Intervention

What is it about fat that makes it such a super-sensitive topic? If I had a septic toe that I was refusing to treat and it became life-threatening, no one would think twice about telling me in no uncertain terms to get it sorted out. Yet, when someone is quite visibly and obviously putting their health at risk by eating too much, no one says a word. Not even health care professionals. Every time I visit my GP, I expect him or her to say something to me about the elephant in the room (which I have at times closely resembled), but not one has ever even hinted that a change to my eating habits would have considerable health benefits. And to be fair, if someone did broach the subject, I wouldn’t react in the same way as if we were discussing my toe. I would likely be highly defensive and probably a bit angry or offended.

Fat is never straightforward. There are so many layers to the problem (excuse the turn of phrase there!) and often quite deeply seated reasons for it.

So, hats off to Slim Sister who was brave enough to bring up the subject one day and come right out and say that she thought I should take some more definite action with regards to my weight. This blog, and my slow and steady approach was sort of working. I had lost a bit of weight over a long period. But then along came Coronavirus and it all went to hell in a handbasket. Over the course of the first UK lockdown, I put on nearly 10kg!!! (No, that’s not a typo – 10 kg in just over 6 months.) I am not entirely sure why, because I continued to walk the dog every weekday and stopped eating out and entertaining, the latter two having always been high calorie activities for me. My alcohol consumption definitely went up (well, everyone was drinking, weren’t they, so why not me, too?) and I suppose I wasn’t running errands or doing anything like as much calorie-burning trotting about as usual. Those online exercise sessions that I was talking about in my last blog didn’t last because my dodgy ankle became so painful that I realised if I didn’t stop, I soon wouldn’t even be able to manage the dog walking.

So, I swelled. Alarmingly.

Fortunately for Slim Sister, when she brought up the subject, I had already decided that I was going to have to break my vow to never go on diet again. So I was receptive to her words, rather than defensive. I had already decided what to do. I could not bring myself to go back on my decision to never again PAY for a diet (if you have read my previous blogs, you will know about my discomfort with the notion of fat, over-privileged people paying to eat less while others starve). But with a little research and reading of reviews, I found a free calorie counting app and a free exercise monitoring app, and I was good to go.

That was on the 1st of September and now, two months later, I weigh 10.8kg less than I did then.

The app I use allows you to set a desired rate of loss, and I set mine fairly high at 1 kg a week. I wanted some quickish results to help motivate me and inspire me. But the main reason this has been successful is that I have adopted the same mindset that I used when I gave up smoking 16 years ago. I may have mentioned before that I achieved that (my one and only shining instance of really exercising self control) with the help of the Allen Carr method for breaking addiction to nicotine. I can’t really summarise everything he says about controlling one’s behaviour, but there were a couple of things that really struck me, and that I have been able to use again now, when it comes to food and booze.

Firstly, he asked the question, how bad are those feelings of wanting a cigarette really? Yes, they feel urgent, maybe uncomfortable, but they are not painful or overwhelming. They certainly are not as bad as say, having a really bad cold, are they? But if I asked you if you would be prepared to experience bad cold symptoms for two weeks and after that you wouldn’t crave nicotine at all, would you agree to it? Of course. It’s a very small price to pay to be rid of such a horrible addiction. Who really wants to be spending a lot of money to go around coughing, ponging of smoke, causing damage to the health of loved ones and oneself and generally being a bit of a social outcast?

Being fat has just as many unpleasant and damaging consequences as smoking. But being asked to “slightly reduce” one’s calorie intake and “slightly increase” one’s physical activity is really not such a big deal, is it? No one is asking you to starve yourself or actually go hungry. You are not even having to stop eating or drinking anything you like. You just have to fit what you consume into a framework of a certain number of calories a day. You are being asked to think about what you eat, and do a certain amount of weighing and measuring, but with all the fabulous technology we have at our disposal these days, that is really not much of an ask at all. I spend far more time playing Solitaire on my phone than I do working out how much and what I should eat every day.

The other useful takeaway from Allen Carr was the idea that the decision not to smoke was mine and mine alone. And if I did have another cigarette after I had said that I would never again put one into my mouth, then I had only myself to blame and I would have to live with the knowledge of my own pathetic weakness for the rest of my days. When it comes to diets or eating less, I am the QUEEN of excuses. My kids are giving me trouble – I deserve a nice glass of wine. I am stressed/exhausted/sad/in the mood for a celebration – bring out the ice cream. And on and on. This time round, I am taking ownership of my actions. EVEN IF SOMETHING REALLY, REALLY bad happens, it is not an excuse to make myself more unhealthy by overeating. Incidentally, I also can’t “jinx” my weight loss/diet by talking about it or looking forward to it with anticipation (a piece of weird superstitious nonsense that I find myself succumbing to). No one and nothing can “jinx” something that only I have complete control over, namely what I put into my mouth.

So, that’s the current state of play. I am feeling good – stronger and healthier and more focused. Even my ankle has stopped hurting quite so much now that the load it has to carry around every day has lightened a bit.

Onwards and upwards. Or, better still, downwards (the number on the scale) and inwards (my waistline).

Internet Workout Review

I am probably being a bit premature with this review, as I have barely scratched the surface of what’s out there. But without doubt so far, my favourite internet workout sessions are ones billed as low impact, all standing, no equipment cardio.

I am truly amazed at how absolutely knackering these sessions can be. Who knew that lifting your arms above your heart was a great way of getting your heart beating harder and faster? After a 30 minute workout led by the woman I have nicknamed “Sergeant Major”, I am drenched in sweat and feel as if I have had a hard run up some steep hills, all without lifting my feet off the floor.

This feet-on-the-floor feature is particularly appealing to me because five years ago I slipped down the stairs and broke my ankle in two places. Unfortunately, it turns out that I have a condition whereby my bones are a bit too enthusiastic about healing themselves and grow a lot of extra, unnecessary bone around any break. As is quite usual in cases of broken ankles, I had surgery to insert a metal plate to fix the bone, but I have grown a lot of excess bone all around the joint and, quite frankly there are times when it hurts. When I started doing “proper” aerobics, my ankle really didn’t like it and made its displeasure felt quite acutely. It is not exactly thrilled by the low impact stuff either, but I am ignoring the pain and hoping that in the end it will actually do it some good to be stretched and worked a bit.

Back to the Sergeant Major. She is without doubt the toughest and most humourless of all the instructors I’ve watched. She tries to be a bit jolly, but you can see it doesn’t come naturally. And she is an absolute maniac when it comes to exercise. She goes hard and fast and is never out of breath. The only indication that she is exercising at all are the dark patches of sweat that eventually appear on her t-shirt.

I like this. A lot of these clearly super-fit instructors make a big fuss about how out of breath they are and how tired they are. I suppose it is to make you feel better about how terrible you feel – we are all in this together sort of thing. But please, I know those gym bunnies are a gazillion times fitter than I will ever be and it is a bit patronising to pretend otherwise. Even the “fatties” (I use inverted commas because they are seldom actually properly fat) who are hired to demonstrate the lower intensity moves are obviously as fit as can be and can do all the routines pretty easily.

I am not complaining, because I am glad that they are acknowledging and demonstrating that exercise like this is suitable for all shapes and sizes and ages. But I still like the absolute honesty of the Sergeant Major who has the most stunningly perfectly toned body you have ever seen and doesn’t pretend that she is anything but ultra-fit.

Here are some of my favourite sessions so far:

This is Fat Fella’s favourite workout:

 

Please note: I am not advertising these sites or endorsing them from any sort of professional perspective. I have merely copied and pasted the URLs of videos that I have enjoyed and I make absolutely no claims about them or their efficacy.

 

Tragedy

One thing I know: nobody knows what is going to happen next.

This post was going to be a review of some of the YouTube exercise videos that I have been bouncing around to recently. I have been amazed by the wide variety that exist.

You have your ageing gracefully “older lady” in her elegant home and 1980s Olivia Newton-John-style workout gear, bobbing gently about waving her arms and barely breaking a sweat.

Then there is the hapless woman in what looks like an underground cell doing seemingly random aerobics moves for nearly an hour with odd people walking in and out of the room (and in front of the camera) at intervals. She gives no warning when she is about to change moves, and doesn’t talk much, just grimly pounds on with no clock or timer displayed so you have no idea how much longer the agony will last.

Of course, there are the super slick ones with bright studios and every sort of timing device imaginable. The presenters on these ones tend to be quite chatty and have fellow exercisers who show different intensity moves. They are all obviously encouraged by the producers to “interact” with one another in a jolly and encouraging and “aren’t we all just having a ball?” way. This is almost as painful to watch as the exercises are to complete.

Almost all of them take great pains to insist that you should “go at your own pace”. Clearly (and understandably) trying to avoid lawsuits from the families of over-enthusiastic chubby bouncers who drop in their tracks while participating in their routines.

Lots of them purport to “really care” about you, the exerciser, and try different ways to encourage and inspire you to keep going and get fit and healthy. Some of them I even believe. They really do seem to be on a mission to bring a healthy lifestyle to the sluggish masses. I was working out to one of these the other day, and in amongst all the psycho-babble, he said some things that really struck home. Not necessarily because they were so profound, but because of something else that has happened in our lives recently and which is the reason I wrote that very first sentence.

A good friend of ours – a 50-something father of two with a larger-than-life, bubbly, positive personality, full of intelligence and enthusiasm and good humour – had a terrible skateboarding accident four weeks ago. He is still alive, but only just. He bashed his head and his poor brain started bleeding. He is still in ICU but, as of a few days ago, is breathing on his own again. He is not yet fully conscious and there is no way of knowing what long-term effects this terrible injury will have.

Nobody knows what is going to happen next. Not to our lovely friend, and not to any of us.

It was with this tragedy in mind that I really listened to and took notice of what the exercise man was saying. He was talking about how wonderful our bodies are to do all the things they do – how strong and able. Even just being able to stand up and move around is a precious gift. He was urging us to be grateful and to look after what we have. Needless to say, this has done my motivation for continuing with the new exercise regime the world of good.

And I am loving it. I am feeling fitter and stronger and even a bit more bendy, which is brilliant. It’s not always easy to get started, but I am always pleased once I have. In fact, I am writing this fully kitted out in exercise gear, ready to head over to the sitting room and do some serious leaping about.

You should be a fly on the wall. It is quite a sight, I can tell you. Captain Shoelace sometimes wanders in to have a giggle before I boot him out. But even his smirking won’t put me off. I will try to remember how lucky I am to be able to do it, and hope with all my heart that my dear friend will be up and bouncing about some day soon.

PS After my last post whining about not being able to write, the lovely Fat Fella has set me up with a nice speedy laptop, connected to our home network, and all functioning beautifully.

No more excuses.

Excuses

Hoo boy, this lockdown is finally getting to me.

While I generally love having Fat Fella at home, it does mean that I don’t have access to the “big, fast computer” because obviously he needs it for work. This makes perfect sense, but I really miss it. It means that I haven’t been doing any writing at all for months and months. Not that I would have been doing much if I did have access, because I am a lazy slapper, but you know what it’s like – we always want most what we can’t have. Anyway, if I was serious about writing, I could easily have made a plan – we have so many other electronic devices that could be fit for purpose — but obviously I’m not, because I haven’t.

I have also put on a lot of weight, which is making me feel miserable and fed up with myself. While there has been no obvious reduction in my daily exercise routine – I still walk the dog 5-6 times a week – all those endless, unnoticed little daily physical activities, such as getting in and out of the car or carrying shopping and running errands, have just evaporated like smoke. Initially, I thought I might actually lose weight because I was doing a lot of gardening and house tidying and so on. But clearly, I was also eating and drinking a lot more. My extra-tight clothes and scary bathroom scales do not lie.

dig Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay
Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay

Recently, in an effort to get moving again, Fat Fella and I have been doing daily low-impact aerobics sessions in our sitting room. These are great. I have tried all sorts of different ones and so far am finding the PopSugar ones on YouTube to be really good. We haven’t been at it regularly for long enough for it to have had much of an impact, but hopefully it has improved our health and fitness a little already.

aerobics Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

It is no joke that we fatties are more at risk of dying from Covid-19. Suddenly all my blustering “I’ll be fat if I want to,” or “Being fat is not a crime,” or “I enjoy my life, what’s the harm?” is ringing a bit hollow. Of course, I have always known that being fat is an unhealthy and even life-threatening choice, but the current situation really brings it home to one with a bit of a thump.

That’s a good thing in many ways, but also hard to do much about, because it is the current situation that is making me feel low and lethargic and not inclined to diet or exercise in the first place.

And yes, the previous paragraph is merely a pathetic excuse. I know it. As with the writing, the healthy lifestyle could happen if I wanted it enough. Maybe I just don’t…

Lockdown

What was that I was saying about distractions being a good thing and wishing for some more? Well, I did specify that I did not want the sort of distractions that have me reaching for a bottle of wine at the end of the day. And the major distraction that we are all experiencing right now – the Covid 19 virus – is definitely one that requires wine and crisps and maybe even some ice cream. If I watch carefully, I can almost see my already enormous tummy expanding like a lump of bread dough in a proving oven. It really is quite worrying. Just how big can it get? Will it pop?

Joking aside, I actually feel ashamed of whining about how social distancing is making me fat. When so many in the world are struggling to eat at all, how dare I complain that I have too much? I am damned lucky to have the wherewithal to get fat.

But acknowledging my privilege does not make me any happier about my super-size. I still want to be leaner and healthier. So much so, that lately I have been tempted by the adverts for a “new” wonder diet that pop up on my screen every 10 minutes or so.

I took a solemn vow a few years back, that I would never again pay money in order to lose weight. To me there is, as I have already mentioned, something almost obscene about rich fat folks using their money to eat less, instead of using that money to help people who haven’t enough to eat to stay alive, much less get fat.

In addition, I am firmly convinced that while any diet will work in the short term, ultimately a diet is something you are “on” and when you go “off” it again, you get fat again. From personal experience, and from a number of accounts I have read, one not only gets as fat as one was before, but usually, a bit fatter. That’s why serial yo-yo dieters end up bloody enormous. I know. I am one.

So, while the new diet is quite enticing, I will resist its lures. Which is not to say, I haven’t read about it and had a look at the promotional material for it. This particular diet is taking the psychological approach. I suppose the idea is that you unlock why you have unhealthy eating patterns and then tackle the root causes rather than merely alter eating habits. This makes sense, certainly. They are selling it as a “brand new approach”, but of course it isn’t. I have been thinking and talking about why I eat too much for as long as I can remember.

All the thinking and talking made me reach the conclusion that I am a comfort eater. I eat as a way of making myself feel better. “Poor old you, you deserve something a bit nice to cheer you up”. I have been saying this to myself my whole life. But here’s the thing: for most of that life I have had absolutely no need of comfort.

Growing up, I was one of the luckiest people imaginable. No money worries, no health concerns, no disabilities. A gorgeous, loving and supportive mother and a busy, happy family life. Academic success, a great career, lovely home, lovely holidays and, if you can believe it, lucky in love, too – a really lovely husband. Yet with all this loveliness, while I certainly wasn’t as fat as I am now, I still ate to make myself feel better and I was always a bit tubby. Ridiculous! If I could, I would go back and give my chubby chops a good slap and make sure I knew and appreciated just how little I was in need of any sort of comfort.

It was inevitable then, that when the fickle finger of fate (or whatever it is that balances the universe’s books) decided to deal me an actual nasty blow, my desire for yummy comforting things to eat and drink would grow exponentially. And the real bummer with this is that even when you have coped with your blow, and your life is more or less back on track, or at least manageable again, you are left looking like someone has stuck a bicycle pump up your backside. And, as we all know, looking and feeling like an elephant is not the greatest feeling in the world. Poor me. Pass the bottle of wine.

elephant-Image by Tina Shaskus from Pixabay
Image by Tina Shaskus from Pixabay

22: Success!

It seems I was right. Being distracted and not focusing too closely on what I eat has actually resulted in my losing some weight. Hooray.

Since I started this journey, I have lost 6 kg in total. This has taken all of eight months, so not exactly a quick result, but I believe that’s quite a good thing. I managed to do it without any hardship or sense of deprivation. Essentially, all I have done is eat a bit less sugar, drink a little less wine and go for slightly longer, more energetic dog walks.

I hope I can carry on along these lines. After being quite ill before Christmas I have stopped swimming every week, which is a shame. Perhaps I can find a way back into the pool, especially if I work out a more convenient way to fit it into my week. I think this is the key to any change I try to make. There is no use vowing solemnly to walk the dog at 7 am so that I can be ready for a swim by 9 am. It might happen in the short term, while I am feeling strong and am carried along by the novelty of it all. But any bump in the path, will push me right off track because it is simply too difficult and narrow to negotiate comfortably. I have to find a more robust path — wider, more flexible and more realistic. That way I will carry on doing whatever it is, even if I do find obstacles in the way.

I have had a decent share of obstacles over the past few months, which is why I have not found time to do any blog-writing. Fortunately, as I mentioned, these have served as distractions rather than complete dead-ends. Now that things have settled down a bit, I am going to take another look at my road to good health and see what small adjustments I can make to ensure that in another eight months I can report a similar success. And if another bunch of distractions come along, I sincerely hope they are the interesting and exciting kind and not the ones that have me reaching for a bottle of wine at the end of the day

21: Crisis

So, unlike Boris Johnson, mojo is now dead in a ditch. But that’s okay because it has been replaced with crisis and I find crisis is a pretty powerful motivator.

The elements of our current crisis involve various family matters – granny’s broken hip, college placement uncertainty, vulnerable niece having a career breakdown – and are far too complex, personal and, well, boring, for me to go into. Suffice to say that at the moment I have very little time to spend thinking about what I should eat and how much I am exercising.

This might surprisingly turn out to be somewhat beneficial. I am a great believer in the idea that being distracted from the relentless focus on oneself and one’s weight and body image can leave one’s subconscious a bit of space to self-regulate in a healthy way. I just hope I don’t start feeling sorry for myself and begin self-medicating with bottles of wine.

But for now, I am energized by all that I need to get done so perhaps some good stuff will come out of all this mess.

Here’s hoping.

20: Resus

Beeeeeeeeeep.

Code Blue!

Mojo has flatlined.

Quick, charge up the defribillator to 2 peaceful nights of Shoelace staying with his uncle in Spain.

Clear.

POW.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

Nothing.

Increase the charge to 4 nights without Shoelace worries.

Clear.

POW.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

Still nothing.

Right, take it all the way up to 6 nights.

Oh doctor, are you sure? Think of the side effects.

Just do it. We’ve got no choice if we are ever going to get Mojo back.

Clear!

KERPOW!

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

It worked.

Mojo is alive!

But still very weak. We shall have to take great care over the next few weeks.

I prescribe one bowl of oats to be taken every morning.

Increase water therapy to a minimum of 2kms swimming weekly.

Book a therapeutic weekend away with Fat Fella in a beautiful 14th century inn. This must include bracing walks, breath-taking scenery, delicious dinners and a substantial amount of good wine. Maybe a bit of shopping.

We’ll have Mojo back to full strength in no time.

landscape-Image by Elinor Puttick from Pixabay
Image by Elinor Puttick from Pixabay

19: Shoelace and Oats

I have been having a bit of a rotten time lately. It seems my “mojo” has died a horrible death. I just can’t seem to get myself motivated. Not only am I not doing a lot of things that I really wish I were (my cleanerobics are now slotherobics – slow and not very efficient), but I am doing some things that I really wish I weren’t (eating a whole slab of chocolate – blush).

Having given it some thought, I have come up with a few reasons for this sad state of affairs. Firstly, we are having a tough time with Captain Shoelace. Life with him has never been straightforward, but at the moment he is causing both Fat Fella and me a lot of sleepless nights. Like most people, when I don’t get enough sleep, I get grumpy and miserable. I feel sorry for myself. I feel the need for a treat to cheer myself up. I feel that eating a slab of chocolate will do the trick. Of course, deep down, my sensible self knows that this isn’t true. It knows that eating a slab of chocolate is actually going to leave me feeling a lot more grumpy and miserable. But my sleep-deprived brain won’t listen to my sensible self. It just goes right ahead and gets what it wants for a bit of a short-term boost.

Sleep deprivation also results in discombobulation and disorganisation, which in turn leads to the second reason my “mojo” has expired. I have not been eating my oats for breakfast. Instead of scoffing that satisfying, cholesterol-reducing bowl of loveliness every morning, I have been going off for my dog walk on an empty stomach, returning home ravenously hungry and then eating far too much lunch, far too early. This leaves me starving again by about 5pm and needing something to tide me over until dinner. Bad habits are hard to break and good ones (like eating a healthy breakfast) seem as fragile as tissue paper.

The final nail in “mojo’s” coffin is the fact that I have not been losing any bloody weight. Even before the chocolate/no breakfast/ too much snacking incidents, that number on the scales would not budge. Running up and down stairs, swimming for kilometres, dancing while dusting – none of them made a blind bit of difference to the size of my lardie arse. I know I shouldn’t need the boost that losing weight gives me, and that I should be satisfied with better health, but I jolly well do, and I really am not.

Where does this leave me? Can “mojo” be resurrected? I suspect that some of the reasons for its demise are more intractable than others. For example, I think it would be frowned upon were I to attempt to get rid of Shoelace along with the sleepless nights he causes. But I can start eating breakfast again and in fact, that’s what I have been doing for the past few days. And yes, it has improved my mood to the extent that I have been able to write this. Another major plus is that I have carried on swimming and am really loving it. I feel stronger and fitter each time I swim, and if that doesn’t breathe new life into ole “mojo”, nothing will.

 

18: Covert Ops

I was going to tell you all about this great way I have found of exercising discreetly. Inspired by that scene in the movie, Rocky, where he trots up and down a flight of stars in order to get in shape, I have been roaming my local parks to find fabulous flights of stairs and I have been running up and down them. It is brilliant, if knackering exercise. But what I was going to say I liked best about it was the fact that if someone else came along while I was doing this, I could simply pretend that I was walking up the stairs and not actually exercising.

One Tree Hill

One Tree Hill 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s quite a bizarre thought, really. It got me pondering. Why is it so important to me that people do not realise that I am actually out there, exercising? Is it because fat people exercising are often viewed as figures of ridicule and scorn? (Why IS that? Surely doing something about your problem should be applauded, not derided?) Or is it something else? Less to do with fat shamers and more to do with fat shame?

You see, I am deeply ashamed of being fat. I wish I weren’t. Like the hairy German girls I mentioned in a previous blog, I am in awe of fat people who appear confident enough not to give a toss about their size. And the truth is, if you met me in real life, you might well mistake me for one of those people.

In real life, I would never in a 100 years admit to you that I am unhappy about my weight. I am more likely to make jokes about it and be faintly scornful of people who are too focused on their appearance and don’t “enjoy” all the food, drink and fun that life has to offer.

Yes, I am a big fat hypocrite as well as a big fat person. I hate being fat. And exercising in public is like an admission that I don’t like my looks and want to change them. It is also an admission that I am not very successful at it and perhaps all the fat shamers out there are right, and I am just a weak-willed, unself-disciplined, lazy, rather stupid slob.

Of course, what I should do now, is acknowledge how nonsensical this position is and get my chubby butt out there and join exercise classes and run along the road and basically just get over myself. But do you know what? I am not going to. I just don’t feel like it. Instead, I am going to continue trying to find covert exercise opportunities. I am going to break into my shuffling run only on deserted woodland paths. I am going to trot up and down outdoor stairs and huff and puff up steep hills. I am going to do these things in clothing that can pass as ordinary, everyday clothing, not specific workout gear. You are not going to know that the sports bra under my shirt is so tough it could probably be used as a weapon. My trainers are black and can easily pass as loafers. When you walk past me, you will see a chubby woman out for a walk with her dog. Unremarkable.

forest-path-image-by-foto-rabe-from-pixabay-.jpg
Image by Foto-Rabe from Pixabay

I suppose this would be a bit trickier if you encounter me in the pool as it is tough to pretend that one just happens to be wearing a swimsuit while grinding out length after length in the water. But the beauty of the pool is that you won’t really be able to see me. Most of me will be underwater and I will be wearing goggles – a great disguise. In fact, I had an absolutely brilliant swim this week in the big 50m training pool. It was practically deserted and everyone who was there was focused solely on getting their lengths done. Plus, the changing rooms have direct access to the pool, so a minimal walk of shame in cozzie before getting in the water. Result!

And my fears about all the serious swimmers being lean, mean, fit machines were completely unfounded. In fact, I definitely saw someone who was fatter than me there. She was one of the enviable “don’t give a toss” tribe and seemingly completely comfortable in her well-padded skin. Turned out she was a swimming instructor for very little kids and probably spends all day in her cozzie. Now that is impressive.

swimming-Image by skeeze from Pixabay
Image by skeeze from Pixabay