The post I put up a few days ago called The Asshole’s Greatest Hits prompted a flurry of emails from the posse, and one of the pennies that dropped for me when I was reading them, was that sometimes it’s not about being talked into eating this or that…those are minor asshole victories and you know what, let’s be real and accept that sooner or later he’s going to win some of those battles.

Your Asshole voice can only win the war if he manages to convince you that you just can’t get your head in the zone, and that sadly the time isn’t right for you to be on this diet so you should return to your stash of hob-nobs with immediate effect and wait until some as-yet undetermined point in the future when you might be ready to embrace a new diet with open arms.

As soon as you raise your white flag in surrender, that’s it. The asshole voice scores pay dirt, and you’re out of the game. So is it best to keep plugging away and fight it battle by battle, or is walking away, easing the pressure and giving yourself room to breathe the best option?

It’s a hard one to call, when you think about it. I know better than most how emotionally draining it is, going to bed every night still ‘on a diet’ but having blown it, again, and having to promise yourself that tomorrow you’ll be better. Only tomorrow goes to shit too, and you end up repeating it all on a loop, over and over again until your self-worth feels crushed under the weight of so much failure.

I used to feel shame, real shame that I couldn’t seem to get a grip, but at the end of the day if your head isn’t in the zone, you might as well be trying to push water uphill.

As I was thinking about tonight’s post my thoughts turned to those people who fell off the New Year’s Diet wagon a couple of weeks into January because they lost a battle with one temptation or another, and threw in the towel instead of waking up the next day ready to step back into the ring and try again. I wonder how many of them have looked back since, and thought if only I’d kept going I could’ve been ten pounds lighter by now instead of back to square one and then some…

So I’m coming down on the side of keep going, even if you fail every day…what do you think? Maybe it’s more important to take the pressure off by learning to forgive yourself when you screw up instead of taking yourself out of the game altogether. I’m thinking about it in the context of being committed in the way you would be to a long term relationship, you know?

You don’t walk out at the first sign of trouble. Yes you might have some humdingers in terms of fall-outs but you forgive and move on. You learn tolerance, patience and most of all the hard work seems worth it when harmony is restored. When good times happen. Until the next time you have a wobble, but isn’t that just life?

Thing is, whilst some partnerships are just not meant to be, you and a happy healthy body are a marriage made in heaven so it should be worth every ounce of commitment you can muster, even when it’s bloody hard. You’re worth it.

Part of this journey for me is all about reaching acceptance that my Asshole voice isn’t going to disappear when I reach Skinny Town. I’ve got to keep my head in this zone for the long term, and just continue putting one foot in front of the other, one battle at a time.

No white flag here 🙂

I’m doing a trek to Cuba in October, to raise money in memory of my dad. You can read his story HERE and I would be so grateful if you’d help me honour his memory by donating whatever you can afford so together we can make a difference and help other people who have been affected by mental illness. Thank you!

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Did you watch the BAFTAs this week..? I love watching a red carpet awards event on TV, especially the Oscars…I keep the TV in my bedroom on low all night on Oscars night. I mean, I don’t stay up and watch it exactly, but every time I turn over in bed I just have a quick nosy to see who’s wearing what, and who’s winning all the gongs you know?

Given that I have a red carpet event of my own coming up in a couple of months albeit on a slightly smaller scale, I was particularly interested to see an article in the Daily Mail yesterday about how to get a body like a BAFTA winner. Splendid, I’m all over that.

Now, don’t get me wrong, much as I can’t wait to be skinny, there’s skinny and then there’s like toothpick skinny. I’m not aspiring to that look really, and in any event I suspect if I lost that much weight I’d look like I was wearing a flesh-coloured onesie. Years ago, when I’d lived on a liquid diet for months I looked a bit like a lollipop by the end, with a head that seemed too big for my body. I don’t want that…I just want to be normal.

So anyway, I was interested to see exactly what went into getting a BAFTA body, on the off chance that, you know, I could at least have a crack at it.

It seems Pilates is a big thing. I’ve just been looking it up, and it sounds very much like Callanetics. I think most of the diets I did in the 1980s were accompanied by me flexing one bit of my body or the other on a daily basis. Not exactly fat-burning, in fact it was more like the sloth exercise of choice but you know what, I do remember getting quite bendy.

Not like now…these days if I drop something on the floor I have to devise a three-point strategy to pick it up, not to mention the accompanying grunt. I appreciate that I’m twenty five years older than I was back in the day, but I wouldn’t mind giving Pilates a go at some point, I reckon that could be quite good. Do any of you dabble..?

One of the ladies walking the carpet seemingly did six hours a day of dancing and I’ve got to be honest that  suggestion got shelved before I’d even finished the sentence, along with the BAFTA-body habits of those people who exist on a diet of macro-biotic dust and other associated taste free morsels.

Not for me. I mean you only live once, right? In any event, much as I’d love a washboard stomach, I do appreciate that at fifty years old, never having had one I’m rather unlikely to get one at this stage. I’m happy to put the effort in but let’s keep it real. Besides, I don’t have a problem if I’m left with a bit of a belly…it’s having ten bellies that I fall out with.

I used to have one of those exercise belts, which promised the earth, working your muscles one twitch at a time by dispensing little electric shocks as you went about your day. I’m sure they’re hugely effective for those string beans who just need a little toning up and the blurb on the box definitely promised miracles.

The results were more disappointing than they might have otherwise been had I given any consideration at all to the context…carrying 140lbs on top of any abs that might be lurking somewhere way down deep presents something of a toning-up challenge to both man and machine.

Anyway, I reckon between the walking, the hurt machine and fierce attention to what I’m feeding my face with, I’ve pretty much got all bases covered. Plus, if all else fails, I know where to find Spanx… 🙂

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I watched a programme last night whilst I was strutting my stuff on the hurt machine, about a staffing agency which provides butlers to very well-to-do clients, and I was astonished by the job description. I mean I thought butlers were all about setting tables and shining shoes…these ones on the TV practically ran their boss’s lives. So anyway I’ve decided that’s why I’m fat…it’s because I don’t have a butler.

Just imagine how easy it would be to be skinny, if someone else was responsible for doing all the chasing around, leaving you to focus on, well just you. None of this running around like a lunatic first thing in the morning trying to get your shit together for the day ahead, finding and pointing something to take for lunch and grabbing breakfast on the fly, oh no.

If I had a butler he’d do all that for me. I could step out of bed, do my twenty minutes on the cross-trainer, take a shower and saunter downstairs, to a perfectly balanced breakfast, and with my perfectly prepared lunch ready and waiting. I’d come home at night to no chores, and a delicious pre-pointed dinner, with no clearing up to be done afterwards and an evening stretching endlessly ahead with nothing to do but make it all about me.

That week I had off work back at the beginning of January was awesome, because that’s literally what I did. I didn’t have to run around doing anything other than putting my own needs first. I slept plenty, cooked everything from scratch and ate well, walked loads with Charlie the dog and fed my soul by reading a couple of books and catching up with friends. It was easy to be me, that week, where most weeks it takes a bit more effort, you know?

This week is shaping up to be another busy one, and it’s hard isn’t it, to focus on yourself when so many different things pull on your time? I should really make more of an effort to get more sleep than I do, especially during the week..that would be a big step forward.

I’ve promised myself I’m going to do two things this week which are all about me. Firstly I’m going to try and get an appointment to see a physio about my knee…since I hurt it a couple of years ago it’s regularly given me hell, and when I walk a lot it seems to really irritate it. Bit worrying given I’ve committed to doing the trek, right? So I need to sort that out.

Secondly, I’m going to have a go at putting my face on every day…taking heed of what my friend said, about looking good on the outside making her feel good on the inside, I’m going to give it a whirl. I know it’s going to bug the shit out of me, but I’ll try it for a week and see how I go. There was a time when I wouldn’t set foot out of the house without my face on, but I’ve always found that the more chins I have, the less inclined I am to accentuate the good bits. There didn’t seem much point you know? But that’s wonky thinking, and as I inch my way out of this fat suit, I’m leaving that behind too.

Shame the coffers won’t stretch to a butler…I’m well up for an easy life. I guess I’ll have to keep right on buying those lottery tickets 🙂

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So I was mooching through the paper this morning when I saw yet another article about the way in which using BMI as a tool for measuring whether or not someone is at a healthy weight is losing popularity. To be honest I’ve never paid much heed to those numbers anyway – mine’s off the scale, so I’m not going to get hung up on the fact that whatever number it lands on tells me I’m fat…that’s hardly breaking news is it?

I mean, I have mirrors in my house, right? That’s all the proof I need isn’t it? I look in it, I can’t help noticing that I’m fat, job done. I certainly don’t need a boffin in a white coat and an algorithm to confirm it. For people who don’t have a mirror there are a host of other ways to confirm it. Such as.

If you can’t fit behind the wheel of your car and you’re not pregnant, you’re fat. If you can’t fasten the safety harness on a roller coaster, you’re fat (and you might want to think about getting off…just sayin’). If you walk into a clothes shop and walk out with a new scarf because it’s the only thing in their two thousand square feet that fits you, you’re fat. And If you book a camel-riding excursion on holiday in Tunisia and they have to weight the second passenger down with sandbags so you don’t end up underneath the camel, you’re fat.

There are enough clues, right? I’ve personally tested all of the above and confirm that they’re fairly accurate. I could provide more clues to look out for, if you’re still unsure. Thing is though, if you’re fat, you know you’re fat. You don’t need a number to  drive the point home.

And (oh God she’s off, up on the soapbox now) I think lots of fat kids could be shielded from unnecessary daggers to the heart if the powers that be took a pragmatic approach to childhood obesity in schools…I’ve seen more than one story in the newspapers where little Johnny’s mum has received a letter home basically saying your child is fat.

The story is usually illustrated by a photo of both little Johnny and his mum  looking sadly at the offending letter. And presumably, in order to confirm the diagnosis of fat, little Johnny has had to queue up in the way we used to have to queue up for the nit nurse, and get weighed. Which if you are bigger than the average bear would be traumatic in itself, right? The letter home calling you out as fat would just about finish you off.

I was a fat child. If you read my earliest posts, you’ll remember the way my teacher compared my weight to that of an adult pig, and forty five years later I can still taste the humiliation. I hate that there might be kids out there now feeling hurt and humiliated because somebody with a clipboard has decided their BMI says they are fat. Some of the little Johnny’s I’ve seen in the paper didn’t look fat to me, and labelling them as such could do way more harm than good.

So, if the trend is moving away from giving too much credence to BMI, I for one don’t think it’s a bad thing. Your eyes will give you all the info you need…just my humble opinion 🙂

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You know how I’m constantly looking around me to find pieces of inspiration here and there to keep me firmly on track? I came across a really great article the other day about the approach taken by Dave Brailsford who coached Team Sky to victory in the Tour De France twice, and of course the 2012 Olympic Games. I’ve put a link to the article on my interesting stuff page in case you’d like to read it.

His whole approach is based on the aggregation of marginal gains. Which sounded a bit technical to me at first but when you get under the skin of it, you think yes, of course. That makes perfect sense – it wasn’t just about the cycling, it was about everything around the cycling too.

Things like training, nutrition and equipment are a given in terms of athletes who are head-down serious about achieving a goal. But they’re also surrounded by lots of other little things which also have an impact. He got them to focus on those little things, like travelling with the pillow which gave them the best night’s sleep, finding the massage gel which was the most effective for them, and so on.

By looking at all the little things and making improvements, together with the more obvious things, they were unstoppable. And I kind of like that idea. So I got to thinking about what my little things might be. I mean, the obvious things are a work in progress you know?

I’ve got the food plan down, and whilst it can be a little bit flaky, my exercise regime is coming along nicely too. I’m uber confident that by October I’ll pull it out of the bag in Cuba. And I’m slowly unpicking all the spaghetti in my head. So what little things can I zone in on to support me in delivering the big things?

I’m thinking stop guessing what fifteen ounces of peanut butter looks like. I mean, it doesn’t sound very much so I assumed maybe a teaspoon full…fifteen ounces is three smart points. I’ve been counting the peanut butter I spread on my apple as three points but what if it weighs as heavy as lead? It might not be three points at all…whoops.

I could park at the opposite end of the car park at work, so I’m forced to walk further instead of choosing a parking space within spitting distance of the door, as I’ve done since I started working there. Those extra steps would all add up, right?

I was chatting to my friend about this yesterday and she swears that applying full make-up every day keeps her away from cake. I struggled to make the connection at first but she was adamant that looking good on the outside helped her feel good on the inside, and feeling good about herself is her silver bullet. When she feels good she finds it easier to say no to naughty stuff. I hate the feeling of having anything on my face but if it has that effect I’ll slap it on like a drag queen. Definitely worth a try.

I’m curious…what are yours? I think this is one of those things where we can definitely chuck a few ideas around and pick out the ones we like the sound of…what do you think..?

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