Tag Archives: strong

Fighting The Good Fight

In the here & now, ,

The first week of going cold-turkey where refined sugar is concerned is always the pits. I’m hanging in there, and happy to report that I haven’t caved, despite my Asshole voice rolling out every trick in the book in an attempt to cure me of the ridiculous notion that I can live without it.

Wednesday brought its own unique brand of torture. I was working in Birmingham, and one of our recruitment partners had very kindly offered us their office space to do some interviews. The room was lovely, with tea and coffee all laid out, together with a plate of biscuits. And I’m not talking just any biscuits…these were Choco Leibniz biscuits. My favourite. There’s something about the buttery crunchy biscuit base and the thick slab of chocolate sitting on the top which makes me want to lock lips as soon as I clap eyes on them.

I could tell you now exactly how they were arranged on the plate, because for the three hours we spent in that room I was barely able to focus on anything else. There were six of them. Four were arranged down one side of the plate, chocolate side up, and two were in the middle, chocolate side down and leaning against a pile of bleh biscuits which occupied the other side of the plate.

Did you know that the long fluted edge of a Choco Leibniz has fifteen little chocolatey bumps on it? And the short edge has eleven. I fantasised about biting into each and every single one of them. Or resting my tongue in between one of those little chocolatey bumps, and resisting the temptation to lick so it’d last for the longest possible time,  just waiting for that sweet chocolate to melt and explode onto my tastebuds. Or best of all nibbling all the chocolate from around the edge first, before dunking the middle bit in my coffee. For three hours those thoughts wrestled for pole position with everything else going on in my head.

They almost drove me mad, but I didn’t have one. It was warm in the room we were using so we had the window open, and every now and again there was a suggestion of a breeze which carried the scent of them right to my nose. I could feel myself sniffing the air like a lion with an antelope in it’s sights…shit the bed I wanted one so badly. But I left all six on the plate.

And last night, I went out for dinner with three very good friends. We’d picked the restaurant carefully, and researched the menu before we went so we were all confident that we could stick to our respective food plans. And that was fine, except as we were seated, dessert in the form of baclava was delivered to the table next to us. Oh you have no idea.

I could see the crispy filo pastry ready to flake stickily as someone bit into it. I could see the crushed pistachios on the top and the gleam from layers of sticky awesomeness. I think all four of us let out an involuntary variation on ‘Mmmm…I love baclava‘ as we collectively stalked every mouthful taken by the folks who’d ordered it. Three of us are on the same journey in terms of getting the food demons under control, and we had one much-envied string bean in our midst who has to fight just as hard as we do to stay there, you know?

From my perspective, if just one amongst our group of four had voiced the words fuck it, I’m ordering baclava,  I think we all would’ve jumped on the bandwagon. I came this close. It was a bit like being in a baclava-related scene of The Voice, with me and my friends in the big chairs waiting to see who’d push their buzzer first and get first bite before we all turned our chair around. Happily none of us pushed the buzzer for baclava but just because I didn’t, doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it for the rest of the evening, or that I’m not still thinking about it now.

*Sigh*…it’s all work in progress, right? I stared temptation down twice this week, and every time I say no, it gets me a little more skin in the game.

Day five of being refined-sugar- free in the bag…come on day six, let’s see what you’ve got 🙂

 

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One Battle At A Time

In the here & now, , ,

One of the guys who I’ve worked alongside for the last couple of years moved on to start a new job last week, and although I was out and about on his last day, when I arrived at the office after the weekend, his parting gift of chocolate for the team was lying in wait on the desk as I walked through the door.

I wasn’t bothered by it on Monday. Beyond a fleeting thought along the lines of how thoughtful he’d been to leave it, it didn’t really register. Yesterday on the other hand, the same chocolate drove me to hell and back. Especially around mid-afternoon when I made a cup of tea.

I’d eaten lunch at 11.40am because the roast beef sandwich on soft wholemeal bread that I’d carefully made to bring to work had toyed with me all morning. Holding out until the clock was at least edging towards 12.00pm had been a miracle in itself given the number of times my mind had unwrapped the foil over the course of the morning. To be honest, it was lucky to survive my journey to work, because It was just one of those days, you know? The kind where your mind is constantly pre-occupied with what you’re going to eat.

I don’t often eat bread these days, maybe once or twice a week. It’s not particularly a trigger food for me – well, not unless we’re talking about warmed Tiger bread lathered with salted butter obviously – but it just always strikes me as a bit heavy on the old food budget and I begrudge spending the points. However, the cold beef left over from supper the night before had begged to be eaten as I’d done a recce of the fridge, so there it was, locked and loaded. And gone, by 11.45am.

Thing is, I can smash down a sandwich in no time. At least with my usual salad box it takes me a beat between mouthfuls to chase a shred of lettuce around with my fork. I might pause to add a little salad cream here or there, or a little seasoning. With a pre-made sandwich, there’s no messing around is there? It was like the culinary equivalent of premature ejaculation. No foreplay, and over in seconds once I’d unwrapped the foil…  yes, yes, YES…oh. Are we done?

By mid afternoon I could’ve eaten my own arm, I mean I was starving. And every time I walked back to my desk from one meeting or another I was greeted by the sight of these two boxes of chocolates. Bit by bit they started to chip away at my resolve. Surely one wouldn’t hurt? I’ve proved that I can survive without chocolate haven’t I, I mean look at me…we’re well into May and I haven’t eaten any since Christmas. I’ve got so much skin in the game it’s unreal, so surely I’d be safe with just one?

I got as far as saying fuck it out loud as my hand reached for the box, only to be stopped in my tracks by a colleague. She looked so genuinely shocked that I might be about to break my long run of resisting temptation that I put the box down and retreated back to my chair with my tail between my legs. And she was right. Of course she was right. She knew as well as I did that I wouldn’t have stopped at one. I would have had three, or seven, or maybe ten and then I’d have stopped at the store on my way home and bought some more. I’d probably still be chewing them as I write this.

Even though I know what lies in store if I awaken the beast, I almost went there. I just about clung on with my fingernails, but I’m hoping today will be easier. It’s a brand new week. My conversation with the Shitbird Scale this morning contained a few naughty words…I’m not sure this experiment about how and when I spend my points is working. I’ll stick with it for another week and then make a call.

I’ve felt vulnerable and a bit out of control these last few days, so I’m claiming yesterday as a victory. That’s how wars are won, right? One battle at a time 🙂

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Five More To Low

In the here & now, ,

Do you know what I realised yesterday, as I sashayed out of the bathroom after another positive encounter with the Shitbird Scale? I’ve only got 5lbs to go before I’m back down to the lowest weight I achieved last year, you know right before I lost my way and started dicking around? The last time I weighed in at 250lbs was right back at the beginning of October when I was on my way back up the scale from my lowest weight on this journey, at 245lbs. I’ve got to be honest, I’m on a mission. I want those five pounds out of my pants in the next two weeks.

My friend got a massive fit of the giggles last night when we talked about the monster I’ve created by posting my conversation with the Shitbird Scale on here every Sunday…almost two hundred and fifty people logged on and checked out my weigh-in page yesterday. I mean that’s just mind-blowing, right? How could I possibly put a foot wrong, when so many of you take time out of your day to keep a watching brief on my journey, and check-in especially just to audit my number?

I live in fear that the scale is going to throw a hissy fit and move in the wrong direction one week, it would kill me to post that. Can you even imagine..? It’s bound to happen one of these days but I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. There’s literally nowhere to hide…I’ll tell you what though, as an accountability tool it’s a stroke of genius.

I took a big step when I did the supermarket run yesterday. Ladies and Gentlemen, there’s chocolate in the house again. I know. It’s been a chocolate-free zone ever since the beginning of this year when I had to acknowledge that the diet had gone completely tits up and I more or less started again . My food sobriety felt too fragile to even think about allowing that kind of stuff over the threshold, and bless him, my boy has been incredibly supportive given that he has a massive sweet tooth. But it never really felt okay to me, banishing everything on the naughty list from the house, you know? I know it’s okay to be selfish sometimes but at the end of the day, he lives here too.

I had to do it to get back on track, but this deep down shift in the way I’m feeling about stuff lately means I’m ready. I no longer worry that I’ll be ambushed by a packet of hob-nobs as I cross the kitchen to reach the fruit bowl…I feel strong, and more committed to my food plan than ever so it seemed like the right time to man up and lift the ban. The naughty cupboard once again contains some of his favourite goodies, and I’m not bothered by it one little bit. And yes I know that this could change in a heartbeat but honestly, I don’t believe it will.

This is day sixty four, and nothing’s knocking me off track. My girly weekend is just around the corner but I’m planning to take extraordinary care in the few days running up to it so I can make my food plan work for me. I’m on a roll here and I’m not even slightly stressed about how I’ll juggle everything…I just know that I will 🙂

 

 

 

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Four Women, One Mountain, And A Wayward Dog

In the here & now, , , , ,

Saturday was an enormous day…I conquered my very first mountain. I use the word mountain in its loosest sense you understand, since technically Pen Y Ghent is a peak, but to me it looked like a mountain, so that’s what I’m calling it. I mean it’s bigger than a hill, right? It’s rumoured to be the most challenging of the three famous Yorkshire peaks, so let’s not split hairs…it was hard, and I did it. We did it, me and my three fellow mountaineers. Oh, and four dogs. I know I’m not normally big on photos in here, but this sort of feels like a special occasion, so I’ve included a few. Come on, I climbed a mountain!

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That’s it, way in the distance. I’ve got to be honest, I nearly did a load in my pants when I realised what we were actually climbing. I’ve heard the name Pen Y Ghent a lot…as a girl born and raised in Yorkshire the name is familiar to me, but I’ve only ever heard it in conjunction with somebody else’s adventure. Me and Pen Y Ghent have never moved in the same social circles, you know?  On the outside I was full of enthusiasm as we pulled into the car park – that’s where I took the photo from. The reality was, I wanted to turn and run, as fast as I could manage in the opposite direction. To a fat lass still in the early stages of recovery from a sofa-surfing lifestyle, it looked downright terrifying.

I was well prepared though. Well, I say that…I was well prepared for the heatwave promised by Yahoo weather on Friday night. I’d brought a lightweight waterproof jacket just in case it was a bit nippy at the top, and my sun-visor and sunglasses. Lots of suncream on my face you know? Didn’t want to get burned. As we arrived and got out of the car there was no evidence of any sunshine at all, and it occurred to me that perhaps the suncream might have been a bit premature.

The lightweight waterproof jacket bought with Cuba in mind a few weeks ago that I didn’t think I’d actually need to put on was a bit snug, in fact it’s safe to say that when zipped up it actually restricted the circulation to several bits of my body. To add insult to injury, when I did put it on, the navy blue and white spots clashed rather alarmingly with the black and white flowery pants I was wearing…I looked like I’d escaped from somewhere. Still, the rest of my prep had gone well…I’d brought some awesome sandwiches for our picnic at the top, and you know me…the promise of food was always going to help get my arse up to the summit.

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The first couple of miles were okay. We were climbing, but it was fairly gentle incline. We covered maybe two miles getting to the bit where it got steeper, and that’s about the time when all bits of blue disappeared from the sky altogether and the mist started to roll in, taking every bit of warmth out of the day. We didn’t feel the cold too badly at that point because we were starting to work hard…it had definitely stopped feeling like a walk and we were climbing. The marker saying Pen Y Ghent summit 1 & 3/4 miles frankly didn’t help. It might have even fleetingly brought on my for fuck’s sake face, but the thought of that roast chicken in seeded ciabatta rolls kept my feet moving.

I wish I’d taken pictures of the hardest bit, because I feel like I’m being a drama queen now when I remember how tough it was, but there was a point where we were actually climbing, like properly pulling ourselves up on rocks and everything, zig-zagging up what felt like a sheer rock face, I shit you not it was practically vertical. It was very foggy, very windy and absolutely bloody freezing by this point, and it had started to rain.

The Asshole voice was chipping in like mad every time I came to a bit that was particularly hard to navigate…you’re going to fall, stop this lunacy immediately, you’ll never make it, Just stay here, it’s almost the top and fat people shouldn’t really go past this point, in fact they’re probably not even allowed right at the top anyway in case they have a heart attack…

Weirdly enough, I didn’t feel miserable. Despite the cold and the wind and the fact that I’m scared of heights and I couldn’t see much beyond the next few yards. I just felt determined. And then, all of a sudden, the ground sort of evened out and there was a proper pathway paved with Yorkshire stone leading right up to this kind of monument thingy…we all looked at each other and the penny dropped. That was the summit. We’d done it. We were there.

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Check out those faces! This was us, at the top, hands on that monument at the summit…relief, elation, achievement…and for me, a burning desire to pillage my rucksack for the chicken sandwiches. And you bet your sweet ass we sat and had our picnic, in the cold and the rain…it didn’t matter. We’d earned it, right? Let me introduce you to these strong beautiful women…my friend in red was the experienced one, and led the way. My friend in black is amazing, do you know she’s lost over one hundred and forty pounds..? And my friend in purple on the right of the picture (check out @therealslimkayleigh on Instagram for some awesome recipe ideas) has dropped about seventy. Y’all know me, and my journey…I’m within touching distance of eighty pounds off now. How about them apples? We’ve lost over twenty stones between the three of us…if we’d still been living in Mooseville no way would Saturday ever have happened. We’ve all put in the hard yards to get to this point, and it’s beyond worth it.

Just to add a touch of drama to the day, one of the dogs fooled us on the way down the other side into thinking she’d hurled herself off the edge of the mountain, since one minute she was there and the next she wasn’t…it was so foggy and we lost her, only to be greeted about twenty minutes later by a very waggy tail further down the trail after we’d hollered, sweated, panicked and seriously considered calling out mountain rescue. As if that adventure wasn’t enough for one day, this one foot tall dog later went on to scale a six foot dry stone wall to go play with some very surprised sheep…she is an adventure on four legs.

So anyway I was expecting at least ten pounds off this week given yesterday’s expedition and last week’s sticky needle…not a chance. The bitch in the bathroom offered up one single solitary pound. Grrrr…but whatever. Not bothered, in fact I couldn’t care less.

I climbed a chuffing mountain 🙂

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