Why did I compete for Miss Universe Great Britain?

As I entered the empty conference room of a grand hotel near London’s Hyde Park, I looked around and wondered what I was doing there. A sudden overwhelming feeling of dread flooded me. Nervous electric waves ran up and down my spine, my fingertips tingled, and my stomach flip flopped. Trying to stay calm I timidly selected a seat right at the back of the room where I swapped my London underground trainers for 6.5 inch high nude heels, and pulled out my book to distract my mind. I was 4 pages in before realizing that I hadn’t taken anything on board and reading would be a fruitless task. I considered bowing out immediately, instead spending my rare day off of work wondering the city before going home, back to my mundane reality and forgetting all about this grand idea of mine. Right before I promptly kicked my heels back off and ran for the nearest exit, a lady with a bright encouraging smile entered the room and greeted me. She made her way to the front and began setting up the laptop for her presentation. I had been seen… it was too late! I settled back in my seat and watched as a steady train of tall, slender, poised and gorgeous young women floated into the room, taking their places toward the front and excitedly greeting one another as if they were old friends catching up. Not only was I awkwardly alone in the back row, but I was also the odd one out – so far the only silent stranger in the room. Suddenly it occurred to me that I stood out for other reasons… at 5ft1 I suddenly became weirdly aware of my height, or lack of it, and I smirked at how silly an insecurity that was, pushing it to the back of my mind. Leaving my belongings behind to reserve my modest seat, I decided to head to the bathroom to gather my thoughts and insecurely touch up what now felt like underdone hair and make-up. I quickly however realized that this was the wrong decision. It was here that the rest of the crowd had been. Before even entering I could hear the tense chatter of girls who were seated on the hotel’s velvet stools as their family members hurriedly back combed and sprayed their hair or put the finishing touches to their eyeshadow as they carefully observed in the glamorous Hollywood mirrors. I decided to head back to the security of my seat. I sat down quietly, fidgeting and fiddling with my handbag. As if reading my nervous energy perfectly, one of the girls a few rows ahead turned to face me with a wide smile of perfect pearly teeth and an undeniable warmth that set me at ease. We hit it off as she explained she had come all the way from Portsmouth to be there. We began talking about Gabriel Garcia Marquez books and even bonded over the fact that this was both of our first times there and before we knew it, the room was full to the brim of young women. The leading lady stood up with an air of graceful authority, the room fell silent and the presentation began….

This was the first stage of the Miss Universe Great Britain selection process. The national heat for one of the biggest international beauty pageants in the world. I had applied on a whim, half serious and half not, before forgetting all about the impulsive idea. I was shocked to, months later, receive an email informing me that I had been short listed for interview. Up until the day of the interview I wasn’t even sure if I would go, but curiosity had gotten the better of me and there I was, listening to a presentation on what the organization looks for in a beauty queen. Having never witnessed a real pageant before (one of my only references being Miss Congeniality), I was completely out of my depth.

After the presentation we gathered outside the room where we were to wait to be called in one by one for a speedy interview in which we would present ourselves to the director and the current reigning queen. I had heard a giddy and admiring sigh from the crowd as our GB Queen entered the room – the pressure was on. In the interview we would explain why we deserved a spot on their stage and why we were good enough to take her crown. The moment we stepped into the room our 3minute timer had begun and we would commence our only chance to sell ourselves. Every second would be precious time. It was a harder task than I anticipated, to cram a lifetime of achievements and aspirations into a short and essentially one-sided conversation. The next step was to have our photo taken. Anyone that knows me will know, while I may have the gift of the gab, I am not good in front of the camera. Think Chandler from Friends. As soon as my photograph was taken, I darted out of there, grinning mischievously, ready to call my best friend to tell her the odd thing I had just done with my day. Needless to say I was not expecting to hear from them again. You can imagine my surprise when I received the notice that I had been chosen as one of the 30 women UK wide, to compete in the Grand Final that coming summer in Cardiff.

Why did I apply?

The following months would be a blur of catwalk training, charity fundraising, networking and I would even participate in a radio interview. You might be wondering, how on earth did I even get the idea to apply?

The idea of applying came to me after being asked for the 50000th time since becoming a personal trainer, when I would be competing in a bodybuilding pageant. In the fitness world it seemed that everyone had already competed or was at least prepping to do so. They were always swapping notes on how to build muscle, how to deal with the severe carb restriction, the strict twice a day training regime, the lack of energy, or how to nail their stage poses. The interest of bodybuilding pageantry was at its peak, and it began to seem that it was almost a prerequisite of being a fitness professional or fitness enthusiast. How you earned your stripes. While I had always admired the scientific input, the gruelling preparation, the unrivalled commitment and the astonishing dedication that the competitors demonstrate in the art of body transformation, I was becoming uncomfortable with the pressure to ‘live up’ to the new trend that the ever growing community of competitors were setting. Social media was becoming inundated with tanned bikini bodies where the waist-hip ratio seemed impossible, every single muscle was visible and not one dimple or stretch mark could be seen. Not only did I myself as a trainer start to feel the pressure, but an increasing number of women seeking my help for personal training began showing me images of ‘insta-famous’ bikini competitors stating that this was their goal and their ‘dream beach body’. It felt that almost daily I was having to explain that the body achieved onstage was not one that could be achieved or maintained for long. That bodybuilding is an art form that requires months of severe restriction and is by no means a ‘healthy’ ideal or fair standard to compare yourself to. I tirelessly tried to explain that women who compete often reach body fat levels that would be dangerous to maintain for prolonged periods of time. I finally reached the point where I wanted to change the idea of the ‘perfect bikini body’ and alter the ‘face of fitness’. I decided to instead take to a stage that did not assess its competitors on the definition and size of their muscles. A show that would not require any extreme dieting or regimental training schedule. One that would allow me to step onstage as I am. One that would allow me to represent a more attainable feminine form and showcase every curve and every dimple that made me normal. I wanted to show that you can put on a bikini without having to endure months of starvation and torture. This idea set me on a quest to find a pageant like this and a few googles later I stumbled across Miss Universe. As if fated, the application process was already open and the deadline just a week away. The pageant welcomed women of all body types, backgrounds and interests. This was the one. I had no idea how prestigious this one was. I hit send and it was sealed.

A second reason for my decision to apply was far more personal. In my lifetime I have been called too fat, too thin, and too muscular. After becoming a trainer this amplified since people now felt that they had the right to scrutinize and comment on my body given that I am in an appearance-based industry. If I had gained weight I would be asked if I had done so intentionally which would lead me to obsess about looking ‘fat’ all day; likewise if I had lost weight I would be asked what had happened to my curves, my booty or my muscles, making me feel I had ‘lost it’ somehow and that I now needed to work harder to ‘get it back’. As most women have at some point, I too have felt before that I was not good enough and that certain areas of my body should be covered up and hidden (I refer you to my ‘The C-word’ blog for more details). I never thought I would be confident enough to step on stage in front of a crowd, under bright lights, in a bikini. Hell, I could barely face my reflection when trying on bikinis in a far-too-bright Topshop changing room mirror! I knew that stepping on stage would be a massive challenge. It would be a bold way to shed old insecurities and finally be proud of my hard earned healthy, realistic, and natural physique.

Walking the walk, talking the talk

When I accepted my place as a finalist, I never imagined how much hard work actually goes into pageantry and in particular cat-walking! Never in my life did I put so much thought into walking. Never has such a simple movement been so hard to nail. The very first pageant training day was the single most terrifying experience of my life. We headed to Chelsea football club to meet and be coached by a former Miss Universe GB. Without any instruction, we were thrown into the deep end and told to put on our swimsuits and take our first walk. Of course, knowing nothing about cat-walking, I showed up in a wedge heel that the organizer informed was far too chunky for a runway walk. Luckily, one of the other girls came to the rescue, lending me her size too small spare shoes. The music blared and we lined up along the sides of the room, waiting for our turn as girls sassily strutted two at a time down the center. Horrified at the thought of it, I instantly made my way to the back of the queue in no rush for my turn. My feet began swelling from the confinement and throbbing in pain. I finally reached the front and hobbled down the runway, hating every second and wondering what I had got myself into. We did this about ten times. By attempt 6 my feet were turning blue. I could feel the shoe filling with what I could only imagine was a mix of blood and pain-induced sweat. My confidence took more of a battering with each step that someone else nailed. This was not going well. Was it too late to back out? Did I really belong here? But as I observed the others I noticed something amazing. Every girl was cheering her peers on the side lines, giving each other pointers, complimenting each others’ bodies or outfits, and dancing jovially to the music. I realized I had been caught up in my mind, allowing it to hijack this unique experience and preventing me from embracing the opportunity to learn a new skill. At this realization I could absorb the positive energy in the room and contribute to it. No one was there to judge. No one was quietly bitching. Not only that, I felt reassured that every finalist selected had a unique look. Dark hair, blond hair, dark skin, fair skin, tall, short, curvy, athletic… not one alike and not one apologetic for their look, their walk or anything that they brought to the table. Each lady knew exactly who she was and why she deserved her spot there. I realized that this was in no way about being a pro model. This wasn’t about being the best girl. It was about being confident. Being the best you. Although I was still hobbling along, I had at least changed my attitude. With every painful step, I started letting go of the fear of judgement, of inadequacy and of failure. Only once I did that did I started really enjoying the walk. It felt like a powerful life lesson.

Once freestyling was over, the formal catwalk coaching proved just as uplifting. The organizers told us the positive aspects of our appearance and what pose or style would help us to showcase it. We were also coached on our interview and presentation skills and given pointers of how to best communicate our individual messages to the world. We were learning far more than just walking. This was more than a spectacle of physical beauty. From journalists, to designers, lawyers, engineers, entrepreneurs, scientists, aspiring politicians... each woman had an accomplishment or an aspiration that went far beyond her appearance. Each one had something she wanted to say and this was a platform to share it.

Getting bikini ready

As I mentioned I wanted to steer clear of crash dieting or unrealistic training. The contest actually came at the perfect time for me – a mere 10 days after I had spent 3 weeks on holiday. Right before the show I had spent a week drinking wine and binging pasta in Italy and then another two weeks exploring Indonesia (and its flavorful cuisine). I did not hold back from treating myself to beachside cocktails, devouring a large pizza or from digging into spicy curries, and I did not train every day. It really was the perfect holiday. Outside of my travels, I continued my regular, balanced training routine which includes mainly weightlifting but also HIIT, Pilates and some cardio. I brought to the stage the body afforded to me from year-round consistency and a healthy, intuitive diet not a depriving crash course. I sported a bikini without dropping to under 20% body fat, without losing my menstrual cycle, without dehydrating and without spray tanning to create desirable shadows. I was ready to represent a different kind of fitness professional.

Show time

Once I arrived in Cardiff we were allocated our rooms and our roommates. My roommate was the bubbliest, most positive character. In the 4 days of prep that would follow, we would exercise together in our little room, swap outfits, help each other with interview prep and catwalk in the hallway of the hotel. Our days were filled with endless activities from cocktail making, to photoshoots, to learning choreography, to dress rehearsals. We were also involved in an empowerment day where a motivational speaker came in to encourage us before we took to the stage. Our empowerment day included activities like walking on glass, punching through wooden planks and snapping rods with our necks! It was a powerful workshop and one of my fondest memories of the experience.

Finally, after a week of intense preparation, activities and social events, the big day came. We would be starting the competition day with a final interview. This time we had to impress a whole panel of expert judges all taking notes as we spoke. We each had a set appointment time and once again we were instructed to begin talking the moment we sat down before the panel… there would be another stopwatch to monitor us. No time for small talk, no beating around the bush. Walk in and tell us why we should be watching you when you come onstage. Simple. It was more nerve-wracking than any job interview I have ever had.

As time passed, and interviews ended crowds began filling the theatre. Backstage we could hear the buzz of excitement and cheers of encouragement. The lights dimmed, the audience settled and the opening speeches started. Meanwhile, our dressing rooms were absolute chaos. With 6 girls roughly in each room, the air was thick with fumes from dozens of different hairsprays. Girls everywhere were rushing to get into hair and make up for their first look, tripping over shoes in the search for the correct accessories for their first outfit. We fumbled to dress ourselves among the mess, helping each other tie up bikinis, fasten straps or fix hair pins. First up was our opening dance. After the dance routine I would have just minutes to fly backstage, swap a dress for a bikini and race back to the stage where (thanks to the alphabetical order) I would be starting the show. I would be the first lady to walk and kick starting the dreaded bikini round!

One Kiss by Dua Lipa was the soundtrack to our swimwear walk. I had learned the song backward by the end of all the preparation for this one crucial moment. I emerged from the curtain in complete darkness, alone onstage. The opening line of the song would queue the spotlight. The audience were silent. Tension tangible. There came the first beats of the song and with it the first claps from the crowd. In seconds the song would start and I would be making my way across the stage. ‘Please don’t fall. Please don’t fall’ was replaying over and over in my mind. The spotlight suddenly fell on me and a surge of adrenaline pushed me to action. It was like nothing I have ever felt. Not only did I walk smoothly, I even threw in a little twirl – risky in heels but somehow successful! The moment I got off the stage I couldn’t wait to get back out for my evening gown round. I was riding a high that I never wanted to end. The nerves that had hung in the air all day had completely slipped away. As the eveningwear round approached, I felt a strong sense of achievement. No matter what happened in this round, I had shed my fear by getting up on stage in front of hundreds of people, in front of cameras, in a bikini… and I felt amazing. No matter what happened next, I had proved my point that you can be fit and feminine, imperfect and sexy. You can be exactly who you are because confidence comes in all shapes, colours and sizes. Every body is a bikini body.

I took many things from my experience on the Miss Universe GB stage and from my amazing fellow competitors but perhaps the most important thing I learned is the value of frequently stepping outside of your comfort zone and never forgetting to enjoy the walk (…even if your feet hurt). I also learned that I should never underestimate myself or question if I am worthy of my place. Never again will I relegate myself to the back row or the push myself to the end of the line for fear of failure. After all, “fear is simply because you are not living with life, you are living in your mind’- Sadhguru.