We Can Do It! (Ladies + Weights = WIN)

Hello peeps,

Let it be known that I'm a sucker for all things vintage and retro. Needless to say, when 'Keep Calm and Carry On' had something of a comeback, I more or less stiffened my upper lip in celebration.

So, it goes without saying that Rosie the Riveter (she of wartime 'We Can Do It!' fame) was a style icon. And, important political messages aside; had killer guns and could completely be exploited for fitness gain.

I used to hate my arms. I mean, really hate them - almost as much as I hated the following:

- my upper arm being the size of an average female's thigh

- being part of an age group which high street stores deemed too young/thin/fabulous for sleeves

- wearing said evasive sleeves in the summer and adopting a rather strange posture to avoid the big reveal of my sweat patches

- the breeze that would be generated when I casually forgot myself and waved at someone with abandon, only to nearly concuss myself with an errant bingo wing

- an armpit cleavage which a slim female would covet for her chest, no doubt

Anyway. Over the past couple of years, cardio blitzed my flab. Eyed it up, tackled it, and kerb-stomped it into submission. Not going to lie - cardio kicked seven shades out of Fat Girl.

But I knew that, with a significant amount of weight to lose, I needed to lift *kitten* up and put it back down if I wanted to avoid hating my new body. So I've always swung kettlebells - the hardarse holding back Fat Girl's arms, as it were, whilst cardio pummelled her face.

But over the last few months, as I've come within spitting distance of my original goal, I knew it was time to get serious. Start a full-blown affair with the free weights section. Walk in among the menfolk, engage my core, and repress my porno grunts.

I'm not finished yet - my belly remains, as always, the stubborn stepchild of my body - but I was at an Ann Summers party last week (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T GOOGLE IT IN WORK IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS), and to cut a long story short we had to create outfits for each other out of bin bags (?). I had a rather fetching bow placed in my hair, which led one of my friends to exclaim "you look like the wartime lady!"

And I felt like it was quite possibly the greatest compliment bestowed upon me.

Ladies (and gents!), it's time to listen to wartime posters. We CAN do it.