Wanna be a Stone Cold Fox? Get Teatox!

The invitation to test the Essential Teatox 14-day detox couldn't have landed in my inbox at a better time: a few days before my eventful trip to India.

To me, this was a green light to scrap the beach yoga and instead indulge in all the calorific curries and Kingfisher beers my little pot-belly could handle, safe in the knowledge that immediately upon my return I could flip the kettle on and brew up some evil-tasting concoction that would magically melt away the evidence of my gluttony.

Now I'm not overweight - my BMI is 22 - and at almost 6ft tall I have a lot of body to fill, BUT - having turned the big (whisper it!) 4-0 this year, I've decided to take a bit more care of myself. Let's face it, the only place a muffin top looks good is on a muffin. And I'd been no stranger to the M&S bakery...

So I ditched the cigs and am eating my veggies like a good girl. Unfortunately 'smoke-free' is not synonymous with 'sugar-free': my taste buds - suddenly reawakened - start twerking furiously at the prospect of a cinnamon bun. I'm no GI (Glycaemic Index) Jane; I'm more familiar with Kettle Chips than kettle bells, admittedly. But I'm getting there. Kinda. Oh, don't get me wrong, I love a prosecco (or 3), and I'm still partial to the odd Big Mac, but Rome wasn't built in a day (and neither was Gisele's body).

So I was sitting on the beach in Goa, eyeing my physique appraisingly. Hmmm, hardly the stone cold fox I'd envisaged. More an urban fox. You know the ones: weathered; mangy-looking; furiously tearing open rubbish bags with their teeth in search of scraps; existing on a diet of old tea bags, sandwich crusts and discarded bacon rind...and perhaps the occasional small child if they can squeeze through an unlocked suburban cat-flap.

"You're in shape, darling," soothed Andy, in an attempt to rebuild my flagging body confidence. "Oh yeah," I replied, resignedly....."the shape of a barrel," vowing to take action upon my return...

As soon as I squeezed (sideways) through the door when I arrived home, I tore at the packaging with my teeth (see, fox?) and scrutinised the contents. Hmmm. The teabags themselves are aesthetically pleasing: silky little pyramids; high quality. It was the contents that I was more dubious about: bits of bark and plant material. Well, it certainly looks organic, I thought. A few minutes later I took a tentative sip of my new brew.....and was pleasantly surprised. I expected rank-tasting swamp water....but it's actually....very nice. No involuntary screwface. The licorice sweetens it nicely, and there's no bitter aftertaste. Result!

In the evening, I steel my tastebuds for the PM blend. Again, to my surprise, it tastes fresh and sweet. The detox is simplicity itself: a tea each morning and a different blend every other evening. I made the decision not to adjust my diet or exercise regime at all for 2 reasons:

1. I don't diet or have an exercise regime, and
2. I wanted to ensure any results were 100% down to the tea.

Over the coming days, I find myself looking forward to my Teatox. I know people are always sceptical about these things, and I was too, but I swear I saw an uplift in my energy, and my mood, within a few days. Even if this was partly the placebo effect, caused by me feeling all virtuous and thus projecting a smugly satisfied glowing aura, then surely even that's a good thing?

The list of ingredients is impressive, all renowned for their energising and slimming properties, so I'm convinced there's a bit more at work than my imaginary shiny halo. Judge for yourself:

   

The programme costs £19.99, so 95p per cup: a third of the price of my usual coffee-shop skinny hot choc with chocolate sprinkles (and yes, I'm fully aware that there's really no such thing as a skinny hot chocolate thank-you-very-much), and leaves me feeling far more energised than the over-priced Starbucks sugar-rush that's soon followed by a crash. The only place I lose weight with my regular beverage is my purse, as I empty all my hard-earned coins onto the counter.

As the tea tastes so good, I leave the teabag in whilst drinking to make it as strong as possible, and even find myself topping up the hot water a further few times to really get the most out of each bag. This is not in the guidelines, but I figure you may as well get maximum benefit and value from the detox, right?

                                            

A week in, and I'm feeling great. On a night out with my girlfriends I feel confident and happy in my silky dress and get a few cheesy compliments from some randoms in the pub. I'm not in the market for a new fella, but it's nice to be appreciated nonetheless, hey?

Working in retail at Christmas time is flat-out busy, and I often resort to double-dropping Pro Plus in a desperate attempt to pep up my flagging energy levels with caffeine (since I hate coffee and you need arms like Popeye's for the mammoth stock deliveries), but during the detox I find I'm awake before the alarm and don't feel tired during the day at all. My sleep is better too: although I still wake up super-early, I'm not waking as much during the night.

At the end of the 2 weeks, I'm sad to see my tea supplies come to an end. I haven't lost weight (unsurprising, considering I've had fast food a few times, boozy nights out with the girls and my usual sneaky snacks), yet I definitely feel less bloated, more energised, and happier overall with my figure.

Would I use Essential Teatox again? Yes - particularly before a holiday or a special occasion. Who knows, next time I may even combine it with a healthier diet and some exercise to get the maximum slink-factor. Stranger things have happened (erm, it begins with T and ends in 'rump').

Oh, and did I mention I'm also a Victoria's Secret model now? Best keep schtum for the time being - it's such a secret that even Victoria doesn't know...

Seriously though, I'm bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and feeling fierce. So you wanna be a Stone Cold Fox?  Get Teatox  ;-)

Use code TEATOX10 for 10% off when placing your order.
For a chance to try the 14-day Teatox for FREE,  enter my competition here.*

UPDATE: This competition is now closed and the winner has been chosen at random. Congratulations to Kirsten Hyde - your Teatox is winging it's way to you!

Find more opinions and reviews on Essential Teatox via Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

*Competition T&Cs:

- the competition will run from Monday 5th December until 11.59pm on 30th December GMT.
- entrants must be UK residents aged 18 and over.
- all entries to be completed using the Rafflecopter link above.
- all entries will be checked and verified.
- the winner will be chosen at random from all valid entries.
- the winner will be announced by the 5th Jan (emailed as well as via social media and as a blog update).
- the winner will have 72hrs to respond with their details, otherwise a new winner will be picked following the same procedure.

Thanks for entering - good luck!


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com

www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com

www.mummymission.blogspot.com

www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76

Facebook: Samantha Jane Walsh

Instagram: wanderingblonde76

Return of the Mack

Working in the beauty industry in London in the late nineties and early noughties was a close-knit, glamorous affair. I use the word ‘affair’ partly because the relationship between employer and employee tended to be a short-lived love story: we fell in love with a brand, threw ourselves wholeheartedly into selling their wares, then like the fickle young things we were, we'd soon fall out of love and move onto the next exciting company in the department store's beauty hall. Thus grew this incestuous community of bouffanted babes, where everyone knew everyone and it wasn't uncommon to see the same faces work their way from one counter to the next over the course of a few years, each time building up their contacts book, boosting their CVs and getting a change of scene and a cheeky pay increase into the bargain.

Dickens and Jones, Harvey Nicks, Barkers of Kensington - we touted our make-up skills and fragrance knowledge around them all, but my favourite of the lot was Selfridges. A hip and bustling cosmetic hall crammed with carefully-coiffed glossy young consultants, we'd have to shout above the pounding beats of the music, different tunes coming from various counters in a kind of controlled chaos: tall, slender model-esque reps offering fragrance strips doused in the latest heady scents to passing shoppers, make-up artists applying red lips here, brushing on mascara there; it was a veritable beauty playground set against a house music backdrop as DJs spun tunes in the neighbouring Spirit fashion section.

The social scene that came with working with hundreds of like-minded young people was as buzzing as the atmosphere in the store itself, and club promoters came by on a daily basis handing out passes for free entry or discounted drinks at all the hippest clubs. My fellow beauty buddies and I fell into a familiar pattern: selling high-end beauty products by day, partying at night.


One particular party-loving pal of mine was Lorraine (Lolly) Mack - a 30 year old effervescent blonde bombshell, whose larger-than-life personality and striking looks earned her notoriety on the beauty and clubbing circuits. Being blessed with a banging bod meant she'd also done a spot of glamour modelling and had appeared in various publications such as FHM and The Sun as well as a TV show on Sky1.

One night in March 2004, I'd been invited to Pacha nightclub in Victoria by a friend of mine, so Lolly and I decided to make a night of it and take our respective beaus along too - I was engaged to Liam, and Lorraine had an Italian boyfriend who was over for the weekend. Lolly was tired on the day and considered dropping out, but after a few drinks in Islington we were all buzzing off each other's energy (and possibly a few cheeky shots) and in high spirits took a taxi to the club. What happened next changed Lorraine's life forever.

Laughing and joking, we bantered with the bouncers before being ushered into the blackness of the club, our bodies reverberating from the heavy bass of the music. We queued for the cloakroom, bought drinks at the bar, then Liam and I left Lolly and her boyfriend near the bar whilst we nipped upstairs to find the rest of our mates.

Unbeknownst to us as we passed by the crowds on the balcony above, a heavily-built young guy (who was high on drink and drugs) was about to come over the balcony into the crowd of tightly-packed revellers below......landing directly onto Lorraine.
Instantly, her spinal cord was severed at the fourth vertebrae from the top, rendering her immediately quadriplegic. In that split-second her life, as she knew it, was over.

When Liam and I came back downstairs a few minutes later we saw a commotion and a crowd gathered around someone on the floor. Everything went into slow motion as it dawned on us that it was our friend, and that she wasn't moving. We fought through the crowd, shouting over the music, pleading with her to get up. But it was no use. She knew instantly what had happened, that she was paralysed. All she could do was blink helplessly. We raced to hospital where Lorraine had emergency surgery involving taking bone from her hip and putting it into her neck to secure it.

When your phone rings in the middle of the night it's often accompanied with a sense of dread, and as we sat alongside her Mum and two elder brothers Tony and Gary in the waiting room we were all numb with shock, unable to take in the enormity of the fate that had befallen our Lolly.

When we set off for a night's clubbing, none of us could have known that Lorraine would not return home for the next 10 months, those long dark days spent instead at the specialist spinal hospital Stoke Mandeville, surrounded by other patients for whom life had also dealt a terrible hand.  One such patient who became a friend to Lorraine was Dan Nicholls, an 18-year-old boy paralysed by a freak wave whilst enjoying a day at Bondai Beach, whose father would later go on to set up The Nicholls Spinal Injury Foundation.

During those unspeakably tough early days of her injury Lorraine's thoughts were dark, even asking her brothers to take her to the Dignitas Clinic in Zurich to end her life. It was during this period that her brother Tony started researching possible treatments online, desperate to help his beloved sister.

"We can give up Lorraine, or we can fight this together until we find a cure and get you walking again."


This marked the turning point, and since then Lolly and her family have campaigned tirelessly to raise funds towards finding a cure. Despite being paralysed from the neck down, Lorraine still endured constant chronic pain all over her body in the form of burning pins and needles, and needed a cocktail of 18 different drugs each day which left her bloated and did little to alleviate her daily agony.

Twelve years on, and today Lorraine is a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak prognosis. Despite doctors telling her early on that she'd never move again she cranks up the dance music, flips on her disco lights and undergoes four gruelling hours of intense physiotherapy each day with the help of her carers, and consequently has some movement in both arms. Although she is unable to grip with her hands, she can use her phone, laptop and has even learnt to apply her own make-up again. She retains her love of fashion, music, modelling and travelling the world, and her treatment and quest for a cure have led her as far afield as Miami, LA, Italy and Brazil.

Her relationship with her boyfriend came to an end, but now she's found true love in the form of a 29 year old LA-based hunk, to whom she's been engaged for a year after meeting at a mutual friend's house two years ago.

The man who landed on Lorraine was given a two year sentence, but Lolly doesn't dwell on the facts of the night, instead remaining focused on her mission to walk again.

She is now completely drug-free, having gone cold turkey from all the meds after ten years, a feat which impressed ex-addict Russell Brand when she bumped into him in her local, causing him to remark that that was probably more difficult than stopping his well-documented heroin use. The bloating caused by the medication disappeared, taking her back to a slinky size eight and today she is as strikingly attractive as ever - her slim figure in contrast to her huge personality, raucous laughter and Barbara Windsor-style cheeky cockney character.

She’s done a tandem skydive which raised £3k for Spinal Research, completed countless 'virtual cycles' for SCI (Spinal Cord Injury) charities including a whopping 285 miles London to Paris bike ride with the aid of her FES (Functional Electrical Stimulation) bike, and is currently about to take part in the WFL (Wings For Life)  World Run in Milan, which her brother Tony will be running whilst pushing her in her wheelchair. She'll be dressed in a pink ensemble complete with wings alongside her four Italian fellow 'Cure Girls' - a group of fiesty women from around the world, all of whom have suffered a spinal cord injury and are therefore campaigning to raise awareness and money for SCI charities.

Lorraine fundraises continuously for various charities including Spinal Research and The Nicholls Spinal Injury Foundation. These charities receive zero government funding despite around 40,000 people currently living with paralysis in the UK at a cost of £1billion a year, and help fund vital research. For the first time in history scientists have recorded the reconnection of severed long spinal nerve fibres by using the patient's own stem cells to create a "bridge" over which the damaged connections can grow back, resulting in one paralysed man being able to take his first tentative steps.

When I think back to that fateful night in 2004, my heart lurches when I picture the pair of giggling carefree girls who entered the club and the tragic events that led to only one of us walking out of there again.

The very definition of girl power, I'm filled with admiration for my pal, who overcomes adversity and chronic neuropathic pain on a daily basis in her steely determination to walk again. She remains bubbly and positive, despite losing ten friends over the years as a result of their SCI - either through suicide or health complications relating to their injuries. (Don't be fooled by the glamorous shots - her own list of ailments is extensive, from bladder infections, to scoliosis, osteoporosis and pressure sores).

I'm sure you'll agree that her mental and physical strength and stamina make Lolly Mack a true inspiration, and if anyone can get back on the dancefloor, it's her.

You can visit Lolly's blog at www.curegirls.wordpress.com, sponsor her at www.justgiving.com/lorrainemack or visit her website www.lollymack.com. See www.spinal-research.org and www.nsif.org.uk for more details on SCI, the research taking place and how you can help. Photography by Michelle George, www.michellegeorgephotography.com

This article has also appeared at Huffington Post UK.

Fancy reading Sam's back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76
Facebook: Samantha Jane Walsh
Instagram: wanderingblonde76

Mind the (Thigh) Gap

    

Okay, so I may know my way around a countour palette and own more cosmetics than Estee Lauder herself, but when it comes to being catwalk-ready from the neck down - forget it!

Now there are some girls who have a body for Baywatch, face for Crimewatch. What's the use in bursting a blood vessel at the gym if you've got a face like a bag o' spanners? No, get your hair and make-up runway-ready and to hell with the fitness regime. It's not called a 'regime' for nothing. I don't recall Hitler's one being a barrel of laughs either. Life's for living, not pouting into your phone like a constipated duck whilst 'working out' for the camera. I can't work that out.

Seeing as the majority of people only chat to the bit above your chin (or chins, in my  case - I blame constantly looking down at my phone) - why bother slogging your guts out on your glutes, especially if you've got a permanent case of resting bitch face. Don't sweat it - just smile occasionally! I know exercise releases endorphins, but so does biting into a quarter-pounder with cheese.

I wouldn't say I was a total lard-arse, but fitness model material I certainly ain't. These days we're under increasing pressure to pump iron, our newsfeeds clogged up with skinny, tanned superfit bods, their proud owner beaming smugly from your phone as you tuck into your hummous dip....accompanied with a family-sized bag of Doritos. Or should I say DOH-ritos! I must remember to replace those with a carrot next time. Oh well.

Far from springing off the sofa and nipping out for a quick 5k's, I'm more likely to flip my phone over and reach for the sharing-size Salt and Vinegar Kettle Chips in defiance. My Sainsbury's delivery dude probably thinks I've got 6 kids with all these 'family fun-packs.'



"Prep Like a Boss!" is The Body Coach's strapline, gesturing to row upon boring row of sterile Tupperware boxes stuffed with various gut-churning greens. Oh, I prep like a boss alright mate....the boss of a chip shop.

Of course, I don't want to be a blubbery old bird. I've hit the gym....instructor. Well he was a smarmy git anyway....and it WAS an accident (I got a tad over-zealous with my free weights.)

Having a fit younger boyfriend is not without it's pitfalls either - Andy goes to BodyPump regularly and in a moment of madness I agreed to go to a couple of classes, see what all the fuss was about. Within minutes my eyes were bulging, teeth clenched as I strained to lift the weights above my head. I glanced casually around to check no-one was watching....and realised that everyone else had weights the size of manhole covers on each side, bar bending in the middle, whilst my spindly arms struggled with my piddly 3kg jobbies. The shame!

As I collapsed in a cardiac emergency I vowed to work out in the privacy of my own home in future. I bought a set of dumbells. They're working. Every time I trip over them they remind me how dumb I am. Andy suggested we take up running. So far the only running I seem to be doing is running out of money before the end of the month.

Then there's the diet. How anyone can drink those bile-inducing protein shakes is beyond me. I'd rather lick the bottom of a birdcage. Being hangry is no fun for anyone.

If God didn't want us to eat his cute animals why did he make them so goddamn tasty?

I know vegetarians preach about 'not eating anything with a face' but someone should remind them that even potatoes have eyes. How do you know if someone's a veggie? Oh don't worry, they'll fecking tell you!

Too much red meat is bad for you, I get that. It's not great for the cow, either. I have a weakness for sweet n' sour spare ribs, but who said they were spare? Not the pig, that's for sure.

Fruit and veg may be good for you, no-one's disputing that, but when was the last time you salivated over a salad, eh? Thought not. You'd never walk in at an inopportune moment to find your fella ogling a naked fruit salad on the Lad Bible site, would you now? But stick a big flappy kebab on his Food Porn feed and he's definitely perking up....

We all know a muffin top is unbecoming on anything other than, well, a muffin, but if you dress well ( ie shoehorned into Spanx in XXS) then at least your dietary misdemeanors can be pretty much concealed. Until, that is, you peel off your layers to reveal what looks like a cheap Iceland sausage bursting out of it's skin. Then it may be time to reign in the nightly gallon-drum of Chenin Blanc and invest in a padlock for the biscuit tin.

As Kate Moss  famously once  said....

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."

She's obviously never tasted my local Indian's creamy kormas.

As soon as my jeans start to pinch, I resort to my tried-and-tested exercise regime...I go on a clubbing binge. Nothing snaps that waist into shape and planes inches off those hips faster than a weekend's raving, dancing furiously to house and techno tunage at any one of London town's myriad of hip haunts. Eager to keep up with my younger counterparts I dance Duracell-stylee all night long, the only calories passing my lips coming from the odd chewing gum or an energy-boosting vodka Red Bull, sweat pouring down my ruddy face. Sexy.

Come Monday, I may have bags under my eyes, but the ones on my butt have miraculously disappeared. Result!

Obviously being slim is no guarantee of health either. There's someone I see on my commute with a figure that'd make Elle 'The Body' Macpherson green with envy, but then she opens her mouth to reveal a set of Swiss-army teeth: rotten stumps and jagged bits all over the gaff. It's like a row of bombed-out houses. Yikes!

Whilst I've always considered working in a job that involves being on my feet for at least eight hours a day to be a disadvantage, now I credit all the running about after my customers with the fact that I'm not getting mistaken for Gemma Collins just yet. And seeing as I won't be able to afford to retire until around five years after I die then I should be fine. I'll probably reach my target weight round about the same time.


And as for the wrinkles appearing round my eyes, well of course Botox has entered my head....but I only have to take one look at Amanda Holden's expressionless waxwork mug and I decide to leave well alone (for now). I do have a few mates with foreheads as suspiciously smooth as hard-boiled eggs....but if I've got the hump I want people to know about it, ya get me?

So there you have it. If you get a buzz out of busting a gut at some hernia-inducing class at the gym then good for you.

Me? I'll stick to bustin' moves instead...

Fancy reading the back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76
Facebook: Samantha Jane Walsh

Instagram: wanderingblonde76