“Thanks babe,” I replied, beaming.

“….yeah you know, that chunky one whose book you were reading on holiday. Amy…Schumer?”

“Oh yeah…right…”

I peered in the mirror, deflated, and vowed silently to lose it, once and for all. The man, I mean. That would be 13 stone of excess baggage gone in one fell swoop.

To be fair, he had a point: both Amy and I bore more than a passing resemblance to Miss Piggy in those days – and I clearly liked to hang out with a muppet.

So I gave him the heave-ho…and vowed to heave my arse to the gym.

Faulty relationship dealt with, it was time to continue with my life admin and take stock of my lifestyle. Having stopped smoking at the age of 40, I had been slowly taking baby steps towards a healthier lifestyle. Very slowly. Like, sloth speed. But then the comfort and familiarity of a long-term relationship, coupled with the creeping waistline of the classic middle-aged spread had kiboshed my (admittedly half-baked) attempts at reducing my addiction to baked goods.

Now, aged 42 and 2 stones heavier than I’d like, I was sat drinking sugary cocktails with a group of girlfriends. “I’ve really let myself go these last couple of…years”, I wailed. The girls guffawed into their pornstar martinis. I knew what they were thinking: a few weeks or months, fair enough, you’ve (barely) taken your eye off the (prawn) ball, but…years?! That was just carelessness. I hadn’t realised how long I’d been battering the buffet and chugging hot chocs until I uttered those words. No, no, no, this would not do…

It took me another six months before I took any action, instead choosing to make half-hearted mumblings about joining the gym, or that this would be my last slab of carrot cake (ahhhh carrot cake, my delicious – but malicious – friend). Then, suddenly, my 43rd birthday loomed large…and I knew it was time.

And the change – when it finally came – was huge, instant, and overwhelming. Anyone that knows me knows that I don’t do things by halves, hence the voracious appetite that got me in this pickle – mmmm…cheese and pickles (said in a Homer Simpson-esque drawl) – in the first place.

Overnight, I changed. Since I’ve lost the weight and got in shape I’ve been inundated with requests for information: how did I do it, what support have I had, is there some magic potion I’m touting?

So, Bird’s Eye Viewers, I’ve decided to impart my pearls of wisdom with you. Are you ready? Here goes…

I ate less.

And then.

I moved more.

Sadly, it really is that simple. Or not, as the case may be. It turns out it’s true: nothing tastes as good as fit feels. You have to make a choice. BUT – and it’s a big but, just like mine was – there is also one (surprising) secret ingredient in my body transformation recipe for success, which ladies of a certain age may well be interested in…but more about that later. (I know, I’m such a tease). This is how I lost 2 stones in 2 months and feel incredible, and you can too…

1/. Buy some body fat scales

There’s nothing more likely to give you the boot you need up that big ol’ blubbery backside of yours than stepping onto a set of body fat scales (mine were 12 quid from Aldi – bargain) and discovering you have the same basic body composition as a pork scratching. My initial reading showed I weighed 12 stone 1 (I know – ouch!), was made up of 37% water, 10.7% bone, 30.3% muscle…and a whopping 37% fat! Whaaaat?! Almost 40% lard? Now I’ve been told that body fat scales can be slightly off-kilter, and you don’t have to be Carol Vordermann to notice that those totals come to over 100% (like, how?)…but if there’s ever a time the cold hard facts will slap you in the face after years of guzzling and gorging, it’s when you step on them there body fat scales. You have been warned! I logged my progress every few days, and my most recent readings are: 9 stone 8, 53.5% water, 11.8% bone, 36.1% muscle and 22.2% fat. So I’ve now lost 2.5 stones and 15% fat in 3 months…I’ll take that! I’d recommend monitoring your progress every few days at first, then weekly once you’ve achieved your goal weight (oh yeah – set a goal. You need to know what you’re aiming for and stay focused). Warning: it gets addictive. Sometimes I weigh myself twice a day. I just don’t want to ever go back to having the same fat content as a deep-fried Mars bar.

2/. Take body measurements

As well as stepping on the scales, you’ll want to see the difference in your vital statistics. I’ve dropped 2 dress sizes and lost at least 3 inches from each of the areas I measured – sadly as well as hips, thighs and waist, this also includes my chest…waaaaah! So I may now be the proud owner of a set of abs you could grate cheese on, but the same goes for my ribs. And my boobs resemble two peas on an ironing board. What can I say? You can’t have it all. Well, unless you’ve got a mate on Harley Street and a spare 5k knocking around…

3/. Cut out sugar

Like, completely. If, like me, you’re partial to gallons of liquid calories in the form of sugary tea and coffee shop hot chocolates (I had the front to request a ‘skinny hot chocolate with extra chocolate sprinkles’ with a straight face as my standard staple beverage, day-in, day-out, for years), then you’ll probably have to go cold turkey and banish all hot drinks except for herbal teas. Drinks are empty calories. Brucie Bonus: green tea may taste like swamp water, but it is loaded with energy-giving caffeine and aids weight loss like a pro. Cane it like there’s no tomorrow. Well, upto 3pm, that is. Switch to peppermint after that, and then chamomile before bed, otherwise you’ll be on ceiling duty all night (ie awake and buzzing your bits off).

Oh and note that I specifically singled out ‘hot’ drinks. We all know wine is the stuff of puffer-fish faces and bloated bellies, but I’m not giving that up. Not yet. No siree. But strangely, despite still swigging Sauvy B like it’s going out of fashion, it doesn’t seem to hinder my weight loss. At all. Happy days! If you do everything else I did, I reckon there’s still room for a few cheeky bevvies. Because all work and no play makes Jackie a dull girl. And anyway, when I’m drunk I dance a lot, so it’s all part of the exercise plan, amiright?

I cut out all the obviously sugary snacks completely though: chocolate, sweets, crisps, cakes – all gone. I’ll still have the occasional dessert when I’m out for dinner, but don’t even think about buying those badboys for the house. Ever. Why put temptation in your way like that? It’s like inviting a grizzly bear over for dinner and asking it nicely not to savage you.

4/. Walk, walk, walk (or better still: run)

I don’t drive. I know – shocker! Believe me, the world is a safer place without me behind the wheel. But what this also means is that I walk everywhere. Especially now I’m single without a Jeeves to ferry my ass around town. I walk at least an hour a day, quickly, on my (uphill) commute, which, combined with standing all day in my job as a beauty boutique manager, means I average around 15k steps a day. Every little helps! And if you can run somewhere instead, even better. I run home from work when I can. The lure of the fridge when I get there spurs me on. Oh, and dance at every opportunity. But coming from an old raver, that goes without saying, surely.

5/ Remove red meat

I only eat red meat as a treat when I’m out these days. Actually, that goes for most meat in general. For me, dinner is all about the oily fish, salads, seafood and stir fries (minus the sugary sauces – just a splash of soy or hoisin).

6/ More fruit and veg

Fruit is high in sugar, but at least it’s natural sugars. Rather than snacking on chocolate and sweet treats, I’ll now have Greek yoghurt with blueberries, or dried apricots, raisins or cranberries in portion-controlled snack packs. Nuts are great for snacking too, but high in calories (and oh-so-moreish) so beware! Vegetables may be the food equivalent of a geeky librarian – boring af – but just get them down you and move onto more interesting pastimes… (oh, and sex them up with a sprinkle of chilli flakes).

7/. Be prepared

I always make sure I’ve got my water bottle and a supply of healthy snacks with me to stop me reaching for the bad stuff when the hunger pangs kick in. I pack my bag military-style, like a mum, in the mornings: ready for every eventuality. There’s nothing worse for your diet than being hangry and surrounded by nasties from the naughty list seductively calling your name. I also ensure I’ve got my gym kit with me, for impromptu urges to work out (yes, I do actually get them these days – freak!).

8/. Reduce carbs

Starchy carbs are not your friends. Bread, pasta, potatoes, white rice – get in the sea, the lot of ya! I eat only wholegrain seeded bread (one slice as toast per day, in the morning with two scrambled eggs and maybe a small avo, a few mushrooms or tomatoes), sweet potatoes instead of regular ones, brown rice. Portion control is key: little and often works best for me.

9/. Gym/weights/classes

BodyPump is BRUTAL – but it works. Ditto Spin. I spend every minute of each class looking at the clock above the instructor’s head, willing it to be over. But when it is – oh the buzz! The rush of endorphins coupled with the smug knowledge that you’ve completed a super-tough workout and will be burning calories for the rest of the day is worth the pain. The gym is good too – I use my watch to see how many calories I’ve burned which keeps me motivated – but for fast results, the high-intensity classes are where it’s at. Plus those grim-faced gym receptionists levy a fine if you cancel one with less than 24hrs to go, so there’s no dropping out after work when you just CBA and are fantasising about lying on the sofa scratching your arse and watching a boxset whilst eating Cheerios from the box (or is that just me?).

Oh, and get some Sweaty Betty workout gear (preferably half price in the sale because it ain’t cheap). It’s the shit. If you look and feel good in your gear, you’re more likely to get it on and get shredding.

10/ Be App-y!

There are TONS of apps and YouTube videos you can work out to in the comfort of your own home, but for me the best one is FIIT (click here to get from the App Store). It has a wide variety of free workouts for varying abilities and results, and they are a manageable 25 or 40 minutes long. I squeeze in a few a week in between the gym and classes.

11/. Power to the Playlists

Soundcloud, Spotify, Mixcloud…whichever your cloud, crank it up LOUD! The faster the beat, the quicker you’ll move your fat feet, so make it techno or house music all the way, baby!

10/. Photograph your progress

As well as weighing yourself and recording the results in a notebook trainspotter-stylee, plus taking regular body measurements for inch loss, snap a few pics to track your progress. Refer back to how you looked at the start to keep you focused. I had more chins than a Chinese phonebook just a few short months ago! The comments from people will encourage you too (ignore the skinny-shamers: they’re just jel!).

11/. Get some fitspo

Have a picture of your ideal body goal saved on your phone to spur you on. These gorgeous girlies with their ripped abs are my current fitsporation. They are abs-olutely flab-less!

Ok, so if you’ve read thus far you may be thinking “Yeah, yeah…this is all obvious stuff…nothing new to see here…” Well, now for my piece de la resistance. Ladies, if you’re perimenopausal or have already gone through the change (I had a surgical menopause mid-thirties which you can read more about here ) I give you…drum roll…

12/ Tibolone

This stuff is magic, masquerading as HRT. But not just any HRT. It’s the souped-up, lowered suspension, pimped-up, boy-racer of the hormone replacement therapy world. Instead of regular HRT, which contains oestrogen and progesterone, Tibolone is converted by the body into three components: oestrogen, progesterone, and….testosterone. And therein lies the difference. It’s a game-changer. Your energy levels, sex drive and general joie de vivre will soar, your body fat will plummet and your muscle mass will increase. Get to your GP and get some pronto*. Thank me later.

So if your fitness levels are in freefall, your weight is climbing, and your grip on your wobbly bits is as loose as Britain’s Brexit plan, it’s time to take back control of your borders. Surely if bumbling Boris can become our next prime minister, you can shift a few stone?! Of course you can. Good luck!

*DISCLAIMER: I’m not a doctor. I’m not a fitness guru, a nutritionist, nor a personal trainer. I sell make-up for a living. This advice – in fact, ALL the tips here – are purely based on observations and learnings I’ve made since I began my fitness journey a few short months ago. I repeat: I am not a doctor. Everyone’s different and responds differently to different things, and Tibolone is a serious hormone-altering medication with side-effects, like any other. If you follow my plan and end up with Popeye-style biceps and a beard that would put Brian Blessed to shame, don’t come knocking at my door. Got it? Good.

Sam x

The post I’m Taking Back Control Of My Borders appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

Okay, so I may know my way around a countour palette and own more cosmetics than Estee Lauder herself, but when it comes to being catwalk-ready from the neck down – forget it!

Now there are some girls who have a body for Baywatch, face for Crimewatch. What’s the use in bursting a blood vessel at the gym if you’ve got a face like a bag o’ spanners? No, get your hair and make-up runway-ready and to hell with the fitness regime. It’s not called a ‘regime’ for nothing. I don’t recall Hitler’s one being a barrel of laughs either. Life’s for living, not pouting into your phone like a constipated duck whilst ‘working out’ for the camera. I can’t work that out.

Seeing as the majority of people only chat to the bit above your chin (or chins, in my  case – I blame constantly looking down at my phone) – why bother slogging your guts out on your glutes, especially if you’ve got a permanent case of resting bitch face. Don’t sweat it – just smile occasionally! I know exercise releases endorphins, but so does biting into a quarter-pounder with cheese.

I wouldn’t say I was a total lard-arse, but fitness model material I certainly ain’t. These days we’re under increasing pressure to pump iron, our newsfeeds clogged up with skinny, tanned superfit bods, their proud owner beaming smugly from your phone as you tuck into your hummous dip….accompanied with a family-sized bag of Doritos. Or should I say DOH-ritos! I must remember to replace those with a carrot next time. Oh well.

Far from springing off the sofa and nipping out for a quick 5k’s, I’m more likely to flip my phone over and reach for the sharing-size Salt and Vinegar Kettle Chips in defiance. My Sainsbury’s delivery dude probably thinks I’ve got 6 kids with all these ‘family fun-packs.’

“Prep Like a Boss!” is The Body Coach’s strapline, gesturing to row upon boring row of sterile Tupperware boxes stuffed with various gut-churning greens. Oh, I prep like a boss alright mate….the boss of a chip shop.

Of course, I don’t want to be a blubbery old bird. I’ve hit the gym….instructor. Well he was a smarmy git anyway….and it WAS an accident (I got a tad over-zealous with my free weights.)

Having a fit younger boyfriend is not without it’s pitfalls either – Andy goes to BodyPump regularly and in a moment of madness I agreed to go to a couple of classes, see what all the fuss was about. Within minutes my eyes were bulging, teeth clenched as I strained to lift the weights above my head. I glanced casually around to check no-one was watching….and realised that everyone else had weights the size of manhole covers on each side, bar bending in the middle, whilst my spindly arms struggled with my piddly 3kg jobbies. The shame!

As I collapsed in a cardiac emergency I vowed to work out in the privacy of my own home in future. I bought a set of dumbells. They’re working. Every time I trip over them they remind me how dumb I am. Andy suggested we take up running. So far the only running I seem to be doing is running out of money before the end of the month.

Then there’s the diet. How anyone can drink those bile-inducing protein shakes is beyond me. I’d rather lick the bottom of a birdcage. Being hangry is no fun for anyone.

If God didn’t want us to eat his cute animals why did he make them so goddamn tasty?

I know vegetarians preach about ‘not eating anything with a face’ but someone should remind them that even potatoes have eyes. How do you know if someone’s a veggie? Oh don’t worry, they’ll fecking tell you!

Too much red meat is bad for you, I get that. It’s not great for the cow, either. I have a weakness for sweet n’ sour spare ribs, but who said they were spare? Not the pig, that’s for sure.

Fruit and veg may be good for you, no-one’s disputing that, but when was the last time you salivated over a salad, eh? Thought not. You’d never walk in at an inopportune moment to find your fella ogling a naked fruit salad on the Lad Bible site, would you now? But stick a big flappy kebab on his Food Porn feed and he’s definitely perking up….

We all know a muffin top is unbecoming on anything other than, well, a muffin, but if you dress well ( ie shoehorned into Spanx in XXS) then at least your dietary misdemeanors can be pretty much concealed. Until, that is, you peel off your layers to reveal what looks like a cheap Iceland sausage bursting out of it’s skin. Then it may be time to reign in the nightly gallon-drum of Chenin Blanc and invest in a padlock for the biscuit tin.

As Kate Moss  famously once  said….

“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

She’s obviously never tasted my local Indian’s creamy kormas.

As soon as my jeans start to pinch, I resort to my tried-and-tested exercise regime…I go on a clubbing binge. Nothing snaps that waist into shape and planes inches off those hips faster than a weekend’s raving, dancing furiously to house and techno tunage at any one of London town’s myriad of hip haunts. Eager to keep up with my younger counterparts I dance Duracell-stylee all night long, the only calories passing my lips coming from the odd chewing gum or an energy-boosting vodka Red Bull, sweat pouring down my ruddy face. Sexy.

Come Monday, I may have bags under my eyes, but the ones on my butt have miraculously disappeared. Result!

Obviously being slim is no guarantee of health either. There’s someone I see on my commute with a figure that’d make Elle ‘The Body’ Macpherson green with envy, but then she opens her mouth to reveal a set of Swiss-army teeth: rotten stumps and jagged bits all over the gaff. It’s like a row of bombed-out houses. Yikes!

Whilst I’ve always considered working in a job that involves being on my feet for at least eight hours a day to be a disadvantage, now I credit all the running about after my customers with the fact that I’m not getting mistaken for Gemma Collins just yet. And seeing as I won’t be able to afford to retire until around five years after I die then I should be fine. I’ll probably reach my target weight round about the same time.

And as for the wrinkles appearing round my eyes, well of course Botox has entered my head….but I only have to take one look at Amanda Holden’s expressionless waxwork mug and I decide to leave well alone (for now). I do have a few mates with foreheads as suspiciously smooth as hard-boiled eggs….but if I’ve got the hump I want people to know about it, ya get me?

So there you have it. If you get a buzz out of busting a gut at some hernia-inducing class at the gym then good for you.

Me? I’ll stick to bustin’ moves instead…

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

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