The new Dove adverts have got me thinking. Whilst the statistic that 5 out of 10 girls will quit their afterschool activity due to low self esteem is both disgusting and shocking, I found myself neither disgusted nor shocked.

I used to swim a lot, I wasn’t brilliant... I was 10, I was eager and I really really really liked breaststroke (careful).  So why don’t I go swimming now? Why do I insist on ‘fasting’ or my recent venture into the ‘baby food diet’? Because swimming requires effort, oh and self esteem. The thought of shaving various places and then squeezing myself into lycra only to see the entirety of my community in the pool (the clue is in the phrase ‘community’ pool).

I don’t want to ‘community’ swim. As much as the thought of there being so many people in that pool, the thought of a gym fills me with even more dread. The thought of so many people seeing all my flab in all of its fucking glory whilst I sweat and fall over; hand me a brown paper bag and drive me the hell home.

I used to do something called ‘street jazz’ too. When I was hip and young(er), I used to dance like something out of a pop video and call it ‘having fun’. I did this every Saturday! Looking back, grown up me wouldn’t have enjoyed the dance moves we perfected (or in my case ruined), they were raunchy and a little tasteless. It was all a bit too grown up, which we loved, every 11 year old girl aspires of being older.

However, my dancing teacher used to make us say – every single bloody lesson – ‘I love myself’. Which, bearing in mind she later went on to have a boob job, was a little ironic. I don’t ever remember believing in myself fully in that over-oestrogenised environment, but perhaps it benefitted me. Because, nowadays, the only time I feel like I love myself is when I’m hammered, and even then there’s a 50/50 chance I’ll just end up crying and calling myself fat.

So maybe that’s what I need to do, I need to get drunk and then go to a gym. Get so bloody wasted that I don’t care if I’m sweaty or doing it wrong. Heck, I’ll just wear my trainers and take a skipping rope next time I go clubbing (I’ll wear a short skirt and a tie too, so it looks like I’m dressed up as a sexy school girl).

Someone once said that women would rule the world if we didn’t hate each other so much. But, following on from my post about Samantha, I think we just hate ourselves. We just need to accept what we’ve got, because not doing sport due to your undying hatred of yourself seems a little silly when I read this.

My name’s Rosie Lucocq, I’m 5’4” a little under 10 stone and all I really want is to be more toned. So, what am I going to do about it? I’m going to drink vodka and dance, silly! I’ll send you an invite on Facebook.