I have made myself a promise. Menopause be damned, I’m going to lose some of my excess weight. Though I’m finding out it’s an easier thing to say than to do. Like most things we want in life, the things we really, really crave are fiendishly difficult to achieve. I’ve been on a plateau for what feels like months. Then I checked and that’s because it was months. Dammit. I’ve stripped out chocolate, eat less lollies and sweets, exercise more than ever and yet it feels like every morsel I look at bloats my face and piles on the weight. I lift dumbbells, I shout at the poor girl on the TV who is only trying to help people. What else am I meant to do as she gleefully tells us we’re going to do ‘walkouts’, an exercise that requires bending over, placing your hands on the floor, walking out to a plank position (don’t get me started on those), then walk back and stand up straight before repeating the process. I haven’t counted how many she gets through in 45 seconds, but it’s more than my one. Then I stop. I think. There was a time when I couldn’t do any walkouts, never mind one or two. It wasn’t even that long ago. Why am I getting upset? Look how far I’ve come. I mean, I could go a whole lot further but for now at least, it’s something to take heart from. While I think about it, I can also now lift myself, a bit, in a side plank. So it’s not a side plank it’s not even a half-side plank really, but it is something. I can lay on my side resting on my elbow and I can lift my hip off the ground and hold my body and my hip off the ground like that for a full 45 seconds. That might not sound like much to you but to me it’s huge, just as huge as my awfully high Body Mass Index (BMI) that I am desperately trying to reduce, but hey you have to start somewhere and I guess I’m still doing better those people still lying in bed or sitting on the couch.

And that’s it I suppose every morning I wake up and I stare at my stationary bike. I don’t want to use it, probably I’m too heavy for it, but up I get, put on some clothes and I just start riding. Usually about 2 to 3 km in I wonder why on earth I started. By five or six kilometers I really want to give up. Then I only have four left to do, then it’s three and I know that I can do it, because I have done it so many times before. On I go; then by two the sweat is dripping down my face, but I know that I’m nearly there. I guess it’s also helping me build stamina, and helping with my overall endurance and God knows I need plenty of that.

So I’ll keep pushing on. I don’t have much choice, or do I? The alternative is an unhealthier me, a slower me, a person that can’t reach my feet to put socks and shoes on. I want to do better. Maybe one day I’ll even manage a full side plank.

Until next time.