Tag Archives: determination

Picking Over The Bones

In the here & now, , , , ,

do not feed

I’m feeling more sure-footed as the week goes on, and this is day three of being back to normal and in control of my food budget. The whole episode last week has had quite a profound effect on me, in the way that I imagine a near-death experience might. And before you tell me to get over myself and stop being a drama queen (good luck with that) I’m serious.

I felt myself hurtling towards disaster with the first mouthful of naughty on day two, when I could no longer pretend I was making proper grown-up decisions from a vantage point of control. Pretty much the whole of day one was accompanied by the Asshole voice, doing what he does best. Surely you deserve a treat, you’re working so hard in fact I’m sure you can pretty much eat as much as you like because if you hadn’t ever joined the Kingdom of Pain you’d never have accrued all these exercise points, so even if you ate every extra point you’ve earned over the last two months you’re still only where you would have been otherwise…it’s practically not cheating at all…

I’d fallen asleep after Thursday’s free-for-all muttering it’s just one day to myself in a vain attempt to try and do a bit of damage limitation…my self-esteem had taken a bit of a battering like it always does when you realise that you’re not as good as you think you are. But obviously tomorrow was going to be better, right? Only it wasn’t, and that’s what shocked me the most.

Friday was like groundhog day, you know? Same tables, same set up. I remember looking around and observing with interest how all the edible goodies seemed almost like wallpaper to most of the people in the room. Unnoticed. Not everyone was salivating , or distracted from the agenda by all those individual foil-wrapped pieces of heaven…just me then. I felt like a freak as I tried to wrestle my head out of the goodies and focus on the job in hand.

I’m still not sure what miracle fished me out of the naughty pond at the weekend. In past times, breaking the diet always meant the end of the diet…just another failed attempt lining up with all the others. One bad day always led to two, then to five, then a week and a month…I caught a hold of this one two and a bit days in. Miracles do happen.

Picking over the bones of it all and trying to analyse why it happened has led me to a couple of things. Firstly, I need to accept that my relationship with food is different to that of normal folk. It’s not normal, to be so distracted by the promise of chocolate that you shut out the life that’s going on around you. But it’s my normal. And I will learn how to deal with it…that, or I’ll die trying.

Secondly, you lot were front and centre of my mind as I clawed my way back from the edge. I could almost hear the collective sigh of relief on Saturday when I hooked up with my friends and started walking away from the slippery slope. I imagined Fleury fist-pumping the air, and Susan cheering, and Mimi doing her happy dance…Tracey and Autumn and Jo and Natalie and Margaret high-fiving each other as the fuck-up fairy left town and life returned to normal. It makes more difference to me than I can tell you, knowing that you’re all in my corner. And I’m accountable to you…you’re my support system.

It’s probably three months until the next conference-style meeting…I’m thinking of hanging a sign around my neck like the one at the top of the page. Either that or accessorising my outfit with a little duct tape over my chops…what do you reckon? 🙂

 

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A Marathon, Not A Sprint

In the here & now,

marathon

I was speaking to a lady last night in passing who was bemoaning the fact that she’s put weight on recently. She’s starting a diet on Monday  🙂 so she can get in shape for her holiday in September, although she doesn’t have a lot of weight to lose…I’d estimate maybe fifteen or twenty pounds..? The thing is, I know it’s all relative and she has every right to be unhappy with her mini-muffin top, but two things struck me as we chatted.

Firstly, I’m not so sure that if I’d been standing there feeling fifteen pounds too heavy, chatting to someone who was clearly ten times heavier than me I would’ve been quite so quick to moan about how I hated looking in the mirror and seeing ‘all this fat’. To be fair, I imagine that when I get down to being just fifteen pounds overweight you’ll have a hard time stopping me licking my reflection, never mind avoiding it. But whatever, I guess she was just being honest.

The second thing that struck me was envy. Envy that she could start a diet on Monday with a reasonable expectation that in a couple of months’ time she would’ve fully reclaimed her bikini body ready to sizzle on the beach. Let’s just pause a minute in wonder at how that feels, to know that within a few short weeks, you could earn your hallowed string bean stripes.

I’ve been doing this now for ten months, and I’m still almost one hundred pounds too heavy for my frame. Sure, I’m on track and I’ve already lost seventy pounds which is awesome but digging in for the long term is a proper feat of endurance, you know? A marathon, rather than a sprint. It’s different, and it requires a whole bunch of stuff that a ten minute diet doesn’t.

I remember that first day, 17th August 2015 waking up with hope coursing through my veins…this time was my time and I was really going to do it…no, I mean I really was. Let’s be honest, there was no difference whatsoever between that time and the time before and the time before that in terms of what was going on in my head because the finish line seemed so bloody far away that the Asshole voice in my head was just laughing hysterically.

He didn’t even need to put words in my head, you know? I already knew that the odds were not stacked in my favour…my past was littered with false starts because every single time, once the initial flush of determination waned and the reality of how long this was actually going to take started to bite, I always found it really hard not to throw the towel in and head directly back to the land of cheese balls and Haagen Dazs.

It didn’t help that my first few milestones passed by un-noticed. Even when I’d dropped forty pounds, nobody noticed, and why would they? There was just so damned much of me it was hard to tell the difference even if you were looking for it. But I was so determined, and by some miracle I managed to hit that sweet spot where nothing was going to knock me sideways.

So how is it different to a short-term diet? I recognise and embrace tenacity…if you fall over, just get back up again. I’ve had to recognise and embrace patience (she says through gritted teeth) because until you make your peace with it, you’re shafted.

And now…well, now it’s different. Mentally, I’m dug in for the duration. Ten months, and I’m not even half way to Skinny Town yet but you know what, it doesn’t matter…I am more sure than ever that I’m actually going to pull this off. It’s stopped being about how long and now it’s simply about how. There’s no reason for me to think about how long it’s going to take because the foundations of my skinny life have been laid, and now all I need to do is keep on doing what I’m doing.

I’m not even halfway there, but it sort of feels like I’m over the worst, you know? Clear my mind of time, one foot in front of the other, and repeat 🙂

 

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A Wise Man Once Said…

In the here & now, , , ,

believe

…whether you think you can, or think you can’t, you’re right.

I think we have Henry Ford to thank for that nugget of wisdom, and it’s one of my favourite ever quotes. I admire its simplicity, and yet it’s really clever. And there’s no doubt about it, the level of self-belief that you carry in your head is 100% responsible for your ability to keep both feet planted squarely in the middle of the dieting sweet spot. Or not.

Isn’t it funny, I don’t remember anything remarkable about the day this all began. I mean obviously I knew that the time was right – it was the first Monday after my holiday. Time for the post-holiday diet. And I suspect because the holiday had been both awesome and agonising in equal measure due to the fact that I weighed as much as a moose, I felt a tiny bit more determined than I had on other Mondays which had come and gone whilst my arse continued to party.

And it somehow felt a bit different. From day one, there was a conviction which came out of nowhere and said to me this time is IT, although I couldn’t immediately put my finger on why this time was going to be different to any of the other times. Starting a diet wasn’t an unknown concept to me if you remember, and to be fair all of them started with 100% commitment. Trouble is, they usually managed to limp across the line of Thursday at best, and by Friday I was usually promising myself faithfully that I’d start again on Monday which meant a power-eating free-for-all over the weekend.

It’s like my commitment bucket had holes in the bottom you know? And I recognised that. I knew that no matter how many hopes and dreams or how much determination I poured into the top, my resolve had a habit of disappearing out of the bottom like sand through my fingers before I’d even got going. I realised that I needed to find a way to patch the holes up. And then you lot happened.

By some miracle I made it to the Saturday. I don’t remember many conversations with the Asshole voice in that first week, it’s like I got a head start, you know? Maybe someone was rooting for me…who knows. But on the Saturday…well, that’s when I started writing. And a little while after that, you started writing back to me, and we’ve been talking ever since.

It’s a beautiful thing. Whenever I’ve had wobbles, you’ve propped me up. When you’ve had wobbles you’ve dipped in and pulled out whatever you need from the posts or the wise old owls who hang out in here. Writing all my thoughts down shines a light on the holes in my bucket, and between us all we’re busy patching them up.

When I started, I thought I could do this. I still think I can. And I’m right 🙂

 

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It’s All In The Head

Biggest struggles, , , ,

painI’ve always believed that I was quite effective in the ‘not giving up on stuff’ department, in fact more than once I’ve confidently used the words tenacious and determined to describe myself. I can think of some cracking examples throughout my life where I’ve clung on till my fingertips bled in pursuit of something I believed in, and I’d even count one or two successful visits to Skinny Town in the past as examples I can bandy about of me being hardcore when it counts.

Except when I say clung on until my fingertips bled, I am of course speaking metaphorically. No actual bleeding happened, because that would have meant pain, and I don’t do pain. I mean don’t get me wrong, there are times in your life when you can’t avoid it – having a baby for example, or getting sick.

To be fair when my boy was born I wheeled out the diva and demanded so much pain relief I was probably stoned for his first six months, but I have been through some other tough medical stuff where I had to just suck it up. I’ve talked in here before about the run in I had with the big C which involved a fair few cut and shut jobs. Sometimes you don’t have a choice and getting on with it is the only option open to you.

But pain, in pursuit of a goal? You know, when you have a choice, and could choose not to hurt..? That I’m finding it harder to get my head around. And before you laugh and call me a fanny, I know I’m only talking about six minutes on a cross trainer on the lowest setting, it’s hardly the north face of the Eiger, right? But don’t forget I’m carrying the equivalent of a whole other person around in my pants, and no matter how large or small the frame of reference, pain is pain. I did six minutes this morning and it hurt.

I almost gave up…it was a really close call that I didn’t. The asshole in my head was determined to build on his victory from yesterday when I’d programmed ten minutes but managed only five. I did complete the other five minutes last night before I went to bed but made the rookie mistake of not warming up or cooling down – I mean come on it was five lousy minutes, who knew it even mattered? For future reference, it does.

My legs were bitching at me before I’d even opened my eyes this morning and I made the journey from the bed to the cross-trainer in the style of Norman Wisdom, a fact shamelessly exploited by the asshole voice as a reason to quit as I winced my way through six minutes of hurt.

I’m really going to need to get a handle on this. When you google phrases like pushing through the pain, or digging deep to achieve your goals, you get hundreds and hundreds of inspirational quotes, but not a single bloody one that tells you how. I don’t need platitudes, I need advice and it’s a bit thin on the ground.

I’m scared that I’ll give up…there, I’ve said it. I’m scared that when the going gets tough I’ll just fold and think nah, not for me. And I can’t. I need to learn how not to give up, and practice not giving up ’till it’s baked into my psyche. Imagine if I’m halfway over that mountain in Cuba, and I get a blister that really hurts. They’re hardly going to call mountain rescue are they? I’ll be expected to just bloody get on with it and stop moaning. I need to find a way of pulling out the kind of mental resilience which keeps you nailed on to the task in hand even when you hurt.

If there was a pit of crocodiles under the cross trainer, or some device primed to blow my buns off if I slipped below so many strides per minute I’d have no choice but to keep going…right now my kit-bag of reasons not to quit is feeling a bit light, so any suggestions would be gratefully considered 🙂

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Dear Santa

Freeform thoughts, , ,

santa

Having given it a lot of thought, I believe I am a reformed character, so this year I think I can send you a Christmas wish list without fear that you’re going to die laughing when I try and tell you what a good girl I’ve been. I mean, I know strictly speaking I haven’t been good for a whole year, but since the 17th of August I’ve made up for it, and compared to any year in recent history my behaviour has been nothing short of a miracle.

I know, I know, we have history. I genuinely hang my head in shame when I think about all the occasions where my boy left a lovely selection of chocolate and mince pies out on Christmas eve to welcome you and say thanks for coming, and I selfishly scoffed the lot before I went to bed. Yes ok, and the sherry. I even ate Rudolph’s carrot one year, but after the sherry and half a bottle of baileys, I’d lost my sense of perspective and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I’d also like to apologise for the occasions when I’ve ventured out in fancy dress and posed as your good self. My friends were all rocking the sexy santa look, but me…well I looked more like you than you do. I’ve got the girth and to be fair, now I’m over fifty I’ve even got the beard. But I’m hoping we can put my past indiscretions behind us and move on. Life’s too short to bear grudges, right?

So anyway, in my Christmas stocking I’d love to find some patience. I’m hoping you have some in stock, because it’s a long way to Skinny Town and if I run out on the way I’ll be in trouble. No, I mean I’ll really be in trouble, you know like last time and the time before that..? When I didn’t get there quickly enough I just gave up and returned to Mooseville with my tail between my legs. I know I’ve got the posse at my back this time and I reckon they’d have my guts for garters if I even thought about quitting, but you know it doesn’t hurt to take a belt and braces approach. I’m just making sure.

I’d also love it if you could arrange for me to have some top-up vouchers for my willpower. I mean I’m doing ok at the moment, and there’s plenty left in the old tank but you never know when you’re going to get caught a bit short. I might not need them, I’m feeling a bit cocky these days and I’ve resisted the emergency hob-nob for the last four months, which is pretty impressive. Well, when I say resisted, I did lick the chocolate off one corner of it when I was having a bad day but I won the fight with the asshole in my mind before any actual biting happened. It was a close call mind you.

At the risk of sounding greedy, might I trouble you finally for a small box of determination? I’ve promised to choose a big event to train for in the New Year, and although I haven’t decided exactly what I’m going to do I need to go from zero to hero far more quickly than my old fat body is expecting. I’m going to have to throw everything I’ve got at it, including all the determination I can get my hands on.

Let’s call this the 2016 Skinny Town Travel Kit. It would be awesome if you could drop an identical one into the stockings of everyone in the posse too…a little thank you from me since this journey probably wouldn’t be happening without them. Oh, and just take it easy with the candy sticks, if you don’t mind. We do veggie sticks in this posse.

Lots of love and a kiss for Rudolph…pass on my apologies for the carrot 🙂

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