All posts by Dee

Persona Non Grata

In the here & now, ,

I was in text conversation with the God of Pain yesterday morning – he’s one step ahead of all of us you see, and he makes us book our sessions in advance. It scuppers the chance of any of us coming down with a case of can’t-be-arsed-itus, you know in that moment when you step in from work, tired and hungry after a long day and the prospect of pulling on your exercise pants and doing a 360 out the door again is just too grim?  Once you’ve booked your sessions for the week, the thought of having to explain to his nibs why you’re not now going doesn’t exactly make you feel warm and fuzzy inside and is best avoided…when you’ve committed, you pretty much have to follow through.

To be fair, I reckon that’s why I’m still going, ten months after I started…I need that kind of discipline. A big anonymous gym where nobody would even notice, much less give a shit if I didn’t turn up would play right into the hands of my Asshole voice…come on Dee, you’ve had a long day. Sit down, take a load off and have a hob-nob. Go tomorrow instead. We’ve all been there, right? I’m sure it’s not just me. However, there’s bugger all chance of that happening on his watch, and I’m more grateful for that than I can even tell you.

Anyway, as I was booking my session, I happened to mention that I was on day 79 of my food sobriety, and on Sunday I’m due to graduate from his 3 month clean eating programme. Not only that, but according to his scale, last weekend I was only 1lb over the lowest weight he’s ever logged next to my name. And of course that’s made me extra extra extra determined to get under that number by my next Kingdom of Pain weigh-in.

When I said as much to him, he pinged a text back and warned me not to starve myself, and I just stared at the phone in disbelief…I mean, come on, has he met me? I wouldn’t be capable of doing that if my fucking life depended on it.

Or, would I..? It’s an interesting question.

Does anyone ever set out to get to that place where the exhilaration of flying down the scale pushes the desire to eat off their radar altogether? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not likely to be teetering on the edge of anorexia anytime soon, but I wonder whether the folk who are ever intended to end up in a place where hunger becomes their best friend and the thought of food tips them over the edge.

As I laid in bed last night kicking the tyres of what I wanted to write about today, I remember feeling a bit of a thrill as I realised I was peckish…I’d had a decent supper when I got in from my class, but I’d gone to bed with some of my food budget left on the table and God of Pain’s words jumped up and bit me in the ass, you know? Don’t go starving yourself…

I’ve spent my whole life avoiding hunger pangs. God forbid one might sneak up and catch me unawares. I’ve rarely been more than three feet from an emergency snack, and whilst I appreciate hunger pangs don’t hurt exactly, I’ve always avoided them in the same way I’d avoid a dose of the clap. Hunger pangs are definitely persona non-grata in my world.

And yet. There I was, feeling my concave stomach – alright come on, I know I’m shaped like a buddha but cut me a bit of creative license here – embracing the hint of hunger like a kind of badge of honour. I could’ve gone back downstairs and had a crumpet, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to lay there enjoying the skinny experience and get jiggy with my hunger pang.

What’s that all about?

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Feeling Just A Little Short-Changed

In the here & now, ,

I hopped aboard the Shitbird Scale yesterday morning with a real sense of anticipation, you know that way where you know your input has been off-the-chart awesome and you’re ready to take the accolade…yeah.  Well. Even with my best of fifteen approach to recording the number it refused to go lower than two pounds off.

And I know it’s a solid number. It’s my go-to number after all…If I lose two pounds a week between now and…blah blah. It’s just with six exercise classes, one 5k park run and a text-book execution of my food plan under my belt last week, I was hoping for a little bit more. I couldn’t help feeling just a teeny bit short-changed if I’m honest. Shitbird thing.

Still, you bounce back, right? That was then, and this is now. Even though I’m a bit miffed at not bagging a number befitting the effort I put in, I’m now just two more pounds away from breaking new ground and that’s when I’ll know for certain that the surety of my step over the last three months has wiped the indiscretions of the three months before that off my record card. I woke up this morning with seventy seven days of food sobriety in my rear-view mirror and I’m starting to really feel the benefit now.

So let me tell you about the Park Run that we did on Saturday. Please understand that I use the word ‘run’ in its loosest possible sense, since I don’t think for one minute that the occasional burst of speed that I managed to pull out of the bag as I walked around the course could actually constitute running. And the fact that I placed 141st out of 143 clearly demonstrates that I completed the course at a snail’s pace when compared to my competition. I’ll tell you what though…I don’t care.

It took me 55.01 minutes to do my 5km, and the truth is I didn’t really care how long it took any of the other 142 folk to do theirs. Well apart from my friends of course, I cared about their numbers. There were two personal best times amongst our gang, some of whom complete the event every week and I was really happy for them. I was happy for me too, I mean I survived. And if I’m going to do this regularly, I’ve got my baseline now haven’t I? I’ll be the one going in just a little bit harder next time so I can beat my own personal best. The only way is up, right?

It occurred to me halfway around the course that wearing trainers instead of walking boots might have been a good idea…it was a deliberate choice because I figured I wouldn’t be running, but then when I was there and caught up in the atmosphere, I wanted to go a bit faster and actually, on the downhill bits towards the end when me and Charlie really got into our stride I was almost running. Almost. Definitely trainers next time.

I knew that dogs were welcome so I took Charlie dog with me, and he loved it, I mean from his perspective what’s not to love…people and parks are two of his favourite things. Well, he loved it apart from the fact that he kept getting lapped by a poodle, whose hooman was considerably faster than me…I don’t think that did his cocker spaniel street cred much good at all. Maybe if I’d had three shits on the way round like he did I might have been able to go a bit faster..? Just sayin’ 🙂

Anyway, I’m going for it again big style this week. I’m going to take 3lbs off by next Sunday if it kills me…then I’m into virgin territory, and how exciting is that 🙂

Check it out…we have a new guest post on our Thoughts From The Posse page…written by one of my very best friends, who has finally caved after all my nagging and put pen to paper. Enjoy!

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Let’s Never Speak Of Them Again

In the here & now, ,

There’s something about new clothes that makes you feel epic, don’t you think? I wore a new shirt for work yesterday, one of the ones that’s been hanging in my wardrobe for a while which hasn’t just quite fitted me. Until now all of a sudden it does. I bloody love that feeling. I got a compliment from two different people at work, and when I walked in the kitchen back home at teatime my boy looked up from what he was doing and said blimey, you look skinny today…I bloody love that feeling too.

It’s been a while you know…at one point towards the middle of last year, folk started to notice that I’d lost weight and were fairly generous with their compliments, but when I started going back up the scale again those same folk were gracious enough to keep their gobs shut. Well, most people do, don’t they? I can think of one notable exception in my circle of friends who thinks nothing of fat shaming where someone’s gained a little weight but she’s never been brave enough to call me on it. Just FYI I’ve got three dozen one-liners lined up ready in case she ever does, and trust me when I say whichever one I pick will be delivered with relish, possibly accompanied by a smack in the chops.

I can’t really pinpoint the moment where I started to care again, about what I looked like. When I was way north of three hundred pounds there didn’t seem much point in spending too much time in front of the mirror because no good ever came of it, you know? All it did was open the door for the Asshole voice in my head to wheel out one put-down after another, to the point where some days it was hard to lift my head.

I only had a handful of clothes, all of which I’d bought because they fitted me and not because I liked them. A few tops that I’d kidded myself made me look a bit smaller than I was. That’s the difference you know when you’re locked in battle with a fat body…you don’t decide what to wear because the colour suits you, or because something’s on-trend. You pick anything that you think makes you look smaller. In my head it was sole criteria, the only thing that mattered. I’d like to point out to anyone who actually knew me back then, that most of those hideous garments were not worn by choice and let’s agree never to speak of them again.

It’s different now I’ve evicted poundage from my pants. To be fair, there’s a lot more choice and I’m choosing things that I like. And that’s why it’s so lovely when people take the time to pay me a compliment…it’s nice to be noticed for the right reasons and it definitely spurs me on.

I have a little jar you know, where I store my compliments. I scribble them down on a scrap of paper and put them in my jar, and if I’m having a day where it feels like this fucking diet will never end and I’ll never reach my goal, I tip them all out and take a moment to bask in the sunshine, and it never fails to lift my mood. My jar has been gathering dust for a few months but it saw a bit of action yesterday, and it did me a power of good 🙂

 

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Going The Extra Mile

In the here & now, ,

What a tremendous weekend we just had…the boathouse was perfect with the most amazing views of the sea, and I can’t even tell you how lovely it was to kick back and relax with my best girls. The three days passed in a flash, with plenty of laughing, a bit of walking, a few movies in pyjamas with a steady trickle of prosecco and of course gossip in the hot tub. And guess how many wrong steps I took with my food plan…? Not a single one. You would’ve been proud of me, I totally pulled it off.

How on earth I managed it is beyond me, but despite being surrounded by multiple booby-traps in the shape of a hundred different trigger foods, not a single naughty morsel passed my lips. Steady on there, mind you don’t go getting dazzled by the light bouncing off my halo 🙂

Our girly weekends usually pass in a haze of prosecco, and I do enjoy a cheeky gin or a few glasses of fizz but somehow, spending my limited food budget on booze makes me feel like I’m not getting the best value out of it, you know? I’m not generally a big drinker, and don’t forget I have the heart of a fat girl so in order to balance the books if it comes down to one or the other, I’d rather eat.

We were self-catering and everyone had brought pretty healthy stuff, so clean eating was easy. It just worked. Of course the healthy food was in complete contrast to the mountain of chocolate and salty snacks which also made the trip, but to be fair this is usually an all bets are off kind of weekend where over-indulging on crap is par for the course.

I’m sad it’s over ’till the next time but I’m feeling relieved and a tiny bit proud actually, at the fact that I navigated it without putting so much as a foot wrong, I mean weekends like this, where my guard is completely down and I’m surrounded by temptation should be difficult, right? Thing is, it wasn’t. I don’t really understand why but I’m happy to just accept it as a gift from the Gods of Skinny. I’m in the sweet spot and this is day 72…more than ten weeks without a wobble. Who knew that could even happen?

I’m a bit pissed off with the Shitbird Scale. Just for a change, right? I feel like my superhuman effort should be being rewarded with supersize losses but I’m still having to drag every fucking pound kicking and screaming from my pants. I weighed and posted two days early last week because I was going to be away on my normal weigh-day but despite a positive result last Friday and a stellar weekend I haven’t lost an ounce since. Where’s the justice in that?

Whatever…the number is less important than the fact that I’m getting the input right, and it’ll catch up eventually. I’m only 4lbs over my lowest weight on this diet so far and I’m impatient to start breaking new ground, you know?

I’m working my cahoonies off this week in the Kingdom of Pain,  skidding into Wednesday with three classes under my belt already and number four looming tonight. Friday will see number five and Sunday will see number six. Plus I’ve registered to do a 5k park event with a bunch of friends on Saturday so I tell you what, if the Shitbird scale doesn’t keep it’s end of the deal on Sunday with a number worthy of all that effort I’ll proper see my arse.

Come on, I’m pitching for 3lbs off this week…who’s with me? 🙂

 

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A Fair Trade-Off

In the here & now, ,

I’m buzzing this morning…it’s a little after 6am and I’m heading off to the Kingdom of pain shortly to attack my muffin top and bingo wings – the name of this morning’s class – and then I’ll be coming home to shower, change and pack for my weekend away. I’m bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of seeing my best girls.

I had to laugh last night as I was getting the stuff together that I’ve bought to take with me…prosecco and gin, obviously but instead of chocolate and cheese balls there are four melons and at least a ton of grapes. How times change, huh? Last time we were away I managed to wrestle the Asshole voice into submission and keep my treats to the bare minimum, but this time I’m going to have to keep away from naughty stuff altogether due to this whole clean eating malarkey. And you know what, I’m cool with that.

My gold seven disc will be coming with me, in fact it’s already in my bag and I’m determined to trade it up to the gold fourteen after the weekend. Today marks 67 days of being food sober, and I’m all over it to the point that it’s sickening, although I’m saying that with a smile on my face. It’s funny, my head is slowly catching on to the fact that the high I get from having a ball without self-sabotaging is totally worth the effort of expending a little willpower here and there. It’s a fair trade-off, you know? I do this and I get this.  And the Asshole voice remains strangely quiet…the balance of power has definitely shifted since I pissed on his chips with this abstinence from refined sugar.

I thought I’d killed the Shitbird Scale yesterday…I was feeling skinny, so I thought I’d have a cheeky little mid-week step-on just to see whether I’d dropped ten pounds since our last encounter. Unlikely, you say? Yes, but hey you never know, right? I felt thin so it was worth a try.  Anyway, I was met with a blank screen, even after I’d nudged it with my toe several times. Nothing. I was about to have a hissy fit on the basis that it’s barely out of the box, until I realised it just needed a new battery. Clearly it finds my ‘best of fifteen’ approach to weigh-day quite draining. Shitbird thing.

So anyway, once I’d had every cupboard and drawer in the house upside down looking for the right sized battery, and then tracked down a munchkin-sized screwdriver to unscrew the ridiculous battery cover, to the untrained eye it looked like the house had been ransacked, and I’d worked up a proper sweat. It would have been totally worth it if I’d lost the ten pounds I’d fancied, but as it transpired it’d only budged by one. Still, since it was only three days since weigh-day, I’ll take a pound. I’ll happily take a pound.

Right, best get a wriggle on…my hour of torture awaits. I hope you all have an awesome weekend, and I’ll catch up with you next week 🙂

 

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