She'll Be Write

Already closing in on a crisp,new calendar page , I realise a new healthy habit has been formed in me. Not only do I enjoy walking more, now that I have a motivated group to do it with, but I miss it when I am unable to join in. Half way through the Urban Challenge, to walk every side of all 240 urban streets on both sides of our town!! We walk the talk and talk the walk. It no longer feels like hard work. Continuing to charge on with 3+ walks of 45 mins or more despite the cold starts and hard rain on one particular day, the km's are racking up. The knees are numbed, the hips a little unhinged but the spirits are not dampened.  Each walk ends in a triumphant picture. The smiles from ear-to-ear tell the story.And each  incredible FBG tells a story. Many are CEO's of their own businesses ( Cute XXtraordinary Organisers). Others are overcoming illness or serious obstacles in their lives. What an inspiration they are. Wonder women sharing ideas and i...

Once upon a time, (actually just a few months back), I used to consider my thighs one of my best, at least biggest, assets. If I was to successfully audition for Survivor, my team would have no need to wait three long, arduous days before receiving flint. I’d spark these babies up in a matter of a few simple footsteps. That’s one small step for a (wo)man, one giant bonfire for survivor-kind. After a month of steadily walking, braving the frosty crisp mornings, fog-bathing and drizzle dipping, I made a stunning ‘Eureka-moment’ discovery this morning. Whilst on my own this time, though usually with a gorgeous and phenomenal cluster of Fat Bottomed Girls (FBG’s) around me, I realised that my once honeymooning thighs were stealthily passing like ships in the night. Like a long-time married couple, my best assets were barely touching. My stride lengthened as friction lessened and yes, I even beat my 5km Avantidrome personal best.     ( Since beaten again on Park Run 15...

The sheer joy on her face as she pointed and squealed. The balloon-seller smiled, a yellow oval he peeled. Removed from the bunch, sunshiny air bladder. From the point of eye-contact, he knew that he had her.  Mum dug in her pockets, gold coins left her hands. She passed over the fruit of her daughter's demands. On curled ribbon, jet black, the balloon sideways bobbled. With each flick of the wrist, it jiggled and wobbled. They stopped for bananas at the grocers fruit stand. She reached out for an apple, string flew from her hand. The little girl shrieked. (She was only seven.) As the joy-giving sac carried upwards to heaven. They gazed amongst tears, a view smudged and smeared. As distance grew greater, the less it appeared. Mum tried to console her, all efforts in vain. So off they did traipse, see the 'loon-seller again. c. Monique Wiles 14.07.17 What are those things we insist we must hold onto, even to our detriment? We let them go and it may fe...

In my 40's, I am learning to be myself, to be the very best me I can be. Less image conscious than previous decades, yet still with the sense that outward appearance matters. Yes, it should matter to me and my closest loved ones but why does it have to matter to the rest of the world, least of all those that are on the outer ripples of my people circle? Why do  we as women continually feel 'judged'? Is it just because we have the XX factor? I don't wear clothes adorning the nike tick or decorate the sides of my lengthy arms or chunky thighs with Adidas stripes. Am I then a lesser person than my walking partner who does? I am a curvaceous being while my friend is a bean pole. I have hairy eyebrows while hers are pencil thin. My feet are giant while hers are petite. Frustrated I throw my thick coarse hair into a ponytail while she wears her long wavy curls like a true Wella Woman. I have the added responsibility of raising children while she has not yet reac...