I love charity shops. I find them endlessly therapeutic. Normal stores have an edge to them - a loud, gritty, in your face, hurryupandbuy edge. The banging tunes. The flourescent lights.
The speed at which I see women fly from rail to rail, scanning like a terminator for the perfect jeans. I always feel a little inadequate, flushed, rushed and spent after a half hour in River Island.
But charity shops are full of old ladies and crusties.
There is something soothing about meandering around a musty store full of old ladies. The lights are normal. There is no music. There are rails and rails of crap. Mostly crap. And then, you stumble on a beacon of light, glinting at you from the middle of a rail of 'Atmosphere' ball-ey cardigans and stretched out jumpers with boob humps built in from the last (well endowed) owner. A gem of designer loveliness. This is akin to winning the charity shop lottery. You work hard for it. You search endlessly. And then - there it is. The McQueen top (€45 in Lucy loves Frances). The Rocha dress and the Burberry skirt (€3 in Siopa Eiles charity fundraiser). The Moschino jeans (€10 in Debra on Aungier St). The DVF wrap dress (€5 in Women's Aid). HALLELUJAH. Jesus is real. Suddenly your prayers are answered. And then it washes over you, like a warm haze of the draw of a pure grass spliff. The charity shop delusion. And we live in a utopian future where size does not exist. I have a large range of designer charity shop buys in size 6-16. I'll lose the weight. I'll get it taken in. I'll CHANGE. I CAN CHANGE FOR THIS ITEM OF CLOTHING. THIS WILL BECOME MY REASON FOR LIVING.
I had a pretty bad case of the charity shop delusion when I bought the Moschino jeans. These cost anything up to €400-500 to buy new. This is basically like being handed €500 (I explain to my OH... his eyes glazing over).
They are too small. I buy them. I dont try them on till I get home. When I do, they barely button. Mounds of fat spill over in a muffin top extravaganza. They sit in my wardrobe. The delusion begins to drain away.
This morning, I was feeling adventurous and decided I needed to ditch the circus tents. I reached into my wardrobe and the first thing I put my hand to are the Moschino jeans. I try them on.
THEY FIT.
I practically freak out. I barge into the bathroom where OH is in the shower and dance about in my jeans. He is happy for me... but clearly wants me (and now the two dogs who are also dancing in the bathroom) to let him finish his shower.
This is a happy day.
In other news... I can do a push up. Actually, I can do 40 push ups. I could probably do 50. I did 40 push ups last night at training with my trainer and buddy Chris. The first night I went to his place to train he asked me to do a push up. I obviously couldnt. He asked me to do a modified (girl) push up. I tried one. I barely made it through. I cannot believe how much stronger Ive gotten in only 2 short months of training. One amazing part of training with Chris is he coaches you through the mental block, which is really the main thing you need to break through. Doing a plank for 30 seconds sounded like the impossible. When I tried it, I failed at 20 seconds (giving 110%, or so I thought). Doing a plank with Chris, I did 45 seconds. I probably could have made it to a minute.
Now for those fitness bunnies this probably seems like the smallest victory in the world. But for me it is motivation beyond belief. Seeing real changes, breaking through mental barriers, and getting stronger is the greatest reward in the world.
Obviously that, and fitting into The Jeans.
The speed at which I see women fly from rail to rail, scanning like a terminator for the perfect jeans. I always feel a little inadequate, flushed, rushed and spent after a half hour in River Island.
But charity shops are full of old ladies and crusties.
There is something soothing about meandering around a musty store full of old ladies. The lights are normal. There is no music. There are rails and rails of crap. Mostly crap. And then, you stumble on a beacon of light, glinting at you from the middle of a rail of 'Atmosphere' ball-ey cardigans and stretched out jumpers with boob humps built in from the last (well endowed) owner. A gem of designer loveliness. This is akin to winning the charity shop lottery. You work hard for it. You search endlessly. And then - there it is. The McQueen top (€45 in Lucy loves Frances). The Rocha dress and the Burberry skirt (€3 in Siopa Eiles charity fundraiser). The Moschino jeans (€10 in Debra on Aungier St). The DVF wrap dress (€5 in Women's Aid). HALLELUJAH. Jesus is real. Suddenly your prayers are answered. And then it washes over you, like a warm haze of the draw of a pure grass spliff. The charity shop delusion. And we live in a utopian future where size does not exist. I have a large range of designer charity shop buys in size 6-16. I'll lose the weight. I'll get it taken in. I'll CHANGE. I CAN CHANGE FOR THIS ITEM OF CLOTHING. THIS WILL BECOME MY REASON FOR LIVING.
I had a pretty bad case of the charity shop delusion when I bought the Moschino jeans. These cost anything up to €400-500 to buy new. This is basically like being handed €500 (I explain to my OH... his eyes glazing over).
They are too small. I buy them. I dont try them on till I get home. When I do, they barely button. Mounds of fat spill over in a muffin top extravaganza. They sit in my wardrobe. The delusion begins to drain away.
This morning, I was feeling adventurous and decided I needed to ditch the circus tents. I reached into my wardrobe and the first thing I put my hand to are the Moschino jeans. I try them on.
THEY FIT.
I practically freak out. I barge into the bathroom where OH is in the shower and dance about in my jeans. He is happy for me... but clearly wants me (and now the two dogs who are also dancing in the bathroom) to let him finish his shower.
This is a happy day.
In other news... I can do a push up. Actually, I can do 40 push ups. I could probably do 50. I did 40 push ups last night at training with my trainer and buddy Chris. The first night I went to his place to train he asked me to do a push up. I obviously couldnt. He asked me to do a modified (girl) push up. I tried one. I barely made it through. I cannot believe how much stronger Ive gotten in only 2 short months of training. One amazing part of training with Chris is he coaches you through the mental block, which is really the main thing you need to break through. Doing a plank for 30 seconds sounded like the impossible. When I tried it, I failed at 20 seconds (giving 110%, or so I thought). Doing a plank with Chris, I did 45 seconds. I probably could have made it to a minute.
Now for those fitness bunnies this probably seems like the smallest victory in the world. But for me it is motivation beyond belief. Seeing real changes, breaking through mental barriers, and getting stronger is the greatest reward in the world.
Obviously that, and fitting into The Jeans.
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