The date in question had emailed me some rather artistic but nude photos of himself, so I forwarded these on to my BT, along with a plea for help.

Her response was….

Are you serious…OMG what is he… a God Warrior?? Fab amazing body and if you get the chance you must jump him hee hee!! I can’t wait to hear about the first date!!

Being the nice girl that I am, I forwarded BT’s email to the GW with the intention of bolstering his confidence.

(Note to self: Given said photos perhaps I should have realised that:
a) His confidence did not need bolstering
b) Nor was it his ego that he wanted stroked)

In my naivety I did not consider the consequences of forwarding on her email. I certainly did not expect that he would seek advice from my advisor!!!

Hi BT

God Warrior

Fortunately my girlfriend (being the consummate professional that she is) took his email in her stride and responded with:

Hello GW,

Enjoy your date and I hope you can report on the world’s best kisser claim!

Joy and abundance
BT

Sadly there was no happily ever after for the GW and the Princess but all was not in vain. The GW and BT have formed a blossoming relationship and rumour has it that he now proudly sports the cleanest back, crack and sac in Brisvegas.

Enrichment Lesson 60: Be careful what you forward on because it might come back to wax you.

I decided that it was a “good” thing that I could no longer rely on my sexuality to attract men. They would have to admire me for my sterling (albeit not quite so obvious) qualities and this would form the basis of healthier interactions.

In the last 12 months, after my return to full-time work, I gained a lot of weight. I was sort of ok with that..after all this would force a man to love me for who I was, right? 

However, a recent sexual encounter with an extremely hot guy, (I kid you not, one of my girlfriends nicknamed him God Warrior, but that is another story worthy of its own post) gave me some valuable insight. He was 51 (as much as he was loathe to admit it) but he has a body better than most 28 year olds.

We met on the internet and as per my usual form had several weeks of protracted flirting and sexting. Although I have to admit this one took it to a whole new level, he was articulate and funny, compellingly honest, and at times even audacious. He challenged and intrigued me.

As our first rendezvous approached my angst soared. I wanted to cancel almost as much as I wanted to meet him. I couldn’t bear to see the look of disappointment on his face when he saw a woman who was 20kgs heavier than the photos on the internet.

I knew he was a “fatist” and that’s ok because at heart I am too. We had talked extensively about his ex-wife (who was obese) and how unattractive he found that. I was so certain that he would reject me because of my size. However my weight didn’t appear to bother him as much as it bothered me.

I felt uncomfortable. When he kissed and touched me I felt like a sexy girl again but I couldn’t bear the embarrassment of him seeing me naked. I wanted to be the girl who would stride around provocatively in her sexy lingerie, a tantalising flash of thigh, a glimpse of cleavage. The girl who could tease and tempt, with a hint of promise in her smile.

In my usual unsubtle and over analytical approach (guaranteed to make a man think you are a nut job), I said to him, “I know you are a fatist, I’ve heard the way you talk about your ex..how can my weight not bother you?”

“Well maybe I’m not as judgemental as you….you’ve been through a lot..maybe you should give yourself a break.”

“Yeah I know I’ve been through a lot and I can trot out all the excuses …but at the end of the day it’s up to me to get off my ass and do something about it.”

Reflecting on this I realised being fat has little to do with how any potential partner might see me and everything to do with how I feel about myself. It makes me awkward, uncomfortable and embarrassed; none of these being particularly attractive qualities.

I thought the weight gain was about acceptance. Me, accepting the flaws and limitations of my body, but I now think it is about denial, I am smothering my inner sexy girl.

My sexuality and sensuality is an important part of me and I hope it still will be 30 years from now. I want men to find me physically desirable and I want the confidence to be with a man who I find appealing and arresting.

Being fat does not make me unsexy, but being so uncomfortable with my body makes passion frightening and the only person who loses out is me.

The fat also stops me doing things I love. It makes exercise harder and more uncomfortable (I never knew what chafing was before). I sleep less well and have less energy.

In the summer I usually spend a lot of time at the beach, although I no longer live close by, I still head down there at least once a week. However after a long walk I no longer strip off for a swim, or lie on the beach in my bikini, relaxing as I let my mind wander and my batteries recharge. Instead I head off for a cool shower in the privacy of my home.

I have a choice. I can change this. The only one I’m harming is me. I don’t have to be fat to smother sexy girl, or to find someone who loves me just as I am.  I don’t see the fat me as the ‘real me’, just an imposter who has temporarily stolen my life.

Sexy girl is still an important part of me, maybe she had been too dominant in the past but I don’t need (or want) to suffocate her under layers of fat.

I had packed away all my sexy lingerie and have never worn it since the surgery but I got it out today. I rubbed the silk against my cheek, it felt luxurious and decadent. Of course it no longer fits, but I want to wear it again, not for a man, but for the pleasure it gives me. Sexy girl is alive but she is struggling for air and I have the choice as to whether I give her room to breathe.

Enrichment Lesson 59: The most attractive quality of all is leading a life that is filled with things I love to do and being comfortable with who I am.

I couldn’t believe the elaborateness of his lying but I couldn’t let it go either. After stewing over it all weekend I rang him, “Hi.”

“Hello,” He replied. “Great to hear from you. How are you?”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “All that talk about planning your 50? You must’ve known that I’d find out?”

“I know,” he said. “Once I started I couldn’t stop. Will you meet me and give me a chance to explain?”

“How can I trust you? You lie so well.”

I didn’t want to see him again. I knew I shouldn’t but I was curious and fascinated..how could someone  lie like that and not expect to get caught out? Why bother? To me it made no sense.

He was heading overseas on a business trip for five days so we arranged to meet when he was back. He rang me every day that he was overseas and texted incessantly, almost annoyingly. During one of those conversations he fessed up that he actually had two sons from his first marriage who were 29 and 31. He also mentioned that his ex was stalking him and he had to take out a restraining order. By this time I was no longer certain what was fact and what was fiction.

We met at a trendy bistro on the river in Brisbane. He was already there when I arrived. He stood up to greet me but as soon as he went to kiss me I did my duck and weave. We sat down outside, enjoying the cool night air. I order a glass of pinot that was surprisingly luscious.

I looked at him as he talked but I wasn’t really listening. I realised I didn’t want to be there.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve made a mistake, I shouldn’t have come tonight..there isn’t any point.”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he said.

“I’m not, your fun and entertaining but I just don’t trust you and I won’t ever get past that.”

“Ok,” he said. “Well at least stay and have dinner with me, we can still enjoy the evening.” He looked lonely and fragile; an old man uncertain of the future.

“Sorry but I think its best if I just go.”

“Aren’t you even going to finish your wine?”

I shook my head and gave him a smile before I turned and walked away. I didn’t look back.

Enrichment Lesson 58: “Sometimes the fat lady has already sung but I’m not listening.”

I knew from his photos that he was lying about his age. His profile said 49, but I figured he had to be at least 53. I fronted him about this in one of our first conversations. “How old are you really?” I asked.

“49,” he replied.

“What year were you born?”

“1962,” he shot back.

“Will you show me your driver’s license when we met?”

“Sure,” he said.

Our flirtation was intense. He told me he was a successful business man. He ran an advertising agency. I should have known then that his version of honesty was somewhat different to mine. He had a 6 year old son from a recent relationship. He had been married 20 years ago but had no children from that relationship.

Our first dinner was at a swanky restaurant. He knew his way around the wine list and after conversing with the sommelier ordered one of my favourite bottles of shiraz. I half joking/half seriously asked to see his license.
“Not now,” he said. “I’ll show you later, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” I said. We both laughed.

The conversation moved on to other topics. He talked about the plans for his 50^th.  His sister wanted to organise a big party. We discussed his first marriage and how he realised he had made a mistake. He walked away from the  marriage, their farm and the country community in which he had grown up, in pursuit of his dreams in the city.
“That must have taken courage,” I said. “Imagine how much harder it would’ve been if you had kids.”

“Yep,” he replied. “I felt guilty enough just leaving my wife, she didn’t want me to go. But I knew I couldn’t stay. I was 27. I could see each year of my life unfolding before me just the same as the last and it simply wasn’t enough.”
He told me he had left her the property, everything and started over with nothing. She had remarried and still lived there with her family. He had seen her a few years ago but didn’t keep in contact.

Being in the Ad game he was a great raconteur and kept me amused and entertained throughout the hours of the date. We were the last to leave the restaurant. He wanted to kick on but I declined. We organised our next date, lunch and a drive to a country town that we both loved.
“See you tomorrow,” he said as he kissed my cheek good-night.

The next day an hour before we were due to meet he rang and said, “I have to tell you something, I’m really 56.”

“Why lie?”

“I hate getting old. I don’t feel old so I don’t tell people my real age. I know you probably won’t see me again and I’m sorry but I really like you and don’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage to get out. I was bemused.

“Are you still coming?” he asked.

“I don’t think I can.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I put the phone down and looked at all the potential date outfits laid out on my bed. I put them back in the wardrobe, changed into my gym gear on and headed out to work off my frustration.

Enrichment Lesson 57: “It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”

She met on man a plane. He had a disarming smile and a dry wit. Just like her he was a professional person successful in his career. They exchanged business cards. He asked her to dinner that night. She declined, “Sorry I’m busy.” Even though it was Friday night and all she had planned was some a takeaway, a glass of Chablis and a night in front of the TV. He extended his trip so he could take her to dinner on the Saturday.

They lived in different cities and both travelled for work so they coordinated dairies to organize the next rendezvous. They flirted outrageously via skype and email not to mention the sexting but they didn’t kiss until the third date. Then they had sex every which way and then some. His sexual appetite was voracious. She was afraid to fall asleep with him as she snored so she had booked her own hotel room. Each time she got up to leave, he would cuddle up to her and ask, “Stay with me?”

Eventually she relented. In the morning her first words were “Did I snore?”

“Not that I noticed,” he said.

“He can’t get enough of me,” she told me with a satisfied smirk. I took great delight in this budding romance and began my inquisition. “How old is he?”

“Don’t know,” she replied.

“ Has he had a serious girlfriend since his divorce?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” she said.

“Fuck, don’t you ask him anything?”

“Nope.” We both laughed. I confidently predicted that the next step would be a weekend sojourn.

Sure enough he proposed that he come up for a weekend in her home town. I don’t know who was more excited her or me. “Shopping?” I suggested.

He cancelled by text two days beforehand and then disappeared incommunicado for the next two weeks. “Business crisis,” he said.

That was 12 months ago and weekend getaway has never been mentioned again. She has never been to his house nor he to hers. They only ever meet in hotels.

On their last assignation they were lying in their hotel bed, recovering, when he asked, “What does a woman like you see in me?”

She remained silent and said nothing.

I asked her if she thought it was going anywhere?

“Nope,” she said.

“Why bother?”

“Blood sport,” she said.

Enrichment Lesson 56: Sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish the hunter from the hunted.

My father, who wouldn’t or couldn’t stand up for me, or himself. His only truth lay in the bottom of an empty whisky glass at the local RSL, every Thursday night. Even then all he could find was anger and violence until he became a bumbling, teary drunk. He was the epitome of the emotionally weak male that was to become my nemesis.

My mother perpetually dissatisfied with her lot in life. Her femininity drained by six pregnancies and five children by the time she was 30. A child, raising children. My mother grew up on a farm. I think her family would’ve stayed on the land; if my grandfather hadn’t burnt the farm down by falling asleep smoking a cigarette in bed.

My mother and her sisters attended a Catholic boarding school and were taught by the nuns. They weren’t allowed to run and they weren’t encouraged to dream. The story that illustrates my mother best is about my auntie Alice. There were six siblings, four girls flanked by a boy at each end. The oldest my uncle Paul and the youngest my uncle Tom, who was never the same after the Vietnam war. My grandmother was a tartar, a staunch Catholic who ruled her family without any shades of grey.

I loved and admired my Grandmother and looked forward to going to stay. I would climb the apricot tree, picking the ripe fruit, that first bite, the sweet rush of nectar trickling down my throat. When I had eaten my surfeit I would gather up the fallen fruit, secure in the knowledge that I could help my grandmother bake an apricot tart or sponge for that night’s dessert.

My grandmother once told me, “Your mother was a stubborn child. It could be raining cats and dogs outside and she would argue with me until she was blue in the face that it wasn’t raining.” I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know that my grandmother ans mother didn’t get along. It wasn’t anything that was said but the silences that fell in between. Just as my parents moulded and shaped me, they were a mish mash of their own personal demons with my grandparents imprint hovering in the air.

Anyway back to my auntie Alice. She fell pregnant when she was 17 and had to have a quiet wedding to my uncle Bob. There was no white veil or long bridal train for her. At the time of my aunties’ wedding, my mother was 23; five years married with two children and another on the way. My auntie was seven months pregnant when she came to my mum and asked, “Where does the baby come out?”

I loved and resented my mother. I loved and despised my father. I wished he would leave her. I wanted him to walk away and take me with him. Then we would all be happy. All be safe. He wouldn’t need to drink. As a 12 or 13 year old child it was all so simple and obvious.

I never understood how my Dad could turn a blind eye to my mother’s affair with “Eddie the Expert,” the neighbour my siblings and I despised. When I told my Dad about the affair, he ignored it. The blame and shame were mine.

I longed for my mother’s approval and admiration. We were mortal enemies battling for my father affection. I never realised it could be any other way and I guess neither did she. Tear down, destroy, ridicule and annihilate and when all else fails use your physical power.

These were the sand castles of my childhood, at least as I remember it.

Enrichment Lesson 55: My shortcomings, failures and triumphs make me the person I am today.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

All the kings’ horses and all the kings’ men stood back

And left poor Humpty on the rack

He waited and waited in vain

For someone else to take away the pain

He didn’t want to be broken

Although he had used his body as a token

He thought he should punish himself a bit more

Even though he was already sore

He wanted to be brave and strong

But he had it all wrong

A dint here, a crack there

Didn’t make him any less fair

It didn’t matter if all the pieces didn’t fit

He needed to sit in this shit

No one else held the glue

Only his feelings were true

He grew fatter and fatter and cried all the time

To this there was no reason or rhyme

But through the darkness was light

He learnt not to fight

The places inside that scared him the most

Maybe there was no Father, Son and Holy Ghost

Perfection lay not in outsiders’ acclaim

But could only be found through accepting his shame

Enrichment Lesson 54: We are all perfect just as we are.

I bounce between these extremes: in relationships; emotions; finances, sex; career; my combative relationship with food; even my participation in therapy. I admittedly delight in the drama of the high’s and lows. I fear the boredom of equilibrium, I mean really, what would be the point? Instead I have foolishly persevered in scrambling to the top, hoping that just maybe, this time, it won’t come crashing down.

Calm (not something Iknow a lot about, as usually either my head or my stomach is wound up in knots – the head I have learnt to live with –its when it gets to the stomach that I know I am in deep do do’s,) but not comfortable is not a balancing act; it is not choosing the midle ground.  It’s stepping off the see-saw and feeling the  firm terrain beneath my feet.

It’s allowing myself to respond emotionally as an adult, rather than the parent or child. It’s eating regular meals that look like meals. Most of all as the good Dr G suggests  it is,“responding slowly” and accepting the unknown and the associated discomfort that brings.

A recent work incident taught me a lot. My boss was distrustful of me. ”No worries,” I thought, “I can fix it.” But the things I tried to do to ‘fix’ it were all about doing what I thought would give my boss comfort and hence me safety….But my boss isn’t like me, no one is….I can’t control or predict their responses….trying to achieve safety is simply about control and clearly that can’t deliver safety.  Instead my boss didn’t understand my actions and this increased his discomfort which only escalated the situation. Rather than “fixing it” I should have just focused on continuing to do my job, remained calm and accepted the discomfort I felt.

It is time for me to stop trying to convince people of my worthiness. Belief in myself will deliver the greatest sense of self-satisfaction and is the best reward. External validation is nice, but it is an unreliable and exhausting weather vane to choose for self-esteem.

Calm but not comfortable (the wise word’s of one of my group cohorts) is about releasing the desire to control, realising that I won’t always be comfortable but sometimes watching, waiting, accepting and believing in me are all I need to do.

There is a power in the group that sits above and beyond the individual members. Watching one member challenging another over his detachment, which the challenger recognises from his own behaviour and watching them both learn from that.

Watching a beautiful, confident and compassionate woman (who I first thought of as shy and timid), having the calm and courage to talk about her family history of sexual abuse, murder and adoption. I am blown away by the growth and fearlessness I see in her. She is the epitome of calm but not comfortable.

Enrichment Lesson 53: To shatter the paradigms of the past it is necessary to step outside my exhausting continuum of extremes and allow my inner faith to ground and guide me, despite the uncertainty.

Over the course of the challenge my trainer (Damian) has taught me to be grateful and accept whatever weekly loss I achieve. He is an absolute fiend when it comes to my eating regime but I don’t mind too much as this gives me something to bitch about.

Damian has been beside me every step of the challenge, inspiring, coaching, and fine tuning my programme. He also holds me accountable but the motivation to continue has to come from me.

I have to believe in myself.  You would think that having survived breast cancer I would believe that I could do anything I set my mind to. But cancer has definitely dinted my self-belief and allowed my fear to come to the fore.

After the first few weeks of the challenge I surrendered my fixation on outcomes. This was a certain path to self-sabotage. Instead I focussed on the process and became determined to do the best I possibly could. I did not want to let myself or Damian down.

I stopped allowing each day to be hijacked to the litany of excuses that I had previously chosen to hide behind:

“I’m over 40.”

“My hormones are out of whack.”

“I’m too tired.”

“It hurts my chest.”

“My metabolism doesn’t work.”

“I’m genetically programmed to be a fat chick.” “

It’s too hard.”

Once I relinquished my obsession with the end goal and accepted that consistency was the key,  I was much more relaxed. I no longer felt the need to beat myself up or compare myself to others.

Vision has offered me so much more than just a personal training studio or an exercise regime. It has provided support and education. Everyone at the studio is incredibly supportive and the group exercise sessions, particularly the ones on the beach, are a lot of fun. We work hard but there is a real sense of camaraderie.

I would never have believed that I could lose 10 kilos in 7 weeks and enjoy it!

Completing the Challenge is making me stronger, healthier and happier. It is life changing. I am sleeping soundly and waking early, energized and excited about each new day. I haven’t felt this good in a long, long time. I have finally conquered my fears and regained my exercise mojo. I am learning to eat regular, well-balanced meals. My meals even look like “real meals” (no more gluten free cookies and weis bars for dinner). I am shedding my cloak of excess weight and finding my zest for life again.

 When the challenge is over (two weeks time) I may not have reached my goal weight but  this no longer matters. I have already achieved something far more important.

I have finally recovered from cancer.

Enrichment Lesson 52: Survival is about continuation of life  but recovery is about living.

After checking it out I was convinced that it was the right type of programme for me, as it combined an exercise and diet regime. The details of each were scientifically calculated based on my personal goals. I would work out with my personal trainer twice a week, as well as having the option of attending up to five group classes a week. I would weigh in once a week and keep a food and exercise dairy. All essential to help me stay accountable and on track.

I‘m not sure the word “trainer” does my personal trainer justice. He is a nutritionist as well as a personal trainer and while he is passionate about exercise, his true inspiration comes from helping people to lose weight.

One of his other clients nick named him the Nazi but I prefer to call him Yoda. I am extremely impressed with his knowledge about nutrition not just what and when to eat, but how to work your eating around your exercise to maximise fat loss. I like his perfectionism on technique when doing weights.  But alas like most personal trainers I have come to accept that he just can’t count.

After the first week I lost two kilo’s, a great result but did I go yippee? Oh no, Hannah popped her head up and said, “Is that all? Look at the results other’s have got! they have done better than you.”

I lay in bed the next morning thinking, “What is the point in getting up and going for a walk. I am not going to win. I have already stuffed it up. Other people can do less than me and lose more weight. It’s not fair.” Eventually I dragged my ass out of bed and went for a walk on the beach. As I did this I thought, “Fuck two kilos is a great result. When was the last time I lost two kilos in a week?” I kept thinking about what Yoda had told me yesterday, “It’s all about consistency and if you can lose two kilos every week you will win.”

I realised I didn’t need to be worrying about what happens if my weight loss slowed down next week, that was Yoda’s problem. I didn’t need to beat myself up about the things that I could have done differently. I just needed to learn from it and focus on doing everything right today.

When I got home I wrote Yoda an email that ended with, “You know what it might not be fair but I am still gonna win.”

He emailed me back and said, “Although you are in it to win the challenge you have to remember the real reason you have come to see me, not to go to Hawaii but to lose weight!”  He went on to to say, “It matters to me if you lose weight. This is what I am here for and I will climb every mountain to help you achieve your goals.”

For the past three weeks Yoda has indeed been beside me every step of the way, motivating, inspiring, leading, challenging and fine tuning my programme. In this time I have lost a total of 4.6 kilos a fantastic result. I have now redefined my goal as losing +1.5kg a week until I am happy with my body shape. I want to focus on the process and being consistent day in and day out.  If I can do this I will have achieved something far more important than winning the challenge.

After all Hawaii will still be there when I am done.

Enrichment Lesson 51: Don’t let ego get in the way of consistency.