You better work b**ch

Britney gives us life's no.1 rule. (click for video)

This week, I'm channeling a blend of Britney Spears and RuPaul.

I've been hardcore binge watching RuPaul's drag race for the last few weeks, from season 2 onwards. (Why no season 1 Netflix?!)

There is so much incredible talent on that show, and people who have overcome all kinds of life challenges. (Prison, childhood abandonment, family rejection, illness and disability to name a few).

It's been a while since I did any serious exercise. Extreme cake eating is not considered a sport, and neither is marathon sleeping. However, I made a promise to my therapist that I would start up some kind of exercise routine.

It's nerve-wracking to walk into a gym for a lot of people. There's a common fear that it will be wall to wall Gods and Goddesses, wearing practically nothing as they effortlessly work out without sweating.

In my experience, people of all body types go to the gym, and very few people are paying attention to those around them. If anyone did look at me, I had decided that it was because I looked fierce and sickening, and they were jealous of my boogie (and booty). By today's pop culture standards I have a rather small bottom, but I'm very pleased with it. Work what you have!

I stepped on to that treadmill, and I started my journey back to getting into shape. And it was hard. I could only manage half the distance that I used to do, and with a lot of walking in between jogging. I sweated. I struggled to breathe. But I had some good songs playing on my iPod, and I kept going. 

And then two days later, I went back again, and it was already so much easier to talk myself into it. Tomorrow, I'll be going again.

No, it's not my favourite way to spend an hour. In all honesty, it ranks somewhere with being set on fire, and having to eat a bowl of carrots. But, if you want to be healthy, happy, and delay that hip replacement for as long as possible, you better work b**ch.

Much love.
Lisa

What I really, really need.

Some of you may been aware that I have put on a bit of weight since dealing with my severe endometriosis. I've mentioned it a few times...ok maybe more than a few.  It's just not on really. As a bonus for being really, cripplingly ill, I also get the bonus prize that only a quarter of my clothes (the baggy stuff that's now the tight stuff) still fit me.

Today I went to my first exercise class in about eight months. I spent five whole minutes squeezing into my zip-up sports vest, straining to hold the zip together so that I could get it closed. I put on a pair of shorts so tight I felt like I was being sliced up the arse crack.

Still, I made it through the class, which was a great achievement.

And then I got home, and had to get the vest off again. Which brings me to the title of this post. What I really, really need, is someone to call specifically for zip related help.

Just last year, I got stuck in a dress. I actually had to cut it off in order to escape, and it was a harrowing experience. I was not too fat, it was the dress that was wrong. If there had been a handy clothes-escaper to call, that dress would have been saved.

And so, I ask all you entrepreneurs out there. Start a service. Put out some dedicated people who will be there when someone is stuck in a dress, or a piece of ill-advised sports-wear. Do it for all the clothes that people have to cut themselves out of, and for all of us that have nearly dislocated a shoulder in our struggle to be free.

It's the right thing to do.

Right in the Balls

What I have noticed (and many others before me) is that life is very unfair. It doesn't hesitate to kick you in whatever sensitive areas you might have, and it will kick you repeatedly. All you can do, is stagger back to your feet, and try to brace against the next blow.

So there I am at 29. My body is something like a well-oiled machine. I've been working it hard, pushing on against arthritis, shouting it down with, "You shall not pass" gusto. I had decided that if I ate well, and exercised enough, I would keep everything ticking over indefinitely.

Mostly I was happy with my body. I was miffed at the grinding and clicking and the aches and pains, and the limping, but I wore cute dresses, and I was a UK size 10, which I considered to be the ideal size, and I had great hair.

And then I started to get these other weird pains. Stomach pains.

I cut down on the gluten, ate more fruit, and thought that would be the end of it. But the pains didn't go away. So quite a while later, I went to see a specialist. He decided it was probably just constipation, just me some stuff, and sent me on my way.

The pains started to go away a bit. I ate less and less. I exercised more. I thought no more about it.

At the end of November 2015, I collapsed at work and was taken to hospital in an ambulance. And it just got worse from there.