Shopping. Cardio. Necessity.

It's absolutely no secret. The thing that gets my blood pumping is shopping. New clothes are my crack cocaine. With a quick coffee as my per-workout, I'm ready to hit my gym. I take the stairs instead of the lift. I start at one end, and work my way around, sort of like a circuit.  Bending, stretching, grabbing, lifting. The 6 items I lug around are my weights. The fitting rooms, and desperate attempts at fitting into a smaller size are my work out. The ridiculously bright lights are my steam rooms, tiny beads of sweat make the faintest of appearances. The decisions on what stays and belongs in my closet, are my discipline lesson. Sort of like reading the food labels. Too many carbs and calories vs bazinga! My purchases are my achievements, personal bests, and post workout buzzes. Looking amazing in them is my reward for a sesh well done.

I do all this, because this is my self given sense of worthiness. Big girls in this world need all the help they can get to look like they fit in. Fashion does this for me. I need clothing in my life, not to cover up, but to hide. To hide my flaws. Yes my scarf is amazing, it draws the eye down. Yes the skirt is figure hugging, it makes me feel great, and care less about my legs. I may not physically look like I fell off the cover of vogue, but I dress the part. Well I try to.
This is what a sizable part of my journey is about. Being able to completely senselessly indulge my hunger for new threads. I want to wear short shorts, skinny trousers and fitted blazers, mesh insert tops, tiny bandage dresses, sky scraper high heels (without them killing me after 30min), tank tops without covering my arms. Sheesh, the list is quite long. I want to walk into Top Shop, YDE, and Zara, and just pull my hearts desire from a rack. No size fussing, or heart sinking, or silent prayers for my jaw to be wired shut in my sleep. 
I have thankfully stopped shopping for when I lose weight. I have an entire closet of one day items. Idiot. That money could have been FAR better spent on a Mani. It was however the making of my greatest goal. I want to wear every single thing I have held onto for some of which close on 6 years. (Yikes. If only I had this level of motivation then.) I want to walk tall, feel unashamedly gorgeous, turn heads, and be completely spoilt for choice. I'm getting there, and I will taste victory.
My next cardio session is scheduled for today. The goal is to find smaller work trousers, because mine are clawing at the hip bone to stay on. *Air punch*. I may or may not stop there, but as long as I get some kind of fix I'll be satisfied. Retail therapy? No darling, retail necessity.

A place to write, confuse, and amuse.

So today I sit here (after having read too much Eat Pray Love, with nails too long for my own good), I realise that I am fueled by a need to let it all hang out. A need to tell stories, be a dork, and not a give a damn. Where better to do that than with a swanky new blog? It's like my very own clean slate, blank page, canvas, all of the above. A place to write, confuse, and amuse.

With that, I would like to announce that I am not entirely fit, this is something that is "under construction". I am however a double dose of rockstar fabulousness. No really. I am an all or nothing, former queen of cocktail, and current full time work and shopaholic, who loses track of the plot, as I stumble from fitting room, to fitting room.

I do not want this to be a fitness blog, but I do wish for it to be a place for me to share my journey, and maybe help *you dear reader* in an en-devour to make the treadmill your bitch. One step at a time. See what i did there? To be completely honest, I am almost the furthest thing from a small framed gym bunny. I am as big as I am bold.

I'm a Paleoist, a motivator, a wannabe gym thrasher, and a big dreamer.

I dream of tiny dresses, tighter tops, and higher heels. This will be a collection of my musings, and my hopefully effortless struggle to get into them.

I have no idea what this blog will include yet, it may be recipes, new tattoo's, talks about goals, retrospective self discussions, kicks up the bum. Who knows? The need to let it all hang out may pass. If I'm lucky it'll stick around, and let me freely share the little misadventures of my life.