Monthly Archives: March 2017

Five More To Low

In the here & now, ,

Do you know what I realised yesterday, as I sashayed out of the bathroom after another positive encounter with the Shitbird Scale? I’ve only got 5lbs to go before I’m back down to the lowest weight I achieved last year, you know right before I lost my way and started dicking around? The last time I weighed in at 250lbs was right back at the beginning of October when I was on my way back up the scale from my lowest weight on this journey, at 245lbs. I’ve got to be honest, I’m on a mission. I want those five pounds out of my pants in the next two weeks.

My friend got a massive fit of the giggles last night when we talked about the monster I’ve created by posting my conversation with the Shitbird Scale on here every Sunday…almost two hundred and fifty people logged on and checked out my weigh-in page yesterday. I mean that’s just mind-blowing, right? How could I possibly put a foot wrong, when so many of you take time out of your day to keep a watching brief on my journey, and check-in especially just to audit my number?

I live in fear that the scale is going to throw a hissy fit and move in the wrong direction one week, it would kill me to post that. Can you even imagine..? It’s bound to happen one of these days but I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. There’s literally nowhere to hide…I’ll tell you what though, as an accountability tool it’s a stroke of genius.

I took a big step when I did the supermarket run yesterday. Ladies and Gentlemen, there’s chocolate in the house again. I know. It’s been a chocolate-free zone ever since the beginning of this year when I had to acknowledge that the diet had gone completely tits up and I more or less started again . My food sobriety felt too fragile to even think about allowing that kind of stuff over the threshold, and bless him, my boy has been incredibly supportive given that he has a massive sweet tooth. But it never really felt okay to me, banishing everything on the naughty list from the house, you know? I know it’s okay to be selfish sometimes but at the end of the day, he lives here too.

I had to do it to get back on track, but this deep down shift in the way I’m feeling about stuff lately means I’m ready. I no longer worry that I’ll be ambushed by a packet of hob-nobs as I cross the kitchen to reach the fruit bowl…I feel strong, and more committed to my food plan than ever so it seemed like the right time to man up and lift the ban. The naughty cupboard once again contains some of his favourite goodies, and I’m not bothered by it one little bit. And yes I know that this could change in a heartbeat but honestly, I don’t believe it will.

This is day sixty four, and nothing’s knocking me off track. My girly weekend is just around the corner but I’m planning to take extraordinary care in the few days running up to it so I can make my food plan work for me. I’m on a roll here and I’m not even slightly stressed about how I’ll juggle everything…I just know that I will 🙂

 

 

 

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Two Things Have Happened…

In the here & now, , ,

There’s something distinctly weird happening in my head at the moment. This probably won’t come as a big surprise to those of you who’ve raised an eyebrow here and there over the last 18 months at some of the titter and shit that has tumbled onto this very page…lets be honest, weird stuff happening in my head is not unusual in itself. But when I say weird, I mean different.

I’m used to feeling like I have to dodge bullets on a regular basis. You all know that I regard myself as a food addict, right? Dieting is a challenge for anyone, but if you have a food addiction and you’re trying to lose weight, you are locked into a constant battle. It’s a never-ending negotiation with your own head over what you’re allowed to have, when you’re allowed to have it, and most importantly how much of it is the right amount to have.

And it’s relentless because even after the decision is made I find my asshole voice coming in hard with a rear-guard action trying to re-negotiate. Let’s be honest, what is generally considered amongst normal folk to be the right amount looks to me like it wouldn’t feed a sparrow and the injustice of not having a plate that would feed a small army leaves me seething with resentment. It’s exhausting.

Of late however, it’s felt different. Calmer somehow. And I don’t know that it’s got anything to do with being in the sweet spot, I mean I was fully locked and loaded into the sweet spot when I started this diet eighteen months ago,  for the first few months I didn’t put a foot wrong in terms of eating more than my allocated food budget but the Asshole voice was in constant communication with my willpower and it was tested on an hourly basis. Now, not so much so.

The difference? I’ve more or less excluded sugar from my diet. It’s the only thing I can put my finger on, you know? And before you worry that I’m going to turn into one of these evangelistic preachy teachy kind of bloggers who tells you what to do and how to do it, I’m not, I swear. This blog hasn’t ever been about that, it’s always been more about sharing what’s going on in my head as I try and navigate the path to Skinny Town. But it makes you think, doesn’t it?

I’ve always said that for me, I can stick to my food plan providing I can have the odd treat so I don’t feel deprived. Except my odd treat was way way out of balance with the rest of my diet. I could stick to a daily points allowance, but let’s say I had 35 points to go at, I’d start with the crap and work my way back, you know?

If I count two Mars Bars at 24 points, that means I have 11 points to spend on proper food…fruit for breakfast which is free, salad for lunch which is free and then maybe chicken for supper with a mountain of vegetables which are also free, so I get that stuffed fit to bust feeling but I can still ‘relax’ and eat two Mars Bars because technically I’m not doing anything wrong, right? I stayed within points and look at this innocent face…

Except, having eaten two Mars Bars – or hob-nobs or Daim cake or whatever, it could have been anything – I’d still feel deprived, because two wasn’t three and there were more in the fridge which I wasn’t allowed to have. And having got the taste for them, often the ones in the fridge for another day wouldn’t survive the night because I’d pay forward my food budget then wake up the next day and sulk because I was going to have to live on dust for the rest of the week.

That’s all gone. I’m 61 days food sober, and I haven’t eaten chocolate, or cookies, or crisps, or anything with refined sugar in it except things like maybe low-fat salad cream which has a trace element. Nothing processed that has added sugar, just lots of fresh food. And two things have happened.

The cravings have stopped dead. I’m no longer tortured by the relentless need to eat something sweet. If I haven’t eaten one of something, I don’t crave a second or a third, and I’m no longer even bothered by the thought of it. I mean…this is me we’re talking about. The other thing is I’ve stopped seething with resentment at the fact that I’m on on this journey to begin with.

You can’t help wondering, can you? I started this whole clean eating thing as a bit of an experiment, but actually I have a feeling it’s morphed into a bit of a game changer for me…I’m just going with it, I mean why wouldn’t I? The prospect of not living the rest of my life as a slave to my drug of choice is blowing my mind 🙂

 

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Mrs Smug From Smugsville

In the here & now, ,

So, I’ve been staring at a blank page for ages trying to think of a way to tell you that I managed to stick to my guns and emerge from holiday with my food sobriety intact, it’s just that every which way I try makes me sound like Mrs Smug from Smugsville. Fact is, I did it! It seems that miracles do happen, and despite the best efforts of an army of chefs I’m still motoring and I’ve managed to come out the other end 59 days food sober.

And, I weigh less than I did when we set off.  I mean don’t get overexcited because we’re only talking one quarter of one pound but hey, any hole’s a goal, right?

When I got home I somehow resisted the temptation to run in the front door and hotfoot it upstairs for an immediate confrontation with the Shitbird Scale, because looking at my puffy post-flight waterlogged ankles I didn’t want to give the Asshole voice any leverage to start fucking with my head…I can pretty much predict the script, you know? Ah look, you’ve gained weight even though you’ve deprived yourself for a whole week…it just wasn’t worth it. Go buy a Daim cake immediately and knickers to the diet…

I managed to hold off stepping on until yesterday, and I can’t even begin to tell you how strong that makes me feel. It means that I’m not reliant on the scale to validate my success, you know? I knew on the inside that I’d pulled it off and really that’s all that mattered. I hoped that Shitbird Scale would acknowledge my hard work but I was happy to wait until my body had gotten over the journey before checking in.

God of Pain invited me to hop on his scale when I went for a double session of torture last night because he insists his is the official number, and his scale declared a two pounds loss. Now, if you remember his scale also said I’d gained a pound just before I went which I really hadn’t. But whatever, all things being equal I’ve still emerged a cock-hair skinnier from a holiday which may well have spelled dieting disaster and I’ll take that thank you very much 🙂

There were moments during the trip where it was really tough. One bar on the ship in particular served tapas-style nibbles whenever you ordered drinks, and I had to ask my friend to move the plate out of sight. She looked at me like I’d lost the plot and I was reminded once again that the way a food addict looks at the world is different to normal people, you know? My friend was happy to sit there and chat with a plate of breaded cheese wheels and bite-size frittata and quiche and meatballs right under her nose, where for me, conversation turned into white noise and the plate became my sole focus. The need to reach out and take one after another until they were gone was overwhelming.

And I get it – anyone who’s lucky enough not to have experienced the sheer power of food cravings in that way could never even hope to understand…there’s little wonder my friend regarded my request to hide the plate as a bit weird. But I’m proud of the way in which I managed it, in the moment. It meant I ate one or two, but I didn’t vaporise them all. And at the end of the day, after years of friendship it probably doesn’t come as breaking news that I’m a bit weird.

Anyway, onwards…it’s good to be home. My food plan is nailed on, and my exercise is on track…the next hurdle to navigate is my bi-annual girly weekend which is happening next week. A long weekend of gossip and laughter fuelled by prosecco and gin.

Bring it on, I can’t wait. I’ve totally got this 🙂

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