Archive | August, 2017

One Month In

23 Aug

So here I am, just over one month in to our New Zealand stay.

I should be at the gym doing some bastard spinning class my trainer says he ‘would like me’ to do twice a week. Instead I’ve made a coffee and am waiting for the woman who owns the house to come and take the satelite TV box away for replacing. Well, that’s what I thought I was doing. The agreed time was nine. I was out for approximately 7 minutes to take the kids to school and, after a quick glance at the empty shelf under the TV, it would seem she stealthed her way in here then! Now I have hot coffee. So the spinning class can wait.

The gym has a room with a huge projector and you go in, punch whatever yoga, spinning, boxing etc. class you want to do into the wall panel and away you go! I did my first ever spin class for 16 minutes last Friday – with my trainer in my ear going ‘come on, you got this’. Was a complete bitch which killed my thighs and butt so much I very nearly completely assed over trying to get my feet out of the special pedals. I guess I can always go for a run on the treadmill. I ran for the first time in YEARS on Monday and then on Tuesday I went in to do cardio and ran SEVEN km. Bloody hell. I did have trouble with simple shit, like walking, for all of Tuesday afternoon but Hey! I can run again! Felt good, despite the pain – which we all know is just ‘fear leaving your body’.

This whole ‘get into shape’ thing is hard man. After my first month of three trainer sessions a week (and me going in most other days to do cardio) I lost zero weight. I knew of course because I have scales at the house but I was you know, hoping the scales at the gym were magic. That aside, I did lose 10cm from various parts of the body and I am heaps fitter and have more energy – well, I shouldn’t really have shitloads of energy and if I was following the diet plan he gave me I’d be a shell of my former self, but also quite possibly in the fetal position behind the sofa dreaming of kebabs and cheese on toast.

I followed the detox week pretty much down to the letter and even had green smoothies and shit – although I didn’t have a proper smoothy maker, just a blender, and damn. May as well just put your hand in the bag of spinach and eat the leaves whole. I have since bought the cheapest smoothy maker I could find. It does the job. There are no longer whole leaves and chunks of green apple in my glass.

I had a hair follicle test too – they cut some hair off the back near the scalp and send it away to get tested for food intolerances. Turns out I shouldn’t really be having bananas, beef, dairy, alcohol or caffeine. I feel like a should be having a steak, a bottle of wine and some banana ice-cream in retaliation. Instead I have cut out beef and bananas.

I’ll work on the rest. A girl must have her vices. And my intolerances aren’t that high. On a scale of 1-10 beef and bananas were 5 and the other things 2 or 3. The recommended intake for a 2 or 3 intolerance was once every two days at the most.

In other news, the boys are enjoying school. They are going to swimming classes every week, have the school cross country next week, are playing in the school soccer (friendly) competition, and are both in the production of Willy Wonker at the end of September – for which I put my hand up to make a candy cart. I have to pimp up the school’s lost property cart. Put a canopy on it and make some oversized lollies. I also asked to add cupcakes because I’ve watched a few too many episodes of ‘Cupcake Wars’ and well, you know, a paper mache balloon cupcake with brown weeding mat (that’s what it said on the label) material and a white scarf from the two dollar shop as frosting… ……

If it all turns out how I have envisioned it in my mind I’ll post a pic.


Right, the coffee is gone. Must spin.




More Tests

1 Aug

Going on from the previous post about Japan’s outstanding stance on preventative healthcare…

I had my “supposed-to-be-annual-but-has-actually-been-3-years” comprehensive health check at the city hospital the other week.

No eating or drinking after 9pm the previous night, I woke up and had severe troubles trying to get a poo sample. Not taking into consideration the putting down of the special poo catching sheet into the loo and then scraping a cotton bud test tube thing through your poo. It’s a fun activity. Totally recommend it.

I register at the hospital 40 minutes away and get told to change into lovely clinic PJ things. Bra off, because no wire allowed – and I have to incase mine in loads of wire, t-shirt on, because inevitably the Japanese PJ things will not stand firm in their one job of covering my boobs.

I get weighed first – huuurah. Didn’t want to save that till last anyway. Height measured. Get told I have lost 2kg and shrunk half a cm in 3 years.

(pats self on back – one must celebrate the small accomplishments. At this rate I may just wilt away to nothing)

Blood samples taken next – I have three vials taken which is more than usual as have paid extra $50 dollars to do tests on risk of getting cancer. I know, I know. Every bastard ends up dying of cancer but I have been told that brain cancer (mum) isn’t hereditary, and lung cancer (dad) probably caused by smoking fifty million cigarettes a day since he was 14. Anyhoo, I am interested in this test so I did it. Results pending.

After the bloods I get taken through to the expose your flummy echo room. Three years ago a young bloke was in charge of the echo machine and it was quite mortifying to be honest. I mean, obviously, I’ve lost loads of weight this year (ahem) but fuck it, all off my eyelashes it seems and not my stretchmarked to shit -middle-aged flummy. Fortunately this year there is a female technician and I feel a lot more comfortable, throw my PJ top open and get ready for the squidge of gel and the echo. She takes her time on something and for a minute I glance at the screen expecting to see a small beating heart or something. Praise the fuckin lord there isn’t a baby in there though. I don’t know what she was concentrating on – whether it was a serious issue or whether she was just trying to echo through the flum.

I then have to pee in a cup (see previous post). I can NEVER pee under pressure, plus I have my period, plus I’m still wondering if perhaps she did miss a baby during the echo. Faaark. I FINALLY get about 10ml of menstrual ¬†pee into a cup – I know, I know, don’t say I never paint a lovely visual image for you.

I then get about ten minutes of down time sitting in a chair and watching the sumo, during which time a nurse comes and enquires as to what day of my period I’m on…. I tell her day two, my heaviest day. I leave off that I actually scooped out (of my pee cup) the piece of my uterus that was floating in there. She must enjoy normal periods where you bleed a little, live a little and then bleed a little more. I just bleed solidly and in chunks for 48 hours (see previous sentence about that lovely visual image – your welcome).

I then get taken into a small booth and my blood pressure checked. Considering half my blood is trying to escape out my fanny tis no bloody wonder the other half retaliates by trying to run away from the blood pressure machine, resulting in high blood pressure. Did I know I had slightly high bloody pressure, the nurse asks me? She then measures my waist and tells me I’m obese and asks if I would like nutritional advice – to which I say no, I’m heading to NZ next week and am booked in with fabulous personal trainer called Branden who is going to kick my ass into shape.

(Not joking. Have been going a week and I hate him already but my feet and chin are enjoying some weight slash fluid loss so I’ll stick at it a bit longer until my flummy gets some of the skinny love too. – another post soon)

Next on the health check agenda is the electrodes. The PJ top gets opened and t-shirt lifted up completely. Electrodes placed on sides of tits, flummy, everywhere. Tis hard not to laugh cause the suction caps make this ridiculous noise and the technician woman is not looking me, but at the same time feeling around boobs for right place to position suction caps. I don’t even know what this test does – that is how much of a sheep I am. Baaaaaaaaa. Just do what I’m told.

And lastly, the mammogram. Joy of joys. I get to squash my tits into a compressor frontways AND sideways. For my previous three checkups I have had the same guy and I felt like we were finally coming to some kind of repport between the two of us and my boobs. Now, all of a sudden, I have a new young mammogram boy who isn’t quite used to substantial um, clients, and has to ask me to excuse him while he pulls my boobs across the compressor.

I am ‘this close’ to laughing at the poor boy. If it wasn’t ridiculously funny it would be mortifying.


I was also meant to have a smear and the disgusting Barium procedure – where you drink disgusting shit and get turned around on a machine akin to a pig on a spit.

I had a bit of a cough and apparently if you drink they barium and then cough you might get some in your lungs and die.

OK, well, the didn’t say I would die but they said it wouldn’t be beneficial to my health if the “white shit that solidifies like concrete unless you take drugs and shit it out of your system in 24 hours” got in my lungs.


So I went back the next week and got poked up my fanny and turned like a pig on a spit.

I have absolutely no idea if I’m healthy because the results get sent home and I left Japan the day after the aforementioned pig spitting. I was SO worried about not shitting the white barium concrete out before my travel that the nurses gave me SIX shit pills!! I took four, and spent three solid hours on the loo.

Thank God I didn’t need to do that on an airplane toilet.


Right, off to get these kiwi boys to bed.