All posts by Dee

A Head Like Elvis

In the here & now, , ,

I imagine more than a few of you will be familiar with the self destruct button, right? You know that thing you press which immediately snatches defeat from the jaws of victory? Mine’s seen a bit of welly over the years, in fact the letters have worn off and it feels as smooth as a pebble washed a million times by the sea. It’s under my thumb right now, and it’s like I’ve got some weird kind of fat-girl twitch making me press it, over and over.

Why do I do it? Yesterday was bleurgh. I dodged a few things I shouldn’t have, ate salad for lunch but wobbled a bit in the afternoon (fucking refresher lollies ambushed me again at work, although I did count them) and then I went and ate a monster portion of chilli for tea which pushed me right over my calories. It’s all officially gone tits up, in fact my head is like Elvis…it’s left the building.

What I’m eating isn’t the only fuckery going on here. I’m sleep-dodging too. I sat up last night until eleven thirty or so before heading up to bed knowing I needed to write this post. No careful drafting it out and marinading it for a while before refining and making it just right…no no no. Not this girl, in this mood.

What I actually did was sit in the chair and binge watch ninety day fiancé all evening, even though it’s a pile of shite and I couldn’t give a damn about the stupid people in it and their badly scripted trials and tribulations. Maybe it’s because I imported my own car-crash fiancé years ago from over the pond and I’m fascinated watching other people’s disasters unfold in slow motion just like mine did.

That particular life disaster is buried in the archives somewhere for those of you fancy a good laugh, but whatever…I sat and watched five episodes back to back till I could hardly stay awake from sheer fucking boredom, when I should have been busy tipping the contents of my head onto the page and rearranging it all in the medium of words to help move me on a notch.

In the end it wasn’t far shy of 1am by the time I’d tipped up my word-count, and my alarm goes off at six. Five hours’ sleep plus change, to prepare me for a one hundred mile round trip commute and a job that’s wringing me out on a daily basis at the moment. Way to go to nourish my mind and body, right? I’m such a dickhead sometimes.

Mimi was so astute on Monday when she called me out on lining up an excuse ready to wheel out at the weekend as I try and justify three days of over-indulgence with my friends. She was absolutely bang on. I was doing that. I still am. I’m looking at the pictures and GIFs and Memes that we’re all sharing on WhatsApp as we get giddy about seeing each other and making cocktails and eating chocolate in the hot tub, and staying in pyjamas to watch movies.

I want to immerse myself in the full experience including drinking buckets of prosecco and eating my own bodyweight in inappropriate snacks. Same as everyone else. The trouble is, for them it’s a one-off, but me, well…I don’t know when to quit.

So, yeah. I can feel this fucking button under my thumb, but I’m wandering around in fat-girl fog and I’m not sure I can resist the urge to push it. Again.

I’m heading out Thursday afternoon and there’s no internet signal at Foxy Lodge so I won’t be able to post on Friday, although I’ll be back in time for the Shitbird Chronicles on Sunday.

I can’t wait for that one, I mean seriously just bloody shoot me now…

 

 

 

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Wading Through Treacle

In the here & now, , ,

I appear to have sparked a mini panic by failing to pop up in your news feed with my usual Friday words. Sorry about that, and I love the fact that you noticed, but I’m fine, I promise. It was just one of those weeks where work was off-the-scale demanding of both my time and my head-space, and there were a couple of nights out that I wouldn’t normally have in my diary. There just wasn’t time to fit everything in.

By the end of the week I was banjaxed, and a last-minute cobbling together of anything worth reading didn’t feel do-able. I hardly ever miss a post, but I think by Thursday I’d had every last drop of creative juice wrung out of me, and then some.

I had a really mixed week from an eating perspective. Sunday to Tuesday went really well. I was completely sure-footed, you know? Wednesday was a little bit wobbly, although I can’t pinpoint what it was that threw me off my game. Thursday and Friday went completely to shit. Saturday I played at being good until I went shopping, and then I had to sit on the naughty step until bedtime. By some fucking miracle, the Shitbird Scale awarded me a one pound loss yesterday morning. I have no idea how, I mean genuinely no idea.

I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it so hard to stay focused with Christmas just around the corner. Every single step feels like I’m wading through treacle. I don’t have a choice but to focus…if I take my eye off the ball I know full well that I’ll hit the holidays fifteen pounds heavier than I am now, and by New Year I’ll look like a fucking Buddha. So I have to keep my head in the game, but it seems like everywhere I turn there’s food just taunting me.

Mince pies and Baileys almost got me yesterday in the supermarket. I saw them out of the corner of my eye as they lit up a gondola end with their special offer tags. I ran around the aisles refusing to make eye contact with anything tasty, in fact I probably looked like I was on some kind of special ops mission. Milk, chicken, veggies and OUT…BAM BAM BAM. Do not engage with any special offers and if it’s in a shiny Christmas wrapper it’s bad…step away.

Yesterday was a good day. My unexpected one pound loss provided the impetus that I needed to keep my feet in the sweet spot. I swam, and I ate within calories and I did it willingly because my head played nicely. I’m hoping for more of the same today, but there’s a danger-zone between twelve and two, with a Christmas lunch to be navigated.

Tuesday and Wednesday should be uneventful and I’m determined they’ll go without a hitch but Thursday through Saturday will be the real test of willpower because it’s our bi-annual girly weekend away in Foxy Lodge, and you know what temptations are on offer there, right?  Worst case scenario, it’s two days out of seven, so even if the prosecco gets me and I dive headlong into food fuckery, providing I bring my A-game between now and then it’ll be fine.

I’m trying to plan, but I may well end up treading water this week and to be fair, as long as the needle doesn’t go up, I’m kind of okay with that. I’m living my life.

Step by sticky treacle-ridden step…

 

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When Minnows Become Monsters

In the here & now, ,

So yesterday was a bit turbulent. I ended up scraping through on a wing and a prayer, and only by paying two hundred calories forward onto today did I manage to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Having said that, in and amongst the stresses of an incredibly challenging day I scored the biggest non scale victory ever, by walking past the pasty shop in Kings Cross station and ignoring the big fat stack of cheese and onion pasties which were shouting my name.

I reckon the girls behind the counter clocked the width of my arse and thought they had a guaranteed sale in the bag, especially since I locked eyes with every single pasty in their display. I’ve rarely made it past this particular pasty shop unscathed, and I wanted to stick my tongue out and lick them all as I walked past, but yesterday there was no sale.

At that point I was already sailing close to the wind, to be honest. I’d meant to buy a coffee at 5.45am before I boarded my train to London, but instead I’d bought coffee and a bacon roll. I’d meant to have coffee at coffee break but I’d actually had coffee and three cookies. All logged and counted but not the stuff healthy diets are made of that’s for damn sure.

We had a major crisis at work yesterday and I had to abandon my meeting a couple of hours in, heading three hours north back into the office. There were lots of colleagues pulling together to keep the wheels on in a superb display of teamwork until quite late last night, so we brought in fast food as a thank you to keep them going. I was starving, so of course I joined in.

That’s when the minnow-sized errors of food-plan judgment began to flirt around the edges of becoming a monster error, you know? Having access to fast food when I was tired and stressed could have gone horribly wrong. Thankfully despite the unplanned but welcome supper, I reckon I just about scraped through.

If I’d eaten sparingly until the point at which the emergency take-out arrived, I might have had a little bit more wriggle room. The fact that I’d allowed myself to have treats when treats weren’t really needed is a mistake I’m often too quick to make. The treats weren’t even that special, you know?

I didn’t need a bacon roll first thing in the morning, it just felt easier to grab it at the station than faff around making porridge before I left home at stupid o’clock. And there was certainly wasn’t much thought given to whether or not I should have cookies with my coffee. They were there, on a plate in front of me and I just ate them because I could.

I’m still fat enough to get away with a decent chunk of calories every day, even when I’m eating in calorie deficit and the temptation to play fast and loose with how I spend them is constant. I need to get back to that place where I’m eating as cleanly as possible, and staying away from sugar. I’m not quite there but I’m working on it.

Day by day, choice by choice, right?

Before you go, we have a brand new guest post today! My good friend Kayleigh has not only shared her story, she’s also taken the massive step of baring her numbers on her very own Shitbird page. I’m sure you’ll join me in wishing her all the luck in the world as we watch her journey unfold 🙂

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There’s Safety In Numbers

In the here & now, , ,

So I’m looking ahead to this week with a bit of trepidation, I’ve got to be honest. It’s full of lovely things to look forward to, but most of them involve food. I’m trying not to feel inconvenienced by being on a diet, you know? That’s the wrong kind of thinking and I don’t want to start feeling pissed off all over again.

Monday we’re having a lunch for the seven of us from work who did the trek to Cuba last year…we won some recognition at last December’s company bash for raising the most money for charity, and we’ve just never got around to spending the voucher. It’s well overdue and it’ll be fun to reminisce. Tuesday I’m working in London all day and we’ll be catered at lunchtime, and home late with dinner on the fly. Wednesday evening we have a meal out with the team at work, and then Thursday we’re away overnight at a sort of team spa night which also involves a meal, and more than likely a tipple or two.

My food sobriety has held quite well this week and I don’t know about you lot, but for me it’s always a bit more fragile in the early days of a reboot, you know? That said, I have a whole week under my belt now. I just need to stay focused on dodging the food bullets which will be coming thick and fast from every direction over the next few days.

It’s been a bit noisy in my head over the weekend with the Asshole voice being petulant and demanding. I took Charlie dog for a walk yesterday and it was just a constant barrage of head-spam.

It’s far too cold to be out, turn around and go home immediately. You don’t have any gloves, you might get chilblains. (I’ve never had a chilblain in my life.) Besides it’s muddy up here on the bridleway and Charlie-dog had a bath and a haircut yesterday, you’d better turn around and go home before he gets dirty otherwise you’ve wasted your money.

And your ankles are aching. That must be a sign of something, so don’t overdo it. You’d both be much better curled up in front of the telly with the fire on. You’ve had a busy week, and you deserve to relax instead of walking around in this cold. Even the dog looks miserable, go on and turn around, you know you want to…

On and on, all day. I just couldn’t quite manage to tune it out, but I did manage not to act on anything. I stayed solid. I’ve got no reason to suppose that the Asshole voice will be any less intrusive this week with all the food-fuckery opportunities that are coming my way. I’m also going to be time-poor in terms of opportunities to work out or swim.

I am planning to drink lots of water and plenty of coffee to try and keep myself feeling full. It might only help a little bit, but at the very least it’ll diffuse some of the temptations, right? I’m really lucky to have the support of some good friends who I can message and lean on if I’m feeling wobbly. I’m going to pay particular attention to the way I look because  if I look nice, I feel nice and that helps me stay in control.

I’m doing what I can. The bullets will fly and I’m really hoping none of ’em get me, because I know they’re coming, and I have a plan. It’s silly season and I’m guessing a fair few of you will also be staring the run up to Christmas straight in the eye and wondering just how the actual fuck you’re going to navigate it all.

Together, that’s how. Come on, link arms…there’s safety in numbers and we’ve got this 🙂

 

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It’s A Sign!

In the here & now, ,

I have to admit to having a bit of a spring in my step. I’ve completed five straight days without a single unplanned eating incident and given that I’ve struggled to deliver a full five minutes of good behaviour just recently, I’m feeling accomplished. I’ve got skin in the game again, and the first hurdle is already in my rear-view mirror. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Yesterday had the potential to go pear-shaped when I left home without my carefully prepared lunch, which I’d taken out of the fridge and placed right next to my bag on the kitchen table as I was getting ready to leave.  It was right there, but I still walked out of the house without it, I mean come on, seriously. I left at 6am with a three hour drive in front of me and I was too far away from home to turn around by the time I realised.

The first indication that my head has landed back in the game came as I went into the motorway services on the way to my meeting, having left too early to eat breakfast, and bought coffee. No muffins, or croissants or pain-au-chocolate. Just coffee.

The biggest indicator came mid afternoon as I called back into the same motorway services, having not had chance prior to that to grab lunch. I was eat-my-own-arm starving as I walked in and considered my options. Greggs, Burger King, and a full on selection of confectionary. Fat girl heaven.

With the Asshole behind the wheel, it would have been BK. Or maybe a cheese and onion pasty or steak bake from Greggs, and large bag of crisps and at least one item of chocolate but probably two. Hell yeah, let me hear you say ay-MEN!

I didn’t do that, and what’s more it didn’t even occur to me to do that, you know? I walked into M&S Simply Food, picked up a turkey wrap and a small tub of fresh fruit and walked out again without giving it a single thought. No strop because there was all this stuff I couldn’t have, and no inner turmoil. I was hungry, and I fancied a turkey wrap and some fruit. That my friends, is a sign. I’m back 🙂

I half expected that Charlie-dog might have helped himself to my forgotten sandwich by the time I got home again, but in a show of solidarity he hadn’t. How’s that for willpower, right? He was clearly on the verge of bursting though, having sat and supervised it all day, in between playing out with all his doggy-day-care friends.

I’d fixed chicken, avocado and sweet pepper with a little light mayo and black pepper on a seeded flatbread, and it looked all kinds of awesome. Having bought and eaten something else in its place, I reluctantly rewarded his patience by allowing him to eat it, given that it’d been out of the fridge all day.

I figured his furry constitution was robust enough to deal with it, on the basis that unless I manage to grab him in time he eats cow pats and horse shit when we’re out walking. I soon realised it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had…overnight he has single-handedly done his bit to obliterate the ozone layer by filling the room with enough gas to blow the roof off.

Come on day six…show me what you’ve got 🙂

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