Next Year, For Sure

Okay so that whole City2Surf thing didn't really work out. I suppose I should be happy I shaved 30 seconds off of last year's time (in particular considering my 'training'), however I still missed my target by 95 seconds and 2 days later I am still in extreme pain. Like, I make awful sounds every time I sit down, can't say my colleagues are loving it.

Also, didn't even get any decent photos out of it. As you can imagine, I probably won't be shelling out money to get the official version of this one:

I mean seriously, I look miserable. Like suicide may be an actual option at this point. Even better, the other photo they had for me was actually a photo of some random fat Asian guy who happened to have the same last 3 digits I did.

NEXT YEAR.

This Should Be Interesting

On Sunday I will be participating in the City2Surf (a 14km run from Sydney's centre out to Bondi Beach) for the third time. Last year I was pretty focused in my preparation, and my time was just over 72 minutes, and while it was an impressive time I set my sights on doing it in under 70 minutes this year.

And so, in order to prepare to push myself that much harder, here's how I've trained for City2Surf 2012:

• I've been running outside a total of 3 times in the last month
• I have strenuously avoided running or even walking up any kind of hills
• This was after spending 2 weeks eating my way through the US and Mexico
• I love beer

So yeah, this may actually be farcical. And yet, I am still fixated on 70 minutes. Will let you know how that goes.

My Own Reality

I'm in the midst of a week that includes two public holidays and is sandwiched between Christmas and New Years. Technically I'm working today, tomorrow and Friday, but let's get serious. I couldn't even be bothered to go into the office today, and the rest of the week isn't looking good either.

As a result, I am sitting around my house eating insane amounts of food that is probably illegal in some of the healthier European nations, and every time I look at anything I know I shouldn't eat I just shrug and say "but I'm on vacation!" and eat it anyway. Made more ridiculous by the fact that, as I previously mentioned, I'm not ACTUALLY on vacation. But hey, semantics. Or something.

The worst part is that when people ask me if I've kept up my usual exercise routine of running and swimming in the mornings, I say no, but that it's okay because when you work out as much as I do, it's actually really good for your body to take a week off and recover and reset.

And just so you know, I COMPLETELY MADE THAT UP. But it sounds good and people seem to believe it (or at least wait until we're no longer in the same room to roll their eyes and laugh at me behind my back, or hate me for insulting their intelligence, etc.), so I'm sticking with it. Merry Christmas, let's be fat together.

Funny How That Works

Interesting that when I've had way too much to drink, I perhaps grab a falafel or something on the way home and eat a bit of it before I crawl into bed to pass out.

Much more dangerous are the nights like last night, where I've only had a couple of drinks, but just enough to destroy any willpower and cause me to eat an ENTIRE LARGE PEPPERONI AND MUSHROOM DEEP DISH PIZZA.

In case you were wondering, that's almost 3,000 calories in one sitting. Paging Jenny Craig...

Okay, I'm Not *Actually* Dead

Wow, only just realized that I haven't blogged in weeks now. And when I just came here to log in, it took me about four attempts to remember my password.

The saddest part is the reason I haven't blogged - it's because work has actually taken over my life lately. To the point that I've canceled most of my social engagements over the last couple of weeks to accommodate the fact that 12-hour days are not out of the question at the moment.

The benefits of working my ass off are that my days completely fly by, I actually feel like I'm earning my paycheck, and I have a whole new set of arch-nemeses on which to practice my most passive aggressively worded emails and my utterly condescending stares. I'm looking at you, stupid fat chick.

The downside of course is that I have no life, meaning I have nothing of value to blog about, unless you really want to hear about the new recipe I tried in my slow cooker the other day. (It really was delightful.)

As a matter of fact, the only thing I can think of sharing is that I spent last weekend in Hobart, Tasmania, an odd little island off the south east of Australia's mainland that's a little bit New Zealand, a little bit England, and a whole lot of Middle-earth, at least judging by all the short overweight people without any fashion sense. Pretty sure this was the most fashionable outfit we saw the whole weekend:

But yeah, nice place.

I Want What He's Having

Just wanted to share this animated GIF that Emla was evil enough to curse me with - so far I find it impossible to look at it for any less than 27 seconds.




No, I will not pay your therapy bills.

New Fatty In Town

Well I'm back in Sydney after a fantastic holiday. Unfortunately that means I am exhausted and a little bit fat. Actually more than a little bit. I may as well have strapped chicken schnitzels to the sides of my torso. I'm so fat that I tried to run my usual 5km this morning, and only made it about 3km before my left foot started to hurt and I needed to go home. At this rate, I should be back to my previous level of fitness in around 2018. Brilliant.

Photos and stories to follow in the coming weeks, once I have fought off the recurring desire to eat 6 full meals a day.

Mmmm...Sacrelicious

The photos from a week ago should really have my blog covered for offending religions for the year, but I had to share this billboard advertising "Hell Cross Buns" at a chain in New Zealand:

Personally, I love it. I'm guessing not everyone does though.

And in other reasons to love New Zealand, I didn't realize they had actually banned fat people from immigrating to the country. That is just fantastic - go kiwis!

Nobody Likes a Fatty

Egged on by a couple of friends who are much healthier than I am, I recently downloaded an iPhone app (My Fitness Pal) that takes your age, height, weight, general activity level, and goal weight, and tells you your daily calorie limit. You then enter in anything you eat or drink, plus any cardio you do, and it lets you know if you're over or under your limit.

Being a bit bored at work for the time being, I gave in and decided I would use this app for a couple of weeks. I figured it wouldn't hurt to be a little more aware of what I put in my mouth every day. (I feel like I should change the way I ended that last sentence, but I really can't be bothered.)

What was probably most surprising was the fact that

my diet is apparently not nearly as hideous as I thought it was. Not that I tend to fall asleep with half a stick of butter hanging out of my mouth or anything, but I had just imagined that all the take away lunches and occasional cookies were doing more damage. Turns out you actually have to eat an entire box of cookies every day to get as huge as some of the people you see in any video footage of middle America. Good to know.

Of course those positive results were for most days. I quickly decided to stop recording what I consumed on the weekends, because as it turns out, just a few beers is like eating an additional meal. Which means the amount I drink on your average Friday or Saturday is akin to me eating two lunches and two dinners that day. Unhealthy ones, too. DAMNIT.

(Translation for Americans: "You gonna be FAT.")

In any case, I've decided that this is the last week I'll be recording any of this stuff. If I wanted to be told every day how fat I'm getting, I would have adopted a Jewish mother a long time ago.

Food Hangover

Yesterday I found myself suffering from the rare but not impossible food hangover. After eating an absolutely insane amount of food at a dinner on Tuesday night, I woke up yesterday morning feeling full, nauseous, and exhausted. I even typed out a text message to my boss saying I needed a sick day, but at the last second decided that eating too much food was probably on the border of sick and retardedly lazy, and just sucked it up and went into work.

Needless to say, I will be eating a lot of salads in the coming weeks.

Not To Be A Downer, But...

My grandmother passed away on Christmas Day. Sad, obviously, but the woman was 98 and had an amazing life that anyone of my generation has to be in awe of. She was born in Scotland the year the Titanic sank, lived through two World Wars, and even in the last couple years of her life could still tell you what she wore to an officer's ball in India in the early 40's.

I could just tell you all those sorts of interesting things, but I figured a true homage to the woman (at least one that suits my blogging style) would be to list my favorite ridiculously bitchy things she said in her old age, since we all know that's the best part about getting old - you can say whatever you want.

After being asked if she wanted to put up a photo of one of her infant great-grandchildren:

"No, she's too fat."

While trying out her first walking stick:

"Well I suppose I could hit people with it..."

On being told the name of her first great grandchild:

"What? That's a dog's name!"

Shortly after claiming she was blind, discussing a cousin's pregnant girlfriend:

"She's getting fat, she is!" (upon being reminded that she was supposed to be blind, "Well, I can see shapes!")

So in case you were wondering where I get my pre-disposition for disliking fat people - it's genetic.