Hand on heart, I can honestly say that one of the most satisfying things in the world for me where our blog is concerned, is when I get a thought on one of the posts or a message from someone who’s using the stuff we chatter about to help them work through their own demons. I’ve struggled with yo-yo dieting for so many years, but since I started writing my thoughts down and working through them with you lot I’ve had more light bulb moments than I can count, and it’s awesome to know that you guys pick up on stuff that can help you too.

So, you can blame our very own Fleury Knox for this one…Fleury once mentioned she was a dab hand at patchwork, and she’s been busy stitching together some of the themes across a handful of different posts. In doing so, I think she’s unlocked another bit of the enigma. Probably one of the more important ones too, at least for me. I’ve talked a lot about sliding up and down the scale in a continual loop, but Fleury sent me an email this week which pretty much stopped me in my tracks.

There were a lot of nuggets in there to be fair, but the one that resonated the most with me was around what happens when you actually get to Skinny Town. Take me for example. Once my head’s in the right place and I’ve got the bit between my teeth, I can lose weight. I’m there now, doing it, and I’m grateful…a long way to go yet, probably at least another 12 months but I’m motoring.

It’s a buzz, you know? People are starting to notice. I’m starting to be able to wear different clothes, and I no longer feel like my chins are trying to swallow my head when I lay down. The fact that I can walk more, and wrestle on a daily basis with the cross-trainer even with my still super-sized arse makes my blood pump harder and my adrenaline flow…it’s exciting. The compliments, the encouragement, and the attention is exhilarating, even more so if I remember rightly as you near the finish line and you start to flirt with your elusive goal weight.

But what about when you’ve settled into Skinny Town, and the fanfare dies down. What then? When the reality sinks in that if you want to stay there, you’ve got to dine on dust for the rest of your life, otherwise your muffin top will gradually re-emerge from the top of your pants and you’ll have a one way ticket back to square one. I’ve been there. Many times. People stop noticing, or commenting…your achievement is still monumental, but it’s so yesterday…the world has moved on.

Fleury said “My only insight as a teen at Weight Watchers meetings was that we were there in the cheap seats, the fat people; somewhere beyond, outside of that purgatory were the Elect. Referred to mysteriously as Maintenance.”  I’ve got to tell you that made me laugh out loud, because I’ve been there too, watching those skinny string beans who get more points than you sashay around the meetings in their kitten heels, with their collar bones on show and looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream skimmed milk 🙂

I’ve been at goal weight for ten minutes, a couple of times in my life but with the exception of one time where a crush on Mr Muscle kept me skinny for almost a year, I’ve never been allowed near the maintenance corner because as soon as I hit goal, the diet is toast.

One thing I know to be true, is that it takes your head longer to get used to Skinny Town than your body, which in my experience is only too happy to jump headlong into new clothes and start snapping selfies 24/7. So, for all of you who read the blog who’ve already arrived and happen to be waiting for the rest of us in Skinny Town, firstly congratulations on getting there, you look virtually amazing…but what’s your plan?

What’s your plan to help you stay there? As Fleury points out, we’re all going to need one…for me it’s a way away yet, but hey this time I’m not going to be caught with my pants down, right?

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So I’ve just been getting all my stuff together ready to go back to work tomorrow, and whilst I’m excited to see everyone and throw myself headlong back into the madness, there’s a part of me that’s secretly gutted to be climbing back onto the hamster wheel. It’s been amazing to have some down-time at home with only myself to please. I’ve become very good at making it all about me.

Hands up who hears the words take care a hundred times a day..? I do, and actually I use them a lot too. When I’m ending a phone call, or saying goodbye to someone, they tend to pop out of my mouth in a have a nice day kind of way. Nobody’s ever called me on it you know? Take care of what?  Well, er…yourself. In what way..? Um…don’t fall down a hole..? I dunno.

It’s wallpaper, right? An expression used so often that we hardly notice it, and we certainly don’t think of it as advice. It just doesn’t land in that way…shame really, because as advice goes, it’s pretty solid.

I was doing fine before my time off…my food plan was working, I was happy making good choices and felt really bedded in to this journey. Focusing on myself this week though has definitely made me feel like I’ve kicked it up a notch you know? I’ve raised the bar on what good looks like, and I’ve been taking care of me. I wonder what that looks like though once I’m back in my real life, where I’m more limited in the amount of time I have to focus on myself.

So I’m usually at least nine hours in the office each day with a one hour commute either side – that keeps the wolf from the door, and pays the bills. I usually need around six or seven hours sleep at night and then there’s family stuff, friends stuff, house stuff, blog stuff…well. If the Asshole voice could be bothered he’d bang the no time for exercise drum, but he seems to be relatively mute at the moment.

Let’s just wait and see…not finding time isn’t really an option given my pending appointment with the mountain, so for the first time in my life I’m turning my back on the excuse, not the hard yards…who’d have thought it mm? Seriously, I don’t know how I’m going to fit it all, but I will. On the upside I’m not going to have time to fantasise about hob-nobs 🙂

I always said when I hit fifty I’d consider that I’d earned the stripes which allowed me to do what the chuff I wanted, when I wanted and in the way I wanted. Somehow, in my head I always envisaged that would play out by me taking a nosedive into eccentricity and withdrawing the shit I once gave about sensible stuff. Had you told me I’d be favouring healthy eating and exercise I’d have written you off as a nutter, and if you’d so much as hinted at the possibility of me trekking over mountains in some exotic land I’d have signed your funny farm papers personally.

Strange how stuff turns out isn’t it?

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I’m having something of an epiphany this week, with this whole exercise thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still as far from using the word enjoy in relation to anything that leaves me out of breath and hurting as I ever was. I don’t see that changing any time soon either, to be frank the only bit I enjoy about exercise is when it’s over.

That said, when I was looking back at the week yesterday and totting up what I’d done altogether in terms of activity, I was almost knocked over by a massive wave of…I don’t know what I’d call it. Self-satisfaction..? Pride, achievement…whatever label I put on it, it felt awesome.

It’s a familiar mantra isn’t it, that diet and exercise go together hand in hand, and that one isn’t as effective without the other. More than that, it’s not even a myth perpetuated by skinny string beans with their cucumber water and painted on yoga pants – everyone agrees. Even me…I just didn’t understand why. And I’m not claiming to have made the leap from zero to hero overnight, but the penny has started to drop and another piece of the jigsaw is falling into place.

I always assumed that the reason diet and exercise were so closely linked was because exercising burns calories and speeds up metabolism, and therefore weight loss. And helps to tone up as you go along. And of course that’s true, it does all of those things. What I hadn’t really thought about, was the psychological edge that exercise gives you.

How can I describe it to you in fat-girl words..? Yesterday, I was faced with the reality of what I can do, rather than what I can’t. Presented with the sum total of my investment into me over the course of one week, I felt unstoppable, you know? It’s like I’ve been handed a massive tube of superglue, which if applied liberally, will keep my feet bang in the middle of this sweet spot.

I know I’ve talked before about the fact that with almost five months’ worth of dieting under my belt in this journey to Skinny Town, I’m invested…I have a lot of skin in the game, and that momentum is one of the biggest reasons I’ve managed to stay in the sweet spot. Every good food choice, every battle with the Asshole voice…it’s all been an investment into me, and what I’m trying to achieve.

Last week I also invested time on the hurt machine and more than twenty miles of walking towards my end goal. And knowing I can do that has made my head feel stronger, as well as my body. The next time the Asshole voice tries to undermine me by telling me I can’t do something, I’ve got a bigger stockpile of reasons why he can just fuck right off.

When you boil it down, it’s pretty obvious, right? The more you invest, the bigger your stake, and the more the outcome matters. And the more it matters, the harder you’ll try. It’s important to me to watch my investment grow, so if I have a wobble I can look at it and the answer will be staring me right between the eyes…look at what I’ve put in so far. Is it worth spoiling for one moment?

The answer will always be NO.

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