Why do we do this? 

Why does an athlete do what they do? 

I hear this question often from friends and associates. I am beginning to believe that these people are clearly lazy! So I asked back, what’s your hobbies? What do you enjoy doing outside of work and family time? What excites you? Is there a project at home you are eager to get back too? 

And then I sit and wait. The look on each persons face initially is to stare, they look upwards and then a smile grows on their face. They begin to tell me of their passion. The level of excitement is evident, with each smile begins a tale a story of ups and downs, struggles and achievements, laughter tears and then they tell me 9/10 that they reached their end goal. For the majority it’s not physicall ( apart from childbirth ) some enjoy comic cons or reading their favourite novels. For many of my first time mother friends is the first time they hear their babies cry and hold that sweet child in their arms. I can relate to this, the smell of a freshly bathed child is by far the most warm and in touch with nature I have ever felt. That and washing my feet on exercise in the army. Talcing then and then applying fresh clean socks ( eutrophic ) 

So I then ask, 

Why do you ask me why I do what I do then? Yes I’m committed as you are too with your hobbies and goals. Why should mine be any different? 

They can’t answer…. why? Because I believe not all are 100% committed to their goal. I am, so stop asking!!! 


There are no excuses! 

So this next part is embarrassing, there is no excuse for it I can’t think of any reasons as to why I let myself get into a situation like this. Was it because I wanted to look good? Maybe be apart of the crowd, peer pressure? Did I rebel or was I a messed up kid looking for a way to numb out my life. I can honestly say I don’t know. So much had happened to me at such a young age already it’s a difficult one to determine. Dad’s abuse was always in the back of my mind, so many times I remember walking home wondering what kind of mood he was in. Was he drunk? Was he angry? Had Mum looked at another man in a way he deemed wrong? My mum never put a foot wrong, she was a hard working mother of 4, she maintained our home, fed clothed all 4 of us to perfection. We were always smart looking,  clean very well presented. To the un trained eye no one would of known what went on between our four walls. My father was a very jealous and angry man, yet from the stories mum has told me, like his own father he was a cheat! Having affairs constantly behind her back! 
I completely understand this as The Narc would accuse me of cheating yet it was him who cheated on me. So he like my father with my mother, had judged me by his disgusting standards! 
To add insult the woman he cheated on me with is kind of family  through marriage. I mean I don’t care now she’s just some mother of three boys with different dads, ironically she was or still is married to a cousin of mine ( Jeremy Kyle or what! ) I actually laughed when I found out her own son couldn’t believe The Narc had chosen her over me “you, over Claire” that must of hurt her deeply for him to say that. It’s not about looks it’s about control and she is perfect for him. A lap dog ( if you pardon the pun ) someone who can’t afford to lose someone like him. He was a good looking man when I met him, fit, good body. Now not so much! apparently he’s gained weight like he was in high school. Funnily he used to be so insecure over his looks as he was bullied as a child for being overweight. Yes I have no feelings for this man, not even hate anymore I’ve searched my demons and done what I needed to do to get closure of his abuse to me, the only feelings I do have for him is pity. Pity for man who has terrorised most his partners due to personality disorder he has attained from a child. He won’t admit it, they push blame onto others, the traits of a narc are so obvious to me now it’s text book. I was that terrified I could be a narc myself I did a test and later had it confirmed. Ironically I project all the traits of an empath in conjunction with the grief of Richie and being abused as a child. Him and I were a recipe for disaster. Be that as it may him being bullied for being over weight I can sympathise with and I can never ever condone bullying. ( although my friends can’t believe I won’t sit and get angry about how he treated me. Why? Why should I let him hurt me anymore. There are measures out of my control to deal with individuals like him. Let those decide. 

An ex policewoman friend of mine told me recently that Narc’s aren’t born narcissist, they develop these physiological traits from early childhood she asked me if he had ever mentioned paranoia and jealousy as a child. I had to really think and I remembered his mum telling me that she was an innocent flirt, and when the narc was younger he must of heard his Mum and Dad argue about it. The narc had kicked off because a man had touched my bum in a club and we ended up having a big row over it. His mum spoke so much sense the more I think about it. The ex policewoman and my counsellor said this could of been a trigger for the Narc and in adulthood if he saw a man anywhere near his woman it could bring back memories of his parents arguing. So my Dad and the narc are rather similar in that they will cheat, but their woman must behave, Wankers! 
Anyway digressing slightly I have a confession like many.. I used to be a drug addict before I joined the Army I was in a lot of trouble if I didn’t sort myself out sharpish! 
So I got with this guy Collin and he was fit for that age I can’t think of it now as I’m old and that’s just weird but I really liked him more than Paul put it that way. Collin introduced me to people around the estate but they were all quiet rough and I knew it. One day we was in a lasses house called Georgina, she was a local druggie weird looking but had a kid. Georgina was a speed freak or fet head as we call it. She used to inject speed using needles they called it a hit. It looked horrendous I couldn’t understand why someone would want to do that until one day like an absolute fucking idiot I tried it. I still to this day don’t know why I did it. Maybe to show Collin I was up for anything maybe just because I’m an absolute retard. 
I saw them making the hit, with this white powder, a spoon, water and a cigarette filter. For people who are off their tits a lot there seems to be a bit of science to it. Apparently if you don’t get rid of the bubbles it can straight to your brain and kill you or if there is any dirt in it you can get what they call a dirty ( I had one once Jesus I was in a flat on my own thinking I was going to die but a few days later it went ) 

So Collin took me into the bathroom and told me to show him my arms. Needles don’t bother me they never have so I let him do it. He found my vain straight away and drew back the blood within seconds he had injected the concoction and the first feeling I got was I need a shit!!!!! 

I told him to get out ASAP I had to go to the toilet or I was gonna make a mess right there. It was unbelievable I’d taken speed before but this feeling was euporic the instant rush was crazy I loved it and from then on in I was what they called a speed freak. I would take it every day staying up for days on end my work never got effected I just topped up and eventually when I could stay awake no more I would take sleeping tablets to sleep for a few days. We called them eggs they were green and yellow and awesome, you could wobble around all day in a right daze. I had gone from a rave scene weekend offender to a full blow addict in less than 6 months. I worked, paid my rent then got of my tits at the weekend with E’s or anything I could get my hands on. Trips, LSD, speed, blow anything and I mean anything. My arms started to get scars on them and eventually it started to take its toll. I was at work one day when I started to act strange. I thought I was being attacked by a virus and couldn’t catch my breath  I thought I had aids I used clean needles and got then from the needle exchange I remember my number 777. And I never shared them with anyone. But this was something different they called my mum and took me to hospital where I later found out it was fish poisoning and with my bad health from drugs I had made it worst. I was seeing everything like I was going crazy. I accused friends and family of things that didn’t happen and making some right weird shit up in my head. By that time I had left my flat with Kerry and moved back home I couldn’t live like this for much longer and my age was getting close to where I could join up mum said if I joined the army I could come back home until I got my date through so I went to the careers office and signed up. Me and my mate Stella went but she was that thick I had to do her barb test and mine without the bloke looking. I was offered a few options as I didn’t have any exam results so I took the option of joining the RLC Royal logistic Corp. but I still had this drug addiction that I needed to get rid of before I started basic training. I didn’t though, I started basic training on Sunday the 21st of January 1996, I had my last hit on the train going to Pirbright ffs…. Basic training and a drug habit, I never do things by halves do I!!!!! 

This information is really hard for me to write, out of all the things I’ve done in my life I am the most embarrassed about this. My son is off an age where he may see this. And I know he will be equally disgusted with me. At the age of 15 I didn’t understand the implications of my stupid actions! Some people can’t believe my honesty of these blogs but I told my counsellor I would explain warts and all…. I have been accused of being a liar by strangers. You lot wanted the truth you got it!!!! 
For all parents out there, regardless of status , wealth, upbringing or home life. There are kids out there who do this coming from good homes. Yes my upbringing wasn’t the best but I know many whose was like The fucking Brady bunch and they did exactly the same as me!  

I watch my kids like a hawk now, I’ve been there, seen it and done it. Luckily my children didn’t have the upbringing like us four, but I still keep an eye on my kids and will forever. 

Food for thought Drugs are everywhere!

Foster Care 

I was always sporty as a kid, my brother Dale was a rugby league player and I envied him. His friends were pretty cool and he would always have lots of them around. Paul, Shaun and fergie were the ones I remember the most, Paul was good looking and Natalie my sister was in awe of him but Dale was 8 years older than us and him and Stacey had a different dad to us. At a young age I didn’t get what that meant but mention their dad to my mum and her face always looked so sad. Later I found out her first husband Len had had an affair with a 16 year old and my mum had left him. Dad used to say when he met my mum she had two kids a suitcase and a tin of beans!!!! Deep down we all knew mum didn’t love dad, she still held a candle for Len but she was too stubborn to admit it or go back to him. 
So on July the 21st of July 1978 I was born. Claire Janine Adams. Named after my nana Jean and my initials matched my dads ( CJ ). I wasn’t called CJ a lot as a child, my dad would call me it sometimes and I liked the nickname it was different. When I joined the Army and finally got away from Hull and my past I introduced myself as CJ to the girls in my troop. I saw it as a close the door on all that shit thing. CJ was a cool name and a fresh start…. I couldn’t be so fucking wrong.
We used to live behind an army barracks called Middleton bks down Calvert lane we lived in a council house all 6 of us, Dad worked away sometimes ( I thought that was code for prison ) but he boasted about being stabbed in Glasgow and showed us pictures of him and Phil working in the Humber bridge so maybe he really was. My mum suffered with agraphobia and struggled to go outside. Our school was Eastfield just across the road and I had a few friends I loved to lark out with. My early memories of friends were birthday parties with Kerry foster, Vicky Wilson, Nicola Hoyles and Nicky foster. 
I enjoyed school and I loved some of my teachers from Mrs White who would catch your tears in her hanky, Mr Pinder with the broken jaw and was the scariest bloke I ever met to Mrs Watson who was my last teacher there when I moved up to high school. Both my schools have been torn down now to make way for these super academies popping up all over the country. It’s a shame as I will miss the lady we used to sing to in the outside toilets, legend says you sing white lady white lady I killed your baby then flush the toilet and she would go away in the colour of the water foam. Bollocks it was toilet cleaner!!!! 
The third time I remember and the last time my dad ever physically attacked me was on a school morning Natalie and me were arguing yet again. We argued so much it drove everyone crazy. I hated her she used her looks to get everything. I was jealous of her looks it didn’t matter how fast I ran or how many achievements I made at army cadets or in sports. Natalie’s looks seemed to be more important than education or sport. She knew this as well, her and dad were similar academically ” thick ” but they had the patter they could get what they want of who they want with charm and flirting. Me however my idea of flirting would be to win a race or score a try or goal. If boys spoke to me I was there friend first. I did have boyfriends but that was just kids stuff. I used to wonder would I prefer to be pretty and thick or ugly and intelligent. Pretty always won but i annoyed myself thinking like that as I knew, it was ridiculous to think that way but I envied how everyone found her beautiful and me just a scruffy Tom boy. 
After a full blown argument which I can’t remember for we started to fight. I ended up outside the house and continued down the street where we went to get the school bus. I was swearing so was she then dad turned up I knew what was going to happen so told her to go dad dragged me inside the house. And starts to punch me several times in the stomach whilst holding my head back by my hair blow after blow I could feel my ribs crack again and he wasn’t for stopping I was winded and crying at the same time. But then from somewhere I got the energy to hit him back. It was proberly the most feeble attempt to hit a man but it connected! Fuck!!!!! 
Stand by stand by CJ. 

He punched me one last time but this time it was in the face. How the fuck boxers stand for that is beyond me. Jesus Christ!!!! 

Dad grabbed me again and then threw me out the door. I started to walk to the school bus I couldn’t breathe very well and knew I looked a mess. After that everything is confusing. My class teacher was being weird and then I was called to the office. Natalie was stood there and the teachers kept asking me what was wrong but I would not tell them. I just said I had an argument they said the bus driver said I was quiet and no arguments had happened on the bus shit I was running out of excuses. What was I to say. My dad has been physically abusing me for years please help me or keep my mouth shut. So I did just that. But and I don’t know how they found out wether it was my sister who told them or someone else I don’t know but within an hour a woman came to the school and took me to a centre down Pickering road. 

Foster care. 

After the last time dad hit me the social services intervened. I was put into Foster care and my dad was put on an anger management programme. The house was fucking massive it was a 8 bed house down boulevard. Pat and Jerry where my foster parents and they looked after teenage girls only. Pat said they had 13 kids all girls and one boy Neil, Jerry joked he was gay wether that’s true I don’t know. Pat was a lovely woman short tonged hair and Jerry was a skinny man who fixed refrigerators. The pair of them were so different to my parents. I’ve heard so many horror stories about foster parents but these two were angels such lovely people I guess I was lucky. They gave me £20 for pocket money and I could spend it on what I want. Winner winner chicken dinner!!!! 

The night I came to care I was given a top floor room I couldn’t believe houses could be this big third floor!!!! It had two single beds in it and its own shower room. Wow I was lucky to get the sink if Natalie was doing her frigging hair. It had a radio in it too and ironically on the radio it was playing ” things can only get better ” on it. 
You think????? 

I sat in my bed holding my ribs as they were still hurting and sat and thought about if Stacey and Natalie were alright and I hoped he never hit them too now. 

Stacey my eldest sister is by far the nicest person I know she’s an amazing mum and person, she’s had some shit times but her dry sense of humour and sheer wit just shines through she’s been on a diet since 1982 ( jokes ) but in my eyes her beauty just shines through wether she’s a size 10 or 18. She is a midget though can’t stand spiders or creepy crawly things and dances like no one is watching. I love my older sister I also love her husband Andy he’s like a brother to me with his pipe dreams and boring facts but he’s a hard worker a good man they have two children Harry and Holly ( the diva ) and they live in a nice house on the wrong side of Hull ( east ) dirty reds!!!! My rugby team is Hull FC we are the west of hull dirty reds are east hull. Stacey moved there years ago and I will never forgive her for letting the side down. lol. 
I don’t recall dad ever hitting Stacey bad or Natalie even. Just me and Dale, dad broke his nose once and Dale moved back in with his real dad. I was too young to remember it so I can’t tell you why but I know Dale hated our Dad and reused to call him it. Stacey was young when mum met my dad so in her eyes his was her dad. And too be honest he was as her own dad only cared about Dale and didn’t have much to do with her. It must be heart breaking for her but then again she a tough cookie. Strength isn’t always measured by taking a hit as I learnt when I was older. For some reason I had to protect my sisters from dad. So I did what I could when I could, if it meant I was in pain for a bit so be it. But once I left and went into care it was a worry. Mum said dad did his programme and he had changed but for me our relationship was over I’d had enough of him and my love for my dad had depleted. I loved him so much he was so strong and hard working I built my first wall with him, stood behind the army bks looking at the trucks thinking that will be me one day. I told dad I wanted to be a solider but he said girls can’t be in the army Claire only men did that but I never believed him. I was gonna be one of those who ran around in fields with a gun fighting the bad men, years later I proved him wrong. Even if I wasn’t running around a field I still wore the uniform and I was still doing what I said I would protect people. Just as I did as a little one for my sisters. 
I left foster care eventually but had made my mind up to leave mums and dads for good so at just short of 16 I borrowed money of my brother and moved into a flat with a girl is met on the nightclub scene in Hull. 

From coming out of care to eventually joining up I’d lived in a few places. Getting a flat with my Boyfriend Paul Adams no relation, I’d nicked him off my sister Natalie which she never forgave me for and later in life the worst boyfriend ever The Narc! had used that against me ( he will always be a shit cunt in my eyes so I couldn’t give a fuvk what cry baby says ) I fell pregnant to Paul at around 13/14 and mum had found out I was so scared. She just took control of the situation I moved back home and went on annual camp with army cadets mum had packed some sanitary things but when I got back I hadn’t used them. She asked me why I hadn’t had a period I said I don’t know so she dragged me to doctors. The doctor confirmed I was pregnant at around 6-8 weeks. Fuck knows what that meant but I heard termination and a date was booked. I laid in bed thinking what are they on about a baby???? Where was it? and how come they have to operate to get it out? 

Mum said keep your mouth shut and do not speak to anyone about it. I had to go to hospital to remove it and everything would be fine. I asked if I could still play hockey, rugby and go to cadets she said yes but do not tell anyone what was planned. So I carried on as normal till Op abortion was in full swing. I didn’t understand it at the time but if you look at the way my mum had arranged it all you would think she was ex mil. 

Dad would go to work and I would not go to school that day. I was to met by my auntie ( northern for one of mums friends ) at the top of the street she would drive me to the hospital book me in and then leave. I was dressed in a white thing with my arse sticking out an hour later I was back in the ward. The baby was gone, auntie picked me up took me home and mum put me to bed and dad was non the wiser. The baby was gone. 
At 14 I’d had an abortion, luckily for me I didn’t understand it, mum put me on the pill and again nothing more was said. 

After the abortion I became an absolute idiot thinking I was above and beyond everything drugs was my main concern. I met a guy called Collin graves he was younger than me but I really liked him. He was into boxing and took drugs like me I smoked pot and did other stuff like E’s and speed but I never thought I would go further than that. We used to hang around a place called gypsyville, it was your stereotypical council estate with its good and bad people. For some reason I decided to take my causal drug habit further I knew I wanted to join up when I was old enough but didn’t care what I was doing in the meantime.

I left school early couldn’t be arsed with it and no one cared that I didn’t go. So I nicked my friends national insurance number as she showed me it. I wrote down the number and went to a job place where I knew I could get work under 16, they thought I was someone else. So I started to work in a factory packing Christmas cakes. My eldest sister Stacey worked there but she was permanent staff I was just a temp but I didn’t care it was money and I could go out every weekend with my mates around hull. Until I got sacked. Basically some dick head lass was doing my head in one day so I stood up and punch her square in the gob I think her name was shelly, Stella my old mate was stood there laughing a fuvking head off coz the daft Bint landed in a cheery tub. So that was the end of my career in the cake factory. 

I looked for other work and got another job in a fish factory down hessle rd. It stank it was rats but by that time my drug habit was getting a bit pricey so i had to work to pay for my weekends out. I’d gave my mum board but I knew I wanted out that house ASAP. 

So that’s when I got the flat with my friend Kerry ironically the flat was just across the road from my foster parents house and I’d visit them from time to time. There was a group of girls I hung around with then my sister Natalie Stella Nicky and some more from the drugs scene. Natalie was falling deeper and deeper into it and I knew she had progressed from recreational to the stronger stuff. Why I’m not sure as her life didn’t seem that bad at the time but we all have issues we hide maybe the effect of dad had taken its toll and me leaving her might of causes her to regress, she was strong though a right little battler she could fight for herself but not whilst I was around that was my job. One night whilst I was in the Army we went out in a local night club I turned round for 5 seconds to look back at a lass pagering ( beating up ) my sister!!! I went fuvking bansi grabbed the lass and whilst I was kicking ten balls of shit out of her. I syllable smacked her, something along the lines off 

She ( punch ) is ( punch ) my ( punch ) little ( punch ) sister and so on, I think I said no one hits her apart from me. 

We got threw out by the bouncers and I spent the night nursing a fat lip. I later found out the girl was named Rachel Shipley and her family weren’t to be messed with. Well neither was fuvking I. Her brother asked me if he ever gets any drama from then on in would I square lasses away for him for £50 a go!!!! What was I the hired help lol but I didn’t as I was in the army then and didn’t want to get in the shit. 



Worries? I have a few, but there are many differences now to the type I allow. Firstly I upset a friend yesterday, she had read my last blog and could not finish it. Why? Because unfortunately it rang home to her, she too has suffered a form of abuse. I did offer to take it down, I would never want to revisit a bad experience for anyone. However she said “no, if by telling my story helps another person in any way then it should stay” 

This got me thinking again, just how many of my friends or any off my followers have experienced some form of abuse? Why when we live in a age where mental illness, learning difficulties, disability, sexual preference and or any other “not the norm” are recognised and many a programme or agency are out there for people to get the empowerment that they deserve! 
I read an article just yesterday about a child being bullied for having red hair or ginger as we call it. Yes it’s a know fact that “gingers” get some name calling but so do fat, gay, poor people. Where does this end. Who is the norm? I know I’m certainly not! 
My worries are prioritised:-

My kids

My family ( mother mostly ) 

My illness 

My fitness journey 


Relationships????? Not for a long time will I be ready for that. 

Lastly my past. 
Ask me 2 years ago and that list was severely different. Going through counselling and watching a stand up comedian ( strange but true ) has taught me that. Your past can not be changed no matter what you do or try. It’s how you deal with the present and future is what defines you as a person. 
You can however look to understand your past and learn to forgive persons who hurt you and yourself also. I forgive my father he’s dead now, he was of a time when the things he did weren’t as bad as what they are now. He was abused himself as a child ( this does not change that it was wrong ) but he wasn’t educated either. I forgive people for their mistakes if they have apologised to me. I won’t forgive people who don’t or won’t apologise though but I also won’t fret about it either. What’s the point in getting yourself worked up about something years ago. It’s not worth my energy, I’m concentrating on my improvements as a mother, friend and athlete. The rest is so fat down the echelon ladder, i won’t allow or warrant it my time. 
Worrying, everyone does it everyone can learn from it. Use your energy to promote active meaning to your life, not something that can never be changed unless you have a time machine! 


So I was diagnosed with complex PTSD,  at   first I thought it can’t be all that bad. What’s a few nightmares? I’ve been having night terrors since I was a young girl, the only way I can explain them are if you can imagine being laid down and an overwhelming force is pinning you down you can’t move you can’t talk but you can hear everything. I used to cry, weep scream for my mum but nothing came out! No one could hear me, these dreams used to be followed with excruciating head aches and I couldn’t cope with the pain. My mum would turn all the lights off in my bedroom and demand everyone to be quiet and let me sit in the dark until they would go, it could sometimes take days and they always made me throw up.  She thought it was my eyes what she didn’t know was it was lack of sleep through crippling nightmares. I shared a room with my younger sister and she slept like a log, so she wouldn’t be able to remember my nightmares so easy. I can’t remember exactly how old I was when it started to happen proberly around the age of 5 to 6 but something happened to me and my mind keeps it blocked out. I told the Narc once he used it against me. I will never tell another soul again. The one thing I do remember is when my sister wet the bed and jumped in bed with me it saved me often.

I was 9 or 10 and I was wearing a pair of Garfield jeans ( patches of Garfield and Odie on the knees ) and I was riding my bike as fast as I could. Dad, Christopher John Adams had rang the house phone you know the one sat in the hallway on an old looking phone table, green leather on the top with the standard issue mirror above it and the even older style phone. These were the days were the phone stayed in one place and you had to sit on the stairs to use it. My mum Lynne is a bit of a snob wether it was Mrs Bucket snob or a true reflection I never really worked it out she detest swearing yet she’s not completely sin free of foul language herself, a daughter to a Sea Captain who she rarely saw as he was away the majority of her life, my grandma Gladys she unfortunately passed away when my mum was 10 years old from multiple sclerosis, she died young and had buried two of her own sons Lesley and Stephen my uncles to lukiema and cot death.

My mother never went without anything although my grandfather Lesley was never home, he had a very respected job in Hull and to be a captain was highly regarded, but he was never there and my mother was brought up by my great grandma Helen. She was a slim woman before her own terminal illness and although she still isn’t a big woman in her eyes being over a size 10 is large. With thick dark curly hair and bright blue eyes she maintained our home and had to look posh at all times, this was the 80’s.

Dad would get drunk and ring from his usual drinking hole the five ways this was at the top end of booth ferry road and we lived not far down Belgrave drive, after moving from our council house across the road on Acron drive. Hull was and still is a shit hole in my eyes, but the people there are the salt of the earth, men are grafters and women weren’t to be fucked around with. Gob off too much and I can guarantee you would get your head kicked in by someone.

My dad liked to have a drink after work, if it wasn’t for the pick up truck with “Adams builders” written on the side and the tubs of swarfeiger under the sink I’d swear my old man just sat in mucky pub all day with his best mate Phil macnee.
Say what you like about him but he did graft. He was a charmer, couldn’t spell for shit and thick as mince but he worked hard. We had a rule in the house if any one rang up for him we had to say that he left out mum and we didn’t know where he went. This was for tax evasion, as he would never pay the tax man fuck all!!!
But there was a nasty side to my Dad and over the years I have learnt that he possibly had severe mental health issues like my grandfather. He was a jealous man it controlled him, my mother could do nothing without his say, he would get pissed out of head and excuse her of all sorts and when she argued the case he would then throw his fists around. He was a big man too, tall, dark haired and good looking ( apparently ) for me he was just my old man, so that kind of thing never entered my head. I would sit shaking thinking is he coming to us would he get that angry that me or my younger sister ( Natalie ) we shared a room I hated it as she slept with her eyes open the freak!!! but usually on a night it was Mum who felt the full force of dad.
Then in the morning we would go down stairs sometimes see the devastation of the night before or if mum had got up really early she would of done her best to tidy it up. I remember seeing a pole had gone through the bathroom window once but only through one pain of the double glazing dad never fixed it and over the years it had filled with water from the condensation and turned a little bit green. Me and Stacey ( my eldest sister ) mentioned it not long ago, strangely we laugh at these things when in reality we were 3 girls scared to death of our father and his brutality towards women! Mum would say we had everything but materialistic things weren’t what we all wanted , we needed to feel safe and living on egg shells in fear of upsetting your father, imprints on your brain for many years.
I can’t remember every time my dad braid me ( hull slang for getting a good hiding ) but I can remember one painfully brutal one. To this day my mum reckons he wasn’t that bad but she was embarrassed by it all and blocks it out. My elder brother ( Dale ) like me, gets so frustrated by my mums total disregard for our fathers abuse. She comes across like we are liars, like we make it up it eggs average the truth, she wasn’t a young girl being beaten by her father, she was an abused wife desperately trying to keep a family together and hide the horrible events that went on once dad had got angry. Alcohol wasn’t always the reason he could fly of the handle anything could trigger him off hence why I believe he suffered with a personality disorder and bi polar.
I was and too this day are constantly on a high level of alert i actually don’t know how to relax, I’ve struggled to deal with claiming down and now suffer myself with a mental illness.
Like I said at the beginning my Dad had rang the house phone and asked me to get some money from his stash and bring it to pub I think it was around £100 but don’t quote me on it. I got the money put it in my jeans pocket and rode my bike to pub. As I dropped my bike outside I reached into my pocket but couldn’t find the money. The sheer panic on my skinny little body felt like I had fallen and I instantly felt like I was going to puke.
Shit!!!!! He’s gonna kill me. I panicked started to cry shaking with fear I knew he would kick off and then I saw my mum inside of the pub, she must of known from my face. She came outside to talk to me she was dressed up in her usual boutique fashion, massive shoulder pads and even bigger curly hair. All her clothes has sequins on or some sort of 80’s bling, she would drink half a larger and lime and would conduct herself in a manner so to please my dad, she was a chain smoker and is renounded for her funny one liners or brutally honest rants.
I never liked my mum when I was growing up she wasn’t that warming to me for some reason but as I grew up and realised she was protecting my younger sister as my dad had his favourite and that was me. Natalie never got a look in from dad she was too girly too slow and he didn’t have time for people who couldn’t do things right the first time. Natalie wasn’t very quick at learning she struggled with the basics and if a professional was to have looked at her whilst she was young they would most definitely of diagnosed her with extreme learning difficulties.
I told mum I couldn’t find the money, tears streaming down my face and still shaking i was in a complete petrified state. She told me to go back to the house and re trace my steps. But I was in no state to think never mind look for the money. At the back of our house was a ten foot, I’ve never heard any one else refer to a place like this apart from people in hull. I actually measured it once and it was deffinetly not 10 of my feet wide! It was basically a road in between houses that you could access to your back garden with a car or small truck. So not an alley way or Twitten as I’ve heard them called before. But they weren’t maintained very well and ours had large pot holes. I rode my bike back the way I came, no money to be seen. I could feel my heart racing for such a young girl I knew what was coming next. If he got a hold of me I could try and take it but if he got Natalie she wouldn’t last his fists!!!! Funnily enough 26 years after I did the same to protect her and ended up getting stabbed by her boyfriend ( fuvking sisters )
As I was opening up the back gate I heard him shout my name. Natalie was behind me I shouted run, go to mum. Go now!!!!
She was useless she could never listen to instruction as for physicall ability her learning difficulties spawned from playing games to attention she just couldn’t compute things quick enough, the phrase ” couldn’t run a bath ” is what I would use for my sister. Looking pretty and applying make up yes, Putting one foot in front of the other over and over again at a faster pace was always a drama … But if she didn’t he would hurt her and that I couldn’t have so I made her go. Tears in my eyes and the sheer panic of a 6 ft man giving a scrawny blonde girl a kicking was coming.

First of all he was nice ( as always ) where’s the money Claire? So with eyes red and a frog in my throat, I tried to explain about the jeans and the bike ride and that I couldn’t find it. He went from smiling to gonna rip your throat out in 10 seconds. I put my bike propped up against the brick shed, bad fucking move. That’s the first blow !!!
I landed straight on the pedals right in my ribs crack the pain was unfuckingbekeicable!!!! He picked me up again smash!!!! FFS…. Just kill me now, this is agony…. He was shouting that loud but the pain was that bad I couldn’t work out what was going on. He threw me again this time away from the bike towards the back patio doors of the house. I got up but he chased me. 6ft pissed up bloke V’s Skinny agile kid I was faster than him but there weren’t many places to run. I managed to get up the steps and into the kitchen. Our kitchen was a long shape work tops either side and the whole house decorated perfectly. I carried on running it felt like I was in some sort of game. The poacher chasing his catch. I knew I was out of options when I reached the front porch it was there that he grabbed my pony tail.

He had followed me through the house and into the porch I was stuck it was a small porch and always has his shit in it. This time it was a welding thing a long piece of metal that looked like a tool and yeah I got it repeatedly I can’t remember how many times he hit me with it but It smarted. Heavy blows one after the other the pain cracking my bones each time, the sweat on his brow and the smell of alcohol is imprinted in my brain. I can’t stand the smell of beer to this day and a drunk man coming anywhere near me, I tend to keep my distance the blows kept coming to my little body ( always to my body ) funnily enough!!!!!
Now this is where it goes blank!!!!
Did he knock me out or have I forgotten what happened????? I remember being throw outside on to our caravan Dad kept it parked by the front door and I remember my shirt being ripped open maybe the sleeve was torn off. I can’t remember the long walk to the pub to find mum but I do remember the faces of the men who drank regularly with Dad in that pub, I can also remember their look of disgust when I fell through the double doors. My mums scream and then I was out!

Jackie was my mums friend she was a bubbly woman with short hair. I woke up to seeing her in the hospital but don’t remember going home. I think spaghetti was made for me and I was put to bed. Dad was no where to be seen and mum said he went to Sheffield for a few days.
Nothing much was said after that about the incident other than ” it never happened ” from mum or “Claire stop making things up ”
I’ve never been sure as to why she did that maybe she thought we would forget or it would all go away. Well it didn’t it bloody hurt too much. What a wanker I wish I’d of hit him back!!!! And one day I did.

Years of Dad became the norm. Christmas’s, party’s, normal day’s any day really he would ruin them all from his drinking and bad temper. He would kick of for almost anything. I hated him hugging me or picking me up. Anyone hugging me to be honest. Strangely a person who did me wrong who I will explain in the book later taught me it’s ok to hug. Now I think I wanna hug her around the throat instead!
I’ve been in the USA for 10 days now and slept over 8 hours a night. My PTSD is dormant, no nightmares or terrors. I have no fears of my ex coming to hurt me or finding out where I live. In the UK I live in fear of my past and the disgusting people who try to hurt me. Over here I feeel safe, unknown and quietly tucked away. I’ve some big decisions to make when I fly back tomorrow. The first being where do I want to live?  and the answer is not the UK!

Monday Morning reality check! 

So I’ve freaked out! Had a bit of a wobble so to speak. The what if’s have taken there toll on me over the weekend. My diet has gone up more food more carbs. These little buggers scare the shit out of me. I’m worrying about weight gain but have to gain weight i.e. muscle weight. But standing on scales and seeing a higher number keeps freaking me out. It’s pathetic I know! So how do I over come this?

I threw them in the bin, the only time I can weigh myself now is at the gym or if I see a random industrial scale in boots. I need to get over this stupid idea that weight is seen by the trained eye. It’s not I know female competitors who are tiny. Small waists and limbs yet their weight is higher than you would suspect from their frame. Why? Because muscle is dense therefore you can fit more into a space. Fat however is large and spread out. So if you were to look at 5 lbs of muscle to 5 lbs of fat. The fat looks bigger than the muscle.

I know this yet my mind plays bloody tricks on me! This is due to my mental state not my intelligence, I have a voice recording I saved and it’s not nice to listen to it’s of when I was being abused and all the signs where there I just didn’t know it. Now whenever I feel down I look at all the following listed below. I listen to the recording and remind myself how far I’ve actually come! Not in looks or physical strength but inside my head. If I can break free from that I can sure as hell do this.

Low self esteem


Hyper sensitivity


Self worth

No more loathing

Embracing who I am

Forgetting the past

Breaking free.

I have many fears still but these fears are materristic and by all accounts from the women I talk with daily who also compete are completely normal for an amutuer athlete. My show shoes arrived today, straight after I came home from a PT session there where at my door. All new and perfect. I have massive feet for a woman size 8 trotters to be exact and I was worried ( anxiety kicking in again ) that my feet would look like they need oars. But again wheh I asked around most the girls are the same size or some bigger. Phew I was thinking I’m a freak again!

I met a guy once to watch rugby with. He commented on the size of my hands and feet I was mortified, instantly I looked up surgery to make them smaller! I mean really who does that? Why am I bothered about one little man’s opinion of me. I never mentioned the fact he looked like a man but smaller all 4 ft and a fecking fag end of him. I just chose to not say it too him and that is where my point comes from.

People opinions of others should not have such a drastic effect on us but I have chosen to stand on a stage and ask for just that! A complete stranger will look at my body and decide wether or not it’s good enough. The one thing I’m frightened off. So why am I doing this? Am I seeking acceptance, glorification, revenge from those who put me down. Or am I simply just gonna try and see if I can.

That I’m still trying to work out!!!

I saw this yesterday, I commented on his poor behaviour and how disrespectful he was for being so cruel and then I deleted and blocked him, if only blocking those doubts in my head was that simple.

Week One 

Amazingly after a long week at work ( which isn’t finished ) I’ve managed to get through my first week of the cut. 

Working long hours and waking up for training at 05:30 each morning has proved I can’t do both without more carbs in my diet. I was falling asleep around 14:00 each day. 

My coach had a look at my diet and revised it accordingly, I’m not a professional I don’t get paid to do this and I must eat and pay my bills so work is important throughout this transition. Balancing a healthy work/training regime is difficult regardless of job. But mine is not only long hours but also unpredictable I’m currently writing this is bright neon leggings and an old marine jumper ( my friend gave me ) sat at work as I was called in. I literally just stepped in the gym ready to start cardio when I got the call. Luckily for me my boss pays my expenses, a quick uber request and I’m in the city. Although I’m dressed way inappropriately I don’t need to go outside. My boss however did have a chuckle when he saw how bright these bloody trainers and leggings are. 

So the first week. 

The blog is getting some great hits and from all over the world including Iraq, Afghanistan and a little place just off the coast called the Isle of Mann, those hits are purely from persons who aren’t interested in the progression just the content, greetings and a massive thank you to all, I hope you are well. 

As for me well what a roller coaster. I never realised how angry a person can get whilst hungry! Although I’m eating 5 meals a day the meals are monogamous tiny portions of protein, carbs and some fats. My diet has been striped to the bear bones. I can have a cheat meal or re feed once a week, I choose sushi as it’s my favourite. But my biggest suffer and need is for latte! I’ve even resulted in buying latte flavoured protein powered to get the fix I need ( it’s not worked ) 

Meal prep is quite self explanatory. Cook it, weigh it and portion it out freeze what you don’t need for now and remove each evening for the next day. It’s cooking it on the move and getting the times right. So far I’ve eaten the majority of it cold. I’m basically trying to re train my brain into thinking it’s just fuel instead of something nice. 

Emotionally I’m not doing so great, I had a conversation with my coach just yesterday about the need to not look manly… I’m so scared of the look, this goes against everything a woman body builder thinks, however I must go with what I want not what others see. Yes my genetics are perfect for that sort of look. And if I wanted I could with a few years and hard work achieve that sort of physique/body building catergory. But I refuse to do it. I think my words yesterday to my coach was, “if I get told to move up a catergory because I’m too muscular for the one I want, I will simply stop doing this altogether” he’s such a professional instead of trying to convince me like so many others do, he respects my wishes and said “well let’s get you to where you want to be” 

I am under no illusion this process isn’t just one comp, I totally embrace the fact it takes years to develop the catergory I wish to run in.  But with my mental health and low self esteem I’m not prepared to put extra pressure on my self for something I do not want. 

My counsellor sat and listened to me for months and months about how others had effected my thought process. He would drop suttle hints on what to research and google, so that I could find out for myself how I had been groomed into thinking I was worthless. There are many self help lectures and papers I have read over the past 2 years that I can identify with. This isn’t just about the narcissistic element of my life but also early childhood and the trauma from losing Richie. 

Even after all these years not knowing my worth has had a massive impact in my relationship with people. Trying to “keep them happy” had crushed the inner me when in reality if I hadn’t of been so desperate to be loved I would of had the balls to tell them the to fuck off. 

Now I do, I end things very quickly, but that scares me too. My bluntness and almost arrogance isn’t something I like about myself, I wish I could be more trusting with the opposite sex, but I can’t and I don’t mean this in a “is he gonna cheat on me way” I mean ok a what’s his motives? Is he going to act like the blood sucking Narc and use me for what I have until it dries up or is he using me till the better deal comes along? 

In a few days I’m flying out to America to meet my friend who I have been (getting to know) he’s American, a gym goer and more importantly absolutely normal! A rareity man for me I know! After 2 years of the single life and a new rule/decision of mine not to date any ex military or British men. I’ve met a guy a truly like and he understands my thirst for this comp,  bless him he’s organised gym related activities, food prep and really thought about my needs. Wow I know now that’s a first. I almost feel like I need to do something in return but in his words “that’s not why I’m doing it”

I told him recently how I feel about being alone so much and my personal development in getting to know myself again not the person I felt like I had to be to be loved. 

I said ” I don’t run in packs as I feel I’m not safe in them. Whilst I’m alone I know no one is trying to hurt or use me for personal gratification” now for a man who is getting to know me this might be hard pill to swallow. However with his own pma and selflessness he understood that a broken person takes longer to find trust again and with his patience and maturity he understood and for that I am truly grateful! 

Week two will be harder and more challenging a different country harder training and more mental health obstacles to face. I’m getting there and more importantly I’m enjoying the process this isn’t just about standing on a stage this is about finding, accepting and liking the real me. 

Booty gains