Monthly Archives: July 2016

It’s Because I’m Fat!

In the here & now, ,

whoops

Occasionally, when I throw some words out there in a blog post they come back to me like a boomerang, you know? My head sends them down through my fingertips onto the page, but it’s like a carbon copy of them gets stuck inside my head and that usually means that there’s another knot in my thought process which is demanding to be unpicked.

I made a throwaway comment the other day about blaming everything in my life that had ever gone wrong on the fact that I was fat. And that got me thinking. What am I going to blame when I get to Skinny Town if the shit hits the fan?

Yeah well that happened because I’m f…. oh.

The fact is, I’ve spent most of my life either putting weight on or taking weight off, so being fat was always within touching distance and therefore fair game where blame was concerned. My boy crush doesn’t fancy me..? Well there’s a surprise…it’s because I’m fat. Why did I marry this arsehole? Well all the decent blokes were out of my league, because I’m fat. I didn’t get an interview for that job I really liked the look of…yeah they were probably put off because I’m fat. They must have smelled it on my resume.

Isn’t that strange? I can’t think of a single other catch-all reason that would account for so many things going tits up where I wouldn’t have banished it from my life immediately – what a millstone to have around my neck, right? The omnipresent threat of failure, purely down to the size of my arse.  And yet, despite being utterly convinced that being fat was the root of all evil, I stayed fat. Got fatter, even. I mean seriously.

Unless. Maybe I secretly found it useful? If you think about it, I had at my disposal a well polished reason why I couldn’t do…whatever. Why something hadn’t worked out. Anything or everything, it didn’t really matter. I was fat, so no wonder…

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ll be the first to hold my hands up and admit that there have been times where being fat has served a purpose…it’s been useful, you know as in it provided a genuine excuse not to do something I didn’t want to do. My boy wanted to zip-wire off a mountain in Wales a couple of years ago, and he wanted me to do it with him…yeah, right, good luck with that. Sorry love, I can’t…I’m too fat. And for once I was grateful for my extra arse.

I suppose it’s about taking responsibility isn’t it? Being accountable for stuff rather than blaming the blubber. I didn’t get the job because I wasn’t good enough. My bad. I married a dickhead because I was chasing a fairy tale and I was dumb enough to imagine that despite all the red-flag-waving-in-my-face warning signs, he was really a good sort. My judgement was off…more than once, as it happens. My bad.

Someone once said to me that when they got to Skinny Town after carrying a lot of extra weight for years, they were disappointed to find that everything in their life didn’t get better immediately. And I get that…being skinny doesn’t guarantee entry into some kind of charmed life where no shit hits the fan ever. I just need to be prepared to apportion responsibility for things not going my way in the right place instead of leaping by default to the because I’m fat bucket.

It’s all good…I’ve got a good year to practice that before I cross the county line 🙂

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Now You See It, Now You Don’t

In the here & now,

bony

There were a handful of milestones that I actually dreamed about, way back at the beginning of this journey and the thought of hitting them really spurred me on during some of the more memorable battles with the Asshole voice, you know? You might even remember me talking about a few of them at one point or another, like being able to get out of a chair without rocking myself back and forth until I had enough momentum to shift my bulk, or simply being able to cross my legs again…man, that was a special one when I managed it for the first time.

I still get a little thrill when I throw one leg over the other as if I’ve always been able to do that, it’s sort of normal now. What I’m waiting for next is a glimpse of what lies beneath the skin I live in. I’m talking about a hint of bones.

Now, logic tells me that it’s not anatomically possible for folk to function properly without a full compliment of bones in their skeleton, but you know what, I’d be tempted to argue that point. Let’s take hip bones for example. I’ve never ever laid eyes on mine, in fact I’ve never even felt them. If I didn’t know better I’d think maybe I was born without any.

We’ve all seen those images of bikini bodies with their concave stomachs, beautifully framed either side by a hint of hip bone…not me, even in my string bean years. Whenever I laid flat and breathed in, I could poke around as much as I liked but all I ever felt was padding. Nothing angular at all. Cheekbones, hip bones, wrist bones…the list of bones missing in action goes on.

Except, when I’m resident in Skinny Town, I do have a collar bone. And when it’s there, I’m just a little bit in love with it. I mean don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t stick out much, but there’s definitely an outline if you look hard enough. And when you’ve spent years looking like your head and your shoulders are attached to each other without even a neck in between, a collar bone is a thing of beauty.

I’d love to have one of those little hollows at the base of my neck, just in case Prince Charming stopped by one day with a desire to fill it with champagne and lick it off. It could happen, right? The only place he could fill with champagne right now would be my navel which is all well and good but to be fair he’d need a magnum and then some.

Anyway, dragging my mind out of the gutter, the other day as I was hoiking a kettle bell around in the Kingdom of Pain, I was forced to look at myself in the long mirrored wall and I could’ve sworn I caught a glimpse of collar bone. But then it disappeared again…there seemed to be a hint of it every time I lifted the weight, but no sign of it on the downward stroke. When I got home I must’ve stood and stared in the general shoulder area for a good five minutes from just about every angle…nothing. Bugger.

I know it’s in there…I reckon maybe another couple of dress sizes down and we’ll be re-acquainted, which is almost as exciting as the crossing the legs thing…it might be the only noticeable bone I ever have so it’s a big thing, you know? Real tangible evidence that the skinny girl really is breaking out of the fat suit.

I’ll maintain a watching brief, and keep you posted 🙂

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Choosing My Reaction

In the here & now, ,

targetweight

So yesterday morning I leapt out of bed, barely resisting the temptation to rub my hands together in glee as I manoeuvred the bitch in the bathroom onto her usual tile for the weekly weigh-in. Over the last week, my input has been outstanding. I finished the week knowing that my eating had been completely clean, and I’d accrued fifty five extra exercise points that I hadn’t even dipped into, I mean that’s hardcore, right? I was able to look myself square in the eye and know I couldn’t have done more.

One pound off. All that, and I lost one measly poxy pound. How is that even possible? Despite the usual routine of multiple step-ons on different tiles the bitch failed to yield so much as an extra ounce, and after twenty four hours’ reflection it still feels spectacularly unfair that a body that is still carrying so much blubber can only offer up one solitary fucking pound.

And breathe…I refuse to get down about it because don’t we all know how fast that makes the wheels come off? I’m trying to be philosophical, so I’m choosing my reaction carefully and after a lot of thought I have chosen to focus on the positives instead. Of which there are many, actually.

My shoulder is feeling better…God of Pain is slowly reintroducing kettle bells into my circuit training. (Asshole voice just spat out his morning coffee – you’re looking for positives and THAT comes out of your mouth first??? We HATE kettle bells, they’re a THING.) Well yes, I know I hate the blasted things but every time I feel the burn I know they’re working stuff that needs to be worked so I don’t need to enjoy them, I just need to embrace the discomfort and appreciate what they can do for me.

My shape is changing, so although the pounds are clinging like shit to a stick I’m prepared to concede that the the way I look continues to go in the right direction. People are noticing, you know? If my weight was dropping more quickly but I couldn’t see much of a difference in the way I looked I’d be even more pissed off, so on balance I’d rather have it this way around. I’m choosing to believe that I’ve got the whole muscle weighs heavier than fat thing going on under the surface, which feels more like a reason than an excuse.

My biggest victory of all this week? One chocolate biscuit and a cup of tea for supper on Saturday. Uhuh *nods* yes you really did hear me say one chocolate biscuit. And it wasn’t the last one either, you know like accidental self-control which doesn’t really count? There’s a whole packet in the cupboard, and I just had one. With fifty-five untouched exercise points on the table which were due to expire at midnight, I still just had one.

Go on, admit it…I am a rockstar 🙂

This week is going to take some careful thought. I’m working away the last two days of the week, so controlling my diet is going to be more of a challenge, and I’ll also have to miss three of the classes I normally go to. I’ve substituted them for different ones so I’m good with it. I can adapt. Plus, there’s a gym at the hotel we’re staying in so I’m all over that. And after a cracking walk yesterday with some of my Kingdom of Pain buddies, we’ve lined another one up for next Saturday…there won’t be a day where I don’t do something.

Onwards, right? Let’s see what the bitch can throw at me next week 🙂

 

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On The Subject Of Socks…

In the here & now, ,

got my backMy new ones got christened last night along with my new walking boots, and it seems Indiana Jones was right… no blisters. To be fair, they were tested with a small ‘t’, in that I only walked around three miles…the walking boots felt weird. They weren’t uncomfortable exactly, it just seemed like they made my legs ache more than normal which isn’t helpful but then I suppose I’m used to walking in trainers which are much lighter. Fact is, I can’t wear lightweight trainers to climb a mountain so I’ll just have to suck it up and get used to them even though I feel like I’ve got tractor tyres under my tootsies.

I had some lovely messages yesterday from folk keen to help…one of our posse is even going to invite a bunch of friends around for coffee and cake in exchange for a small donation which she’ll then pass on through my sponsor me page…you’re all awesome and I’m so touched by the fact that you all have my back in this way. There’s no feeling like it, genuinely and I’m here to tell you that you’re pissing the Asshole voice off at every turn…his best advice is quit now because you don’t have a cat in hell’s chance of making it over that mountain range, but your voices are louder and clearer than his ever was.

I’ve had a few messages to say that some of our posse overseas are struggling to make their donation through the sponsor me page, and Veronique came up with a brilliant idea – if you prefer to send your sponsorship money through PayPal, you can send it directly to dellibop@mac.com with whatever message you’d like me to put on the sponsor me site, and I will load it on for you at this end – that way you’ll be able to view your donation and your message on the site.

Shall I tell you what else happened? One of my friends set up a Facebook page linked somehow to the Kingdom of Pain, and loads of my new friends from there are supporting me by setting up walks over the coming weekends to spur me on and help me get ready for this challenge. It’s just incredible, I feel like the whole world is standing shoulder to shoulder with me on this…I’ve never known anything like it before. How lucky am I 🙂

You know the biggest fist-bump moment of the week for me happened in the outdoorsy shop, whilst Indiana Jones was standing over me with several pairs of shoes. She handed me a sock, and in one uninterrupted movement I lifted my foot onto the bench, bent down and pulled the sock onto my foot and then stood up again, holding my hand out for a shoe. And I didn’t even grunt! That could never have happened when I started this journey…I couldn’t even reach my feet.

So I have a walk arranged tomorrow with my Kingdom of Pain buddies and I’ll be wearing my backpack with God of Pain’s weights in it, with my new walking boots on. My steps will be heavy but you know what, inside I will feel as light as air. You guys are all pushing me to a new place, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.

Have an awesome weekend everyone, and a million thank yous for having my back 🙂

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Spitting In The Eye Of Normal

In the here & now

trekCan you remember, way back in December when I first decided that I needed to give my diet a boost by spending more time out of my armchair? I was about four months in to my healthy eating plan, from a starting point of around 320lbs and it was going really well but I think the process of chatting to you guys on a daily basis had by that point thrown up the realisation that it might be possible to speed up the demise of my extra arse if I just started to move it more.

Lots of people have a longer term fitness goal which spurs them on and gives them something to work towards. For normal folk it might be a 5k event, or even a 10k for those who really like to push themselves. Not me, right? I managed to spit in the eye of normal and sign up for a 90km trek through a rainforest and up a mountain. In the heat. With bugs.

And at the time, October seemed ages away, I mean nine months is practically a lifetime. I imagined that I was going to be well skinny by the time I went. And don’t we all know that if you’re skinny, trekking 90km over a mountain range is a piece of cake? I blamed everything that I ever found hard on the fact that I was fat, and in my head anything looked effortless to skinny folk.

Thing is, it’s not ages away any more…it’s now three months away. Three months today in fact. And, I’m still fat. I mean sure, I’m not as fat but I definitely still look like I ate all the pies, which was not in my Cuba plan at all. The penny is starting to drop that I’ve done my usual thing of marrying wild optimism to blind faith that it’ll all be fine. I am a muppet.

Two things happened yesterday to make me realise this shit just got real…we booked our overnight hotel for the night before our early flight out of London, and then I went and bought a new pair of walking boots.

Even walking into the outdoorsy shop made me feel a bit nervous, I mean looking around I didn’t know what some of the stuff was…it’s a whole new world and I felt like a fish out of water. I was attended to by a skinny string bean who looked like she’d just stepped out of an adventure, given that she was dressed from head to toe in activity gear…all she was missing was a rope around her waist and a can of bear spray in her back pocket. I felt very reassured that if I got into difficulties during my shopping expedition she’d be able to help.

And she was very helpful, in her Indiana Jones kind of way. I’m not sure whether she believed me when I told her why I needed them, but I found myself leaving the shop with exactly what I went for, including three pairs of walking socks…who knew such things even existed, I mean socks are socks, right? Wrong.

These socks are made from the wool of mythical creatures and hand stitched by angels, at least they should be given what they cost. But spotting an opportunity to move in for the kill, Indiana Jones mentioned that they’d help avoid blisters and kerching…I was all over that, I’m going to have enough on with shit hurting left and right without having to worry about blisters.

So. They’ll have their first outing after work tonight, I don’t have a class because I won’t be home in time but me and my new boots need to start getting acquainted…it’s really happening.

On that…those of you who’ve read my blog for a while will know how much I hate asking for help, but I am going to do this trek if it kills me. Every hour I put in in the Kingdom of Pain, every mile I walk with Charlie-dog will be worth it when I cross the finish line and feel like I’ve achieved something special, but the biggest thing of all for me, completely aside from the fact that I’ve pushed myself physically will be the fact that I’ve raised a bunch of money to support a cause really close to my heart.

If you enjoy the blog and you feel like you’re a part of my journey, will you help by sponsoring me? If you follow this link you will be able to read the story of why it’s important to me. In the next couple of weeks I have to hit 80% of my fundraising target in order for the company I work for to fund the trip, which means that every penny I raise will go to my chosen charity…I’d be so grateful if you’d support me. It doesn’t have to be much, but if everyone who reads the blog sponsored me the price of a coffee I’d smash my target in no time. I’m genuinely grateful for every coffee bean you can throw my way 🙂

I tell you what, I’m going to hold Indiana Jones personally responsible for any blisters…I shit you not, I keep coming back to those bloody socks and how much they cost. I’m on the verge of developing a twitch.

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