Frankston

Monday's exercise: completed!

Today was just fantastic. I traveled 50 minutes via train and bus to get to my new uni campus. I had my uniform fitting which lasted all of 15 minutes. I just can't wait to get my hands on my stylish navy blue jumpsuit with alluring reflector panels and my bloodstone work boots! Rafael Nadal will fall at my feet when he sees me dressed like that. The best part was waiting 25 minutes for a bus then sitting on the train for another 50minute trip home. 

Today the universe, in the form of public transport in Frankston, was screaming at me, "GET YOUR DAMN LICENCE!"

Universe, I am compelled to agree.

There is very little about Frankston Railway Station that is pleasant. Highlights from today included seeing an anorexic looking teenage girl board a train her a pit bull, the irony was both delightful, puzzling and horrifying. The police were about and a young man was trying to get out of his fare evasion fine by telling the officers about the brawl he was in last night. Interesting tactic. The very drug affected looking mother, who looked no older than 21, carrying her tiny little baby was the part where I stopped judging and started being thankful. 

A large part of me wanted to kidnap the baby and take it home. It reminded me that I did nothing to deserve being born to parents who planned for me, loved me and had the means and support to nurture me than that little baby did to be born to a very young, very addicted mum. That child will face challenges that I can't properly comprehend. She or he will have to work really hard to have a chance at receiving half the opportunities I have had available to me. The chances of 'falling in with the wrong crowd' for that child will be so much higher than it was for me. Plus, what the 'wrong crowd' would be getting up to in Frankston would be so much more serious than the 'wrong crowd' naughty private school kids I came across. The difference would be between visits to the local Magistrates' Court rather than the Principal's office. 

Each time I've been to Frankston the reality of how sheltered my life has been hits me, as well as how lucky I am to be able to board the train, fall asleep, wake up 45 minutes later and stroll off into the leafy suburbs again. My family have had their ups and downs financially, which has meant that my siblings and I have been made aware of the work that goes into providing things like a nice house, music lessons or a sound education. We are not what most people I know would consider 'rich' but going to Frankston reminds me just how relative that kind of terminology is. 

I think we can sometimes get caught only looking up at the next bracket above where we are. Whether that is in our career, social standing, educationally, musically or athletically. Most of us have a fair idea how far away we are from moving up a 'level' in life and Frankston reminds me that sometimes we ought to look at the gap between the level we are currently at and the one below it and be grateful.

Pump it, peanut butter cup!

I had a bit of a lazy week this week after my holiday. This week has to be productive, so I'll share my plan with you in order to increase the accountability factor.

To do list:

- book uni medical and fitness assessment

- make doctor's appointment to gather my vaccination records

- locate 'baby book' vaccination information

- force my resume upon every business owner in the local area

- return outstanding forms to St John Ambulance

Exercise schedule:

Monday: 6.30pm Pump, 30 min cardio

Tuesday: 9am Abs, 9.30am Attack, full stretch

Wednesday: 9.30am Pump, 10.30am Step

Thursday: 9.30am RPM, full stretch, 6.30pm Boxing 

*subject to timetable change for public holiday*

Friday: 10.30am Attack, full stretch

Saturday: 8.30am Pump

The exercise schedule might seem a bit nuts but I had a pretty lazy week in the gym this week. I have always enjoyed exercising and a standard week for me involves 4-6 gym sessions, though this week I only managed 3. I love feeling fit, strong and flexible. I like working really hard and pushing through pain for the endorphin rush after I'm finished. Sport is great, I love learning and improving new skills and, of course, winning. The happy exercise hormones help keep me mentally healthy and without regular, strenuous exercise, my mood plummets. These days, like a lot of people, I basically use exercise as a substitute for therapy. 

Also, I need to pass a physical fitness test in order to be able to go on placement for uni so I'm trying to get as fit, strong and flexible as I can be. The test is an Ambulance Victoria requirement. I will have to do push-ups, sit-ups, ride an exercise bike, the 'sit and reach' flexibility test and have skin fold measurements taken. You receive a score out of 5 for each activity, it doesn't matter if you fail an individual component as long as you get at least 13pts over all and score at least 3/5 in either the push-up or sit-up tests. 

The idea of someone coming at me with body-fat calipers makes my skin crawl. I thought once I finished compulsory high school P.E. that I wouldn't have to face this kind of physical assessment ever again. Wrong. I really loved P.E. overall, but like many, I hated anything that involved someone who didn't really need to know weighing me. 

It's such a bizarre thing, that number on the scales. One day I hope to be the kind of person who truly doesn't feel that that number is of any particular significance. I don't want to be the kind of person who invests a large amount of self-worth in that number and is only too happy to tell the whole world how small that number is or who is completely destroyed by how great its magnitude may be. I would love to meet a person, in particular a woman, who honestly does not place any microscopic particle of self-worth on what they weigh. It's a pretty sad world where our social commodity as human beings, particularly for women, is valued against our size. That being said, I don't think social acceptance of greater bodily diversity should used as an excuse for people not to take care of their health. 

I will report each day today whether I kept to my schedule!

On an unrelated note, all day I have been thinking about these... 

Two of my most favourite things, peanut butter and chocolate. Thankfully for my health, they are not too readily available in Australia!

Have a lovely week, wonderful readers =)

Cougar territory

The prodigal cat is settling in nicely, she's beautiful and so affectionate. My brother didn't make many runs today, but there will be other days. He's gone to Adelaide to watch the test match. 

Days like today remind me that I'm going to have to make my life far more interesting if I'm going to keep up this blogging everyday business. My job hunting will step up into serious mode tomorrow. I have my uniform fitting on Monday and that gear will set me back about $550. Then there are books and equipment which will easily total over a grand. Oh uni, oh reality. My period of retirement is over and as Dr Phil says, "When you're unemployed, your full time job is finding a job." 

I also have to work out whether I want to go on first year camp... On one hand, it could be really fun and there might be a hot, male, 18 year old physio student in  need of 'advice' regarding adapting to university life (everyone needs one of those, right?)

On the other hand, it will predominantly be 18 and 19 year olds... That beautiful age where all of a sudden the little munchkins have way more legal privileges than common sense. I really enjoy that I no longer have to hold my friends' hair out of the way of a toilet bowl every time they lay eyes on something mildly alcoholic. Also, there will be ones who are young for their year, like I was back in the day, who won't be 18 yet... (Note to self: if you decide in favour of attending first year camp, be sure to ask for proof of age from anyone you look like "befriending" before you "befriend" them). 

Oh the joys of being a non-year 12 entry first year! I'm not even that old. I'm 2.5 months too young to be officially 'mature age' and I'll be the same vintage as the kids who started school when they were 6 and took a gap year. So it's not so much my biological age, but the fact that I'm mentally 65. I should just turn up at uni wearing slacks, pearls and a cardigan.