Lemons and Lulu

 

To whom it may concern,

It’s been a month since I’ve returned to Christchurch and the hunt for a weekend job continues. Thankfully since my previous post, I’ve had nothing short of miracles come through to sustain my eating habits. I’ve started freelancing and getting paid for my writing which is super exciting! and I don’t want to brag but I will shortly be the presenter for the introduction to learning services video at my school despite never having used the learning services.

However, after having done the cv drop in my neighbourhood I was feeling a tad glum when I hadn’t heard back from anyone. Until I received a call a couple of weeks ago from my local Lululemon. Why apply at Lululemon you ask? because their store smells delicious and the irony of me working at an athletic wear store is too good an opportunity to pass up.

The call came at an awkward time, a minute before I was to donate blood. So when the manager introduced herself to me I apologised in advance, “I’m sorry if I have to cut this call short, I’m just about to give blood – I mean donate it, I’m not just giving my blood away”. Now there’s an opening sentence that won’t freak people out.

Surely deterred, she invited me for a group interview.

Manager: “Yeah! come ready to get a bit sweaty…”

Me: “Pardon?”

Manager: “We’ll have a trainer there who will take you through an HIIT (High-intensity, interval training) workout before your interview.

Me: “Oh great, my two favourite things”

 

3202881843_2de3fe38e6_b
Image via Flickr

 

Already regretting my decision I was assured by my friends that I would be fine. I was not. Wearing borrowed Lululemon gear, which was ridiculously comfortable might I add, I walked to my interview – my heart in my throat.

I was greeted by a ridiculously tall and good looking man and his equally good-looking partner. Matt and Whitney are part of the HIIT Squad; they are Zuu instructors – where all the exercises mimic the actions of animals: bear crawls, monkey squats etcetera. They’re a level of good looking and fit that you hate in people but you can’t hate Matt and Whitney because they’re also so damn nice. My brain was confused and angry.

There were four other applicants who all looked like they knew their organic greengrocer by name, y’know? Matt asked if the team generally kept active to which one applicant said “yeah I run marathons, got a tournament coming up in Hamilton”, another said she is a rower and rowing instructor, one was a swimmer and dancer and the other had previously worked at Lululemon and was very into yoga. I remained silent because the only marathon I’d ever competed in involved a record amount of caramel mallows I’d eaten 30minutes prior to my interview.

Five minutes into the workout, what was meant to be a team-building exercise became an ‘encourage Keth’ one. It was clear I was the weakest link. The workout was killer, I know because it was on Tuesday and I’ve only just recovered the use of my right arm today, three days later, for the sake of this blog. There were many high 5s between rounds and despite me suspecting my lungs were going to collapse, an all-around positive experience. One that I wanted to end swiftly.

I thought if by some miracle I get this job I am going to take a ‘before’ photo. The hilarious part was yet to come. During the group interview, we were asked to share why we wanted to work at Lululemon. Again, the other applicants had been encouraged to be there by their yoga instructors, or love the active wear, “I live in active wear and I sometimes sleep in it” said one. The hoax was up, there was no point in lying about me living in active wear – this was clearly my first real workout in a long time. Maybe because I was light headed from the workout but I’m almost certain I said, a friend of mine previously worked at Lulu and when she started hanging out with her workmates her Instagram got really good because they went on cool hikes. Yeah. That was my legitimate answer. I didn’t even want to hire me by the end of that session.

I heard back from the manager today and she was sweet enough to blame my unsuccessful application on my lack of availability during the week. Maybe I should learn my lesson and stick with jobs that require my skillset, which is flexible but probably not enough to include the title of an athlete. Then again, who gets anywhere by doing things within their comfort zone.

 

17264790_1349824598415734_1120383013305413362_n.jpg
Post workout with the HIIT squad

 

 

Tragedy on a treadmill

 

To whom it may concern,

Someone has changed the speed settings on my favourite treadmill. I discovered this at the gym in a most unfortunate manner; while I was increasing the speed level to my usual 8.5 but realised I was Usain Bolt-ing it at 6.9.

Firstly, let’s take a moment to acknowledge that I have a favourite treadmill but have somehow still managed to gain weight – a true achievement. While I was trying not to sound like I was having some sort of respiratory breakdown on what used to be the good treadmill, my long-legged friend Ella looked like a damn Baywatch commercial on the treadmill beside me. I on the other, hand looked like Bellatrix Lestrange had just finished her stint at Azkaban – line up gents.

IMG_0021

After what seemed like a lifetime of dealing with this travesty, which was surely a punishment for avoiding the gym for some time, I decided 10 minutes of hoping the agonising stitch would go away was long enough. And just as I considered lowering my speed from Usain bolt to ’07 Britney is when an attractive guy walks in. He’s the kind of person you chuck on a pedestal and you know it’ll never happen but you pretend to be attractive around him anyway. And he walks by and smiles and you have to try and hold in the asthma attack and smile back till he’s out of hearing distance.

So I was forced to feign athleticism for another excruciating 15 minutes on a treadmill that was out to get me, running beside Gisele bloody Bundchen with a stitch that had now escalated to a health risk by all standards. I would just like you to know I’ve learnt my lesson and did not return to the gym today. Mostly out of necessity because it hurts to breathe. And to the person who changed the settings of the treadmill, I don’t know who you are but I dislike you with every fibre of my being.

It’s what’s underneath that counts

To whom it may concern,

Regardless of how bubbly and solar-powered your disposition may be, everyone has a phat day. Phat days are the times when you look at a cupboard full of clothes and mentally decide that you look like a whale and run around the house yelling “CALL ME ISHMAEL” or decide sweatpants will be your new uniform, or unfortunately stumble on that chocolate gelato tub that you decide will make a great meal.

Sometimes these days turn into a rut that I am all too familiar with. But I have found the solution. It’s what’s underneath that counts – sure they might’ve been talking about your generous spirit and kindness towards mankind but I think they were DSC07151being literal.

They were talking about lingerie…and potentially bone structure. But let’s pick one we can fix. I was having a phat day myself – ‘Scandal’ was on, so were the track pants. But the previous week I had been on a roll – hit the gym 5 days straight (unheard of), ate reasonably healthy, so I thought I’d give myself a treat and went onto http://www.herapparelintimates.com to get myself the bralette aka trend of the season.

I cannot explain to you how well timed the deliveryman’s appearance was. I don’t know\
who invented this most flattering piece of lingerie but I think most women would agree that the second you’re wearing matching underwear you are mentally transformed from a potato to Beyoncé in the Single Ladies dance. This feeling is irrelevant of size and you don’t even need to parade yourself half-naked to feel this confidence boost.

You’re just sitting there in public like a saucy ninja thinking “Booooy, if only you knew”. And BOOM rut is over. And this coming from me is huge because I have never felt sexy in lingerie.

I’m 5’2 and at an unfortunately young age I was only too well endowed with Sandy & Mandy (they’re sisters who refuse to be twins). This awkward combination happened before Bendon stocked real sizes and lingerie shopping has always brought back memories of discomfort, my mum unsure of who was the cause of this genetic malfunction and me wondering if I’d ever see my waist without a mirror again – still no sign.

But HER apparel makes custom-sized lingerie for those awkwardly endowed at the same price of the regular stock.

The package arrives in an awesome canister which you spend the first 15 minutes FullSizeRender_4inhaling because it comes perfumed…until you realize you’ve just spent 15 minutes inhaling underwear.

Yeah, it gets a little weird BUT THEN you try on your new lingerie and turn on femme fatale mode – you’re a no-good, sass-machine whose quiet confidence seduces men into dangerous and deadly circumstances. Symptoms may vary, terms and conditions apply.

Anyhoo, I’m so stoked with my new find that I want to share my new mojo with one special reader this week.

For a chance to win your very own Her Apparel Bralette:

  1. Check out HER apparel
  2. Like the Facebook post and PM us with the style of Bralette you’d like to own: https://www.facebook.com/whatthehallelujah?ref=hl

A winner will be drawn on Tuesday the 21st of April 8pm.

FullSizeRender_3

FullSizeRender_1

DSC07152

FullSizeRender_2

FullSizeRender

Square one – Re-starting the fitness journey.

Someone forgot to tell me when PT sessions at the gym became a full blown therapy session.

PT: “What do you want to get out of this session?”

Me: *Give me a Mila Kunis Body now*

“Just want to get my fitness up”

PT: “How’s your nutrition?”

Me: *I could destroy a medium-spicy chicken burger combo from Maccers with a Fanta (no ice) right about now*

“It could do with some work”

PT: “Well I’ve found this 30-day shake cleanse that has really helped curb my over-eating”

Me: *Oh god*

“Really?”

PT: You basically have a shake in the morning, a boiled egg for morning tea, regular lunch, a celery stick for afternoon tea and a shake at night for five days then over the weekends you just have the shakes. The presidential package costs around $720.00 but its worth it.

Me: *wtf…who is paying $720 for a celery stick? I don’t wanna brag but I can chew solids now*

“I think I might try and get into the discipline of working-out regularly first…”

PT: “Yes good call – let’s ease into it. How about we measure you now?”

Me: *Bitch, I will eat you*

“Yeah let’s do that!”

PT: “Just raise your arms and i’ll measure around your belly”

Me: *Treasure tum –  you’re measuring my treasure tum*

Let’s start with the leg press – how does that feel?”

Me: *I want that burger*

“Great, I mean its hard – I can already feel the burn but its good”

PT: “Um… this is just your warm up”

Me: *dies*

PT: “Cool, think you can give me 15 burpees now?

Me: *You know what, Forget Mila Kunis – i’ll settle for an out of shape Tyra Banks  – she’s still hot, its fine* 

H.I.T Me

This week’s challenge came in the form of my first H.I.T class. High-intensity interval training proved to be frustratingly hard. Mostly because I feel there should be 2 I’s in the acronym even though one is hyphenated – am I right ladies? Yeah ok, just me. I’ve discovered a pattern in all these gym classes, they all start off at a reasonable pace with aerobic moves like “skiing-move” on a box thing to J-Lo’s “Let’s get loud”; a crowd-pleaser obviously because who doesn’t love Miss Lopez, I know I do. But just when you’ve settled into the frame of mind of a sexy salsa dancer and are almost awaiting your young Richard Gere, they tell you to do as many press-ups as you can in 30seconds.

Now, they say as many as YOU can do, but when you’re in a class with fit mums, trophy wives, women who are so stinking successful that they’ve retired at 35 and now take H.I.T classes at 9.15am on a Tuesday and Asian grandmothers who apparently love J-Lo as much as I do, and THEY are all doing 100 press-ups in 30 seconds, I think they expect you to do just as many, if not more. I was discouraged at first because I was still trying to figure out if a press-up was just a push-up by a different name and then the trainer said “OK NOW LADIES! TRICEP PRESS-UPS!” I was convinced my brain had stopped computing anything. But then I saw an Asian grandma that was clearly new to the clan and like me, it was her first day – oh brother, did she look how I felt. It’s clearly going to take me some time to get used to this whole fitness thing and to decipher the differences (if there are any?) between a push and a press but I’ve decided to use the fit women as a life-goal instead and take solace in the fact that I am not alone in my plight against lethargy – Asian gran and the oh-so-essential sports bra will be supporting me all the way.

Also fitness instructors, not only was this one smiling throughout this whole regime of ups and downs, press-ups/push-ups, damn squats and what she calls “The superwoman” but at the end of the class my friend mentioned that she was over 60 (did not look it) and was in fact, a grandmother. I mean geez, become a motivational speaker already. To give you a taste of what H.I.T feels like I dare you to try these Hump Day treats. Don’t try David though.

Here are things related to fitness I approve of

Screen Shot 2014-12-03 at 9.59.12 pm

tumblr_ms5xqfLqUH1sg7ck2o1_500

16. Nude Scandal – do the no-pants dance!

One of many things you should know about me is that I have tall-man syndrome. I’m always incredibly surprised when I see a photo of myself in relation to something regular sized where I look short. I’ve been 5ft 2inches for about 7 years – complete denial. I bring this up because the mall I work at decided to have a promotional weekend to “welcome” Santa for Christmas. Every good promo needs T-shirts and we were accidently delivered a box of male t-shirts for a group that consisted of 7 females and 3 men. The shirt I was given although a men’s small went down past my shorts. Today I wrapped presents for children and sold gift cards and directed customers all the while giving the illusion that I had a very strong aversion to pants and felt very strongly about dressing inappropriately around customers that can afford not just regular pants but very high-end ones.

Re-learning that I am indeed short wasn’t the only discovery I made, however. Turns out going to the gym makes you feel worse because you are in pain when working out, in pain the day after, and dying from pain the day after that. Also turns out that I have little to no upper body strength, which is a fact, I discovered when attempting to bench press a little over 6kgs at the request of a trainer. At this point, I think she’s doing it just to get a laugh. Considering how difficult it was and the fact that I have nothing to compare it to I mistakenly boasted to my cousin that I had indeed bench-pressed and was now an athlete. In disbelief, he retorted that he had a mate who warmed up with 40kgs. My cousins essentially friend bench a 7th grader and I can bench a fat puppy. Who really wins this scenario?

Despite failing in height and well…life @whatthehallelujah on Instagram remained well filtered and the one selfie did not reveal the strain involved in raising the camera to double-chin-diminishing height because I’d tried to lift a weighted bar the previous day. It didn’t even show you the pyjamas and uniform I spent most of my week in but rather the one-day I decided to make myself look human because the public isn’t ready for this jelly.

Although everyone ranted and raved about Kim Kardashian’s nude photoshoot for Paper magazine, few actually read the article, which notes how Kardashian “reveals very little yet foster a sense of closeness”. Celebrities and bloggers – the experts at the ideal life constantly update photos to document their lives, which give their fans and readers a sliver of their reality but mostly a huge misconception to the reality of most. A picture may be worth a thousand words but it is important to know that while candid pictures may embody this saying mostly Kardashian doesn’t spend her time on a stool, covered in baby oil and an odd bun and the photos are manufactured and filtered for popular consumption.

Peace

WTH

15. Are you a cheater?

Mid-week madness

Monday morning Auckland decided to get real. Between the stormy weather that set the hay fever on fire and the rush-hour traffic on the way to work I could just sense the impatience of the customers I’d be serving in 5 minutes. I trudged into the mall where I work with windswept hair and an indecisive nose that no filter would make pretty. Because that’s how real life works – people have allergies and wind and rain have a personal vendetta against hair. Also people have jobs.

The urge to workout after 8 hours is at an all time low. I had a cold and hunger comes a-knockin’…how do the insta-famous manage this feat of balancing life? Regular humans shovel down dinner and stay tucked bed – which is exactly what I decided to do. In the words of sweet Gwen Stefani – This ish is bananas B-A-N-A-N-A-S!

Tuesday brought with it my favourite time of the week – This year my brother joined me in New Zealand and flats with me. My aunt makes sure we’re alive and well fed by inviting us for a weekly dinner where she and my uncle make everything Sri Lankan under the sun.

Here’s what you should know about me. I love carbs. If I was stranded on an island and could only eat one thing for the rest of my life it would be fresh white bread from Baker’s delight. I’m basically salivating already. The second would be (cue stereotype) Rice and freakin’ curry. Maybe its because it’s only a weekly delicacy these days but I truly believe I could eat it every single day. My aunt get’s me… She over-feeds me with the sentiment “It’s only once a week – you’re fine”

Don’t tell me it’s a cheat day; don’t have a cheat day yourself. When you have McDonalds the salads of the world don’t threaten to divorce you and double your alimony. Your body doesn’t shut down sobbing, yelling “HOW COULD YOU, YOU BASTARD”. There is no shame or guilt involved in you eating something delicious once in a while so just calm down. It’s a treat day – Because you deserve not to feel like cheater. Because its just food. If someone implies you’re cheating on “healthy” food I give you permission to punch him or her in the baby-maker.