A Rocky Moment

Do you ever have moments when you feel on top of the world?

Invincible, strong, powerful and quite frankly, like a bloody legend.

That's what I call, a Rocky Moment.

In such moments I envisage myself on top of stairs jumping up and down with fists in the air, complete with the Rocky theme playing in my mind (...getting strong now).

A Rocky Moment can strike me anywhere, anytime. It is unpredictable, so I never know when it's going to hit.

Well this morning - I had one.

I'd just finished running 6km (3.73mi) in less than 50 minutes whilst still remaining within my 'fat burning' heart rate zone. It was a PB (personal best) that had endorphins intoxicating my body. I let out a little whimper "yes", but I really wanted to shout from the roof top - a - la Rocky.

I'm finding that these Rocky Moments are energising. They have me wanting to go back in the rink time and time again. Perhaps that's what makes a world champion. Who knows?

Until tomorrow, have a fabulous weekend full of Rocky Moments.

Grace xx

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Turning Into a Pumpkin

Today was massive.

After dropping our interstate visitor off at the airport, I went to the gym and ran 6km (woohoo!).

I then did some errands before filming my Weigh-In Wednesday YouTube video (embedded below for your convenience).

Despite it being Thursday at the time of filming, I knew it was Wednesday in some part of the world, so I was okay with that.

Next thing I knew, I found myself squeezing in last minute 'must do's' before racing out the door to do my Bollywood dancing class (which by the way, I LOOOOOOOVE!).

Après, I caught up with some more Adelaidean friends who flew into town this afternoon to work at the Food and Wine Show. In the spirit of all things food and wine, we indulged.

After a delicious meal (don't panic, I was good), some gorgeous wine (don't panic, I was good - is there an echo in here here here?) and a great chin-wag (Aussie for conversation), we made our way home via their hotel - the fancy new Hilton by Jeff's Shed (colloquial term for Melbourne's Exhibition Building). More chin-wagging ensued. Thankfully the wine didn't.

A great night has culminated in me sitting here in front of my laptop after having climbed up our stairs thinking, 'I have to post my blog before midnight' - but too late - I've already turned into a pumpkin! My consolation is that it's still Thursday in some parts of the world right now and I am... okay with that.

What I am finding most fascinating about Project Grace 2010 is my unwavering commitment to this blog. I simply cannot say "that's enough for today". My husband's in bed snoozing while I'm tapping away on the keyboard, and yet that somehow feels perfect.

Am I crazy?

I cannot deny that my daily blogging has helped me through some really tough moments. I've dug up and healed old hurts, progressed though blocks, had a few laughs and even managed to inspire myself along the way. I'm scared that if I stop, I may not start again. So, I keep going come rain, hail or shine - or a plane load of Adelaideans!

Until tomorrow, if you have a commitment, stick to it - even if you've turned into a pumpkin.

Grace xx

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Taming The Wild Horse

A few years ago, my father-in-law performed Reiki on me (a form of energetic healing). He laid his hands on my stomach and after a short while he saw an image flash before his eyes.

He described it as a wild horse raising its head in a fiery upward thrust. He said it was kicking and convulsing in what looked like a struggle to be free.

At the time, I was dealing with a massive upset and his vision didn't surprise me. Whilst I found it fascinating, I did not consider that it might have extended beyond my then current distress.

Something profound happened today, reminding me of that Reiki vision.

While I was jogging to my playground today (aka gym), I felt a calm come over me. A deep calm from the pit of my stomach. The chatter had stopped and I no longer fought against myself. It was though I had surrendered, as though I had tamed the wild horse within - the one that my father-in-law had witnessed all those years ago.

At that moment it all went 'click'.

I had flashbacks of pivotal moments when I've wanted to make changes in my life, yet my intentions to move forward was met with chronic resistance. Each manoeuvre to charge on was combated by a hundred wild horses pulling me in the opposite direction.

For as long as I can remember, to as recently as Wednesday's Weigh-In, I'd use words like 'inner conflict', 'turmoil' and 'dilemma' to describe what was going on. This disharmony often manifested in sickness and depression, which had me feeling unwell, unhappy, tired, irritable and confused.

So how did I tame the wild horse?

In one word, persistence.

In my attempts to become unstuck and absolve the resistance, I tried everything from the gentle approach (understanding, compassion and coaxing in a loving, nurturing way) to sheer brute force (fear tactics, intolerance and insistence). I cannot say one way works better than the other, I believe the overall taming was the result of that one word - persistence.

While I am uncertain whether once tamed, it remains so (this is all new territory for me), I am conscious of how overwhelmingly peaceful I feel right now. I can only imagine how far I can go when all of me - mind, body, spirit and inner wild horses - are all in agreement.

Until tomorrow, may you also experience this peaceful state of surrender.

Grace xx

PS. A personal thank you to my friend, Brad. You inspired me no end yesterday, which I believe played a role in taming the gee-gee.

Repackaging

Yesterday I woke up with a brainwave...

"I'm going to change the way I view my time at the gym," I announced to my husband.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't like referring to gym as Jim and that I'm off to have an affair. It was funny in the beginning, but it doesn't work for me anymore. Plus, I like it when you come along with me."

"Then we'll have a ménage à trois," he said triumphantly - lightly chuckling at his jest.

"No. That's not it. You see, I really like the way I feel after the gym. I ALWAYS leave feeling better than when I arrived. It's just getting there that's the problem," I continued...

"It's like an obligation, something I have to do - and that's not inspiring to me. I need to repackage what the gym means to me so I am inspired to go. When you're inspired, you don't need to motivate yourself because you're itching to do it. Self motivation is draining. Being inspired is the opposite - it's energising. Instead of having to coax yourself to start, you're having to force yourself to stop... or at least pace yourself. That's how I want to feel about the gym. "

"Geez it must be hard being you," he interjected.

"It IS hard being me," I sighed. (That's before I had my 1% breakthrough)

I took the time to reflect on my attitude towards being active as a child. I was always outside playing. From the moment I returned from school it was off with my uniform, complete any obligations (or negotiate deals) for my 'get out of jail free' card, and I was out the door quicker than you could say "Have you finished your homework?" We played till sunset and begrudged the familiar call of "Kids, dinner's ready!"

It didn't stop there. Every wedding, family BBQ or staff Christmas party I was running around with cousins or newly made friends till I collapsed (usually under the table at the feet of my mother). I remained sedated till being carried upstairs and laid to bed (occasionally I would awake when our car reversed into the garage, but I adopted a charade so I could get a free lift to my room - very naughty).

Kiss chasey, tiggy (aka tag), backyard cricket, football, roller skating, riding bikes, British bulldogs, elastics, down-ball, hopscotch, skipping rope and 'mothers and fathers' (the latter probably the least active, but the most creative). I couldn't sit still for a second.

So, with this in mind... plus knowing how good I feel after I've been to the gym, I have now repackaged it as 'Play Time'. That's what the gym is for me. It is PLAYTIME - Woohoo! And the best thing about it is that I don't have to finish my homework before I go. Now that I am an adult (well, that's what my age indicates), I can choose to have my playtime before I start my obligations - isn't that fabulous?

So far, so good.

This morning I leapt out of bed and asked Patrick (my husband), "Do you want to come out to play?" to which he declined. Then I ran off (literally) and played anyway. Right now, I am feeling as happy as I did when I was that little girl who ran and ran and ran till she faked being asleep on her Dad's shoulder.

Until tomorrow, may you repackage whatever it is in your life that needs a new attitude.

Grace xx

When 99% equals FAIL

You may be disturbed to learn that ever since I was eight years old, I deemed 99% as failure.

Long story short, I once scored 99% in a maths test (not a typo, we say 'maths' in Australia) and was falling over myself with eagerness to share the thrilling news with someone whose opinion I held in high esteem.

Instead of receiving the cheer and pat on the back I'd anticipated, I was met with a very blunt "Which one did you get wrong?" At that point, my happiness balloon burst (stabbed by a javelin en route to my heart). I began to deflate immediately.

As if being kicked in the guts when you least expect it isn't bad enough, I was brought further to my knees by something along the lines of "you have no grounds to celebrate till you get everything right" (excuse me if I can't quote verbatim as things seem to go in slow motion when one is stunned like a mullet - the fish not the 80's hairstyle, though the latter is equally stunning).

From that moment on, something was inscribed into my subconscious - 99% equals fail.

I've realised how much this belief has shaped my life. I've spent so much energy and focus aiming for that 100% and if I'm so much as 0.25% short of the mark, guess what? - FAIL!

Not wanting to remind myself of the failure I am at 99% capacity, I opt to walk away and start something anew hoping that maybe THIS time I'll achieve that illusive 100%. Consequently this has seen me jump from job to job, industry to industry and gym to gym.

Okay, this is where I fess up.

Since breaking my butt, my gym attendance has been less than perfect (subliminally translating to "I've failed"). Another balloon burst. The pattern that generally follows goes something like this:

Feeling despondent, I spiral downwards from mild embarrassment to utter shame. I reach a point where I can no longer face the staff, eventually ceasing all attempts to 'redeem myself'. Then a few years pass and I'll be on the look out for another gym where I will try once more to be 'Little Miss 100%'.

Isn't that insane?

This time I'm breaking the pattern. I am turning the equation on its head. Instead of 99% equalling fail, I'm equating each 1% a success. It is far more uplifting to build on increments of triumphs than it is to aim for the seductive 100% mirage and risk another balloon bursting.

I know what I'm attempting to do is not unlike retraining myself to write with my left hand. After being right handed for 39 years, I'll instinctively revert to old habits. But with constant self coaching (courtesy of Project Grace 2010) and frequent reminders that it's the 'one percenters' that count, I feel I'm on the path to recovery.

Until tomorrow, may you accumulate over a million one percenters in favour of a hundred.

Grace xx

PS. I never bounced back after that test. My maths results went from bad to worse, till eventually I chronically failed (academic fails, less than 50%). I dropped the subject as soon as I was allowed to and ultimately became renown in the family for being 'bad at maths'.

There are spies among us!

I recently learned that there are a number of people that have started to 'secretly' follow Project Grace 2010. It all came out during a conversation at the gym...

I was doing chest presses, which is not unlike the memory of pushing away a slobbering drunken man who lunges at you on the dance floor while you're boogie-ing around a pile of handbags, when I heard "Grace!"

I looked around thinking, who knows me here?

It was the gorgeous Jess, a staff member of the gym whom I befriended just days before tearing up my butt muscle. I hadn't seen her since the injury and felt a pang of shame come over me as my cheeks flushed (the ones on my face).

I approached her during my 60-second rest between sets, to say hello (as opposed to shouting it over the chorus of manly grunts). I imagined an inquisition over why I hadn't been around for a while and quickly thought of a succinct sentence to explain my absence. Just because my bum was off limits, it didn't stop my arms from working - but I couldn't help feel like I did the days I got out of P.E. (school sport) because of my period. I admit, I am guilty. I milked it for all it was worth.

ANYWAY... it didn't turn out like I had imagined.

Jess' face beamed like a child receiving a present; a great package enveloped in brightly coloured wrapping. She said something along the lines of, "I LOVE your blog, I've been following it every day and look forward to reading it over my cup of morning coffee" (morning Jess, how's the coffee?)

What? I thought, quicker than I could say it, before she continued...

"I've been emailing my friends to tell them about it and we all love it"

We? Who's We? There's a We? still thinking, while trying to formulate words.

"Are you serious?" I managed to blurt out.

Then Jess proceeded to explain that my words have been capturing what readers (you) are thinking and feeling, and thus providing a form of entertainment that I never knew possible.

WOW!

MEGA WOW!!!

So if you are one of those cheeky monkey spies who enjoys dropping into my life, please don't be shy say hello - I won't reveal your identity.

Apparently there's a way you can leave comments anonymously so you don't have to publicly declare yourself (if you still want to remain under cover). It would be so nice to hear from you and I'd love to know where you're from. Perhaps you could sign off in code something like first name + name of friend + city + country. OMG I'm so excited about starting a secret club with secret codes. This is like all my Get Smart fantasies coming true!

Until tomorrow, may you never miss it by 'that' much.

Grace xx

Does my wrist look big in this?

The oddest thing happened to me at the gym today...

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that my bum has healed (alleluia) and I'm back doing the things I love (or at least tell myself I love on days when it's grey, miserable and would rather be curled up on the couch hoping back to back episodes of Dr.Phil and Oprah will be the ultimate pick-me-up).

ANYWAY... I was warming up on the treadmill when my watch began to irritate me. It was jumping up and down like a 2 year old on red cordial; 'twas the result of being loose.

Loose?

Has my watch got bigger? Or is it that my wrist has become smaller?

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that there's not much meat on my wrist in the first instance. This got me thinking (yet again), why would my body opt to burn the fat off my wrist when there's an abundance of it on my belly, hips and butt? (not to mention my second chin, which I'd be delighted if it were to do a 'David Copperfield disappearing act' as one is quite enough).

Then I wondered, are wrists considered sexy? Would having slender wrists make someone the happiest person in the world? Could I become so obsessed with my shrinking wrists that when contemplating a new jewellery item (say, the silver bangle pictured), would I require the honest appraisal from my girlfriends by asking "Does my wrist look big in this?"

I left the gym laughing, thinking it was so funny that my wrists are loosing millimetres while the other parts of my body watch with envy. Hopefully, while I'm asleep tonight, my wrist will have a conversation with all the other body parts and let them in on a little secret - which I hope takes place when my boobs are nowhere within earshot!

Until tomorrow, remember to laugh at the quirkiness of such things.

Grace xx

A real pain in the arse

Thanks to Will, I couldn't get to the gym fast enough today. I woke up early - sans alarm - and started my day with gusto.

It was the perfect autumn morning; gorgeous blue sky, gentle breeze with a delightfully refreshing crispness in the air. Happily, I pedalled along the road thinking 'life is sweet'.

I was greeted with smiles so big that I wondered if the gym staff had organised a surprise party to celebrate the reunion between Will and I... then I realised that no one knows about this blog (yet).

I jumped on the treadmill to do my first 20-minute cardio workout before starting on weights (I also do 20-minutes after weights because, quite frankly, I rock... and it's part of my program).

It was 'leg day' today...

Just to explain, the design of my weight program is called 'super set' - and no, despite it being an apt term, it has nothing to do with my breasts.

Typically one does three sets per exercise before moving onto another. Super-setting, however, means you string together a number of exercises doing one set of each (be it on pin-loaded contraptions or free weights) before repeating the process till you've done three sets of each exercise - does that make sense?

The other feature of this program is that I'm to do low(ish) weights and high repetitions (16-20) to keep my heart rate reasonably high. It's more about endurance and toning than bulk and brute strength.

... after my first set of 20 leg presses (which I have been steadily climbing from 20kg to 50kg) I quickly moved onto the lunges and after my first one, I felt what could only be described as twang!

"Noooooo!!!" was my first thought... "no, not now, I've only just got Will back... sh*t, bummer, phuck," was the general conversation I was having with myself. I examined the pain and determined it was in my right glutes (the gym term for butt muscles) that shot down into my hamstring.

I limped over to the counter, right hand on right butt cheek, and asked what I should do. The general consensus was not to make matters worse by stressing it any further, go home, get a massage and see a sports therapist. Great.

I have no idea what I've done other than I can't walk up or down stairs bearing weight on my right leg. I have made an appointment to see a sports massage therapist this afternoon and I hope it's only a minor inconvenience, albeit a real pain in the arse.

Until tomorrow,

Grace xx

ps. Happy to consider all recovery tips and advice... I don't want to break Will's spirit - I fear our renewed relationship may be fragile.

SuperGrace

I did manage to get my sorry hippo self to the gym yesterday and felt so much better for it.

Though I often anguish over the thought of going, the reality is quite different.

When I'm there, I connect with myself in a way that my arse doesn't realise that it's massive - and I could almost go on believing that if it weren't for those bloody mirrors!

At the end of the day (or the beginning, or the middle) my time at the gym is just that - MY TIME. When I'm there, I'm there for me and not obliged to do anything for anyone else.

My renewed enthusiasm had me dressed and ready to go out the door with a spring in my step, despite it being autumn (haha, okay - not so funny). Then the phone rang. It was Pat asking me to send some information to a guy that wanted to write an article about him. This would not have been such an inconvenience if our server had been working and I was able to access the files easily. The sense of urgency in Pat's voice, together with the challenge head, ignited an instant 'Grace to the rescue' reaction.

Working at lightening speed I wrote a quick bio and did some magic tricks to send hi res photos within the tight deadline. Then... that familiar feeling of hating myself started resurfacing (like a hippo coming up for air).

I was angry at myself running around doing other things instead of following my initial plan of exercising, shopping, post office'ing, blogging, eating and studying before heading out to my course tonight. BTW, did I tell you I'm doing a web design course...? more on that later.

Totally furious with myself, I turned to you - yes YOU, the person reading this blog. I thought that if you are taking time out of your life to read this, then I'd better give you something good.

So I came up with 'SuperGrace' (see pic).

SuperGrace can rescue her husband and herself in the same day - she can do it all, no need to choose! She slices, dices and comes with a free set of steak knives - and that's not all - she can dress up like Richard Simmons just to put a smile on your face (and hers).

Signing off now... it's to the gym I go!!!

Until tomorrow,

SuperGrace xx

ps. Thanks Garrie for your words of encouragement - so happy to have my feet!

Could I be buried in me?

Project Grace 2010 was not intended to be a weight-loss blog - though it may look that way. But hey, it's only Day 3 and I have 8 months to go... so bear with me.

The point of all this is not just about finding my old self... it's about reconnecting with the me that I love and respect... and bringing all that into the present moment... and going forward.

So I set about on this journey to retrace the steps where I remember the old Grace once loved... and the gym was such a place.

I first stepped foot in a gym at the tender age of 20 and had a crush on the aerobics instructor Danny. I had a boyfriend at the time, so it was strictly 'look but don't touch' - what a feast for the eyes Danny turned out to be.

Soon after I left for London and didn't step back in a gym till I was about 25. This time I lusted after the bodies of women... I wanted to look like them, be like them. So after months of sweating it out, I sculpted a beautiful body - one that my husband Patrick fell in love with all those years ago.

That gym was my all time favourite but it closed down... and that's when I got 'lost'.

Though I've joined a number of gyms since then, none of them had the vibe. It was like being in a relationship where you didn't love your partner, but thought it would be good to stick it out. It was a loveless arrangement.

My sedentary lifestyle combined with comfort eating (especially after the death of loved ones) and my aversion to loveless gymnasiums soon transformed me into someone I didn't recognise.

Then 2 years ago I had a scan (see photo)... and I discovered that lying deep beneath my fat tissue is me!

Could it be that I'm not lost - I'm just buried...?

Is this project more about excavation rather than location?

When I hear myself laughing, it seems as though it comes from the same place as it always has. Is that the voice of the real me buried deep inside?

Is that where I should start looking?

I'm off to meet a friend now - he's a professional opera singer doing a recording here. He's based in Vienna and lives a thrilling life travelling the world, touching people with his magnificent voice. Maybe he might give me some insight about this.

Until tomorrow, ciao for now.

Love and hugs,

Grace

ps. Guy Leech was right about those calves - wow wee!

Phuck it, I'll do it anyway

After completing my first blog entry yesterday, I made a dash to our new local gym. I strapped on my Mum's old 'Stackhat' and climbed on her retro 1980-something Apollo mint green girly bike and off I went in search of my former self.

I arrived at the gym with my free pass in hand to 'sample' what was on offer and then it started - that disconnected feeling...

On the inside, I was feeling positive - but then I caught sight of myself in the wall of mirror and I looked like a walrus out of water.

How can I feel one way and look another...?

After overheating, uhem, warming up on the cardio equipment I made way to the labyrinth of weights. This was once my domain, I reigned over it, I was the Queen and I loved it.

Now it terrified me.

As I looked around I was sure that I resembled those little kids that get lost in shopping aisles, "I want my mummy" (for my American and Canadian readers, all two of you, we say Mum, not Mom).

I opted for the free weights and did some simple upper body exercises. I strategically stood in front of the mirror so my face was covered by an A4 'Please return weights after use' sign.

As I stood watching my technique (I'm a stickler for that) I noticed the muscles twitching under the skin of my shoulders and for a split second - I saw me.

The me that LOVED going to the gym and pumping iron, the me that got so strong, became so lean and so toned that Guy Leech (yes, the Guy Leech - Ironman champion and my 80's heartthrob) once said "wow, you've got great calves"... but alas, just as quickly as it came, it went away. I was lost again. Lost in the shroud of my blubbery flesh.

At the end I was fighting with myself - what to do? And then I remembered Project Grace 2010 - and despite all my fears, worries and over thinking, I said "Phuck it, I'll do it anyway" and signed up for a 12-month membership (Pat said softening the 'F' word would make this blog more palatable for sensitive readers).

So that's it. Day 1 complete.

I have an appointment with Vince in an hour where we'll be doing an assessment (yikes!) and discuss my goals so he can devise a program. Vince is also training one of the current contestants of The Biggest Loser, which I find rather uncanny, seeing how I was runner up in a body transformation competition 7 and a half years ago (see photo). Perhaps the universe has brought us together for a reason...? I'm interested to see how it unfolds before me.

Thanks for reading and to everyone who has commented and sent me emails and Facebook messages - WOW! Thank you for making me feel like I'm someone worth finding!

Love and hugs,

Grace