Me Versus Me

Exercise and I have never been close bedfellows. I spent most of my P.E. lessons at school sneaking off with to loiter on benches in the woods during cross country, making fart noises from the sidelines as the other girls scissored over the high jump bar, or – on one occasion – getting sent home for sort-of-inadvertently throwing a javelin in the general direction of our Mrs. Trunchbull-esque, obese, teacher, after she failed to respond to my requests to demonstrate a suitable overarm technique.

And things didn't really improve from there. I think it's safe to say that sport at my school wasn't a particular priority; we were allowed to spend our GCSE year either doing sport or getting changed into jeans (a true thrill for a 16 year old girl trying to get attention from the local acne-covered talent) and heading to the bowling alley up the road to fling the balls down as quick as we could before congregating at the local McDonalds. Ah, the heady days before Jamie Oliver lisped himself into a frenzy, when it was perfectly acceptable that our school canteen stopped selling home cooked meals and turned swiftly into a (undoubtedly horsemeat-laden) burger bar.

At the time, I really didn't care that sport was such an inconvenience; something that had never interested me; a time to muck about or to try every excuse in the book to get out of wearing our lampshade-esque P.E. skirt. You know the ones – 22 inch waist standard that cut you in half as you struggled with crippling puppy-fat issues, royal blue pleat, with matching sports knickers that would give you thrush if you so much as looked at them.

But as a grown up (supposedly), I look back wistfully and wish that sport was something I'd really been able to get my teeth into, or just that I'd recognised that sport has a valuable part to play in your development and your physical and mental wellbeing. My adult relationship with sport has been one which in human terms would be a disaster; sport needs consistency, regular attention, and commitment. I'm flaky, unavailable, and a total commitmentphobe.

 

I tend to exercise when I hit the point of despair. When I've put on half a stone and decide to undertake a – usually short-lived and suitably pointless – diet. I get the old exercise DVDs out, or maybe go for a couple of runs. When I don't see instant results, I get bored and give up, convincing myself that my 20s are supposed to be a time for debauchery, and reminding myself of the endless quotes I've read from actresses in magazines who are 'just so much more confident' in their own skin their 30s.

It would be easy at this point to just give up on exercise. 'It's not you, it's me.' I could say, shrugging my shoulders and deciding to come to terms with a life of struggling up flights of stairs and bemoaning my muffin tops and bingo wings in the tone of someone who has already been defeated in the body battle. But balls to that.

I was thinking long and hard about exercise recently, and my own attitude to it. As with most uncomfortable topics, when people talk to me about exercise, I give a self-depricating, jokey response. I talk about how I make all these plans to get fit then sack them off for tri-weekly pub visits because I'm 'hopeless'. But then I realised that getting out there and doing something active isn't about your attitude to exercise; it's about your attitude – full stop.

In the other parts of my life, I'm determined, ambitious, strong, resourceful, and organised. I set myself professional goals that I know will be a stretch because – as I always say in job interviews – I relish a challenge. I generally work consistently hard to achieve – and ideally overachieve – because I want to prove that I can grow into my role, to gain gravitas, to constantly learn from my experiences and to use these lessons to reach my goals. I evaluate my progress, I think about new ways I can develop myself, I welcome constructive feedback, and I deal with the mistakes and the blows with maturity – because any other way is futile.

 

So I got to thinking; why would I let there be a discrepency between my atttitude to life and my attitude to being active? Setting out to get fit or achieve a fitness goal is no different to setting out to reach a career goal, and it uses all of the same skills – ones I incite regularly during office hours. And I decided, enough is enough. I have the great fortune of working with some of the most successful women in the country on a daily basis, and I'm damn well willing to bet that they didn't get to where they are today by giving up at the first hurdle – pun fully intended – but by pushing on through the uncomfortable parts, dusting themselves off after a fall and getting straight back out there for round two. Even when the doubts creep in.

So here I am; a big ball of determination and plain stubbornness, refusing to be defeated by my own self-doubt, shunning my commitment phobia, and giving laziness the finger. I have a place in the Royal Parks Half Marathon in October and a pretty big fundraising target for the incredible charity I have the great privilege of working for (insert cheeky Just Giving page plug here).

I also had the great pleasure of cheerleading at the London Marathon today; 6 hours of whooping, cheering, screaming, and blowing a whistle to help tens of thousands of people achieve the goal they'd spent a year of long, cold, nights and sweaty Saturday mornings training for. Giving up hundreds of hours in the process, and raising hundreds of thousands of pounds between them.

As I watched the raw emotion on the faces of those at mile 21, some crying in pain, some grinning as we called their name, others relieved as they spotted a loved one and stopped for a much-needed sweaty hug, I felt truly thrilled. Thrilled to be a part of something so special and awe-inspiring, but thrilled because I knew that if all of these ordinary people could achieve something amazing, I could too.

So in the words of Monica Gellar; 'Stay out of it; this is between me….and ME'.

BRING. IT. ON.

PS – all inspiration welcome; whether books, blogs, personal anecdotes or training tips. What gets (and keeps) you moving?!

 

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Lemon and poppy seed yoghurt muffins

So here we are; spring has sprung! The cherry blossoms are out, the daffodils are saluting the sunshine, and we’ve had the few heady days of sunshine that will undoubtedly be reffered to fondly in hindsight as  ‘summer 2012′.

For me, the spring breeze blows away the cobwebs of winter and draws in the light; light clothing, light colours,  light food, and fluffy-like-a-cloud light cakes.

Gone are my darkest cravings for deep, dark, decadent chocolate cakes (we’ll see how long that lasts) and in comes the wish for something of a more delicate persuasion.

Now I don’t need much excuse to bring out the citrus fruits – in this case, an insanely cheap load of lemons from a local market, and a fancy for a breakfast treat. These muffins are just ideal with a morning tea or coffee; they’re light, yet moist, and not too naughty on the calories either. With yoghurt and lemon in them, I daresay they’re one of your five a day (ahem). At least.

The great thing about these is that they’re so easy you could practically do them while you’re asleep – which is what I usually am for the first two waking hours of every day. Perfect!

Makes 16

Ingredients

• 260g flour
• 150g caster sugar
• 25g poppy seeds
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp bicarb
• 2 eggs
• 300g low fat natural yoghurt (full fat is fine too!)
• 100ml vegetable oil
• juice of 2 lemons, zest of one

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees/gas mark 6. Line muffin tins with baking cases.
2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, sugar, seeds, baking powder and bicarbonate of soda
3. In a separate bowl, combine the eggs, yoghurt, vegetable oil, zest and juice of the lemons.
4. Mix the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until thoroughly combined using an electric whisk or a wooden spoon (and a bit of elbow grease!)
5. Spoon into the muffin cases until only just over half full, and bake in the pre-heated oven for 18-20 minutes until golden and springy.

Glorious game pie

I won’t flatter myself enough to think that anyone’s noticed my lack of posting recently, but the reason for the slow-down has been pretty simple; I’m exhausted! Starting a new job is always tiring – there’s always so much to learn, and usually at breakneck speed. Thankfully the job is fantastic and I’m really enjoying it, but it’s safe to say that most evenings, I’ve been getting through the door and becoming at one with the sofa

Weekends are when I’d usually blog, but of course,  with a huge city like London just waiting to be explored, we haven’t felt much like staying indoors. We’ve been checking out some of the fabulous galleries, pubs, foodie haunts and markets – and I have to say, I’m loving it. I’ve been dying to share some of our finds.

A couple of weeks back we decided to check out a real London foodie favourite; Borough Market. And boy was I glad we did.

This bustling bazaar is packed to the rafters every weekend with locals, tourists and long-lenses snapping away at the tempting tables. It’s not hard to see why; from high-quality cuts of everything from Oxtail to Ostrich, to rich, moudly cheeses strong enough to wake the dead, and from huge, perfect loaves to stacks of pots filled with every condiment, preserve and pickle you could ever wish to lay your hands on – this place has it all.

We went in empty-handed, preparing to save our money to go out for a meal that night. Needless to say, that meal never happened; we pooled our cash into splurging on a host of luxurious treats we’d otherwise never dream of buying. It was endlessly thrilling to be able to waltz over to a stall of decadent delights and walk away clutching some to take home, rather than looking back wistfully.

Favourite buys were some wonderful freshly-made harissa from a Moroccan stall with chefs on-hand cooking up tempting take-away treats, some ‘wow wow’ mustard to knock your socks off, English muffins big enough for a small child to sleep on, and a gorgeous slice of cake with quite possibly the best frosting I’ve ever tasted. We also decided to go all out red meat – not something we eat too often – and bought a mixed pack of game; rabbit, venison, and pheasant, with a view to making a gloriously gluttonous pie.

We stumbled across a fantastic pastry recipe purely by the accident of running low on plain flour; by mixing plain flour and bread flour we ended up with a wonderfully crisp, yet still light, golden crust.

Makes 4 hearty servings fit for a winter’s day

Ingredients

For the filling

• 500g mixed game
• 1 medium sweet potato
• 1 large onion
• 2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 1 tbsp corn flour
• 1 glug of red wine (optional, but highly recommended)
• 1 tbsp harissa
• 1 beef stock cube
• 225ml water

For the pastry

• 150g plain flour
• 150g strong white bread flour
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/4 tsp baking powder
• 150g unsalted butter
• 70 ml cold water
• 1 egg (to egg wash the pie)

Method

For the filling

1. Chop up the onions into medium sized chunks,  and add them to a large saucepan with the olive oil. Brown the meat on a medium-high heat for around 2-3 minutes, before turning down the heat, adding the garlic and cooking for another couple of minutes.
2. Mix the stock cube with 225ml water (or use fresh stock if you’re lucky enough to have it) and add it to the pan with a good glug of red wine and the table spoon of harissa.
3. Continue to simmer for at least an hour and a half, preferably two hours, to ensure the meat is really tender and all of the flavours have blended beautifully. Check after an hour, and sprinkle in the corn flour if the mixture needs thickening, or add a little water if it looks dry. While it’s cooking, make your pastry.

For the pastry

1. Mix together the dry ingredients in a food processor (or a bowl if doing by hand).
2. Chop the butter into small pieces and whizz or rub together.
3. Add the water a little at a time until the mixture comes together into a ball.
4. Wrap in cling film and chill for 30 minutes before using.
5. Roll out just over a third of your pastry and line your pie tin (we used a loose-bottomed 20cm cake tin). Roll out another third to make the sides of your pie, and then the final third to make your lid.

For the pie

Season your mixture well and remove from the heat. Gently spoon the mixture into the pastry case, top with the lid (remembering to pop a couple of small holes in the top), and splosh over your egg wash to give a lovely golden bake.

If you like, you can get creative and make a little pie topper, use a fork to seal the edges, or even do some fancy twists or crimping. I just happened to have a reindeer cookie cutter that seemed very apt!

Finally, bake in the oven at 180 degrees/gas mark 4 for 40 minutes, or until the pastry is golden and crisp. Serve with a red wine gravy, mash, and some tasty greens for a luxurious treat that’ll warm up even the coldest of winter days.