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Too Much Information..?

In the here & now, ,

I can’t begin to tell you how many poo stories I’ve listened to over the last day or so, I mean seriously, there have been lots. It seems I’m not the only one amongst our band of merry men who’s found themselves locked in dispute with their own pipes. And the thing is, I always forget how many people that I actually know in my real life who read the blog.

It’s one thing when you realise your lack of filter has left people around the world wondering whether or not you’ve managed to open your purse, but it’s something else entirely when you pass someone in the corridor at work and they pull a face and say anything yet..? 

One of my friends in the office pressed a maximum strength senocot pill into my hands and suggested it might help. I carried it home with the same care I might have reserved for a stick of dynamite, having (wisely I thought) decided against road-testing it before I was safely home and within sprinting distance of the bathroom. I mean it hadn’t just been a day or two, and I was worried that wouldn’t end well at all.

I’m very pleased to announce that nature took its course before said pill was swallowed, much to my blessed relief. It felt like a Lion King moment, I mean I appreciate I’m not exactly holding anything aloft or introducing the fruit of my loins to the nation but metaphorically speaking I’m sure you’ll all sleep easier in your beds tonight knowing my agony is over. And over, and over, and over as it happens.

It’s only the second time in my life that I’ve suffered this badly. The first time was worse actually. I was in the Maldives with my best friend, and without going into sordid detail my body was on lockdown then in the same way that it has been this week. I can only liken that experience to a breach birth, and due to the dodgy plumbing on the tiny island and my utter mortification at not being able to make the offending article go away after upwards of a hundred flushes, I ended up wrapping it in a carrier bag and cycling up to the big industrial waste bins behind the kitchens with a suspicious baguette-shaped parcel in the basket on the front of my hired bicycle.

Fuck, I’ve done it again haven’t I? No filter. Still, you can’t beat a good poo story between friends, right?

So anyway, things are looking up. I had another false start yesterday on account of some Thornton’s chocolates and a pub lunch however I’m now full subscribed to Weight Watchers again, and I’ve done my food shop. I sat and read every scrap of information about the new flex programme last night as I was oven-roasting some vegetables to take to work for lunch today, along with a chicken breast. My porridge oats are primed for breakfast, and a portion – not a punnet – of grapes is all bagged up for my mid-morning snack.

I’ve got this. My 2L water bottle is full and completes the hat-trick. I feel quite excited, although I recognise that I’ve been here before. That doesn’t really matter though, does it? All that matters is that I’m here now 🙂

 

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It’s A Sign!

In the here & now, ,

I have to admit to having a bit of a spring in my step. I’ve completed five straight days without a single unplanned eating incident and given that I’ve struggled to deliver a full five minutes of good behaviour just recently, I’m feeling accomplished. I’ve got skin in the game again, and the first hurdle is already in my rear-view mirror. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Yesterday had the potential to go pear-shaped when I left home without my carefully prepared lunch, which I’d taken out of the fridge and placed right next to my bag on the kitchen table as I was getting ready to leave.  It was right there, but I still walked out of the house without it, I mean come on, seriously. I left at 6am with a three hour drive in front of me and I was too far away from home to turn around by the time I realised.

The first indication that my head has landed back in the game came as I went into the motorway services on the way to my meeting, having left too early to eat breakfast, and bought coffee. No muffins, or croissants or pain-au-chocolate. Just coffee.

The biggest indicator came mid afternoon as I called back into the same motorway services, having not had chance prior to that to grab lunch. I was eat-my-own-arm starving as I walked in and considered my options. Greggs, Burger King, and a full on selection of confectionary. Fat girl heaven.

With the Asshole behind the wheel, it would have been BK. Or maybe a cheese and onion pasty or steak bake from Greggs, and large bag of crisps and at least one item of chocolate but probably two. Hell yeah, let me hear you say ay-MEN!

I didn’t do that, and what’s more it didn’t even occur to me to do that, you know? I walked into M&S Simply Food, picked up a turkey wrap and a small tub of fresh fruit and walked out again without giving it a single thought. No strop because there was all this stuff I couldn’t have, and no inner turmoil. I was hungry, and I fancied a turkey wrap and some fruit. That my friends, is a sign. I’m back 🙂

I half expected that Charlie-dog might have helped himself to my forgotten sandwich by the time I got home again, but in a show of solidarity he hadn’t. How’s that for willpower, right? He was clearly on the verge of bursting though, having sat and supervised it all day, in between playing out with all his doggy-day-care friends.

I’d fixed chicken, avocado and sweet pepper with a little light mayo and black pepper on a seeded flatbread, and it looked all kinds of awesome. Having bought and eaten something else in its place, I reluctantly rewarded his patience by allowing him to eat it, given that it’d been out of the fridge all day.

I figured his furry constitution was robust enough to deal with it, on the basis that unless I manage to grab him in time he eats cow pats and horse shit when we’re out walking. I soon realised it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had…overnight he has single-handedly done his bit to obliterate the ozone layer by filling the room with enough gas to blow the roof off.

Come on day six…show me what you’ve got 🙂

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Going Forwards By Choice

In the here & now, , ,

So I must start with an apology for all those of you who follow my Shitbird page…I promised to update the page a day early on account of the fact that I was going to be away on Sunday, but I ran into a spot of bother on Friday evening when I caught two blokes dressed in black from head to toe and wearing balaclavas trying to break into my house whilst I was in it.

Thankfully I wasn’t here alone, my friend had arrived for our weekend away and actually she’s the one who heard the noise as they tried to force their way into the back of the house. They scarpered when they realised someone was home, and it’s a good job they did because in that moment, as I saw them through the glass in the back door and realised what was happening I was so fucking furious that anyone felt they had a right to try and batter their way into my house that I flung the door open and gave chase.

I know. It’s the very last thing I should have done, but apparently it appears I am more fight than flight. I’m not sure I’ve ever been tested before, but at least now I know, right? My bravado didn’t last long, and after the adrenaline stopped coursing through my veins, my whole body turned to jelly. I drank a stiff gin, ate a pizza then called the police, in that order.

It was awful, and I’m joking with y’all about it now but I was genuinely shaken. Then I got mad again, then I got upset. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go away and leave my boys home alone which is irrational since my son is almost thirty, stands six feet three inches in his socks and he’s as solid as a rock. If he’d been home at the time he’d likely have managed to grab at least one of them and I can’t vouch for how the would-be burglar might have fared. Being fat and fifty proved to be my undoing as they sprinted across the garden and vaulted the six-foot fence…I was never going to catch them. Thank God.

Anyway, all that to say it threw me off my stride. I slept a bit fitfully on Friday night, and it’s fair to say my head was up my arse on Saturday morning as I threw some things in a bag for our weekend away. We pressed on with our plans to take mum out for lunch before we left for the airport, but my head was preoccupied by visions of a band of robbers hiding behind every bush in the fucking garden waiting for me to leave the house. I completely forgot to weigh in, and I didn’t remember until halfway through Sunday that I hadn’t done it but by that time I was in Krakow, and the Shitbird scale wasn’t.

My eating has been horrible, all weekend. I propped myself up with sugar on Saturday, and whilst I’m not using what happened on Friday as an excuse – like I ever bloody needed one – I’ve had another long weekend of food carnage. In my defence, we have walked our socks off…we covered twenty miles on foot in the three days we’ve been away, which might have helped to counteract some of the food debauchery, but if I were a betting man I’d wager that I’ve continued to go in the wrong direction.

So I find myself standing at a crossroads. I can go backwards and continue to dick around until I’ve eaten myself right back to square one, or I can go forwards by getting my shit together and choosing the right path, the one with clean eating and no food abuse.

I know I have to reset. I’m choosing to go forwards. And as luck would have it, God of Pain texted me yesterday to ask when I was going back to start training again. I texted him back with the intention of saying I’m not sure but my fingers betrayed me and typed tomorrow…I’m coming back tomorrow. I don’t feel ready but I’ve gone and fucking said it out loud now. And maybe backing myself into a corner is just what I needed.

So that’s how come I find myself with my workout clothes laid out ready for a body pump class this evening, and my swimsuit laid next to them ready for an hour’s swim after that. Body pump because I promised God of Pain, and swimming because I promised my boy. I’ll enjoy the swimming, it’ll help to relax my screaming muscles…body pump is going to kill me.

It’s Wednesday 15th November, and today is a new day.

It’s day one. And it doesn’t even matter that it’s day one, again. I fell down, and I got up again. There’s no shame in that.

I’ll weigh in on Sunday. I’m not giving the Shitbird any opportunity to derail my new start. It’s too fragile and I’ve decided I’m the one in charge of my head today.

Hour by hour, right?

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Moving Forward With Belt And Braces

In the here & now, ,

So I went back to see my surgeon on Friday, and he’s delighted with my progress. I’m on target for a 100% successful outcome which is the stuff that dreams are made of, right? Especially when you consider that for the last four years I’ve had a red-hot poker residing inside my knee. He showed me some before and after pictures which were taken during the surgery, and you’d never even know from the inside that it’s a fat knee. It’s a thing of beauty.

And now it’s my turn. My part of the deal is to strengthen my quad muscles by committing to physio and lots of exercise. And I’m all over that, even though when I proudly demonstrated to him how strong my knee was getting as I straightened it out, he looked me in the eye and said do more, like I’d barely even got started. I wonder if he’s related to the God of Pain?

I feel like I have worked really hard, this last week. I can’t manage the usual off-road walk that I do with Charlie dog yet, but I am up to almost three miles on even ground before anything starts feeling sore, and that’s awesome when you think it’s only actually a shade over two weeks since I had the surgery.

One thing he did say, was that my kneecap has been pulled off-centre because the muscles are slightly more well-developed down one side of my leg. Apparently that’s because I’ve been limping for the last four years and favouring a certain way of planting my left leg on the floor. Who knew! I mean, I know I’ve hobbled a bit when it’s been really sore but it must have been subtle but constant and I didn’t even realise.

Which, when you think about it is a lot like living a really fat life. When I look back, there were things I used to have to do to compensate for being fat, like rubbing moisturiser into one foot using the other foot, because I couldn’t reach down that far, or doing my ironing sitting down because it hurt too much to stand up. It became the kind of normal that I adapted to and stopped noticing, even though it wasn’t normal at all, exactly like my wonky walk.

I can go back to the Kingdom of Pain in another two weeks, but in the meantime I’ve taken out a second gym membership which gives me access to a network of leisure centres, where I can swim as often as I like and do aqua-fit classes, as well as a bunch of other stuff. I’ve done loads of water-based activity over the last few days which has really helped my arse to disengage from the armchair.

I can generally only manage three sessions with the God of Pain over the course of a week, because the fixed schedule of his classes and limited weekend opening times together with my long commute to and from work make it difficult to squeeze in more. This way I get the best of both worlds, because there’ll always be something going on somewhere that I can do.

It’s a kind of belt and braces approach, but I’m ready to take the last quarter of 2017 by storm…I am on it. I’ve got five days’ worth of food sobriety under my belt and after snatching victory back from the jaws of defeat I’m feeling great. I’ve evicted four and a half of those re-gained pounds from my pants this week, which was exactly the boost I needed.

I was gently reminded that not having a specific goal to strive for makes me drift a bit, so I’m planning to hit 215lbs by Christmas. I badly wanted to say Onederland by New Year but I think that’s a stretch too far…26lbs by Christmas feels do-able.

So…let’s crack on, there’s work to be done 🙂

Talking of Onederland, if you follow Nic’s Shitbird Page, you’ll see she sashayed into Onederland on Saturday, just before she flew out to Greece for her holidays…that’s 151lbs lost and I am so damn chuffed for her!

And don’t forget, if you’d like your own Shitbird page, all you have to do is tell me…the accountability definitely helps to glue your feet to the sweet spot!!

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Fighting Like An Alley Cat

In the here & now, ,


So it’s too soon to hang out the flags, but I think I’ve managed to claw my way back into the game. My food sobriety is fragile, but after a couple more false starts it’s now seen two sun-downs. I’m feeling better. Calmer. I wish I knew why, I mean I haven’t done anything differently than I did on all those other days where I set off with the same steely determination then crashed and burned. Well, apart from not crashing or burning, obviously.

Somehow, on Wednesday I just held it together. And I managed to do the same again yesterday. It wasn’t without challenge…stocking up in the supermarket, the words just give yourself today and start again on weigh day were chanted at me over and over by the Asshole voice but I fought like an alley cat, and I didn’t give in.

It’s a complete head-fuck of course. I’m almost afraid to breathe, as I wait for the hammer to fall again and shatter my new-found resolve. Life would be much simpler if I could get even the smallest clue as to what it is that tips me in or out without warning, you know?

Wrestling my head back into the game has been harder than ever this time and I really struggled to get under the skin of why. I know I’ve had a tough time over the last few weeks but it feels like a cop-out using that as an excuse…life is always going to get in the way. There’s a difference between cutting myself a bit of slack, and throwing in the towel altogether isn’t there? The thing is, a fair weather recovery is no use to me, because sooner or later life is going to pepper my path with shit. Shit happens.

As I’ve reflected on how badly the wheels came off this time, I replayed some of the conversations I had with the God of Pain towards the end of last year, when he began to appreciate just how deep-rooted my issues with food really were. At the time, I was stepping in and out of my food plan like the flaming hokey cokey, and he nailed me one day in an impromptu counselling session, cleverly disguised as a bollocking.

We talked, not just about my go-to foods and my triggers but about the environment I was in when the binges happened. Where I was, who I was with, what I was doing…all of it.

He helped me to see that if I were to stand any chance at all of breaking the cycle, it was no good removing just one of the elements, you know? They all had to go because it wasn’t just about the food. My head would make associations with places and situations, and those subliminal associations would be powerful enough to undermine my food sobriety. Annihilate it, actually.

So sitting for hours on end in my big fat reclining chair, watching TV on my own was a no-no…it put me squarely in the danger zone, even without a bag of snacks because over the last seven years or so that’s where most of the magic happened.

In the first few months of this year, when I was refined sugar-free and completely in control of my eating, I barely went near the chair or the TV. I made sure that I was too busy.

So, let’s think about that. Where have I spent most of the last two weeks whilst I’ve been recuperating and resting my knee..? Yep…feet up in the chair. On my own, with just the TV for company. That’s a bit like leading a reformed but wobbly crack addict back into the crack den, just without the crack.

I’m all of a sudden inclined to be a bit more forgiving of myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s okay…the car crash that greets me when I hop aboard the Shitbird Scale tells it’s own story. But I do begin to see how all the events of the last few weeks came together and created a shit storm that has been really bloody tough to navigate.

But I’m still here, right? I might have fallen down a lot but I never stopped wanting to get back up. And I’m not claiming it as a victory, not yet. My whole focus is on one day at a time. I’m walking better and further. I’m putting in the hard yards with my physio and although my knee was sore yesterday, I’m going to have good days and bad days as I push myself towards a full recovery.

That doesn’t just apply to my knee.

But I’m out of the chair. And watch out day three, I’m coming to get ya 🙂

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