I was so sad to hear of the passing of Henry Worsley, the explorer who died trying to fulfil his dream of becoming the first man to cross Antarctica completely alone and without any back-up. I’ve never really understood the drive and determination that would lead someone to want to do something like that but then I suppose in the round I’ve lived a fairly safe and lazy life, so it’s not a mindset within my frame of reference at all. May you rest in peace, Sir.

I was lucky enough to attend a lecture a couple of years ago at the Royal Institution by Sir Ranulph Feinnes, who was there to talk about leading through adversity. I was captivated and horrified at the same time, and it seemed a bit incongruous being there from a business perspective.

I was looking for a key to unlock the discretionary effort in a team who didn’t really like me that much, in fact didn’t particularly seem to enjoy being at work. He was talking about leading a team of starving men across the North Pole when pretty much everyone’s fingers and toes were dropping off with frostbite. I felt a bit foolish trying to draw parallels between the two.

Now obviously I’m not comparing myself to the great man himself, and I’m not saying that I’ve had an epiphany, but over the last month or so, certainly since I registered for the Cuba trek there have definitely been occasions where I’ve had to make my body keep going despite my head shrieking instructions to the contrary. Thing is, despite my unfailing optimism even I know that this Cuba trek isn’t going to be a walk in the park.

If all goes according to plan I’ll be about 70lbs lighter by the time we head out, and it’s a good job because nobody in their right mind would drag this arse up a mountain. It’s 90km altogether, some of it uphill, in a rainforest. All the blurb I’ve seen about it calls out the amazing views when you get to the top, although I’ll probably be hooked up to an oxygen tank by the time we get that far so I might miss it.

I keep asking myself whether I’m really up for it, and for the first time in living memory I’m answering yes to something I know is going to hurt. What’s that all about? Maybe you grow a pair when you hit fifty?

I’m guessing flip flips won’t be deemed suitable footwear, and my fat feet don’t respond well to being stuffed into boots, unless they say ‘UGG’ on the back and cradle my toes gently in sheepskin. So, sore feet is a given. I’ve got a dodgy knee and a back which takes no persuading to give me hell. We’ll be trekking at altitude – no shit Sherlock, it’s a chuffing mountain range – and I have the kind of lung capacity that a gnat would be embarrassed to own up to, so all in all it’s going to be tough.

But you know, in between the agony there’s going to be high points. I’m looking forward to those. The opportunity to see and experience things that would have been impossible for a mobility-challenged fat lass is one I never thought I’d be given, so if I need to work my newly acquired balls off to make it to the finish line, well that’s what I’ll do.

It’s about fixing your sights on the end goal, and pushing the hell through. I can do that 🙂

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I remember when I started writing the BOTSG blog, I hoped it might be a creative outlet for my thoughts and feelings as I tried to find my way out of this fat suit. I don’t think I ever imagined that it would turn into what it has, I mean who could have, really? I had hoped to pick up a bit of company, but I’m amazed at how we all sort of found each other and now it feels like we’re in it together. That’s way beyond what I ever expected.

My intention was to write a little every day, be honest and accountable, and really invest in my journey in a way I never had before. I thought it’d be nice to have something to look back at, you know like a map charting my progress with a little reflection thrown in where I’d encountered bumps in the road. The number of insights that we’ve unlocked has taken me a little by surprise, but each and every one has been another drop of glue to keep me anchored to this sweet spot.

What I totally didn’t expect, was how addictive this process would become. I mean you all know me well enough by now to know that I am so predisposed to addiction it’s unreal. Food addiction is a given, and fortunately I’m in recovery. I’m 161 days into food sobriety, and I’m hoping to be in recovery for ever. Booze hasn’t ever been my thing, and I’ve never dabbled in drugs – fuck a duck, can you even imagine the trouble that would have gotten me into.

Some would say that I’m addicted to wedding cake given that I’ve acquired and despatched three husbands along the way…thanks the good Lord I’m in recovery from dodgy blokes too, to the collective relief of my friends, who couldn’t cope with any more drama in that department.

But this…this is addictive, and like any addiction I need to be aware that it has the potential to get in the way of me living my life if I allow the balance to tip too far. If we think about how addiction is defined – compulsive engagement in rewarding stimuli, that pretty much describes me and my love affair with this little corner of our virtual world.

I can’t leave it alone! And I just need to keep an eye on myself – lets take yesterday as an example. Yesterday was the day I was going to have a big wardrobe clear out. I’d planned to do it, I was looking forward to doing it but in the end it didn’t happen. By the time I’d taken care of my mum, done the weekly food shop, walked the dog, cooked a meal, caught up on a little bit of work and done various bits of laundry, I sort of ran out of day.

Thing is, I could probably have made more time if I hadn’t been dipping in and out of here every ten minutes 🙂 I’m too curious and I love it so much…if I get a thought left on a thread under one of my posts, I have to stop everything, read it and reply to it. I’m constantly thinking about posts and things I might write about. I put myself under a ton of pressure to write every single day, because even though logic tells me you’d be forgiving if I was just too busy, I can’t let go that need to write and connect.

That’s addiction, right? It’s so typical of me…I don’t just want to write a blog, I want to write the best blog, no matter how much pressure I have to put myself under to do it. It’s ridiculous, and I promise I’m not arrogant enough to imagine that you all sit with bated breath just waiting for your skinny mail to drop in, but in my head I won’t cut myself any slack at all, on the off-chance that somebody, somewhere is waiting for today’s words.

Unlike most addictions though, what I get in return is priceless. I love the feedback, the interaction, and the notes and emails I get from you guys. I love the way we discover stuff together and how I’m as invested in all of your journeys as I am in my own. I love that. And it’s probably the only corner of my life where I’m not reluctant to ask for help. How amazing is that? Elsewhere, I don’t do being vulnerable and yet in here, it’s okay. It’s safe, you know?

I admit it…I’m a BOTSG addict, but you know what, that’s actually okay! 🙂 🙂 🙂

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When I was a little girl, I was really good at evaluating the worth of stuff, you know? Like if someone offered to swap me two gobstoppers for a sherbet dip (totally worth it), or open negotiations on swapping their David Cassidy single plus two posters of Donny Osmond for my Bay City Rollers limited edition blue 45 (not a chance) I’d very carefully weigh up my options and either seal the deal, or tell them where to get off. The words nah, not worth it accompanied by a determined shake of the head made a regular appearance in my vocabulary back in the day.

Somewhere along the line I seem to have stalled, maybe because swapsies are something you sort of grow out of when you leave your childhood behind. Having said that, tipping out the contents of my head on a regular basis so we can all pick through the chaos and put it back together in some semblance of order seems to be giving the concept of worth something of a renaissance in my mind.

As I continue on this journey to Skinny Town I’m going to make a real effort to ask myself the question is it worth it? on a far more regular basis than I have done up to press. It can’t hurt, and I suspect that it will flush out more than a few scenarios where answering my own question with NO! will open up some better options you know? And not just where the diet is concerned.

I can think of loads of examples. Let’s imagine I’m twenty minutes in to the new detective drama that everyone’s raving about, and I’m bored out of my skull. Is it worth investing another forty minutes of my time to find out whodunnit? I’m thinking no. Yet nine times out of ten I’d probably stick it out in the hope that it might get better. And most of the time, it won’t. My time is precious, so it’s not worth it.

Eating something that doesn’t live up to expectations..? Not worth it. I should keep the points in the bank and spend them on something that is. Some item of clothing that’s meh, you know I bought it because it fit, not because I loved it? Now I’m down three sizes, my options in terms of where I can shop are opening up a bit. It needs to go on the bye bye pile…it’s not worth the wardrobe space.

I’ve talked before about spending – or bending – my food budget and I’m getting used to making those decisions. They’re still work in progress you know? I’m ravenous now, because way way back in this day, eating two mini Crunchies seemed a fair trade for today’s remaining points. Now, a few hours later with my insides gurgling like a blocked up sink I realise they probably weren’t  worth it because I could literally  eat a scabby donkey and I’ve got no points left to spend.

Bugger. It can’t be more than a few days since I did exactly the same thing, and that didn’t end well either. This makes me an idiot. But practice makes perfect, right? Or not. But I’ll keep plugging away. And maybe I’ll stop buying Crunchies.

It was the post about having a good wardrobe clear out, and of course the thoughts that y’all chipped in afterwards that made me think about this some more. So I’ve decided, whilst I’m at it, I should spring clean everything. I should surround myself only with things that are worth it. Cut loose all the things that don’t make me happy. Stop wasting time on things I don’t enjoy. Well, within reason…I don’t enjoy the hurt machine, but that’s definitely worth it. I’m up to twenty minutes, twice a day so that bitch in the bathroom better show me some respect next time I step on.

And yes, I know, it’s not always easy to cut loose all the crap. But getting rid of some of it is a good place to start. I’m on it 🙂

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I had a business meeting a long way from home this week, and since I was travelling there and back in a day I decided to go on the train. The meeting went well, all except for the Ben & Jerry’s vending machine which randomly stood right outside the room we were using. It was almost as though someone had put it there to torture me.

I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that my head spent at least half the time out in the corridor mentally choosing which flavour I’d dive into first, given half the chance. Clearly there are some bloody tough meetings that go on in that room if they need to keep emergency ice-cream on hand…thankfully I managed to resist, despite the Asshole voice giving it his best shot.

Anyway, as I waited for my train home I bought lunch from the coffee shop on the platform. The lady in front of me in the queue had an armful of stuff, and made a big deal of pointing out to the lady who served her that not all of it was for her. I don’t know why, but I knew right in that moment that actually, it was.

As sure as eggs is eggs. She sat across from me in the same carriage, a little way down the aisle, and over the course of the two hour journey she worked her way through three packs of sandwiches, four bags of crisps and several bars of chocolate. I tried hard not to watch you know? It was none of my business but if I’m honest, I was a bit choked.

I was her, only a few months ago, and it really got to me.

There’s a certain methodology when you binge, that I recognised. Watching her felt familiar, but horrifying. Passing comment when she bought the food, about it not all being for her, well I’ve done that a hundred times and that’s how I knew.

Haha no, of course not all for me! I’ll take a couple of each flavour, I’m not sure which they’d prefer…I’ll take a selection then they can choose. This should keep them quiet for a while….me, I could have been on the stage.

She positioned the bag out of sight, under her coat on the seat beside her. She never had more than one sandwich wrapper in front of her at any one time, empty packets were quickly tucked out of sight, and every time she pulled another thing out of the bag she did a quick recce first to see if anyone was watching. Her body language made her look as guilty as sin, furtive and uncomfortable. She didn’t look as though she was enjoying what she was eating, and yes, she was very fat.

Please understand I wasn’t judging her, in fact nothing could be further from the truth. I felt sadness, and empathy and every bit of me wanted to reach out to her.  But…well, you just can’t, can you? I can imagine the reaction it would have provoked in me, if some random stranger had stuck their sticky beak in and dared to address how much I just ate. Rage, humiliation, shame and undoubtedly a desire to rip their head off.

Quite apart from risking a smack in the chops, I had no right to intrude on a moment where she was probably feeling shit about herself anyway, if she was thinking, or feeling anything at all. Not my business. But, I cared, even if I couldn’t tell her.

I wanted to tell her all about the sweet spot, and the asshole, and the posse, and the chatter. I wanted to include her in the laughing and the relating, and the supporting. I wanted her to have what we all have. And it just made me think, how lucky am I, to have this safe place where you all understand, and even though we’re all working through our own issues, and yours might be different to mine it feels like we’re in it together you know?

I wish I could have told her ?

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You don’t get to fifty without having been around the block a time or two, and over the years I’ve seen a few things which have made my toes curl but if anyone had told me that this evening I’d be watching some bloke pouring coffee up his bum with a tube before doing yoga on his bathroom floor I might have chosen not to believe you, I mean WTF?

Perhaps I should point out that this was on the TV, in case you’re already shaking your head in wonder at the company I keep. It was a programme about dieting, and the bloke in question was waxing lyrical about how having a coffee enema was a brilliant way to take your mind off food cravings. You think? I should imagine it would pretty much take your mind off anything other than keeping your purse closed, if you’ll forgive the expression.

I was intrigued when I saw the programme advertised, especially given my recent brush with the binge demons, and after all is said and done I’ve sampled a fine selection of weird and wonderful diets over the years but I’m here to tell you I won ‘t be rushing down to Home Depot for a length of tube and a funnel anytime soon…I’d rather let the craving get me and eat the chuffing hobnob.

I appreciate it’s a bit at odds with the label ‘will eat anything’ but I’m a bit picky about what I put in my body, before we even get started on which orifice I put it in…someone asked me the other day whether I used any diet supplements, you know like the pills you can take to block the absorption of some fats? I don’t, although I have looked at them in the pharmacy whilst I’ve been shopping for other stuff. From what I’ve read they come with a side order of stomach cramps and emergency bathroom runs and I don’t really need that kind of drama in my life.

I’ve never tried anything like that, I’m a bit wary of screwing with my operating system. My body’s pretty knackered from years of food abuse but generally the plumbing sort of works. I’m a bit reluctant to try and fool it into doing stuff differently, on the basis that if it ain’t broke why fix it, you know?

I was all geared up a couple of years ago to try the master cleanse diet, the one where you drink nothing other than water and lemon with maple syrup and cayenne pepper. It seemed harmless enough and I figured that if it was good enough for Beyonce it was good enough for me. I might have stuck to it too if the first mouthful hadn’t gone down the wrong hole and nearly killed me, I think my eyes cried cayenne pepper for a week.

Anyway it turns out that this coffee enema thing is an actual thing, and not just the practise of some random weirdo found by Channel Four looking for his fifteen minutes of fame…who knew? I even found a cartoon about it (although you don’t even want to know what google images brought up when I typed the word ‘enema’!)

Think I’ll stick to Weight Watchers if it’s all the same to you, although note to self;  check menu closely on next visit to Starbucks 🙂

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