Friday, May 10, 2013

Pilates is my new religion and the reason I can now wear clothing that is not from the maternity section.

I wrote this story for Meisie Meisie in January this year about my personal weight loss journey, however it's not that fucking boring, so read it. Be inspired (or shit scared) to get your ass into gear or just a pair of skinny jeans. 

Four months ago I had a serious fucking meltdown. Whether this was due to the fact that I spent two weeks straight stuck in a pokey cold and mouldy flat in Hout Bay, the most unexciting suburb ever, watching Grey’s Anatomy from Season 1 to Season 7 eating chocolate and salt and vinegar chips till every item of clothing I owned wouldn’t cover the circumference of my fat ass, crying for friends like Meredith and Christina or because every member of my family is bi-polar or because the realisation that the business I started a year ago flat lined like one of the patients on Grey’s either way I’m thankful I hit rock bottom.

Because in my desperation to wear something other than extra-large pyjama’s, I googled exercise videos. This is not me; I am not some gym bunny who wakes up at five am to work on her transverse abdominals. I haven’t worn anything form fitting since 2006, before what I like to call ‘The Great Depression’. Five years of sad-as-fuck self-pity doesn’t do anything for your physique. I looked like someone’s fat mom or one of those poor obese American teenagers.

Up popped thousands of results but the one I found the most intriguing was this Asian/American girl with a fitness blog called ‘Blogilates’. Cassey Ho is from San Francisco and she’s a Pilates instructor who makes videos. Somehow in my unstable mental state I found a new obsession other than cleaning ferociously, picking the dry skin off my cuticles and smoking. (Can you imagine just how insane I look to normal people).

If you had told me six months ago that I was now exercising regularly and eating healthily, I would have told you I was on crack or that you were on crack or that just thinking that I was capable of changing my slovenly ways; somebody would have to be on crack to believe that.

I’m one of those cynical assholes who make fun of fit people. “Honestly who cycles up Suikerbossie, what kind of fucktard do you have to be to wear ugly cycling gear and put yourself through that kind of misery?” – That’s me.  I actually unfollow people on Twitter who boast about their “epic workouts”.

But I knew there was no miracle cure, no life-changing diet that was going to get my butt into shape without some form of serious exercise. I can’t handle people watching my work-out. I always feel so sorry for those over-weight chicks (just like me) running up gigantic hills, thighs wobbling uselessly and you just know all they’re thinking about is going home, crawling into bed and soothing themselves with a grilled cheese snackwich. No, I would not be displaying my sweaty red face all over town admitting to myself that I needed to lose weight.

This was going to be a covert operation, nobody would know about my ridiculous endeavour to join the fit community. I would not push that “I am holier than thou because I work-out” attitude. Months later I would miraculously appear all toned and lean and blame it on a stomach bug. “Yes, I shat my way to skinny-ness”.

But the more I did her Pilates videos the more irritating I became, like some prophet sent to bring forth the message of healthy living. I was waxing lyrical about eating clean and training hard.  I even bought a pink spandex work-out bra. I had become my own worst nightmare. Oh the shame, the fucking audacity. I hate those bitches.

But it worked, all the money I could have saved on magazines with headlines convincing me that some celebrity endorsed diet was the miracle cure for the expansion of my cellulite. I lost weight and I can’t even tell you how much because I don’t weigh myself.

The scale is the fucking devil, a hideous little machine that controls your self-worth. I know when I was 12 I weighed a good 5 kilo’s heavier than all the other girls in my class and not because I was chomping on junk food, simply put, I am blessed with dinosaur bones. The guilt I felt in those tender pre-pubescent teenage years for thinking I was some kind of monster-child almost ended me.

So here is my advice if you are secretly-trying-to-lose-weight-but-have-no-intention-of-making-this-known-among-your-peers-because-you-are-so-ashamed-of-the-amount-of-Crunchies-you’ve-consumed;

 (I once ate Spar out of their entire stock of Astro’s, I am not proud of this but it’s the truth.)
1.      Purchase a yoga mat. This is the only piece of equipment you will need.

2.      Go to iLivid and download the program that downloads her videos, that way if you are as poor as shite, like me, you won’t have to be online to watch her videos.

3.      Type ‘Blogilates’ into Youtube. Do not run screaming in the other direction when bombarded with the sheer magnitude of her videos; ignore the mass of lumo spandex gear and the terrible soundtracks.
4.     Now do them. Every day. Every single fucking day until your muscles burn like a thousand suns and your body is so flipping sore exiting your bed is a two-man mission, till your sweat collects in pools around your belly-button, (Yes, working out is that gross), till you cry. Because you will cry.

5.      Then after the first month an amazing thing happens, something that brings you more joy than you could ever imagine. Your clothes don’t fit, they’re too baggy. That doughnut around your middle has shrunk. You have more energy and low and behold those fucking annoying health junkies were right, the endorphins kick in and there is no need to self-medicate your woes with cheap red wine. The exercise makes you feel invincible, confident and sexy.

Now all that’s left is to make up a plausible reason for your inexplicable weight loss other than putting in the hard work. And try not getting too big-headed about it either because no one likes a skinny bitch.

 Check out

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for your comment doll!