Weight Loss Tea: Does It Really Work?

Wha gwan fancy faces? Hope you're all enjoying the end of summer and living your best lives in this bitch (aka getting hype for carnival after Rihanna did a worldwide snatching of every wig available).

Two weeks ago I announced on my Snapchat that I would be partaking in an experiment -a weight loss experiment. I was gonna swallow my scrutiny and actually give one of those weight loss teas a go to see if the shit actually worked. If it did then I would have the pleasure of recommending it to you so you could get your skinny bitch on too, and if it didn’t I WOULD RUN MY FUCKING MOUTH LIKE I ALWAYS DO!

Weight loss tea is a hype that we’ve seen all over Instagram via sponsored #BodyGoals celebrity endorsements –and you should always trust the words of someone paid to promote something –from Fit Tea to Flat Tummy Tea. I didn’t go for either of those because I don’t really trust the words of an already skinny person telling me that they got skinny from the tea they are paid to tell me they got skinny from, when what they really have is high metabolism/surgery money/top flight personal trainer money. Nope, my intelligent ass trusts what I can see with my own eyes, and what my eyes saw was one of my girls lose a fuck load of weight (she went from a size 16-18 to a size 12 in just over a year) and attribute some of her success (she goes to the gym five days a week...she is goals) to some shit call BooTea.

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My friend advised me that this shit was on the pricey side and that it was best to buy it when Holland and Barretts were doing a special deal on it. So that’s what the fuck I did one day whilst wandering around Southside on my lunch break. There it was in the window of Holland and Barretts, with a big sign ‘SPECIAL OFFER’, and you lot know I love me a sale…not that I’d really call this shit a sale but I’d just got paid so I was feeling expensive. The offer was two boxes of the 14 day BooTea teatox for £40 (an individual box is a whole £24.99) or two boxes of the 28 day teatox for £50 (an individual box is £36). Fam...it's fucking TEA! I was inclined to buy the two 28 day boxes for just £10 more, but my cynicism pulled up on me like, ‘Bitch, what if this shit don’t work? You better buy them 14 day boxes for £40, 'cause if the shit don’t work after two mudda foggin' weeks it ain't gonna work after a mudda foggin' month!’ I agreed with my cynicism. Worst case scenario was that if it didn’t work then I would simply take the other box back and reclaim my coins like Maxine Waters reclaimed her time.

That was the hardest £40 I’ve ever spent (and I’ve bought hella dumb shit just because it had glitter on it, so that’s saying something), but I was excited. Imagine, all I’d have to do is drink this tea for two weeks and voila, svelte heaux-dom would be mine for the taking. I had one apprehension... My friend warned me that this detox teatox would ‘flush my system out’ and that I could expect some ‘runny shit’ (her eloquent words lol). What’s a little diarrhoea when you can lose weight just by drinking tea? Plus, it’s sold in Holland and Barretts, they’re all about this healthy natural life, so whatever was in this tea could only be made of goodness, right?

I got home that evening and snapped my latest purchase for my Snap fam (hold tite you lot dohhhhh) along with the ingredients so we could bask in the naturalness together.

Daytime Tea: Chinese Oolong tea, maté leaves, ginger root, fennel seeds, lemongrass, dandelion leaf, ginseng root, Gotu Kola leaves, nettle leaves…and a little caffeine. -I was impressed. I’d heard of Oolong before and how it was basically and upgrade of Green Tea that would boost your metabolism. I was Gucci with everything after that.

Bedtime Tea: Senna leaves, peppermint leaves, fenugreek seeds, liquorice root, burdock root, hawthorn leaves, valerian root and psyllium seeds. –Senna low key was trying to trigger my cynicism because that shit is well-known for its laxative effect and all I could think was, ‘What if I drink the bedtime tea, then bae comes over and I shit myself while were fucking?’ It’s a valid question, bitch. Stop looking at me like that.

The following day I began my experiment. I measured and weighed myself then made my first brew. In case you are wondering, it tastes fine. You get 14 daytime tea bags to drink one every morning, and 7 bedtime tea bags to drink every other night. I guess Senna induced diarrhoea for two weeks straight would be a bit intense.

I didn’t poop at all the next day. I was so anxious about getting diarrhoea that every time I tried to go my butt closed up like that Arthur fist meme (...this is also why I can’t try booty sex).  

After talking myself down and making sure I was very hydrated the next time I took it…let’s just skip that part lol.

I continued with it for two weeks and tracked my progress. I lost:

  • 1.5 inches on my bust
  • 0.7 in on my waist
  • 0.8 inches on my tummy
  • 2.9 inches on my hips
  • 1 inch on my ass (…thanks for that -_-)
  • 0.2 inches on my thighs and upper arms

My weight more or less stayed the fucking same.

Yes, there was a little weight loss but it was nothing significant and was most likely just water weight. Do I recommend Bootea? No the fuck I don’t. I can lose water weight without shitting out my guts, thanks. Honestly, I had A LOT MORE success doing the water challenge for one week than I had drinking ‘Shit Tea’ for two…and that cost a whole fucking lot less too (it was FREE) because I’m not too bougie to drink le aqua la governmente.

In conclusion, don’t buy into the hype. I will be getting my refund on that second box that was included in the deal, tomorrow. A balanced diet and regular exercise still reigns; go figure…I spent £40 for no reason.

If you would like more posts like this, click the heart below and please be a star and share it with your friends.

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous post (and find out how to join my August #WearItChallenge):

Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x

#WearItChallenge

  • I don't wear chokers because I have a double chin and a short neck.
  • I don't wear sleeveless tops or dresses without something to cover my arms because I have ‘Bye-bye’ arms (they wave bye-bye when I do) and stretchmarks from my shoulders down.
  • I don't wear crop tops because I have big tummy that also has stretchmarks.
  • I don't wear short shorts because my inner-thighs are flabby, they rub together and they’re darker than the rest of my legs.
  • I don't wear deep plunge tops because my boobs sag.
  • I don't wear backless anything because I have back rolls…and more stretchmarks.
  • I don't wear anything that clings too much because I don't want to highlight my flab.

This was my original list of fashion no-gos; the things that I wouldn’t wear because they wouldn’t look good on a body like mine. This shitty ass list is nothing new; we all have one. Your personal list may have similar things on it and some different ones too.

When I read this list back, I dunno about you, but I couldn't get past how fucking depressing it sounded. All of these bullshit restrictions that I’d put on myself over the years because I was afraid to celebrate myself in my entirety due to socially acceptable mainstream beauty standards portrayed in the media, or via the opinions of others –a mass of portrayals and opinions that didn't include me. I used to be so scared of being judged for not dressing for my size/body type because when you're a big girl, fashion brands tend to push that a big girl dressing for her size includes a lot of shapeless tunics, mumu looking ass dresses, any plunging necklines are shortened to stop before your cleavage even starts, and some sort of cover up created to shroud our bodies even more, because they’re not hidden enough.

Fat people are bullied into the background and taught to make ourselves smaller to make space for people who resemble what we see in magazines and music videos, to make ourselves invisible so as to draw less attention to so that our size won’t offend anyone. It’s fucking stupid; why is ‘dressing for my size’ about making other people feel comfortable with the way I look? 

Click to tweet

Click to tweet

The body positivity movement has definitely changed a lot for a lot plus size people for the better, from the way we view ourselves, the way we express and celebrate ourselves, and the way that brands are changing the way they cater to us. I'm proud to say that I've gotten over some of my hang ups, but I’ve still got more to tackle. Despite seeing fan-fucking-tabulous bitches like (a few of my faves) Tess Holliday, Essie Golden, Kelly Augustine, Danielle Varnier, Olivia Campbell, Felicity Hayward, and The Queen Curve Collective slay outfits that plus size women aren't always comfortable wearing, some of my personal body hang ups still fuck with me to this day.

If you follow me on Instagram, Snapchat or Twitter, you’ll be aware that I've used my weight loss journey to delve even further into tackling my body insecurities by forcing myself to wear shit that scares me, shit that I would look at and tell myself that a woman of my stature has no business wearing. Over the past few months I've proudly (and anxiously) made a point of flaunting what I deemed my ‘flaws’ across social media and in public.

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Click to tweet

Certain items take a lot of coaxing for me to be brave enough to rock, but I rock it, and the more I do it, the more liberated I feel. I’m learning to really enjoy owning and celebrating my body. Every time I thought I'd look like a fool, or that some ass crumb would have something negative to say that would make me feel even more self-conscious than I already did...nothing happened. I looked good in those outfits. I felt good in those outfits, and if anyone was opposed to me making peace with my body, they never made it known. Instead I was gifted with praise, encouragement, Instagram likes (the most important, obviously. Yay for external validation!) and messages from my fancy faces and those close to me about how they loved what I was doing and how it inspired them to do the same (this is important).

The response has been amazing and it's so fucking dope to see so many of you daring to step outside of your comfort zone (where the REAL growth happens) and making the effort to fully embrace your bodies.

The #WearItChallenge has made such a difference to my list.

  • I DO wear chokers
  • I DO wear sleeveless tops or dresses without something to cover my arms.
  • I DO wear crop tops.
  • I DO wear things that cling.
  • I DO wear backless things.
  • I DO wear short shorts

I don't wear deep plunge tops because my boobs sag (yet)…this will be tackled.

It's a new mutha fuckin’ day, bitch! We are coming to snatch wigs this summer 2017 (and forevermore) and I am all the way here for it, so to keep the good vibes rolling and the self-love growing I'm giving you an invitation to join my August #WearItChallenge. I challenge you to wear something that makes you feel uncomfortable (the item of clothing or body part you wanna tackle is completely up to you), and go all the way with it, hooker, ‘cause if we're gonna do this we're gonna do it right (and by right I mean eleganza extravaganza all yo shit). Beat your fancy face, do your hair, your nails -whatever glam is for you, glam the fuck out, heaux, and wear that shit with pride.

HOW TO ENTER

It’s simple: upload a photo of yourself wearing something you'd normally be too afraid to wear, to IG or Twitter, tag me (@scottyunfamous) and use the hashtag #WearItChallenge, for a chance to be featured on my official #WearItChallenge page.

(Submissions close August 31st, 23:59 GMT)

In your caption, tell me the item of clothing you're wearing that scares you and why, then lemme know how you felt after you put yourself out there and wore it. Why should you do this? Because you can help to inspire other people to celebrate themselves too, bitch!  We’ve got 5 months left in this Year of Lavish, so bitch, we are going to make the most of the shit! BODY CONFIDENCE FOR EVERYBODY!

If you would like more posts like this, click the heart below and please be a star and share it with your friends.

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous post:

Fancy something a little more daring? Read chapters 1-7 of my sexy, award-winning urban romance, Running Wilde (new chapter posted every Friday)

Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x

The Importance of Self-Care

Hellur, fancy face!

Welcome to another highly inappropriate weight loss journey post. It may interest you to know that I’ve recently (as in like 5 hours ago) embarked on a lil experiment with a 14 day teatox created by BooTea. It was recommended to me by one of my girls who has lost maddddddd weight (like MAAAADDDDD weight), so I thought ‘Shit den, lemme see what it’s really saying.’ I’ll be doing live updates on my Snapchat and will deliver a full honest review in 2 weeks’ time on your fave new blog (…yes, I mean this blog lol).

Onto what we’re actually talking about today…

When I began my weight loss journey again I had an idea of what to expect; the resisting of temptation to consume things I shouldn't to improve my diet, the physical challenges I would have to overcome to improve my fitness, the discipline to keep at it, and creating the mind-set to help me grow mentally and emotionally on this sometimes very fucking emotional experience.

When we take on these trying ass journeys, it's never a flippin straight road or uphill climb. Nope -the shit goes up, down, left, right…generally any direction you don’t want it to. When it comes to our body’s reactions, there's only so much about it that we can control. Ideally, everytime we eat a piece of salad, drink a glass of water, or do anything that resembles some semblance of exercise (walking to the fridge counts as cardio. Don’t @ me.) we want to see that we are 15 pounds lighter when we step on them scales, but that's not how the shit works.

When you first jump on this weight loss ting and you change yo shit up, your body is on a mad one. Weight loss is you and you are weight loss...then your body gets used to your new diet and routine, which means you've got to push a little more. It's a constant challenge, especially when you aren't blessed with a fast metabolism.

If you’re like me, the constant (self-imposed) pressure to go harder may be a lot for you to deal with mentally, especially when shit isn't going to plan.

Last week I had my cheat day. The following day, Mr took me to a hotel. I got high as fuck, and for those of you who enjoy God's magic flower, you already know how them munchies will have you fucking up a plate of food like it’s your last meal. I ordered too much then ate too much... I should probably stop smoking… Anyway, the following afternoon I stood on the scales to see that I'd gained 3 kilos.

I.

Was.

Up.

Set.

I stripped off and stood on the scales again: 2.5 kg.

I went to the bathroom: 2 kg.

Embarking on these journeys then putting on a significant amount of weight in the process is the worst. You feel like a failure, like you didn't try as hard as you should have, that maybe cheat days aren't for you. As you shrink it’s like you get even harder on yourself because you can’t come this far then go backwards. That’s not progress. Honestly, it doesn't get easier, you just have to get tougher, but tough doesn’t always equal…well, tough.

The thing that has carried a heaux throughout this last year has been making sure that I fucks with myself, heavily, like on a whole other level of extravaganza. Self-care is one of the most valuable remedies I’ve learned through this process, simply because it pushes me to continue without berating myself and gives me a stress-free way to pick myself back up when I’m down.

Do shit that makes you feel good about your fuckin self, betch. It’s okay to take a lil break and switch off for a hot sec to get your head right. It’s vital.

CLICK TO TWEET

CLICK TO TWEET

Here’s a few self-care activities that I love that you can try out/incorporate into your own self-care routines for those days when things don’t go to plan.

When I feel like shit I listen to music with high vibrations, the kinda music that makes me feel like a cheeri-heaux (get it? Cheerio...cheri-he...anyway). I sing along at ig’nant volumes and dance in the mirror to it like it’s just me, by myself, and bitch when I say dance in the mirror I’m talking that carefree black girl 'wow wow wow thots' shit that you may not do in public because it’s that peak (in my case, extremely whorish or neeky). Listen, I do not fuck about when it's music time. Lemme get sad and fling on some Cheetah Girls (DON’T PLAY LIKE YOU DON’T FUCK WITH THE CHEETAH GIRLS PLEASE); a heaux will be strutting like she means it and freeing my uckin mind all up and down my room, doing dramatic hair flips with my wig and not caring if it flies off coz ain’t nobody but me there to see it. I’ll be doing big big international diva in my bedroom, singing all the harmonies and adlibs by my damn self all at the same time, because I am a one-bitch-band. Issa wave.

D’you know what else is a vibe, low key -herbal tea. You will drink a cup of peppermint tea and feel like your soul has been cleansed and refreshed, bitch!

Next: baths, and not just any regular bitch bath, nope. Heaux I‘m talking that ‘I done used half the fucking bottle of bubble bath, this water is so hot it will probably burn my skin so I’mma have to ease into it, there are candles all over the place like say I‘m being romanced but really I am romancing my damn self, I got that Sade on in the background and a fire ass book to read, so I will sit in this shit till my skin is wrinkled and the water turns cold, then I’mma top it up with more hot water because bitch, I aint done yet!’ kind of baths. Hooker, it is imperative that you go all out for these self-care baths. Stay in there for 5 hours. Enjoy yo’self!

Personal grooming is also my shit.

Ain’t no better feeling in the world that when you have removed all of the hair from your body. You feel like a vivacious velvet vixen, just be rubbing your thighs together for fun because the shit is smooth.

We doing the whole fuckin’ face regimen tonight, heaux! I’mma exfoliate, lather it in some weird shit that promises to tighten my pores, put some cumbers on my eyes and lay back because I’m bougie and tonight, life is a spa, rinse it off, use my face wash, get that micellar water, clear these pores, get that toner, then bitch I will slap on the thickest layer of Astral you have seen in your life (this tip came from Muva Amber Rose), and just sit there and let the shit marinate.

Wash your hair. Use all the products, deep condition yo shit, massage yo fuckin scalp! Yes betch, you smell like a coconut summer breeze and it’s wonderful!

Do your nails, do your makeup, because sometimes the shit that will bring you back from the edge is remembering how truly tun up you are, and realising that you’re on this journey and this ain’t even your final form. THESE SKREETZ AIN’T READY FOR YOU WHEN YOU REACH YOUR GOAL BITCH, HOW ARE YOU SO FIRE NOW AND THERE’S MORE FLYNESS TO COME. FUCK OFF. YOU ARE TOO MUCH!

Clear your space. Fling on some good music and tidy your room, change the sheets, dust, polish, sweep and reorganise some shit, then light you some incense and relax. This is heaven.

This is another good one; get your thoughts out. When I’m too wound up I write out exactly how the fuck I feel, completely unfiltered ‘cause ain’t nobody reading the shit but me. By the end of it I’ve talked myself down of whatever ledge I’m on, I’ve found a resolution to my problem and my peace is back where it should be.

Go outside. I’m not telling you to go hug no trees or nothing, but it’s summer, there is a park somewhere, just go there by yourself and just be amongst nature. Sometimes being surrounded by plants and animals and shit reminds you how small and magical you really are in the grand scheme of things, that whatever you’re worrying about may not be as deep as you think, and that you will get through it, because bitch, you've gotten over all the other shit in your life and you’re still here, getting these haters mad and thriving.

Take a nap. You remember when you were younger and it was nap time and you just were not on it, these days, as busy as we all are, naps are luxury. Literally, when I get too overwhelmed, it’s nap time. Shut off the world and dream a little dream of no stress. By the time I wake up, I’m good.

However, if you don’t have time to nap, I strongly recommend meditation. For those of you who follow me on Snapchat, you’ll know that I’ve hopped back on my spiritual journey and that my life is on the up because it helps to keep me focused and centred. Being that I fell off for a while, it’s not always easy to meditate without getting distracted, so for those of you who this is new to or if like me you have a little trouble clearing your mind, here is some great meditation music. Literally, all you have to do is set a timer for 10 minutes and concentrate on your breathing and nothing else (saying ‘so’ when you breathe in and ‘hum’ when you breathe out in your head or out loud also helps –recommended by Deepak Chopra). When your time is up you feel a little calmer and clearer.

Go to the gym. Yes, I know, it’s horrible and it makes you get hot, tired and sweaty and there is no dick involved, but girl, working out is scientifically proven to improve your mood because of the endorphins that it releases (endorphins are the chemicals that make you happy).

Understand that you are the captain of your yacht (I know the saying is ship, but I think yacht sounds more bougie and extra, so well go with that), and part of being the captain of your yacht mean that you are in control of yourself at every given moment, even when you don’t think you are. If shit goes left you can either choose to be upset about it and let circumstance control you or you can control your circumstance by choosing to find a lesson in every bad situation. Every negative experience you have can teach you something, if you let it.

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click to tweet

It’s all about perspective, heaux. Look at where you went wrong and decide how you’re gonna handle it should it pop up on you again.

This is my best tip so I saved it till last -yell nice things at yourself in the mirror. When you’re feeling down about fucking up, or the way your body looks or whatever, all you’re focusing on is lack. You look for all the results you haven’t acquired yet and you beat yourself down about not having them, overlooking everything that you do have. I stand in the mirror (sometimes naked if I need a lotta love) and I compliment myself. When I first tried this method of affirmation, I begun with all the things I physically liked about myself. As my confidence grew I started finding the good in stuff I wasn’t too hot on: “YOU CAN REST SNACKS AND BOOKS ON YOUR BOOBS AND TUMMY. IT’S LIKE HAVING A DELUXE BUILT IN TRAY, LIKE ON A PLANE. YOU’RE LIKE A PRIVATE JET, BETCH!” I then moved onto my personality: “YOU DON’T SWEAR TOO MUCH, YOU’RE JUST FUCKING PASSIONATE ABOUT SHIT, PLUS SWEARING MAKES SHIT FUNNIER. YOU’RE BASICALLY A COMEDIAN!”

The reason that I harp on about building yourself up mentally throughout this process is because of the times when it’s not as easy as you’d like it to be. It’s important that you can be your own support system because you may not always have someone to lean on. Once you’ve shown yourself some proper love and respect, your mind will be right as rain (never understood that saying. Rain is dead.) and you can get back on track without having anything fucking with you.

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my free downloadable guide, #LavishLife, a motivational 9 step programme that I createdespecially for you, to help you live your best life beyond just weight loss, e.g. if you want a new job, more money, a better social life, etc, the #LavishLife guide will have something for you. You deserve to have everything you want and you can. All you gotta do is take care of you, bitch.

If you would like more posts like this, click the heart below, and please be a star and share it with your friends.

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous #SvelteHeaux2017 post:

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Fancy something a little more daring? Read chapters 1-6 of my sexy, award-winning urban romance, Running Wilde (new chapter posted every Friday)

click to read

click to read

 

Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x

My First (and Last) Fitness Rave

Whaddup fancy face!

Let me start by saying how awesome it is to know that you’re all as awkward as me! I thought my last post was going to make me look strange(er than usual), but then everyone was like ‘Omg bitch, same!’, so now I feel less weird about finding hiding places to work out in, in the gym lol. I have a holiday off of work this week and will be attempting the weights room…and all of its horrors *cough* men *cough*.

Two weeks ago my betch, Delia-Rene (Vexy, for my SDTV heads), hit me up to go to a fitness rave. Yes heaux, a whole rave for fitness! She’s embarked on her own fitness journey and previously attended DJ Melody Kane’s, ‘No Kane, No Gain’ (that's her comparison review). After watching it back on her Snapchat I thought, ‘Rah, that’s actually a dope idea’, so when she presented ‘The Night Shift’ to me I was totally up for it…plus early bird tickets were £5, and heaux, until we upgrade from this pre-rich bank account, frugal is life.

The Night Shift’s tagline was, ‘Don’t get drunk, get pumped!’ If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know that getting drunk is one of my favourite pastimes…(as is getting pumped…*wink*), so it didn’t light a fire under me right away. Honestly, I kept wondering how much more fun it would be to work out whilst drunk. I tried working out whilst high once, but a side effect of weed is cotton mouth. I was too thirsty to continue so I ended up eating snacks and watching the rest of my Zumba DVD from the comfort of the sofa. T’was a productive day.

Back to the fitness rave.

If you follow me on Snapchat, you already know I go to the gym looking ruff and tuff like carpet fluff (though since the hot new guy has started working in my gym I’ve made an effort to do my hair, and by do my hair I mean secure my wig) but this was a RAVE, which (in Scotty-land) means that extraness was allowed, so I swapped my mash up house clothes for some mesh panel leggings, a fitted top, boxer braids and my regular dick appointment makeup (5 minute makeup for when you wanna make an effort for bae, but not really).

The event was held in the Camden Centre. There was stage with a DJ playing some big tunes, two male trainers and a room full of women of all shapes, sizes and ethnicities, patiently waiting for the inevitable torture to begin, underneath a domed ceiling with a chandelier/disco ball thing and colourful strobe lights.

The smoke machine billowed cooling smoke across the stage, and all I could think was…what about us? Bitch, it was HOT! There wasn’t a lick of air conditioning in there, just two dibby-dibby windows opened wide enough to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FOR ANYBODY, a fan near the front that might as well have been switched off because made no fucking difference, and a bag of bitches with body heat. But I was excited same way, fancy faces. I couldn’t wait to lose this weight in my very first fitness rave.

After doing our obligatory snapping so that Snapchat could see how extra healthy (and generally extra we are), the class began. We placed ourselves towards the back -in the middle so that we’d be less noticeable in the sea of bodies when we skipped the exercises we didn’t want to do, and to make escape easier. These were regular occurrences.

We began with boxercise to soca music. I’m a soca head so I was HERE for it. It’s hard to get tired or fed up when soca music is on (not that it stopped the tiredness altogether, but it helped).  It was like carnival…but not anywhere near as fun. Fun is easily annihilated when you start asking people to do burpees…or any kind of floor work, and bitch, there was floor work galore! Now, I can’t really complain because more time when they asked us to do shit we wasn’t finna do, it either meant that it was time for a fake water break, an option #2 (which is a nice way of saying ‘it looks like that hard ass move you want me to do is working these particular muscles, so I’mma find a lazy ass way to work them without doing what the fuck you told me to do’), or straight up giving each other the ‘seasoned friendship look’ (you know the look, the one that is like you saying 'bitchhhh' without saying it) and not doing it.

At the start, when we didn’t want to do something at all, there were half-assed attempts to make it look like we were trying, just so the trainers wouldn’t notice that much. An example of said attempt was being instructed to do press ups, but instead of actually moving, you just lie on the ground with your hands in position and wait for everyone else to finish so you can reserve the energy you don’t have for the next move.

Stop judging me.

In my defence, for every exercise I did not attempt, I made up for it but dancing inappropriately to the music because carnival is coming and I need to start flexin my ultimate inner heaux. I’m making this sound really bad, like we went there and didn’t do shit lol. We did, I promise lol. By the end of it we were sweating and tired as fuck.

There was a half an hour break before the next section (body conditioning to trap and grime music) began. I’m generally not a huge fan of this kind of music, but even I can admit that it’s actually decent to work out to. It’s mad hype, so in turn, you also get hype. Everything was going well, and by well I mean that there was even more fucking floor work, which I was damn tired of by that point and stopped even trying to make it look like I was attempting it. You know them ones where the trainer walks by and you’re so over it that when they yell out ‘Keep going’ in a general direction (but you know it’s meant for you), you just look them in the face like ‘fight me’?

Two-twos (I’m showing my age…also, why was this ever slang?), one of the girls that was lying on the floor with me while everyone else did push ups earlier, decided to up her viva and attempt the excessive floor work. Next thing you know, the bitch is screaming down the building, laying on the round with a bunch of people around her coz she done fucked around and fucked up her knee. Things were swiftly put on pause as the ambulance was called.

At that point I wondered what any normal person would in that situation… “Does this mean we can go home now?”

Stop judging me.

Bitch, don’t nobody need to work out for 3 mu’uh fuckin’ hours. It is too much. Plus, I was starving. Some (just me, by myself) may even say that I was wasting away to practically nothing!

Naturally, I tried to get Delia’s determined ass to agree to leave, but she was like, “I spent £5 for this shit, bitch. We are staying.” Inside I died a thousand hangry (hungry/angry) deaths, but a part of me was proud and inspired that she was willing to push through and challenge (kill) herself (us), that tenacious slut bucket.

Shit like this is why having a support system on your weight loss  journey is very helpful, because when you wanna give up, there’s always someone nuff enough to force you to keep going.

I’ll admit, her can-do attitude rubbed off on me as the night (regrettably) continued. We were instructed to stand away from the injured girl still lying on the floor (much care, so sensitive), and they moved onto the 90s R&B section to do abs. As we kicked our legs up in the air and squatted down low, I yelled at my friend, with absolutely no shame ‘DO IT FOR THE DICK, BITCH!’ Sometimes you just need to think of how much better in bed exercise will make you. I know this sounds like a joke, but it’s not –penis is part of my motivation, heaux! I’m tryna do some skinny bitch ‘pick me up and fuck me mid-air without your legs shaking’ kinda shit.

Click to tweet

Click to tweet

I’m struggling in these skreetz so my legs can go all the way back without my stomach doubling up and pressing the air out of my lungs. I’m putting in work with this squat life so I can do 30-day squat challenge on the dick for more than three (two) minutes (seconds) before reverting to that grinding shit we like doing so much.

All in all, it was fine but literally the whole night just felt like the same moves done over and over again to different music. We definitely got a workout but I feel like the next time they do it they should get a female trainer as well. I’ve noticed that male and female trainers train you slightly differently. Men are more focused on strengthening/sculpting whereas women will mix it up with a bit more cardio.

I think part of my disappointment with the event was that I hoped for a different atmosphere, something more light-hearted and fun since it was meant to be a fitness RAVE. I pictured lots of whooping, cheering and upbeat encouragement like I experience in my Zumba class. This felt quite serious. The fun for me only really came at the end when we the DJ flung on Candy by Cameo and sped it up.

I wish that they’d provided yoga mats or at least informed us to bring our own because the floor we were doing all of that godforsaken floor work on was polished and hard as shit to stay stable on. I get very sweaty palms when I get hot, so doing press ups and all that was a myth because I kept slipping and sliding. Also, on the flyer we were promised fresh food and smoothies…we got neither. Instead they were charging £1 for a bottle of water that you could buy for 55p from the corner shop.

Also, this has nothing to do with exercise; more a marketing opportunity missed out on in the name of seriousness, but the instructors were tall, well-formed black men in a room full of women…why did no one take their shirt off, plis?

I think that if I did ever decide to do one of these again, it would probably be aerobics or something. I can do Serious Sally in the gym. If I go to fitness rave, I want fun. I know some of you are probably like, 'Heaux, that’s not the point of it,' and you’d be right, fun is not the point, but bitch, when you are not a gym bunny/fitness freak, fun helps.

I hope you enjoyed this post. If you would like more posts like this, click the heart below. Please be a star and share it with your friends.

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous #SvelteHeaux2017 post:

Fancy something a little more daring? Read chapters 1-5 of my sexy, award-winning urban romance, Running Wilde (new chapter posted every Friday)

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Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x

Me, My Anxiety, and the Gym (#SH17)

This is about to get real awkward and vulnerable, fancy faces, but I swore to keep it real, so here goes…

I have a thing. An anxiety thing. Anything that pushes me outside of my comfort zone triggers it. Sometimes I can manage it and other times it’s a challenge, which is part of the reason why I’m such a top flight procrastinator. On this journey to svelte-heauxdom, the gym is what gives me the most anxiety these days, and after all these months I still haven’t managed to conquer it.

In May I noticed that I was getting stagnant. I’d lose and gain weight, but within the confines of the same two numbers, over and over again. My body got used to my new, healthier diet and begun treating it like it was nothing, while I’m here like *pokes belly* ‘Fam, I ain’t had ice cream for a whole month, so...

*Belly jiggles in response*

 I was merely maintaining my new weight, but that wasn’t how this shit was meant to go. I haven’t missed out on all this bread and pasta to still be fat, the fuck! So I enlisted the help of a personal trainer to up my viva.

Two months later I am definitely fitter, and although I’m still within the same numbers, there has been more muscle gain and weight loss (I can fit into stuff I couldn’t before), but I’m frustrated with myself because I know I can do better, miles better, but I haven’t applied myself enough, and the reason I haven’t applied myself enough is because I have these weird ass mini bouts of anxiety every fucking time I have to go to the gym. You know when you know you’re being dumb and you have a chat with yourself to talk yourself through your dumbness and try to make yourself see sense, but then you still don’t follow through because unfortunately for you, dumb is life? That’s me, pretty much every time.

With the classes, it’s not too bad. It’s one of the rare times when I don’t mind being told what to do (literally, this only really runs in the bedroom), plus, there are people there to struggle through it with me. With my PT sessions, I’m given set workouts via an app that connects me and my trainer, that I have to go at alone. My trainer recommends that I work out 5 times a week. A bitch is still around 2-3 times…or sometimes (rarely) not at all because my discipline is low key trash.

So what’s my issue?

I have a fear of working out alone on the gym floor and the weight room because I have a fear of being watched.

Look at dumb!

Me, who styles myself like an extra in Ru Paul’s Drag Race so that I can go out and people can witness my eleganza extravaganza, who does mini-photoshoots to plaster all over social media, who spent several years shouting about dick and millennial nonsense on YouTube, who is broadcast on Radar Radio’s Facebook live feed once a month, who holds talks and guest stars on panels in front of a live audiences –I am afraid of people watching me.

How Sway?

It’s ridiculous, I know it is, especially as once I actually get over my bullshit and get in the gym, I’m (sort of) fine. Once I’m inside, I get on with what the fuck I came to do because I know that people in the gym are not paying their big, big monthly membership to come and watch me awkwardly try to figure out how to do a push up without revealing how much upper body strength I don’t have. It comes down to my ego and a sprinkle (indulgent ass helping) of narcissism, that entertains the thought of me being so fucking interesting that everyone wants to watch my every move.

The truth is…I’m afraid. I’m afraid of them judging me.

Exercise isn’t something I‘m good at (yet). My form is kinda crap, my breathing sounds like struggle, I am doing one of the things I hate most- sweating, I jiggle when I move, my feet are heavy when they hit the ground, I tremble uncontrollably when the weights are too much or I’m nearing my rep limit, and I am quick to grant myself a rest before I continue rather than pushing through…because I am fat.

All of the issues that come with being unfit and overweight reveal themselves upon exertion. Doing exercise in front of people makes me hyper aware that I am fat, so I can’t help but think that it’s all they see.

click to tweet

click to tweet

I am scared of them seeing it and judging me for it.

Look at more dumbness.

I don’t magically become fat when I get inside a gym. I am fat all the time, but when I’m not in the gym, I’m fly with it. It makes me uncomfortable not to feel like a fierce fat babe. I live for fucking shit up in these skreetz, flab and all.

Maybe the reason that the gym makes me anxious is because my armour falls away here. I’m not ‘perfect’ here. I’m below average here and because of that, there is nothing that feeds my ego and makes me feel special here, so I freak out. There is no hair, makeup and extra ass outfits for me to hide behind, only sweat, jiggle and struggle.

But I was better last month. I forced myself down to Fitness First and I got those PT workouts done. There were some sets that I’d skip and substitute with an exercise that made me more comfortable, but I was there and I was doing it, and I was growing into working out alone in front of people.

This month, that changed and once again my anxiety was to blame.

A part of the reason I could do my workouts last month was because, when necessary, I figured out hiding places; people would have to look for me to see me. Yes, I know, it’s weird, but it was part of my process.

This month my PT sent me new workouts and got rid of my old ones. This new routine landed me smack bang in…the weights room. If you’ve been to a gym before you will know that the weights area/room is basically man-land. It’s their domain, their pissing contest grounds, their testosterone territory. I have been to the weights room all of three times since I joined Fitness First, and each time I was accompanied by a man -twice with Mr and once with a male personal trainer who I was trying out. The times with Mr were fine, and it was cool with the PT too…until I got a comment on my ‘leggings’ by some guy in there whilst I was squatting.

Why do men ruin everything, please?

I already had a fear of being watched for being fat and now there’s that weird, ‘you’re perving on me while I’m working out, and you feel comfortable enough to open your mouth and make me, the awkward potato, aware of it.’ Needless to say, I have not been back in there since that day.

This also means that I have not attempted this month’s workout. It’s double anxiety and it feels like too much, even though I know it’s nothing.

I need to get out of my head, get my shit together and just do it. Just say fuck it and just fucking do it. I’m not a wasteman, I’m a boss bitch (excuse my aggressive affirmations lol) and boss bitches ain’t scared of nothing and no one. Boss bitches get shit done! They get out of their comfort zone, they take on their fears and they fuck shit up.

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click to tweet

The longer I sit here afraid that someone will look at me (god, I feel even more ridiculous saying it. What is anyone looking at me going to do?) or I worry about men making me feel uncomfortable, is the more money I waste (and bitch I’m paying £101 a month in total for this shit, so really, ain’t nobody got time or coins for irrational fear), and the longer it takes me to reach my goal.

Can you relate? Do you get anxious about working out in public? If you do, what are you afraid of and why? If you used to, how did you get over it (because bitch I need all the help I can get)? Let me know in the comments section below.

I hope you enjoyed this post. If you would like more posts like this, click the heart below and please be a star and share it with your friends (you never know who may need to hear it).

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous #SvelteHeaux2017 post:

Fancy something a little more daring? Read chapters 1-4 of my sexy, award-winning urban romance, Running Wilde (new chapter posted every Friday)

click to read

click to read

Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x