up something fabulous of your own creation, it’s not that arduous to remove meat from a meal without removing the flavour. I’ve not eaten meat for nearly twenty years now and if there’s anything that sets off an attack of guilty ungratefulness at someone else’s dinner table, it’s the sight of a Quorn sausage next to my dauphinoise potatoes and butter sautéed baby veg, no matter how pretty they look.

But you don’t really want to be cooking two meals when you’re already under pressure, so welcome to my new blog series: Vegetarian Kitchen Heroes.

I thought I would start with some basics

If you’re cooking for a vegetarian there are a few really important things to remember:

Sounds obvious but please keep meaty utensils, plates and all other equipment separate. Finding out that someone has put the chicken gravy spoon in with the mashed carrot and swede just causes sadness.
Not all veggies are cheese freaks. Have a chat with your herbivore friend beforehand to find out what they like to eat and then head off to have a look at anything by Rose Elliot (she’s published about a million different cookery books and her website is really informative too) or the Vegetarian Society website. I use the BBC GoodFood site a lot as well.
Easy on the carbs, even easier on the eye. A simple feta and walnut salad with shredded beetroot and lambs lettuce is great dressed with just a splash of olive oil and a little freshly ground pepper. Light, nutritious, perfect.
Vegan and vegetarian are two very different cuisines. Cooking without any animal products at all can be a scary proposition but the vegan society have a vibrant and really rather helpful website. Or rustle up a chickpea and coconut curry – rich, sumptuous and utterly comforting – I’ve made this BBC GoodFood version before and it’s delightful.
Check sauces, bottled ingredients and accompaniments. Did you know that Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce contains fish, Muller Light yogurt contains gelatine (derived from animal collagen) and most authentic pestos contain cheese made from rennet (from animal stomachs)? Five gold stars if you already knew all of this but it just goes to show that you need to check what you’re cooking with before you serve it up to a non-meat eater.
Easy on the carbs. It’s very easy to cut the goodness, protein and beneficial fats from a meal when you cut the meat. The last thing you want to be left with is a dull, stodgy mess so using nuts, wholegrains, cheeses, eggs and so many other great foodstuffs can round out a meal, making it wholesome and balanced. Do your research and have some fun.
Go on, try a bit. In fact, have a go at trying it once a week, or even for a whole week. You’ll bump into new flavour combinations, textures you may not have come across before and who knows, maybe even a few extra vitamins and minerals. My brother is a chef and he was impressed by just how much you can enjoy cooking and eating when meat is no longer the main attraction.

The basics over and done with, I’ll share the ingredients I really love to cook with over the coming weeks.

Are you already a vegetarian and can add to my list, have you had any veggie cooking disasters or have you found the above helpful and fancy giving it a go? Please share, I’d love to hear your comments.

Butter pie — Inspired by a Hairy Bikers recipe, this butter pie is as good as a winter pick-me-up with some bright salad as it is a picnic delight on a hot summer’s day – and completely meat-free.

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.

April 9, 2015

Some People Were Made To Fly

A heart formed by the Red Arrow flying team

I saw you through the gates. You had short, spiky hair in mauve or it might have been black, I don’t remember now. Inked on one shoulder was a huge Pegasus, its wings wide and green and on the other, the motif of a woman embracing a man: the image dreamlike and fantastic in muted, earthy blues and greys. With a bar in one eyebrow and a stud through your tongue, I noticed that when you smiled, you had a ring in the flesh above your top teeth, although I guess you must keep most of these in a treasured box by the bed now.

You were tall, distinguished and cocksure amongst the jostling bodies.

You looked up to the sky and beyond the high fence at the clouds gathering with a look of rain on your face and with open arms ushered the children in your care through the school doors to the sound of the wet play bell.

That was eight, maybe nine years ago now. I’d just moved a million miles from where I grew up to live with a wonderful but distant man and having cried my way around the bored housewives tutting at the quality of slacks in department stores too many times, I decided what I needed was a friend. Always one to wear the wrong brand of flip flops, my skin was too natural a colour and my clothes too close to plus size for me to fit in well with the other mums at my son’s school at the time but something about you spoke of interest, life and excitement.

Lifting me out of my delirious melancholy, something about the fact that you were the most unconventional dinner lady ever woke me up.

And now up you go: in the belly of the helicopter, rising with your future.

Because living on the seesaw isn’t easy. It’s isolating. I know that.

Do you remember the time I picked you up and we went shopping? It took no longer than passing by the chicken wings to realise that it was a bad day for you. There were issues with the joints of pork and you thrust a jar of pasta sauce at me: shortly afterwards you shouted at some special offers on an aisle end and told off a mother with a howling child. My cupboards remained empty until later that night but I knew that I had to usher you out of the supermarket before something permanent happened.

Thinking back, we found out not long after I saw you in the playground, that although our children went to different schools, they were the same age: tendays difference, in fact. It was meeting you at Scouts that secured the notion that we were somehow meant to be a pair of caped crusaders: less Batman and Robin and more Morecombe and Wise or perhaps even Laurel and Hardy.

It took some time for your past to catch up with us. I remember as a child, letting go of my mother’s hand while walking to town and jumping a small wall to rescue a bear left out in the rain. She was horrified and came in to the stranger’s garden to catch hold of me once more but having seen the bear’s damp, limp ears her face softened and together we rang the doorbell and handed it over. I’d often seen toys left outside at night in my neighbours’ gardens and it unsettled something deep inside, like my heart and lungs had changed places or something. Things made to be treasured should be just that.

And since your childhood, you had been left out in the rain too many times.

So now, camera in hand, near-adult son at your side, you soar for the first time ever: up to the mighty fighter planes, the giant jumbos and the angular magic of your favourite fixed wing jet. I’ve been smiling at the thought for days.

Then there was the time you hid for months. Neck pain and a faulty MRI scanner meant you stayed the safe side of your coffee table, piled high with ignored bills, tv remotes and old teacups until you felt safe to come out again. It was the rain again. I could tell because your ears hung down.

I have a rich collection of snapshots. Your face around the back gate when I was heavily pregnant and deathly tired: you had lunch in one hand and a duster in the other. Then there was my wedding: you wore a trouser suit and a smile. With a glass of bubbly in one hand and my cake topper in the other, I could tell that something bright was laying quietly dormant, waiting for longer days and brighter skies.

Perhaps one of the things that I am most grateful for are the times you can engage with my husband on the nature of gaming, cricket and sixteenth century military maneuverers on my behalf. I am more than happy to move down the bench. Sunny days follow dark nights but always there are the totems of childhood joys stolen through the gaps of adult anguish.

And having delighted in sharing my family with you for so long, since I spied you through the gates, every time I go to lift your soggy fabric body off the lawn lately, I’m intrigued to find another pair of hands there first. This man makes your eyes bright. Your manic bounce quietens into a gentle undulation, like an ocean under swell and you fit into the cup of his hands as if you were always there.

And this is where he has led you: the steps, the upward draught of the blades and a weightless lifting off. He’s the other side of the world but money flies and I almost hope that his Airshow gift soars you up into the clouds, into the skies above and then out beyond the atmosphere.

Then in eight, maybe nine years’ time I’ll think of the friend I haven’t seen in a long while and I’ll smile about the thought of her flying around the sun.

April 2, 2015

Stones, streams and spring breezes: a day high up in the Surrey Hills

St Marthas — Like sitting on the ceiling: the view from St Martha’s Church in the Surrey Hills

It’s the school Easter holidays. The first few days seem indistinguishable, looking back. I remember an Easter fayre on the last day of school, some pyjama wearing here and there, some telly, a few snacks, the odd shopping trip and here we are, nearly a week later.

Whilst I acknowledge we probably all need the rest I do feel a certain uneasiness after a while, like I’m wasting the holidays, like I’m not providing enough away-from-the-classroom-learning. My social media feeds seem to be full of pictures of happy kids and parents eating pizza at theme parks – something I know would blow several months’ family-time budget.

Does this sound familiar?

But then I remembered my Mum’s own very special brand of school holiday entertainment: adventure walks. I say adventure because you could never be quite sure of where we would end up. It was all about the welcome squish of fruitcake wrapped in foil, the hilarity of a lone, gaping welly stuck in mud, the momentary relief of escaping a herd of cows by sitting high up on a stone wall. We would pick through the mud for shells along the Penryn river, taking them home in carrier bags to sud them up and paint them, allowing our little artistic efforts to dry on the coal bunker in the sun.

So, a couple of days ago I made the effort to pack food, find wellies and almost carry my daughter out through the door for a walk and it was well worth it.

High in the Surrey Hills, above the village of Chilworth sits St Martha’s Church. According to the friendly and knowledgeable vicar, people have been worshiping there since as far back as 3500 BCE and it’s no wonder. Accessible only by foot, the site has an indescribable silence and magic, with views way out over the countryside to the South Downs. I can only liken the sensation of sitting in the wind on one of the weathered wooden benches outside the church to sitting on the ceiling.

A good friend of mine and I have been visiting this place for years. We come at all times of the year – in spring for the stunning bluebells, almost to vibrant to look at; in the summer for the sunburnt bracken, arid sand and blue sky; and in the autumn, the turning leaves set before us a carpet of ochres and greens as far as the eyes can see.

Declaring “I’m an indoors kind of person”, it was difficult to get my daughter into the car initially but I knew that as soon as her investigating feet took over, she’d be well away. And she was.

In the stream at Chilworth — Paddling in the stream at Chilworth

Paddling in the stream, handbag in hand, she moved the sandy stones around with her toes, allowing the sensation of the cool water to tickle her ankles. “I wonder if there are any fish, Mummy”.

Bluebells rising St Marthas — The floor littered with anticipation: the bluebell wood as it looks now

Bluebells on St Marthas — The bluebell wood as it will look in a few weeks

I took pictures of the diamante water, the rugged stones of the old gunpowder works and bluebell leaves readying themselves for the blue blooms rising.

Then we took the steep, stony path up the hill. This is the same path we usually take and it is an old, well worn, well weathered route. I often think of the people who have scuffed the same stones; the same trees; have stopped in the same places for a rest to look out over the same countryside.

The path at the top is hard going and sandy but well worth it. Feet at an angle and my daughter holding tightly to my hand, we dragged up the final furlong, out beyond the treeline and into the sun. This is where I can understand the spiritual draw of the place. It simply makes me smile.

Hunkered beside the 19^th Century walls of the rebuilt church, we ate figgy rolls, drank juice and chatted. The kids balanced on the solid parameter wall of the cemetery.

On a breezy day, the wind seems to skip in from the sea

It’s a place that makes for good quality breathing. We opened our mouths and let the wind hit the back of our throats and it felt like it had come straight from the coast many miles to the south, skipping over the hills and into our lungs.

We came home happy.

The thing is, looking back, Mother didn’t take us out on an adventure every day – but these are the days I remember: these are the days that have shaped me.

So, I’ll not worry too much about today’s pyjama day. Maybe we’ll make sandwiches together at lunchtime, play a little triominos and watch a little Frozen. We’ll have an adventure again tomorrow.

April 1, 2015April 1, 2015

The best things about finding the right kind of community

My children have been my inspiration and my reason to find a community that works

I grew up as part of a tightly-knit religious community. It’s a very closed, secretive group and when I decided I could no longer be a part of it, I part jumped/was part booted out and found myself very alone. With a new baby, an imploded marriage and most of the people I’d spent the first twenty four years of my life with now crossing the street rather than look at me (their policy on shunning is pretty severe) I spiralled into depression.

Me and Paul: we've been through a lot in thirteen years. — Me and Paul: we’ve been through a lot in thirteen years.

Wind forwards sixteen years and I’m happy and healthy again. I’m at the centre of a network of people of my own making and I smile a lot these days.

How did I get here?

There is no doubt that humans are hard-wired to function as part of a community. I’ll concede that we all crave personal space and solitude sometimes but study after study has shown that people are happier and healthier for longer if they live within a social network.

There are, of course, problems with the above: relationships can be toxic; can break down; can be subject to harmful conditions and a whole myriad of other issues.

But consider the theory that pre-historic Homo Sapiens outlived the stronger and physically more able Neanderthals because they had the mental ability and drive to build strong relationships outside of the clan. (This article from the Guardian in 2013 makes for some interesting reading.) Networks are so important to us that perhaps we could adopt or find ourselves staying within a less than beneficial group out of necessity.

Looking back, I have no doubt at all that the biggest contributing factor to my poor mental health in my twenties was loss of community. This is why I now regularly visit pages on Facebook to help those who have just left my old religious group to come to terms with their loss. It’s a grieving process that is all at once liberating but also deeply upsetting and the religion’s shunning policy is one of their biggest tools to suck former members back into the fold (unfortunately, it leads some people to suicide).

But things do get better, life does improve and you can build a new support network.

We all need a good role model — Drinker of tea, maker of cakes and lover of daffodils, magnolias and agapanthus, my Mum refused to be separated from me and left the religion at the same time. She rocks.

So, I’ll not focus on the negative here but rather the ideas I would have like to have shared with my newly free but utterly deflated twenty four year old self (and these are things that I regularly share on those Facebook pages):

It takes time. It’s weeks, months, years of talking, texting and meeting up. Sometimes there are times when you fall out with someone, offend them or rub them up the wrong way but coming back from these situations and carrying on regardless makes for stronger links. ‘Bumping along’ as my Dad would say.
We have so much to learn from each other. Whether you are twelve or ninety two, I have something to learn from you and your view of the world and you from me. When we stop learning, we die.
Don’t be afraid to give. The singer Macy Gray sings “spread your rubber lovin’ and it bounces back to you” and I love this concept. The goodness you send out may hit a few walls or pavements before it comes back but it will – and rarely in the form you sent it out in.
Learn to trust because people are rarely inherently bad. They can be damaged, a little broken, strange in their reactions and strange in their habits but trust your gut and build links with people who make you happy.
Remember that sometimes you have no choice but to distance yourself from those who constantly dent your self-esteem. It’s just not worth it.
Finding the balance between self and community isn’t an exact science. You have to sacrifice personal choice and comfort to one extent or another in return for the rewards of being part of a community but others will have done the same for you.
Sometimes you get to choose your companions, sometimes you don’t. Whilst I genuinely loved the community which I grew up in, the sinister controls behind it were damaging. In order to stay, I would have to have given up so much of myself – in other words, the price was too high. So there are times when cracking out on your own and finding a new clan is the only thing you can do. This takes courage.

And it did take courage.

My Dad and my son in the social club where I thankfully spent the other half of my childhood. My Dad sat here with his father before him. It's home to me. — My Dad and my son in the social club where I thankfully spent the other half of my childhood. My Dad sat here with his father before him. It’s home to me.

So I find myself with friends who are mothers, fathers, writers, entrepreneurs, painters, dancers and musicians. I think of the faces I see at my craft group, my toddler group, the parents at school, the houses of my family and friends and I see stories and a life shared. There is laughter in the lines, genuine interest behind the words and light in their eyes. Sometimes I hold my belly and throw my head back in laughter and at other times, I cup the tears for their sorrow in my hands – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And then there are the few friends that I grew up with who also left the religion. We have a very special connection that won’t ever go away.

I’ve built my community, my way and I feel very lucky to have been able to choose the people I want in it – but it’s not been easy.

And then there are the humans that have accepted me into theirs. I feel grateful to them too.

Here is where I have to stop blogging for today. A friend has taken my daughter to the park this morning so that I can write and they will be home again soon. I didn’t drink at quiz night at the pub last night so that I could drop her and her family home in the car. Sometimes, my back gate opens and her husband comes in with a tub of freshly made, fragrant curry that she’s made for my family and I’ll send him back with a warm chocolate cake for hers.

It’s the right kind of community for me and I feel so very thankful for it.