You know that feeling of restlessness and unease? Where you don’t feel particularly comfortable no matter what you do? I feel that right now multiplied by 100. And I know what it means. I have had this exact feeling twice before. The first time was when I knew I’d outgrown my sports centre job and wanted to open my own gym. And the second time was when I closed my gym and I realised that I didn’t want to be part of the fitness industry as it currently operates.
All good stories start with a cult. And this one is no different. NB: You are about to witness me shoehorning a story about a cult into this blog just because I think it’s a cool tale, so I need to pretend like it was vital to the narrative in order to demonstrate a point about diet and fitness… wish me luck!
I spent all yesterday looking at gym adverts so I could create a piss-take video about summer fitness advertising. The amount of body shaming that they thought was acceptable was both hilarious and terrifying. And this reminded me of the one of my main motivations for starting The Anti-Fitness Project. Most gyms spend their entire marketing budget convincing us that we are not enough and cannot possibly be happy as we are. We all need fixing. But don’t just take my word (or your own eyes) for this. Clever people have said it too.
My brother is getting married next weekend. Amazing! But this also means that I have had six months of “have you got your outfit sorted yet?” comments from my parents. My sister’s wedding was easy. I was a bridesmaid, so I was told what to wear. Simple. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a blog about fashion. Anyone who knows me knows that I am probably the last person who should be chatting haute couture.
I have just finished my first diet challenge. And it wasn’t a “let’s cut out fat” or “I’m going to start counting diet club points” diet. Normally strict eating regimes aren’t my thing. I’m more of a learn to eat what your body needs type girl. But I decided to start a challenge to eat better both for myself and for the planet. So I cut out all food that has any plastic packaging for one month.
Unless you live in a cave, you have probably heard how much we have fucked up our planet. This upsets me. And so, I decided that I would experiment with reducing my footprint on Earth by only eating foods which don’t come wrapped in plastic packaging. I have called it “The No Plastic Diet”. And the plan was to document it for a month to see how it affected my health and happiness.
I wouldn’t say that I’m lazy, but I do enjoy an easy life. I like to get the maximum benefit from the minimum amount of action. Others call it lazy, but I say it’s efficient. With this in mind, I shocked myself when I chose to make my life more difficult by changing to a diet of food that doesn’t come wrapped in plastic
My nieces were learning to ride proper bikes today. They’re 4 and 5, so suffice it to say it didn’t always go well. But the best thing about watching them was when it all went wrong (hear me out, I’m a good Auntie really). And according to them, when they couldn’t pedal it was the bikes fault. When they crashed into each other it was their sister’s fault. When the bike wouldn’t move it was the grass’ fault.
Recently I worked a stupidly busy shift at the restaurant. Like, two coaches full of drunk football supporters twinned with the craziness of a Mother’s Day weekend with families “treating” their matriarchs to a night off cooking dinner. But that night it wasn’t the customers who gave me people watching entertainment, it was the staff.
I don’t eat breakfast. Never really have. The closest that my Mum could get to “making me” was to insist I drink a glass of OJ before I went to school. At 10 years old, I wasn’t skipping meals because of a weight loss attempt, I just didn’t – and still don’t – get hungry until I’ve been awake for a few hours.