Proud.

It finally happened. On Friday, I had the graduation ceremony, conferring me with my PhD.

People ask me how it feels - it feels surreal. The work is ongoing - today I was in at work, entering data for another paper. My career in research is not over, only just starting. The postnominal PhD is lovely but immaterial to what I do, in a way.

Melbourne was putting on some spectacularly shitty rainy windy weather, after a hot one the day before. I worked in the morning, and in the afternoon, my sister came into town. We met at Jimmy Watson's for a celebratory beverage and snack. This nice fella greeted us at the door. I told him we were celebrating the conferring of my PhD that evening. He took my hand and took us to the bar, asked the bartender to get some glasses and pour little sips into the glass for us to toast. We sat to drink a proper glass or two, intermittently chatting with the regulars. My sister, reluctant to leave her baby too long, headed down back down to the Peninsula, and I went to the uni to don Regalia, and wander about for an hour before we were briefed as to the ceremony protocol. Thankfully it was a PhD-only ceremony, so it was good and short.

Soon enough, we had the ceremony. We proceeded into the hall to choristers singing in Latin. I had no idea what they were singing, but it was very stirring. Finally my name and doctoral citation was read out, and I managed to doff my bonnet and shake hands and doff my bonnet again appropriately. I watched everyone else come down after receiving their testamur - the all had proud smiles.

The occasional speech was given by Professor Suzanne Cory, an eminent molecular biologist. There is now a Selective-entry secondary school named after her, in Werribee, where I grew up. It is good to see that smart westie kids are being valued and given access to special opportunities. There was nothing like this when I was going to school, 20 years ago.

This was my view for much of the ceremony.

All the bonnets being looked down upon by Jesus. Wilson Hall is beautiful. This view gave me shivers down my spine.

After the ceremony, my supervisor, who joined the academic procession, met me for a photo

He and his wife came back to my place for some drinks (Veuve Cliquot) and food. I remember before I started the PhD somebody saying to me that PhD supervisors and their students have a very special relationship. I didn't believe it at the time, but I do now. This bloke above is a very important, benevolent and special person in my life, and has seen me through a lot through the last 5 years. He believed in me when I struggled to believe in myself. His patience, kindness and generosity has made me want to do him proud.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, I got up bright and early for Crossfit open 16.4 (you didn't think you'd come away without some xfit rantings, would you?). In a positively restrained fashion, I had only consumed 2 glasses of Veuve the previous evening and been to bed fairly early, so I felt fresh as a daisy.

The WOD was as follows

13 minutes AMRAP

• 55 deadlifts, 43kg
• 55 Wall Balls, 4 kg (Wall balls - squat to depth, come up, throw ball at 9 ft line, catch ball, squat to depth, repeat x55)
• 55 Calorie row
• 55 Hand release pushups (push-ups on toes)

I just about finished the row, so never got to challenge my push-up abilities. I don't think I have ever had such burn in my quads. I was happy that I gave it my best shot and worked steadily - 5 reps at a time. It bloody hurt - 55 reps of anything turns a strength workout into a bloody awful cardio/endurance workout.

There were some photos taken by a professional photographer. When I saw them, I have to admit I was horrified. I found them so unflattering. To paraphrase myself, I thought "I look so fat, I need to go on a diet". I promptly deleted all but one from my instagram feed.

I realised that I was being my own worst troll. I had a weekend celebrating the big things that I can do, that I never thought I'd be able to do, and I am getting upset about a few fat rolls. Exercise photos are never flattering, except if you are this guy. And here I am wearing actual lycra, which does a job but shows everything. I get around wearing lycra a lot, and rarely worry about how I look (if people don't like it, they can kiss my squat-enhanced arse). And I figure that any change to diet or exercise needs to come from a place of self respect and love, not self-castigation.

It's a terrible thing I do to myself. Hence I am gonna put my photos up here.

I am proud.

That might've been around rep 30. trying to keep my back active

Hittin' that rower after the wall balls. Legs were jelly

Owwwwwwwmyquaaaaaaaads!

A week in Byron Bay.

Howdy!

I am reluctantly thrust back into reality after a ripper week in Byron Bay.

#sorrynotsorry I don't have any photos in this post. Most of the cool things we did, it was impracticable to bring a phone and snap away. Also there's that thing about living your experiences rather than photographing them.

I did post many pictures of beer and food; these sitting down pics were at the times where I reflected on the good times I just had.

It was very much a week of letting shit go, and not giving a fuck. I had been fairly stressed prior to the trip with one thing or another, and am significantly less so now. A warm, subtropical, chilled-out beach town will do that to you.

I had been craving some time at the beach, and that craving was sated this holiday. Byron has some fabulous beaches, which I swam in daily. I showed off my bikini body - I have a body and I have a bikini, and I walked around in that bikini like a boss among the lithe 20 year old German backpackers.

We went sea kayaking on a glorious sunny day. There was a bit of "motion in the ocean" and mild seasickness ensued, however this was alleviated by seeing a pod of dolphins doing their dolphin thing, and getting up as close as 10 metres away. We had to retreat as the current towards the rocks was strong, but it was a very special experience. Kayaking with one's partner is a good bonding experience, if you can paddle without arguing too much that is a good sign.

I had known that Byron was a big surfie destination, and I was keen though a little scared to try. I had read all the reviews of the local surf schools saw that the newbie surfers had a blast. Hence I bit the bullet. The manageress of the B and B we stayed at suggested we went to a school called Style Surf, run by Gaz, who is something of a local institution. Hence we signed up. The next day, we got picked up and went to the beach. There were no waves. Gaz, calling the surf "piss poor", said that he wouldn't "steal our money" and sent us back home without charging us. We then went the next day, at a different location, and alas, there were waves.

We did some initial instruction on the sand. All good in theory - paddle, banana up, then get up really quickly into the appropriate standing position. Yep all good. In the water, however, it was a great deal harder.

Part of the issue is that I was a bit scared, the instructors sensed that. Mostly of the waves, of getting knocked over, of having a board whack me over the head, heck, of drowning. Or sharks. But mostly drowning.

I went out there, eyes toward the beach as instructed ("look down, fall down") and gave it my best crack. I stood up once for about a nanosecond, then went over. I fell over all the other times, into the drink. Some amazing acrobatics were performed into the water. Most of my energy was taken up dragging the board back out, and having the board whacked out of my hands by the waves repeatedly. I became comfortable with facing up to the big waves (only really a metre or so), with putting my head underwater, and with negotiating the currents.

I had a ripper time and after a couple of hours I was knackered. But I was proud of myself for giving it a crack and facing my fears and disregarding my ego. I will give it another go someday.

The other fantastic thing was meeting with all of the instructors, and learning that many of the stereotypes regarding surfies are true. You are addressed as "bro" (if you are a bloke) and "darlin" (if you are a blokette). They greet each other using the "ridgey didge", sign, which means "hang loose, bro". They are very funny and very friendly.

On the surfies' recommendation, we went out to the local pub that night, the more down at heel local one, ironically called the Railway hotel (there hasn't been a railway for some years). The drinks were cheap and cheerful, and the food was good and cheap. Best of all, there was a reggae band playing, which had everybody up on their feet, dancing, while the rain went down sideways outside. We met up with a few friendly travellers and had a whale of a night.

We did a bit of driving around the hinterland, and went to the cute little towns with the high-end stores and restaurants focussing on local produce.

We really did have a great time, and we will be back.

While I was having this good time, I let go of worrying about the future, if only for a little while. Some of the emails I sent out have been returned. We shall see where they head.

Such a pretty fat.

Sorry, you have probably this meme before.
I like it.

I am trying to win the battle in my head with poor self/body image. It's an ongoing one.

I try to walk past the mirror or and not criticise the reflection. I try not to cringe at a photo of myself. That automatic negativity, I call out and challenge.

Trying to reconcile self acceptance (not even love) with feeding myself good food and exercising (and seeing these as nourishment rather than punishment). I am getting there with that one. Certainly, when I exercise, I walk taller and feel powerful.

I try to make the best of what I have. I even put a bit of effort into my 'do today because I'm worth it.

That is just the battle in my head.

Not even the insidious and constant reinforcement from advertising that strokes the "you are not [insert adjective here] enough" gland.

But what about the people that you actually speak with?

Two examples recently

1. In a shop, I tried on a dress. It was not flattering so I didn't buy. I looked at another, said "nice dress". The (very thin) saleslady said "oh that dress is lovely on women with a fuller figure".

Befuddled, I walked out of the shop. I didn't really know what to make of that. But I don't think I will go in there again.

2. A few friends, thinner than I, complaining about their weight to me, and relaying weight loss wins.

I don't think either of them meant any harm.
And I won't call them out on it.

But I would like to propose a couple of blanket rules -

1. Sales staff should not make any judgements about a person's figure. A simple "that looks nice" is fine. Even if it is a lie. It's about moving stock off the floor, right?

Even "that looks nice, very slimming" gets up my nose a bit, to tell the truth.

2. Be careful who you share your own body image/weight issues with.


Weight is a fraught issue and body image so very easily shot to shit.
People should just drink a big cup of shut the fuck up, I say.

I work with people with significant obesity (we are not just talking 5 or 10kg) and I try to a. focus on the physical and mental health issues and b. (if it's a female) pay them a compliment or take an interest. On some level, I identify.


I like this song.

Cookin'. My new years' resolution.

I have been cooking like a demon in my new thermomix.

I have made a fig and ginger panforte to cut up and give as presents for friends and colleagues

I also made my first attempt at bread

I plan on actioning a pavlova for Christmas day.
I have also made lots of delicious breakfast smoothies.

I am feeling suitably "smug cow" - this is my culinary pinnacle, other than the megapav of 2012.

~*~

Most years, I make new year resolutions.
Mostly, they are about losing weight or some such.
I had promised myself a nice reward after some arbitrary weight was lost.
One reward was a Diane von Furstenburg dress. Maybe one like this...

And I never made that weight.
And I never got the DvF dress.
And it hung over my head.

It's elusive, that balance between being happy with ourselves, and the quest to be the best version of ourselves that we can be.

It really is a balance. It can't be all about self castigation and deferring pleasure till an arbitrary goal is reached. That will be a set-up for failure, as we all crave gratification.

I must strive, but I must honour myself at the same time, I have realised. More specifically, with regard to my body image, I can work and tighten and get fit but I am coming around to embracing what I was born with.

So my new years' resolution is to continue doing that.

And if I find a DvF dress I like, and I have the cash, I will jolly well buy it.

A few months ago, I caught a look at myself in underwear in the mirror. I thought "I don't know how anyone could find this attractive".

It really was the conscious crystallisation of many years of...well...loathing. That's a strong word but it is probably apt.

I pulled myself up then, thought "that's awful" and "that's enough".

So the other new years' resolution is to recognise and challenge those kind of thoughts.

After all, I see plenty of women who I think "wow, they are gorgeous" - they are only sometimes classically beautiful or a size 8. Usually they are striking, or particularly well turned out, or come across as very confident.

Why can't I make that of myself? Of course I can.

What have you baked lately?
What purchase do you lust after?

Couture Conundrums (A closet of clothes and not a thing to wear....)

Hi There and happy Monday to you.

It has been footy finals fever in Melbourne. All of the experts, myself included, come out of the woodwork. I went to a grand final party at a friend's flat in St. Kilda.

The weather was very Melbourne. The usually calm beaches on Port Philip Bay looked like surf beaches. At this time of the year, Melbs can only do glorious days occasionally.


I had hoped that Freo would win, as I love an underdog, but watching their kicking was rather frustrating.... in the end, the Hawks outplayed them.

And that is as much as I have to say about the footy.

On Friday, I went to the shopping centre to check out what is in fashion. I was prepared to splash some cash. The squally weather notwithstanding, I need to summerify my wardrobe.

I also need to inject a bit of colour - going through my wardrobe, there is a lot of black.

I have come to the conclusion that the shops, especially some of the bigger chains (you, Witchery) do not want my money.

There is lots of stuff for the petites (6-10) and a growing collection for 16 and above (this is great), but all of the in-between 12 to 14 styles run out the door, and I come a bit late to the party. I see lots of stuff I love, but my size has run out. Wahhhh.WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY MONEY, RETAILERS?

One sure way to put me in a bad mood is to take me jeans shopping. I often fly into a rage and sulk. Often my size is sold out. I am not comfortable getting a pair online, because I am scared they won't look right.

What I want at the moment is a pair of summer jeans,  in a nice mid-blue rinse.

Levis the bloom legging

The wearing and marks on the denim are not my cuppa tea. Perhaps the Wrangler ones?

Wrangler Twiggy

I've never tried Wrangler, and I don't know how they would sit.

The ones I really want are at Witchery, but they are sold out online (so I can't give you a picture) and hard to find in my size in store.

I would like a nude wedge (that sounds a bit dirty....) What do you think of these?

They are called Wine. They are from Wittner.

Until I find my perfect pair of jeans, and get my Wine Wedges, I will have to make do with what is in my wardrobe. I have some great pieces, but I struggle to style them nicely...


What should I put with this Binny Maxi (aka Nina) Skirt for a long summer afternoon.... a black singlet? Any other ideas?

What about this Gorman Skirt that I got on special a couple of months ago?

And, the biggest conundrum, what can I wear with these shoes? That don't make my legs look stumpy....Have been just doing skinny black jeans....

Come, style mavens.... do your thing. Nikki and Melissa....can you come play?


Do you have a jeans brand that you swear by? Good for bigbumbigthighsshortlegs?

Colonoscopy.

WARNING: Toilet Humour.

I have had a few symptoms that, while probably not dire in origin, I ought not ignore. Hence I wrote myself a referral to a surgeon to get them checked out.

I went there today. During potential thesis writing time. Practicing what I bloody well preach....

10 minutes with the Surgeon, no hand laid on me at all (in fact, very little eye contact), and bada boom bada bing "you need a colonoscopy and while you are under we may as well do a gastroscopy too, how is next Monday?"

"Uh, yeah.....I might need to see some of my own patients.....uhhh, probably can't. Nope, can't. Might have to shuffle them round.... yeah...."

Not long after that, out the door, my wallet being a great deal lighter. You may think that it is a bit rich that a doctor complains about another doctors fees, but the thought of lining the surgeon's pockets and keeping his kids in private school and him driving the latest prestige vehicle just gives me the warm fuzzies. What can I say?

Gastroscopy (camera down gob into gullet, stomach and first bit of small intestine) is a pretty straightforward matter. Fast, needle, asleep, awake 10 minutes later. I've had a couple before.

Colonoscopy - not so much. Why? You need to clear the colon out. Press ctrl-alt-delete on the bowel. Done with the aid of some industrial-strength laxative. Otherwise known in the biz as the bowel prep.

I have done this once before. It was rough stuff. Evil.
I once went to India and Nepal. I had stomach issues that were similar to the bowel prep. It was super-sonic shit. Pooping through the space-time continuum.

Not something that you want while working, obviously.

And after that a further outflow of cash.... money I had quarantined for holidays, up my bum. Literally.

Sigh.

Oh well - I am lucky to get it done quickly and get it out of the way, and any problem diagnosed. It is good that I have quick access to it.

The gastroscopy is being done because I am having a lot of reflux symptoms, despite medication. I realised as I was speaking to the surgeon that losing a bit off my tummy might help with the reflux. Not a particularly revolutionary realisation, but I suppose it strengthened my resolve about something I have had in the back or forefront of my mind for quite a number of years.

You see, I have a wine-belly-baby.
I need to work on this.
I need to really, really reconsider most of the extras that go into my mouth. Especially the wine.
Again, to practice what I preach.
And that might be a good segway into a body image post - one that I have been thinking up for a while.