At one of life’s crossroads? Apply the Green Cross Code...
Ok, so I was out running this morning (I know, I know, I had to get that smug little running reference in there, but hear me out - it’s relevant) when this revelation came to me in a flash; the secret to making better life choices. The actual formula for how not to fuck up.
As you may know, in recent months and years, since hitting the big 4-0 and, now, skidding sideways into my mid-40s (eek!) with a boy racer-style handbrake turn: I’ve changed. Like, really changed. First it was smoking. I knocked that on the head at 40, when I finally acknowledged that this filthy habit made me look less ‘chic and sultry Parisienne’, skinny Gauloises dangling seductively from full glossy lips, and more Kat from ‘Stenders with a cat’s bumhole for a mouth, lipstick bleeding into the creases caused by sucking on one too many Malboro Lights over the preceding few decades. It was not a good look.
Next came the diet and exercise overhaul. I say overhaul; having studiously avoided anything that might constitute a diet for four decades, it wasn’t hard to make an improvement there. Same rules applied with exercise; my previous workout routine having consisted solely of getting mashed and throwing myself (with not inconsiderable vigour, I might add), around various nightclubs, dirty warehouse raves and festivals wherever the opportunity arose. Which was pretty often, so as far as I was concerned I was practically a dancefloor athlete. Mo Farah may be a champion marathon runner, but when it came to Saturday night stamina I’d have been more than happy to challenge him to a running-man dance-off duel. I prided myself on being a 40-something professional party girl (ok, woman. Oh ok, middle-aged woman, ya party pooper).
Then, at 43, I suddenly got ripped. I mean, six-pack ripped. To the point that I had to double-take when I caught sight of my stomach in the mirror, before breaking into an incredulous smirk of disbelief and then shocked recognition that the body reflected back at me was actually me. It must be, because I recognised that mini mole trajectory on my torso shaped like Orion’s Belt. Without those I’d never have believed it was my original blubbery belly, rather that someone had stolen into my house in the dead of night and performed a full body transplant, Frankenstein-stylee. I’d have been looking for the crude stitches around my neck where they’d hurriedly sewn my head back on before I woke up.
And then the pandemic hit. I recognise the irony of a lifelong avoidance of all things fitness, then suddenly becoming an absolute gym bunny, attending classes every night of the week with great gusto, before a global catastrophe hits and shuts down every gym in the land for the first time in over a century. I mean, what were the chances of that?! If that’s not the Law Of Sod in action, I dunno what is. Suddenly I have the uncontrollable urge to spin myself senseless on a stationary bike whilst being screamed at by a shrill drill instructor, and then someone eats a poxy pangolin in China and my rigorous routine is right out the window. Can I get a FFS over here please? 🙋🏼♀️.
Anyway, the complete world lockdown gave us the chance to pause, think, get absolutely plastered on cheap plonk from Aldi...and then take a long hard look at ourselves and decide whether or not a ctl-alt-delete-style reset was needed. For some, it wasn’t. For others, it was, but they weren’t ready to see it. I was somewhere between both camps - wondering if I needed to change my lifestyle, deciding I did...but then making the counter-argument that life was short and surely one more bottle of Sauvignon wouldn’t hurt whilst I thought about it some more...
Finally, 4 months and about 400 bottles into the pandemic I decided enough was enough and stopped drinking and partying. For good. Well, for 258 days so far (and counting).
Lots of people asked how I did it (especially those who knew first-hand what a prolific caner I’d been). I’d pondered my response and then listed my actions, in a practical manner which I’d thought at the time to be as helpful as possible, to encourage others on the same pious path: read all of the quit lit; consume all the podcasts; sleep loads to use up valuable drinking time; get the Try Dry app and track the life outta your progress; share; support; find sober allies etc etc ad nauseam. Then, whilst running this morning (did I mention I run now? 😉) it came to me in a flash: the simple secret of how I’ve ever given something up, or taken up a new healthy hobby and stuck to it. Are you ready? Drum roll please.....*clears throat*....ahem....
PROJECT THE EFFECT.
That’s it. Simply ‘project’ the effect you know you’ll get having done whatever it is you want to do...or stop doing.
Hold up! ✋🏻 Don’t be disappointed with this simple answer. Let me explain...
When you are about to do something naughty...project how it will make you feel in, say, 8hrs’ time (you can set your own timeframe). So for example drinking, eating crap, or taking drugs. We all know that the short-term effects of these things is pleasure. That’s why we do them. But how will you feel 8hrs after indulging? Sluggish, sick, hungover, skint, remorseful? If so, every time you go to indulge in one of those naughty pastimes, visualise how they’ll make you feel in x amount of time...then really ask yourself if you still want to partake. If you give yourself at least 15 mins of visualising those negative after-effects, the chances are you’ll chose not to do them. If you still want to go ahead after that time, be my guest. Happy days! You’ve weighed up the pros and cons and decided the pros still outweigh the cons and are willing to take them on the chin. Fair enough! (Just don’t be surprised when sympathy is lacking when you’re giving it ‘woe is me’ on Monday morning when you’re feeling fat, poor, depressed and full of self-loathing after yet another weekend blow-out.)
The good news is, the same rule applies to things you don’t want to do but know you’ll be glad you did afterwards: running being my particular example. (See, I told you there was a point to be made there). Most of the time, if you asked me if I’d rather eat a Maccy D’s brekkers in bed (there’s a giant branch of the Golden Arches right by my house but I’ve not had one in well over a year now), watching my fave show on Netflix or get up and go for a run in the cold and rain, Lazy Me would have chosen the former option. However, ‘Project The Effect’ Me knows that eating crap makes me feel like Jabba The Hut, but the version of me that runs feels a million dollars the minute I step back through the door, sweating, endorphins coursing through my veins and an invisible halo hovering over my head for the rest of the day, which means I get my ass up and into my running gear, pronto (I’ve just completed run number 70 this year, over 500km of reluctant running, so this method works, people).
The main difference between my Optimum Self and the Slovenly Wine-Guzzler inside me, is that one thinks about the aftermath of her decisions, and the other dives headlong into the drinks cabinet without a second thought. Taking that time to fast-forward into the near future is the thing that differentiates these two versions of me, and helps me choose to be the one that will ultimately make me happiest. Does that make sense? Simple really, but I’ve always been a very impetuous, impulsive animal. And old habits die hard (but so, too, do impulsive creatures who do not take a second to consider their actions).
Do you remember the Green Cross Code? (Millennials look away now, this reference will mean sweet FA to you). Back in the days when we were taught at school with dusty old books and pamphlets (is that word even still in circulation?) rather than iPads, I distinctly remember being told to Stop, Look and Listen before crossing the road, to avoid getting run over by a bus. (The campaign went something like: Stop! At the kerb. Look! Is there a car coming? Listen! For approaching traffic). There was a little pamphlet with illustrations of Tufty the Squirrel to demonstrate road safety.
Well, consider this approach to everyday life and you won’t go far wrong:
STOP! Do you really want to drink/eat/smoke/snort/shag that?! (I’m chuckling away at this point, picturing a concerned Tufty asking those questions in a squeaky voice with a disapproving look on his little squirrelly face).
LOOK! Into the near future (say, 8hrs’ time) - are you happy with what’s coming? ie what you see/feel as a result of your actions?
LISTEN! To your gut. To your heart. To the traffic in your head. Do you hear a big red bus approaching?
Then it’s upto you, and you alone, to decide whether it’s sensible to step out into the road...
Good luck! 🍀
Sam x
Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com
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