Monthly Archives: September 2015

The ‘before’ photo.

Diet update, In the here & now

camera

So it’s Sunday…I’m not going to do anything rash this week like getting the evil scales out – it took me until Thursday to stop sulking – but I am conscious that I positioned this as a diet blog and looking back over the last week or so, all you’ve had is the random collection of chatter from inside my head but no real update.

I never intended this to be a food diary / weight-loss charting kind of blog, and the reason I started writing in the first place was to keep me on the right track as I move from fat to skinny. But as a reader, I’d be curious about how the journey was going, so how about on Sundays I do a bit of an update in terms of how I’m doing and talk about any triumphs and sticky points in my week. That way at least if I fill up every other post with head spam I have nowhere to hide in terms of progress.

I’d love to say I feel loads skinnier than I did last week but the truth is I don’t. I don’t really feel any different. I’m trying hard not to be a bit disappointed with that but I have to remember I’m in this for the long haul. I have the equivalent of one whole other person to lose, and no matter how impatient I am, that isn’t going to happen overnight.

I was out this weekend at a works’ do and someone took my picture, which always fills me with horror when I’m fat. The photo was awful. To be fair, the night hadn’t started well, because the outfit I’d taken to work to change into for the big night out looked like a total dog’s dinner – the palazzo pants which I’d worn quite happily on holiday last month have run up in the wash and would now fit someone a good foot shorter than me, the shoes didn’t work with the now half-mast pants and to add insult to injury my shirt was clingy with static and see-through without the camisole which I’d forgotten to pack.

So my only option was to change back into what I’d been wearing for work which was embarrassing enough in itself, it looked like I couldn’t be bothered to make an effort. All I see when I look at that picture is a big moon face on top of a buddha body, and someone who is very uncomfortable in their own skin. No matter how wide the smile, it’s excruciating. Still…let’s call that my ‘before’ photo and I shall use it to stoke the fire in terms of my determination to stay on track.

On the bright side, I scored a small victory in terms of the buffet which has been my dieting nemesis in the past – kudos to me, the cake shield remained firmly in place and my halo this morning has lost none of it’s sheen! So, onwards, upwards…three whole weeks in and counting. I might not feel any skinnier, but it’s all relative isn’t it – fill a bucket from the ocean and nobody’s going to notice but nevertheless the ocean is one bucketful smaller. Here’s to the next size down, I’m comin’ for ya 🙂

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The armchair dilemma

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now

chair

It’s interesting you know, when you’ve existed at both ends of the size spectrum. I’ve probably got deeper insight than most into things you never even think about as an average Joe, but which you become really preoccupied with when you’re the size of a moose. Let’s talk about chairs as one example – you’ll either completely get this, or you’ll think I’ve lost the plot depending on where you sit (pardon the pun) on the size continuum.

In our living room, we have the world’s best chair. It’s a big fat leather electric recliner, and the only effort required in terms of getting comfy is planting your butt and pressing the button. The footrest rises, the back lowers and your whole body is cradled in a cocoon of soft padded leather. It’s one of the favourite parts of my day, that moment when I can climb into my PJs and melt into that chair. Many happy hours have been spent in that very chair watching ‘The Biggest Loser’ whilst eating cheesy balls but let’s not go there, that’s all in the past now.

The thing I love most of all about that chair is that I don’t have to think about how I’m going to get comfy, it just happens.  When you’re effectively the size of two people, deciding where to sit can be a bit traumatic. If you pick a low chair, you’re going to struggle to get out of it – sort of like a turtle on its back trying to turn over. Legs will flail, your belly will almost certainly get in the way as you try and hoist yourself out of it and you might need to rock back and forth a couple of times before you make it to your feet. Usually a sound like “OOOF” escapes without you intending it to. Whatever method of extraction works for you, trust me it won’t be elegant. Pick a chair that’s too high, and you somehow feel…I don’t know, exposed? You feel too visible, like there’s too much of you on show.

Just out of interest, how do you sit in your chair? Legs crossed? I can’t do that. No fat person can…when you have so much padding on your thighs, the mechanics of crossing your legs just don’t work. If you manage to get one leg over the other in the first place it immediately sort of jumps off again of its own accord. It’s like folding a piece of paper in half and half again more than 8 times, it just can’t be done. Maybe you’re a ‘legs curled up underneath you’ kind of girl? I can’t do that either, or at least not for more than about 2 minutes. I get cramp, and it makes my feet tingle, I’m guessing because the pressure of everything being folded up is kind of like building a dam in my circulation.

Strange thing is, you get used to stuff like this being the norm. It becomes the wallpaper of your life but I tell you what, writing it down actually brings it into much sharper focus – how ridiculous that I would have to expend energy worrying about whether there’s going to be something I can sit on comfortably wherever it is I’m going.

It’s another light bulb moment to push me forward 🙂

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Quack advice

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now

advice

I’ve probably spent enough time over the last few days poking fun at some of the things that I personally don’t find that helpful when I’m having a crisis of confidence, or when I’m clinging onto the last vestige of willpower by my fingernails and feeling powerless to stop the sad demise of yet another attempt to lose weight. It helps to laugh at it all but you know what, I’m here to tell you that when you can’t see a way out of being anything but the size of a bouncy castle it’s kind of your default position to feel like nobody understands. And when there’s a list of jazz-hands solutions which appear to work for everyone in the world except you, it just serves to make you feel even more isolated.

I think I’m pre-programmed to feel irritated by a lot of it, especially when it’s written by an airbrushed skinny girl, glowing with health and looking for all the world like she just stepped off the cover of vogue, munching on celery sticks and drinking a tall glass of iced water as she poses in her yoga pants. I get it, of course I do…it’s just marketing. “Ta daa…do this, and you can look like me!!” Regardless, unless the photo is captioned with ‘Former sumo wrestler Fanny…’ it gets right on my last good nerve.

I’m far more likely to sit up and take notice of someone who looks like they’ve been around the block a bit, because with the best will in the world even my fairy godmother isn’t going to be able to make me look like that girl. Show me a girl of average proportions whose photo props suggest that she’s cracked it, but still knows her way around a doner kebab and I’d be all over that because she’s more likely to have the kind of advice I might be able to identify with.

So you already know I’m in a good place at the moment, right? I wouldn’t say I’m loving the diet –I’d rather be able to eat anything I wanted in man-sized portions, with seconds (and pudding) but I can’t if I don’t want to carry on looking like this. And I really don’t. I have to keep pinching myself at the fact that for now, I’m not finding it difficult. I’m not fighting with myself every day. I haven’t fallen off the wagon, and I haven’t really been tempted to, which is a minor miracle in itself.

I think it might be something to do with the power of words – I’m really enjoying the process of writing down my thoughts. Apologies to anyone who happens to be reading this if you feel that I’m cheating you out of drama! I’ve not had to wrestle yet with the asshole who sometimes lives inside my head (I’m sure you’ll make his acquaintance at some point) and I haven’t had to overcome any impressive obstacles. I’m fairly certain that all that will follow at some point but for now I really appreciate your company…you’re helping, so thank you.

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Motivation theory (Part 3)

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

bunnyI’m warming to the theme now – it’s a funny thing isn’t it, motivation – what works for some won’t work for others, and actually over the years I have found a few things which I will  arrange in my toolkit to be wheeled out when I need to turbo charge my willpower or find a bit of added oomph. And I will talk about them on here at some point, I promise. Just indulge me one more post though, in taking the piss out of the ideas which (in my humble opinion) have clearly been cobbled together by someone who has probably never even sported a muffin top.

So, the next nugget of wisdom was to join a gym class and pay for loads of sessions up front – that way, you’re bound to attend because otherwise you’ll have wasted your money. Kind of like a psychological contract. Genius idea that.  Let’s have a pop quiz. Do you think this suggestion came from

a) a gym bunny, or

b) an exercise dodger.

Yeah, that’s what I thought too. Come on, I’ve been there. On Monday, I start the diet, I’m brimming over with enthusiasm, this time it’s going to work. I know, I’ll even take an exercise class, in fact look, it works out cheaper to pay for six. Tuesday I go to the first class. Wednesday I can’t move. Thursday I can move a little bit and comfort-eat my way through the pain (because after all, even factoring in the 45 minutes I spent wheezing on the sidelines I must have burned off at least, ooh 3000 calories in the step class which almost killed me , so actually it cancels itself out) and then it’s Friday, which is the weekend and we all know that weekends are about pleasure not pain, so I’ll go back for my second class next week when I’m bound to feel a bit better.  The diet’s gone to shit anyway so I may as well have the weekend off and I’ll start again on Monday.

No, hang on, I can’t start my diet on Monday, I’ve got a works’ do a week on Saturday and that’ll ruin all my hard work, so I may as well start my diet two weeks on Monday so I can have a good run at it. In the meantime, pass me the cake  because when I start my diet I won’t be able to have any of that. And look, there’s no point in going back to the gym class until I’m dieting, that’d be a complete waste of money, everyone knows diet and exercise go together. Actually what I might do, is to diet for a few weeks and drop some weight, and then go back to the exercise class. It wouldn’t hurt as much if I was skinny. Yes that’s what I’ll do. I’ll definitely go back though.

And repeat. I think you get the picture. That’s the psyche of a fat girl – sorry, I shouldn’t generalise, that’s the psyche of this fat girl. I know it’s not logical on any level whatsoever, but then addicts will say and do anything to convince everyone – including themselves – that they’re in control, they’re on it, in fact they’re all over it.  Someone once told me that the definition of madness was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

This time, I’m trying something different…I have my blog 🙂

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Motivation theories (Part 2)

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now

Massage_room

So lets assume then that I’m going to bypass the first 3 suggestions that we mooted yesterday – I think it’s best. Last time I looked there wasn’t a long line of eligible blokes beating a path to my door and in all honesty, having dipped in and out of the dating scene once or twice as both a skinny girl and a fat girl, I can tell you that a number of blokes for whom body shape isn’t too much of an issue tend to be a bit slack where their own personal grooming is concerned. Just because I have a big bum and bingo wings does not mean that it’s ok for them to go native with the nose and ear hair. And whilst we’re on the subject,  just because some ladies are scared of the word ‘fat’ and describe themselves as ‘curvy’ does not entitle blokes to stand on a box for their profile photo and describe themselves as tall.  What?? *innocent face* 🙂 I’m just sayin.

Anyway, I digress – lets save the dating stories for another time and place. We were talking about ideas to keep us motivated on our respective diets. The next suggestion on the list was to get a massage.  How lovely…can’t beat a good massage. But could I really relax on the massage table, when I’m carrying the equivalent of an extra person inside my one body? There are just too many things to worry about.

Lets start with the towel. For average sized people, the towel they provide to cover yourself with when you’ve doffed off and climbed onto the massage table probably looks like a big fluffy bath sheet.  To me, it would feel more like a flannel. What am I meant to cover up with that, seriously?  Left cheek? Right cheek? And the masseuse, what about them?  I can feel the flush of shame creeping up my face as I think about what would be going through their mind when they peeled away the flannel and uncovered acres of dimpled flesh, artfully draped in the peaks and valleys of the morbidly obese.

Yes I realise they’ve probably seen it all before but I’d want the ground to open and swallow me up. (Which to be fair, it very well might if they’ve gone for the budget option massage table.) I imagine them mentally calculating how much extra massage oil they’re going to need to order this month and wondering whether they can get away with charging extra. When my imagination really runs wild, I imagine them yelling across the salon “HOLD MY FEET, I’M GOING IN” as they rope in a colleague to mitigate the risk of getting swallowed up by my wobbly bits. So with all that going on in my head, how could I possibly relax?

At the risk of being terribly picky, whilst I’m all for a good pamper session I think I’ll cross out ‘massage’ and go for ‘facial’ instead.  There’s not quite so much to worry about.

 

 

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