Category Archives: Freeform thoughts

Fairy Tale Lite

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

bunting-clip-art-622216.

One of my biggest flaws over the years has been my tendency to look at life in a ‘Once upon a time’ kind of way – I’ve always been blessed with a really positive optimistic outlook, and whilst that’s great, I’ve learned to my cost that it’s best not to cross the line and expect life to mirror a full-on fairly tale…very rarely does that charmed life exist. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times – really really dark times – where fixating on a positive outcome has prevented my mind from wandering to places it might otherwise not have entirely recovered from, and that has served me well. But marry the optimism with naivety and blind faith that things will work out ok and that’s where things have occasionally descended into farce.

My problem has always been that I just don’t see the big red flags waving at me as I breeze through a given situation. Actually that’s not strictly true…I see them, I just don’t recognise them for what they are. To you and the rest of the world they would look like red flags spelling danger…to me, they look like bunting. They may as well have balloons attached. The only way I can describe it, is that sometimes the line between wanting something to be a certain way, and believing that it is that way gets really blurred.

The best examples I have are nothing to do with dieting…it’s a pity that my blog relates to dieting rather than dating because for every dieting anecdote I could share with you, I have ten which involve my quest to find Mr Perfect, many of which would make your toes curl and your hair stand on end. Following the incident in Brazil with the thong, which I covered in a previous post, I called off the search and have remained contentedly single ever since.

Much as a life companion is an appealing thought, my wish-list is fairly demanding and I’ve kissed more frogs than I care to admit. Hell I even married a couple of ’em. I have one of the best track records E.V.E.R for being drawn to fantasists, winos and weirdos, all of whom appear utterly charming to me so that’s definitely an area of my life which should remain undisturbed for now.

I’m trying really hard to anticipate the bumps in the road that I might encounter on the way to Skinny Town, so I don’t have to worry about failing to see them until the very moment I’ve face-planted and everything’s gone to shit. To be fair, whilst the question of relationships doesn’t directly relate to my weight loss journey, as anyone who identifies as an emotional eater would agree, often the force-field surrounding them can have a massive knock-on effect on the speed at which you can fall off the wagon.

I’d be very confident that should the opportunity present itself to remain locked in a room for the next 18 months, or alternatively be swathed in relationship-free bubble wrap, nothing will shake the dieting resolve or knock me out of the sweet spot. Therefore, that’s what has to happen…it’s part of my strategy.

Whilst I appreciate that’s a bit like someone who doesn’t eat chocolate saying they’re not going to eat chocolate, I’m nailing my colours to the mast on this one anyway.  My life will remain a Prince Charming free zone. As you peel away the dress sizes there’s no getting away from the fact that your stock value rises on the relationship front. The smaller you become, ironically the less invisible you are – you’ll have to trust me on this one, having skittered up and down the size continuum several times I’ve experienced it first hand.

My fairy tale, on this occasion is the lite version, no Prince Charming required 🙂

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Why Would I Do That?

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

leftovers

So I think we’ve established by now that I have a fat-girl mindset. Even during those golden periods in my life when I’ve managed to shed the pounds and do a fair impression of being a skinny girl. I’ve never stayed skinny long enough for it to really get inside my psyche and I’ve certainly never felt like a skinny girl from the inside out. Not that I’ve recognised that before of course, but then it’s not the first time either that the process of tipping out my head spam like a collection of lipsticks, fluff and crumbs from the bottom of an old handbag for examination and discussion with you guys has helped me to shine a light on things I’ve never considered before.

Something that skinny string beans do, that I’ve never done is to leave food on my plate. Just the thought of it fills me with horror…I mean, why would I?  I’m at the opposite end of the spectrum…you’re far more likely to catch me licking the plate than leaving anything on it. Which would, I’m sure, prompt a skinny string bean to throw me exactly the same look of bewilderment that I’d give her for leaving half a pork chop and a dollop of bread sauce…or worst still, a roast potato, I mean that’s practically a criminal offence.

We’ve talked before about my broken ‘full filter’ and the fact that I don’t know when to stop but that’s a bit different…leaving something on your plate is something people offer up as a strategy to manage their weight. Come on, that’s like torture with every meal! So I’m eating something I’m really enjoying…I’ve done the mental calculations, I reckon I’ve got maybe eight mouthfuls left. I’m crafting my final approach, what’s going on the fork with what..what morsel can I use to mop up the gravy..? What’s the best big bit for the last grains of rice to cling to…it’s all planned like a military operation, and yet you want me to lay down my knife and fork now?? And leave the rest..?  Why would I do that??

That’s like living in a world where you walk away from every meal feeling cheated. It’s the scenario with my cheesy bugle playing on a loop, at every meal time. No matter which way up I look at it, I just don’t get it. Other strategies I understand…use a smaller plate? Yes I can see the benefit of that. Cook just the right amount so you don’t have the opportunity to overload…yes, I get that too. But cook it, enjoy it and leave it when you’re not actually in danger of bursting at the seams…no no no no!

Not only have I always finished everything on my own plate, many’s the time I’ve found myself flirting with the leftovers on everyone else’s plate too, especially when my son was little. Stuff he didn’t eat like a fish finger here, or a handful of fries there never made it as far as the dog’s bowl or the bin…somewhere between clearing the table and stacking the plates I’d find myself hoovering up whatever was left. My friend had the same issues but she was more disciplined than I was, even back then…she would encourage her son to tip pepper over the food he left on his plate to stop her picking at his leftovers. I always thought that was a great idea, I just never told my boy in case he actually did it.

It’s hardly surprising that an aversion to leaving food is hardwired into my DNA, if you’ve read my blog from the beginning and you saw the post Born Chewing you’ll have some idea of the relationship I formed with food from a very early age…that photo of me demonstrates more than words ever could how finishing every morsel of food was considered something to celebrate. But I’ve spent the last thirty odd years since reaching adulthood sidestepping every opportunity to unplug my wires and untangle them. I’m trying to do that now.

Smaller portions, yes. Better food choices, yes. Leaving food on the plate..? It’ll  never happen 🙂

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Athlete Under Construction

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now

run

I think it was the CEO of Nike who once uttered those immortal words “If you have a body, you’re an athlete”. I’d like to hope that what he was alluding to was the wonder of the human body, rather than suggesting that everyone should immediately climb into lycra and start breaking world records. He’s right of course…the human body is an incredible thing, and very forgiving. I’ve abused mine to the moon and back over the years, and whilst it’s a bit battle scarred and will never again win any prizes for outward good looks, in its skinny form it has it’s own charm. Well ok maybe charm is pushing it a bit…it has it’s own unique…well, it’s unique, lets just leave it there.

When I visualise all the things which will once again be routine and easy when I’m skinny, it’s more often than not the little things that I look forward to most of all. I can’t wait, for example, to paint my own toenails. I mean of course I enjoy going for a pedicure, who doesn’t, right? But having a foot spa at home before slathering my feet with peppermint foot oil, wrapping them in cling film and pulling on a pair of warmed socks whilst I chill out with a movie used to be one of my favourite things to do. Only it’s a bit difficult when you can’t really reach your feet.

And how can I put this delicately..? Keeping a control of the bikini line design is much easier when you can actually see your target…I mean don’t get me wrong, I have several friends for whom this is also a challenge, one of my very good friends in fact was recently telling the story about her husband’s assistance in this regard – she ended up with a bikini line more usually associated with Hitler’s top lip, but then that’s what you get when you leave the landscaping to a bloke…no finesse. The fact that mine is done with crossed fingers and a nervous razor on a sight unseen basis is less bothersome given the fact that I’m single and being an inch out at one side isn’t going to offend anyone, but even so, I look forward to the day where I don’t have to have a stiff gin and say a prayer before I tackle the topiary.

Another of my skinny friends had a spray tan before our recent trip, and was talking about the embarrassment of having to lift up her boobs for the beautician to spray underneath. I got to thinking how many bits I’d have to lift up to get my all-over tan and by the time I’d mentally counted them all the conversation had long moved on.

So it’s the normal every day things I’m looking forward to as I peel away the dress sizes one by one. The first time I get an itch on that little patch of dry skin on the side of my ankle, and I can reach down and scratch it without toppling over or getting cramp in my hip from trying to bend my leg far enough up to meet my hand halfway will be a full-on bona-fide hang out the flags milestone, and it can’t come soon enough 🙂

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Willpower Testing Lab

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

cat

So I’m heading out of town again this weekend, just for a couple of days – one of my closest friends lives a couple of hours north of here, and this same weekend every year there’s a large craft fair near to where she lives – it marks start of the run up to Christmas for me, since it’s chock full of Christmassy things. We go every year, and have a really lovely day out. You know the type of thing…there are some really unusual gifts, everything from hand finished cashmere shawls, beautiful statement jewellery, clothing and accessories to unique art works and beautiful house things. Oh yes, and the food hall.

What can I tell you about the food hall..?  I’m salivating at the thought. Most of it is home-made produce from local artisans who come and proudly display their wares…it’s an aladdin’s cave of speciality breads, cupcakes, flavoured vodka and gin, fudge, brownies, pies, sausages…olive oils, handmade chocolates, unique cheeses and amazing homemade chutneys. To be fair, that barely scratches the surface – it’s beyond awesome. And all the vendors give away free samples to tempt your palette and entice you into buying.

On a scale of 1-10, just exactly how much enticing do you reckon it’s taken in the past, to get this fat girl to stagger away at the end of the day under the weight of a dozen or more carrier bags..? “Would you like to try a…” “YES PLEASE!”  Yeah, that’s about how much. This time of year has invariably also coincided with the start of the pre-Christmas diet (which has been just as successful as the New Year diet, the Pre-Easter diet, the Post-Easter diet, the summer holiday diet, and the post-summer holiday diet) and as traditions go, the Living North Fair has also been the undoing of the pre-Christmas diet on pretty much an annual basis ever since we started going.

So it’s with a certain amount of trepidation that I’m looking forward to the weekend, because genuinely, it’s going to be a real test of my willpower. Here’s what usually happens. My friend, who by nature is one of life’s most nurturing people will ask me as we head towards the weekend what I would like to eat when I arrive on Friday. Am I dieting? Does a bear shit in the woods?  “Yes, I’m dieting but don’t put yourself to any trouble, I’ll eat what you eat, as long as I can point it”. And I usually do, after downing two large gin and tonics and the majority of the pre-dinner nachos and dip which I always say I’m not going to eat, but which I eat anyway.

Saturday morning usually starts with my friend cooking bacon sandwiches, which I accept with enthusiasm because this year – whichever year it’s been – I’m not going to eat anything from the food hall, I’m just going to look, so best have a decent breakfast. Did you know you can look with the inside of your mouth? It seems you can, I have perfected the skill over the last 5 or so years. By the time I’ve worked my way around all the stalls and sampled every scrap of whatever’s on offer, not to mention tasting the outputs from the cookery demonstrations I am groaning with food, having gained 10lbs over the course of one afternoon, and having left with enough food to last until the New Year diet starts. I mean I’ve blown the pre-Christmas one now, right?

This year, it’s going to be different. I’m telling you about it, and I’m accountable to you guys. I shall plan ahead, check in about dinner plans, agree there will be no nachos within spitting distance of me, and on Saturday I am going to have some samples…but I shall eat fruit for breakfast, and I’ll allocate myself a generous points budget for freebies so I don’t feel deprived. Then a light dinner will see me right.

I wonder whether any of the stands will have luxury polishing cloths so I can touch up my halo on Sunday morning.. 🙂

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The Three Second Rule

Freeform thoughts, Reflections on past times, , ,

cake1Let’s talk about the three second rule – for the un-initiated, the three second rule applies when you drop a piece of food on the floor…if it stays there for less than three seconds, it is deemed acceptable to pick it up and eat it after first blowing on it or wiping it with your sleeve. It’s a rule most fat girls have in their kit bag,  along with toddlers who don’t care who dropped what and when, if it’s on the floor it’s fair game.

Like any rule worth it’s salt, it can be ignored…I mean obviously if you dropped something sticky in a pile of freshly mown grass you’re probably going to look at it and decide to bow out gracefully. But as a fat girl with a broken food filter, if I can possibly make the rule apply, I will.  The rule can even be extended or amended under the right circumstances. In my house for example, it’s a two second rule, because I have a three second dog and if you snooze, you lose.

Now, at first look you think, hmm…it largely depends on where you drop it. If you drop it at home, where you know it’s clean or at least you know which bits of the floor are clean, it’s a safer bet. At the very least, there are fewer folk likely to look at you with a combination of pity and disgust as you scrat around on the floor chasing after the morsel of whatever it is that you’ve dropped. Outside the home might be a bit more…icky.

What made this spring to mind was a recent incident on my trip. Bearing in mind, bar the odd birthday cake-related dilemma I had been really bloody careful with my food choices (evidenced by a one pound loss whilst I was away, I forgot to mention that yesterday in my haste to have a rant about the gremlins!) and so when we arrived at the airport to come home I’d mooched perfume and stuff in the duty free shop but avoided any goodies which might have been too hard to resist. My skinny string bean friend on the other hand had bought a massive bag of cheese flavoured crispy bugle thingies which under normal circumstances would have been right up my alley.

I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said I covertly watched every one of those little pieces of paradise pass her lips in the same way that my pooch sits in his bed and quietly drools his way through human suppertime whenever we’re eating. She offered the bag around…a couple of people took a handful, one or two people declined, and then it was my turn. Would you like some..?

Hell would I! What I wanted to do was to take the bag out of her hands, straighten it up, tip it up and pour the entire contents down my neck. What I really wanted to do, encouraged by the asshole in my mind was to run back through the departure lounge, go into the shop and empty their shelves of these orbs of cheesiness, shoving them all into my hand luggage so I could munch them for the entire duration of our ten hour flight home.

But no…I was in control. Adjusting my halo, I took one. Said thank you and admired the way it looked…smelled it in anticipation.  It smelled so cheesy my mouth was twitching. And then I dropped it. On the floor. In the departure lounge, where lots of people had walked, trolley wheels had criss-crossed the carpet tiles all day long, and there were bound to be nasties lurking in their hundreds of dirty thousands. The moment had gone…the offered bag had moved on, and my cheesy bugle sat there on the floor just crying to be eaten. I shit you not I could have wept at the injustice of it.

In the three seconds I had to react, I looked, in what felt like slow motion at all the people buzzing around…had anyone noticed? Would anybody notice if I picked it up off the floor and put it in my mouth..? If they did, what would they think? And then I saw her…the skinny-string-bean-glamour-puss flight attendant who looked like she’d never eaten a cheesy bugle in her life. She saw. So it had to stay there. I kicked it under my chair with a casual sweep of my foot, looking for all the world like it was nothing.

And you don’t need me to tell you that I thought about that cheesy bugle all the way home 🙁

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