My Life = Dancing Queen

Freedom.

Fucking finally.

Last Monday marked the end of my servitude to the hospitality industry. There are probably things I will miss, but they’re things like stealing food from work and being able to swear loudly and frequently. These things I can still do, because I still have a key. JUST JOKING. Not that I have a key, I do, but its just so I can use the skip out the back to dump my rubbish in (we are currently moving house and there’s some things even Salvos wont take). And of course I can and will still swear a fuckload. I ceremoniously burnt my chefs uniforms, something I probably should have done even without leaving the industry, wearing the same whites for 6 years is a bit AIDS. The last week has been one of pure elation, besides the 6am starts and cycling to various gyms in 35 degree heat. My chef life entailed both extreme heat and early starts, the difference being with my new job I don’t fantasize about hurting myself with various equipment so that I can go home (via the hospital). This would be easy to do at a gym too. ANYWAY. My point is, sometimes getting what you have absolutely busted your ass to achieve is every bit as wonderful and amazing as you hoped for. AW.

Ages ago I saw that speech that Jim Carrey did about his Dad, you know the real inspirational Ask The Universe one. Hes like, you can fail at doing something you hate too, so may as well make a go of what you really want. So fucking true. I was never an amazing chef, I once boiled sesame seeds by accident, mistaking them for quinoa, and my general response to any criticism, constructive or otherwise, was I DON’T CARE. I hated anyone trying to talk food wank to me or even ask my advice about something they were cooking. Normally I love knowing more than people (who doesn’t lets be honest) but in this case I think I would be more interested in the AFL scores (big call). I wore the same jacket for 6 years, that’s some serious lack of care factor, and the one knife I owned wouldn’t have cut through my soft wrist skin no matter how many times I thought about it.

In contrast, I currently own 6 pairs of training shoes and have a savings account just for future courses I want to do. On my birthday wish list is a new fit bit and PT sessions with my new boss, or just anything with a tick on it, preferably lifting shoes (HINT HINT. If someone could forward this to my Mum that would be sick, she doesn’t have Facebook). I have goals upon goals and anyone or thing that gets in their way is getting a smooth jab/cross to the jaw, which I will be accredited for in my upcoming boxing instructor course. Basically I have no choice but to own this shit. Jim Carrey, along with being my childhood dream-husband (alongside Rowan Atkinson, bizarrely, least I wasn’t shallow) is one inspirational motherfucker (STILL SWEARING). ASK THE UNIVERSE people, but if it tells you to do a sequel to Dumb&Dumber, don’t, coz it was shithouse and I fell asleep.

PS My birthday is on March 8.

Um scales, what the fuuuuuuck?

So this is some kind of BULLSHIT. You know that feeling when you want to raise the piece of shit scales above your head and break them over your knee and then use the broken pieces to stab anyone skinnier than you in the near vicinity? Yeeeeah. That was me this morning when I checked my body fat percentage.

I’ve patiently held out an entire month since I last weighed myself, (least I get all silly and obsessive about it) the last weigh in being after the Xmas holiday (3 boxes of scorched almonds and leftover trifle for breakfast week of doom). I have stuck to my weights program with a vigilance that Commando Steve would envy and Ive not strayed once from the path that is paleo.

So why are the scales being an asshole?

There are several reasons for this that I can think of. 1) THE SCALES ARE BROKEN. 2) I put my height in wrong last time I used the scales and coincidentally obtained an inaccurate reading. 3) I spent a week eating trifle and scorched almonds, and its going to take more than a month of squatting til I shit myself to rectify this. (This actually has never happened to me, to be clear. Its the chin ups that got me.) Logically, I’m going to go with a combo of the last two. As much as I wanted to rush straight from the gym to the supermarket ice cream aisle (BEN AND JERRY’S) I had a whinge, did a workout,and went home to take photos of my stomach in the mirror. Still got it.

Sometimes scales are just assholes.

The good, the bad, and I WANT CAKE- A brutally honest account of my Whole 30 journey

Featured image

Left- Me, day 30, winning. Right- Me, day 33, FML.

If you’re in any way obsessed with health and fitness or have access to any sort of social media then you will have heard about the Whole 30. The book behind it, It Starts With Food, is very clever and sciency and explains all the reasons behind eliminating certain food groups clearly and in normal people words.  In a nutshell though, the Whole 30 is an anally retentive and EXTREME paleo diet, no dairy, no wheat, no refined sugar, no processed foods, no slip ups (or go directly to jail do not pass go etc etc) for 30 days. It seems like it’ll be hard. Naturally, this made me want to do it.

So, I did it, and I bloody well did it PROPERLY. I read the book, I researched recipes, tried them out beforehand, did the full pantry cleanse, near bankrupted myself buying organic meat from the Flash Supermarket, and instructed the darling boy that no Ben&Jerry’s or peanut butter/chocolate combo of any sort was to cross the threshold for a month. I don’t do things by halves. Unless it’s a half marathon. It was a pain in the ass reading EVERY SINGLE LABEL of EVERY SINGLE PRODUCT but you know what, it was actually a real eye opener to realize just how much bullshit is in even the most seemingly innocuous food item. I’m a chef by trade, so didn’t have an issue prepping food or changing recipes around to suit, and my nutritional knowledge as a personal trainer made things just that little bit easier also. It honestly wasn’t that hard. Besides trying to find fish sauce with no sugar in it. Good luck with that.

Day 30 I weighed in 2kg lighter and 2% less body fat. My clothes were way looser, my skin glowing, and my nails strangely long. I had ditched the food rage that had once plagued me on a daily basis. I felt A-FUCKING- MAZING. Then came the aftermath. I had been so strict on myself that I was almost afraid to eat something non-compliant, so I didn’t. For two days I stuck sternly to all things paleo, with the exception of my raw vegan protein supplement (such a rebel). Then on the third day…I ATE THREE PIECES OF CAKE. Then a burger. With fries. And then gelato. Two scoops. (Peanut butter with nutella fudge) It was a gloriously terrible feast. The next day I wanted to die. Both from the sugar/junk food hangover and from the shame of being a giant pig. I sunk into a deep pit of food regret and misery. I bawled like a 5 year old to my boy that I couldn’t leave the house because I was too fat. I wore baggy t shirts all weekend and couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. I found myself confessing my food sins to people I hardly knew as if this would somehow justify my binge. I obsessed over everything I ate like a bulimic 15 year old. I was a massive pain in the ass.

This lasted about 5 days. Then I sorted my shit out. I went to the gym. Re stocked the fridge with veggies and meat. Drank tea and ate eggs and chilled the fuck out. Realized that I was being a giant baby. My clothes still fit, my skin was fine, my nails still long and the predominantly non-paleo world was still turning. No need to sign up for the next round of The Biggest Loser. I was ok, but, my god, those 5 days were horrendous. Now, in the aftermath of the aftermath, this seems ridiculously amusing and nothing more than an embarrassing memory. If you read the book, which I highly recommend you do if you somehow still want to take this journey, you will be advised to GRADUALLY introduce other foods back into your diet upon the completion of the 30 days of paleo. They’re not kidding around. Unless you want to get all suicidal over a bag of m&ms. Believe me, its possible.