Monthly Archives: December 2015

The Pre-Carnage Turbo Charge

Diet update, In the here & now

tortoise vs hare race No animals were stressed or hurt during the production of this image

So I’ve been planning for the week this morning, you know, in a way that makes me feel smug, organised and like nothing is getting anything past this suit of armour I’m wearing – yes that suit of armour, the one stitched together from determination and willpower. It’s still a bit scratchy, but it fits better than it used to. When I say planning for the week, I suppose what I actually mean is planning for the month. I’ve gathered together all the hurdles I know about, and I’ve been busy fitting it all together like a kind of social jigsaw, if that makes sense.

This week, on the whole, my dance card is empty. Which, anti-social old bugger that I am, warms the cockles of my heart. There’s a couple of work-related noshing opportunities which I’ll need to be on guard against but nothing I can’t handle. The following two weeks on the other hand look a bit more thorny. Strewn with dieting obstacles which are going to take a bit of navigating. Without forward planning they could spell disaster with a capital Dee!

But it’s ok, I have a plan. And whilst it does involve a bit of creative points accounting, I’m in this for the long game, and I have to get used to shaping the food plan to fit me in a way which means I can achieve my goals, right? I know we’ve laughed together in a previous post about my nifty footwork when I need to bend the budget, but since I’m forward planning this time I’m cool with it. But I’m relying on you guys to holler if you think I’m wide of the mark.

So, in two weeks’ time I have a weekend away booked with several of my friends. We’re setting sail on a little pre-Christmas posh mini-cruise. We’ve booked afternoon tea with champagne on the Friday afternoon, and there’s a full five course dinner that evening. Saturday will involve the Christmas markets of Dublin together with the craic – aka lots of drinking – followed by a gala dinner back onboard the ship on Saturday night. Dieting carnage, but an annual event I wouldn’t miss for the world.

Then, the following weekend is Christmas. Talk about a bloody challenge. But you know what, we’ve got this. So here’s my plan.

This week, I am going for it BIG TIME – let’s call it the pre-carnage turbo charge. I’m going to ratchet up the movement and earn some activity bonus points but I’m not going to spend them. Just to manage your expectations, I’m not talking about anything drastic like a body pump class – I want to sweat a bit, not die on the spot – so it’ll probably mean extra walks with my four legged friend, but enough for me to feel like I’ve done more than I normally do. Pushed myself, you know?

I’m also going to stay well within my daily points allowance, and not touch the additional allowance we get on a weekly basis…I’m going to keep up the turbo charge from now until the day we set off on our weekend away. That’s eleven days of over-and-above effort, together with tight-fisted points budgeting, up ahead of time. Which means that I can spend more points than I would normally have at my disposal whilst I’m away because I’ve earned it before I went, right?

Then, on the Sunday we get home I go right back into turbo mode, and stay there until Christmas. Christmas day falls the following Friday, and over the Christmas weekend I start a new ‘points’ week so I’ll have enough for a few treats. So in theory, it should balance itself out and I should exit the holiday season a little bit skinnier than I entered it, with my place in the sweet spot unchallenged. Don’t forget I’ve got my eye on those size 22 duds by the new year…

What do you reckon posse? Good plan..?

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Waste Management

Freeform thoughts,

picky-dog-15252915

I’ve always hated wasting stuff – it’s impossible to pass comment on the fact that we live in a  society where throwing stuff away is the norm without sounding as old as Methuselah but seriously, we do. And lets face it, I’ve just had a milestone birthday so I’m catching him up now anyway right? That pre-qualifies me as entitled to turn into a grumpy old boot from time to time.

I have a bit of a strop about the food waste that comes out of my own house on a weekly basis, although to be fair we have got better…it’s just too easy to take your eye off the ball and notice ‘use by’ dates after the event. I’ve started relying on the sniff test now rather than paying too much heed to what’s written on the packaging. If it looks ok and smells ok, it’s probably ok. If it’s slowly turning green and smells like something died in the packet, I consult the dog, who is an expert on both food, and dead things. If he’s not impressed, it goes in the bin. I’ve not managed to kill anyone yet so you know, I’m fairly confident that the system works.

I’ll be attending a few seasonal events over the next couple of weeks where there’ll be a buffet lunch, and that’s another thing guaranteed to send my waste barometer into overdrive. The difference this year of course, will be that I shall be on guard against that moment where my ‘waste not, want not’ button is pushed by the sight of a dozen unclaimed sausage rolls or a few slightly curled butties. Not to mention the killer bowl of crisps…lets face it, who can leave that half full? In the past I think it’s fair to say I’ve single-handedly assumed responsibility for ensuring nothing goes back to the kitchen…not on my watch.

What I’ve never really got my knickers in a twist about, but I need to wake up to it fast, is waste in relation to wasted effort. How many times in the past have I broken a diet and totally wasted all the willpower I’d managed to summon up until the point I fell off the wagon and went under the wheels…? More than I can count, that’s for sure. I mean come on, I’ve scored some heroic wins in the last few months. I wrestled with a double cheese and onion sandwich all afternoon one day for God’s sake – and I never gave in. What was the point of putting myself through that battle, if I was going to cave in without a fight over something else later down the line?

That’s tantamount to disrespecting the effort I’ve put in so far. And why would I do that? There have been far more moments than I’ve written about where I’ve had a short and snippy exchange with the asshole in my mind, and I’ve resisted, played it straight, walked away from a golden hob-nob opportunity in honour of this journey to Skinnytown.  And you know what, no way am I going to waste all that effort, and write it off like it didn’t matter.

Because it did matter. Every single one of those moments counted towards how great I’m feeling right now about this journey and how it’s going…trust me, it matters. It’s why I’m still here. I’ve invested thought, planning, hopes and dreams into what I’m doing, where I’m going…to one degree or another, this whole journey over the last few months has been built on the effort that I’ve put in, not to mention the support I’ve had from you guys. Can I even contemplate a situation which would make wasting all of that ok..? Hell no, of course not.

On balance, a wasted sausage roll is nothing by comparison, right?

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Doing It The Skinny Girl Way

Diet update, In the here & now, , ,

Smallest-Canepe-ASDA

Well, that’s December’s cherry well and truly popped…I had my first Christmas dinner of the season last night, and very nice it was too. It was a work function, an afternoon working session rounded off by a chance to kick back and relax with some colleagues over food and a few drinks. I vaguely remember I had to get my menu choices in a couple of weeks ago, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember what I’d ordered, but as it turns out that didn’t matter – someone had helpfully written everyone’s menu choice on their place cards.

That’s a great system, although I suspect the old me would have been a bit less impressed. I mean, hands up who hasn’t pretended they’d ordered what looks like the tastiest option when the plates start coming out…? This is mine..? No, there’s been a mistake, I ordered one of those ones…and if, you know that involved pointing to the plate with the most generous helping of whatever, well, that was purely a happy accident.

Anyway, no room for mistakes last night. With my halo in place and shining brightly I’d ordered melon for my starter…not a dinner option made by anyone, ever, unless they are watching their waistline. I mean don’t get me wrong, I LOVE melon…I’ve eaten two of them this week. But when I eat melon, I cut off the skin, chop it into big wedges and get stuck in.

Last night, it was beautifully arranged in the middle of the plate, fanned out with an artistic pea-sized smear of something sweet and red. I’m not kidding though, when I tell you that a good 90% of the plate was lacking the presence of melon. It’s like they were overwhelmed by demand and had to cut 100 portions from one melon. I looked around the table with envious eyes at the people who were tucking into filo goats cheese parcels with cranberry coulis, and pate with french toast.

I did feel better when my eyes landed on a bona fide skinny string bean colleague, who was the only other person on my table who’d chosen melon. Like me! I couldn’t help feeling elated because I was doing it the skinny girl way. Except I wasn’t, not really.

Every time I looked across the table she was either delicately cutting a piece off, or chewing, or dipping a bit of melon in the red pea sized smear…she made it last for like 15 minutes. Me? Two bites and the melon was history. 100% of my plate was a melon-free zone before she’d even decided which centimetre of melon to go in for first.

For my main course I’d ordered turkey with all the trimmings, and it was yummy. It’s always good to be reminded what normal portions look like – small, is what they look like to me if I’m being honest. But having said that, I didn’t over-indulge…chance would have been a fine thing, but it was nice not to be tested. Had there been any kind of test, I would have passed – by default – with flying colours, because I’m here to tell you if there was more than 400 calories on that plate I’ll bare my arse to the world.

I’d ordered the cheese board to finish with, for a number of reasons…firstly it came with grapes, and that’s healthy, right? Secondly there was only two cheeses mentioned, one of which was brie which I don’t like, so compared to the other options of Christmas pudding, chocolate tart or eton mess it seemed like the safest one. And it was. Two crackers and a matchbox sized serving of really tasty cheese with the six grapes on offer was just about perfect. Small, but perfect.

Incidentally, the bloke sat beside me – who had a very well cultivated mid-section – said the Christmas pudding wasn’t the best he’d eaten. He still almost took the pattern off the plate in his eagerness to finish it all though. It’s a good job I wasn’t drinking…a couple of glasses of fizz inside me and I might have invited him to join the posse.

So, I drove home feeling very smug. To be fair, there was very limited opportunity for the asshole in my mind to talk me into anything. My sensible choices were made way ahead of time, but I still I resisted the coffee and mince pies afterwards…get me, a regular little goody two shoes. Mind you, tonight might be a bit different…tonight’s invitation involves a different set of work friends, beer and something described by the host as dirty pizza. Much harder to resist. But you know I’m on it 🙂

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The Power Of Will

Freeform thoughts, ,

willpower

So I got to thinking the other day about what a strange thing willpower is. It’s not logical you know? I find it bizarre that sometimes I have to dig really deep to say no, and other times I’m able to fire the word out faster than a bullet without giving it a second thought. Why do you think that happens..? To all intents and purposes, it’s the same head making the decisions…the asshole is in permanent residence so him trying to chuck a spanner in the works is par for the course. And yet, some days are still harder than others.

Did I ever tell you I used to be a smoker..?  It seems like a lifetime ago – in common with lots of reformed smokers I can’t bear to be anywhere near a lit cigarette now and it feels so alien to think I used to have a twenty a day habit. It was well ingrained too – I started having a sneaky ciggie or two in my early teens and by the time I reached adulthood it was a pretty deep seated habit. So it’s ten years since I quit, and do you want to know how much willpower that took..? None. None at all.

I know, it makes no sense to me either. I read Allan Carr’s Easy Way to Stop Smoking in one sitting, cover to cover in one day, smoked my last cigarette when the book told me to, and I’ve never smoked another. I never had a single craving, after more than twenty five years of smoking. Picture my face when I realised he’d written a book on losing weight, I was beyond excited…I pretty much broke the land speed record to get to the bookshop and hand over my cash. Read the whole book in one sitting and…nothing. Read it again, just to make sure…still nothing. Bloody thing had no impact on me whatsoever. I was gutted.

So it seems that there isn’t any kind of formula which cracks the willpower code every time. I mean I’m doing ok – better than ok, I’m doing great – now. But it’d be nice to be able to have some sort of guarantee, you know? Some certainty, that I’ll shimmy into Skinny town this time next year having had no curve balls come hurtling out of left field to knock me out of the sweet spot…no struggles to get back in. Some kind of formula to apply like a sunscreen to keep me protected from the asshole and other as yet unidentified foes would be amazing. But I get it – life doesn’t work like that, right?

And you know what else..? I’m kind of glad it doesn’t. I feel like I’m really having to work at this. I’m putting in the hard yards. Examining every thought, every feeling…picking at loose threads and sewing them down tight in the hope that if I touch wood and whistle they won’t unravel ever again. When I look back at the way I quit smoking, it feels too easy. I mean don’t get me wrong, I could never go back to the evil weed but equally I don’t feel any sense of pride or achievement for managing to quit. By some miracle, it happened but I don’t feel like I can take the credit.

This, on the other hand…when I get to Skinny town I want to wear every bruise that the asshole leaves behind like a badge of honour. I want to be able to run my fingers across every scar, from every hard-won battle. And that sense of achievement..? I want that too. I don’t think I can carry the scars or the bruises unless I’ve earned them.

That’s what’ll help me cash in my chips and stay there permanently. Let’s carry on doing the work 🙂

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Gingerbread Meh

In the here & now, ,

gingerI braved the vile weather at lunchtime and popped down to the shop – like an almighty plonker I’d made lunch and then realised halfway to work that I’d left it on the kitchen counter. Duh. But it didn’t matter too much, there’s a lovely deli at the shop near where I work so I popped in there instead, and whilst I was there I couldn’t help noticing the promotional baskets at the end of the aisles…Christmas seems to have arrived with a vengeance!

It made me smile, especially since I already know that this is the month where every aisle in every store is going to be bursting at the seams with Christmas goodies, and boobytraps designed to make the wheels come off any self-respecting food plan. But what jumped out at me was the box of ginger viennese whirls…and I knew I was lost. Firstly, ginger is one of my favourite winter spices…cooked in savoury dishes, in cakes, as a flavouring in coffee…I love it’s warm and spicy aroma, and the tongue tingle. And I’m also partial to the melt-in-the-mouth awesomeness of a viennese whirl.

Now, I’m not sure what rotten sod decided to combine these two taste sensations and make them a new thing when I’m on a diet…I mean that’s just bloody unfair, right? However, on the basis that I’m following weight watchers, where pretty much anything goes as long as it’s counted, I was allowed. I did the maths, four points that I could afford to spend…happy days, before I knew it I was hot-footing it back to the office with a box of them nestling on the passenger seat next to me, feeling as giddy as a virgin on prom night.

So, we ate lunch on the run…sort of a working lunch, our small but perfectly formed team of six sitting around the meeting table, chatting through our respective updates…all the time the box of six gingerbread whirls were sitting there just begging to be eaten. I barely tasted my salad – said, as if anyone tastes salad, ever – all I could think about was the way in which I’d have four, maybe five bites’ worth of crumbly, gingery scrumptiousness to go with my post-lunch coffee.

I imagined the sweetness of the buttercream filling and wondered what it would be flavoured with. Orange..? Vanilla..? Maybe even lemon….big yum. All good with ginger, in my humble foodie opinion. The anticipation almost killed me.

Shall I tell you what the filling tasted of…? Nothing. The actual ginger whirl wasn’t much better…I swear, I was so ready to be blown away. The MMMmmmmm….was poised and ready to burst forth as I took my first bite but it fizzled out before it got going…it didn’t even merit a Mmm. Not even close. I couldn’t bring myself to award a single M.

So lets have a pop quiz…what did I do, after eating the first disappointing bite..? One point consumed remember, in that one mouthful of vaguely spicy sawdust held together with gooey white stuff flavoured with…oh yes that’s right, nothing! Did I put it to one side?

No, of course not. I had another bite. WTF? Was I checking to see if the next one was better..? Like it’d improved since bite one..? It hadn’t. So I’m going to set it aside now, right? I mean, I’m two points in and I don’t like it.

Bite three and I’d cottoned on to the fact that it tasted of MDF and as I polished off bite four it occurred to me that I need only have wasted one precious point…I could have saved three by chucking this impostor of a Christmas treat straight into the bin. On reflection it’s like I was SO determined to enjoy it, I hoovered it all up anyway and then declared it inedible. As I wiped the crumbs off my lips.

Times like this, I realise I have a way to go…

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