Tag Archives: happy

So, Two Things Happened

In the here & now, ,

PS288398 Feeling Great (oil on canvas) by Scott, Pat (Contemporary Artist); acrylic on calico; Private Collection; English, in copyright

This week’s been a great week, in fact it’s fair to say that although I wasn’t wearing my impressed face when I greeted Monday morning after two weeks off work, it shaped up way better than I was expecting. And that’s not because anything monumental happened, you know like I didn’t win the lottery or get ravished by Hugh Jackman, which are my go-to fantasies when the week needs brightening up a little. It was just a great week.

That said, two things did happen, which wouldn’t justify a diary entry in their own right on the life pages of most folk but you know what, in the context of my journey damn straight they’re getting on the page. Firstly, on Monday I wore heels.

I know! I can’t pinpoint the exact time in my journey up the scale where heels became too difficult, although that’s not surprising…during that whole time I didn’t acknowledge any of the signs that the wheels were slowly coming off. That would’ve required me to deal head on with the fact that I was eating myself to the brink, you know? However, whether I acknowledged it at the time or not, there’s definitely a point on the fatness scale where flat shoes become your only friend.

Your centre of gravity takes a direct hit as extra rolls of flesh pop out here and there, and the weight of your body can no longer be thrown forward onto the ball of your foot, because it hurts too much. So the heels get lower and lower until you end up with flat as the only option…I lived in Ugg boots and slippers for at least a year.

Anyway, I’d been saving the excitement of wearing a pair of black trousers with a fixed waistband and no stretch for my first post-holiday day in the office. Those pants haven’t fitted me for at least five years but I knew they fit me now, and I was good to go except when I put them on I remembered that the legs were way too long…I’d always worn them with my pointy black boots. So I grappled with the whole should I take them off again, not ready for heels yet debate before thinking fuck it, it’s now or never. Out came the pointy black boots with their three inch heels.

I’d like to say I glided around the office with a degree of elegance throughout the day, but the reality is I just looked taller and a bit wobbly. But my pants didn’t trail on the floor and I made it to the end of the day, admittedly slightly footsore and not in any rush to pull them back on again any time soon, but I did it. My body allowed me to wear heels and walk. 

The second big milestone this week was wearing a bra, like a proper bra as opposed to the kind of stretchy crop-top type garment which keeps the girls in check without giving any kind of shape whatsoever. Same as with heels, there comes a point where underwear becomes problematic, you know?

As I got bigger and bigger, I relied on bra-clasp extenders which coaxed a little extra life out of my stretched and tired old bunbags but even then there came a point where I felt like I had cheese wire pulled tight across my upper body, digging in and accentuating the rolls of flesh on my torso. I’d often have weals on the side of my body by the end of the day. Discovering the crop top bras with deep sides and no wires took away the discomfort, along with any suggestion of shape.

Last week, I bought myself some new bras, and this week they got their first outings…I’ve gotta say my norks looked awesome. Lets be honest, my spare tyre and the underwires are never going to see eye to eye especially after more years than I can count wearing the slouchy comfort of elastane, but the new bras fit, and they’re not cutting me in half. Come on, I was perky…that’s got to be worth a bit of negotiation with my midriff, right?

It’s all coming together. Every day just lately there seems to be something else I can do, or something else that’s just a bit easier…little by little I’m chipping away at the fat suit.

New bra and heels..? I’m not on the pull, honest 🙂

 

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Some Kind Of Balance

In the here & now, , ,

balance

I woke up yesterday morning feeling very skinny, which is odd when you consider that I’m still one hundred and two pounds heavier than I intend to be this time next year. But then, don’t you think feeling skinny is a subjective thing anyway? I have a friend who often says I’m having a fat day today, as she stands there in all her skinniness looking for all the world like she needs to eat a meal. But in that skinny moment she feels fat, in the same way that I laid in bed yesterday morning with all my spare tyres feeling skinny.

The truth of the matter is that I’m nearer to skinny than I’ve been in recent years. I’m back at my pre-holiday weight, in fact I’m a pound under and you know what that means…the last couple of weeks have gone according to plan. Well, ish. I wanted to come back from holiday weighing the same as when I went, and if we discount the few days where my plumbing went into lockdown, I pretty much pulled it off.

I feel so proud of that. I’m proud of the fact that I managed to get straight back on track from the minute I came home – I’ve not managed to do that too many times in my life – yeah, try never – and I’ve spent the last few days trying to put my finger on exactly what’s been different this time.

I think it’s because although I spent a few days with my foot off the gas, I never actually disengaged my head from this journey. In the past, when I’ve pressed pause on a diet, it’s involved ripping up sensible altogether – if I’m not going to be very very good then sod it, I’m going to be very very bad…you get the picture. No point in being good at dinner when I’ve been wicked at lunch! No point in exercising because my diet’s gone to shit so what’s the point! All or nothing, which is the sort of crooked thinking which has derailed many weight-loss attempts over the years. My past is littered with them.

This time I managed to keep a watching brief on everything I ate, even though I ate a lot. Well, with the notable exception of the rocky road dessert. I still don’t have a scooby doo how many portions of that I actually ate. However, most other naughties were noted and enjoyed, without guilt but with acknowledgement that I’d have to work extra hard to deal with the consequences, whether that was on holiday or after I came home. My head accepted that…and it stayed in the game.

I squeezed in extra opportunities to exercise, like getting back off the ship to walk the steps in Alesund, and climbing up that waterfall on the morning of the day where I’d already booked a challenging hike in the afternoon. I didn’t have to do those things, but all the time I was focused on keeping some kind of balance. More food? Right then…more exercise too.

I didn’t need to get my head back in the game when I came home because the truth is, it never stepped out. And you know what, I’m feeling more sure footed than ever now I’ve proved to myself that thinking about things in a different way made me act in a different way. I pulled it off…how cool is that.

I’ve got this. One hundred and two pounds to go.

This time next year… 🙂

 

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Nothing Happened Here

In the here & now, , , , ,

happy dance

So I’ve got to be honest, waking up with the rocky road spoon in my bed made me laugh out loud, but it also served as a reminder of the way things used to be with me. And along with the spoon came not a small amount of regret for allowing myself to get carried away in the moment, well several moments if we’re being honest. I did some quick mental calculations as to exactly how badly I’d fubar’d and it was a wake-up call…enough now.

The last two days I was fairly sensible. I had to go see the ship’s doctor on Thursday after a miserable day walking around Bergen with earache – well, miserable until 1) I walked into a clothes shop in the town and came out with four off-the-peg garments which fit me 🙂 and 2) I met the ship’s doctor who looked like he’d just stepped off a movie set. When I shook his hand and said hello I was practically leering. I reminded myself of Sid James clocking Barbara Windsor’s chesticles, which is a bit embarrassing given that he probably wasn’t much older than my boy.

Anyway, being loaded up with antibiotics along with the earache made me feel a bit crappy so on our last day at sea I was very lethargic and the exercise thing just didn’t happen…I think the most energetic thing I did was turn the pages of my book.

Reflecting on the awesome week and chatting it all through with my friend as we waited to disembark, I estimated that the likely outcome of the week I’d had would see the bitch in the bathroom serve me up a two pound gain the following day. Two pounds sounded fair, you know? Deserved…I’d worked hard but I’d played hard too, and I was ready to embrace two pounds as being totally worth that exquisite Chateaubriand, and the incomparable jaffa cake desert, and the customary poke about the cheese board which by the end of the week had become a regular thing…the ice creams and the waffle and all my other little indiscretions…two pounds sounded about right.

Eight pounds on the other hand, did not. I must have spent at least half an hour on Sunday morning nudging that fucking scale around every tile on the bathroom floor trying to source at least one favourable reading, but no…eight pounds, I mean come on. No way did I consume nearly thirty thousand extra calories over the course of the week and anything I did eat was offset against a ton of active stuff…I was beyond pissed off.

It was still showing that unwelcome number by Tuesday, despite me hitting Sunday head on with as strong a resolve as ever, getting straight back onto my regular food plan and walking Charlie for at least five miles every day since I’ve been back. The first session back in the Kingdom of Pain was horrendous. It was like going right back to my first ever session, I felt so sluggish and everything was hard. And then suddenly, (forgive me being indelicate) it occurred to me that it might have been four or five days since I’d been…you know, for a visit.

Now, I don’t know about you and your ablutionary habits, but me, I’m a bit vague. I don’t really give it much thought…not like some folk I’ve known, who want to call a press conference if nothing’s happened daily by 10am. Me, well pardon the pun, shit just happens. Except since probably Thursday last week in my case it hadn’t. Oh my God I can’t even believe I’m talking about this in here…there’s honest, and then there’s too much information, right?

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I’d felt the full force of God of Pain’s disapproval after his scale revealed the same number as mine, but he dispensed some words of wisdom relating to prunes when I filled him in on what was emerging in my mind as the front runner culprit for the outrageous weight gain and feeling of being bloated. And having followed his advice, lets just say over the last couple of days mother nature did her thing.

I hopped on God of Pain’s scales again last night before my fat furnace session and I’m very happy to report that I’m now just one pound heavier than I was before my holiday, and that’ll be gone by Sunday. Nothing happened here. I went, I had a ball, and I earned most of my treats as I went along. I enjoyed every single one of them, and now I’m on it like a car bonnet.

As soon as I got home I went right back to my own new normal, and contrary to any worries I might have had, I’ve done it without a fight. I swear, I could do my happy dance for twenty four hours straight up. And I can honestly say that I am just as determined as I was last year when I got back from holiday and started my diet…it’s all good.

So…next stop Cuba. Five weeks today we fly out for what will without doubt be the most physically challenging five days of my life, so it’s all systems go here for the final push. I’d like to take off at least another ten pounds before we leave so there’s hard work to be done…let’s get to it 🙂

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Not This Year…

In the here & now, , ,

I’d somehow imagined that my suitcase this year would be as light as a feather given that the clothes in it are several sizes smaller than the ones it carried last year. I had the good grace to look a bit sheepish earlier this afternoon when packing of said suitcase was in full swing, once I realised exactly how many new clothes I’ve actually bought.

It’s not even like I’m planning to stay in a size 18 for long, I’m kind of passing through if you like…it’s just that when you start to feel better, and look better in your clothes the temptation to go just a tiny bit overboard – pardon the pun – is so hard to resist, you know?

I even repeated to myself several times just because you’ve bought them doesn’t mean you have to take all of them…as I carried on folding them and putting them in my case. All of them. I latched firmly onto the excuse that I don’t know what the weather’s going to be like in Norway so I need to take a bit of everything. I thought that sounded rather plausible, so I’m sticking to it, and I’ll roll it out whenever someone risks a hernia from lifting my suitcase. And I’ve got a few spare things for emergencies, you know like if the ship breaks down and we’re there for six weeks instead of one.

Other items which are still in a holding pattern waiting for their allocated spot in the case include hair straighteners, make-up, jewellery…all those things were conspicuous by their absence last year. I remember sitting on the bed in our cabin with freshly washed but un-styled hair, and not a scrap of make-up on my face waiting for my friend to finish getting ready.

I didn’t see the point of making an effort beyond pulling on my trusty black palazzo pants and yet another shapeless top. The phrase you can cover a turd in glitter but it’s still a turd ran through my head constantly on a loop, and when you know that no matter how much slap you put on you’re still going to look and feel like crap it’s so easy to give up and just not bother. So I didn’t.

Not this year. There’s more bling in my suitcase than you could shake a big stick at. Every outfit has an accessory. I’m not exaggerating folks, in fact it looks like I’m dressing a party of ten but you know what, knickers to it…I’m having fun. It doesn’t matter than one sniff of salty sea air will send my hair into a birds nest as soon as I step out of the cabin…I’ll look like I made an effort, even if it lasts all of ten minutes. And I’ll feel good, which I’m still trying to wrap my head around.

So, I’ve got my false lashes on, I’m manicured and pedicured to within an inch of my life, and I’ve even waxed my legs…I know, right? I couldn’t even reach them last year. I’m just about packed, excited, and we’re leaving at the crack of sparrows to pick up our ship around lunchtime tomorrow.

I’m going to take the next week as it comes. I promise pictures through the Facebook page, and if I get chance in between hiking up waterfalls and mooching through pretty little towns and working up a sweat in the gym to earn my fine dining tokens, I may even fit in the odd post…I’ll play it by ear.

Lots of love to you all…giddy giddy giddy!!!  🙂

 

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I Didn’t Even Notice

In the here & now, , ,

I had dinner last night with all my colleagues at work – our boss is leaving next month and last night we met the lady who’s joining the business as his replacement. It was really nice to meet her in a social environment first, and one of the things our team is really good at is being sociable. I think it’s fair to say that we all enjoyed the evening, and both our new boss and our team passed muster on all fronts I think…we passed each others’ tests.

Do you know what I didn’t think about, until I was in the car on the way home? What I looked like. This time last year I would have been completely pre-occupied with that, you know? Before, during and after the event. What would she think about the way I looked and what assumptions would she make about me based on first impressions? Were all my chins going to be distracting with their ongoing momentum as we chatted, and was my menu choice going to be scrutinised as part of her assessment of me..? Ahhh…that’s why she’s such a tub of lard! Bad choice, fatty…

Of course she wouldn’t have thought that at all, in fact she was probably far too daunted at the prospect of walking into a restaurant to meet a tightly-knit team who are collectively devastated at the prospect of losing their much-loved leader to pay much heed to anything other than hoping we liked her, but as a seriously fat girl I somehow always managed to make it about me, like I was some kind of special being requiring separate consideration.

I was quite comfortable last night. I fitted on the chair, which in that restaurant in particular used to be a worry – visiting it in past times meant sitting gingerly on small round seats and to be honest back in the day I could’ve done with one whole chair under each bum cheek. We sat in a different spot last night, they’d reserved us a long table with a bench running the whole length. I fitted in, and I wasn’t squashed. No need to push the table away and eat at arms length to accommodate my bulk…I was comfortable.

And you know what, I felt nice. Relatively speaking of course, because I’ve got a long way to go yet but I was wearing new clothes, in a size 18 – that’s a 14 to my friends across the pond – which is where I was aiming to get to before my holiday. They weren’t straining at the seams either…they fitted me just fine.

The funny thing is, I didn’t even notice that I felt nice until I thought about it afterwards, because I was too busy being in the moment. And that’s huge. I can’t even tell you what it feels like not to be preoccupied, worried, obsessed even by the space I’m taking up in the world and what people might think about it, to the point where enjoyment and being present in any moment is eclipsed by the cripplingly dark shadow of self-consciousness. God, those were dark days.

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses last night…faced with a menu stuffed full of fat-girl-wet-dream fodder, I’ve got to be honest, making skinny choices brought on a momentary strop in the Asshole corner of my mind. I didn’t choose the deep fried breaded cheese with onion marmalade, which made my mouth water before I’d even finished reading the description. I would have killed my granny for that appetiser, but the strop passed and what I had was lovely.

I got over myself. On a scale of  one to ten what I ate was a tiny bit naughty but nobody’s going to throw me in jail over it. It qualified as a treat without kicking the arse out of it. No guilt this morning, or feeling that I’ve gone off-piste…it’s all good.

Choose this, get this…I’m learning 🙂

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