Category Archives: In the here & now

Yesterday, I Earned My Tired

In the here & now, , ,

image

I couldn’t help reflecting last night, right around the time I fell into bed, totally wiped out from a very busy day, that yesterday I had earned the right to feel tired. And somehow, it felt like a good kind of tired, you know? I’d worked hard for that feeling.

Not too long ago, Sundays were all about being lazy. Chilling out, I used to call it. Which is kind of fat-girl speak for doing sweet sod all. In my fat-bubble, I’d lay in bed until late morning, cuddled up to Charlie-dog and reading the paper on-line, or maybe burning a couple of hours mooching my favourite handbag websites

First stop when I finally hauled my ass out of bed would be breakfast, closely followed by lunch because look, the little hand was nudging twelve so you know, it was lunchtime. God forbid I might miss a meal. My mum usually spends the day with me on Sundays, and after I’d collected her we’d usually go do a bit of food shopping before hitting the sofa for an afternoon of TV and chatter. All washed down with tea and hobnobs of course.

Then I’d cook something, and maybe have a quick snooze before taking mum home and returning to my big fat leather armchair for the rest of the evening. More often than not, as I hit the recline button I’d have the brass neck to declare how knackered I was, and how another Sunday had gone far too quickly.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment things changed, in fact if I think about it I’m not sure there was ever any kind of Big Bang…it’s been more of a gradual thing, but let’s take yesterday as an example. I was out of the house by eight in the morning, with Charlie in tow…we covered about four and a half miles before I dropped him off at home and then drove down to the Kingdom of Pain.

I did two one-hour classes back-to-back…circuit training followed by boxing. Yeah, I’d raise an eyebrow too if I was reading this. What was I thinking?  Well maybe it’s easier to share what I wasn’t thinking, you know? I wasn’t looking for excuses not to do it.

I’d booked the double class because work commitments on Friday meant I couldn’t work out, so I wanted to make up the session I missed. And I knew I was going to be busy with mum in the afternoon, which means Charlie would’ve missed out on his walk so I got up early to make sure we could fit it in. I didn’t try and negotiate any short-cuts with myself, because I enjoyed it.

The same can’t be said for the double helping of torture mind you…I didn’t enjoy that much. At all, in fact. But I didn’t try and negotiate my way out of it either. Mainly because God of Pain would’ve nailed me to the wall if I’d even thought about it, but also because even though I knew it’d be tough, I knew I could do it because you know what, I’m starting to think I might be tough…far tougher than I ever thought I was.

Fact is, I no longer harbour the belief that I can’t do it, because what I’ve come to realise is that no matter how much it’s going to hurt in the moment, I’ll come out of the other side with a sense of accomplishment. Those sore muscles and tired limbs are a kind of badge of honour, which serve to let me know that I’m one degree stronger than I was before, right?

When the actual fuck did that happen? That’s a monumental shift in attitude which has kind of sneaked up and said BOO…I hardly recognise myself.

I’ll take it though ?

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The Drawback Of Being A Mathematical Genius

In the here & now, , , ,

dog

So, last weekend Charlie dog was booked into the puppy scrub for a bath and haircut. He goes out with his dog-walker and a gang of pups every day whilst I’m at work, including his bezzie mates Dave the Labrador and Kevin the Vizsla, and he’s a regular little mud-magnet. I swear down he could find a muddy puddle in the middle of the desert, you know? His favourite thing is to lower himself down into a patch of mud, whilst maintaining eye contact as if to say I know this drives you bat-shit crazy but I like the way it feels so I’m gonna do it anyway…I tend to keep his coat really short for that very reason, it’s just easier to keep him clean. So he has more cut and blow dries than I do, if we’re keeping count.

I dropped him off with a promise to return a couple of hours later, and the thought struck me that seeing it was such a pretty day, maybe it would be nice to leave the car at home when I went to collect him, so we could both enjoy the walk home. I clocked the mileage and it was a little over four miles – perfect, I could manage that…I had a plan.

Except, it was a blonde plan, right? Genius here in the stupid corner only realised three quarters of the way back to pick him up, on foot, that whilst Charlie’s walk would indeed be just over four miles, mine wouldn’t. Mine would be eight miles and then some. I’m so embarrassed even saying that out loud, I mean seriously? 

As soon as the penny dropped I felt like dropping to my knees and indulging myself with a full-blown tony bear tantrum, but in the end, what was the point? If I’d turned around I’d have walked six miles by the time I got home and then I would’ve had to walk the dog after I collected him anyway, so I didn’t have much choice other than to to suck it up and keep walking. My boy was at work, so there was nobody I could call and beg for help, and in any event I’m not sure I was ready to admit that I’d totally lost the plot. So on I trundled, muttering bad words under my breath with every step.

I’d been enjoying the walk up until that point. Once I realised that I’d done about three miles, with just over another mile to go before I was reunited with the pooch and then I had to do it all again in reverse, all of a sudden it stopped looking like fun. And for the next mile I felt like I was wearing lead boots, you know? I didn’t think I could do it, I’ve never even come close to walking that far before.

The Asshole voice immediately started chipping away at my head, obsessing over the fact that I was going to get blisters and insisted on doing a pain review every five minutes. He was also on high alert for any sign of protest from my dodgy knee…if the Asshole voice was to be believed, I was going to start falling apart very soon. Seemingly, fat old ladies have no right to believe they are capable of walking that far and it was bound to end in tears.

In case you’re wondering, eight miles and change equates to sixteen thousand seven hundred and twenty two steps. And it turns out that this fat old lady is more than capable of walking that far. Once I was a mile or so in to the return leg, following one very happy dog, I started to relax and give myself up to the rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other. That was probably around the time that I also started to believe that I could probably do it after all. And once that happened, even with tired legs I enjoyed it.

My anxiety slowly turned to glee as I mentally calculated how many exercise points I was accumulating. I passed the time by imagining bits of my arse melting away with every step. By the time we reached home, I felt euphoric. And once again I was forced to acknowledge the link between self belief and capability. That’s important. And it goes right back to one of my favourite quotes ever…

“If you believe you can, or you believe you can’t, you’re right.”

I know I’ve mentioned it before but honestly, never a truer word was spoken 🙂

 

 

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That’s Just What Muscles DO

In the here & now, , ,

vest

One of the things that I’ve come to value the most about this journey that I’m on, is the discipline I’ve developed around pulling out learning from situations that happen around me. I’ve never been very good at seeing what’s happening right under my own nose – people I hang around with have been known to go on holiday, then come back and fill me in on what’s been going on whilst they were away. I get very absorbed in my own carry-on, maybe a little too much sometimes, you know? I’m fascinated by people, but only when I remember to look.

It’s two weeks now since I first stepped foot into the Kingdom of Pain, and apart from all the hurting, some good things have happened. I’ve got to admit, I rocked up with huge trepidation last night, for two reasons. Firstly I’d booked myself into a session at 6.30am, but written it down in my calendar as 6.30pm. At 6.30am I was still tucked up in bed snoring my head off…whoops.

God of Pain texted me enquiring as to my whereabouts…oh shit. Hello bad-books, here I am… rumour has it that bad things happen to folk who don’t show up. I apologised of course, and immediately re-booked myself onto the actual evening session, but when I realised it was the same class I’d done on my very first visit, my heart sank even further. Yes, it was that one…the one that nearly killed me. I hadn’t repeated it since that first time, so I had two reasons to be scared as I pulled my lycra pants on last night.

Closely followed, it has to be said, by two reasons to be relieved. First of all, I wasn’t flogged, or bawled out, I didn’t even get the stare. Perhaps he’s more forgiving, when it’s the first time..? There won’t be a second, I’ll make sure of that. And you know what else I worried about for nothing? Last night, I kept up.

Two weeks ago, all the getting down and getting up again left me wrung out ’till I couldn’t get my breath. My knees barely survived the experience and some of the exercises were beyond me. Now don’t get me wrong, by the time we’d finished last night I was wringing wet through and tired, but I did it. I did it all. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t elegant and I still have a hall pass on assorted body parts being allowed to touch the floor where other folk have to keep theirs suspended in mid-air, but in my own little corner, I kept up.

I am genuinely astonished at how far I’ve come in the last two weeks. I could never have imagined that my body would respond in the way that it has. But do you know what I’ve learned, in the course of pushing myself? I don’t need to be scared of things hurting a little bit, in the moment. People who are really really fit hurt too. Who knew? My muscles don’t scream when I push them because I’m fat…my muscles scream because that’s what muscles do when you make them work hard.

This particular lightbulb switched on for me a few days ago when I found myself  doing my own wonky version of a plank next to one of the uber-fit skinny string beans. Towards the end of the minute, long after my arse had migrated north in a desperate attempt to end the agony, she remained firmly in her plank, even though her whole body was trembling like she had her own personal earthquake going directly underneath the yoga mat. She was hurting, just like I was, even though my plank was a bit on the pathetic and short-lived side in comparison to hers.

Somehow, I’d always imagined that demanding these things of my body hurt me far more than people who were fit. And that pissed me off. I felt aggrieved, like it wasn’t fair. I imagined that once you were skinny and fit, it was easy to stay that way because sore muscles would be a thing of the past…working out would be a doddle if you only had one arse inside your yoga pants, right?

That’s bollocks. I totally get it now…you work out, you hurt for a bit and then you reap the benefits afterwards when you feel more flexible, or stronger, or fitter. It doesn’t matter how fit you are, working out hurts, in the moment. It’s supposed to. It sort of means you’re doing it right.

It’s probably one of the biggest light-bulb moments of my journey so far. The second I realised that actually everybody hurts, I stopped feeling like nobody understood how hard it was for me because I’m fat. For the very first time ever I totally embraced the fact that I’m just one of them. Hurting right alongside them in pursuit of the life I want to live. Just like they are.

It’s a fucking revelation 🙂

 

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Getting The Upper Hand

In the here & now, , , ,

battle of wills

I should tell you about what happened on Friday evening…there was a monumental battle of wills between me and the Asshole voice, who was demanding chicken chow mien and prawn toast from the Chinese takeaway.

It’d definitely been a game of two halves on Friday where my eating was concerned – someone brought donuts into the office, and I’m not just talking about regular donuts, I mean these were seriously impressive donuts. I’m not a massive donut fan under normal circumstances but one look in the box and I was a convert…my fat-girl food radar went off the scale. I’d been all over my food choices up to that point, eating fruit mid-morning followed by quite a light lunch, so by the mid-afternoon snack stop there was a fairly respectable amount of food budget left to go after.

However, much as I fancied one of those bad boys, I had no way of pointing them and I worried that my best guess might be way under…they were big and sticky and chocolatey, and the only safe way to indulge would’ve been to sacrifice the next three years’ worth of points, you know? I decided they just weren’t worth it.

So instead, I opened a packet of biscuits that someone from the trading team had brought into the office, because they were only six points each. I say only six points, that’s about one sixth of my daily food budget. It’s high, for a biscuit, but I rationalised it to myself in the same way I do when I spot a handbag I can’t afford in the sales, you know? But it’s only this much, really I’m saving on what it would’ve cost me at full price, look it’s a bargain…compared to the donuts, they were a bargain.

The thing is, once I’d got the taste for them I couldn’t leave the damned things alone. I ate four, one after the other in that way where even as I was eating one I was thinking about unwrapping the next. They got me. Which didn’t leave me with a whole lot of options come suppertime.

When I got in from work, I had a poke about in the fridge and decided that my best option for dinner would be a bunch of grapes…right then. Awesome. My own fault, but I’d kind of squared it away with myself, and I was resigned to having an early night to compensate for having too much day left at the end of my points.

I wish I could’ve captured the next couple of hours on a time-lapse video to show you…it sort of went something like this:

Me, around 8pm, peckish because of a mis-spent points day with nothing left in the coffers, and not feeling the grapes at all. Boy walks in with chips and Chinese curry sauce. Smell pervades house. Boy eats up, then goes out. Smell lingers. Forced out of chair by onset of starvation to check discarded wrappers for stray chips. Find none. Need chips. Sit back down in chair, mentally run through Chinese takeaway menu, and fantasise.

Decide on chicken chow mien and prawn toast. Get out of chair and put shoes on, to go order. Take shoes off again and sit back down. Watch TV but see nothing. Prawntoastprawntoastprawntoast. Get back up and walk three times round kitchen, whilst pondering how many times around it would take to earn enough points for chicken chow mien and prawn toast. Remember exercise points are now off limits. Sit back down and sulk for five minutes.

Go back through takeaway menu in my head to find low point alternative. Don’t find one. Chicken chow mien and prawn toast it is then. No, it isn’t. Yes it is… NO! IT’S NOT.

Go back into kitchen and systematically examine contents of every cupboard looking for filling tasty alternative, containing no points. Epic fail, no such thing exists. Bite the corner off a dry Ryvita. Spit it out again. Put shoes back on and grab purse. Dog gets excited and thinks we’re going out. Dog looks confused then pissed off as shoes come off again….rinse, and repeat. 

I went to bed in the end, at about half past nine, still chuntering to myself but without a morsel of chow mien or prawn toast having passing my lips. It was a close-run battle, but you know what…the craving eventually passed as they always do.

In the moment, it feels impossible, but cravings always pass, if I can just bite down and hold the line. I woke up the next day ready to grab my food plan by the balls, and I was in control all day without a peep out of the asshole voice…just goes to show, right?

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Stepping Off The Hot Mess Express

In the here & now, ,

losing weightI wore a linen dress to work on Friday. Yep, you heard that right… Me! In a frock!!

I guess in order to understand how huge that is, (not the dress, which to be fair was pretty cavernous, but I mean huge in terms of the fact that I wore it in the first place) I probably need to explain that since I started working there a couple of years ago, nobody’s ever seen me in anything other than stretchy black pinstripe pants teamed with a wide selection of loose-fitting tops. Walking through the door in a dress felt all kinds of weird, but I’ve got to say everyone was full of compliments. Well, once they’d picked their chin up off the floor that is 🙂

So, that’s something else I can add to my growing list of firsts…it ranks right up there with discovering I could cross my legs again, and being able to cut my toenails and breathe at the same time. Only people who’ve been seriously fat will get what I mean with that one…it really is the little things that normal people take for granted which all add to the feeling that slowly but surely I’m stepping off the Hot Mess Express, and reclaiming normal as my very own.

You’ll never guess what the bitch in the bathroom offered up this week…three whole pounds. How about them apples, eh? I lost nothing last week but I was more relaxed about it than I ever used to be, because I know that the input has been pretty solid. My diet is on track and my exercise has gone to a whole other level, so I was confident that sooner or later she’d have to concede some poundage. I did a happy dance right there in the bathroom.

More importantly I can feel it…I feel skinnier, somehow. Even though I didn’t manage to have quite the super-clean eating week I’d promised myself, I did okay you know? Much better than the week before. And now, I have just two pounds to go to hit the 70lbs mark, which is my five stones milestone and folks, I’m going after it this week. Big time…hello seventeen stone something, your ass belongs to me. 

I had a bit of a splurge and bought myself some new clothes over the weekend with the money I made from selling my too big for me now wardrobe. Some of them are in the next size down again from where I am right now, because I wanted to choose some things for my holiday before all the summer stuff gets picked over.

I’m excited about the parcel arriving, which is a bit of a turn up for the books…something else I haven’t felt for the longest time. Buying new clothes is an ordeal when you’re the size of a moose because nothing looks nice or feels nice. Ask me if any of my new stuff came from a fat-girl shop..? NO! I mean they’re still fat sizes from a normal shop, but still. It’s a big step forward. Another first.

God of Pain is back from his jollies, and  classes start again tonight after a three-day hiatus. I’m ready to go back. And yes, you heard that right, too…I’m ready.

I still keep having to pinch myself to believe that I’m really doing this. Come on!

 

 

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