I love this time of year, I love Christmas. I love the decorations, the gifts for loved ones, every little national and family tradition that you absolutely must do (Watching Dr Who, drinking Buck's Fizz and not even THINKING about opening a 'main' present until after dinner) and of course the SPARKLE. However, there is also vast amounts of beautiful, indulgent, luxurious and hideously calorific food. As always, with Christmas also comes the inevitable; parties, endless Facebook and Insta selfies, and most shops brandishing their latest and greatest (and tightest) party wear.
Now I am curvy. I am a bit of a chub. I have curves that Nigella would look at and go;
'Now there are some hips and boobs'.
I am also seemingly outgoing, confident, loud and I like to think witty.
This is not entirely the case, however.
I constantly feel crap about the way I look. This is not news to around 85-90% of people these days, low self esteem and body hating are the norm, but I am fed up now. Aside from blogging and being a crazy cat lady I also do a lot of performance and dance. This surprises people. They look at me and think, 'Uh huh, course you do. Zumba's not dancing love, and neither is the YMCA at your second cousin's wedding'. Actually, I am a hip hop, ballroom, contemporary, lyrical, musical theatre and street dancer. And I hate walking into that studio three times a week and having to look at my horrible body in wall to wall mirrors next to girls who, despite being my oldest and dearest friends and some of the kindest and funniest people you will ever meet, practically disappear when they stand side on to the mirrors. And I hate having to prove people wrong. Why should they presume that because my dress size is double figures I look like one of those Disney pink elephants when music is played?
Let's get this clear I am not the biggest woman you'll ever see. I am not unfit, I am incredibly strong and I do have a kind of vaguely hourglass 1950's pin up figure, but I am not happy. I look at myself and see a blob. Much like the secretary off of Monsters Inc.
So my dearest internetty Chumlas, I have made a decision. After I have consumed most probably a goose and a turkey, 56 loaves of bread, 5kg of potatoes in various forms, 30 gallons of wine, 78 boxes of Ferraro Roches, 3 boxes of the most delightful truffles called Monty Bojangles Abbie and I found in Waitrose the other day, anything with the word Cadbury written on it and enough pringles to last me until Christmas 2023, I will be losing weight. And by blogging about it, I see it as a commitment to actually do it. I cannae lie to you, can I? I will be hungry and moody and annoyed and tired and hungry and upset and hungry and exhausted and hungry - but I have to do it. My goal is to walk into a room of all of my friends far away at various Uni's across the country and for them to not believe I am the same person that they left in deepest darkest Dorset.
I plan to run, and swim, and go to the gym, and make my lovely but scary-ass South African/Portugese dance trainer motivate me. And by next christmas, I want to be slipping into a little Bodycon number with a statement necklace and strutting into all of those Christmas parties. I don't see it as losing weight anyway, I see it as trying to gain confidence. I genuinely believe that as long as you're happy with yourself and dress fabulously you are gorgeous. I think that I need to do this to be a happier me. I think that what is portrayed as 'normal' in the media is borderline anorexic and wrong. I also think that Sam Bailey was right to win the X Factor. She's amazing.
So there you have it. Wish me well Chums. Have an amazing Christmas, eat what the hell you want and join me in January to blast it away with a kick ass running playlist and eating grilled chicken. Mmmmmmm.
|Determined Stage Make Up Face|