Monthly Archives: April 2016

Helping To Mend Me

In the here & now, ,

hugs

I’m incredibly touched by all the lovely notes and thoughts and messages you’ve sent following my inadvertent gymnastic incident…what a response, honestly! I can’t remember the last time I felt so cared about. I mean my boy looks after me in his man-child way of course, which has even involved doing extra chores uninvited over the last couple of days whilst I’ve been hobbling around feeling sorry for myself. The pills and potions are definitely helping, and I feel very wrapped up in this wonderful cradle of support.

It was a similar thing the other day, when I talked about my obsession with Moussaka, despite it being really high in terms of my food budget. The ink was barely dry on the page before you started sending me low-point adaptations of moussaka recipes, which was awesome, and it sort of got me thinking about stuff. You know me by now, and the way in which my head tends to wander off at a tangent when something strikes a chord. I woke up this morning feeling remarkably clear on things which I’d only half acknowledged before. I love it when that happens, you know?

This blog, and the way I set out from day one to be really honest with firstly myself, and then when I picked up a bit of company with you guys too, is probably the first time I’ve ever presented anything other than a bright and breezy hard shell to the outside world. I’ve never been particularly good at vulnerability, you know? Chinks in my armour..? No, that would never do. Help..? No, not me I’m good thanks, I’ll manage. Sympathy..? Fuck you, I don’t need your sympathy, I’m doing fine. I still shudder at the thought of sympathy, if I’m honest.

It’s always been about putting my game face on and just cracking on with stuff, and never showing if something hurt, or even that I might be struggling. Why? It’s complicated. Some of you are familiar with my dad’s story (which you can see HERE if you’ve not seen my fundraising page) – I had to grow up real quick and be strong as a little girl, and I guess it just stuck. Strong with a hard shell is all I’ve ever known how to be, and yet on the inside I’ve never been like that at all. Fake it ’till you make it, right? If that’s what you choose to show, that’s what people will see.

On here, it felt different. It helped, because I kind of did it in stages. At first my words only had one reader, and that was me. Then I invited a handful of close and trusted friends to peep inside the shell, and I got comfortable with that too. Nobody judged me. Then my friends shared it a bit more widely and that felt okay too, because it was with strangers, you know? I didn’t need to look them in the eye and I could carry on being honest.

In between the jokes and horsing around I peeled away the layers and laid stuff bare. Painful stuff. Certainly stuff I’ve never shared with anyone before. And the most unexpected thing happened…talking about stuff in what feels like a really safe environment, and realising that nobody keeled over in horror meant I gradually got more comfortable with sharing what I thought of as the dysfunctional bits of me. And I’ll tell you what, that feels truly liberating.

I am not the only one who has an asshole voice on speed-dial, nor is the concept of a self-destruct button unique to me. Turns out I’m not that different after all. Turns out that dysfunctional is actually quite normal. Who knew that? I didn’t. I have no need to hide. And I don’t need to be perfect for people to love me.

And you know what else..? It’s okay to let people help. Being vulnerable doesn’t result in me being marched out of town. If anything, people have embraced me because of my vulnerabilities, and not in spite of them and that’s been the biggest revelation of all. That’s acceptance, you know? I love the fact that I can tell you that I don’t have all the answers, and you all pitch in with stuff to help.

Honestly, it feels pretty good. The medication I got yesterday is helping settle my black and blue arse down, but you lot are doing a far better job than the anti-inflammatories in helping me heal…you should come on prescription  🙂

 

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OUCH That’s Torn It

In the here & now, , ,

cartoon of a girl slipping an falling on a banana clipart

So, you know that expression pride comes before a fall..? Yeah well I didn’t actually think it was meant literally you know? I was almost home yesterday after a nice long walk with the furry one, and I was feeling proud, having seen the output from a really great week. I had a proper spring in my step, I mean I was motoring. I’d shaved five whole minutes off my best three-mile-walk time, and I was nearly home. And then I fell. Well, I’m saying that…I didn’t fall exactly.

If I’d fallen I don’t think I would be hurting quite as much as I am. I had to come right into the side of the lane so a car could get past, and I was so busy reeling Charlie dog in on his extending lead that I didn’t take much notice of where I was putting my feet. So my left foot hit a patch of moss and mud, and as I followed the step through and transferred my weight onto my left leg, before I had chance to react it sort of took off unexpectedly and although I managed to stay upright, I pretty much did the splits.

Ouch, just bloody ouch. My body’s not built for moves like that, you know? I kind of hovered there with my tushy skimming the ground and wondered how in God’s name I was going to get up again. Of course the car had gone sailing past and even splashed me, to add insult to injury. Twat. And as I descended in slow motion to his level, Charlie immediately thought it was some new kind of game and he was well up for some fun, running around me in circles with his tail wagging ten to the dozen. I managed to push myself upright and hobble home, but oh lord I swear I almost split my difference.

So now, today, I’m really really sore. The muscle that runs all the way up the back of my right leg to my butt cheek is screaming at me with every step and I feel like I’ve had a good kicking. I didn’t actually hit the deck, but I may as well have…the back of my thigh and my bum are a lovely shade of purple. Overnight everything stiffened up, so as I drafted this first thing this morning, having already hobbled to the bathroom and back I knew today was going to suck.

The funniest thing, was going to pick up my mum yesterday afternoon so she could come and spend Sunday afternoon here as she generally does and walking so tentatively to her room through the residential home where she lives that I almost got overtaken by an elderly gentleman on his zimmer frame. In hindsight I should have borrowed it, something tells me it might have come in quite handy over the next few days!

So, no hurt machine for me last night, and I suspect I’m going to be keeping a low profile for the rest of this week where exercise is concerned…having just visited the doc, I’ve come out armed with anti-inflammatories and painkillers and instructions to take it very easy for the next few days before building up my activity again slowly as things start to settle down.

The best laid plans, and all that. Still, frustrating as it is, it could have been worse. Nothing’s broken, just twanged muscles, a trapped nerve and a multicoloured backside. I’m a tough old bird, and I’m sure by the weekend I’ll be feeling a bit better but I can’t even begin to tell you how much it hurts!

 

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Ta Daaah!

Diet update, In the here & now, , ,

three

Today is a good day, in fact it has all the hallmarks of being one of my favourite days in the last seven and a half months. I’m occupying less space than I was this time last week, to the tune of three pounds 🙂 Three pounds of fat, according to geeks on the internet who know stuff, equates to roughly the size of a cantaloupe melon, and if you melted it all down it would fill three coffee cups. Who knew!

It feels all the sweeter, because I’ve sort of been treading water a bit for the last few weeks, as well you know because it’s all played out right under your watchful gaze. I had a great weight loss in the few weeks after Christmas but then it kind of went a bit wonky. I put a pound on, then it stuck for a couple more weeks, then I shook off that extra pound and geared up for a go-for-it week which ended up dragging its heels and crimping off half of one pound which didn’t exactly invoke my happy dance. My head needed a good loss this week more than my arse did, to be fair.

It makes the hard work worth it, especially days like yesterday, where the Asshole voice gave me hell pretty much all day. I just kept thinking about how determined I felt last week after my measly half a pound loss, and what I wrote down this time last week…I’m going for a 100% clean eating week with exercise every day and I’m going to resist any asshole suggestions that don’t support the cause. It worked, even in the face of moussaka-gate, and I feel epic.

So, the other thing that happened this week was a little bit of self-encouragement. Oh, is that what we’re calling it these days, huh? *Ahem* 

Yes, whatever, there’s a new addition to my handbag collection, come on I’ve been beyond restrained over the last few months. She’s an elephant grey cross body chain-around messenger bag, and I’m very giddy. Pre-loved of course, I can’t afford champagne prices on my prosecco income, but like most of my carefully chosen collection, you wouldn’t know…she’s been very well looked after. I have the same one in black, and she’ll fit in beautifully.

And, I went back to Marks and Sparks, and bought the shirt! Just my luck, they had sold out of my size so I had two choices…order one in, or buy it in the next size down…yep, I bought the size 20 because whilst I’m not quite there, I will be soon. I could wear it, over a tee-shirt you know, unfastened? I won’t though. It’s hanging on the outside of my wardrobe so I can admire it’s rich turquoisy green every time I look over, and I shall try it on weekly until it fits properly.

That was a milestone purchase you know? I bought it because I loved it, not because it would fit. And it’s from a non fat-girl collection, which officially makes me normal. I had a moment, in the shop which was almost emotional…it meant a lot. It’s another thing that I can now do, which seven months ago would have felt so far out of reach I wouldn’t have even allowed myself to hope.

So I’m hoping you’ve all had a great week too, and that you’re doing a happy dance of your own. Here, the sun’s shining, and Charlie dog is waiting by the front door…in his clumsy doggy hint-dropping fashion he’s making it clear that all this dancing and grinning and writing is all very well but it’s not getting him outside. It’s not getting me out either so it’s time to skedaddle.

Lots of love to all, and thanks as always for your awesome company…your thoughts and notes and support and encouragement make a difference every single day 🙂

 

 

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Until Today

Biggest struggles, In the here & now, , , ,

temptedI’ve had a really good week this week – you know that way where you just know. I’m not scraping by on a wing and a prayer, in fact I’m very happy with how it’s all gone. I’d even go so far as to say the bitch in the bathroom was flirting with me this morning as I went about my daily routine…come on, come and step aboard a day early, your buns look skinny today…I didn’t, even though I was really tempted…I want to get a run at seven full days  so I get the full benefit tomorrow 🙂

Seriously, she’d better give me a good number…I’ve kept my eating clean, I’m well within smart points and I’ve even put my foot down and made this fat old body produce the occasional burst of speed. I’ve noticed that the Asshole voice has been conspicuous by his absence too…until today. Today he came back with a vengeance, and now he won’t leave me alone.

So, in the supermarket this morning I happened to linger by the bargain corner. Nothing wrong with that, you know how I love a bargain. Except there were two large packs of Tesco finest moussaka on the shelf, marked down in price to lower than the one-person meals. Now, I’ve got to be honest, they are my absolute favourite. They have always been one of my go-to foods, you know?

Many a food coma has been brought on by me sitting in my big leather recliner, enjoying a three course meal comprising two family bags of cheese balls as an appetiser, a large moussaka for the main event, and a litre drum of Haagen Dazs to finish with. About four and a half thousand calories, right there, in that one sitting. Crap, I mean when I look back, there’s no wonder my arse took on a life of its own. And that wasn’t an isolated incident, you know?

Anyway, it seemed like a good idea at the time to buy both the reduced packs. I still buy a single pack from time to time – it’s hardly worth bothering, I think the serves one guide notes refer to folk who have stomachs the size of walnuts, but if I eat it with a mountain of vegetables I at least feel like I’ve had a treat. And even the small pack is 21 smart points, out of a daily allowance of 38. The family packs, the ones which are sitting in the fridge behind me right now, are 42 points.

So obviously, the conversation I had with the Asshole voice at the intersection of aisles twelve and thirteen revolved around buying the reduced packs, getting them home and then splitting them in half before freezing them for future use. Because that’s what normal people would do, right?

From the minute I unpacked my shopping and for the rest of the afternoon, all I’ve heard is Why don’t you eat a whole one..? I mean I know they’re supposed to be for two people but we all know that they’e not, really, and you haven’t used any of your exercise points this week, so you could if you wanted to, without even breaking the rules…you deserve a treat, you’ve been so good this week…yadder yadder yadder…

As I was getting my nails done earlier, I was chatting with the girls in the salon about this and that, but I was thinking about moussaka. Walking Charlie dog this afternoon, with every step the Asshole reminded me that I was accruing fit points, and I could swap them for moussaka. As I’m typing this blog post, I’m thinking about fucking moussaka to the point where my mouth is actually watering.

It’s ridiculous that out of the blue, after a really solid week I get assaulted by thoughts of trigger food. Maybe because it’s one of the things which belonged in my old life with no limits, and now I can eat it but only if it’s propped up either side with terms and conditions.

I am going to eat moussaka for tea, but I’m eating half, and freezing half. Like normal people would. It would be so much easier to not have it at all, but I’ve clearly got some kind of masochistic vibe going on today.

But you know what, boil it down to brass tacks and there’s no real argument to be had. I’ve got an appointment in the morning with the bitch in the bathroom – no way am I tarnishing this outstanding week. Too much care went into it, and I don’t want to wake up tomorrow feeling afraid of the number. I’m accountable for the input, right? I refuse to hand the balance of power to something whose only job is to report the number.

It’d better be a chuffing impressive number, that’s all I can say 🙂

 

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Tea For The Posse

In the here & now, ,

rating

I woke up today to a message from a company who want to send me a freebie, in exchange for me doing a review of their product on our website – how exciting! Well, that was my first thought. Let me wind back a few steps…do you remember when I went to meet all my fellow UK Blog Awards finalists one evening a few weeks ago in London? Quite a few people mentioned back then that they regularly got offered free stuff, and I remember thinking then that maybe I should muscle in and start blogging about holidays, or fashion or something where lots of interesting free stuff might come my way…I love a bargain, me.

So there was much giddiness at Skinny Towers this morning, I kind of feel like I’ve arrived. Except there seems to be so many rules about how to manage stuff like that, that I immediately started stressing and my biggest worry of all of course, was what if I didn’t like the product? What if it tastes like feet?

It’s a range of teas, which allegedly help you detox and lose weight, and that all sounds really amazing but I’m not sure it’s something I’d get on with. I mean I can’t imagine that I could add a dash of milk and one sugar and drink it as I’m doing the washing up, you know? I think I’d need a yoga mat and a strappy top and a clear complexion with no wrinkles. And a serene expression, which has never been my forte.

I’ve never been very good at funny teas. I have a friend at work who’s really into fruit teas. They always smell amazing, and there are no calories in them at all so you could drink them all day long. But they confuse my senses, which kind of makes me suspicious you know?  They smell like guava, or blackberry or some other exotic thing, but they never actually taste like they smell, and that messes with my mojo. Invariably when I’ve tried them, I find they just taste of feet.

I think I’m going to have to decline their offer, right? It doesn’t feel right to accept something that I’m fairly certain I’m not going to like, and quite apart from that, this isn’t really the kind of blog where I’m bringing you the latest trends in this or that anyway, is it? You’re not used to me saying do this, or try that and it makes me feel a bit weird imagining myself in that space.

If I’d set myself up as some kind of expert, or had set my stall out as the blogging guru of weight loss, you know, someone who dispensed advice and guidance left and right then it might be different. But all I really do is share with you the inner workings of my head, which I’m constantly trying to wrestle into the sensible zone, whilst simultaneously squashing the asshole voice and doing the best I can on my own journey down the scale. It’s about what turns lights on for me, rather than what might work for you, and that’s a subtle but important difference.

I do know that you listen carefully to the words I throw out there, and I’m regularly touched by the messages I get where you tell me that you’re relating and finding it helpful as you navigate your own journey. I love it when that happens, it honestly gives me the biggest buzz ever. So I’m really conscious that everything I write or talk about has to come from my heart, like it always has, otherwise it won’t be authentic.

That said, I’d just like to make it absolutely clear that if anyone from Chanel is poking around the blog, the same rules wouldn’t apply to your handbags, right? If you want a review writing about how a fat lass from Yorkshire feels carrying a piece from your latest collection, I’m very happy to oblige. I’ll say whatever you like, and it’ll be the best review you’ve ever had, I guarantee it 🙂

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