Category Archives: Reflections on past times

The She-Devil And Me

Reflections on past times

PE

I was chatting to one of my best friends yesterday and our conversation turned to exercise, most especially me and my hurt machine. I mean, that’s going quite well, I’m up to forty minutes now without feeling like I’m going to collapse when I climb off. I’d go so far as to say I don’t even mind the first 15 minutes or so. Steady on, I’m not saying I enjoy it…I just don’t mind it, let’s not get carried away.

When I look back, my dislike of exercise was baked in by the time I hit my teens, despite getting off to a promising start. I remember my gym teacher at junior school, he was a lovely man with infinite patience, especially since I single handedly shattered his dreams of leading the gym team to victory in the annual schools’ competition. I didn’t do anything wrong as such when I joined gym club, in fact I gave it my all.

Sadly, I could barely pull out of a forward roll without grunting. My leotard regularly got swallowed by my butt cheeks, and I had a habit of changing my mind at the last minute whenever I was required to have both feet off the ground at the same time. Given that the majority of our routines demanded that very thing, I’m afraid I rather cramped their style. But what I lacked in ability I made up for in comedy value and enthusiasm, and I was part of the team.

It was a different story at senior school. My PE teacher was the she-devil. And she hated me for having the audacity to be fat. I mean that woman despised me, and there began five years of double-lesson Thursday afternoon hell. I remember standing up on the hockey field shivering my nuts off in the middle of winter, with corned beef legs topped off by a short blue skirt which barely covered my arse. The she-devil insisted on putting me in goal since I pretty much filled the net…I’d never known misery like it.

And to cap it all, you then had to strip bare naked and shower with thirty other girls who were cutting their teeth on the whole bitchy vibe you know? I think I claimed to be on a period every week for at least five years in order to avoid that particular horror. To be fair, there’s no wonder the asshole voice can reel off excuse after excuse why I can’t do shit, he listened to me all those years and I was awesome at excuses.

So I guess that’s why exercise doesn’t top the list of my favourite things to do. Although having said that, last time I was a skinny string bean I enjoyed cycling. And whilst my bike hasn’t made it out of the garden shed for the last six years at least, come summer I’m all over it. Need to lose a bit more first, I mean it’s a sturdy bike but there are limits, right? It wasn’t designed with Shamu in mind.

But I’m getting there, one pound at a time 🙂

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I’ll Start Again Monday

Reflections on past times

fu

So, this Friday just gone was the day apparently where loads of people will have fallen off the dieting wagon – it said so in the Daily Mail, so it must be true!  Actually, whilst I think even they’d agree that many of their articles are written by someone who’s one sandwich short of a picnic, this one gave me a real twinge, because I’ve been that person, so many times. Pretty much every year when I think about it although to be fair I was never part of that statistic – it’s rare that I made it past Wednesday.

I wish I had a pound for every time I’ve looked back after another failed attempt, and felt gutted as I wondered how much nearer to Skinny Town I’d have been if I’d just kept my head in the game. I wonder how many people are out there tonight, Sunday, thinking that they can write this week off as a false start, but tomorrow is it, you know? Monday 11th, the real deal. We’ve got the practise run out of the way and we’re ready to do it for real now…come on!

I know as they go to bed tonight they will be absolutely determined to do it this time. They’ve probably over-indulged a bit over the weekend because you know, from Monday this is it, no more treats. They’ll be full of hope and optimism that this time will be different and for some it really might be. But for some it won’t and having read that article, those are the ones I can’t help thinking about tonight.

It’s very easy to convince yourself as you sit there with a full belly, pleasantly stuffed from all the last minute treats you’ve scoffed, that you’re capable of being in control, and your lack of willpower won’t get the better of you. Funny how it’s not as easy when you’re a couple of days in, and in the grip of a craving for something you know you shouldn’t have, right?  You’re vulnerable near the beginning, because your investment so far is too easy to write off. It goes right back to what we talked about yesterday.

Some of the people starting their real diet tomorrow wouldn’t be folk we need worry about you know? To them, starting a diet every Monday is a way of life…a hobby almost. Diet Monday to Thursday, splurge over the weekend, laugh about it with your friends and cut back again Monday. My friend’s mum goes to fat class religiously every week and has lost and regained the same pound pretty much every week for the last two years. She doesn’t lose any sleep over it, it’s just what she does and she’s perfectly happy.

But for every one of those, there’ll be someone who feels like shit, whose self esteem is in tatters, who knows they need to lose weight and when the wheels come off in the first couple of days they’ll eat their anguish and feel like they failed, again. Sometimes, no matter how rock bottom you feel, it’s nigh on impossible get those first baby steps safely under your belt if your head’s not in the sweet spot.

I wish they knew there was all this support here, just waiting for them. We’ve all been there and worn the T-shirt haven’t we? It’s an intensely personal thing, which is why I couldn’t bear to turn into one of those irritating people who say if I can do it you can…I’ve heard those words from others, and they don’t help if you’re galloping away from Skinny Town on a horse called Failure. I wonder what would help.

As I was fixing to start, I wrote down a list of all the reasons I hated being fat. All the things I wanted to do but couldn’t because of my size. All the bits of my body that hurt because I was too heavy. All the experiences I’d had which had been spoiled because I was preoccupied with how fat I felt, or looked, or what other people might think about my size.

I made notes about the constant fear I had about bumping into people I hadn’t seen since I was skinny and what they’d think. Bumping into Mr Muscle…OMG the horror of that thought. It was a long old list, and I read it over and over till I could recite it backwards. And of course, I blogged. I’m still blogging…and I found you guys…you’re my silver bullet.

So what about all of you? How did you get started..? On the off chance that there’s someone reading this, who’s taking those first tentative steps and feeling a bit wobbly…sharing ideas within the posse about what worked for all of us might just help?

Over to you 🙂

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A Rock To Lean On

Freeform thoughts, Reflections on past times, ,

holding-hands
Who’s supporting you on your dieting journey? I’m not talking about the posse here, I mean that’s a given and we all know we’ve got each others’ back in this corner of the virtual world that we’ve carved out for ourselves…I’m talking in a real ‘day in the life of’ kind of way. Because you know, when we get serious about staying on this road to Skinny Town it’s not just us that have to make changes to what we do, and how we do it…it’s the people around us too.

For me, it’s my son who’s born the brunt of this broken relationship I have always had with food. We’ve never sat and discussed it as grown-ups…maybe we should, one of these days. His perspective would be fascinating – maybe I’ll ask him to write the foreword of this book you’re all encouraging me to write 🙂 But either way, one thing I know for sure is that all he has known, practically his whole life is me either going down the scale, or moving up it. Diet, or binge, with no middle ground.

To be fair, he has the patience of a saint. Well actually that’s not strictly true…like me, he got a raw deal when the patience gene was handed out in vitro…he’s definitely his mother’s son. But despite his short fuse with the little things in life that drive him bat-shit crazy, with me he has all the patience in the world. And trust me when I say he needs it.

He is blessed with an appetite for food that you can get away with as a young bloke standing six feet three inches in your stockinged feet. With the exception of liver, I’ve never found a food he won’t eat, and whatever diet I happen to be on he tucks in with enthusiasm to whatever comes out of the kitchen on any given day.

He can quote points values in food with a higher degree of accuracy than I can. And to my eternal shame he’s seen his own weight fluctuate when I’ve been cooking with no carbs, using lots of protein, cream and fats instead, but serving them to him with carbs too since he wasn’t dieting..he’s got the constitution of an ox and believe me it’s been challenged at times. He’s been supportive of all my efforts, to the moon and back again, whatever diet I’ve been doing, and through every false start.

But over the years he’s learned to walk on eggshells, when he’s seen me fall off the wagon. You know the kind of thing – one day I was dieting, the next there I was in the armchair vaporising a litre tub of Ben and Jerry’s and a large bag of cheese balls. When he tried to talk to me about it in as supportive a way as his twelve or fifteen or eighteen or twenty five year old self knew how to do, it would largely depend on how shit I felt about myself in that moment, or how much of a sugar rush or craving I was in the grip of which dictated the tone with which he got his response.

Trying to broach the subject must have been excruciating for him, and I’m sure there have been times where he’s just bitten his tongue and said nothing. But to give him his due, he’s never said an unkind word, or made a sarcastic comment or even rolled his eyes when I’ve mentioned that the diet’s starting on Monday, and this is going to be the one that sees me crack it this time. He just quietly supported me through it all.

As a mum, I could weep when I reflect back on how utterly conflicted and confused he must have been. It breaks all the rules of being a good parent you know? Being a role model, doing the right thing. Showing, as opposed to telling. When I really look back at how this constant cycle of binge – get fat – diet -get skinny must have impacted on him, it’s hard not to feel guilty.

But I can’t afford to do that – it gives the asshole in my mind too much leverage you know? It’s done, and by some miracle my boy turned into an utterly lovely, funny and warm human being, with a normal perspective on food. And as the person who’s lived that life, I’m not sure before this point I could have done it any differently anyway. I just wish I could have found a way to do this work and sort my head out sooner.

But I’m here now.

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Three Months A Blog

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, Reflections on past times, , , ,

3mCan you believe it’s three whole months since that rainy post-holiday Saturday when I sat down and flexed my fingers over the keyboard for the very first time. That’s a quarter of a whole year!! Crikey it feels like we’ve walked miles together since then don’t you think..? I just mooched a couple of hours away this morning by working my way through all the blog posts I’ve written, and of course all your comments which for me, are a constant source of pride and inspiration.

It’s the first time I’ve really properly looked back – I mean I know I’m the queen of edit, often before you get to see my daily dollop of words they’ve spent a few days simmering in the cooking pot and it’s rare that they escape onto the page without having been chopped and changed, pulled apart and put back together again until I’m as happy as I’m ever going to be – that’s just the perfectionist in me. I know I need to get over myself but I just want it to be good you know? Asshole is chipping in here with the words control freak by the way, just thought I’d share that 🙂

I never edit after they’re published, in fact once they’re out there I tend not to read them again, focusing instead on what you write, and of course what’s coming up next. But what I noticed as I’ve worked my way through every post from the beginning, including your bits was how much it’s evolved over a relatively short period of time. I didn’t really imagine this would ever be anything more than a self-propelled written conscience, perhaps with an occasional visitor who’d more than likely wandered in by mistake and politely passed the time of day before moving on. But look what we turned into!

There weren’t many comments in the early days, but the ones I got were treasured. I read and re-read them…I wondered about the person who’d written them. Where they lived, what their story was you know? I wondered what had led them to my blog, and what had prompted them to leave their own footprint on it by chipping in with thoughts of their own. I still do that now. Looking back, I can see where some of our familiar names fell into step and started to really build this community and now, I just feel quite humbled by the way it’s gathered it’s own momentum and become a thing, you know?

I love the way we all relate – all of our stories are similar and yet different. Wherever in the world we happen to live, we’re all unique as individuals, but connected. United in this fight against the fat suits we somehow managed to get ourselves zipped into. In the back office at Skinny Girl HQ – aka my kitchen ha ha – I can look at the analytics tool which shows me how many visitors I’ve had, and which posts they’ve visited, and I get a massive blast of inner sunshine when I see a new visitor has somehow landed on the latest post, and stuck around to have a really good root around lots of the older stuff.  And when someone writes and says they’ve laughed, or cried, or felt supported or understood by something that one of us has written or shared, well that’s the best feeling of all.

So anyway…my name’s Dee and I’m a food addict. But I am 3 months clean and sober, mainly down to you guys. It’s never easy, but so far, this route to Skinny Town is proving to be way more enjoyable than I could have hoped for, and a million miles away from the boulder-strewn paths I’ve been used to navigating in the past…that has to be the posse factor, right?

Happy anniversary, I appreciate your company more than I can tell you…big hugs all around 🙂

 

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Oh No, Five Oh!

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, Reflections on past times, , ,

chanel cake

So, that’s it then…I have officially reached the point where my age starts with a five, not a four. I wasn’t sure how I’d wake up feeling today…at forty I was fine, I embraced it. At thirty, I thought my life was over, seriously I think I cried for a week. At twenty…crap, that’s a lifetime away, I don’t even remember how I felt back then. I’m Fifty. I need to try it on for size you know? See how it fits. I could deny it of course…cling to forty nine like a drowning man would cling to a life raft? The flaw in that plan is that I’ve told you all now…me and my big mouth.

I wonder what my fifties will bring? My twenties were all about my boy – he was little, I was first and foremost a mum. I’d pressed the ejector seat on a really bad choice of husband and it was me and kiddo against the world. In my thirties – once I’d gotten over the trauma of actually being thirty  – they were all about being a mum, going back to school and getting some smarts, building my career…oh and winning a fairly gruelling battle with the Big C.  Husband number two came…and went…watch closely, there’s a theme.

In my forties I was more in control. I still made some bad choices but I was getting better at recognising the fuck-ups and dealing with them quickly, so that’s a bonus at least, right? Husband number three was despatched almost before he’d arrived although not before wiping out my bank account and teaching me some very thorny life lessons. But that was at the very top of the decade…I’ve enjoyed my forties on the whole. I stopped chasing the fairy tale and I got to know me.

As I turn fifty, I’m in control you know? Apart from needing the odd tena-lady obviously if someone makes me laugh till the tears run down my leg. I know what I want, having spent a lot of time over the years experiencing what I don’t want. I love my family, my friends, my career, and now I’m writing too, and the more I write the more I want to write…I suspect I’ve unleashed the beast. Putting yourself out there is daunting but to discover that like-minded people enjoy your stuff fills me with a joy I can’t describe.

It’s a shame I’m still fat, but you know what? Whilst I would have loved to have sashayed into my sixth decade as a skinny string bean, I know this is my time. Time to break out of this life-limiting fat suit once and for all, but exactly when is just semantics…I will be fifty and fabulous, even if it’s technically the day before I’m fifty one. And what’s more, I’m planning to stay there – I already know I’m going to need to mortgage my skinny soul against the commitment of counting a food budget for the rest of my life but hey, if that’s what it takes to prevent my home in Skinny Town being repossessed then bring it on…once I’m there, this time I’m there to stay.

So all in all, early indications are that hitting my big birthday isn’t going to trigger any kind of nervous collapse…we live to march another day, posse! 🙂

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