Monthly Archives: September 2017

Stepping Off, Chilling Ma Boots

In the here & now, ,

I didn’t mean to worry y’all by going AWOL on Friday. I’m touched by the number of emails I had over the weekend asking if I was okay…I’m fine thanks, I promise. I spent the whole of last week feeling knackered and slightly disorientated after immersing myself in the writer’s workshop over a long weekend, before going right back to work on Monday, and then having to co-facilitate a two-day workshop which required me to stay away from home mid-week.

I staggered home on Thursday and cobbled together a post for Friday which didn’t pass muster at all when I read it back the next morning, so I had a mini-meltdown and binned it. I can give you a brief summary if you like…I was mainly trying to justify an unfortunate incident with a plate of garlic bread which one of my colleagues had ordered ‘for the table’ during a working dinner last Wednesday evening, and most of it ended up being eaten by yours truly…yeah I know. Don’t say a word. 

I was trying to justify it to all of you and myself on the basis that I’d been away last weekend and therefore hadn’t had time to go do a food shop, so I’d already ruined my dieting day by eating the stodgy catered lunch instead of taking stuff with me.

Then at dinner, the garlic bread got plonked in front of me without a rightful owner, and it smelled all kinds of awesome. And because I’d had a dodgy lunch – not to mention the three glasses of Rioja I’d drunk before dinner which were undoubtedly influencing my decision-making – I decided I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. So I ate the garlic bread followed by a juicy rib-eye steak..uhuh.

Now, I was pushed for time last week, my schedule was crazy. However, we all know that the whole fucking supermarket is just a click away these days, and judging by the number of parcels Amazon deliver to my door  I clearly know my way around an on-line shopping cart, so not having the time to do a food shop and using that as the reason for my wobble was a totally made up bollocksy excuse.

On reflection, I think I was just tired. And I know my thought process can turn to shit and my willpower can take a direct hit when I’m tired. I looked around the table and saw everyone tucking into garlic bread and I got an earful of the Asshole voice with his puffed-up outraged sense of entitlement that every fucker else was having it so why couldn’t I, you know?

Apart from that one incident last week I put in a textbook performance, but the garlic bread cost me dear when I crossed paths with the Shitbird Scale yesterday…just one pound off. I deserved it, and there is no excuse. It might’ve been a two pound plus week if I’d not eaten my own bodyweight in something I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near.

Still, I parked it the very next day and I’ve been on it like a car bonnet again ever since. Thankfully, garlic bread isn’t a trigger food for me, it just happened to be delicious and there. Sometimes it feels a lot like I’m taking two steps forward and one step backwards, but I guess that’s just life, right?

I didn’t have the energy – or the time – to start from scratch on Friday, so I had to step off. This weekend has mainly been spent chilling ma boots and recharging my batteries, in between walking a bit and swimming. I even hit the gym – not the Kingdom of Pain, I’m not signed back there yet by the physio – to do some hardcore physio on my knee, which is getting stronger all the time.

This week, I shall mainly be staying away from garlic bread 🙂

 

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No Longer Required

In the here & now, ,

In those weeks where I’m not seeing eye to eye with the Shitbird Scale, it’s more important than ever that I find non-scale victories to celebrate, and yesterday morning’s  was the sweetest win  in ages. I managed to fasten my bra for the very first time without using an extender. I know, right? It took me more than an hour to get the smile off my face.

I’ve never been blessed with more than a handful in the boobage department and no matter how much weight I’ve been carrying, my boobs never managed to grow any bigger. That’s just how I’m made. Even at my fattest I could still only fill a B cup. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times where I could’ve happily filled my bra twice over with the extra rolls of fat that kind of hung around the general chest area, but in terms of actual boobs, they’ve remained stubbornly disproportionate. No hour-glass figure for me and certainly no match for my double arse.

Finding underwear has always been a bit of a challenge, because nobody seems to make bras for fat girls who have fat backs and small boobs. That’s just a fact, you know? I did once manage to find a size 56B bra on the internet but when it arrived it’d never seen a B cup, I mean I could’ve fitted a decent-sized watermelon in each side.

Not being able to find bras in my size meant I’ve had to stuff my boobs into shapeless non-wired stretchy bra tops for the last few years. Which is fine, and they’re comfy but those things don’t give you any shape at all. They keep stuff under control but they’re not really bra bras, are they?

About a year ago I discovered bra extenders, which are just the best invention ever. Once I knew they existed I bought a ton of them. It wasn’t unheard of for me to have three of them hooked up end to end right the way across my back but at least my boobs were properly supported and it was a definite improvement on the bras-that-aren’t-really-bras.

Anyway, I don’t know whether it’s down to all the swimming I’ve been doing, but yesterday as I was getting dressed I raised my arms above my head, and noticed that my bra was riding up. My excuses-for-boobs were even making a bid for freedom from underneath and at that point I realised it was now too big around the body. So, I had a stab at fastening it without the extender, and it fitted. I mean it really fitted, I could breathe and everything. And it wasn’t so tight as to cause that horrible sideways-on overspill either. It just looked tidy. Everything contained, you know? Silhouette present and correct, and extender no longer required.

It was only a small moment, in the grand scheme of things but every victory is worth shouting about don’t you think? 🙂

 

 

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I’m Not Going To Be The One Who Blinks First

In the here & now, ,

So it seems that there’s a bit more to this writing a book malarkey than I’d anticipated. Holy shit is there ever. Having said that, I’ve had some really positive feedback on the stuff I pulled together and I just want to get cracking now. Honestly, it’s been an amazing experience. My head is full of things that I didn’t know on Friday, and now I do. I just need a bit of down-time to process everything, you know? I’m knackered. 

When I finally settled down last night I had every intention of telling you all about it but I ended up doing that thing where I woke up at 3am with my cheek stuck to the laptop which was next to me on the bed. I didn’t get home until late afternoon, and then I’d thrown my bags in the door and headed straight out for a swim. I’ve done so much sitting around this weekend in one workshop after another, I just had this urge to head out and go do something active. Who might have guessed that urge was ever going to take over this body, eh?

One of the non-writing related things I learned this weekend was that it’s much easier not to succumb to the temptation of pudding after half a bottle of Merlot, if you’ve told everyone before the wine starts speaking on your behalf that you don’t eat puddings. It’s a genius strategy, because you can’t then eat a pudding without looking like a muppet, right?

At the gala meal, as everyone else’s sticky toffee pudding arrived I waved mine away…I had to, even though I wanted to weep. It looked all kinds of awesome, and the wine was quite persuasive but there’d been so much chatter over dinner about who was writing what, the whole of our table knew I was writing a book about being on a diet. It was a very effective antidote to the fuck it mentality that I usually fall victim to when I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine.

I did have a couple of dark chocolates with my coffee, on the basis that I’d passed on the pudding, but all things considered I think that was okay. There were seven mealtimes over the course of the weekend, and I’m proud to say I behaved myself at every single one of them. I drank my water. I stayed away from naughty. I passed the test.

I’m still locked in a stand-off with the Shitbird scale mind you. We’re playing that game of who’s going to blink first. I brought my weigh-in forward by two days, because I was going to be away on Sunday morning, and I hadn’t lost a fucking ounce since the last time. Again. I also did a cheeky hop-on this morning to see whether the needle had moved over the weekend…it hadn’t.

I’m not going to be the one who blinks first. Not a chance. I’m going to put in textbook day after textbook day until the Shitbird thing rolls over and offers up a loss. I’m on a mission, remember? 215lbs by Christmas. I keep repeating it over and over like a mantra. And when I get there that means I’ll have less than 70lbs to go before I cross the Skinny Town county line.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy 🙂

 

 

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I Would’ve Worried.

In the here & now, ,

I’m so giddy…it’s time for my writer’s weekend! I’m heading out at lunchtime to spend the next three days at the Festival of Writing 2017 surrounded by arty creative types who do this shit for real and I just can’t wait. The very first seminar of the weekend is called From Pipe-dream to Publication, and I’m hoping there’ll be loads of folk just like me who bring enthusiasm over experience and  don’t have a highly polished manuscript up their sleeve. All I want to do is take a tentative step into that world and have a bit of a nose around, you know? Suss it all out.

I’ve got my clothes all picked out, and I’ve got my fake bake on so I’m sporting a healthy glow, or at least I will be when I’ve showered off the excess this morning…right now I look like I fell in a vat of gravy. I treated myself to a face pack last night so it’s as good as it’s going to get. I don’t want to spend the next three days worrying about how I look, but I’m well aware that first impressions count. Having said that, I want to look young and skinny so I’m screwed on both counts, right?

There was a time, where events like this would’ve been off-limits to someone like me. When I was at my fattest there’s no way I would’ve considered rocking up to a long weekend where I know nobody at all. I’ll have no choice but to mingle and put myself out there. Back then, it would have been the stuff of nightmares to be honest, no matter how interesting I might have found the workshops.

I would have worried about what people thought as I waddled around looking for somewhere to sit. I would’ve prayed that the lecture theatres were not too far from each other so I didn’t have to walk very far. I would’ve been stressed to the max about finding a chair big enough for my double arse and I would’ve tortured myself with the buffet in case anyone judged me for my food choices.

I would’ve known in advance exactly how miserable I’d be, and I would have allowed fat to get in the way of my dreams. Again. I just wouldn’t have gone.

This time, I’m not fazed by it. Any of it. Well, except maybe the buffet. I’m not in control of the menu for three whole days but I am in control of my mouth and what goes in it. To be fair, I’m so on it at the moment I’m happy that I can pull it off.

I’m not really big on networking and exchanging small-talk in a work situation, I find it irksome and I really can’t be arsed but this is different. I’m dying to meet other people who love to write, and people who’ve had their words published and most of all I’m dying to meet people who can open my eyes to the possibilities of it all.

Besides, for the first time in my life I can honestly say being fat opened the door…I might never have picked up a pen if I’d been living the dream in Skinny Town all these years, eh?

Have an awesome weekend folks, and I’ll see you on the other side 🙂

 

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Putting The Asshole Voice on Mute

In the here & now,

It occurred to me as I went to bed last night that yesterday had passed without any fat incidents whatsoever. Not a single one. No dark thoughts about what I wanted to eat but couldn’t because I was on a diet. No pre-occupation at the mid afternoon point as to where I might source a handful of inappropriate snacks, and no debating with myself when I got home from my swim as to whether I should or shouldn’t spend the calories I’d earned.

I wonder if that’s what life feels like for a normal person? Someone whose life doesn’t actually revolve around food. I mean generally, if I’m not eating I’m at least thinking about where my next food opportunity is coming from. Yesterday I even passed up a decent supper in favour of boiled eggs and toast because I was heading to the pool and I just wanted something light. Hello??  That’s a first.

I reckon it’s because I’ve gotten past those first few days of re-booted focus, where the feeling of being deprived all over again makes me hyper-likely to be lured into an ambush by the Asshole voice, you know? We all know that once he’s got me cornered the odds of me being led by the nose directly into the path of trouble increase tenfold.

As day one reduces to a pin-prick in my rear-view mirror, it’s much harder for him to present me with a decent argument as to why starting again tomorrow is a good idea. It’s not. And without my sugar-goggles, I can see that with much more clarity. Today marks fifteen days of food sobriety, and I’ve gone the whole hog by cutting out refined sugar altogether.

That’s such a killer for the first few days. My head deploys every trick in the book to convince me that it’s not necessary. That I can manage perfectly well and lose weight just as effectively with sugar in my life and you know what, for the first eighteen months of my journey towards Skinny Town I did. The difference isn’t in the number on the scale, it’s about how easily I’m able to put the Asshole voice on mute.

You know how in winter, when you wake up and it’s been snowing overnight? You open the door and the world feels quieter somehow, like the blanket of snow has muted all the noise. Well, when I stop eating refined sugar it feels exactly the same. Once I’m over the initial panic and my head accepts that sugar has left the building, it seems to get behind the idea completely and throws a blanket over all the noise about food. Inside my head, after two weeks without refined sugar it’s quiet enough to hear a mouse fart in the next county.

I’m past the hard bit now, and free to focus on the important stuff. I’m determined to hit 215lbs by Christmas and I feel like I have a fighting chance. My mail bag tells me that more than a few of you have already got your eyes on Christmas and you’re on a mission to hit the next size down, just like me…come on, we can totally do this!

 

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