Why Elephants don't read gossip magazines

Ok, so apart from the obvious, that they can't read....

I went to the Melbourne Zoo on the weekend and saw the new baby elephant that had been born. Cute and lovely and all that stuff but it did get me to thinking.

The cow (yes, that's the mummy elephant, not the dairy cow - stay with me here), was very protective, making sure that the baby was always in the shade and even at this early age was showing the baby how to scoop up some dust and throw it over its back. Did you know that elephants do that as a form of sun protection? No? Well, it sort of matters a bit.

We teach our kids all manner of things from the day they are born, some of it consciously such as how to do up shoelaces, and some of it unconsciously, such as how to behave around others and how to prepare meals etc. Some of that we actually talk to the kids about, and some of it we just do and they observe.

Kids, despite the fact that they pretend otherwise, are very observant and are visual animals. They watch, they learn. At different times of their childhood they will be hungrier for knowledge than others, or for different types of knowledge.

Remember, if you have them, when your kids went through a stage of asking, "Why?" after every sentence? Drove you nuts most likely. But that was the kids trying to form a picture of their world and the rules we apply to it. Everything you said, was followed with, "But why?"

Do you remember when your kids stopped asking "Why?"? You probably don't, it was just a relief to not have to answer questions like you were being interrogated by the CIA.

Part of the reason for that is you were teaching your kids stuff, and they didn't have to ask why any more, you were showing them.

Now imagine if our elephant mum read the gossip magazines or the weekly publications that promise a bikini body in seven days. Yes, you thought about elephants in bikinis. The message from the magazines would be that the elephant was a social failure for a number of reasons. Let's think about what an elephant looks like for a minute:

Massive booty
Enormous nose
Big ears
Huge toenails
Saggy skin
Stick out teeth
Floppy tummy (you try carrying a baby that weighs 130kgs)
Excess body hair (I've ridden one, they have hair on their heads in weird places)

We know that the elephant has all these features as evolutionary requirements for survival, and we never question them, but more importantly, the elephant doesn't complain about them to her girlfriends in front of the kids or partner, and doesn't head for the pantry because she doesn't feel good about herself. She just gets on with eating as required without thinking about it, and eats the variety of foods that will sustain her.

How do you approach the same thing if you have features that the magazines tell you are undesirable? If you have a bigger bum, or your skin isn't blemish free, and you don't look like the genetically gifted half a dozen people that we see recycled constantly in magazines, out of 7 billion people on the planet.

You complain about it in earshot of the kids, or worse, you set about eating the very foods what will exacerbate the big bum and blemished skin and excess body fat. You don't even need to tell the kids "Why". You just lead by example and they learn. Boy, do they learn.

So my message to you is to start acting like an elephant!

Eat the foods that will sustain you for what you need to do, not until the end of next week.

Be aware of answering your kids' questions, even when they don't ask them out loud. They're always watching and learning from you.

Stop thinking you have to look like a genetically gifted minority of the population, accept that you're you and you're different from everyone else.

And stop reading gossip magazines. They really are rubbish. Spend time with your loved ones instead of pretending you live in Hollywood.

Because if you don't, then that elephant may just be smarter than you!

The reason why your grandmother is smarter than your mum

Let’s face it; times certainly have changed since that in which our grandparents grew up in. We seem to be more affluent than our ancestors, with a range of options for entertainment, eating, transport, information sharing, reaching out across the globe and across the street, as it were. Which brings me to my topic....and to quote the lyrics of a song from years ago...”Your mum is dumb, and your dad is mad”

With our growing affluence has come an enormous degree of ignorance. We live a lifestyle of credit card versus lay-by, and expect that we can cheat evolution with the same transaction system.

Something else to ponder...as human beings we have existed in our present state for around 195,000 years. We have had agriculture, where we started being able to produce reliable food sources for around 10,000 years. We have had factories to produce our foods for the last 200 or so, since the Industrial Revolution. Prior to that everyone was pretty much responsible for producing their own food and went about actually working for their food.

We have made it quicker, easier, more cost effective to produce food products in the last 40 to 50 years, with advances in technology, and with that technology has come a cacophony of noise we are bombarded with daily, about which food will make us feel amazing, which food will make us sexier, will taste better, will give us the magic pill for weight loss. 

It has become overwhelming because we have come to believe we can overcome evolution on a case by case basis, by tricking our bodies, by pretending we haven't eaten foods that we simply know are catastrophic for our bodies. We can obtain food products in minutes that previously we had to plant or cultivate for weeks or even months.

You can't fool evolution - so eat the foods you have evolved to eat, as they are produced by nature, not a factory. That’s where credit card evolution comes in – we want instant food, instant weight loss, and instant results because we finally get tired of the way we feel and look. Our grandparents, if they didn’t have the money saved for something, put it on lay by, they didn’t expect instant gratification with retail therapy. If you need retail therapy, there is something just plain wrong with your life, but that’s for another blog on another day.

So why is then that your mum is do dumb? (You know that by mum I actually mean all of us, right? You got that bit?) Consider what happens when you put your hand on an old fashioned electric hot plate on the stove...it burns and there is an instantaneous response (even before you are aware of the pain) to pull your hand away. We are evolutionarily designed to avoid things that are dangerous to us. Why then, with our diet the way it has been for the last 40 – 50 years, do we keep putting our hand to the fire? Why do we keep repeating, over and over the same actions that hurt us?

For the most intelligent species on the planet we sure do dumb things. We repeat the same actions over and over and whilst it is obvious that they are dangerous to our health we repeat them, until all of a sudden we are 50kgs too heavy, have systemic failure and are on our way to an early grave.

If you have eaten the same way since becoming an adult, and you are getting heavier, have less energy, are getting sick, feeling drained, sleep badly, have feelings of depression and despondency, then why would you keep doing it? Are you stupid?

The answer is, in all likelihood, probably not. You’ve been conditioned to eat that way. By your mum, most likely. She served up what the TV told her was healthy, she listened to the experts tell her what was right to eat and how much and in what percentage. And for 60% of us, it’s just wrong, all wrong.

So if you want to know what to eat to become lean and smart again, and have healthier children with less chance of obesity related death (not even going to say the world illness, a lot of our kids are going to die because we killed them with our food choices), then you should go and have a meal at grandma’s house.

So, is it all mum’s fault? (Remember that for mum I mean all of us). No, and yes. No, because she was doing what she thought was right, what she was told by the experts was healthy for us, and mostly it wasn’t too far wrong, just in the important bits. Yes, because she made a choice to change her dietary habits from what grandma served up, the traditional meat and 3 vegetable dinners that were a staple of our earlier diets.

So, my advice for what it is worth, if you want to lose weight and be healthy? Stop being dumb. Stop repeating the same actions over and over that are doing everything but get you to where you want to be with your mind and body.

Just humour me and try to be smart about it would you? 

Why don't puppy dogs make New Years Resolutions?

At this time of year most us take a few moments in amongst all the hectic partying and end of year craziness to reflect on what sort of year it has been for us.

Whilst it is always good to be able to have a chance to reflect upon what we have done, and what we hope to achieve the following year, I always wonder why people need calendars to mark off their motivation.

We know the statistics on New Year's Resolutions - 97% of New Years Resolutions will be forgotten about by January 7. Actually, I just made that up, but it's probably close. We'll set a goal that is just too unrealistic, and not based on evidence that we can achieve it.

If you haven't already set up a habit of exercising on a regular basis and being mindful of your nutrition, what difference does a change in a calendar make? Why does next Monday or the start of a new month make any difference? If you are putting things off until then, or tomorrow, or when you have time to get around to it, I can tell you - it ain't gonna happen.

If your goal meant that much to you, you would already be putting steps into place to make it happen.

So don't set a goal for 2013 that is completely beyond your capacity to achieve. What do I mean?

If you haven't been able to 'make' time to exercise every day, and nothing will change in your work or personal life to allow that to happen, January 1 won't make a difference.

If you haven't realised by now that what you've been eating is killing you insidiously, there will be no epiphany on January 1 that will last any more than your hangover or the left over mince pies.

If you haven't by now worked out that the pain in your knee is not because you do too much on it, but you don't move enough, then January 1 will not make an iota of difference.

January 1 doesn't actually mean anything to the Universe. The earth rotates inexorably, never stopping for a moment to ensure that we're ready for the next phase of our life. We age constantly, we regenerate new cells every moment of our life. Waiting for a day in the future to make something amazing happen simply means we don't want amazing to happen enough.

Do it now, today, this very moment. Whatever it is you plan to start on January 1, make a start right now and put the wheels in motion. The Universe is not waiting for you to get your shit together!

So do yourself a favour and stop crapping on to yourself and everyone else about what your goals are going to be. If they meant anything to you, you'd already be doing them. Whatever you are doing now is what is most important to you. If you don't like what you are doing now, then stop doing that, and do something that you want to do. It's not that hard!

And the answer to the question? Why don't puppy dogs make New Years Resolutions? You tell me. If you haven't worked it out by now, you're probably going to make a New Years Resolution...

Why your goal of losing 5 kilograms is a terrible one!

I remember many years ago being told by a fellow Fitness Professional that the most common goals I would hear when speaking to prospective clients would be for them to, "Get fit, lose weight, tone up." He told me, correctly as it turns out, that those six words would haunt me over and over again.

He was right! One of my major frustrations as a coach and trainer is how the first and third of those goals are so bland and non specific to be almost meaningless, and the middle one is simply too specific!

Now before you all try and jump all over me, and no doubt someone will, I am ALWAYS advocating specficity of your goals. But there is a difference in being specific and being unrealistic and focussing on the wrong things.

We'll ignore the get fit and tone up goals for today, but suffice to say before you say that to a Fitness Professional you should consider extensions of those: Get fit for WHAT? Tone up compared to WHAT? As soon as you exercise if you haven't exercised for some time, you are going to get fitter. At what point do you reach your goal? As soon as you start exercising and doing some resistance work, and hopefully get some good nutrition going you are going to become leaner, and by definition you are 'toning' up. Is that where you stop? Of course not, you'd want to keep going

So why is wanting to lose 5 kilograms such a bad goal? For some people, losing 5 kilograms of bodyfat would be the perfect amount to lose, would see all of your body's organs and systems working in harmony and you'd be flying. Happy days!

But what is it about the number 5 that is so important? I have people come to me and say they would like to be 5 kgs lighter, when clearly another 20 would be life changing for them. Why do we limit ourselves to just 5? Would 6kgs or 9 be better? Or are you thinking about the wrong things?

There are a number of factors behind it I believe.

1. People are applying past peformance to future goals. They've been able to lose 5kgs before, and that is what they think they can achieve again. But one must ask the question, why do they have to lose 5kgs again, or in the first place?
2. A small goal is something that isn't too scary, even if they have no idea of whether they should lose more fat, or gain muscle, or being the same weight but being leaner would be more beneficial for them. 5kgs is achievable within a month if you get everything right. Will you commit to even one month of putting the right plans in place? If you're focussed and are ready to make it happen you will. If you deep down don't believe that you can do it, then you can train for a year and still not acheive that goal.
3. Their friends lost 5 kgs and they don't want to be left behind. Seriously, that may be why people want to lose that number! Why does what someone else achieves make any difference to your health?

So what am I on about this time?

It is almost impossible for the average punter to measure 5kgs of fat loss. You'll gain some muscle, you'll lose some fat, but what happens on the days when you jump on the scales after a great workout and you've gained? How much does that play with your mind? Makes you feel like giving up and that none of it is worth it. Go on, tell me that has never happened to you.

Our focus, your focus, my focus should be on health outcomes. Reducing body fat is a major part of improving your health outcomes, however thinking about a specific number of kilograms to lose, unless you are an elite athlete and know exactly what you need to weigh to compete, is just counterproductive to acheiving some even better goals.

Throw out the idea of 5kgs, for you own sense of self worth, your overall health and if nothing else, for MY sake!

Set some great goals, goals that will mean so much more to you than just focussing on your numerical relationship with gravity. So instead of focussing on losing 5 kilograms, focus on the goal that would be achievable if you achieved a leaner, healthier body.

So enough with the limiting self belief that 5kgs will make your life complete, and get about creating some amazing goals. You can dream better than that. You deserve it. But only you can make it happen.

End of rant!

Check out Krystle Vogler - one of the SUPERSTARS from the EFM LEANing Challenge - the pictures are only part of the story:

"Einstein once said “Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results.” Under his theory I was considered insane!

 I had been training consistently in the gym for over a year and although I could see growth in my muscles, my flabby tummy and hips were not shrinking like I had hoped. I kept telling myself “If I just run a little further or a little faster, then I will see results soon.” Don’t get me wrong, exercise is important and improving personal bests is very rewarding, but I knew deep down that I had to address my diet in order to achieve my goal of a flatter stomach.
...
That’s when my good friend Matt from EFM Health Clubs Geelong told me about the 30 Day EFM LEANing Challenge. I knew straight away that this was the guidance I needed to kick-start a new and healthy relationship with food.

When I started the challenge I will admit I was sceptical! The recipes were so delicious, I wondered how such yummy food was going to help me on my journey to a slimmer me! Let’s face it... most “diets” consist of boring and bland food. But on the LEANing Challenge the variety of foods was amazing and I never felt deprived or bored with what I was eating. In fact, I have discovered a wide variety of new and healthy foods to incorporate into my daily life. I now base my diet around the ingredients I used in the LEANing Challenge, experimenting with my own recipes, and continuing to use the ones in the plan.
 

 I feel blessed that I have had the opportunity to learn so much in such a short amount of time in regards to food! I can now pass these principles onto my children so they can establish healthy eating habits early in life and avoid the pain of being overweight that so many people experience.

The best day of the LEANing Challenge was the last day when I took my final measurements. I had lost almost 12cm from my hips! Aside from the changes to my waist line, I felt energized, my skin became clearer, and I gained a heck load of confidence in myself!

To anyone that is wondering if the 30 Day LEANing Challenge is for them... let me ask you this… Is being unhealthy and unhappy with the way you look working for you so far? I knew I deserved better! And so do you!" 

Kat!

Geez! You have no idea how hard it was to get this story in print, and when you read it you'll be wondering why it wasn't screamed from the top of the mountain.

Kat is Linc's partner, and Linc was kind enough to share his story a little while ago on this blog, about how he rose up from the dark days and fought his way to good health. I count Linc as one of my best friends. He may not always be around, but you know he's around, and judging from Kat's story, you can see that he was always around for her whilst she battled her own demons!

I'm honoured that Kat would share her story with us, as she doesn't really know me (yet), and I ask so much of people to give their story. Thank you Kat!

It was the first day of Prep. The class was sitting cross legged on the carpet, fidgeting, waiting for the teacher. I noticed a little girl sitting off to my left and thought she looked nice so I smiled at her lots when the teacher wasn’t looking. Smiling was a good way to make friends. The little girl already had a friend she was sitting with and both of them whispered behind their hands and pointed at me, all the while I’m grinning like a Cheshire. When the teacher had finished we got up off the floor and I gave a little wave to the girl and her friend approached. “Stop smiling at her, she doesn’t want to be your friend.” “Why?” I replied. “Because you’re fat.”

Kapow. The first, and certainly not the only time in my life when I was made blatantly aware of my physical shortcomings. Sure , we were 5 and the girl probably didn’t even really mean what she said, but it’s one of those profound moments that come back to haunt you during those moments of wallowing and grant you the permission to finish off the last two tim tams in the packet. After you’ve already eaten the other seven.

So, years go by, and the kg’s followed. By the time I was in my early twenties I’d entered the realm of three digits on the scales and subsequently gave up on any hope of ever wearing a pair of bathers that didn’t make me look like a Greco-Roman wrestler.

I dabbled in various fad diets in my time but my first real attempt at making a change about my weight came when I was asked to be part of the bridal party for my brother’s wedding. The change was driven by vanity, but hey, any motivation is good motivation. I gave my bingo wings one last jiggle in the mirror and hired myself a personal trainer. Ben was a dedicated and passionate sort and each week after flogging me in the gym he’d look so hopeful when I jumped on the scales, only to be bewildered that they’d barely moved a notch. For all the hard work I was putting in, I wasn’t getting very far. It would seem that the “rewards” I was treating myself to on the weekends were not conducive to any sort of weight loss progress. The wedding came and went (I just managed to pour myself into the bridesmaids dress) and I could no longer justify the expense of the personal training so that ended and with that came back the wads of fat (and some!) depositing themselves on every square inch of my frame.

It was around this time I met my partner and future father of my children. Together we wallowed in our fatness. I can probably count on one hand the amount of home cooked dinners we had in the first year together. I recall one trip to KFC when Linc handed $70 over for payment of our dinner then he turns to me and says, “Do you think that will be enough?” He was serious. As a heart attack. 

A new relationship should be a time for smiles and giddiness, which in most aspects it was, but I was carrying around some serious spare tyres. And it was making me deeply and wholly depressed and ashamed.  It was hard to smile when you spent the best part of your day pulling at your shirt to release it from between your fat rolls and expending energy thinking about how you can covertly sneak the one chair in the beer garden that your bum fits in.  I would even sometimes miss classes at Uni because I couldn’t find a park close enough to the room and it was too taxing to walk the long way and arrive late where I would almost pass out trying not to audibly huff and puff for the first ten minutes of the lecture.  It was so difficult to smile through the fat, but I did the best I could.

Then not too long after, a funny thing happened. My pants started getting looser.  Linc had begun riding his bike for exercise and was no longer as eager to eat out for every meal inadvertently causing a calorie deficit in my daily intake.  It was slow going, but I’d gone from a whopping, sweaty, 130kg to hovering around 110kgs all from small changes to my diet that I only really noticed in hindsight. 
It was November 2008 when I found out I was pregnant with my first daughter.  To say it was unexpected was an understatement.  I had been diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome in my early twenties and my GP at the time had informed me that I would find it very difficult to fall pregnant without medical intervention.  And here I was, up the duff!  I was ecstatic.  That same GP had put it down to the weight loss that probably enabled me to conceive.  The pregnancy was text book, and just like the all the movie clichés, I ate for two.  Well, closer to five, but you get the picture.  The day I gave birth I weighed in back around 130kg. 


Having a baby was like being hit by a Mack truck, repeatedly.  Then giving birth to it.  The first few months of motherhood were much the same.  But apparently being run over is good exercise, because by the time the Monster was 5 months old I saw the needle of the scales fall just shy of 100kgs.  Then something just clicked.  I hadn’t been double digits since the previous millennium.  I got religious real fast. 
Dear God, 


Please don’t let me crack a tonne again in my lifetime.

Cheers, Kat.

But, you know, just in case God was too busy with plagues of locusts; I toyed with the idea of giving the exercise thing a whirl.


I had limited experience in the world of working out, so Linc, the brave man he is, offered to give me a hand.  I still had a young baby at this stage and could only find time for a work out after she was in bed at night.  So, when I’d rather be on the couch with the remote and a block of choccy, I was slogging it out in our shed doing a range of crazy exercises that Linc had poached from his own gym.   There were many, many colourful words that circled in my brain whilst Linc barked at me to give him another ten, and on more than one occasion I had to stop myself from punching him in the face during a boxing session.  After another month, I had developed a sense of how to push myself and it was probably safer for Linc (and his nuts) if I carried on myself.  As much as I did not want to suit up and hit the shed for deadlifts and sumo squats, the feeling when I finished and the scales steadily declining made me swell inside.  Everything was becoming....  Lighter.

By April 2010 I was 85kgs and a size 14-16.  The shed work was beginning to get tedious.  I was beginning to have more rest days than not.  I needed to shake things up a bit.  I used to have dreams about running, and sometimes just out of the blue during my day, I would have this inexplicable urge to pound the pavement.  I’d never seriously tried it before so I don’t know where this pull was coming from.  I gave it a crack.  It was hard.  Everything wobbled.  In fact I’m pretty sure my bum was still wobbling 45 minutes after I stopped.  But, I persevered.  The first ten times I was sure I could taste blood.  My knees hurt.  I swallowed a bajillion flies.  Still I kept going.  Then, by the eleventh (or so) time it just got, well, good.  My brain didn’t have to tell my feet not to trip over themselves, my breathing was calm and even, and by the 2km mark a strange tingle ran through me like a mild electric current and I felt awesome.  So awesome I spontaneously tried to high five a runner going the other way.  I scared the shit out of him, but I didn’t care.  Wow.  Better than the 2 for $5 Cadbury family block special, for sure.  I signed up for my first fun run, a 6km.  Linc and the Monster came to cheer me on with my Dad.  I ran like a total unco, all arms and legs over that finish line, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.    

I trained hard after that run trying to build up my base to work towards a half marathon and dropped a few more kg’s.  I was starting to look like the way I felt – a runner.  Then, blow me down, two little pink lines told me I was pregnant with our second daughter. 

I had all these grand plans of being diligent with my diet, running throughout and coming out the other side a freakin’ Olympian.  Yeah, didn’t quite turn out that way.  I did run for the first trimester, but before long the morning sickness coupled with a firm recommendation from my obgyn to ease up on the high impact activities had me sidelined.  So, naturally, I reached for the things that had always comforted me, food.  And lots of it.  I was able to silence that angel on my shoulder telling me to ease up on the cheesecake and justify the devil on the other shoulder that kept reminding me, “You’re pregnant.  It’s not forever.  Go on, enjoy it!  Have another slice!”  The day I gave birth to the Grublet I was somewhere north of 110kgs.  So much for never going back over 100kgs!

As shattering as a wilful toddler and vampiric newborn were I was not comfortable in the fat suit that this pregnancy had left behind.  I was gagging to get out and run again.  At 8 weeks post partum I laced up the runners and headed out.  I shuffled about 500 metres before I realised just how much I had let myself go and was suddenly and violently aware of the road I was going to have to re-tread. 

New Years day 2012 and I weighed in at 100kgs and couldn’t run for more than 5 minutes at a time.  Today, after daily backyard circuit sessions whilst the kidlets sleep, I weigh in at 86 kgs (almost pre preggo weight!) and can run for 10 km with a smile on my face.  I still have a ways to go to reach my healthy weight range, but at this stage I am just enjoying being able to challenge my body in a way that I had never, in my whole fat life, thought possible.   

Would I change anything if I could go back 6 years and do it all again?  Probably not.  This whole, urgh, excuse me, “Journey” (thanks Biggest Loser for ruining that term for me!) has allowed me to make many mistakes and appreciate that anything worth doing is gonna take time, effort and language that would make my Grandmother blush.


Do I have advice for those of you who are looking to shake off the “obesity” statistic?  Plenty.  But nothing I say is going to lace up your kicks for you.  Somewhere under the XXL labels there’s a spark inside that will ignite your whole being if you’re brave enough to let it. 


Right now I’m training for a 15km event at the end of August.  That will be the longest distance I have attempted to date.  15km is a long way.  A long way from being sad and ashamed.  A long way from hiding in men’s clothes.  A long way from the big hair to weigh out the rest of my silhouette.  A long way from the anxiety of having to enter a room of strangers. 


A long way towards the future.

I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I do know that losing the 44 kilo monkey off my back makes it a helluva lot easier to take the steps toward it.  And that makes me smile.

What do you do when you hit rock bottom?

It's Friday, the day of the week that we've all been looking forward to to get through the week. Most of us will probably aim for a lazy day, and whilst you are doing that, this guy is out there having already smashed out his workout.

Today is not about how to exercise, or what to eat or trekking through a jungle. It's about another of my friends who hit rock bottom in their lives, but found a reason to push on through, taking one victory at a time, taking the smackdowns that life throws at us, but getting up time and time again, over and over, refusing to let the dark days win.

Enough said. Here it is, and thankyou to my great friend for sharing. Take from it what you will.

My story

Mum (Marg) and Father (Derek) divorced when I was 6 months old. Mum remarried when I was 2 years old to Ron, she died of cancer when I was 10. Ron took it hard; I have two half-sisters Rach and Sal. They were 6 and 4 respectively when mum died. Ron loved Mum; he nursed her till the end. He never got over her death. None of us have. I call Ron Dad.

I was mums Boy. She told me everything I need to know, she took me through every stage of her disease process. I even went to the crematorium and put my hand in the oven. I remember it was still warm and it still had ash left in it. She told me about the birds and the bees, she told me about her divorce.  She told me that she bought me a skateboard for my birthday because if she died, Ron may forget to give it to me because he will be busy with looking after us on his own, so she told me where it was so I wouldn’t feel sad.

Dad did well to raise his three kids, on his own. We all did well in school, had great jobs and were fit and healthy. I went to uni for 6 weeks, and then decided to work full time.

I partook in my first triathlon when I was 19, and by the time I was 20 I was assistant to the CEO of the large retail company I worked for. 

I saw a bong (pipe) at school when I was 15. It didn’t interest. I didn’t even smoke cigarettes. I binged on alcohol from the age of 16. My Dad didn’t know what a bong or weed was either.

I did eventually try weed when I was 18, the usual way. I was at a party and peer pressure was involved. I took a hit and loved it.  One toke and I hit the floor. It wasn’t long before I had a habit, built up a tolerance and became dependant. Within three years I was smoking 28+ grams a week. 

I loved weed at first. Weed meant I could control when I slept and it made me laugh, and the life of the party. It gave me a reason to get up in the morning. It made me no longer drink alcohol. What it also did was speed me up mentally, I mean real fast. Ideas galore, problem solve, clear thoughts and no depression. I was super human. I didn’t know I was meant to feel this good.  I’d smoke weed in the morning, at work, after work, before bed, in bed and on the toilet.

Than as soon as it took hold of my life it wrecked it. If weed made me feel so good, why not try other drugs like speed and trips, and pills. I never knew I could feel so low. I never did much of the other drugs. They were bad.

I became paranoid, and then confused then people around me were asking me weird questions like, “are you OK?” I wanted to give up weed and tried, but I relied on it physically and psychologically. I kept smoking, I lost my girl friend, all my friends other than “Pot heads,” I lost my family because I would avoid them like the plague, to avoid them seeing me like that and I lost hope. Then it happened. I lost my mind.

I can’t describe the feeling you get when you have enough insight into knowing you are losing your mind except to say – I was tormented to a point where I had no insight.

I had my first psychotic episode soon after I turned twenty one. The details of what I got up to are a story for another day.

My Dad and my Uncle Lou came to my rescue. I had frightened the shit out of Sally, due to my behaviour so she called them. I was arrested the night before, during my episode but got released in the care of my family.  Dad and Lou literally dragged me into the psychiatric facility for help the next day.  I was admitted, and stayed 10 days. In that time I was secluded, medicated, diagnosed and I commenced antipsychotic therapy. I was discharged as fast as I was treated and next thing I knew I was on to the street. I caught the bus home, to a locked house without keys, alone, medicated glad to be released but ashamed of what had happened and what I had become. I smashed a window to get inside my house to find the bong where I had left it.

The only “friends” I had were smokers (Drug uses), and I knew if I started smoking I wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want to smoke weed, I was made aware of the risks by the lovely nurse in hospital. I didn’t even want to smoke cigarettes.  I wanted to go back to the old me. So I got drunk, Jim Beam bottle after bottle, now I had friends and stories to tell. I took my meds, after a couple of weeks I got sober enough to go back to work. I was relieved of my assistant CEO role to work in the warehouse as my boss thought the stress was too much for me, he was right. I was ashamed of myself already; losing my job was a further kick in the butt.

I ended up doing well with my recovery; I did try weed again and relapsed 3 times over a period of 5 years before I got the notion I was not going to live if I kept smoking. I kept touching the flame and getting burnt. Similar psychotic symptoms soon arose each time I smoked. I never needed to be admitted, but I did require intervention regularly by the community mental health team for my drug use and depression.

I decided to become a nurse. A Div 2. I did. I did well with study.  I had been taking Lithium (Mood stabilizer) for five years. I had gained 45 kilos, most of which I gained in the first 3 months of my initial treatment. Alcohol, smoking and bad food choices were also to blame as well as my meds.

I never nursed when I finished the course. I felt I couldn’t look after anyone until I could look after myself, which I wasn’t doing. I thought I would get to know my natural father (Derek), I worked for him for a couple of years, I thought this may help repair my life, but that didn’t work. Dad (Ron) thought I was just wasting my time and my failed relationships on top of everything only left me wanting one thing. Weed, to stop the depression.

Something had to change. I got a job as a nurse, I was way out of my comfort zone, I worked for a few years, I struggled to sleep, I was fat, I would drink, eat and smoke cigarettes but I refrained from smoking weed. I started to meet new people and develop new friendships. I never told anyone about my past. I did tell my new employer about my current medication.

A few years past and I met Katherine. We were just mates. Kat has a story of her own. I told her mine. She was the first to hear it from my point of view. Our relationship grew into love and we moved in together. I decided to stop taking my meds. It wasn’t long before someone mentioned weed and you guessed it, I was hooked again - almost.

I was going to lose the girl that had supported me through some real crap and I was scared of losing my mind again. I took myself back to the Doctor and got help, again and started back on Lithium again.

So Lithium, no weed and I just had to put up with no sleep and the anxieties, depression and stigmas of mental illness along with poor physical health, smoke ciggies and try not to drink too much. My life was awesome- NOT!

I bought a bike, I used to ride. I’d ride to work, to Torquay from Geelong have a ciggie or three and a pie two cokes and ride home. I bought a bench press. I’d ride to Torquay and then do weights in the lounge.

People noticed. I started to feel better. Weird, I know. I was kicking my own ass. Kat joined in. I had the weight to lose; we started a contest with mates.  We both quit smoking ciggies, rarely drank alcohol and things were changing. I lost more weight and started to remember how I was when I first did that triathlon back in the day. Work was going well; I was super nurse and loved my role as a carer. I changed jobs a few times to suit myself and my nursing skills grew.

I decided to walk into a gym. I was just glad to get the weights out of the lounge and learn some new exercises. My physical health and my mental health were definitely on the mend. In 2007 Kat and I got engaged, I was 117.5 kilos and I had lost weight. I never cared before, so I never knew my heaviest, by 2009 I was 76 kilos and fit. We also had our first baby. Then I met Mat. Over the last three years Mat and I have talked about the past, the present and the future. In 2010 I went back to uni and I finish my course this year. In 2011 we had our second baby. I now have goals; one is to work within community health, another is to take my shirt off down at the beach. I carry scars not only physically, but mentally as well.

I’m 78 kilos, 10% body fat, I eat a strict bodybuilding diet, train 7 days, have been med free for 6 years, I don’t smoke anything and still need to pay for a Wedding.

I attribute my recovery to talking, getting help but most of all - Taking the first step.

BANG!! - NOW MY LIFE IS HUGELY AWESOME

Cheers Linc.