Monthly Archives: February 2016

The She-Devil And Me

Reflections on past times

PE

I was chatting to one of my best friends yesterday and our conversation turned to exercise, most especially me and my hurt machine. I mean, that’s going quite well, I’m up to forty minutes now without feeling like I’m going to collapse when I climb off. I’d go so far as to say I don’t even mind the first 15 minutes or so. Steady on, I’m not saying I enjoy it…I just don’t mind it, let’s not get carried away.

When I look back, my dislike of exercise was baked in by the time I hit my teens, despite getting off to a promising start. I remember my gym teacher at junior school, he was a lovely man with infinite patience, especially since I single handedly shattered his dreams of leading the gym team to victory in the annual schools’ competition. I didn’t do anything wrong as such when I joined gym club, in fact I gave it my all.

Sadly, I could barely pull out of a forward roll without grunting. My leotard regularly got swallowed by my butt cheeks, and I had a habit of changing my mind at the last minute whenever I was required to have both feet off the ground at the same time. Given that the majority of our routines demanded that very thing, I’m afraid I rather cramped their style. But what I lacked in ability I made up for in comedy value and enthusiasm, and I was part of the team.

It was a different story at senior school. My PE teacher was the she-devil. And she hated me for having the audacity to be fat. I mean that woman despised me, and there began five years of double-lesson Thursday afternoon hell. I remember standing up on the hockey field shivering my nuts off in the middle of winter, with corned beef legs topped off by a short blue skirt which barely covered my arse. The she-devil insisted on putting me in goal since I pretty much filled the net…I’d never known misery like it.

And to cap it all, you then had to strip bare naked and shower with thirty other girls who were cutting their teeth on the whole bitchy vibe you know? I think I claimed to be on a period every week for at least five years in order to avoid that particular horror. To be fair, there’s no wonder the asshole voice can reel off excuse after excuse why I can’t do shit, he listened to me all those years and I was awesome at excuses.

So I guess that’s why exercise doesn’t top the list of my favourite things to do. Although having said that, last time I was a skinny string bean I enjoyed cycling. And whilst my bike hasn’t made it out of the garden shed for the last six years at least, come summer I’m all over it. Need to lose a bit more first, I mean it’s a sturdy bike but there are limits, right? It wasn’t designed with Shamu in mind.

But I’m getting there, one pound at a time 🙂

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Just Imagine!

Freeform thoughts

butlerI watched a programme last night whilst I was strutting my stuff on the hurt machine, about a staffing agency which provides butlers to very well-to-do clients, and I was astonished by the job description. I mean I thought butlers were all about setting tables and shining shoes…these ones on the TV practically ran their boss’s lives. So anyway I’ve decided that’s why I’m fat…it’s because I don’t have a butler.

Just imagine how easy it would be to be skinny, if someone else was responsible for doing all the chasing around, leaving you to focus on, well just you. None of this running around like a lunatic first thing in the morning trying to get your shit together for the day ahead, finding and pointing something to take for lunch and grabbing breakfast on the fly, oh no.

If I had a butler he’d do all that for me. I could step out of bed, do my twenty minutes on the cross-trainer, take a shower and saunter downstairs, to a perfectly balanced breakfast, and with my perfectly prepared lunch ready and waiting. I’d come home at night to no chores, and a delicious pre-pointed dinner, with no clearing up to be done afterwards and an evening stretching endlessly ahead with nothing to do but make it all about me.

That week I had off work back at the beginning of January was awesome, because that’s literally what I did. I didn’t have to run around doing anything other than putting my own needs first. I slept plenty, cooked everything from scratch and ate well, walked loads with Charlie the dog and fed my soul by reading a couple of books and catching up with friends. It was easy to be me, that week, where most weeks it takes a bit more effort, you know?

This week is shaping up to be another busy one, and it’s hard isn’t it, to focus on yourself when so many different things pull on your time? I should really make more of an effort to get more sleep than I do, especially during the week..that would be a big step forward.

I’ve promised myself I’m going to do two things this week which are all about me. Firstly I’m going to try and get an appointment to see a physio about my knee…since I hurt it a couple of years ago it’s regularly given me hell, and when I walk a lot it seems to really irritate it. Bit worrying given I’ve committed to doing the trek, right? So I need to sort that out.

Secondly, I’m going to have a go at putting my face on every day…taking heed of what my friend said, about looking good on the outside making her feel good on the inside, I’m going to give it a whirl. I know it’s going to bug the shit out of me, but I’ll try it for a week and see how I go. There was a time when I wouldn’t set foot out of the house without my face on, but I’ve always found that the more chins I have, the less inclined I am to accentuate the good bits. There didn’t seem much point you know? But that’s wonky thinking, and as I inch my way out of this fat suit, I’m leaving that behind too.

Shame the coffers won’t stretch to a butler…I’m well up for an easy life. I guess I’ll have to keep right on buying those lottery tickets 🙂

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Out With The Old

Diet update

clothes

This morning I woke up in one of those moods, where my ‘to do’ list was dancing in front of my eyes before I’d even opened them – normally I’d groan and disappear under the duvet with more than a few choice words muttered under my breath at the thought of my Sunday being hijacked by chores. But today I’m cool because for some reason I’m full of energy. I feel great.

It’s ten thirty in the morning as I’m writing this, and you know that wardrobe clear out I’ve been meaning to get around to for the last few weeks..? I’ve done it 🙂 Oh My GOD you wouldn’t believe how many things I’ve tried on…I’ve got a pile for the charity shop, and a huge pile to go on eBay, lots of the stuff with labels still attached.

It’s a mixture of stuff which is now just too big, and stuff that I’ve bought in a size or two smaller ‘because I’m on a diet and it’ll fit me soon’. Sometimes holding something up in front of you shows you whether the colour works for your hair, or whether it draws out the colour of your eyes…what it doesn’t do is clarify whether or not you’re going to look like a lumpy sack of spanners when you put it on.

More than a few of those things looked hideous, so they have to go. I’ve even discovered a few old friends which used to fit me and now fit me again. They survived the cycle! I haven’t been the size I am now for at least four years.

I remember when I bought a couple of the things I’ve unearthed from the bowels of my wardrobe, I was devastated that I’d gone up from a size 20 to a 22, and swore that was it, I was going to get skinny again. To be fair, I wasn’t wrong exactly, I just had the timing a little off. I didn’t realise that I was going to go up to a 28 before I wrestled my head into the right place and got cracking. But I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.

In terms of progress, I’m four pounds lighter than I was the last time I updated you two weeks ago, and if I’m measuring in stones, I’ve sashayed across the line to where my weight now starts with an 18…I realise most skinny string beans would choke on their morning coffee and have to go have a lie down at the unthinkable horror of that, but for me it’s a milestone moment and I’m proud of it.

My goal weight is 147lbs, and I have 118lbs to go. I’m more than 50lbs down already, so after almost six months I’m somewhere around a third of the way there. God knows it’s taken a lot of determination to get this far, but it’s totally worth it now I’m starting to feel like Kate Moss 🙂

I know that one or two of you are struggling at the moment, and I wish I could help. I’ve been in that exact same spot you’re in a hundred times or more, so I get it. I know that this blog has evolved to become more about all of our journeys, but I can only really write about mine…I’m sorry if you want to kick my head in for banging on about how well it’s all going. If it’s any consolation, I probably would too.

Writing down my thoughts as I go through this journey has been a turning point for me. I’ve been thinking for a while that it might be nice to have a ‘guest spot’, and I’ve created a brand shiny new page for that very purpose. What do you think..?

If you’re on this journey with the rest of the posse, or you’ve already crossed the county line and earned your string bean stripes. you’re more than welcome to share what’s on your mind and add to the chatter, or simply tell your story. I’d love that! It’s the biggest buzz in the world to know that people read and respond to your words.

I won’t publish anyone who’s trying to sell either products or a food plan, but if you’re on the journey to Skinny Town with the rest of us, you’re more than welcome to send in your thoughts via the ‘contact me’ page. You might all hate the idea and the page might stay all shiny and new. But the stage is yours if you want it, and if it helps you to unpick the chatter in your head, I can personally vouch for the fact that it makes a difference 🙂

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Doing It Without My Wing Man

In the here & now

pressure

Reflecting back on the last few weeks, I’m acutely aware that I’ve fielded more than my fair share of stress. Maybe stress is too harsh a word, and I’m just being a drama queen. Pressure is probably a better word, but in any event it’s fair to say that 2016 has done it’s level best to get right under my skin since it opened for business just a few weeks ago.

I’ve dealt with some fairly crappy personal stuff, or should I say I’ve supported someone very close to me through something which turned their life upside down and when you love someone it’s hard not to feel their pain as your own, right? Work has been incredibly busy and I’ve had to bring it home on evenings and weekends just to keep up, and my mum is fairly needy of my time now she’s in her twilight years.

And as if all that wasn’t enough, I decided to chuck my blog headlong into the spotlight – I mean don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved all the excitement, I’ve enjoyed the process and the unbelievable support from you lot, and it’s been lovely to welcome all our new visitors…the whole things has been awesome. But throwing the contents of my head out there to be judged hiked up the pressure massively, since I’m standing shoulder to shoulder with the best of the best without a clue what I’m doing really.

A couple of times I’ve thought, you know I don’t think I can keep this up. Thankfully those moments were fleeting and somehow all the balls stayed up in the air…the plates kept right on spinning. And it’s interesting, because I don’t ever remember flying solo through such a period of high pressure before. I’ve always relied on my trusty wing-man, food.

Using food as a coping mechanism is a deeply ingrained habit, and yet this time, miraculously I’ve managed to wade through the mire without sacrificing the integrity of my food plan, and I’ve continued slowly pushing the boundaries of my fitness at the same time. Who knew that was even possible..?

It hasn’t been perfect, nowhere near. Although I’ve stayed within my daily and weekly points, I wouldn’t say my food plan’s been particularly clean. And yes, there have been occasions where the only thing to stop me caving under pressure was a mouthful of something naughty. But it’s happened in a controlled way.

I’ve savoured it, counted it and carried on putting one foot in front of the other. I can’t even start to tell you how many times in the past I’ve completely gone off the rails when the shit has hit the fan. How often I’ve walked around the supermarket stocking up, because I’m not going to have much time this week and best be prepared…

Nothing wrong with being prepared, except I generally wasn’t stocking up with broccoli if you see what I mean. I’m very well practised at stitching a comfort blanket together from a selection of trigger foods and disappearing underneath it until whatever crisis has passed, only to emerge days or weeks later right back at square one, and then some.

Now I don’t even begin to know what kind of magic is in play this time, but for the first time I can remember, I appear to be thinking beyond the next mouthful. Every time I start to feel even a tiny bit out of control, my mind immediately wrestles the asshole voice to the ground and somehow, I’m able to navigate my way through.

I’m building up quite a mental show-reel of moments where I’ve fought a battle and emerged with the upper hand, and I play it on a loop until the moment passes. I often wonder whether when people look at me they see the cheese sandwich or the cheesy bugle whizzing around in my eyes like a fruit machine.

Life is still a little nuts. I’m still running around like a headless chicken, but I’m a skinnier headless chicken than I was yesterday, and the knowledge that I’m fatter today than I will be tomorrow gives me a bigger kick than the cheesiest of cheese balls, right? I can’t tell you how much I’m hoping that my wing man has buggered off for good 🙂

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Call Me Old Fashioned, But…

Freeform thoughts

camel

So I was mooching through the paper this morning when I saw yet another article about the way in which using BMI as a tool for measuring whether or not someone is at a healthy weight is losing popularity. To be honest I’ve never paid much heed to those numbers anyway – mine’s off the scale, so I’m not going to get hung up on the fact that whatever number it lands on tells me I’m fat…that’s hardly breaking news is it?

I mean, I have mirrors in my house, right? That’s all the proof I need isn’t it? I look in it, I can’t help noticing that I’m fat, job done. I certainly don’t need a boffin in a white coat and an algorithm to confirm it. For people who don’t have a mirror there are a host of other ways to confirm it. Such as.

If you can’t fit behind the wheel of your car and you’re not pregnant, you’re fat. If you can’t fasten the safety harness on a roller coaster, you’re fat (and you might want to think about getting off…just sayin’). If you walk into a clothes shop and walk out with a new scarf because it’s the only thing in their two thousand square feet that fits you, you’re fat. And If you book a camel-riding excursion on holiday in Tunisia and they have to weight the second passenger down with sandbags so you don’t end up underneath the camel, you’re fat.

There are enough clues, right? I’ve personally tested all of the above and confirm that they’re fairly accurate. I could provide more clues to look out for, if you’re still unsure. Thing is though, if you’re fat, you know you’re fat. You don’t need a number to  drive the point home.

And (oh God she’s off, up on the soapbox now) I think lots of fat kids could be shielded from unnecessary daggers to the heart if the powers that be took a pragmatic approach to childhood obesity in schools…I’ve seen more than one story in the newspapers where little Johnny’s mum has received a letter home basically saying your child is fat.

The story is usually illustrated by a photo of both little Johnny and his mum  looking sadly at the offending letter. And presumably, in order to confirm the diagnosis of fat, little Johnny has had to queue up in the way we used to have to queue up for the nit nurse, and get weighed. Which if you are bigger than the average bear would be traumatic in itself, right? The letter home calling you out as fat would just about finish you off.

I was a fat child. If you read my earliest posts, you’ll remember the way my teacher compared my weight to that of an adult pig, and forty five years later I can still taste the humiliation. I hate that there might be kids out there now feeling hurt and humiliated because somebody with a clipboard has decided their BMI says they are fat. Some of the little Johnny’s I’ve seen in the paper didn’t look fat to me, and labelling them as such could do way more harm than good.

So, if the trend is moving away from giving too much credence to BMI, I for one don’t think it’s a bad thing. Your eyes will give you all the info you need…just my humble opinion 🙂

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