Why it's COOL to be enthusiastic!!!!

I am a firm believer that everyone should find what they love and buy ten of it. Stick it on their walls. Inhale it, rub it into their skin, dream about it and wear it in their hair like a iridescent tiara that even Mark Francis would adore. (Providing that it doesn't hurt anyone, isn't illegal and definitely does not involve death yadda yadda yadda.)

Let's take a step back and talk about me for a second. I didn't always see enthusiasm as the ideal, oh no. I saw enthusiasm more as unwanted spillage from my pores that I was constantly trying to mop up with a mound of kitchen paper and lobby into the bin before anyone noticed.

As a child, I had always been very keen. I'd finish my Numeracy work as quickly as I could, side-eying my 'opponents' as I tackled subtracting fractions, sweaty fingers hovering over the calculator desperate not to fuck up. I needed to finish first! With all the answers correct! With my numbers cascading across the page so I could get a shiny sticker whilst I was at it!!! I loved Numeracy and I wanted to do it again and again and again.

In year six, I loved learning about astronomy so much I spent a weekend dragging my poor dad around Hobbycraft looking for materials to build a massive solar system. I paper-mached a sun and covered it in satsuma and dippy egg hued tissue paper, which was carefully rolled into tiny bits. I made each of the planets out of a bob of play dough and positioned them on sticks. I then made a worksheet for all of my classmates so they could learn about the planets and be tested on it. My logic was that everyone should learn about Jupiter because it's fun, right?! My classmates probably hated me.

Secondary school was next level.  Any hint of passion meant you would have a gang of girls waiting for you outside the gates ready to put their cigarette out on your arm. Learning? Pah, next joke please mate! PE? Forget your kit and stop being so wet. Homework? R u ok, hun.

Giving a shit about anything was lame. Everyone knows that being cool, is essentially not giving a shit whilst wearing this season's sunglasses. It's half-ass showing up somewhere (if one has the time) not bothering about looking great (but still managing to) nor seeming interested in the conversations taking place. The surroundings could be Disneyland or they could be a school canteen. Who cares!

I tried to be cool once(!!) and adopt this level of apathy myself which, if you have ever met me, will know is ludicrous, because I am the least nonchalant person on the planet. I can't even say the word 'nonchalant' aloud, without typing it in Google to hear the pronunciation. I am loud, garish and messy. I am emotional and ambitious and sensitive. For me, to suddenly switch off all this feeling was of course unsuccessful. It's like telling your mate she can't mention her new boyfriend or his shiny green eyes. It just will fester inside of you until you shout 'WHEN I WAS TEN I WANTED TO BE A BOY' at some poor lady in the Tesco Metro trying to buy a packet of ham for her tea.

I'd go home each night from school (aged around 14-years-old) and look in the mirror and give myself a stern talking to. 'Aimee, you need to get a grip please!' 'You need to stop doing jazz hands and telling everyone you like writing poems!' 'Only speak when spoken to!' 'Whenever you're about to speak, wait at least ten seconds to sound really mysterious!' 'Don't do your homework... don't you dare!'

Enthusiasm and the art of being cool was like a big slab of honey on a white fluffy hunk of bread. (AKA not a thing. It's not. Nope. If you want to fight me about this, I am ready. Bring it on Twitter @aimeejakes you obscene sandwich murderer).

I was hellbent on being cool and began attempting to act like I wasn't bothered by anything. I had goals, which at the time were to be a Primary School Teacher, but it wasn't what I really wanted. It didn't get my heart spasming. I had a boyfriend which took a lot of my attention and I wasn't doing anything for me.  I felt apathetic and a little lost since we are being so honest.

When I discovered journalism however, a fire had ignited in my belly and eagerness made my hands shake so much that the coffee I was inevitably holding, dribbled all over my shoes. Telling stories excited me. Breaking news first made my heart splutter with pride. Trying to convey a deep personal issue through the medium of words made me feel validated and the fact I could help implement change like many of the people I admire in the industry, made me feel motivated AF.

I began to embrace feelings of excitement again. I would babble whenever I would talk about work and I adopted a childlike optimistic outlook. I would notice other people would become happy and more energised when I was being so and I'd notice how one 'ugh I hate everything meh meh meh' in the room, could bring everyone else's energy down. Moods are contagious.

Someone (very wise) recently told me that we are all our true selves as children and that we spend our teens trying to be someone else, trying desperately to fit in and squish our real (great) selves underneath our bed, alongside our fears that we will never amount to much and a lunchbox we can't be arsed to clean.

I have many theories (lol) but one is that we are capable of being enthusiastic about something. Whether that is make-up, running 10ks, DJing or selling juice to everyone on Facebook (not my cup of tea, but who cares!). Whatever it is, OWN IT. Shout about it. Be it, breathe it, unashamedly plug it. Talk about it often and the world will adjust. Living for something bigger than yourself is one of the ways to live happier and more fulfilled. There is nothing cooler than seeing someone talk about something they love. And you being unashamedly open and passionate will motivate others to do the same. That is the coolest thing in the fucking planet.

Basically, (DON'T) curb your enthusiasm. And don't read a book titled 'How to be Parisian' because you are great how you are. Messy, silly and happy.

How Running Helped My Mental Health

I've always done a lot of running. Running away from my problems, boys that were too nice to me and for the morning bus after snoozing my alarm eight times. 

Actual running - y'know, where you put one foot in front of the other quickly and pant a bit - was done a lot less frequently. I always had that 'one friend I went on runs with', but as neither of us had a goal nor tracked what we did. Our usual 'running agenda' was as follows:

1) Meet up (if could be arsed and EastEnders wasn't on the telly)

2) Wear something that looked like it had been salvaged from a lost property box

3) Do a slow jog as soon as we found a cycle path (running in front of people (imagine!) was a definite no)

4) As soon as we could no longer breathe, we'd stop 

5) Walk home whilst discussing a Kardashian's sartorial choices

Not a workout plan coming to your local Waterstones anytime soon, is it! I think I only bothered with points one to five in the first place was to try and convince my family I wasn't a complete slob and so I could write a #humblebrag tweet 'Just went on a run! #Exhausted!' with loads of bicep emojis. 

Meh Meh Meh.  I didn't like my body, I hated how big my thighs felt! How much they wobbled! How they touched! How all of me felt very uncomfortably present.  You're not really supposed to tell someone when you feel like that, especially as I knew I wasn't fat fat, so I kept the thoughts buried inside which corroded away at my self-esteem and perpetually reminded me that everyone definitely thought I was obese.

I would fantasize about cutting bits of flab off,  became firmly aquatinted with dodgy fat-burning tablets from the internet and skipped meals. I then proceeded to eat 13 packets of chocolate biscuits and a small village when the hunger pangs became too much. 

I am also prone to bouts of not feeling anything at all. Feeling apathetic. Feeling nothingness and numb. It's a truly terrifying state of mind and I can only see it like that when I'm no longer in that place. When I'm there I feel like I could give up the job I love, push away the people I care about, because nothing really matters!!! (BUT IT DOES, SO KEEP GOING.)

Its hard sometimes to feel motivated when it's just you. When you're the only one keeping tabs and the only one who gives a shit if you eat a nice meal or sleep eight hours. Like hey, sometimes I irritate myself and would love to go on holiday away from my brain. I don't care if I have nice things because I'm essentially a walking piece of rubbish. I don't deserve the things I like. I don't care if I'm unhappy. I couldn't care less if I never woke up again, in fact it would make things an 'ellaovalot easier... (NO IT WOULDN'T.)

A few months ago, my very sporty friend Alyss said I should go on a 5k with her around central London before work. A 5k before work?! Is that even a thing? Surely I'd need some medal or something on completion?  Aren't you supposed to have training and all your friends and family sponsor you before embarking on such a feat?

The first run was horrendous. My chest hurt, I could barely breathe and Alyss insisted asking me 101 questions about my life. 'So what are you doing this weekend?' she effortlessly asked me as I could barely muster a response. I had to walk a bit. I asked her if we could stop at least three times. I thanked baby Jesus every time we had to wait to cross the road. 

But every 5k I completed became easier. I could feel my body become stronger. I could see things improve and as someone who is motivated by accomplishment and results, tracking my runs helped massively. (I recommend downloading the Nike running app and a snazzy pink fitness armband from TxMax.)

This was miles away (#LOL) from myself before, where I would guess my progress and judge how well I did depending on how much I weighed. I'd run for about ten minutes and would think to myself 'that was probably 3 miles and 500 calories burned, well done me!' I wouldn't even time it. 

Now I look forward to running. I achieve my best time! I feel stronger! I can do fucking anything!  I am out there getting better every single day. Someone literally try and stop me, I dare you! 

I'm watching BBC1's Mind Over Marathon and it's really striking a chord with me of how fucking fantastic running is for you. Or any exercise for that matter. Yeah sure at first it's really hard. You're gonna fail. You're gonna be shit. Revel in it! Roll in the mud called 'Failure' and wear it proudly on your cheeks like a deranged Viking. This is the worst you'll ever be, because you're gonna get better and better, just you wait!

It's also helped my relationship with food. You've done a work out? Right, well now you need to refuel, honey! None of that 'no carbs' bullshit and this is definitely not the time to skip a meal (there is never a time to skip a meal!) You need good fats, you need protein, you need complex carbohydrates. You need to look after yourself now, because you're an utter champ. You deserve it for working so hard. Go you! Have a peanut butter smothered banana because your body needs it. 

I don't want to eat very little because I won't be the best I can be. I don't want to eat lots of chocolate cake either because that makes me feel groggy, lethargic and gross. I want to eat nutritious, wholesome foods that will make me become stronger, that will make my skin glow and that will give me lots of energy. 

Running has opened my eyes to a new life, where my body and brain are on the same team. And to tell you the truth, it feels bloody marvellous.