The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Well, it’s official – I am insane.

For weeks now I have been caught up in a viscous cycle of self-sabotage, angry at myself for destructive emotions that I keep eating instead of dealing with. Hence why I have not written this blog for a while – too ashamed and caught up in what other people think and say.

I stand on the scale for my weigh-in and don’t even look. Poor Fur Face puts on a brave face as he calmly tries to talk me off the ledge.

Class has started. I try to remain focused as I move between the stations, remaining unusually quiet and restrained.

And there it was. He just can’t help himself, poor Old Fart. He doesn’t mean to be chauvinistic but he needs to face facts – he is an old-fashioned fishmonger with outdated views. Now this is no feminist blog but when your fellow comrade yells out to Fur Face in the middle of the Empower Hour circuit:

“I think this weight will be too heavy for the girls” pandemonium breaks out. Nothing gets us Empowered women more revved up than a sweaty Old Fart telling us what we are capable of!

It was game on from that point as nothing motivates more than revenge!

Next station – Battle Ropes. More suitable for a Viking village and boy scouts than a fitness studio. Who would have thought that 2 big, black, thick, long ropes could get you all sweaty? Now 60 seconds a station doesn’t sound very long, but try swinging both arms gripping the heavy ropes whilst simultaneously holding a squat. Good practice in case I ever want to use a squatty potty whilst traversing a tightrope. I was determined to make it through the 60 seconds without stopping as I needed to outdo Old Fart. The trick was to distract myself and give my brain better things to do than count down the seconds. Down the other end of the long ropes was Fur Face, patiently holding the ropes in place using kettle bell. I had to use what limited material I had so I imagined Fur Face was Becks – only had to add a few inches and a few more tatts …

I felt alive. Sweaty, sore but alive. My mind became clear and focused.

I realised that I go to a huge effort to wake up early every morning to get to class and exercise with my support crew – which means that I really want to change. The emotional stress eating does not have to remain a fixed, familiar object but just one part of myself, my journey and the story I am telling you. D’oh – just like Homer Simpson it finally occurs to me that if I want to change myself I need to change my future story. Why am I scared to feel happy? Why don’t I feel good enough? It’s not failure I fear but success.

What IS the story I am telling you? Let a new chapter begin…

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