Mae Khlong, Markets and Mojitos

We woke up after our first night in Bangkok bright and early in anticipation of the cycling tour we had booked for that day. Initially we were to be riding around the ancient kingdom of Ayutthaya to see the ruins and temples of the region, but with the floods the area was underwater and offlimits. The tour company however offered us the alternative of a 40km bike ride through the southern farming communities and a visit to the floating market so we snapped that up instead.

Ever since the very first time my parents took me to a hotel I have adored the concept of a buffet breakfast. It delights all those little girl experiences for me, even if I am a lot more measured in how I use them these days. My breakfast of fresh fruits and yoghurt was quite spectacular though! We then waited in the lobby for the Spice Roads tour group to pick us up. They were right on time and we were soon in our van headed South through the Bangkok morning traffic. 

After about an hour we had a stop at one of the tourist traps that usually make my heart sink as you are plied with various souvenir crap that costs ten times as much as at the markets while the hard sell is put on you. But this place also doubled as an orchid farm so Bingley and I wondered in amongst the flowers and used the bathroom as suggested ignoring the vast numbers of souvenirs that would have given Australian Customs an apoplexy as various busloads of tourists pulled up. We were very grateful after 10 minutes to be collected from the clutches of a woman who was trying to give us souvenir plates with our faces printed on them while screeching out the price. 

Another half hour or so south, after driving through various salt farms, we arrived at the Damnoen Saduak floating market, which is the largest in Thailand, and as such a prime tourist destination. Again though, with the floods the numbers were well down and the market had a depressed aura over it - so different from the usual bustling. We were not harrassed at all as we walked through the same three dresses hung on various stalls and the same elephant carvings, but in amongst it all there were some interesting things - we bought mangosteens and rambutans to eat while looking at various fruits and spices, and amazing balance as little old women cooked from their long tail boats.

Many of the sellers looked bored in the heat of the morning, as if aware that we were not there to shop. Even this snake handler only chased us half heartedly to get our photo taken with his giant friend (we declined).

After traipsing through the markets for a while, and having bought all that we wanted (which was not much), we headed to a brightly coloured long tail boat for a ride through the canals on which a whole town had been built. It was strange and beautiful, amazing to look at and see. Such a simple but terrifying life as I saw toddlers playing on the steps of their houses at the water's edge. The cool air whipped off the water at us as we powered through and we just soaked it all in, tempted to drag my hand through the water until I saw snakes swimming along its surface. Then I kept them firmly in my lap.

Out for a paddle. 

 Eventually we hit the open water and our boat sped up as it crested the massive river. We were in the middle of the swollen Mae Khlong as it wended its way past temples and towns, under bridges and beside farm land. The river was fast flowing and filled with debris from the monsoons and it felt more than a little precarious to be in the middle of it at such speeds. But this, from what is seared on my memory best, is Thailand.

We eventually stopped some 30 odd kilometres North of the market at a temple called Wat Amphawan Chetiyaram. It was jarring to see gilded lamp posts and lined avenues, not unlike those of Paris in amongst the peasant life we had just sailed through. The carved temple here was simply amazing, though none of my photographs do it justice. It was so ornate, so intricate, and completely empty. Just us and our guide explaining the carvings and the scenes on the roof and shutters and walls.

Love affair with lamp posts continues

After we had our fill of the temple we were shown our companions for the rest of the day - our mountain bikes and helmets which had been furnished by the tour company. They were good strong sturdy bikes in excellent working order, but they had male seats. Male seats hurt your bum, and mine well and truly paid for it by the end of the day.

Bingley and Bike

Our first stop on our trip was the awesome Wat Bang Kung which was built during the Ayutthaya period, but would be in ruins if it were not for the giant banyan tree that took residence on its roof. This tree, through its strangulating roots has provided the support for the walls such that the temple is still standing. Even now new roots are reaching down all the time which are carefully trained by the monks so that they don't blot out the windows and doorways.

Gold leaf buddha inside the temple

After a short break at a local Catholic Convent to eat icy cold fruit and drink some more water, we headed away from the river and inland among the plantations. This was a fairly solid 15km or so of riding over mostly sealed roads so no photos as I was unable to manage steering and my giant camera at the same time. It was steamy and hot but the ride was mostly under the shade of coconut palms and pomelo trees so it was a really pleasant ride (aside from my poor bruised backside which was beginning to complain). We put up such a healthy pace that our guide took us for a few little detours, although we still arrived at our lunch spot early.

It was a little restaurant, built out over the banks of the Mae Khlong and no sooner had we pulled in and clambered off our bikes when it started to pour down with rain. We sat in our chairs by the side of the river and watched the water pour down as teh fragrance from the kitchens washed over us. Our guide asked us if there were any restrictions on food, and we said we wanted authentic thai food as long as it had no prawns/crabs for Bingley. And what followed was some of the best stuff we had in Thailand. Frangrant, sweet, sour, salty and so very very good. We ate until we could barely move, then relaxed as the rain cleared and we could watch the world go by.

Mae Khlong

Restaurant over the water

After lunch I surrendered my camera and we began riding the 20 odd kilometres back to the floating market. It was a lot harder than the morning ride, probably because the rain was lifting straight up off the ground so that the air misted in front of our eyes. The bike seat was also starting to cause me serious grief such that I tried riding for quite a while without sitting, which meant my quads were getting a tremendous workout in the heat. But it was still enjoyable and hte scenery was beautiful.

Being as it was only Bingley and I and we're relatively fit, we arrived back at the markets about an hour earlier than usual for the tour and were given the option of wandering around some more if we liked but after a good 2+ hours riding in the sun and humidity we were both buggered and looking forward to getting home and jumping in the pool as we downed as much water as we could to avoid dehydration. Pink cheeked, hair a mess, I wish I had asked them to take a photo of the two of us and our bikes, as it had been an excellent tour and one I'd recommend anyone that feels like doing something a bit more active and seeing a new perspective.

The trip home took a long time, over 2 hours so we were grateful we'd left a bit earlier. Many of the roads and overpasses were filled with people who had parked on higher ground to avoid the floods, thus blocking all major highways. We just settled back and dozed in the hot afternoon and gave thanks for airconditioning, cold water and iron clad bladders.

Jumping in the pool when we got back to the hotel was icy pleasure. I did laps for a little while as Bingley laid out on his cabana and we thought about how good life was. Determined today to get the best seats for sunset, we dolled up and headed upstairs right on 5 o'clock and ordered whatever fancy cocktails took our fancy.

Mojito in a drunk glass

Vertigo Sunset - sublime

We settled in on the purple couches that overlook the city and the sunset and began chowing through the free canapes as we decided on drinks. They were tasty, sweet and fresh and as we leaned back and watched the sun disappear in pink magnificence and the lights come on we felt exceedingly pleased with ourselves. 

We had not been planning to eat at any of the restaurants in the hotel, as with their Western prices and unimaginative menus it seemed a bit of a waste, but we were tired, and quite probably drunk and so resolved to at least eat at the Thai restaurant in the hotel named Saffron. A decision made easier when the clouds suddenly burst above us and we were ushered downstairs clutching our drinks (wet stairs in Louboutins while clutching a martini glass while inebriated - I deserve an award).

The restaurant was luxuriously decorated and we chose our own version of a banquet (as the suggested banquet cost more than the individual dishes combined - something I was quite confused about). We also continued to make our way through the cocktail menu so we were very merry as we gazed out the window through the sploshing rain to the streets of Bangkok some 50 floors below. It was quite surreal contrasting the night before as we had walked through the streets, glowing with heat and humidity in our smallest clothing to sitting in air conditioned luxury with sparkling china and crystal.

The food was tasty and well presented though not remarkable. We both got a kick out of the rice menu which comes around on a cart and allows everything from signature saffron to fragment jasmine and various other that I don't remember types of rice. We ate valiantly but had no chance of finishing off everything, especially if we wanted dessert (which we did). I had a ginger creme brulée and Bingley two bowls of ice cream that were both refreshing and tasty though I laughed when mine came out. It was gigantic, to the point where I had no chance of finishing it, tasty as it was. The thing could have seriously served 4 people.

Contemplating my massive brulée, not pictured

After dinner Bingley and I headed back to our room and collapsed in bed. It had been a fun, active, food and drink filled fiesta of a day and we were exhausted.

Yogi bear

There is a yoga class in 40 minutes at my gym and I'm contemplating going. Of course to get there I would need to actually get out of my pyjamas and brush my hair and probably take the Monkey with me. But I will contemplate it some more, until it inevitably gets too late to go.

I've been going to the gym regularly again now that I have the time and it feels wonderfully good. I love being virutously sweaty and sore. I love waking up the next morning and feeling my glutes and core muscles burning. But I love best of all how it affects my sleep and mood. I sleep so much better when I've exercised out my demons. An exorcism of sweat.

Between the sun (the weather here consistently is at a balmy 27 degrees and sunny with light sea breezes), the sleep, the garden and the exercise and some very very deep soul searching I'm feeling more myself lately. I've balanced this with some meditation and my own yoga routines, focussing on my flexibility. I'm naturally quite flexible but haven't been keeping as limber as I normally am, and the creakiness in my joints matches the creakiness in my flexibility in life at the moment.

I'm finding as that I am more easily able to stretch I'm coping more easily with the things that are hapening in my own life. I'm also contemplating learning to play violin or piano. I have no doubt I will be terrible, but I have a compulsion. The need to create burns at the moment.

Addit:
I went to the class. I am happy with how flexible I still am. I am very unhappy with the shape that I'm in. I need to take this more seriously.

Operator Please

I am cold and my throat is so sore it brought me to tears and my endo is so bad that I've taken strong drugs but I'm SO EXCITED because I'm having a friend over to stay. It's like being in primary school except there are mixers and vodka and imported rum. And cheese. And plans to go to this.

I've been feeling manic under the full moon. Thinking of things and dreaming of things that are as ephemeral as soda bubbles. Little bits of soul effervescing under the surface. But today I have pretty, fun things to look forward to, and the virtuous soreness of a thorough gym work out burning at my abdomen and glutes, so a weekend of decadence is exactly what I need.

Thorn in my pride

I went to the gym this morning; the first time in about 6 weeks that I've had the time and/or inclination to get the most out of my $13 a week subscription. I went in gingerly because experience has taught me that long gaps between training inevitably leads to pain. And having no creativity or motivation beyond getting through the doors I did my standard 1 hour routine involving 30 minutes of cardio and then a circuit of core exercises to abuse my winter soft belly.

My cardio involves either treadmill or stationary bike and when I'm new back I always choose bike because it involves less stress on my shins/joints than the treadmill, even if it feels less satisfying. So that's what I chose today unfortunately. I say unfortunately as they have bought a fleet of all new bikes which excoriated my ischial bones for the whole half hour and complained any time it couldn't read my heart rate. I am determined to wear my extra hold undergarments next time and go treadmill instead.

My core routine involves a mat and a BOSU and a lot of mental determination, being as, to put it mildly, it hurts. I start off with a set of 10 pushups on the BOSU which is better than a regular pushup because you have to balance as well so you also get a lot of arm/shoulder/back involvement. Then I flip the BOSU over and practice the world's most painful exercise ever, the plank for one minute, with forearms resting on the BOSU, again so that you have to use lateral muscles to maintain stability.

Third exercise in the set is with feet on the BOSU, lying on my back and raising up until until weight is evenly distributed between shoulders and feet and then raising and straigtening one leg at a time alternately for one minute while keeping spine straight and stopping pelvis from tilting. This one I find pretty easy, but it does work my glutes a lot, and I know straight away if I'm doing it wrong because my back squeals in protest.

I then curl my back down to flat and leave my feet resting on the BOSU before doing 10 stomach crunches, finishing with a lateral back stretch on the floor. Then just for fun I do all 5 around 3-5 times over until everything burns nicely.

I love how I feel after doing that. How nice it feels to be sore and strong and blood filled. I backed it up with a full wax today and it was the perfect accompaniment. I know I probably sound like a BOSU ad above, but I hate a lot of the exercises people recommend with it as they put far too much stress on my knees and ankles, but for te core stuff I can highly recommend.

Being as I'm all cashed up courtesy of the ATO I'm also contemplating a Wii Fit because I am feeling the need for more yoga but the classes at my gym are all at terrible times. Bingley looked sceptical when I mentioned it - I don't think that he believes I would actually use it, but as someone that's not too bad at yoga I think it would help tip me over into practicing it more regularly.

I had a look in Harvey Norman to check prices after the gym for a moment, but it seems a lot to spend, especially if there's no guarantee that I'll maintain motivation. But, something to ponder.

I did groceries after all the above and they played one of my favourite songs so I sang along audibly to the musak while the elderly gentleman tag teaming me in the aisles smiled benevolently. It was while singing along that I reailsed that I'm out of my funk a little bit today. Remembering some beautiful things, not focusing on negatives, having visceral memories.

I feel myself today.

The Color and the Shape

"Do you come from a land down under? Where women glow and men plunder?" Iconic lyrics that were penned surely, on a day like today. Where the rising heat by mid morning sucked back into your lungs and withdrew half of your spirit with it. I went to the gym this morning in a mood for some punishment and have been flushed and "glowing" ever since. Even after a shower and the ducted aircon.

I've been a bit half hearted with the gym for the last fortnight. The Possum's non-sleeping reaching crisis point pushed me over the edge, and even though I was still going regularly I wasn't doing much more than a few brisk kilometres on the treadmill while watching TV or an easy hill climb cycle on the stationary bikes. Unenthused and meh about it all.

Today I wanted to hurt. Wanted to feel the deep ache in my muscles and the virtuous twinges when I left. Wanted to feel the burn in my abdominals with inspiration. To feel the slight shudder and tremor in biceps that have been punished. To feel weak in my deltoids, and the wince of pain in changing gears in the car on the way home.

I was angry with myself today. Wanted to focus that deep within and unleash a torrent of abuse. And I did. Lashing at myself until I was flayed and bleeding. Stumbling out into the glaring sunshine I took a deep breath of thick viscous heat and pulled it back into my screaming lungs, and smiled. Because a beating that good feels damned good.

Bittersweet

So busy, so disinclined to write, but so worried about not capturing some of this beautiful time for posterity.

The gym is great, I go 4 days a week, my muscles are permanently tender but I'm already finding it harder to get my heart rate up without some serious intensity. The little children go to creche and after a rocky start the Monkey loves it. The Possum less so, and he comes home smelling of someone else which makes me feel viscerally upset. Worth it though for him seeing me when I pick him up, the flash of recognition on his beautiful features and the big gummy smile.

I am depressed about my post baby figure still, and my weight. Numbers are such a concrete arsey thing. Cognitive and emotional intelligence refusing to marry up.

The Possum is wonderful. I am hopelessly devoted. He is so beautiful and winning. I have always been stopped when I have been out with a newborn, but there is something extra about my baby boy. It's not just women, and children and grandmothers that fuss over him as I wander along, but men, young and old and in between. On the train they catch my eye and chat and worship. At the gym. In the line at Centrelink. In a lift. Men wanting to tell me about their experiences with babies that long grew up; babies that are yet to be born; or young men aeons away from procreating ask after him while cooing awkwardly.

Yesterday was my postnatal visit with my much loved and respected obstetrician and it was really sad paying the (monstrous!! OMG) bill and realising I won't do this again (ha ha have said that before). I am still really inexplicably SAD whenever we tick over another week, as if it's passing too quickly and I'm not doing enough with it. But if I inhale his musty warm scalp any more he's going to need a transplant.

We are moving house. This also makes me feel sad. I have lived in this tiny little 2brm townhouse for 8+ years now. It is the longest I have lived anywhere in my whole entire life. I've brought my 3 babies home here, fought with the garden here, rearranged furniture countless times. It is home more than anywhere else I've ever lived. But we have outgrown it and its awful curtains and teensy kitchen and un-linen-closeted self. So we're moving, to a little 3 bedroom house with a proper yard for the girls to play in that we can put a swingset in and invite friends over to play. It's so exciting, but bittersweet.

I did my tax for last financial year and we are expecting a nice little bonus which we are hoping to spend on much needed furniture for the new house. I love browsing catalogues and looking for new, neat, classic pieces. So much of our furniture is cheap or second hand and none of it matches. And while I love an eclectic look, ours is firmly "uni share house". I look forward to having nice things (it's the Libra in me) even if all we can afford is a new couch and a wardrobe. It's nice to dream.

But mostly with the rushing of time, what I fear most is going back to work. I will blink and it will be time to drop my Possum off at daycare while I head back to the hospital and it terrifies me. I know that the realities of SAHMing will hit me soon enough, but right now it is so right and so perfect that I wish somehow I could split myself in 2 and live both lives.

Enough of the sap

I could write more glowing, happy, nauseating posts about the wonderousness of my life, but after 3+ weeks in blissdom, I've just about had enough of me. Not that the shine is wearing off, because life is still harmonious and wonderful to a backing track of harps and pan pipes (OK perhaps not that bad). But there are certain, shall we say, unromantic realities that are refusing to stay in soft focus.

Firstly, I loved being pregnant. Well aside from the being sick and the not sleeping and the fatigue etc. But what I do love is my body. Naked, clothed, wearing trackies and bed socks... all looks good. Truly, a pregnant belly is the accessory that goes with everything. It helps that I both lose a fair whack of weight at first as well as not gain much in the end, so it's all focused in a ball in front. My hair looks incredible while pregnant, all shine and lustre and even after 5 days barely any grease. And awesomely, this time, maybe the boy hormones or something, I had perfect skin. Glowy, dewy, pregnant skin.

All those lovely hormones have left now. As has the becoming belly accessory. And now, what we have left, is not appealing. It sags, it's dry, it's oily, it flubs out around straps and bras and pant tops. It's like someone has deflated me, and my self esteem has gone hissing out with it.

When I'm not sleeping and breastfeeding pretty much constantly, all I want is sugar. Not your complex carbs and fruit that I crave in pregnancy, but a packet of mint slice (the WHOLE packet). Donuts, just for their icing. Cakes. Packet chocolate mousse. No sleep + sugar + postnatal hormones + age is surprisingly not the answer for an attractive visage. It is however great if you want to relive the memories of being a 19 year old with a hangover.

I loved getting dressed while pregnant. I loved shopping while pregnant. Aside from a couple of tantrums when I couldn't find what I precisely wanted, I loved that everything was firm enough so that it looked pretty decent. Something I hadn't experienced in years.

I want it back. I don't care if people ask me when I'm due, I'll live with that for the ability to dress without wishing I owned Nancy Ganz. It is impossible to dress my body in its current gelatinous state. The only thing that fits properly are pyjamas, and sadly fashion has not caught up with the wonder that is flannelette.

Nothing in my wardrobe fits at the moment. Most of the pre-pregnancy clothes are too big, or they are slimfit, showing off the muffin top that spills over even my pregnancy jeans. Shirts strain over the explosion of bosom. And everything is cheap and nasty or maternity - remnants from my "I will buy clothes when I get to my goal weight... oh fuck I'm pregnant" phase. I tried on clothes in David Jones today, and kept picking clothes that were too big for me. Even the assistants would give me a quick once over, hand me a Sz14 or equivalent and then would look astonished when they were too big. Because I look big, the lack of tone making everything look wider like a side show mirror.

So I'm going back to the gym tomorrow. Reactivating my dormant membership and getting back on the treadmill and banning myself from simple sugars. Every other puerperal period I have lost weight immediately at birth and within a month or so been up to the same saggy weight or more. I am determined not to do that again. I want to be happy again when I get dressed, even without the belly :(

Reprieve

I had, as you may have cannily guessed, a not so good week last week. I just could not get the planets to align so that work/family/health all stacked up. And as they so often do everything went to pot, most of all my tenuous grip on sanity. Thursday was the culmination of everything bad about everything, including picking the girls up from daycare late (not my fault, or something I did willingly) which made them incredibly grumpy and irrational which did not help my over it sensibilities. The horrid news that greeted me when I turned the TV on was literally the icing on the shitful cake. Excuse the metaphor.

So Friday afternoon I left 90 minutes early (I dont' get paid overtime so I took my accumulated extra hours as some time in lieu) and went straight to my nearest shopping centre, looking for someone to cut my hair. I started at my usual budget "salon" and was actually kind of cheerful when they said they were booked solid, same for the almost-as-budget-not-known-for-style chain store across the mall. In the end I stopped outside the trendiest salon, where no one has a hair colour approaching that which they were born with and no style is complete without a completely random bit (often blue or green) sticking out to teh side. I've never been in this fancy establishment with its uberhip stylists and expensive products tastefully arranged to the side. Because a) I'm cheap and b) I have no style.

Anyhoo I walked in and they could fit me in directly. "Which stylist would you like?" Asked the girl at the front desk who looked as if a very artful bowerbird had styled her hair. "Um, er, whichever" was my articulate response before I was seated in front of the wall of horror, I mean mirrors, had a small Chinese cup of tea placed before me and was asked if I would like to flip thorugh some of their magazines. Looking at my clean but fluffy and completely non styled hair in the mirror as well as my overgrown eyebrows I cringed a little in my seat as I tentatively said muttered things about fringe and layers and no pouffiness. To which the hairdresser picked up a strand or two of my hair between her fingers and looked at it critically. "I think blah blah blah and blah blah blah would look good, and if we blah blah instead of blah blah blah and then blah it will really suit blah" she said enthusiastically. I just nodded like a loon and closed my eyes and let her do her work.

I love having my hair washed and I love the products they use in salons. I should buy them for myself but have never let myself be so indulgent before. Anyway back to the story, after the hair wash and massage, I closed my eyes as she snipped away with the scissors letting precise tendrils fall around me. She tutted occasionally about my blunt layers, telling me that careful *something I don't remember* layers would suit my face a lot more. I just made affirming mmmm noises and let her do her work. She then got out the hairdryer so she could cut the rest of my hair dry, spritzing in a little of this and massaging in a soupcon of that.

Halfway through blowdying she told me in a surprised voice that I have the most beautiful hair, which I attribute to the fact that as I don't colour or heat style my hair it's in pretty good (if unstylish) condition, which set me apart from every other purple tinted and hairsprayed fashionista in there. But anyhoo after blow drying it into shiny submission (why can I never manage to make mine do that??) she then snipped away at the front and back and perfected tiny little razorlike snips all over.

And when I opened my eyes even the stylist chick was doing a double take. She had literally taken about 5 years off my face and turned my hideous unstyled mumzy hair into something that made others pay attention. Not ridiculous or ultra modern or anything like that, just something other than blah. I even bought one of the styling products because it made my hair so shiny without looking greasy which is really really difficult with dark hair. I didn't even flinch paying the bill at the end (not that exorbitant) and could not help swishing my perfect hair as I walked, already feeling a billion times better.

While I had been at that salon I had enquired about waxing to be told that they don't do it, but that they were happy to book me in at the Ella Bache upstairs if that was suitable, and summarily informed me that they would expect me at 4pm. I had half an hour to kill in between appointments so I went to the Body Shop to look at luxe products. I must have looked like I was going to indulge in retail therapy because the assistant was falling over herself to help me look at and sample products. With good reason, because being in a completely indulgent and "I have yet to actually buy ME anything with my paycheque" mood, I wanted to buy something, anything. After about 3 laps of the store with my faithful shadow behind me I noticed the "aromatherapy" range including the one linked there. I had to have it, even smelling that strong lavender/chamomile blend was calming me down. So I plonked it and a few other bits and pieces on the counter and walked out with a paper bag full of goodies Just For Me.

I then had my eyebrows waxed into perfection and left the shopping centre looking like a 27 year old that cares about herself instead of a frazzled 30ish mother of 2 with no shame. It's such a cliche to go get your hair *done* or to *put on a nice frock* when life is dumping on you, but obviously I am a cliche. When I do go to effort and take some time for me I do feel immeasurably better. Especially if I smell like expensive hair products and French Lavender.


Anyhoo, highly stylised pic for the nosy.

I also started going back to the gym and riding/jogging which is nice and has given me (and Harry) a nice little endorphin rush and I feel like I can actually cope with stuff again. Which is nice. Enough guff, hope you all have a nice week too.

In Rainbows

It was muggy this morning when I went for my run. Sweat quickly forming on my brow, the air thick and humid. It felt like the stirrings of mid November in the middle of an icy dry winter. The sun was strong and cossetting and the air was breathing heavily along with me. As I jogged along smelling all those smells you only get when you leave the confines of climate controlled vehicles I was feeling strong.

Inside the coolness of the antiseptic gymnasium I stretched and did some Cardio for a while before heading back outside where the Summer like weather had revealed itself. Thunder rumbled in the sky before torrents of water quenched the Earth. All around me that rich smell of rain on asphalt, rain on parched soil, rain on trees, rain on pungent murraya.

I gloried in it, the symbolic washing away of the dreary cold weather before the sun came out hot and beaming, no winter drizzle in sight. I tripped through puddles on my way to meet LH splashing occasionally when I found a good deep one, uncaring of the amused looks of those near me.

As I headed home later in my crumpled clothes (I didn't iron them at the gym) my hair haphazardly caught back in a clip to disguise the fact I hadn't brushed it after my shower I looked out to the stormy black clouds on the horizon. They are still building now, dark mysterious cities in the sky, but what held my attention was the magnificent rainbow, prisms of light shattering the blue-grey.

I've been stormy lately, and I needed that sight today. I have warmth back inside of me instead of this vicious iciness that was stabbing me in the stomach. I've stopped bleeding, stopped being angry.

In my fridge remains 3/4 of the chocolate bar that I bought the other day. That night I came home so miserable and uncaring. I wanted to gorge and remind myself of failure while tasting it sweetly on my tongue. I had sex instead. And a long hot bath. And I went to bed early. We've been having a few squares of it some nights, but it's becoming a challenge to me - to leave it there in the fridge and not eat it. I play mindgames with myself and dance a little victory dance when I realise for another day that - fuck you depression and cheap fix solutions - I can do this.

I may not have lost 10kg yet, but I am gaining muscles. I know this because I can ride much more easily now. Some of my clothes are looser as well. While I wish I could inspire you all by saying "woohoo look how easy this is", I only know how to be honest, and it's frigging hard. Even knowing all I do, self sabotage is still rife.

In spite of this, this is important. I picked up a 3kg bottle of milk this morning and looked at it. Really looked at it, and thought there are 4 of them hiding on my body atm, parasites sucking away at my health. 3kg may not seem like much, but it's huge, actually have a look at a bottle of milk today and think in real terms of how many of them you have stashed around your body, on top of your heart.

Anyhow that's about all I wanted to say. Weight loss can be goddamn ugly sometimes, just letting you know that I know it's hard too.

Diabetes

I'm on endocrinology at the moment, drifting between wards of acute patients to clinics filled with chronic ones. The first thing that sets the diabetes clinics apart for me is walking into the reception/waiting area. It's new and shiny and clean with the fresh smell of paint. Clean architectural lines and lots of natural light from the floor to ceiling windows. It has sparse chairs scattered along the walls, as they are mostly dominated by long white and blue leather benches. They're comfy to sit on, and as I perused an old issue of New Idea while waiting for a consultant I mused that they also fit the clean lines of the new building.

It wasn't until the clinic started to fill up that I realised that they were not just an architectural statement, a nod to hypermodernism - but that these long wide couches were deliberate and needed. Quite simply, the chairs with arms were not big enough for 90% of the patients who walked through the door. The doctors' rooms hold similar traces - the chairs for patients are easily wide enough for me to curl up with my feet to the side and lounge on, they are also heavily reinforced.

The endocrinology clinics are very interesting. Strange, rare diseases affecting primarily the tiny organ in the middle of your head about the size of a large pea called the pituitary. MRI scans show minute shading differences while careful pathology tests reinforce suspicions. But these clinics are not the majority of my term, the majority is the diabetes.

I sit in the room, next to the doctors who have seen it all before, in my first clinic full of the unquashable enthusiasm and optimism of a medical student. The lady who shuffles in slowly before gratefully sinking into the oversized chair in front of me looks uncomfortable and in pain. It was 11 degrees outside when I came in, but she is sweating, it beading frostily on her brow from the effort it has taken to get from the waiting room to this office some 20 metres away. She shifts a little in her seat, lifting her pannis and settling it more comfortably over her legs. They are splayed apart, both the pannis and the breadth of her thighs make it impossible for her knees to meet.

She clasps her hands together tightly, resting them on her pendulous breasts which are held up by the cushion of abdominal adipose tissue. If she was to stop clasping them they would spring apart, the spilling out of her abdomen prevents her from even resting her arms on the armrests, as modified as they are. She squints a little as the doctor asks her questions, her eyesight having rapidly deteriorated in the last 2 years from diabetic retinopathy. She complains of headaches when she tries to read, so she doesn't do it any more. She looks very tired, around her eyes deeply wrinkled and the bags beneath almost violently purple. She suffers sleep apnoea, caused by the weight of tissue around her neck collapsing her airway as she sleeps. All night long she cycles between hypoxia, as the airways are occluded, to waking, gasping for breath before falling asleep again. She does this maybe 12 times an hour, and she only sleeps for 6 hours a night. She is always tired.

She cannot feel her feet, diabetic neuropathy set in some years ago, and her feet are tortured. She cannot feel the ground, or when she kicked the bedpost, so she has had broken bones in her feet. She has had a previous charcot foot, where the bones keep being broken but unable to feel the damage she walked around on them until the heat and swelling caused her to seek medical attention. There is no arch to her foot, all of the normal contours gone. It is a fleshy protuberance that she somehow manages to balance on, the normal anatomy deranged.

Her other foot looks somewhat normal until we look at the sole. A deep ulcer has formed over the ball of her foot and she cannot feel a thing. We debride the sloughing, smelly tissue with scalpels that she can't feel, packing and padding the wound before calling up to the hospital to have her admitted - she needs IV antibiotics and we need to exclude osteomyelitis - we could see the bone in the base of her ulcer.

Examining her for a systems review is very difficult. Her heart is almost impossible to hear beneath its cushion of fat, even when we lift her breast to find a yeast infection underneath. The poor healing and the sugary exudate of diabetics makes this a common finding and the smell is overpowering. I mouth breathe through the examination, hoping not to embarrass her, but unable to ignore the pungency of her skin. The respiratory exam similarly difficult, the abdominal exam impossible. As I push my hands deeply into her flesh I give up searching for organs, I cannot get deeply enough to feel them. Thankfully however her bowel habit is regular and unchanged, so there is no major index of suspicion. She also has 2 yearly colonoscopies, the twin risks of family history and obesity playing heavily against her.

She is in need of bilateral knee replacements, but although she has been placed on the list, the consultant and I both know that she is unlikely to get them. Her morbid obesity makes her an extreme anaesthetic risk, so she continues to hobble a little in pain. The public hospital system is reluctant to spend $100k on replacing knees that will not be long used. Her foot ulcers have also prompted her to have a vascular surgical review, as due to her extensive peripheral vascular disease her ulcers are not healing. These surgeons are also unwilling to operate. They show me pictures of the circulation to her feet and it is almost nothing. If they cannot get this infection in her foot under control she will have an amputation. Her dwindling mobility is reducing almost daily. Soon she is likely to be confined to a wheel chair.

The most awful part of all of this? This lady is barely 50. She could be my mother, my Aunt, a colleague. She isn't on the end of a long and full life that has gradually slowed down past 70. She has been living a painful, uncomfortable and medicalised life for the past 20 years, though the marked deterioration began at about 44. I have seen her identical twin, both male and female every day for the last 2 weeks. Those who for years treated their obesity as nothing more than a nuisance, or an insurmountable hurdle, and their diabetes as merely a little sugar issue. They blushed a little as their chiding GPs mentioned their HBA1c, and insisted they stuck to their low GI diet most of the time, as I glance at the large bottle of full strength Coca Cola in their bags.

Some I met in GP-land, angrily reacting if any mention was made of their weight. Insisting that they had tried EVERYTHING and that we could not possibly understand how hard it was. Others not angry but insistent that they were fit and healthy even if they were overweight and that they exercised every day and that waist circumference and BMI were bullshit.

And the overwhelming feeling I have is of sadness. That lives are played out to a symphony of pain and disability, shunned from society with social engagements merely a combination of specialist visits at the hospital every month, or in some cases every week. They know every detail of their management plans, the names of each doctor who looks after each failing system. They are inured to the gravity of each complaint, as they began to stack up it became easier to treat them all as a separate intellectual entity. Otherwise the depression and hopelessness of it all would consume them.

It has been a confronting few weeks, deeply impressing on me how important it is that I deal with lifestyle issues now. I have always eaten healthfully. I like fruit better than chocolate, and saturated fat gives me the squits. But I am not immune from comfort eating and it is very easy to serve yourself a meal that has twice the recommended caloric specifications. Exercise is the very last thing I feel like after spending 9 hours at work and 2 hours commuting every day, and so strong is the pull in the cold evenings of my comfy couch, with my quilt pulled up over my knees as I munch on a delectable home made apple crumble drizzled with cream.

But as I flashed forward into the future, I imagined gaining 3kg per year for the next 15 years. A familiar story for many of the patients I have chatted to. Many started slightly heavier than me in their teens, always with a bit of "puppy fat" but never obese, and it just kept coming and coming. In 15 years I will be 41, and I could, in this hypothetical but easy to imagine scenario weigh 115kg at 40. Without even thinking about it. The cruel cycle being that with every kilogram gained the more effort exercise took on their bodies.

I think of how much more effort it takes when I am carrying the girls up the stairs every day and think about how gradually, it would just become more than I could handle, such that I avoided situations where incidental exercise would be necessary. Until there came a point where even if I wanted to, walking up stairs would be impossible.

I've started riding to work, I figured I'm moderately fit anyway with all my gymming so it would be a good way to ensure an hour of cardiac exercise every day with the added benefit of not having to change buses/trains. And it was hard. Goddamned painful. It's only 8km to work, and admittedly very hilly, but it is not that far really, I can do it in 45 minutes. But the pain on that first morning - it tore at my lungs. I got maybe a km from home and debated turning around and catching a bus, or even better driving because I did not feel good.

When I got home last night, sweaty and breathless, I thought about the fact that before that ride I would have told people that I was of average/acceptable fitness, and that as I conform to a healthy BMI and waist circumference that my lifestyle was fine. Perhaps I even felt a little detached from the patients I saw, wondering loftily how they could possibly have ever got to this state. And now I know, because even I, with all the knowledge and stubborn discipline in me could easily get there. It's not laziness, but denial is strong. There denial in the community is overwhelming.

I sat in the food court today, the smallest person in an area of maybe 40 people but one. I looked down at my rounded belly, my inflated arms and the way that my buttocks spilled out on the chair and thought guiltily of how little attention I have paid to keeping it healthy and disease free, resting on the laurels of good genes and youth. I was grateful that I had chosen a salad sandwich, but I looked around in despair at all these people, so many of them easily twice my weight, eating the chips and gravy that perfumed the air. Watched them drink their soft drinks and thought to myself that something is seriously wrong.

We're so far in denial that it's now just an accepted thing that we're fat and unhealthy and unfit. We're ignorant and think of diabetes as "just a sugar problem" and that size is just a media tool to make women feel guilty enough to buy miracle cures. It's so easy to cure, but at the same time it isn't. And we should know better.

The Monkey continues to be blase about her near escape from serious injury and spent her day today climbing with abandon, stopping only to put her tooth through her lip before jumping up again at full sprint. There is a REASON I am not carded at the bottle-o any more, my children think independence and daredevilness is a religion.

I have been quietly going to work as has LH, and the ELfling is at the beach with Mum and Dad. I hope she's having a nice time, but I suspect that the undivided attention combined with the beach as well as her general sense of adventure is keeping her well occupied. Dad's mobile is flat so I can't contact them right at the minute and I'm missing my biggest girl.

It's awfully cold tonight, and I'm tucked up with my laptop to warm up my belly as I download etax forms ready to submit... reading blogs and sniffling slightly in the cold. My legs are spasming slightly from both the punishing I gave them this afternoon at the gym and also from the cold.

I"ve continued with my gym regimen and am enjoying it. But remembering why it's so easy to slip into denial. I missed a few days last week and the temptation to just stay home and eat puddings is strong. It really is the getting there in the first place that is my biggest mental stumbling block. Once there I have no difficulty pushing myself hard - I've added back and abdominal exercises to my weights and cardio routine - but the mind games I play on the way home from work every day are ridiculous. Especially when every afternoon as I get home with my mind worked out just as much my body. I feel so relaxed and happy. And yet every afternoon I try and think of an out.

I just wish the results would come more quickly. I'm stronger and fitter, but superficially, I wish that would show as well.

Tuesday

I'm at home today, suffering from the joy that is endometriosis armed with nurofen and panadol and carbohydrates. I had a lovely weekend past and have just started a new placement so should be there learning the ropes, but lying down with a hot laptop on my belly wins hands down today.

Saturday was spent having a family picnic up in the icy mountains before a bushwalk and obligatory fudge purchasing. The girls had a lovely time running around with rosy wind slapped cheeks and exploring hollowed out trees in our path with the Elfling desperately searching for fairies. The Monkey was so rugged up against the cold her arms stuck out like the Michelin Man but she had great fun running after the Elfling and being generally adorable.

Sunday we didn't do much besides take in turns sleeping after the Monkey had a terrible night.

Other than that I've been going to the gym, going to new hospital and trying to pretend to be smart again and devising up some fancy looking spreadsheets to track my gym habits and weight/centimetre loss. I'm a visual creature so I like having things in neat lists and graphical format. Much nicer than having the obligatory "fat photo" pinned to the fridge. Though if the carbohydrate cravings keep up it might become necessary.

I will add pictures (of graphs not me) once I have made them look nicer. I will also link my exercise timetable for the stupendously bored and/or nosy. I am trialling a block colour format so that my life can be increasingly colour coded. I am an ubernerd.

If I can walk tomorrow I shall be very surprised

Terribly dull post ahead written solely for my own benefit...

In order to take my mind off of a myriad of things, I have been going back to the gym possibly earlier than I should have after being sick. I say too early due to the startled and somewhat disgruntled looks I get from those around me as I hack away after each sprint on the treadmill etc, but now that I am no longer (at least in mind) the fattest person at the gym their looks matter little.

I decided to push myself hard today, doing both cardio and strength training, and have worked out some massive deficiencies in my health and fitness. For one the strength in my triceps and deltoids is practically nonexistent. I was doing chest presses and after 20 reps it felt like the acid build up would eat right through my arms until they fell off. I struggled my way until 50 reps and just about cried for the last 3. The military presses I tried after had my eyes smarting so much I barely reached 20.

My back and shoulder fitness is OK though and I was able to complete a full set of reps of lateral pulldowns. Similarly my legs are very strong and I was able to do interval squats and leg presses for over 100 reps without feeling too fatigued. I am a little worried about strain on my knees in my aged state, but I really do need to do a bit more just for stability of the joint. We live in a 3 story house so I do lots of stairs both at home and at work out of necessity so I'm not hugely concerned.

My abdominal fitness which I worked so hard at after the Monkey was born to try and get rid of the muscle separation and help my back has started to go downhill rapidly. Tone is gone, but more importantly so has the strength especially in the lower abs and the transversus. Side effect of that is that my posture is off which adds to the backpain.

On the plus side though I can do a crosscountry ride comfortably and it's my usual start to a workout being as it gets both my heart rate and core temp up a little, I then do a 20 minute interval run/brisk walk after reading about the benefits of interval exercise on cardio fitness, then finish with some strength based exercise. One thing I haven't been doing is stretching and I really need to get back into pilates and/or yoga.

My plan for the next month or so is to concentrate more on strength training because it's something that has always been easy for me (and I'm an insta-rewards kinda girl) with specific focus on my core strength. To round that out really really need to go back to pilates class, because aside from pushing me harder than I would go myself, it's good for meditation. And after a month I'll reevaluate.

I'm just not feeling good about myself at the moment, I'm hoping that a daily rush of endorphins and lactic acid will push me over the line.