CORE blimey…

I don’t think I am going to be alone in this one although I suspect this again is something only relevant those born before 1980.  Am I the only person who is baffled by the command to “engage my core”? Everywhere I go, every article I read about exercise is banging on about your “core”.  This mythical part of the anatomy is somewhere in the middle I guess judging from its name but further than that I can’t really speculate.

Now maybe I’m wrong but I don’t remember anyone talking about your “core” in the 1970s, 1980s or 1990s – this is a very modern phenomenon.  As far as I am aware, the human form has not anatomically altered during the last decade (although my own personal anatomical form is not what it was 20 years ago!).  Is the “core” a recent biological discovery?  Call me cynical, but I can’t help think it is yet another of those new-fangled expressions which exercise types like to throw at us to confuse us and make us believe that we are inadequate in the strength/fitness department.  As for “engaging my core” – that just sounds painful and I have to admit when asked to do so, I nod sagely and do precisely nothing – mainly because I have no idea what to do.

On the subject of exercise, I must just share with you my most recent strategy for appearing to be exercising when I am not.  I don’t think this is a particularly radical strategy and I suspect quite a few people I know employ a similar strategy but won’t admit to it.  About once a week I will don tracksuit bottoms and trainers and one of those micro-fleece tops (so beloved of exercise types), not wear any make up and step out to face the world, a fully paid up member of that smug subset of the human race, “sporty (and hence healthy) types”. It amuses me no end that to become a member of this elite group of beings, you need to do nothing else other than look the part and perhaps the greatest irony for me is that in order to achieve this look, you really don’t have to bother much at all with your outfit, make-up etc. Of course the truth is that the closest I get to exercise on these days is crouching down to do up the laces on my otherwise under-utilised trainers.  To make sure that I give the most impact on these days, I do not change out of my sports gear all day hence ensuring that I give off a nonchalant air of casual sportiness to the maximum number of people.  Although if you were to ask me what sport/exercise I was undertaking, you would find that I would answer with the deliberately ambiguous, “sorry must run…”

So next time you see all those women in exercise attire and you feel that pang of guilt at your own sloth, just remember it is quite possible that appearances are deceiving you and that the only thing that these women are engaging are the gears in their gas-guzzling 4x4s and that rather like you, they do not get even close to “engaging their core”.

Curso de Instructor de Pilates

Curso de Instructor de Pilates (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Looking a “gift” horse in the mouth…

Gift Box

Gift Box (Photo credit: Maeflower72)

I hate the word “gift” – I can’t give you any rationale except that I don’t like it – much like I hate the word “doily” (admittedly not a word in everyday use but horrid all the same).  I much prefer the word “present” – altogether more classy.  As someone who has never ever purchased a Christmas present before 1st December, I am most concerned by my recent behaviour – I have actually purchased at least 8 Christmas presents and all in the first half of October.  This seems to me to be yet another sign of my impending forties.  I have always prided myself on my “laissez-faire” attitude to Christmas shopping and, if I’m honest, privately ridiculed (with like-minded allies) those who start shopping 3 months before the big day.

This worrying new trend I am displaying is actually part of a much bigger picture of most concerning 40s-like behaviour.  I am utterly addicted to any number of luxury “sale” websites – scanning new promotions on a daily (scarily sometimes twice daily) basis – Achica, Cocosa, Groupon….and so the list goes on.  Liking a bargain is not new behaviour for me – I am that person who cannot just take a compliment, “I love that new dress you’re wearing” without saying “Dirt cheap, bought it for £20, reduced from £150”.  The new behavioural trend is my determination to buy “giftware” (actually that is even worse than the word ‘gift’) and “knick-knacks” for which I have no use, place or if I’m honest any real desire.

This morning, I took this behaviour, until now just a guilty secret between me, the computer and my credit card, to a whole new level – I visited a craft/gift/floristry wholesaler.  Yes me who got thrown out permanently from her sewing lessons at the age of 12 because I broke the sewing machine 3 times in one lesson (something of which I am quite proud); yes me whose idea of floristry is to keep the elastic band around the flowers I’ve bought so that I don’t have to arrange them in the vase; yes me who hates the word “gift” and ridicules people who shop for Christmas in October. Yes, little me, very uncrafty me, went of her own accord to a craft/gift/floristry wholesaler on her own and found it overwhelmingly exciting.

So thrilling did I find it that I had to share my enthusiasm with someone who would understand – I called my great friend who also loves such places and who, and this is no coincidence, also turned 40 this year.  I just wanted to grab my trolley and do my own version of “supermarket sweep” – grabbing all manner of useless knick-knacks, giftware, silk flowers (why?), candles (you can never have enough) and most bizarre of all, ribbon (there must be a name for people who feel compelled to buy ribbon…?).

I can only hope this new trait of mine is just a passing phase, a blip on my way to 40.  However, I have to admit to being slightly concerned that once this Christmas is done and dusted, I am going to start shopping for next Christmas in the January sales….help me!

Parentoholic…?

This image shows a white wine glass (WMF Easy)...

This image shows a white wine glass (WMF Easy) with white wine. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So I settle down to the weekend newspapers, feet up for the first time this week, glass of wine in hand…the headline on The Times Weekend section catches my eye – “Are you a Parentoholic?”. At this point, I have one of my more “dim” moments – perhaps as I approach 40, a “senior moment” – and I think to myself that this must be an article about some odd medical/clinical condition which means you are addicted to parenting.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my children completely, but I am not some earth mothering, Gina Fording, frankly nauseating example of perfect parenting – far from it!

I open up the paper and it immediately becomes apparent that no, this is not an article about extreme parenting but yet another thinly-veiled attack on middle class, verging on alcoholic, parents, which is the hot issue of the moment for the media.  My eyes settle on one of those cosy little “if you have mainly As…” quizzes which I loved so much when I was about 13 in the likes of “Just 17” or “Mizz” which I would use to determine whether the spotty nerd next door was actually my true love based on my personality type.  However, this quiz was of an altogether much more sinister type – it was a lose/lose quiz which started from the assumption that you were an alcoholic parent and it was just a matter of to what degree.

Look, I’m not trying to make light of what many consider to be a serious issue but I will say one thing.  After a 14 hour day (yes, 14 hour) which starts with one or other child screaming in my ear and ends in much the same vein with a smorgasbord of school runs, cooking, laundry, cleaning, bathing and Peppa Pig viewing thrown in the middle, I do believe it is my prerogative to have a glass of wine at the end of my working day.  For me this glass of wine does not represent a decline into alcoholism but more the fact that I am an adult and this precious two hours at the end of the day are in fact my adult time.

Anyway, I am sure this rant is yet more evidence of my approaching 40 angst, but I am going to go now as my husband has just poured me a lovely, large glass of white Burgundy…

40 and no washing line…

“40 and no washing line” – that’s what one of my friends said to me today and it got me thinking about the things that at the grand age of 40 we don’t have but probably should.  As it happens, I don’t have a washing line but I hadn’t attached any particular importance to it until today – actually, I lie – I did once have a washing line but I think it got used perhaps twice in the whole year – the UK is not a country for washing lines – we do talk about the weather incessantly for a reason!

So what haven’t I got that I probably should have or indeed what should I have done but I have never done? Well, one thing springs to mind – a fairly innocuous thing but very significant I feel – I have never ever eaten a kebab from a kebab van.  Of this I am very proud – I managed 4 years at university without ever succumbing to the midnight urge to visit the van on the High Street.  Admittedly, the urge has lessened to nothing over the past 20 years but still the fact remains, I am a kebab virgin.

Actually, if I am honest, my last year of my thirties has been marked by obtaining and doing many things that I’ve never had/done before – presumably all part of the sense of impending doom that 40 throws at you.  In the last year alone I have had my ears pierced (strange I know – definitely midlife crisis), gone from blonde to brunette, acquired far too many slow cookers (refrained from a rice cooker – just don’t get those – what’s wrong with a saucepan?), started entering strange village photo competitions (and winning – even stranger!), baking cakes and making meringues on holiday abroad (worryingly strange) and most concerningly of all is that if pushed, I would have to say my favourite shop is “Robert Dyas” – yes, you’re right the writing has been on the wall for a while and for my friend worrying about a washing line – well, that’s small fry!

I would love to know what you have reached 40 without having/doing.  Help me feel normal!

Pretty spot on – especially number 1 – that hit a raw nerve – I have been doing that subconsciously!

Lesley Dougall's avatar10thingsby.com

#1  You become obsessed with other people’s ages, scanning magazine interviews for the subject’s age so as to compare how you fair against them both in terms of life accomplishments and appearance.

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The clock is ticking…

teeth whitening

teeth whitening (Photo credit: torbakhopper)

27 days, 9 hours and 3 minutes until the end of my thirties.  Ok, so I’m going to have a party, celebrate (what exactly?) and I’m sure I’ll feel no different to the day before.  But something has changed, is changing…ever so subtly.  The signs are there: my obsession with “what to do next?”, my over-interest in the yellowing of my teeth and the deepening of the wrinkles on my forehead and the hated frown lines – to name a few of the subtle shifts in my perception of the world and my place in it.

Look, I’m not going to get all philosophical.  Ageing is rubbish and we all know that – well at least those of us approaching 40 do.  So today, I am going to get my whingeing out the way – I’m going to address the physical imperfections which are bugging me most and then going forward, I promise I’ll mention them only rarely (or at least not daily!)

Let’s start with the yellow teeth.  Someone said to me today that when they moved back from Australia recently, they noticed how yellow the Brits’ teeth are compared with the Australians (and of course the Americans).  I’ve never really given my teeth much thought until recently, but about a month ago, I started to obsess about their colour – everywhere I turned there was a mirror of sorts reflecting back to me this familiar face with these grotesque yellow teeth – like the archetypal witch in scary childhood fairy tales.  So I acted and I’m currently undergoing whitening courtesy of some deeply unattractive plastic moulds of my teeth and some chemical which I can’t help but think is not something you should have in your mouth.  I have taken to wearing these new accessories in the evening which has a surprising and not altogether unpleasant side effect – I put them in at about 8pm and from then on I can’t drink (wine) or eat anything, a bonus for both my middle class alcohol problem (if the newspapers are to be believed) and for my ever-increasing nearly-middle-age spread.

To those who have not tried the delights of whitening, let me explain…when you put the trays in your mouth, you are unable to speak without lisping; your children look at you with genuine fear; you obsessively measure the whiteness of your teeth in all manner of lights, hoping to see some radical change in colour. I’m sure my teeth are whiter – or less yellow – than a week ago but it might just be wishful thinking…

My other physical obsession at the moment is the wrinkles that are appearing at an alarmingly fast rate on my face.  Ok so I’ve always liked the sun – so part of the responsibility is mine.  However, if one more person tells me that they are laughter lines or the lines add character, I will not be responsible for my actions.   Please explain to me how one gets laugher lines on one’s forehead and above the bridge of one’s nose? Or what kind of a character my lines show me to be?  A miserable, grumpy, frowning sod I can hear you say – again, quite possibly this does apply to me…however, I can’t change the habit of a lifetime now and every day the lines get deeper, more entrenched and more difficult to disguise – I can’t even fill them with foundation now (like some plasterer’s job).  And as for the horrendous discovery last week that my lipstick had “bled” into micro-lines around my mouth….well, frankly, it is more than I can take.  I finally have to accept that not only do I have to use lipliner just to keep my lipstick on my mouth and not half way up my face but also I have to accept that lipliner is not one of those airy fairy, waste of money products that painted dragons on cosmetic counters always try to persuade you that you need.

Feel better now…although I do need reassurance that I am not the only person who feels like this…comments please.  Anyway, must dash I’ve got teeth to whiten, lips to line and frowns to fill!