back up blog

On Sunday afternoon I wondered what, exactly, the repercussions of public nudity might be. I stood in a field of yellow rape seed , bared shoulders shrouded by a floor-length kimono that was a gift from my father to Mama Janie about twenty years ago, after a business trip to Japan. He was always going to Japan on business, my dad. I was *almost* ready to drop it -- but, I think you can get arrested for public indecency, can’t you? I wondered what I would do if I happened across an unclothed twenty-seven year old in the bushes. I don’t know if I’d laugh, or cry. I loosened the fabric around my shoulders and listened to the voice behind the camera. ‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘And now let it fall a little to reveal your sides. Yup – just like that. Perfect. And a little more…?’ I shuddered against the cold and let the gown disappear towards the soil. And just like that I was naked in the Cambridge countryside, nothing but a sultry gaze and an icy breeze adorning my frame. Project #strongandse...

When I said that I wanted to shed 38 pounds and train for a 10k race , it was so that I could reclaim my body -- how I relate to my form, how I feel about myself. I declared want for STRONG and SEXY, because after finding myself on the obese section of my doctor’s BMI chart, I realised, with the kind of startling clarity that stings at the eyes and aches the throat, that I was treating my body like utter shite. And, suddenly, that was not okay. I wasn’t even sure if I liked my body any more. If I did, surely I’d be treating it better than scoffing enough calories a day to balloon to a UK dress size 16. Eleven and a half weeks ago I weighed 181 pounds – 12 stones 9lbs, or 82+ kilos. Today I weigh 145 pounds: 5 pounds off of my target weight, and a healthy BMI, but 35 pounds better off than I was. Last weekend I tried on a series of size 8-10 clothes and squealed at the tightness of my waist, the gentle slope of my hips. I got changed in front of my bedroom mirror – the same mirror where...

‘Oh right, yeah – you’re the blogger, right?’ he said to me. I hate that question. I often don’t like meeting people, boys, (men), when I know they’ve read this here blog, because it’s so easy to make snap judgements on what I’m about. I do, after all, say the word “vagina” a lot, and have a whole section dedicated to my poop stories . The bright pink box in the sidebar that says “I’m fat! (and still get laid)” means you’d be forgiven if thoughts inclined a particular, southerly, way. I try not to mention what I write about, if I can – not when I first meet someone (men). I nodded with a Joey Potter half smile. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’s me.’ I did an awkward chortle. ‘Not sure if I can look you in the eye if you’ve been through my archives , though.’ This guy probably thought me ridiculous. A second chap, the one who organised everything, chimed in as he threw a ball up and down. Up, catch. Up, catch. Up, catch. ‘I read your blog too. Vagina and all that, innit?’ I opened my mouth to res...

Last week I kissed a stranger on camera for a national newspaper. I’d freaked out when I saw the original video of 20 strangers kissing for the first time , spread like wildfire as it did across the Internet. I posted it to my Facebook and declared: I AM NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT THAT I WATCHED THIS THREE TIMES OVER BREAKFAST AND THEN TWICE ON THE WAY TO WORK! I was mad for it. When a friend Tweeted, ‘Am I the only one who just doesn’t get that YouTube vid?’ I responded heartily, Yes! because, to me, introducing yourself to a stranger with the full knowledge you’re about to kiss – one of the most lovely, intimate, special things two human beings can do – is the pinnacle of everything it is to be awkward, risk-taking, and honest. It just got me really excited – even after it was revealed the video was actually a marketing ploy by a fashion label. (That explained why everyone was so goddamn beautiful, then.) When a friend told me national newspaper The Sun were looking for volunteers – real,...

I haven’t had sex in 13 months. I feel creatively unfulfilled, and painfully aware that I am radically under-utilising my potential pretty much everyday. I’ve reduced my social life by 95% in order to focus on my mental and physical health . I spend my time outside of work with my 3 housemates, my brother, and my best friend, and my days are: work, train, eat, write, sleep. A rollercoaster ride of excitement I am not. The last time I stayed up past 11p.m. was in 2013. I’m still waiting to hear back from graduate school , to know if I have a funded place to move to America and get my Master’s degree come the autumn. I feel as though my entire future is on hold, and until I get that letter, even if the news is not good, I am hanging in a limbo of uncertainty. I live in a single room in zone 3 of London and commute two hours a day to save money for a life I may not get to live. I am frustrated and bored and impotent to do anything but continue waiting. My high fat-burning diet means I am ...

The opening notes of Fame came up into my ears as my first steps out into the cold began. I’d fuelled up on protein, taken a pre-run poop, and wrapped up in my wooly hat and mittens. I was ready to kick running’s ass. Baby look at me, and tell me what you see, you ain’t seen the best of me yet… I turned to my running partner, mouthing the words dramatically. We had five minutes of warming up to do before breaking into a jog, and so? And so I danced. Likely misguidedly, I feel totally hot in my work out clothes. There’s something about the endorphins when I’m exercising, how good it feels to use my body , how my Lycra pants remind me of my most womanly curves. Add in a pumping soundtrack and the generally elevated mood I find myself in of late (radical self love is good to you like that), and I started to Billy Elliott the fuck out of the street – even though, as we’ve established before , I ain’t no Beyonce. It made Amy, my running partner, laugh, and so I played to my audience. We san...

Last week I took photographs of myself in my underwear. I uploaded them to my computer, pulled similar ones from a month ago up beside them, and flicked back and forth between them, over and over again. Fucking hell, I thought to myself. Fuck-ing-hell. In pursuing a healthier lifestyle – one that dedicates as much time to a healthy body as I do a healthy mind, heart, and soul – I’ve lost 15.2 pounds so far. I feel amazing. I went to the supermarket to hold seven bags of sugar in my arms to illustrate that weight, and it astounds me that I’ve been lugging that around -- literally having it drag me down. I’m physically altered enough already to enjoy running three times a week now – I feel elegant and free. I’m bending and twisting and stretching and marvelling at what my body can do in a weekly yoga class. I’m catching glimpses of myself in the mirror and thinking, Oh, she’s pretty, because I seem so alive. Using my body in these new, different ways makes me feel like the most beauti...