Months of Muscle: The triathlon

I remember the night before the half-marathon. I tossed and turned all night and when I did sleep I dreamed of the race (actually of not making the race). I wondered at the time why I bothered to put myself under such unnecessary stress and vowed never to do it again!

Which is why when the opportunity came up I jumped at the chance of participating in a triathlon.

I have less than two weeks to prepare. I haven't run since the half-marathon. I haven't swam for more than two years. I haven't ridden since I was about 12. My only access to a bike is my daughter's already second- hand mountain bike.

Not to mention that the triathlon breaks all the Month of Muscle no cardio rules.

But I just couldn't help it ... it was a challenge and I had to take it up.

No doubt, the night before I'll be tossing and turning again. But then something (past experience) tells me that when I cross that finish line it will be worth it.

Now let me see if I can still ride ... I've been told it's just like riding a bike ...

Months of Muscle: My father's arms

My father had strong, golden arms. Taut forearms that expanded as they grasped a saw, or reefed in a halyard. Rounded shoulders that filled his tailor made suits as he kissed ** my mother goodbye at the bottom of the stairs at 7.20 every weekday morning. Large safe hands that grasped the bowl of his pipe in one hand and the steering wheel with the other as we sprinted from scenic lookout to scenic lookout on our annual two-week driving holiday. Biceps that could lift me effortlessly up onto his shoulders during a family bush walk. They were muscles honed from building a boat, hammering up the wooden frame, sanding back the fibreglass.

These were not arms built in the gym. They were built in the workshop and the garden, built from raising three children, from loving a wife, from the struggle of someone, so very much loved, who always had a slight air of discontent about him.

These were the arms that could lift me into the tumble dryer for the ultimate game of hide and seek.***;  the hands that were sent, reluctantly, to discipline us; the arms that grasped the rudder, steering us safely through a storm while my mother vomited nervously off the side of the boat and I slept unknowingly below.

My dad is older now, and very much changed, smaller but no less diminished,  less muscular but just as strong.



** Actually it was more a pash than a kiss, given with the force and passion of someone who might be leaving for nine months, not just nine hours.

*** We were a close but odd family. It wasn't unusual for my siblings to find me hidden in the most obscure of spots. None-the-less I think we had a relationship with our father that was envied by the other children. In a time where women did the child rearing and men 'brought home the bacon', my friends  would line up to be tickled by him (which you could do then, but wouldn't dare do now).

Months of Muscle: Blame the bikini

In the 1960s Emily Post decreed, "A bikini is for perfect figures only, and for the very young." 


Now, being on the wrong side of 40, with a build designed to keep the Scottish winters at bay, this, to me, sounds like a challenge! So I have promised my Michelle Bridges Lean and Strong 12 week Body Transformation team mates that I will wear a bikini to the finale party. Oh dear. But I am a person of my word and intend to do just that.


The issue is of course, and I am not alone in this, that 18 years ago I had a child, and it seems quite likely that that skin once stretched so much I resembled a whale not a person ** is unlikely to 'spring' back to shape, no matter what the mix of cardio, weights and abs. Still, with role models like Pink, The chic from terminator two and Hale Berry as role models, my team mates and I are giving it a try.


We're watching what we eat (limit alcohol and sugars, increase protein) pumping iron and, most of all, working those abs. We have faith that, no matter what, there will be some change.


And if it doesn't work, well maybe it is time for us (or at least those attending the finale party) to change our idea of perfection. 


** Some women glow when they are pregnant. If I glowed it must have had a sour green tinge to it as I spent the first six months of my pregnancy overwhelmed by a feeling of seasickness. 

The Months of Muscle: The cardio freak

I've been told that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. So, the half-marathon now behind me, I have moved on to the Months of Muscle. My aims: to get stronger and more toned, to re-discover my abs (actually not sure if I ever discovered them in the first place) and to climb that blasted over-hang at indoor climbing.

I've just finished week two of the month of muscle and this is what I've discovered - I'm addicted to cardio.  I love that 'I can do anything' feeling I get half an hour or so after a 600 calorie session.  I love knowing I'm burning off unwanted calories. And I love being in that mindset where I can't possibly think about my problems because I'm too busy thinking how I'm going to keep going.

Still, I've been told it's difficult to build muscle and keep up such intensive cardio (something complicated about the additional calories burned being taken from your muscle). So I'm going (almost) cardio-free for the next ten weeks. I'm eating (eek) more and concentrating on protein. I've thrown away the heart rate monitor **. I'm pumping iron, doing some yoga and some climbing, and that's it! Might not seem like a change (I've swapped going to the gym for ... err ... going to the gym) but when cardio is like your drug, giving it up is just like withdrawals. 

The first week I almost constantly felt like crying, like I was in a small boat heading for the edge of the waterfall, I kept paddling but knew that, with just one strong current,  I would be sent over the edge. The second week has been better, I upped my weights and felt it the next day ("please don't make me go  down those stairs"). But I still looked longingly a the treadmill, thought lovingly and perhaps with more passion than they deserve, of the days of treadmill intervals.

The Months of Muscle: it's a challenge, but I think I'm up for it ... 

** Actually I've lost the heart rate monitor, if anyone finds it let me know

This is why I'm hot 10: Half Marathon- It's the loneliness that's the killer

It's not the 21 km of the actual half-marathon that takes the courage and perseverance, it's the 400 and something kilometers you rack up in training for it. It's getting out of bed at 5 in the middle of winter when your family are still sleeping. It's the long Saturday morning run along the industrial banks of the Cooks River ** that lasts for more than two hours. It's hours doing interval sprints or rolling intervals in the treadmill. It's doing it, just doing it, knowing in the end there's no prize, no stadium no gold medal. ***

Was it worth it. Well, I rang my husband and blubbered like a baby at the end. I was so proud of myself and this achievement that marked three months of intensive focus on my health and fitness. I felt transformed, from the girl with all the consolation stickers in her little athletics book to ... well ... an athlete. 

They offer a service now where you can view yourself, from a couple of angles crossing the finish line. I've watched mine a couple of times, examined my face intensely. There was no joy, no punch struck into the air. Maybe it was because I was exhausted, but maybe it was because I knew ... a real athlete would complete a marathon. 

Bring on the next challenge: The months of muscle.  

** River is a euphemism, in many parts it is more correctly titled the Cooks Drain.

*** There was however a silver medal I refused to take off for 24 hours. It's still hanging in our bedroom where I can see it from bed.

This is why I'm hot 9: I think the world should be a fair place

The other day at work we were asked to write down our beliefs and values. My number one was that 'I think the world should be a fair place'. I think over my life I have done a few things to help make it that way.

But the truth is the world is far from fair. That's why I'm dedicating my half-marathon run to Amnesty International. This year amnesty, a worldwide movement of people campaigning to protect human rights, celebrated 50 years of human rights campaigning. Here are just three of their recent secesses:

Earlier this year they celebrated the Australian government’s announcement of a nationwide plan to combat violence against women and their children. They had been campaigning for such a plan for nearly five years, and it’s arrival marked a huge win in this campaign.

Amnesty International USA recently celebrated the abolition for the death penalty in Illinois, making it the 16th state to abolish this antiquated, ineffective and inhumane punishment.

Aung San Suu Kyi spent 15 years under house arrest after she peacefully protested to win power over the government's oppressive regime in Burma.  For years Amnesty supporters have been working tirelessly to bring about change and in 2010 the global campaign resulted in 110,000 actions, emails and letters calling for her release, together with the other 2,200 other political prisoners in Burma. Aung San Suu Kyi was released on 13th November 2010, sparking worldwide celebrations.

You can sponsor me simply and easily by clicking on this link.

http://www.gofundraise.com.au/page/Adrienne_Jerram

You will receive a receipt immediately and you can even leave a personal message on my page - please be nice! : )

I'll do the hard work on the day - your part is easy.

This is why I'm hot 8: I got it from my mama

There are many things I inherited from my mother. My fondness for a fireplace, that look I get when I don't really like something but will understand and put up with it anyway, my short stature. But more than that I got an ability to embrace change, when really all you want is to sit, in front of the fire, watching your favourite program on the TV, sipping tea like it is sweet comfort.

My mother grew up in less than prosperous circumstances in the terraces and tenements of post-war Edinburgh, raising two younger brothers, learning how not to parent (one egg and a pint of milk does not a dinner of scrambled eggs make!) and developing a passion for a life more comfortable.

My Dad came to her, with careless feet and Buddy Holly looks and a plan to go to Australia. A plan of which she wanted no part, but ended up buying, partly because my father was so persistent but also, more simply, because she loved him. As she stepped on that boat (plane travel wasn't for ordinary people then) she was leaving her friends, family, possibly believing she might not ever see them again. But she managed to pull her much yearned for comfort from the thought that 'she was saying goodbye to the cold and snow forever!

Move forward twenty years and still living in Sydney Australia, my mum has built a routine which enabled her to build and maintain a house, sing in the choir, coach softball and raise three children while working full time. Washing at our place was done everyday (towels on a Thursday, sheets on a Saturday) except Sunday, and there was satisfaction in just having it done. It is in the height of my Mum's new found comfort that my dad announces plans to build his own boat and sail it around Australia. And so, again, she gives up everything. But, through the churn of the storm and the flatline of the doldrums she pulls comfort from the maintenance of her routines. Dinner at six, lunch at 12, the floor gets swept everyday regardless.

It takes a special person to embrace adventure, when your sole ambition is for the comfort of quiet life. But hasn't my mother had some experiences as a result. She's coached a winning softball team,  sailed alongside a pod of dolphins, risen on the king tides of Western Australia, traversed Bass Strait, driven to almost every lookout to Australia, written a book, learned to cook (and then not cook) proper scrambled eggs - with cheese. She has experienced things, held ambitions for her children, that a poor girl from Edinburgh should never have been allowed.

It is a very special talent to pull comfort from the most uncomfortable of circumstances,  but this is my mother, this is her special skill, and I really, really hope I've inherited it.