Tag Archives: sweet spot

Blue Sky Peeping Through The Clouds

In the here & now, ,

All of a sudden, the world is looking brighter. Mum is doing much better. The bug which kept us at arm’s length over the weekend has blown itself out, and tonight we had a lovely visit. It was bittersweet, because she’s lost so much ground over the last couple of weeks. She turned to me earlier and said you’re my daughter, aren’t you..?  I mean, ouch. That’s a first. But she’s okay, and happy, albeit in her own little world.

And this is me hitting a home run of best behaviour…I know, right? Yey me. I’ve forgotten to count the days because my head’s been elsewhere but I can confirm that I’ve existed in an Asshole-free-zone since at least the weekend and I’m feeling pretty sure-footed. With the exception of the chocolate orange segments on Saturday I think I’ve put my best foot forward for well over a week now and I feel like I’m back on track.

We had a little service on Monday to scatter the ashes of my Godmother, and it really lifted my spirits. Unlike the funeral, which was hard, Monday was full of laughter…mainly at the expense of the vicar, I’ve got to be honest. About ten years ago, my Godmother lost her precious cat, and she wanted to bury him in the grounds of the church where she worshipped. Sadly, the Vicar said no.

Now, ‘no’ isn’t a word that my Godmother was especially fond of, unless she was the one saying it of course. She didn’t argue with the Vicar at the time, but she did pay a visit to the churchyard in the middle of the night armed with a torch, a shovel and a dead cat, and despite her gnarly old arthritis-ridden hands made a very good job of laying him to rest. She wanted her ashes scattered near to the spot she picked out all those years ago, and so despite the solemnity of the occasion on Monday, all of us in the know couldn’t help grinning as we sensed her approval at being reunited with Taffy in the glorious autumn sunshine.

Happily, the Vicar remains oblivious.

My mum wasn’t able to join us which I found quite hard, but by the same token she’d forgotten it was even happening and that’s a blessing.

So, onwards…my thoughts are turning to my holiday, which is coming up in just eleven more sleeps. I’m so relieved that it looks like I’ll be going after all. I’ve bought a couple of new frocks, which I’d hoped might fit me by the time we went, but I’ve dicked around so much with my underwhelming half-a-pound-per-month average weight loss I’ve got no chance, not this time around.

On the bright side though, I weigh about the same as I did when I went to Italy in June, so at least I have a holiday wardrobe which fits and feels nice…isn’t that just the best feeling?

We’ll be flying to Venice then sailing from there to Montenegro, Corfu, Sardinia, Naples and Rome. It’s going to be warm but not too hot and now all the drama seems to have subsided I just can’t wait.

I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’m due a little R&R 🙂

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Pain Without My Meds

In the here & now, ,

I’ve been hurt this week – a betrayal by someone I considered to be a friend. The betrayal didn’t happen this week, actually it happened a while ago but I only just found out about it so it’s very raw. And I know, shit happens. We’ve all been there, right? We’ve all experienced one of those moments when we discover someone isn’t who we thought they were. I’ve been knocked sideways by my own naivety and I’m still processing the things I found out, so it’s fair to say I feel a bit down.

I guess sometimes you have to cut people loose from your life and move on. And that’s where I’m at…it’s true that wisdom comes with age. I’m as far from fond of the wrinkles on my face as it’s possible to get, but I do appreciate the things my advancing years have taught me – namely that if someone treats you like shit it’s generally their problem not yours. And I’m not responsible for someone else’s problems, in fact they can kiss my fat ass.

An interesting thing happened…despite the shit hitting the fan, I didn’t face-plant into a vat of cheeseballs. The opposite in fact. I dealt with it like a normal person. I talked about it with a friend, I brooded about it, I got upset and I got mad. I fantasised about what I’d like to say to the main protagonist in a world where my words would come out right first time and cut them down to size, but what I didn’t try to do was soothe my hurt feelings by working my way through half a dozen Daim cakes and a ton of salty snacks.

What’s that all about then? It’s a first, it what it is. I’m not sure how or where the wiring went wrong in my head, but somehow I’ve always carried a baked-in belief that stuff doesn’t hurt as much if I’m chewing whilst I get my head around it. Five thousand calories stops the bleeding far more effectively than a band aid ever could, or at least that’s what my past experience has taught me.

And this week, I could have gone down that route, you know? There’s a selection of cookies, Reece’s peanut butter cups and cake bars doing the rounds in our office at the moment…dry January is starting to bite and everyone seems to have the munchies. It’s not helpful when I’m shaky, but when I’m in the sweet spot it doesn’t bother me one little bit. So despite the maelstrom of emotion going on under the surface yesterday, none of the naughties came knocking on my door at all. Which is pretty awesome, when you consider the straight-as-a-dog’s-hind-leg nature of my more recent attempts at losing weight.

It’s a ray of sunshine in an otherwise shit week. And folk say things happen for a reason…maybe it was time for a bit of a life detox as well as a focus on clean eating. My emotional bruises will heal, and I’m as sure as I can be that they’ll do so without the assistance of asshole-driven comfort-food decisions.

He’s back in his box ladies, and that’s got to be worth celebrating, right? 🙂

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A Stroke Of Genius

In the here & now, ,

So much for my plans to slip into one of those vibrant kaftans and glide around like some exotic creature from a bygone era…cavernous as they are, they don’t bloody fit me! The trying on session didn’t go well from the start if I’m honest…in my head, I’d hoped I might totally rock the Nana Mouskouri look but the reality was nearer to Demis Roussos – and if you don’t know who either of those people are you’re far too young to be in my blog, get out immediately!

Despite the acres of funky fabric there’s a sneaky little side seam in a kaftan which makes the fabric cling to your torso whilst lots of folds of fabric float around the sides. I shit you not, I looked like a sausage roll in a frock. So I shall launder them and put them in the skinny drawer to join the holding pattern of stuff that will fit me ‘soon’.

I did a really tough double session at the Kingdom of Pain last night, I was half dead by the time I got home. Let me tell you though, I’ve taken a few things on board from our friend who wrote the latest guest post and despite my screaming muscles, this morning I’ve decided to embrace the soreness as a signal that last night I worked. Today, every time I move and my abs or my quads or my arse cheeks twinge with a sharp reminder at how hard I worked, I shall have a little moment of celebration, you know? I will visualise every twinge pushing me one step closer to Skinny Town, because actually that’s exactly what’s happening.

I am seventeen days into my renewed resolve, and I couldn’t be happier with how my food plan is going. I managed 11 days’ worth of willpower leading up to Christmas before I fell off the waggon, but I’ve gone beyond that milestone now, and even my binge on the first of the year can’t really blot my copybook. I’ve found the sweet spot again and I can’t begin to tell you how great that feels.

I love waking up in the mornings feeling skinny. Not feeling guilty because I fell at the last hurdle and sank half a packet of Jaffa Cakes and a Daim bar with my suppertime cuppa. I love not waking up with indigestion because my body’s been fighting to process whatever crap I pushed into my face right before bed. Not carrying a heavy heart filled to the brim with guilt and disappointment because I let the asshole voice take the wheel…all of a sudden by focusing on what’s going well, I’m in control again.

Despite a working dinner a couple of days ago, where the menu was awesome and the desserts were to die for, I behaved. I even behaved with a smile on my face, because no asshole voice muscled in on the deal and tried to persuade me otherwise. Some of the people I was with ate dessert, but I didn’t and I didn’t care. It looked all kinds of awesome but I wasn’t interested, because I’m on it.

I’m trying my best not to feel cocky…pride comes before a fall and all that. But I’m in a good place, and I can feel you all cheering me on. On Sunday I saw a steady stream of folk checking out the Shitbird Says page even though I don’t publish as such on the weekend. Nothing to see here except my conversation with the scale. You remember, and I’m incredibly lucky that you care enough to make sure I’m bringing it home. Under your watchful gaze I feel compelled to try my absolute hardest.

It’s a stroke of genius, if you think about it 🙂

 

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The Ground Beneath My Feet

In the here & now, , ,

You know I’d forgotten how good it feels to have solid ground beneath my feet. I walked into the bathroom yesterday morning ready to face the Shitbird Scale and I was bordering on excited to see the number…it reminded me of being in school and walking into the classroom to take a test that I’d studied for, as opposed to my usual adolescent approach of winging it and hoping for the best.

As a child, I was naturally bright which is a double-edged sword in a lot of respects. Deploying half an ear in the classroom whilst daydreaming about Duran Duran, and a cursory flick through my exercise books the night before an exam usually saw me scrape through with middle-of-the-road marks and a could do better on my school reports but hey, a pass is a pass, right? I didn’t learn to apply myself until much later in life but I have to admit, much of the last year has been about winging it…the last 3 months in particular.

Last week – with the exception of Sunday’s false start – saw me really colouring inside the lines. I pointed everything, wrote it down and added it up. I didn’t buy any naughties when I did the food shop so there’s been nothing in the cupboards to tempt me. I ate clean – well, with the exception of one Chinese takeaway which I chose carefully so I could stay within points – and I planned well. Shitbird Scale handed me a 2.5lbs loss, which when you consider that I had to write last Sunday off as a disaster and had only 6 days to shine wasn’t half bad. Worth an A on the old report card for sure.

The process of photographing the number on the scale as I stand on it then posting it on here is working beautifully, because there’s nowhere to hide. It’s about as accountable as you can get, right? Honestly, I hate that it’s out there, I mean even skinny string beans mostly like to keep the actual number a secret, but by the same token I’m finding it’s a great way of focusing the mind.

Better than that, yesterday morning I found myself deciding what I wanted to weigh in at next weekend, and I even wrote it down…I’m hoping the thought of that mini-goal will help to add another layer of gatekeeping to support the cause this week. Every little helps, and it goes right back to the concept of the article I shared with you back in the early days on the aggregation of marginal gains…it might be just a little thing, but lots of little things gather momentum and make a big difference.

I feel happy, positive and incredibly upbeat as we go into this week. I’ve gotten over last week’s Diva moment, where life felt unfair because I was being forced against my will to pass up food opportunities which should have been mine for the taking. In hindsight, I made wise choices. I can look back and celebrate my self-control, instead of regretting my decision to give into the need for short-term gratification. I laid in bed last night thinking about the lunch I’ve carefully prepared to take to work today, and the big plump grapes which are washed and ready to eat, and I felt almost euphoric.

May I be so bold as to declare that I’ve reclaimed my place in the sweet spot..? I know I’m taking it one day at a time and today is only day eight… but already, the ground beneath my feet feels more solid 🙂

 

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Oh, Do The Hokey Cokey…

In the here & now, ,

image

So. Excuse the brief hiatus, it’s been a busy few days and the asshole voice has scored a couple more direct hits since that confident proclamation that I’ve got this now because I’m back in the zone. Back in the zone my arse. I’m in the zone in a very Hokey Cokey kind of fashion since I’m in, out and then I’m fucking shaking it all about.

Four good days followed by two bad, followed by two good and three bad…that’s kind of how it’s panning out. I’m shitting my pants about having to stand on the scales and look God of Pain in the eye next time I’m summoned into the back room for a chat, because I know I’m going to get the bollocking I deserve. What’s wrong with me??

How can I be so solid in my resolve one minute and then throw it all away the next? Thursday last week was a classic example of fucked-upness. I’d had a good day, then I’d been to the gym and done an hour’s circuit training yet all the way home in the car I was wrestling with myself over whether I should, or should not eat a Mars Bar. I was desperate for one, and annoyingly I had to pass the corner shop on the way to my house.

I’d convinced myself I was going to pull over right up until the moment I approached the bend in the road where the shop is, and somehow I managed to keep the pedal to the metal and drive past. Victory, right? Yeah, you’d think. I can’t have been in the house ten minutes before I texted my boy and asked him to pick me up a Mars Bar on his way home. Like an ejit.

Friday was a really bad day, Saturday was less so but not perfect and yesterday was also not perfect…that was a blow given that Sunday’s are my reboot day. I did avoid a lot of temptation – I’ve been away this weekend staying with my friend and it was the Living North Christmas fair which I’ve talked about with you guys before.

I managed not to eat my own body weight in samples from the food hall, and I found these awesome treats which were a bit like skinny walnut whips just without the walnuts. The lady on the stall made a big fuss about the fact there was only seventy calories in each one, and that’s great you know, except I ate six of them. So, not that great then.

Today I’ve woken up feeling cross with myself and frustrated at being a week beyond my ‘it’s all okay now’ post and clearly still very much not okay but I do have renewed determination that it will be. Again. I’ve been trying to write the blog post about crossing the finish line in Cuba but my words are getting stuck and I can’t seem to do the moment justice.

So you guys lucked out eh? Instead of getting the last instalment of my epic story you’ve ended up listening to me banging on about what a shit few days I’ve had…sorry about that. I’m standing in the naughty corner, thinking about what I’ve done.

I haven’t given up. I’m totally hanging in here. Stick with me, I need you lot more than ever right now ?

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