The Devil (he really needs a new blog name) and I have two little people who are affectionately referred to as the Trolls – one blue Troll and one pink Troll. They were born precisely 5 years and 9 days apart. Just a little scene setting for you. Pre-Trolls, my body rocked (now, with hindsight and photo’s). These two adorable little people in my life changed that forever. I consider the stretch marks that now adorn my midsection as my badge of honour (on a good day) and battle scars (on the not so good days). These Trolls also contributed to a whopping additional 25kgs on my frame. Great food, great wine and great times, most of it with the Devil, contributed to the other 5kgs.
Why am I giving this 12WBT gig a go? Firstly – there is a hotter, slimmer mamma trapped in this fat suit. Secondly, I am a strong believer that I am a role model for my Trolls. I don’t want them growing up in this world believing that everything comes easily, it’s important to me that they see me eating well and enjoying exercise. I refuse to do shakes or weigh loss pills.
My not quite 10 year old blue Troll is conscious of his weight – seriously, what is the world coming to? The blue Troll plays more sport than probably 3 of his peers put together. The blue Troll is athletic. He has muscles. He has speed and endurance (all qualities I am convinced I did in fact pass on to him, a little hard to tell at the moment) – yet the blue Troll is worried he is fat. He comes running with me – 5 kms in 40 mins (which for a Troll is good going if you ask me). And yet, he is worried – he sucks his beautiful muscular tummy in and tells me he’s getting fitter. Honey, you can’t get any fitter, yet, he is always seeking to attain a greater physique. Have I or society done this to him?
I’m taking a slightly different approach with him. We’ve been discussing how the body is a machine, it has to be respected, and he is the one in his drivers seat. Today I gave him a little challenge of his own. I certainly don’t condone children going on diets, but I do think he is old enough to understand sacrifices to achieve what you want. Blue Troll is 9 (“almost 10, Mum”). Both his thyroid and mine have gone on strike (we both have an autoimmune disease – Hashimoto’s – for simplicity read ‘hypothyroid’). This is very inconvenient. I need to shed what I love to tag as ‘baby weight’, and blue Troll is just verging on puberty (OMG, I am far too young for that!) and adolescence, a time when what he looks like will be of number one importance to him.
He is old enough to understand what I am doing on the 12WBT, and he is old enough to understand that I have set myself some goals and that achieving most of them will be hard. He wants to be fitter (so he can beat one of his best mates in the next running race at school). He has asked if he can ‘train’ with me – I’ve agreed that we’ll run around the lake together on Sunday’s and that the Devil will take him swimming an extra 2 nights a week. But, he has to sacrifice something. He has offered lollies. No lollies for 12 weeks. I’m proud of my little munchkin (and he turned down the offer of marshmallows with his hot chocolate this afternoon!).
Earlier this evening, while standing in the kitchen cooking an incredibly delicious 12WBT lasagne, I heard the conversation between blue Troll and pink Troll:
Blue Troll: Pink Troll, did you know that we are not allowed to eat lollies for the next 12 weeks?
Pink Troll: No way! You’re lying. I’m allowed to
Blue Troll: No, you and I aren’t allowed to eat them or junk food for 12 weeks. I promised mum.
Pink Troll: Get out! I’m allowed to eat lollies and junk food if I want to. You might not eat lollies, but I love lollies.
Blue Troll: We will be fitter and healthier and we’ll be supporting mum.
Pink Troll: You can do that. I’m still going to eat lollies.
Oh well. You win some, you lose some. She will not be eating lollies.
I haven’t had champagne for two weeks.