Tag Archives: Asshole

Embracing The Stubborn Gene

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mule

Ha! So one or two of my lovely friends and regular contributors to this melting pot of ideas have liberally sprinkled their comments of late with the word ‘stubborn’ and you know what…there’s something in it. Forgive me for being slow on the uptake, personally I blame all this chuffing exercise, I don’t know which way is up. I’m having a day of rest today much to the relief of my aching buns, so my brain has kicked into gear and cottoned on to what might just be a winning strategy.

Success is all about using the tools at hand, right? Well, I’m a Scorpio, and stubborn is in my DNA. I was born stubborn, if fact I’m easier to reason with now than I was at three years old…don’t get me wrong, I might have mellowed with age but I still know how to have a nick nack paddywhack and dig my heels right in when the occasion demands. So, since I’m so good at it, I’m clearly missing a trick if I don’t use it to my advantage.

Hang on a minute though, let’s think about what being stubborn really means. It goes a bit deeper than just saying no…it’s about a deep-down resistance to being forced to do something against your will. The more someone pushes, the more irritated you get and the more likely you are not to comply…why then, when the asshole voice in my head goes on and on about hob-nobs do I find it so difficult to slam the door in his face and dig my heels in with a resounding NO? 

If it was a double glazing salesman trying to sell me windows I didn’t want or need I’d have no hesitation in telling him to bugger off, so why not cut the Asshole dead? Perhaps because the reality is I’m arguing with myself. I’m so used to referring to those bad thoughts by the Asshole name, I sometimes forget that they’re my thoughts.

If you’re anything like me, fighting your way through an all-consuming craving for something you shouldn’t have leaves you exhausted as you come out of the other side, whether you’ve managed to hold the line or not. It’s not a pleasant experience. So despite the negative connotation often associated with someone being of stubborn disposition, there are occasions where it’s a bloody godsend.

If there’s a decision that’s yours to make, and you’re the one who has to live with the consequences, being stubborn is officially okay. And one sniff of someone trying to torpedo your resolve meets all the above criteria, right? Even if that someone is you.

Whether it’s your own asshole voice or someone else’s trying to talk you into scoffing something naughty, or doing a bit of sofa surfing instead of sticking to whatever activity you’d planned to oil the wheels to Skinny Town, it’s okay to holler NO at the top of your lungs…go for it, knock yourself out being stubborn if that’s what it takes.

And here’s the rub…I’m going to take the advice of those bright sparks in the posse who knew when to plant the seed and watch it grow…stubborn is definitely the way forward. No more days like yesterday when I wasted two hours of my life fannying around trying to talk myself into and out of going for a walk. That should have been a swift sod off, slam the door, move on.

It’s a shame the penny didn’t drop earlier in the day today for me…if I’d experienced this particular light bulb moment before the asshole talked me into eating two Jacob’s Mint Club biscuits with a cup of tea mid afternoon I might not have run out of points by 4.30pm. It’s been a long evening and right now I could eat my own arm. But what do we say..?

NO!

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Digging In

In the here & now, , ,

turtle

Today has been a better day – yesterday was impossible. I was in such a contrary mood, I even annoyed myself. I did get dressed and go out and walk in the end, in fact I walked even further than the previous two days just to prove a point. To myself. I’d spent at least a couple of hours beforehand arguing with the asshole back and forth before I shook him off, it was pathetic. And who even knew that so many excuses existed for not getting dressed and going out for a walk…he tried them all. And I ignored them all…I felt euphoric, if a little footsore when I got home. Me: 1- Asshole: 0.

Totting my three expeditions up, I’ve walked just over nine miles in the last three days, and I’m quietly impressed at how this fat old body is responding. I mean I’m not dead for a start…who knew that would happen! I’m still dragging 282lbs of lard around with me so I’m not sashaying up hills with any particular style or grace, but I’m doing it.

What I find rather astonishing is that on the first walk I did, on Boxing Day, I had to stop three times at various points on the hill to catch my breath and rest my legs for a minute. Sunday I did the same walk, but despite setting off with legs and feet which were already a bit sore from the day before, I only had to stop twice, and I did the walk ten minutes faster than the day before. Before you nod off, I swear I’m not about to start listing how far and how fast on a daily basis, but it surprised me. I didn’t expect it to get easier without a fight you know?

This is a first for me, I mean real unchartered territory. I’ve never pushed myself out of my comfort zone before where exercise is concerned. Dieting, yes. I’ve been a dieting Ninja on and off over the years, but exercise, not so much so. I did spend a year or so going to the gym when I was dating Mr Muscle and I did become very fit but I was a skinny string bean back then, and eight years younger to boot so it’s a different ball game. It feels like a lifetime ago, and I don’t remember having to really dig in.

It’s a bit scary to think that the trek I’ve signed up for will involve walking about twelve miles a day over pretty tough terrain, for five days on the bounce. I could honestly shit a brick whenever I think about that, but I tell you what, I am determined not to be the old fat one at the back of the pack. I want to stride off that bloody mountain first like a proper game old bird. That’s what’s driving me…I suspected that having a longer term fitness goal might help me on this journey but I didn’t quite anticipate how much of a fire it was going to light underneath these feet.

Mind you, if you’d seen me climbing the stairs to bed last night after three big walks in as many days you’d have fallen over laughing. Lets just say I’d have made it to the top far more quickly if I’d had a Stannah Stairlift…these old bones in this fat body were creaking with every step.

But it can only get better, right?

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A Day For Locking Horns

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horns

So you’ve kind of caught me in a bit of a stand off with the Asshole in my mind as I sit down to write today’s post, in fact it’s safe to say that he’s doing everything within his power to live up to his name. He’s feeling cocky this morning, having scored his second handbag victory in the space of a week late last night when I was chilling out by having a mooch on line. It’s a good job I’m going back to work tomorrow, I’m feeling relaxed and happy with too much time on my hands and it’s proving to be a recipe for disaster.

With one win under his belt he’s clearly got his eye on a hat trick and is coming at me hard on two fronts. Firstly food…it’s late morning and I’ve just eaten a decent brunch by anyone’s standards…skinny bacon, scrambled egg and mushrooms with two small pieces of toast. It was lovely, and it was enough. But he’s insisting that I need something sweet to ‘finish with’. And when I say sweet, I mean like chocolate sweet, or hob-nob sweet. I tried to counter-propose with a clementine but he was having none of it.

He’s got the terminology down pat – and why wouldn’t he, as someone who lives in my head he’s spent the last fifty years hearing it. The minute my Mum or my Grandma laid down their knife and fork, sure as eggs is eggs the first words out of their mouth would be what shall we have to finish with? as though eating a meal in itself wasn’t enough. So it was something accepted as the norm you know? My mum, in her eighty third year still says it now, and plays by those rules and yet she’s the size of a sparrow, how does that work?!

A big fat cookie or a piece of homemade cake always materialised after every meal, and the Asshole sees it as an opportunity to push on an open door, since no matter how much time has elapsed between then and now, to me a meal always feels incomplete without something to finish with. Most of the time I don’t think too much about it, but today I’m obsessing about it, and he isn’t helping.

He’s also trying his level best to persuade me to have a total lazy-bum pyjama day. Yesterday and the day before I did a couple of really long walks with Charlie the dog – I posted a picture on our Facebook page showing just how far, did you see it? It was a little under three miles, with some long steep hills thrown in for good measure. Now I appreciate that to anyone who’s moderately fit, that’s child’s play, but genuinely it’s not very long since I couldn’t walk a hundred yards without getting screaming back ache, swollen ankles and a red hot poker through my knee. So to me, it’s a big deal.

And boy do I know about it today, every muscle in my lower body is hollering at me. My feet ache, my calves ache and I have a blister. And I know my son would happily walk the dog today if I asked, seeing as he’s off work. So I could have a pyjama day…the conditions are right and I have no other need to go out.

I really really want to do that. I’ve got stuff on sky+ that I’ve had on series record and I want to build a huge plate of something to finish with, lay back in my big fat leather recliner and watch TV, all day, in pyjamas. I’ve spent many happy hours doing exactly that. To be fair that’s probably why I’m the size of a moose, right?

Once I’ve written this I’m going to find a plaster for my blister, stretch my calf muscles a little bit and quit moaning, Days like this really suck but I just need to pull on my big girl pants and get on with it. I might be locked horns with the asshole but over my dead body is he going to emerge the victor. No way.

Just so you know, me getting my shit together and going out with the dog is being driven by 25% wanting to build on the good stuff I’ve pulled off this week and 75% not wanting to have to ‘fess up to you guys that I’ve spent the day in my armchair surrounded by cake.

So thank you…you continue to work miracles 🙂

 

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We See YOU

Freeform thoughts, ,

nerves

So I was helping a friend do some interviewing last night, for a fairly important role in her business. That happens a lot when you work in human resources, you’re sort of seen as the oracle on all things people-related. It’s one of those professions where you try and avoid telling strangers what you do for a living because as soon as they know you get the tale of woe. You know the score…everyone’s got a ‘friend’ who’s having some bother at work, and what should they do. It’s the equivalent of someone inviting you to check out their rash if you’re a doctor, or having to listen to complaints about someone’s hotel if you’re a travel agent…you just sort of learn to keep schtum.

Anyway, given this was my friend I was happy to help…we saw a couple of people who were a bit less than impressive, and then in walked Mr Charisma – we loved him instantly. He had exactly the right sort of experience, amassed over a number of years. He was really open and friendly, and the answers he gave to our questions were terrific, there’s no question he could do the job. And yet, he was possibly the most self-conscious person I’ve ever met.

I know, it’s really easy from the interviewer side of the room to say relax and enjoy the meeting, and I totally get it, as an interviewee you’re probably going to have a few heebie jeebies. But genuinely, I don’t think he was nervous about the interview – he knew his onions, and to be fair he aced it. This poor bloke was in his own private version of hell because he was self conscious about his weight.

There’s no getting away from the fact that he was very short and very round. And I can say with absolute certainty he was desperately hoping that it wasn’t the only thing we noticed about him. My empathy-ometer was nearly off the scale and If it hadn’t been highly inappropriate, I might have hugged him…I’ve walked a mile in his shoes, which is why I can tell you exactly what was going on in his head. He so wanted to be judged on his ability rather than his appearance, but I guarantee that in that moment, how he looked and how he felt was leeching 95% of his focus.

The chair we offered must have been agony. He had a bloody good go at sitting in it, but it just wasn’t built for a man of his proportions. He spilled over it you know? He looked so uncomfortable. His suit jacket was a little snug, and when he sat down it kind of bunched up around his shoulders. He spent the best part of the interview adjusting his tie to cover the buttons on his shirt which were straining across his frame, and tugging at the lapels and the sleeves of his jacket.

The irony is, I was having a moment myself at the same time. I wasn’t sitting up to a table, you know in true HR style we’d set the room up with no barriers so I was writing my interview notes in a pad balanced on my knee. I’m still too fat to cross my legs and as I looked down at my notes, the asshole in my mind couldn’t resist the opportunity to point out how my stomach and my pad were fighting over the right to rest on my leg.

I so badly wanted to say to him it’s okay…quit fretting about the fat thing, we see you. Of course I didn’t…but I was so in sync with his thoughts I felt like Mystic bloody Meg. The really ridiculous thing is that out of the three professional people in the room, at least two were preoccupied with how they looked and what other people might be thinking about that.

Being free of that distracting and destructive thought ball and chain is the thing I’m looking forward to more than anything once I get to Skinny Town 🙂

 

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The Power Of Will

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willpower

So I got to thinking the other day about what a strange thing willpower is. It’s not logical you know? I find it bizarre that sometimes I have to dig really deep to say no, and other times I’m able to fire the word out faster than a bullet without giving it a second thought. Why do you think that happens..? To all intents and purposes, it’s the same head making the decisions…the asshole is in permanent residence so him trying to chuck a spanner in the works is par for the course. And yet, some days are still harder than others.

Did I ever tell you I used to be a smoker..?  It seems like a lifetime ago – in common with lots of reformed smokers I can’t bear to be anywhere near a lit cigarette now and it feels so alien to think I used to have a twenty a day habit. It was well ingrained too – I started having a sneaky ciggie or two in my early teens and by the time I reached adulthood it was a pretty deep seated habit. So it’s ten years since I quit, and do you want to know how much willpower that took..? None. None at all.

I know, it makes no sense to me either. I read Allan Carr’s Easy Way to Stop Smoking in one sitting, cover to cover in one day, smoked my last cigarette when the book told me to, and I’ve never smoked another. I never had a single craving, after more than twenty five years of smoking. Picture my face when I realised he’d written a book on losing weight, I was beyond excited…I pretty much broke the land speed record to get to the bookshop and hand over my cash. Read the whole book in one sitting and…nothing. Read it again, just to make sure…still nothing. Bloody thing had no impact on me whatsoever. I was gutted.

So it seems that there isn’t any kind of formula which cracks the willpower code every time. I mean I’m doing ok – better than ok, I’m doing great – now. But it’d be nice to be able to have some sort of guarantee, you know? Some certainty, that I’ll shimmy into Skinny town this time next year having had no curve balls come hurtling out of left field to knock me out of the sweet spot…no struggles to get back in. Some kind of formula to apply like a sunscreen to keep me protected from the asshole and other as yet unidentified foes would be amazing. But I get it – life doesn’t work like that, right?

And you know what else..? I’m kind of glad it doesn’t. I feel like I’m really having to work at this. I’m putting in the hard yards. Examining every thought, every feeling…picking at loose threads and sewing them down tight in the hope that if I touch wood and whistle they won’t unravel ever again. When I look back at the way I quit smoking, it feels too easy. I mean don’t get me wrong, I could never go back to the evil weed but equally I don’t feel any sense of pride or achievement for managing to quit. By some miracle, it happened but I don’t feel like I can take the credit.

This, on the other hand…when I get to Skinny town I want to wear every bruise that the asshole leaves behind like a badge of honour. I want to be able to run my fingers across every scar, from every hard-won battle. And that sense of achievement..? I want that too. I don’t think I can carry the scars or the bruises unless I’ve earned them.

That’s what’ll help me cash in my chips and stay there permanently. Let’s carry on doing the work 🙂

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