Tag Archives: weight loss

Now You See It, Now You Don’t

In the here & now,

bony

There were a handful of milestones that I actually dreamed about, way back at the beginning of this journey and the thought of hitting them really spurred me on during some of the more memorable battles with the Asshole voice, you know? You might even remember me talking about a few of them at one point or another, like being able to get out of a chair without rocking myself back and forth until I had enough momentum to shift my bulk, or simply being able to cross my legs again…man, that was a special one when I managed it for the first time.

I still get a little thrill when I throw one leg over the other as if I’ve always been able to do that, it’s sort of normal now. What I’m waiting for next is a glimpse of what lies beneath the skin I live in. I’m talking about a hint of bones.

Now, logic tells me that it’s not anatomically possible for folk to function properly without a full compliment of bones in their skeleton, but you know what, I’d be tempted to argue that point. Let’s take hip bones for example. I’ve never ever laid eyes on mine, in fact I’ve never even felt them. If I didn’t know better I’d think maybe I was born without any.

We’ve all seen those images of bikini bodies with their concave stomachs, beautifully framed either side by a hint of hip bone…not me, even in my string bean years. Whenever I laid flat and breathed in, I could poke around as much as I liked but all I ever felt was padding. Nothing angular at all. Cheekbones, hip bones, wrist bones…the list of bones missing in action goes on.

Except, when I’m resident in Skinny Town, I do have a collar bone. And when it’s there, I’m just a little bit in love with it. I mean don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t stick out much, but there’s definitely an outline if you look hard enough. And when you’ve spent years looking like your head and your shoulders are attached to each other without even a neck in between, a collar bone is a thing of beauty.

I’d love to have one of those little hollows at the base of my neck, just in case Prince Charming stopped by one day with a desire to fill it with champagne and lick it off. It could happen, right? The only place he could fill with champagne right now would be my navel which is all well and good but to be fair he’d need a magnum and then some.

Anyway, dragging my mind out of the gutter, the other day as I was hoiking a kettle bell around in the Kingdom of Pain, I was forced to look at myself in the long mirrored wall and I could’ve sworn I caught a glimpse of collar bone. But then it disappeared again…there seemed to be a hint of it every time I lifted the weight, but no sign of it on the downward stroke. When I got home I must’ve stood and stared in the general shoulder area for a good five minutes from just about every angle…nothing. Bugger.

I know it’s in there…I reckon maybe another couple of dress sizes down and we’ll be re-acquainted, which is almost as exciting as the crossing the legs thing…it might be the only noticeable bone I ever have so it’s a big thing, you know? Real tangible evidence that the skinny girl really is breaking out of the fat suit.

I’ll maintain a watching brief, and keep you posted 🙂

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She Wouldn’t Dare…

In the here & now, , ,

scale

So I woke up on Sunday feeling really skinny, you know that way where you’re laid in bed and you put your hand on your stomach and it’s at a lower altitude than your head? I must’ve laid in bed for a good half an hour debating whether or not to chance my arm with the bitch in the bathroom, or whether just to call it, you know? I feel skinny therefore I am. I’ve obviously lost weight this week. Girl done good, the end.

I decided I needed to know. I could sense my Asshole voice gearing up to rub salt in the wound…you stuck, again? Really?? That’s so unfair, you tried so hard and totally gave it your best shot but look you’re over fifty now, and your body has obviously settled at where it’s meant to be…eighteen stone is a good weight for you. 

The fuck it is. And I wasn’t scared of the number as such…I was more worried about the drastic measures that I was muttering about under my breath if I’d been forced to step off for a fourth week with no movement. I was seriously worried that I might demand an appointment to have my jaws wired or try to get my stomach tied in a knot. Surely she wouldn’t dare …I swear, even the dog was sweating as I nudged the bitch onto the correct tile, but to everyone’s relief the number had gone down. Two pounds off.

Well, I say that. The first time I got on it said two pounds off. Then I got on another twice just to make sure and it stayed at two. Once more for good measure and it said three so I nearly broke my neck getting on for a fourth time hoping it would continue going up. I should have stopped at three because the needle went back down to two, and I stubbed my toe on the bath.

Note to self, I clearly weigh more when I’m grinning like the village idiot, so in future I’ll stay mardy. But whatever, the impasse is broken. Two pounds off, and I’ll take that thank you very much. I deserved those two pounds, you know? I worked really hard, in fact last week I walked almost thirty miles, fitted in five exercise classes and stuck to my food plan. The Asshole voice thinks it’s a fucking travesty that I didn’t lose ten pounds and between you and me I agree, but I’m keeping schtum…don’t want to piss off the Gods of Skinny by appearing ungrateful, right?

So yesterday, you’d have thought that buoyed by my success, I’d ace the diet, and you’d be right, I did. Right up until the point that a work colleague rocked up to a late meeting with scooby snacks. One packet of salt and vinegar crisps and two Oreo cookies later I had to re-think my dinner options. I wouldn’t care but I don’t even like Oreo cookies all that much. I mean they’re okay, you know if you’re desperate. For emergencies. But I wasn’t desperate, not even a little bit and there was no emergency. They were just there in front of me for the taking, and I felt entitled. Silly moo.

Whatever…I’m back in the saddle and we continue on. I’d like to think maybe I just paused to admire the view, after all it’s a while since I’ve stood in this spot…I’m officially lighter than I’ve been in probably five years, and when push comes to shove, I toughed it out, right? I faced down the plateau without throwing the towel in. I found something to celebrate…resilience, patience, whatever you want to call it, it’s ass was mine.

Come on, lets push on…that skinny life is waiting 🙂

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Stepping Off The Hot Mess Express

In the here & now, ,

losing weightI wore a linen dress to work on Friday. Yep, you heard that right… Me! In a frock!!

I guess in order to understand how huge that is, (not the dress, which to be fair was pretty cavernous, but I mean huge in terms of the fact that I wore it in the first place) I probably need to explain that since I started working there a couple of years ago, nobody’s ever seen me in anything other than stretchy black pinstripe pants teamed with a wide selection of loose-fitting tops. Walking through the door in a dress felt all kinds of weird, but I’ve got to say everyone was full of compliments. Well, once they’d picked their chin up off the floor that is 🙂

So, that’s something else I can add to my growing list of firsts…it ranks right up there with discovering I could cross my legs again, and being able to cut my toenails and breathe at the same time. Only people who’ve been seriously fat will get what I mean with that one…it really is the little things that normal people take for granted which all add to the feeling that slowly but surely I’m stepping off the Hot Mess Express, and reclaiming normal as my very own.

You’ll never guess what the bitch in the bathroom offered up this week…three whole pounds. How about them apples, eh? I lost nothing last week but I was more relaxed about it than I ever used to be, because I know that the input has been pretty solid. My diet is on track and my exercise has gone to a whole other level, so I was confident that sooner or later she’d have to concede some poundage. I did a happy dance right there in the bathroom.

More importantly I can feel it…I feel skinnier, somehow. Even though I didn’t manage to have quite the super-clean eating week I’d promised myself, I did okay you know? Much better than the week before. And now, I have just two pounds to go to hit the 70lbs mark, which is my five stones milestone and folks, I’m going after it this week. Big time…hello seventeen stone something, your ass belongs to me. 

I had a bit of a splurge and bought myself some new clothes over the weekend with the money I made from selling my too big for me now wardrobe. Some of them are in the next size down again from where I am right now, because I wanted to choose some things for my holiday before all the summer stuff gets picked over.

I’m excited about the parcel arriving, which is a bit of a turn up for the books…something else I haven’t felt for the longest time. Buying new clothes is an ordeal when you’re the size of a moose because nothing looks nice or feels nice. Ask me if any of my new stuff came from a fat-girl shop..? NO! I mean they’re still fat sizes from a normal shop, but still. It’s a big step forward. Another first.

God of Pain is back from his jollies, and  classes start again tonight after a three-day hiatus. I’m ready to go back. And yes, you heard that right, too…I’m ready.

I still keep having to pinch myself to believe that I’m really doing this. Come on!

 

 

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Finding The Answer

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

answer-the-question

You know how sometimes someone asks you a question which stops you in your tracks and makes you think about something which has never even occurred to you before? Well, that happened to me this week. Let me ask you the same question.

Did you start your diet because of how you looked, or how you felt?

I’ve been mulling this over for the last couple of days and even now I’m not 100% sure about the answer. I just knew the time was right, but I’m less clear about what actually drove me to it. How I looked versus how I felt…I mean they were both awful you know? I looked like shit and I felt like shit so take your pick was kind of my first response. But the question sort of got inside my head and stuck which is generally my head’s way of flagging that I need to unpick something in a bit more detail.

If I’m working on something I like to understand why, as in what is the problem I’m trying to fix?  The idea of being able to articulate exactly what prompted me to begin this journey appeals to me…my own personal why.

I’d started to really struggle with mobility issues. On the last holiday I took with my friend immediately before I started my diet, I could barely walk from one end of the ship to the other without needing a rest…everything hurt. My back and my knee in particular felt like they were buckling under the strain of lugging twenty three stones around on my five feet five inch frame. I felt like I was lumbering, rather than walking. It was awful…it felt awful. My ankles were swollen, and my thighs chafed till they bled.

In the restaurant when I tried to squash my double arse in the elegant dining chairs, it felt like everybody was staring at me. I doubt that they were, but I felt crippled by my Asshole thoughts about what other people were thinking. Even walking through the restaurant to get to our table was torture, and I prayed the whole time that my arse didn’t add insult to injury by sweeping someone’s bread basket off their table on my way past. The Asshole voice in my head was on overdrive, and every thought landed, you know? Ha ha! Look at the fat girl in the dining room…feeding time at the zoo!

So, genuine reflections on the time immediately before I started my diet seem to be more aligned to how I felt rather than how I looked. I think I’d stopped caring about how I looked at that point if I’m being completely honest. Every night before we went down for dinner, my friend would be busy fixing her hair and putting her face on, generally making an effort you know? Me, I left my hair to dry wild and curly, and didn’t go anywhere near make-up… I didn’t even look in the mirror when I got dressed. There seemed little point and besides I didn’t want to be faced with the reality of what a hot mess I’d turned into.

It’s good to look back, in a weird sort of way…actively dredging up these memories renews my determination to get as far away from that place as possible. That was then…this is now. Now, I feel better physically…much better. Hamstring hobbling aside, I’m fitter and stronger, and I can walk without significant pain most of the time.

The biggest difference is that I’ve stopped being quite so conscious about how much space I take up in the world. I feel like I can sit on a chair without having to offer up a quick prayer that nobody skimped on the screws, you know? I no longer feel the need to try and tiptoe through my life. Oh sure, the Asshole voice still churns out a full range of self-esteem torpedoes on a regular basis, but more and more often they land a bit wide of the mark and they don’t inflict quite as much damage so that tells me I’m fitter and stronger in my head too.

So I think my answer to the question, having chatted it through with you lot is that it started out being about how I felt. Now what’s spurring me on is a mixture of both. I started putting my face on again a couple of months ago, and I’m thinking more and more about how I look, where back then I didn’t care. I’ve become strangely obsessed with what I’m going to wear to the forthcoming awards ceremony, but that’s what normal people would do, right? It’s a big deal and I want to look nice.

Just out of interest, how would you answer the question..?

 

 

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Eating Humble Pie

In the here & now, , , ,

pie 2

So, one of the drawbacks of coming from good old Yorkshire stock is the tendency to forget that not everyone is as comfortable with plain talk as I am. I mean, if you’re a regular reader you’ll be used to me getting straight to the point of what’s on my mind, with an occasional bit of salty language here and there. I don’t see an issue with that, because that’s me, you know? It’s what comes out of my head, in the same way it would come out of my mouth if you were standing in front of me.

I guess sometimes in my haste to drive home a point I can forget to apply my is this going to offend anyone? filter, and judging by the furious response I got from someone on an email last night at least one blooper got through the net yesterday…whoops.

Now, having exchanged lots and lots of emails with you lot over the last eight months or so, I know that collectively you have a terrific sense of humour. I know we laugh at the same things, despair over the same things and, well we just get each other, right? We’ve walked the requisite mile in each other’s’ shoes, and we’re all eminently qualified to understand and express a view on the general topic of being fat.

It was pointed out in no uncertain terms that there may be a small number of folk amongst the posse who would prefer not to be referred to as fat old ladies with bingo wings. Being a fat old lady with bingo wings myself, I didn’t give it a second thought, but I had a proper bollocking – that’s Yorkshire speak for telling off in case it doesn’t translate – from someone I’d managed to offend with my sweeping generalisation that only fat girls and old ladies wear shrugs…

Now, half of me wants to defend my position (really, have you EVER seen a skinny string bean with toned arms cover up their top half with a shrug unless it’s like an Antarctic event?) but mostly I’m full of remorse that my words might have stung a bit. Not my intention, I promise and I’m genuinely sorry if I hurt your feelings. Me and my big mouth, right?!

That said, I also had a handful of really lovely notes from folk who wanted to encourage me to be proud of who I am, you know, comfortable in my own skin so I could feel like a million dollars despite my arse looking like boulders in a bag. I love the sentiment, and I appreciate every single word of reassurance…I’m not buying it though.

I’d give anything to be able to get to that place, where I consider slender and fat to have equal standing in the beauty stakes. The ability to look in a mirror and see fat and beautiful in one and the same body has eluded me since time began and I don’t see that changing any time soon. I can’t bring myself to fly the banner for big and beautiful…I just can’t. I’m not saying that fat people can’t be attractive, because they can…but looking at it through the lens of self, I can’t put those two words together because I don’t feel it, you know? I recognise that not everyone feels that way…but I do.

That said, in relation to the way I felt 62lbs ago, I feel awesome.  And relatively speaking, I’m looking better. But that’s because I’m skinnier. I’ll look even better still when I get the next hundred and a bit pounds off.

Good job there’s no Smart Points in humble pie… 🙂

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