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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I had a bit of a downer on myself yesterday, you know that way where you beat yourself up for not being good enough, or falling short of your own expectations? I think most of us do it to one degree or another, and don’t get me wrong, there are occasions where a self-administered kick up the bum does the trick.

But there’s a difference between encouraging yourself to go harder in pursuit of a stretching goal, and pouring scorn all over yourself for being rubbish. On reflection, I might have nudged a toe over the line yesterday. Or, jumped right over it as though I had springs on my feet…whatever, I was too hard on myself. Looking back, I know it and you’ve pretty much all jumped on me and said the same thing!

I think what prompted it was being faced with the reality of the cumulative exercise effort over the working week. You know, like nothing. Over the course of the previous month, each Sunday when I’ve totted up my activity I’ve felt mentally stronger as well as a degree or two fitter (except for the bits that hurt obviously, like everything south of my chins). This week I didn’t have any achy bits beyond the ones that come with age rather than effort, and that screamed lazy, plus a few other choice adjectives thought up by the Asshole voice who spied a name-calling opportunity and immediately got in on the action.

On reflection, I accept I could have tried harder last week but you know what I’m not lazy. And this transition from fully paid up couch potato to nimble string bean wasn’t ever going to be achieved overnight, right? I’m assured by various folk who consider themselves to be in the know, that eventually I’ll reach that tipping point where my body and soul crave exercise as a way to relax and unwind. As of right now, my armchair wins hands down in the relaxation stakes, and exercise is still firmly planted in FFS, again ALREADY???

I’m not making excuses, or trying to justify…I’m just digging around a bit to help me plan a route which diverts me around the tendency to regard my whole attempt at fitness with the words not good enough…that’s not helpful. And it’s not accurate either, when you look how far I’ve come.

I can walk four miles fairly easily. Just a few months ago I struggled to walk from the house to the car.  I remember a couple of years ago where one of the places I worked out of was a very long building, and the distance from my desk to the canteen was a good two minute walk…many a time I’d go without coffee because the thought of how much my back and my knee would ache by the time I got back to my desk was just too much.

I’ve run my poor boy ragged over the years, to my shame…will you just pop up to the shop for me? was a frequent request, usually because I was after something to push into my face whilst I was watching TV – or, will you be an angel and make me one of your special cups of tea..? There was no tangible difference between his cups of tea and mine, except his didn’t require me to get off my arse and move around. I was happy in my chair thank you very much.

So I need to remember that this sofa surfing physique has come about after years of inactivity and I can’t make the leap from zero to hero overnight. What I can do, is not give up. That’s completely within my power.

I’ve been doing twenty five minutes on the cross-trainer, and today I went for thirty. Only a month ago I practically needed oxygen after five. When I started focusing on getting fit it felt like an achievement when me and the dog made it straight across the crossroads and around the long block. Now we regularly walk four or five times further than that.

So I’ve had a few days out, because life and work demanded a greater than usual slice of the pie. So what? Nobody died. I need to try and minimise the chances of that happening, but you know what, I can be flexible. In the round, I’m doing fine. Better than fine. I just need to try harder with the way I plan my time is all.

See, I made it out of the doghouse 🙂

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I won’t even begin to tally up just how many points’ worth of exercise I’ve accrued this morning as I’ve stomped around the kitchen being mad. I’m now sitting in the kitchen with a bottom lip sticking so far out there’s a very real possibility that I might actually trip over it. And it’s all over a stand-off with the bitch in the bathroom.

Those of you who’ve read the blog for a while will know this is an encounter that always carries the potential to go badly wrong. I mean everybody knows that the bathroom scale is predisposed to tell lies, and add numbers just to piss you off for no apparent reason. But I was so sure this morning as I stepped on feeling skinny that this week there’d be good news and maybe even an accompanying fanfare you know..? I’ve been awesome.

Lets look at the evidence. I woke up feeling skinny. In the context of the peaks and valleys of a very fat body, my belly was at lower altitude than my boobs, which is kind of my home-made measure. Closer to the mattress you know? I’ve eaten within points all week. In total I’ve completed about two hours on the hurt machine and I’ve walked just over seventeen miles with the furry one. So a very solid week, and yet the needle hasn’t budged. How DARE she pull a stunt like this on me today?

I did try to make it say something else…I mentally mapped out a grid system in my bathroom and tried the scale on every square to make sure it wasn’t the floor tiles underneath that were making it give a false reading. I mean that’s just a precaution, right? And you know, I might have taken the battery out and blown it before putting it back in and trying again.

Nothing. Not even a quarter of a poxy pound. All that effort, I could weep. The Asshole voice is having a party in my head and has already started to write the reactionary shopping list, which I can guarantee includes cheese balls and Haagen Dazs. Topics in his repertoire this morning include what’s the point, you gave it your best shot but why not have just a day off and start again tomorrow, you deserve better and this diet ain’t treating you right so maybe it’s time to give up, it’s not worth the heartache babe…you get the gist.

I know it happens. I understand all about plateaux you know, and why sometimes your body just needs to adjust a little before it continues the downward march. I’ve had a steady loss for the last five weeks, and on an intellectual level I get it. But on an emotional level, I’m not fucking interested, I’m just mad that I worked my socks off to stand still. I pushed through actual pain this week to do the hard yards with one objective in mind and I have nothing to show for it.

So, following most crappy encounters with the bitch in the bathroom, the only thing guaranteed to make me feel better is an act of defiance. And I’ve got to be honest and tell you that in the past it’s pretty much always involved chewing. And I’ve just eaten a big fat bacon sandwich.

The only difference this time is I’d always planned to have that big fat bacon sandwich this morning, it was pre-pointed and I’ve got to say absolutely delish. My act of defiance today will be to pull on my walking boots and set off with my furry friend, who is so far not impressed with the day either since he didn’t get bacon. I’m hoping the walk will make both of us feel better.

To the asshole, the diet and the bitch in the bathroom I’ve got to say…pathetic effort guys, it’ll take more than that to knock this fat girl out of the sweet spot 🙂

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