for the first time, in a long time, i am excited about all things life. and yay. this has nothing to do with my weight, my size, or the cellulite on my ass.
i think i just figured out a life plan.
a good life plan, which makes me smile and my heart beat faster. a life plan that lets me follow out my dream (since childhood) of living in australia. but places me home (home in Toronto!) this time next year.
the best of both worlds.
i love seeing new places, beautiful landscapes, the world has to offer. and have no doubt for the rest of my life i’ll continue to google places i want to visit and then somehow find my way there (oh hi there iceland, and russia, and alaska… i see you).
but I’ve recently learned the importance of routine, the importance of close friends, and family around the corner. how much my horse riding meant to me, how lucky i was to find my (super awesome) running group. and (as if I’m about to say this) how nice it is to live in a place with snow.
being bundled up for the Christmas season, and walking by stores decked out with lights and beautiful winter displays. and that feeling you get when Christmas is close. and the fall in Toronto. my goodness it’s so beautiful. the reds. the oranges. the bright bright yellows. and the millions of lakes tucked away in the forests. and the crispy leaves beneath my toes. and my mom’s chili. and starbucks with angela (miss you so, damn, much!!), and walking downtown with sky-high heels on. and celebrating life milestones from birthdays to weddings to new jobs.
oh Toronto, i miss you!! (cue my world back home gasping as I say this)
and i shall leave this post at that. excited for all the things i’ll do and see in the next year, but finding comfort in the fact i’ll be home a mere 365 days from now.
Oh goody you guys. Oh goody. I am in this stupid good mood right now. Reasons unknown as of yet. Or wait. Perhaps it’s the glorious, glorious day of Friday that surrounds ma-bones. OR! My it’s weekend plans. OR! My life plans. OR! An email I received this morning. OR! The ohmygoodness-secret I’ve been keeping. OR. A skype call the other night. Or! Simply that life is good and I am happy.
But I must confess I’ve been missing Toronto lately. The summer the horses the pools and the people. Hmmm. But I am looking at this whole Australia thing (ps. As if I’m IN Australia right now – I still find this SO shocking) as a good time, for a short time(2 years)… which helps when I think of home.
Crossfit tonight. 150 Burpees. Yes. You read that correctly. Don’t be impressed until I report back… if I make it through this death test.
So lately. Lately I was doubting mine and Matt’s relationship. Like, for whatever reasons, I felt I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough, or nice, or cool, or awesome enough for him. (Y’know, because I’m human, I doubt myself). But then yesterday he surprised me with himself and when I headed down the elevator to get him, I got all giddy and weird and excited to see him and my nerves about me not being good enough were settled.
Yesterday I baked. For, like, 4 million hours, I baked. Delicious, ass-enhancing cherry biscottis. Even though I don’t like cherries. Or usually biscotties. And no, I didn’t make them just because, it was my turn to provide treats for ‘office tea.’ I think (hope…) they were a hit.
So I ran on Monday. Hell. That’s what that run was. I ran home from work. 6.5km. Doable. With some walking. But it was so bad. Like, sooooo bad. Like I walked 60% of it bad. I’m now scared of running. Umm how have I run three full marathons? Whoa.
I rarely go through this blog’s archives, and/or my old photos. But a few nights ago I did. Then I bombarded Instagram (on it? Username: Fabulizzles) with some of my favourites. I know this sounds lame, but I’m really happy with what I’ve done/where I’ve been (28 countries so far – that’s - 14% of the world!) for this point in my life.
Farm work. Remember how I *have* to go work on a farm for 3 months? Wait, 88 days to be exact, to get my second year Australian visa? Well, things are coming along nicely, and I’m getting rather excited for it - a cattle ranch? cotton farm? vineyard?
Food. Food-food-food. I can’t even express in words how much I wish I didn’t care about food. I’ve been looking for a pro-fesh to dump my problems on, “but I eat sooo much when I don’t even want to,” but it’s been harder than I thought finding someone. Me thinks I’ll end up at a university. Perhaps to be studied like guinea pig by a student, “look professor, look! She’s eating again when she just told us she wanted to lose weight. What an interesting species!”
Okay. I should go. Get back to refreshing the work emails and looking like I’m busy and important, and watching the clock count down. 1h. 30 minutes. Bring on the weekend (the weekend of: crosffit | running | brunch | hair cut | shopping | naps | sleeping in | birthdays!)!!
Today. Well it wasn’t a bad day, per se. Just a ‘meh’ type of day. I woke up late (surprise surprise) Missed my train. And then the later train was really (really!) late (of course it was) Work was slow. Soooooooooooo slow. (The forklift business isn’t like it used to be you guys) Which means time ticked back, before it went forwards. And there were these mini Crunchie bars calling my name all day. Rude, I know. I’m pretty sure I hit ‘refresh’ on my email 3.2 million times before lunch. Took two advils for my headache (which holy hell better not be a migraine). Then I convinced myself I was sick. So sick. Dizzy. Yes, dizzy. And tired. And wait, is that a fever I feel coming on? (ohmagawd how is it not 5pm yet?) I walked to my train slowly. Sat in my chair lazily. And dreamed of switching Crossfit for my bed. Oh my glorious, glorious, warm bed. And a laptop equipped with two new Girls episodes. But. And this is a good but. For whatever reason I missed my house train stop. And continued onto my crossfit train stop. Huh. How about that? I shuffled down the street, up the stairs, and into the arena. Not a fiber of my being wanted to workout. Not a fiber of me wanted to be anything but horizontal. But then the clock counted down. 3, 2, 1. And suddenly I was lunging, and box jumping and jerk-lifting a bar of 25kg. A total of eight rounds too. And then I felt good. So good. Like colour me hot pink good. And so I headed to the grocery store. Bought me a big old, steak for dinner. Showered. Cleaned. And am now sitting on my guilt free buttocks, feet up, remote in hand and feeling happy.
Turns out I wasn’t sick Or tired, Or had a bug coming on. Nope. Turns out I was just being lazy and creating excuses for myself to skip my workout.
five minutes. that’s all i want. all i wish for. five minutes to watch a scene from my life in the future. to just know that everything will be okay. to see where i’m living. who i’m with. what i’m doing. and most importantly, to see that every thing works out okay. it’s stupid, i know. and of course impossible too. but i think about this a lot. how watching five simple minutes of my future self would calm all my worries today.
sometimes i think i’m never going to lose the weight. never manage to save money again. never figure out where i want to live long term. never ride horses again. never own a house. get married. have a family. (all things i very much want.) never figure things out. (the little things and the big.) never be content. content. what if i’m just too indecisive to lead a constant, normal, life? what if nothing ever seems right, or good enough for me? then what?
sometimes i get so scared. like i have no idea what the hell i’m doing with my life. like this isn’t the way my life was supposed to go, and i’ve royally screwed it up. sometimes i wander if i missed the point of it all. hell, sometimes i think my life is a sinking ship, and i’m barely staying afloat.
i hate that i’m still classified as obese. i hate that i’m so far from my family. i hate that i hardly have any money. i hate how i seem to fail at everything i try. i hate how i break my own promises. i hate that i have a boyfriend here, locked in school, when i definitely don’t want to stay in melbourne. i hate that i make decisions on whims. i hate that i can never find whatever-it-is-it-takes to actually push myself in a workout. i hate how i’m so hard on myself. and i hate how obsessed i am with everything. i hate how lazy i am. and how i stay up late when i should be sleeping. or sleep in when i should be waking up. i hate. i hate how confused i am from my own actions.
just five simple minutes. i just want to know everything will be okay.
Remember that time I spent $560 on three months of crossfit? And remember that time I was nervous of not getting my money’s worth? Well nearly two months in, I need not worry anymore! I’m averaging between four and five classes a week, which means each session costs my wallet a mere AUS$8. Not too shabby, not too shabby indeed.
But as a regular crossfit routine has swept over my life, it appears I have stopped running. Yup. Just like that. Running in all its glory has disappeared out of my life. And quite frankly, the thought of running these days is frightening. It’s completely dark out by time I get home, and the weather is all windy, and cold, and not fun.
But I really want to reintroduce running back into my schedule. I want to back off CF a little, and start running again two or three runs a week. And yes, I know, I know, if you’ve read this Little Blog for longer than 3.2 seconds you’ll know I hate the act of running, but…
I miss the feeling of accomplishment after a run. Y’know, that moment you stop, and know you travelled a certain distance in a set amount of time and actually got off your ass and moved. That feeling.
Races! Despite hating running, I LOVE races… finding them, creating schedules, setting a goal, and following through on it.
And… I’m really (really!) interested to see if the rumours are true; Is CF as magical as everybody says it is? Will it really improve my running skills and/or PBs as much as the Internet and bloggers say it will?
And so, my dear friends, I have decided to train for the Run Melbourne Half Marathon on July 15, which yup, is really, really soon. But I need to have an exact goal to find motivation to actually sneaker-up (I’m lazy like that), and it’ll be a grand test for CF - can I beat my Half Marathon PB (2:18) on more CF training, than running? Time will tell. Time will tell.
Here is my past, present and future I-need-to-move-it-move-it schedules, not gonna lie, pretty proud of this:
I am back on the Weight Watcher’s bandwagon. Counting points. Watching what I eat. Being mindful of my body… still wanting to lose weight. Queue 2:16pm. Lunch has come. Lunch has gone. I am not hungry. But the final stretch of the day is here. And I find myself glancing over at the office treats table. Cupcakes. Within a mere millisecond my mind is convinced… Just, have, one. Nobody will know. It won’t matter. I find myself plotting ways to get a treat without anyone seeing me. Waiting for the girl whose desk is facing the treats to take a break. I’ll print something. Anything. Which will give me a reason to get up from my desk. Then on the way back I’ll swoop in and get a treat. A, big, chocolate cupcake. Delicious.
And so I am set. Ready to go. As I wait, and wait, and wait for that girl to leave her desk.
Then I realize how absurd and crazy and obsessed I am. Whoa. Decide to write out my actions. Not eat a cupcake. Or. Eat a cupcake and not allow myself to hate myself for it (ß impossible, so I choose the former). And then I sit here, at my desk, and actually think about how there’d be no point anyways. I’d eat it so fast. Feel terrible afterwards. Throw out the evidence. And then be in the exact same position as I am now. Except a little bit fatter and a whole lot sadder/annoyed. There’d be no point.
Absolutely no point at all.
[Gah. What is wrong with me? To think a silly, little cupcake is my arch nemesis at this moment… so ridiculous, I know.]
days where i love myself and days where i hate myself days where i close my eyes and make a wish or let 11:11 pass me right by there are days i can push myself and days where i watch tv all day in bed there are days where i sit at a desk and daydream and days where i’m so busy i blink and it’s gone there are days where i find myself writing essays and paragraphs and words and days where i can’t string together three words at a time days where i’m in control and then days when not days with makeup, hair curled, and pretty shoes on or days with sweat pants, grey hoodies and my hair in a messy bun lonely days and busy days and then days where i want to be alone days with birthday parties, and life events or meaningless days as i watch the clock tick on days i anticipate and days i dread days where i travel or simply stay put days with long phone conversations or days when my phone doesn’t buzz with even a text days where important, life changing people are met and of course days where i fall in love with people, or flowers, or simply my bed there are rainy days and days with perfect blue skies good days and bad days where i feel homesick and days where i want to stay in Australia forever days where i eat healthy or days when I weigh myself 3.2 million times and occasionally even days where my weight doesn’t matter (including the bagel and doughnut i consumed at lunch) there are days i make count and days that mean nothing but all of them every single one of them are the days that make up my life
Well I was in an honest mood last night, I was indeed, I was. I woke up this morning all toasty and warm like a hot cross bun in bed, and then suddenly remembered what my little fingers had typed a mere seven hours before on a whim. Whoa. You better believe I then got all googly eyed as horror swept over my body.
And then I read the emails, the comments and the Tumblr messages. I can’t even… to say people related is an understatement. And to say thank you to those who took the time to respond isn’t enough, but still, thank you. So much.
Over three plus years of sharing my life on line I’ve learnt I can never predict the outcome of a post. Sometimes posts I’m proud of, people read in a different way, or no one takes much interest in them at all, and then other times, like last night, I shut my eyes, take a deep breath, and hope at least one person out there will not think I’m bat shit crazy and relate to my thoughts and words (oh, and to those people who thought I was crazy… I envy you! :) ).
Last night (in a truly terrifying move) I invited the Internet into a very private moment of my life (and knowing fully well how corny this sounds), the Internet, random strangers from around the world, showed up. I smiled the whole day, walked with an extra beat in my step, and when I felt the feeling of ‘give me all the food now’ at this morning’s “Cupcakes and Treats: 10:30am meeting” (I kid you not), I felt normal, and took a breath, acknowledged that wasn’t right, and didn’t eat one delicious looking cupcake (or cookie) (or piece of cake).
Which I think is a pretty big step, right?
Days Binge Free: 1
And so thank you again. I’m humbled by the support I received and look forward to sharing the rest of my story with you.
I write this post with an open heart, at an honest hour, and with the belief that I am not a lone solider riding this issue out (<— when I think of it like that, it helps me be honest).
Tonight after crossfit Matt surprised me with a really fancy dinner out. It was lovely. Just the two of us on the corner of this big table, talking about this and that. And this. God, where do I even begin? I feel like a fool writing this, because the whole thing should have already been obvious to me, but it wasn’t….
Even taking the time to pause and think, leaves me at a loss as to how this topic came up, but it did, and I spoke freely.
And I told him everything.
How my issues with food run deeper than most peoples. How it’s an obsession for me. An addiction. How I want something so badly, yet fail at it the majority of the days that pass through my life.
I told him how I bought three Lindt chocolates for him, but ate them before I saw him. Actually, I even told him how in that store I used him as an excuse, “I’m buying these for Matt,” knowing full well I’d eat them. I told him how I saved him a cupcake I baked at work, but on the train home all I could think of was, “I have a cupcake. I have a cupcake. I have a cupcake. I’m going to eat the cupcake the second I walk through my door.” And then I told him how I did.
I told him how after a night out two weeks ago with some friends, I stopped at a 7/11 on the way home. And I couldn’t just buy a single chocolate bar, because, well, y’know… the cashier would then know it was just for me. So I bought party packs. Of everything. $37 of everything. And pretended I was heading to a sugar induced 1am party. And then there I sat, on my bed, with my laptop on my knees, eating candy and Tim Tams. I felt sick. Really sick.
I confessed how when I was younger I used to plan out how to have more than one dinner. Go to a friends house. Eat dinner. Then come home and tell my mom, “nope. I haven’t had dinner yet.” Sometimes I’d be able to get away with three. I told Matt how I’d often claim, “I’ve hardly eaten anything today,” before dinners, to give myself an access pass to eat freely. And I told him how I’d walk to the fridge and cupboards 1,001 times a night trying to figure out what to snack on.
And then I paused, and asked,
"Does this come as a shock to you?
Was his response.
I was stunned. What. Wait. How did he know?
"Well, I can see how much crossfit you’re doing, and how you’re counting your points, but something didn’t add up.
This hit me hard. Hard. And oh how obvious it is now. I am still overweight. Over one month of crossfit and nearly two months of Weight Watcher’s later, nothing much has changed. I’ve been living in this naive little world where I thought I was fooling everybody. If they saw me eating healthy, if they saw me working out, they’d think I was losing weight. False.
People are not stupid.
Someone walking down the street overweight, is overweight for a reason. They eat too much. It’s really rather simple. (And yes, I’m talking about the majority of people - I know some people have thyroid issues, and take certain medications that influence their weight. But facts are facts. The majority of people are overweight (myself included) because they eat too, damn, much.)
I still can’t believe Matt was onto me. And now come to think of it, my Mom definitely is too; “How’s your weight?” “Ummm, good, I’m doing WW and Crossfit and things are good. But my weight hasn’t changed… yet! But it will.” But it won’t. I work hard, I sweat, I count points, but none of it matters until I figure out why I feel the need to sit alone in my room and eat junk food when I spent the day (my life?) obsessing over losing weight.
Maybe you should talk to someone about it?
Yea. I was thinking that too. It’s weird to say it out loud. It’s just that. Well. What am I going to say? ‘Hi. My name is Liz and I’ve been trying to lose weight for nearly 25 years, but never have. Oh, but I know how to do it. I just don’t.”?
I’m not sad, or upset, or depressed about this. It is what it is. A reality to my life. A reality I’ve learned to live with over the last chunk of my life. But all I know is tonight, this June 13, 2012 night, was the first time I really spoke about it out loud and it felt really good.
I acknowledged (in a really big way - umm to my boyfriend!) there is something very wrong, something very not normal, with me. I heard the words coming out of my mouth. And for the first time, in twenty seven years, I decided I’m going to get professional help because without a doubt I now acknowledge, I’m not right.
As you may, or may not know, I moved to Australia four months ago with hardly any game plan. I just knew I wanted a new city. I wanted a life change. And I had heard Melbourne was nice.
Six hours before my flight took off I booked a hostel for a week, closed my eyes, said my goodbyes and forty hours later was suddenly walking the streets of a city in a very (very!) far away land. I’ll never forget that feeling. That feeling of walking down a major city street, exhausted to my core, but my eyes wide open taking everything in.
As my luggage had been lost, I needed to buy an outlet converter (because I’m addicted to the Internet. Ah-men) and thus was pointed in the direction of a “Big W” store. I knew nothing then. Every road name was unfamiliar, my sense of direction was non-existent, and the trams flying by on the ‘wrong’ side of the street were intimidating.
But then day by day, I figured things out. Day by day I learned. I opened a bank account, got a cell phone number, found a place to live, tackled the transit system, found a favourite coffee shop, restaurant and pub, landed a (yay!) great job, found running paths and joined a crossfit, met a cute guy I kinda, sorta, (really), like, made some awesome friends and figured things out.
But still. I had no plan. No agenda. No list of what to do. I simply took everything one day at a time, and figured things out as I went. I’m sure many people will criticize me for my lack of planning or direction, but it was exactly what I wanted and needed from this move; the ability to do anything I wanted, whenever I wanted, and just let life be.
Jump to today.
Real life has set in. Visa restrictions. Job Restrictions. Forced farm work (I’ll explain soon) that’s pending. And a boyfriend who is Australian and locked in school for four years. I am being forced to plan. I am being forced to sit down, write lists, make excel spreadsheets and make decisions I don’t want to make.
Today I sat down and made a list, which (predictably) freaked me out. As of right now, on January 31, 2013 I will get deported out of Australia whether I like it or not. Umm, that’s, like, really soon. But. But the oh-so-very-generous (sarcasm) Australian government allows all travelers (except US citizens) on a Working-Holiday Visa to go do “rural work” (as in fruit picking) for 3 months in order to attain a second one year visa.
I am torn.
I know in the blink of an eye it’ll be January 31, 2013 and I’ll be forced to leave Australia. That’s too soon for me to leave. Way too soon. There are still SO MANY things I want to do here. But 3 months on a farm? I don’t know. It’s terrifying for me (and not just because of the snakes, spiders and frogs). I am confused. The last week or two I have been forced to grow up, weigh pros and cons, and I’m soon going to have to make some big, life changing decisions.
Just do one year in Australia, and make every day count. Then New Zealand for a month (or two) before a year in London for 2013? Hmmm. I do not know.
Go back home. To my people. The horses, and siblings and family. To school. And perhaps a new degree. And saving money and, umm, a mortgage?
Go work on a farm for 3 months, get another 1 year visa (with the same annoying work restrictions (I can only hold a job with one employee for up to 6 months)), because let’s be honest, Australia is farrrrrrrr and I should get the most out of it while I’m here.
Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.
Decisions need to be made. And I, Liz, am freaking out.
Ps. We shall not speak of the white elephant in the room *cough Matt cough.* As I can feel my body tense up with an intense sadness when I slightly think about… oh God, it’s happening now.
You know what's awesome? Stumbling across a blog and reading a page or two and being all like, 'WHOA. THIS PERSON IS SO H-CORE! WITH ALL THEIR RACES AND TIMES AND FIT BOD-AY." And then you creep onto their about (because that's what you always do) and see that they were once someone just like you. Someone festively plump (and not just at Christmas time), and too-soft in too-many places for most of their life, but somehow, some way, they managed to control their eating habits, find time to exercise and accomplish so many awesome-awesome things. And no, this person isn't a celebrity, or millionaire, or someone doing it for a book deal or a TV show, they're simply someone exactly like you. Someone who started at zero, had a 'Day 1,' and then followed through. And then there you sit, in that moment of time, overwhelmed with this intense feeling that you, yes you, can do it too.
At work on Friday I handed in a big project I’ve been working on the last month. I was nervous and shaking in my boots as I watched important people review my mathematical and excel formatting skills. And? and then it was awesome. I was showered with unicorns, and rainbows, and sunshines, and it felt damn good to be a forklift gangsta (true story. I can now answer all your forklift question needs).
It’s official. I am an Uggs supporter. Yes, you read that right. I will defend those boots (despite this post), until the day I die. I was outside all day today (Monday was a public holiday here) and the only part of me that never got cold? my feet. Oh how they are so glorious and warm and easy to put on (even if you have tubby calves like me). I always tell Ugg haters (youknowwhoyouare) until you walk outside in -30 degree (-22F) weather and your toes are warm, you can not complain about Uggs.
[Sidenote on Uggs: “Uggs” = “Slippers” in Australia. Some (very smart) company branded ‘Uggs’ in North America and just sells them for a ridiculously high price. Today I saw Uggs (with the ‘Ugg’ symbol on the back) for $15. Ya. I know]
I got drunk on Saturday night. Too drunk. As in McDonalds-(that-I-thought-wouldn’t-count)-at-3am-and-sloppy-kisses drunk. I won’t lie and pretend that that Big Mac and fries wasn’t delicious, because it was everything I thought it would be and more, but still, massive fail in the I-want-to-be-skinny-and-fabulous game. And Matt, I’m sorry I’m not sorry about those kisses.
We went to a club (fist pumps all around. literally) in Melbourne and yes, yes I was the only girl in the joint who wore pants. However, this oversight on my part (we started at a pub) was probably a good thing because I don’t believe I own a dress that was would be considered classy enough for that establishment. And by ‘classy’ I mean one that lets my ass cheeks hang out, and just covers my hoo-ha. (Seriously ~21 year old girls? Seriously?)
But before said fist-pumping-in-dee-club adventure, I met seven extraordinarily wonderful ladies for brunch. A brunch that went from noon til 5. I am so (so!) happy I can officially say I have a really great group of girl friends in Melbourne.
On Monday (today | public holiday), Matt and I made beer. I figured I owed the poor guy as I discuss weight / food / blogging weigh (tehehe) too much with him, and he’s won some serious bf points for listening to me complain about my weight, and then watching me eat Maccers (as the Aussies say) with him. SO. So I decided to partake in one of his hobbies this weekend and learn to make beer (start to finish) with him. So much to say on this endeavor I’ll save it all for its own post. Get excited (I said, Get. Ex. Cited!!)
Dear North America, Please stop posting your photos of warm, beautiful, sunny, hot weather on Facebook and/or Twitter and/or Instagram and/or Tumblr. Love Melbourne, Australia WHERE IT’S FREEZING (fun fact: I am wearing a toque right now in bed) Ps. Australian: False Advertising.
I am in the market for an under $300, point-n-shoot camera. Anyone in love with theirs? Hint-hint, nudge-nudge leave a comment.
Guess who’s getting vibrams?!? This gal. Oh yes. Those weird looking, individual toe shoes will be gracing my feet this week!
So I hit 1 month of crossfit last Thursday. I had big plans for a ‘Look At Me! I Just Did 23 Classes Of Crossfit In One Month” post, but sat down to write it, then jumped up and took my measurements for the post, and then bamn! I was SO DISAPPOINTED with my lack of movement in the measurements, I felt too embarrassed to post about it. But. But I am still doing lots of crossfit and perhaps shall find my kettle bell balls and post it this week.
Speaking of posts. I am become very aware my life is so (SO!) online lately and thus have coming self conscious of my writing and thoughts. I feel like my drafts have quadrupled lately because I can’t quite bring myself to hit that little publish button. Hmmm. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from blogging for over three years it’s this, I shall get over that fear and then BAMN! you will be bombarded and gobsmacked with my not-so-very (lie. all my words are magical) words of wisdom.
Okay. It’s 12:27am. On a Tuesday morning. Good night. From THE FUTURE (you = mind blown)
Here is this year’s list, and yes, I wholeheartedly mean these too.
The second something awesome/crappy happens, there is someone to call.
Back Massages. Wait, all massages anywhere (I’m looking at you feet).
Always having an out. Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t we already had plans…
Feeling better about being a lazy asshole on the weekends. Pssh, if we’re both in bed at 3pm it doesn’t count, right?
Having the sex. Dare I elaborate? Nope. Enough said.
I legit have a reason to buy and wear sexy underwear. And it’s not just to strut down the street confidently anymore.
Confidence. I can’t even begin to tell you how much my confidence has gone up from being in a relationship. I find myself actually believing Matt when he tells me I’m beautiful no matter what. (I know, file under #lamealert, but it’s true)
I have a guaranteed friend to drink my sorrows away with each and every Friday night if no texts are returned, and to discuss how much I hate this, or love that..
OhmagoodLord, I need to see that movie *cough The Hunger Games cough* the second it comes out. And yes, he’s coming with me.
You get the opportunity to become really good at sex. And try new things. (TMI. I know. Deal. I’m awkward about this one too. Except it’s sooo damn true, it needs a spot)
Unconditional love. Even when I really, really mess up I know it’ll be okay. This is a really good one. Feeling loved. It’s so good to feel loved.
Someone else to get out of the warm (so, so warm) bed, into the cold to turn the light off.
A heater in bed. I sleep with 2 duvets (or as the Aussies say, doonas) in Melbourne. TWO! And am still freezing at night. That is, unless Matt is there.
Date nights. A reason to get dressed up, wear high heels, and try a new restaurant.
Kissing. On foreheads. And cheeks. And lips. I am seriously obsessed with making out. It’s fun.
Looking like a slob and/or wearing no makeup and/or not shaving my legs (I’m sorry I’m not sorry). Despite Matt telling me he won’t walk down the street with me if I’m wearing Uggs (Rude!), I often don’t bother curling my hair, wearing make up etc. because I know it doesn’t matter.
Being in a bar with a bunch of girlfriends, and truly enjoying the night out with your friends. No secret room glances, no people watching, no trying to time it right to go up and order a drink next a certain cute guy. The pressure is off, and it’s glorious.
A workout buddy. Ba ha ha ha haaaa. I actually hate working out with Matt (y’know, he can’t know how lazy I am), but still, if I wanted a 5k buddy this weekend, I’d have one.
Someone to fix things. Yes Matt, I’m looking you. But my MAC is still the world’s slowest computer, and I can’t figure out how to turn the oven on… help!?
A chauffeur. Sorry Matt, but seriously, you having a car is pret-ty sweet for my public-transportation-only ass.
Someone who knows what you’re thinking, before you even have to say it. Why yes, I did want to order a pizza/watch that/be awesome together.
You get to update that little relationship status on Facebook to “In A Relationship.” I haven’t done this, and really don’t have much of a desire to, but if I wanted to, I could.
Late night phone conversations about nothing at all, but ones that I never want to hang up to.
You learn things. Things such as selflessness. None of that ‘I secretly want the person to fail’ crap going on. Truly, with all my heart, I want all the wonderful things to happen to him.
You learn things about yourself. I’m really annoying sometimes. I talk way too much. I need to listen more. I’m impatient. Etc. Learning, and trying, and always learning.
Romance. About two months ago Matt surprised me with a weekend away on the peninsular (I don’t think I ever blogged about it as I wanted to keep the amazing weekend for the two of us), but I was swept off my feet and appreciated it so very much.
Well I just had an horrific moment. I was admiring my shrinking (boo yea) naked bod (as if you don’t too…) in the mirror, and twisted around to see what my back looked liked given my new crossfit schedule. And then bamn! I saw it. Back dimples!! You guys, I had back dimples!
Now for those who have read my witty and awesome (am I right? or am I right? Oh whatever) thoughts for a while, you’ll already know my obsession with back dimples runs deep.
They’re sexy. They’re hot. And I’ve always (a.l.w.a.y.s.) wanted them. Obviously I was all sorts of excited to finally see them peak out on my back, which meant I twisted around for a second gander to admire them… and that’s when I saw the truth. My back dimples were simply back cellulite (apparently that’s a thing now. awesome) from twisting around. WHAT THE WHAT?!?!
Oh the devastation. And off I go to nom-nom-nom on celery.
I know I’m not supposed to be caring about the number on the scale these days, y’know, given my sudden obsession with crossfit (six classes this week. thankyouverymuch), but this morning I weighed in at Weight Watcher’s; down 1.3kg. Or. For my people back home, I was down 2.8 pounds. TWO POINT EIGHT POUNDS!!
Insert high kick here!
I was thrilled. So thrilled. I’ve been counting every calorie/point this week, trying new healthy recipes, writing down everything I ate, and working my butt off at crossfit (literally and figuratively), and what do you know? IT PAID OFF.
There truly is no secret to this weight loss obsession I have, it won’t ever happen through half-assing it and magic, but it will happen through hard work, determination and sweat.
A clean, blank, white page. A new blog post. Staring me straight in the face. So many things rolling through my head, so many things I want to say.
Today was the first day of winter.
Today also marked four months in Australia.
The past four months have been emotional to say the least. A roller coast ride between loving it here, and wishing I was back home. It took me longer than I thought it would to stand on my own two feet, but eventually, despite them still being quite wobbly, I did.
I am proud of myself. I am. Moving to a new country by myself has been on my ‘to do’ list since I was, well, really young. It was a fantasy I would day dream about, something I’d lay in bed at night and imagine, write short stories about in my diary, and something I always wondered… can I actually do that?
My goal made it onto my bucket list, and into the early pages of my blog before One Twenty Five even existed, Hey Lizzy. I have no idea why this silly idea was embedded in me so deep, and to be honest, life would have been a hell of a lot easier had it not been, but for whatever reason I always knew moving to a new city was something I simply had to experience.
It’s taught me a lot, changed me as a person, and made me understand myself and the life that surrounds me a lot better. I am a lot stronger of a person today, than I was the day I left home, and without a doubt can say that if the going gets tough in the future, I have no doubt that I’ll be able to pull myself through it.
I’ve been taught the importance of budgets, and the kindness of strangers (turned friends - thank you Maeg and Luke), the importance of a life routine, and how it takes doing something I don’t want to do (putting myself out there) first, before things can start to get better.
In the most honest form I’ve also learned that my life is whatever I want it to be. Whatever I create it to be. I can sit at home and wallow, or get out there and make something of myself. I’ve also learnt my body doesn’t care if I’m in Canada, Nepal or Australia, I still have to treat it well. And I’ve been humbled by running so much (seriously, how the hell have I run three full marathons?). I’ve learned what feeling physically strong is like from crossfit. Not to second guess a guy telling me he loved me. The importance of communication(!) And. And most importantly, I’ve learnt the importance of the 9 - 5. Which yes, I’m sure sounds like an odd thing to say, so wait, let me explain…
It’s just something that’s struck me in full force lately, and I can’t believe I never realized it before. Life isn’t about vacations and trips, long weekends or even just weekends. It’s simply about Monday to Friday. If the countdown starts Monday, and the celebrations start Friday, I’m really missing out on a lot of my life. No matter what, the weekends will always be good, and the vacations really awesome, so what’s the point of concentrating on them? (I’ve wasted so much time living in the now, because I was waiting for the future.)
Life (to me) is about each and every day, finding a routine, a community, a group of ‘your people’ that support you through life in the most positive way possible. I think it’s about the little things (whether they’re cliche or not), love (between friends, family, and a lover - hi Matt!), and finding something that I enjoy (with people I like) to support myself to be comfortable (because yes, money is good to have). It’s about looking forward to Monday, Tuesday, and/or Thurday, because of the cookie sharing party at noon, books n’ booze club with friends, crossfit even on Fridays, catching up with a good friend, sitting in a restaurant laughing for hours the people who get you, or (and last, but not least) sitting on your favourite couch and watching tv. It’s about having it all, Monday to Friday, and realizing that those days are seventy one percent of your life.
I don’t actually know what life is about, but Australia has taught me, day by day, the things I know I want out of life, and the things that I can now file under ‘irrelevant.’ It’s shown me the importance of a support network, how great girlfriends are essential to life and it’s taught me it truly doesn’t matter what country, city, suburb I live in, as long as I make the best of it while I’m there…
And so that’s what I’ve decided to do, wait, am doing. I know I’m going to leave this beautiful country at some point, but until that day comes I’m going to continue taking it all in, making mistakes and learning life lessons, and continue laying the bricks to the future I decide to create for myself.