Just a quick note to say that I’m experimenting with twitter and am @tisw. I’m not sure how it will work, but let’s see! If I can get my non-techy head around it, I’ll put a badge on the page too.
I also submitted my application yesterday to Barnardo’s for a guaranteed place in the London Marathon next year. I know that competition for these places can be fierce, so I’m keeping everything crossed. Even though there’s still part of me that thinks I’ve lost my marbles!
I’ve been away for weeks … not just away from this blog but away from this country. I took a long-anticipated once-in-a-lifetime holiday to the US (a road trip from NYC to Miami via Tennessee and New Orleans, which I recommend to anyone!). And now I’m back and struggling slightly with the return to normality!
Staggeringly, I managed the trip without adding too many unwanted pounds to my waistline. My weight seems to have settled (finally). I would estimate that I’m between a stone and a stone and a half heavier than when I finished Lighter Life. I spent about nine months fluctuating, and that seems to be where I’ve netted out. I’m heavier than I want to be, but at least it’s stabilised and I can do something about it.
It is incredibly difficult to eat healthily on holiday, especially in a country that prides itself on portion sizes that are daunting to even the hungriest Brit. We also seemed to be travelling through states where the local specialities were fried, or carb-heavy, or both. I swear that finding a salad on some restaurant menus in Tennessee was like looking for Father Christmas in July. Instead we were faced with such exotic delights as biscuits and gravy, grits, buttermilk pancakes, jambalaya, po-boys and fried green tomatoes. And, of course, this was all washed down with beer … wine is prohibitively expensive (and pretty nasty, too, as people rarely drink it and it turns to sherry in the heat) and shorts are a no-no because the heavily chlorinated ice makes G&T taste like swimming pool water.
So, I tried to be sensible. I ate light in the evening, drank plenty of water so I didn’t confuse thirst with hunger, and endeavoured to keep active (more on that later) to counteract long, lazy hours in the car. I think I just about got away with it. Only just! I have to say I’m glad to be back home and to have more control over what I cook and eat. Vegetables and salad are going to feature highly on my menu over the coming weeks!
With good intentions I took my running gear with me. I ran 2 miles in a hotel gym in New York, and 3 miles around the suburbs of Washington. I went swimming in Asheville, but was slightly put off by the dead flies in the pool (yum!) and only managed an energetic paddle. Then we moved further south, and into the heat. I valiantly tried to run in Memphis, but struggled to manage more than a mile … the humidity was so high that I was chewing the air rather than breathing it. I did get raced down the street by a man in a street sweeping buggy, mind you! After that, I had to abandon the running and simply try to jump into any available pools or oceans whenever possible! I’ve not been for a run since coming home (I’m so jet-lagged I can barely walk, let alone pick up speed) but have good intentions of getting my backside back into training ASAP.
On that note, my lovely trainer has gone on his four month trip that will take him back to Australia. I really will miss him as we had a great relationship and I achieved things I didn’t think I could achieve. He’s recommended another trainer and I’m meeting him today … I’m hoping that I manage to click with him because it would be so easy for me to abandon personal training altogether, and that would be dangerous. I need to shift that surplus stone and get marathon fit!
So … back to the routine for me, and not before time! During the course of our travels we saw many, many people who were seriously overweight. Some of those people, sadly, were in their teens and twenties, alongside middle-aged people who travel on scooters because they’re simply unable to walk for any period of time. Looking at them made me realise how easy it is to be overweight in our society, how difficult it is (mentally, more than anything) to do something about it, but how rewarding a healthier lifestyle can be. So to all of us, let’s stick with it!
I ran my first ever group race last night at the Cancer Research Race For Life in Battersea Park. It was an amazing experience with a really great atmosphere. For those of you who don’t know, it’s a sponsored 5K event, for women only and you can run or jog or walk. A brilliant idea.
More through luck than judgement I ended up three rows from the front when they sounded the horn at the starting line. Despite being well aware of the need to pace myself, and to resist the temptation to go too fast too soon, I shot off like a rocket and positively flew past the 1K marker. Well, I was excited, can you blame me? I was also experiencing something that marathon-running friends have warned me about … if you start at the front then it’s very disconcerting to watch faster people coming from just behind and overtaking you, so you tend to try and keep up with them. Clearly I’m not a bad runner, but I’m no Paula Radcliffe, so it was slightly foolish to be keeping pace with very svelte, very speedy and clearly very experienced runners.
I learnt my lesson the hard way as I approached 4K. I couldn’t keep up my crazy pace … I was running at 5.20/km or 8.54/mile as opposed to my usual 6.12/km or 10/mile. That’s quite a difference! I slowed down miserably to a brisk walk, and contemplated my rash stupidity. A swift thump in the back and a ‘come on mate, we’re nearly there!’ from a lovely blonde lady was all the impetus I needed and I dashed for the finish. I romped home in a very respectable 27 mins and 33 seconds which, for the pace geeks among you, is 5.30/km or 9.01/mile. Hurrah.
What I ought to tell you is that I couldn’t have managed another metre at that pace. Seriously. There’s a fine line between enthusiasm and lunacy and I crossed it 
I came to several conclusions last night. It strengthened my resolve to take on the big challenge of a marathon, and reminded me of the enormity of the task that lies ahead in order to achieve that. I’m looking at four months (at least) of pretty hardcore training, which scares and excites me in equal measure. I’m a long way from 26 miles. I also resolved never to go running again without my trusty iPod. Clearly we weren’t going to get cheering marathon crowds along the route last night (especially as we were facing stiff competition from the Chelsea vs. Barcelona match), but I needed something more than sporadic polite applause and the cheery grins of race marshalls to spur me on. Also, without music in my ears, I became very conscious of my own breathing and the collective grunting and panting going on around me. All rather unpleasant, frankly! Most of all, I realised how wonderful it is to cross a finish line, feel a real sense of achievement, and be handed a shiny medal to cap it all off. I don’t think I’m a glory hunter (you’d have to be unhinged to run 26 miles purely to get some attention) but it was very satisfying and made me feel on top of the world.
I could’ve done without the mile and a half walk home, mind you!
I’ve also, incidentally, entered the ballot for the 2010 London Marathon in case I don’t succeed with New York (I find out in mid-May, whenever they define that to be). I was thoroughly inspired by watching friends of mine this year, although having seen them limping around on the Monday, maybe I’m not so sure! Perhaps I should’ve taken up something a little more genteel. Anyone for croquet?
I now know definitively that I could never have been a spy. Why? Well, apart from the fact that I do actually talk about the weather a lot (which is how numerous British spies have been rumbled, apparently), any given enemy could extract information from me simply by giving me a sports massage.
I’m serious. I had my first (sadly not my only) session with a masseur last night. For those of you whose knowledge of anatomy is better than mine, I have very tight IT Bands which are causing patella problems. For the rest of us plebs, my knees are sore because the muscles in my upper legs are knackered. I’ve been advised to get this sorted out to prevent crippling injury in the future. That’s fine, but the handful of people who actually know what I’m talking about when I mention this have all had an identical reaction … rolling their eyes, scrunching up their foreheads and saying (slightly gleefully, I might add) ‘oh, that’s really going to hurt because they dig their elbows in and everything‘.
They weren’t lying. I lay there (with nothing but two hastily consumed Nurofen Plus on my side) and a perfectly nice lady called Kellie began what I can only describe as a sustained physical assault on my person. I had a proper ‘fight or flight’ reaction … when I’d stopped trying to escape from under her hands I then had to resist the temptation to smack her squarely in the face. It was excruciating, and I’m no lightweight when it comes to pain. She gaily told me that she’s reduced burly rugby players to tears and that one female client of hers compared this massage to childbirth. I’ve had gallstones in the past, which is also often compared to childbirth, and I have to say that this massage left the gallstones standing. As for childbirth … well I doubt I’ll ever have sex again, just in case.
As I lay there trying to control my involuntary swearing (sorry, Kellie) I felt almost nostalgic for the days when I was a squidgy, idle couch potato whose idea of exercise was a leisurely stroll to the tube station. But, between the blinding flashes of agony, I also thought about how incredible it feels to be ‘new me’ and how joyous it is to go out running on sunny evenings without feeling like I might die at any moment.
My diet has been nothing short of a shambles. I’ve concluded that there is a limited amount of information that my brain can contain at any given moment … because I’m so stupidly busy at work I barely know if I’m coming or going and can just about manage to process the chain of thought that says ‘you’re hungry so eat something’ without wondering whether it should be brazil nuts, dry Ryvita or natural yoghurt and whether or not I’m sticking to three-hourly intervals. The best I can do is make sure I have breakfast (I’ve given up on muesli as it makes me nauseous and now have a very pleasant protein shake instead), avoid carbs in the evening, steer clear of silly foods where possible and lay off the booze during the week. I’m sure my trainer will have something to say about that, but I have to be reasonable otherwise I simply end up beating myself up.
I’m not quite back up to my previous running levels as I only got the all clear about a week ago. I’ve done a 2.5 mile and a 3.5 mile run so far and fully intend to get back up to 5 before the end of the weekend. Otherwise I needn’t have bothered with that delightful massage, need I?
This may be the longest gap between posts ever, for which I apologise unreservedly. I’ve been flat out busy at work and, frankly, the last thing I want to do when I get home after a day like that is log on. But here I am … eventually.
I buggered up my back two weeks ago, which was a real blow. I was running home and everything was going really well … I was enjoying it, my pace was good and it was feeling relatively effortless. Then, about half a mile from home, it went ‘ping’. It hurt so much that at first I thought my house keys (in the bum bag around my waist) had accidentally jabbed into my back. Sadly not. By the time I got home it was crippling. I had no choice but to go and see a physio. She told me I had trapped a facet, gave me lots of exercises to do and banned me from running and other high-impact or weight-orientated activities until it was better.
I really hoped I’d be able to run again last week, but she only gave me the all clear this morning. Trust my luck that it’s been the sunniest week of the year so far and I’ve been trapped inside! But I’m hoping to get out tonight if I ever escape from my desk …
As always seems to be the way with me, that was another example of ‘one step forward, two steps back’. I was really getting into the swing of my diet and my training before the back incident. I had even begun to do circuit training with my trainer … what sort of hell on earth is that?! It’s true that the sense of achievement after four exhausting circuits is pretty much second to none, but it doesn’t make it any damn easier!
The problem was that the physical setback gave me quite a massive mental setback too. I slipped into a mindset of ‘I don’t know why I bother’. That attitude is very much old me vs. new me, and I was alarmed to find myself thinking like that. It’s taken quite a lot of effort to snap myself out of it, too. I’m hoping that when I get back into the gym then I’ll rediscover my motivation.
So here’s to sunshine and enthusiasm, and boy are they overdue
I’m exercising like a demon. I’m finding it easier to get out of bed in the morning and am managing to stick to my rather punishing schedule of four cardio sessions a week, which is great. I don’t find myself thinking ‘oh I can’t be arsed today’, I find myself thinking ‘if I don’t do it today then I’ll just have to do it tomorrow’, which is quite a significant mind shift from my old, lazy self.
And it’s paying off. I’m conscious that, whatever type of exercise or fitness challenge I set myself, it’s getting easier all the time. I’m a million miles away from ’super fit’, but I’m not sure I’d still class myself as ‘unfit’. That’s what keeps me going on the treadmill in the morning. Talking of which, I’m trying to mix it up between outdoor running and indoor running. At the beginning I was super keen to reject the gym in favour of the great outdoors, but there are definite benefits to combining the two. Not only is it a bit more gentle on my joints (especially as a relative novice) but I can vary my speed and incline at will … it’s all very well being able to plod along a flat pavement, but I need to start tackling those hills.
On the diet front, last week wasn’t so great. I knew that long, catered meetings would play havoc with my good intentions. It was partly because the food on offer wasn’t particularly healthy, and partly because I simply lacked the willpower to avoid some of the naughty things available. I’m not going to make excuses … I buggered up.
But … I’ve picked myself up! I ate so healthily yesterday that I deserve a halo, frankly, and I intend to do the same all week. I can’t start throwing in the towel because of one week’s setback.
I also bit the bullet on Sunday and applied for the New York marathon. I find out in May whether or not I’ve been successful. So keep your fingers crossed for me …
Well, the last few days have been a case of one step forward and two steps back … this is becoming alarmingly typical for me, it seems. It turns out that I did actually injure my left leg in the spin class on Monday, and the fact that I went ahead with my run on Wednesday morning really didn’t help. I’m having to learn the difference between sore muscles and injured ones, and last week I learned the hard way. I spent the end of the week limping around and giving off a pungent odour of deep heat rub as I tried to get my leg back to normal. Mission accomplished, however. It meant I was able to go for a run on Sunday morning around the Common, although I had to limit it to 3.5km as I was pushed for time and nervous about my poor old pins.
Despite the hobbling, I was relatively successful with my training last week. I managed 45 mins spin on Monday, 45 mins yoga on Tuesday, a 4 mile / 6.5 km treadmill run on Wednesday, weight training with my trainer on Friday and a short run on Sunday. I was very pleased with that. Oh, and add an hour mucking about on the Wii Fit on Saturday (yes, that is how we spent a large chunk of Valentine’s day!). This spurred me on to repeat the same this week but, irritatingly, it looks like life is going to get in the way. I have to spend two days of this week in all day meetings out of town (proper 8am to 6pm jobs) which is going to make fitting everything in very difficult. It’s frustrating that my attempts at making a firm routine can get disrupted so easily … that, unfortunately, is one of the ‘perks’ of my job.
The diet went reasonably well too, although it fell apart over the weekend (although I’m theoretically allowed two days off). The combination of my Mum’s birthday dinner, Valentine’s Day and having guests round on Sunday meant that I consumed considerably more naughty food than I should have done. So I’m going to have to try and be extra strict this week … and going to catered meetings is going to make that tricky. Funnily enough it was easier when I was doing lighter life. I didn’t have to navigate the minefield of whatever food was on offer, I simply had to eat my packs and be done with it. The excuse of a ’special diet’ meant that nobody batted an eyelid, whereas turning up with your own food in a bag could be construed as weird and/or rude. Maybe I just need to bite the bullet and do that.
I’m still struggling to eat as soon as I get up. Even though I’m only eating a tiny bowl of muesli, I literally find myself forcing it into my mouth. It’s amazing how you can get really turned off a food that you previously didn’t really care about either way
I’m going back to the spin class tonight. I’m not sure if we’ll have the same instructor, but I’m hoping it’s someone else. When I discussed the class with my trainer, there was a lot of head shaking and eye rolling. Apparently, cycling with one leg at a time, cycling with zero resistance on the bike or doing squats while pedalling are absolute no-nos, and we were told to do the first two. I know that people’s opinions on what is or isn’t good training will differ, but it makes me a bit nervous to think that the instructor might not know exactly what they’re supposed to be doing. I’ll see what happens tonight and then make a decision about the class.
And then I have to go home and eat a healthy dinner of smoked fish and no carbs while the Boy merrily tucks into the roast leftovers from the weekend. Boo!
Well, I survived last night’s class. I arrived early and opted for a bike in the back row … mainly because I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone being given a close-up view of my lycra-clad backside as I struggled and sweated away. I then spent ten minutes trying to adjust the damn thing so that my knees weren’t hitting me in the chin with every pedal and my hands could actually reach the handlebars. My trainer has been banging on about the importance of getting your bike in the right position … sadly he’s never got as far as showing me exactly what that position is (a big thank-you to the patient woman next to me for helping out). Having got comfortable (well, as comfortable as it’s possible to be on a concrete saddle that’s the width of a ruler) I was ready to go. Unfortunately, the world’s tallest man had opted for the bike directly between me and the class trainer, so I couldn’t see her at all. I decided I’d be fine if I just concentrated on what she was saying. Now I’m sure she did a splendid job of instructing us, but if you can imagine trying to listen to a diminutive woman with a heavy Eastern European accent yelling over the top of ear-splitting dance music then you’ll get some idea of what the experience was like.
But I got into it. I managed to deciper ’sprint!’, ‘rest!’ and ‘turn it up 10!’ from whatever else she said, which was helpful. (By the way, if anyone can explain to me how an unmarked resistance dial is turned up or down in units of ten, I’d be very grateful). I didn’t have a heart attack, I didn’t have to stop pedalling, and I didn’t embarrass myself … although my left foot developed a life of its own and fell out of the pedal clasp twice, which was alarmingly painful as my leg crashed down towards the floor. Oh happy days.
Feeling extremely virtuous I went home and cooked a carb-free stew of lean beef, beetroot, cabbage and courgettes … and bloody good it was too. That said, I was really quite hungry again by the time I went to bed and can only put that down to the lack of carbs. I’m hoping that I get used to that in time … even on lighter life I used to have my food bar in the evening.
This morning I was up at some ridiculous hour and forcing myself to eat muesli. That’s another thing I need to get used to as I don’t normally have breakfast for a good two hours after getting up. Immediate eating is a must, apparently, if I’m to make friends with my ever-sluggish metabolism. I then took myself off to a yoga class on the way to work. Now, without offending anyone, I have a natural antipathy towards yoga. It’s all a bit worthy for me (and I have vivid memories of having to leave a class early in hysterics many years ago thanks to a particularly flatulent member of the class).
But this morning was great! I really enjoyed myself, despite being hopeless at most of the exercises. It became abundantly clear to me exactly why I need to do this. My stability and balance is so poor that I can’t even balance on my left leg … how pathetic is that? Now I know why my trainer rolls his eyes and mutters about yoga when I lift a weight and topple over. So I’m going to try and stick with this class. Apart from anything else, it’s a great way to start the day (believe it or not).
I’m due a 4 mile/6.5 km run tomorrow and I’m actually quite looking forward to it. My only slight worry is that my poor old left leg might give up on me as my spinning clumsiness means I’m sure I’ve pulled something. Here’s hoping I’ve not been a victim of my own enthusiasm, eh.
What a cheerful little soul I was last time! Dear me … I must remember not to blog late at night after a glass of wine or two. I clearly get terribly, er, philosophical Actually, the long and the short of it was that I was doing too much. I was setting expectations of myself that weren’t achievable, was therefore feeling a sense of failure, and getting royally pissed off with myself as a result. I’ve acknowledged that now, and I’m trying to be disciplined without being unrealistic.
So it was a year ago tomorrow that I began the process of turning my back on my old self. In a bizarre twist of coincidence (and I swear I didn’t plan this) today is the day that I’m beginning my new food regime, as recommended by my fabulous (and ever patient) personal trainer. It’s odd to be in a situation where I’m dieting again, but I’m trying not to see it that way. I’m trying to see it as the second phase in my development … phase one was from fat to thin(ner) and phase two is from unfit to fit. If I’m going to place hefty physical demands on myself, then I need to feed my body the right things.
My new regime is based on eating little and often (6 small meals a day) and getting my carb intake early in the day rather than late. All perfectly sensible. So my food intake today looks something like this, all washed down with about two and a half litres of water:
7am (much, much earlier than normal!): a small bowl of muesli and skimmed milk.
9.30am: a handful of brazil nuts and small apple.
12pm (again, very early for lunch): a grilled chicken breast with brown rice and salad.
2.30pm: more nuts.
5pm: half a small tub of low fat cottage cheese on two Ryvitas.
8pm: lean meat with either salad or steamed vegetables (but no carbs allowed).
Exciting, huh? The more astute among you will have noticed the absence of chocolate, biscuits, cake or booze … more’s the pity. The intention is that I will eat according to this plan for at least 5 days out of 7 (obviously changing the types of meat etc.). Frankly, given that I spent half of last year subsisting on soups and shakes, I know that I can do this. And, as I’ve said before, having a regime really helps me. I’ve proved over and over again that I have no discipline when left to my own devices. I’m clearly better than I was, but I’m not ‘fixed’. I’ll let you know how it goes.
In terms of exercise, I’m back on track. I know now that the reason I was beginning to ‘fail’ with the running was because I was pushing myself too hard and too fast. I’m now happily getting into the regime of one short run (4 miles/6.5km) and one longer run (over 5 miles/8km) per week, along with one additional non-running cardio session on my own and one weight-training session with my trainer. On top of that I’ve been strongly recommended to add yoga and/or pilates … if I don’t run out of hours in the day I’m going to try that too. I’m trying to enjoy the novelty of this routine so much that it becomes a habit. We’ll see.
To that end, I’m off to a spin class this evening. I’m absurdly nervous, to be honest … I’m not good in group exercise situations, and I have a sneaking suspicion that everyone else will be athletically brilliant whereas I’ll make an idiot of myself. I’m going to get there super early so I can bag a bike at the very back of the class. Perhaps the one nearest the door …
It’s my birthday today. Well, strictly speaking, it was my birthday yesterday, given that it’s almost one in the morning. And I just had a very strange moment in the bathroom (how freaky does that sound?). I was merrily cleaning my teeth when I looked down at my legs and feet and was struck for the millionth time how different I look. It was around this time last year that I was bracing myself to begin lighter life in a week or so. A year ago I was very fat, very unhappy about it, and desperate to change. I was also very scared about it. Now, I’ve been through what can only be described as a rollercoaster ride and yet I’m still feeling a bit awkward, a bit unusual, and not 100% certain about myself.
The ‘big diet’ is over. I’ve come so far since last year that I can’t quite sum it up in words. However, I’m still struggling. I’m still not totally comfortable with myself. I’m still in a situation where I’m setting myself strenuous (unrealistic?) goals in order to feel happy. Does this ever stop? Will I ever wake up and feel at peace and at ease with myself? In all honesty (and I’ve always tried to be honest in this blog) I don’t know. And that really bugs me!
On the running front, I’ve been told to ease up. My trainer spoke to a physiotherapist colleague of his, and she told him that I shouldn’t run more frequently than twice a week. She was worried about the damage that I might do to my joints and bones … fair comment, given that I’ve done pretty much zero exercise over the last thirty-odd years of my life. However, that feels like a setback for me. I’ve finally found something that I feel happy doing, and I’ve been told to put the brakes on. How bloody frustrating! And to add to the irritation, I know that they’re right. I ran home last Thursday and had to stop after only three miles because I felt exhausted. As I said in my last post, I had just begun to feel that I could actually be a successful runner, and yet on the next running outing I just couldn’t complete my target of getting home. Frustrated and angry I rang the Boy, and his immediate response was to tell me that running three miles was an achievement in itself and I shouldn’t beat myself up. Of course he was right, but that didn’t alter how I felt at the time. Grrrrr!
I went for a run this morning. Just once around the Common. I was in great spirits (birthdays do that to you) but I was very conscious that some of my impetus was missing. I need to brace myself again. I’ve come to learn over the past months that I need to consciously push myself forwards … the problem is that I’m not used to what I would call failure. It knocks me sideways. Having hated so many things about myself for so long, and then having overcome that hatred, it’s pretty bloody tough to face up to the fact that you might still be as flawed as you always were.
Am I being hard on myself? Probably! These are the kind of negative thoughts that would, in my past life, have made me take refuge in food (I guess). And that’s not the case.
Despite what this post may suggest, I’m embracing the beginning of my 37th year (not least because it has been hilarious to remind my parents that their first born ‘baby’ is now 36 years old). I have learnt more about myself in the last twelve months than I care to think about but, at the risk of speaking in cliches, I have to move onwards and upwards.
In terms of my diet, my trainer is going to give me a diet plan on Friday morning. Half of me is going to resist this vehemently, whereas the other half of me will be quietly relieved to think that (once again) my nutritional discipline is out of my hands. I’m interested to see what he suggests … I’ll share it with you all and you can judge for yourselves.
Here’s to the imminent end of January … it’s the month that everyone hates, isn’t it? Well, apart from us Aquarians Good luck to all of you who’ve chosen the new year to make significant changes to your weight and your health. Take it from one who knows … you won’t regret it.
Sorry … forgive the slightly corny title, but I feel a bit like that at the moment. Buoyed up from watching history in the making yesterday I ran home again, this time via a slightly different and fractionally longer route. I was hoping to achieve 5 miles/8 km, according to the route planner, but my running watch told me I’d actually done 4.8 miles/7.7 km. Frustratingly close! I should’ve run around the block a couple of times
The good news is that, as I was crossing Waterloo Bridge (arguably the most beautiful view of the Thames, I hope you agree!) and heading for Kennington, I felt very comfortable about what I was doing. I was in a rhythm, making reasonable progress and enjoying myself. I began to feel, probably for the first time, that the goal I’ve set myself is an achievable one. A bit like Thomas the Tank Engine, the words ‘you can do it, you can do it’ were going round and round inside my head (to the accompaniment of something suitably rousing like The Pogues’ Fiesta, probably). That felt great. I didn’t feel like a very recently ex-fat girl who was wildly overstepping the mark.
I think my positive frame of mind was helped by the fact that I was relentlessly healthy yesterday. Cereal for breakfast, then home-made vegetable soup and home-baked rye bread for lunch, washed down with lots of water meant that I felt good on the inside too. I felt light and not weighed down. I even managed to steer clear of the celebratory hot dogs and Budweiser that was on offer in the agency during the inauguration speech … it would have been so easy to cave in, have a drink or two, and commit to running home another night.
But before you think I’m too smug and saintly for words, I promptly ruined everything by meeting my Dad last night for a curry and red wine … whoops! This is something I need to be very careful about. I can’t use exercise as an excuse to take my eye off the ball when it comes to what I’m eating. It wouldn’t be so much of an issue if I was at my perfect weight, which I most certainly am not! I could kid myself that the scales have crept in the wrong direction because muscle weighs more than fat, but I’d be lying to myself. The fact that my (size 12) denim skirt that I’m wearing today is decidedly on the snug side proves that … it’s not muscle, or the washing machine, it’s over-indulgence.
So, with the running training seemingly taking care of itself, I need to focus now on what I put into my mouth. And that, as we all know, is not something that I’m particularly expert at.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the direction of this blog since completing lighter life. Clearly, given that I’m not actually following the diet any more, I either need to wrap it up or find new topics to discuss on a regular basis (it won’t have escaped some of you that my posts have got fewer and further between).
I don’t want to stop blogging. I’ve had numerous posts and emails from people who say that they are interested in finding out what happens to someone after the diet. Does it all go horribly wrong? Does the weight pile back on? Is it a short-term fix that doesn’t resolve long-term problems? For that reason, I”m going to keep writing, and intend to be as honest as possible about what happens to me in the future.
Also, I have resolved to follow a regular exercise regime with running as my primary focus. As I begin the uphill climb towards a marathon (fingers crossed) I want to document the trials and tribulations of beginning from a cold start and attempting to run 26 miles. Speaking selfishly, I found that the blog really helped to keep me on track while I was dieting and I’m hoping that it will do the same for me while I’m training. It’s not all about the exercise, either … I’m going to be working with my trainer to make sure that I”m eating the right foods while I’m doing this.
So this is where I go from here. I had to summarise my goals for 2009 for my trainer last week and, in a nutshell, I think that 2008 was the year that I lost weight and 2009 will be the year when I get fit. I hope! I’m optimistic about my chances. If last year taught me anything, it taught me that if I give myself a huge goal, then something in my psyche forces me towards it. Here’s hoping I can replicate that success.
The running is going well. I ran home from work on Thursday evening, having been encouraged by a friend of mine who does the same. We spent a hilarious ten or so minutes dodging confused commuters on Tottenham Court Road and then went our separate ways at Trafalgar Square. I was nervous … when you run with a fixed goal (i.e. your house) it’s very different from just going for a bit of a pootle round the Common. I knew that there would only be one outcome … I would make it or I wouldn’t. I tried to see the journey in stages … to the river, then to the Embankment, to Vauxhall, to Stockwell then home. Those mini goals were vital in getting me home. By the time I got to Vauxhall I was over the moon. I told myself that I’d really broken the back of it and was on the home straight. Then, at Stockwell, I was ready to give up. I wasn’t knackered, or struggling, I was just over the whole thing. Then my pride kicked in and I thought about the incredulous faces of my friends as they asked ‘You got to Stockwell and gave up? Five minutes from your house?!’. So I pushed on, and sheer joy and adrenaline made me sprint from the end of my road to my front door. I stumbled through the door, panting and sweating and ecstatic, and terrified the life out of my cat who went belting up the stairs. I’d done it.
Flushed with that success (it’s about 4 and a half miles from work) I ran home from Crystal Palace yesterday. That’s getting on for 5 miles. The Boy has bought a flat to rent out (yes, some people are still buying houses!) and we’d been over there taking out the filthy old kitchen. I have to say that my legs really don’t like me very much today, but they’re going to have to get used to it. I intend to do two middle length runs (4 or 5 miles) and one longer one (between 5 and 10) every week. Let’s see how I get on!
Food-wise, I’m trying to work off the excesses of Christmas. We’ve started getting a vegetable box delivered every week with the aim of decreasing our takeaway consumption or temptation to go out. Not only will it save us money in these cash-strapped times, but will be better for our health. So far this year I’ve discovered the wonders of curly kale, pink fir apple potatoes, and fresh beetroot … I’m looking forward to some more weird and wonderful food concoctions!
So here begins phase 2 of this blog. Let’s see how it goes, eh.
OK, so wishing people a happy new year on the 6th of Jan is slightly belated, I know, but I realised with some relish that I hadn’t switched on a computer since my last post on 24th December. For me, that’s unheard of. I’m one of those people who’s usually only inches away from a laptop, blackberry and a mobile phone. It’s nice to know that I can turn my back on them once in a while.
I’ve just come back from a week in Devon with the Boy and two other friends. We rented a cottage on the outskirts of a town called Halsworthy, about half an hour from Bude. It was a week of long walks, board games and home cooking. In fact, cooking played rather a large part of the holiday. We decided to play our own version of ‘come dine with me’ and took it in turns to cook dinner (slightly nerdily we also scored each other in secret and announced a winner on the final evening). Clearly, with everyone aiming to impress in the kitchen, the potential for enormous calorie consumption was high. In anticipation of this I made a pact with myself to keep up with the running … and run I did. I went out on three mornings during the week we were there and managed one run of 5 miles and two runs of 3 miles. I could’ve done more, I think, but on the second two runs the roads were extremely icy and very treacherous so I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and opted for an early shower rather than a broken ankle.
The fantastic thing is that I’m really starting to get a feel for running. Once I’ve made the effort to get out there (and clambering out of bed at 8am in a cottage where you could see your breath condensing in the morning was no mean feat, I can tell you) and have got going, I now hit that point where I’m in a rhythm and really feeling good about it. I feel as if I’m relaxing into it, if that makes sense. You have to understand that, apart from swimming, I’ve always viewed exercise as some form of masochistic torture that people impose on themselves … now I’m beginning to see it differently. Oh god … am I going to turn from a diet bore into an exercise bore? Please shoot me if I do.
On a slighty less worthy note, my sister bought us a Wii fit for Christmas. It’s absolutely brilliant … despite the fact that it had the cheek to tell me I’m overweight (well, that’s Christmas for you). I thoroughly recommend one to anyone who’s feeling a bit squidgy around the middle after all the turkey … exercise in the comfort of your own front room is a simply genius idea, and much more fun than those hideous celebrity workout DVDs. Frankly I don’t think using one will turn anyone into an olympic athlete, but I spent a couple of hours on it today and some of the exercises were taxing enough. That also made me feel better about opting out of the run around the Common that I had planned for this morning … well, it was bloody snowing at the time!
So … here’s to a slightly punitive January after the excesses of last month. Nice glass of carrot juice, anyone?
So it’s almost the end of the year that changed my life … and that’s not me being melodramatic, it’s the truth. I almost can’t take it all in when I look back to where I was this time last year. I’d already resolved that I would be beginning lighter life in February and was mentally preparing for it. I remember thinking that I simply couldn’t wait to get going, and I’m indescribably happy that I did.
So what does next year hold? Clearly I need to build on what I’ve achieved and not slip back into my mad and bad habits. I’ve surprised myself with my willpower and my ability to stick to my resolutions … if you’d told me a year ago that I would been checking the Christmas opening times for my local gym then I would’ve laughed in your face. I’ve realised that I need to impose discipline on myself and that goals are important to me so, to that end, I’ve taken up running with the ambition of running a marathon. And this is from someone who has struggled in the past with running for a bus! My original intention was to run London in 2010, but I was coerced by a colleague into running New York, with him, in November 2009. Despite the fact that it’s almost Christmas, November next year seems scarily close! But I think I can do it, as long as my knees, back or some other part of my anatomy doesn’t give up on me
I can now comfortably run 5K in the gym, and have started running outside to get used to the difference. In fact, I was out running around Clapham Common this morning, while pretty much everyone else was lying in bed wondering when they could crack into the mince pies. I’m really beginning to enjoy it … I may be stating the bleedin’ obvious, but when you can run without feeling like your lungs are going to burst, it’s actually quite therapeutic. I’ve always been a fan of repetitive exercise (like swimming) because I just empty my mind and get on with it. I really hate having to concentrate on what I’m lifting, or where the rest of the team are, or how many reps I’m supposed to be doing. Running is easy. You just put your shoes on and go … although it would be a lot more of a chore without my trusty ipod for company (I highly recommend Green Day for any aspiring runners out there!).
So that’s my resolution for next year. I know that I can’t live on salad for the rest of my life, and if I’m running regularly then I’ve got half a chance of not being one of those people who watches the weight pile back on. That would break my heart.
I mentioned in my last post just how difficult this time of year must be for anyone dieting, especially you lighter lifers. Just remember what your long term goals are … a couple of days of indulgence doesn’t in any way compensate for the bonus of years of a healthier life. You have my never ending respect and admiration … one of the reasons I waited until Feb to begin the diet was because I didn’t trust myself to stay on the straight and narrow over the festive season. And, if you fall off the wagon, then just get straight back on it again! As we all know, the world and his wife will be on some form of diet in January, so you’ll be in good company.
Happy Christmas and a fabulously svelte New Year! x
How the hell did December come around so quickly? As you can tell by the three week gap since the last post (oops) it’s a crazily busy time of year for me. Not only do we need to tie up 2008 and get ready for 2009, but then there’s the whole Christmas madness to contend with. And that is a challenge and a half.
It occurred to me the other night, when I finally tumbled through my front door and collapsed thankfully in front of the TV, just how difficult it is to be sensible about food (or, for lighter lifers, avoid it) at this time of year. The ad breaks on the TV are wall to wall with adverts for delicious Christmas treats, luxurious meals and special offers on those things that we love but know are terribly bad for us. Everyone is in a more sociable mood and offers of nights out, drinks after work and long Sunday lunches are plentiful … not only that but well-meaning souls start doing festive things like bringing chocolates into the office. For anyone trying to lose or maintain their weight, it’s a nightmare. Despite the financial doom and gloom that’s filling every available column inch and news broadcast, people seem to still be adopting a ‘to hell with it’ attitude to Christmas at the moment. There’s a real sense in the air of ‘indulge now and worry about it later’, or that’s what I’m sensing in my little corner of London, anyway.
As any veteran dieter will tell you, too many of us simply don’t worry about it later. I’ve often asked myself how I ever got as big as I did, and the simple truth is that I didn’t act upon the consequences of my over-indulgence until it had got out of control. Shifting half a stone once in a while would have been so much easier (and healthier) than waiting until I had to face shifting many, many stones all in one go. And, as I’ve said before, I’ve still not quite cracked it. Pairs of jeans that I bought in the summer, at the end of abstinence, are feeling a little tighter now because I’ve succumbed to the cold weather, the Christmas spirit and, frankly, my own weakness. It’s unthinkable, and it makes me cross with myself! I’m still trying to get that balance right … how long will it take me?
I’m still keeping up my training, despite a couple of setbacks due to my workload. My clients are based about an hour and a half from London, and a succession of all day meetings over the past few weeks has played havoc with my gym schedule. I’m trying desperately to keep at it … it would be terribly easy to say ‘oh, I’ll be good in January’, but that would mean beginning the year significantly heavier and much less fit to boot. And I’m still trying to lose weight, dammit! Plus, I can’t face the disapproval of my personal trainer … he’s got the measure of me, I can tell you.
So I guess I’m trying to be festive without being silly. My plans to remain on the wagon went completely to the wall, but I’m finding it easier to order gin and slimline tonics these days rather than vats of red wine. It’s noticeable how much difference that makes, which is heartening. And I’m trying to balance calorific evenings or lunches out with penitent eating the following day. Clearly that will all go to pieces over Christmas itself, but I’m not too worried about that. For the first time in my life, I will feel as if I’ve earned it.
And for all of you who are in abstinence at the moment, I have to say that I take my hat off to you. You deserve medals, you really do.
I’m pleased to say that I’m in a much better frame of mind today! I was really annoyed with myself yesterday … but the good thing is that my impromptu weigh-in at the gym was the kick in the backside that I needed. It has forced me to get back on track … I think that after the rigorous regime of lighter life for all those months the natural rebel in me was beginning to resist my new-found (and blatantly necessary) routine.
So I’ve taken a grip of myself again. I am now religiously counting calories. Yes, it’s dull and yes, it’s one of those things that we all hate doing (and why we end up in a situation where lighter life is the answer) but I can’t argue with the simple truth that I need to be very conscious of what I’m eating and drinking, in the short term at least. I’m keeping a daily food and exercise diary and will be weighing myself once a week to track my progress. During lighter life I kept a spreadsheet of my weight loss … the Boy has suggested on numerous occasions that I should keep this going now I’m eating again (and not because he’s trying to make me anorexic, but because he knows how undisciplined I am!). I will be monitoring the progress of my weight from now on, hopefully in a downward direction!
One of the main things that I learned on lighter life was that I don’t have any boundaries. This doesn’t just apply to food, it applies to everything. I need to have some sort of structure to stop myself from spiralling out of control. Some people cut up their credit cards, and some people count calories … to me it’s the deliberate imposition of control and it amounts to the same thing. Take my training as an example. When I have an appointment with my trainer I make the effort to be there (even at ungodly o’clock on a Monday) but when I’m left to my own devices I can just as easily stay in bed, or in front of the TV, or go to the pub instead. I have no inherent discipline at all! Even beginning this blog was an intentional device to help me stick to the diet … it’s much harder to admit defeat, or cheat, or crawl back under your stone when other people are watching.
I feel better already, after just twenty four hours. I’m happier in mind and I feel lighter in body. Strange, isn’t it? I also don’t feel guilty. I was getting into that mindset of ‘you naughty girl, you had a glass of wine / bar of chocolate / extra slice of toast’, which is utterly pointless. That gets you into an absurd cycle of comfort (or, more accurately, punishment) eating which, as we all know, is a one way ticket to weight hell. It’s so much more beneficial to have a mindset built on balance. Yes, you can have that chocolate bar, but you need to understand what it implies in the context of what else you feed your body on that day. That’s control, and that’s adult behaviour. As a novice to this way of thinking, being very mindful of my calorie intake until I can trust myself to make the right decisions automatically is a very good step forward.
So I’m taking my positive self out tonight to meet a friend of mine. And, with my remaining 600 calories in the bank for today, I may just live dangerously and have a small gin and (slimline) tonic. So there!
The good time I had in New York came back to bite me this morning in the gym. I’ve not had a personal training session since before I went on holiday (over two weeks ago) and have only managed a pitiful two cardio sessions on my own in that time. So this morning I had a sleep-shattering 7am session with my trainer. And guess what? I struggled more than I have ever done before. He did warn me that in a matter of a few days you can lose your level of fitness, and that my stability would suffer first (I wobble hilariously all over the place when I have to do anything that requires balance), but that still left me woefully unprepared for the reality of how crap I would actually be. I felt as if I was back to square one.
Worse still, he weighed me for the first time since I began training with him. I am now a dreadful 8 kilos heavier than when I finished dieting. OK, I can put some of that down to my holiday, but it’s not a good place to be. Had he not said to me ‘don’t let this break your heart, and don’t fixate on it, but use it as a reminder to spur yourself on’ then I would undoubtedly have been crying in the shower. I have to say that I do love the way that my trainer approaches what he does … he is very straight and pulls no punches (well, he is an Aussie!) but tries to frame everything that he says as encouragement. I fully expected to get a bollocking for slacking off over the past couple of weeks, but that wasn’t the case at all. He just reminded me of what I’ve achieved this year, stressed the importance of keeping at it and warned me of the dangers of letting my training slide at this point in time.
He’s right, too. The run up to Christmas is notoriously awful from a health and weight perspective. It’s dark and cold all the time, which doesn’t exactly encourage you to leap out of bed and be active. Hot, carb-laden comfort food seems to be high on the agenda (who really wants to eat salad when it’s snowing?) and the prospect of cozying up in a nice warm pub with a lovely pint of Guinness is very welcome indeed. Well, I have to be strong. My resolution to stay on the wagon crumbled on Friday night, but I got a grip on myself yesterday and spent a very sober Sunday night at our local pub quiz drinking mineral water like it was going out of fashion. I dread to think how truly useless I would’ve been in the gym this morning with a hangover to boot … I think I might actually have been sick. No more alcohol for me … I have to keep reminding myself that I might just as well be spooning sugar into my mouth. It’s a miserable thought, but it’s true!
When I began lighter life, and the pounds started falling off, I had many conversations with people curious about how I would react if the weight just piled back on once the diet was over. It seemed positively ludicrous at the time to think that I would ever let myself get big again … and only a few months later I’m finding that the pounds are making their insidious creep back on to my waistline. Irritatingly, it’s not as if I lost the weight and then immediately reverted to my bad old ways, either! This begs the question that many of us have asked ourselves over time … how do thin people manage to stay thin? I know it’s all about balance (calories in, calories out) but it’s not easy.
That said, there is a huge amount of encouragement to be gleaned from the lighter life experience. As I sat on one of the machines this morning, desperately trying to summon the energy to push heavy weights with tired arms just a few more times, I thought about how angry and frustrated I used to feel about being as overweight as I was. That anger made those weights fly into the air, I can tell you!
On a more positive note, I thought I’d post a couple of pictures for reference. The first is the Boy and I in New York in January of last year, about two weeks before I began the diet. The second was taken two weeks ago. Yes, I know I’m wrapped up in a coat in both pictures, and I guess I’m getting used to the difference between old and new me, but sometimes it’s still striking …
So here I am, back at my desk for the first time since my fabulous trip to New York. I’m jet-lagged and struggling to concentrate, but really chilled out. Having not managed to get a blog in before I left, I swore I’d get onto it as soon as I could.
New York was amazing. I’ve been lucky enough to visit there many times over the past few years, but it never disappoints. And this was my first trip as thin me! One of my goals (or, more accurately, one of the lights at the end of my diet tunnel) was this holiday, which has been planned for months. Whenever you mention New York, people’s first reaction tends to be ‘oh, you’ll do tons of shopping!’. Prior to this trip, that wasn’t the case. Shopping as an overweight person in London is bad enough, but shopping in the clothing mecca that is Manhattan is a thoroughly miserable experience. I so badly wanted to visit the city as a ‘normal’ person, and now I have. Despite the vagaries of the exchange rate at the moment I still managed to come home with an extra holdall of good value clothes … the timing of the diet and subsequent wardrobe clearout meant that I ended up with absolutely no warm winter togs so I promised myself a re-stock across the pond. And re-stock I did. I’m dreading looking at my bank balance …
Diet-wise I tried to be good, but it was bloody hard. As we all know, holidays are challenging things when it comes to what you consume because everyone wants to have a good time and let their hair down. Add to that the size of American portions, the fact that everything seems to come with a topping of melted cheese / mayo / pure lard and the fact that beer is the beverage of choice and it’s easy to be on a hiding to disaster. On a daily basis the three of us (me, the Boy and a friend) would comment on what we came to know as our ‘New York chub’ and lamented the tightening of our collective waistbands. To that end I refused point blank to make any purchases in a larger size than I’d achieved by the end of lighter life … if a sweater or a dress is a little snug at the moment then I’m damn well going to diet until it fits properly now I’m home. I’ve gone back on the wagon for the foreseeable future (partly because of the chub and partly in solidarity with a friend of mine who’s off the booze too) and I’m anticipating that it will make the difference that I need. Added to that, I’m cutting back on carbs and being very strict about portion sizes. I’m going to have to bite the bullet and get on the scales tonight so I can measure that success (or lack of it) and stay on track for my goal of a ‘perfect’ weight by the end of the year. The clock is ticking, and I need to get my act together.
Maybe it’s because my perspective is different now, but I couldn’t help noticing how much bigger the people in New York seemed to have become since my last visit in January 2007. I’ve always had a slightly Sex-And-The-City-esque view of Manhattanites as well-dressed, stylish urban types in considerably better physical shape than some of their counterparts in the ’supersize zones’ of the USA, but this time I really did notice a difference. Thankfully, that difference was among the adults. There were very few examples of the terribly overweight children that I encountered on holiday in Tenerife. Perhaps New Yorkers are ahead of their European counterparts when it comes to changing the nutritional habits of their kids. Let’s hope so.
So now it’s back to reality with an unpleasant bump and not even the whiff of any time off until Christmas, but I can’t really complain I just need to make sure that I stick to my resolutions and don’t use November and December as an opportunity to pile on the pounds, as many people do. I’ll be thin in January if it kills me! It’s my birthday in January so I’m always very reluctant to commit to hellish detox regimes … I’m going to buck the trend and do the detoxing this side of the festive season. That would genuinely make this the year that I proved to myself that nothing is impossible!
And talking of which … good luck Obama!
Many times in this blog I’ve talked about my love affair with red wine. It is, by far and away, my favourite drink in the world. I can drink it until the cows come home … well, I can drink it until my teeth are stained black, my tongue doesn’t work properly and I collapse in a heap. I adore the stuff. I’m not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I do know my Shiraz from my Rioja and my Malbec from my Cabernet.
And the sad truth? I can’t drink it any more. Well, of course I can still literally drink it. I’ve not developed some weird allergy to it (heaven forbid) but what I’ve discovered is that I can’t drink it like I used to. This really came home to me over the weekend. We were in York for a long weekend with some of the Boy’s university friends. As you can imagine, there was a significant amount of drinking going on. Now … I try to be measured these days. I’m not the booze-swilling, chip-scoffing, snack-hoovering lunatic that I used to be. I went away with the intention of eating as sensibly as possible (more on that in a moment) and drinking at a gracious pace rather than guzzling pint after pint with the boys. So on the Friday night I sipped steadily at my red wine … and what happened? I had to leave the pub early because I felt drunk and, frankly, sick. This was not after three or four bottles of the stuff, but after three or four glasses! Unheard of, in my world.
Sadly this isn’t the first time that this has happened to me since the diet. I’m slowly coming to the realisation that I can only drink a fraction of what I used to be able to (a good thing) and that red wine is the one thing I really have to be careful of (a bad thing). I know that wine is lethal for people watching their weight, not least because measures are huge and you’re pretty much drinking neat sugar, but for the first time in my adult life I’m having to make a decision led by my waistline rather than by my heart. I guess I’ve finally grown up! I just wish it wasn’t the wine that had to go. It also leaves me with another problem. What on earth do I drink when I go out? I’ve only ever really drunk Guinness or red wine (hmmm … can you see how I got so big?!). Am I now consigned to a life on the Gin and Slimline Tonics?
Before you think I am actually a raging alcoholic and should stop my whining, I will shortly be giving up booze altogether for another stretch. For medical reasons a friend of mine will be stone cold sober between now and the end of December. I’ve agreed that when I’m back from my holidays (New York in a week’s time, yay!) I’ll join him in his sobriety for a few weeks. I never thought I’d hear myself say these words, but it wasn’t actually that bad to stay on the mineral water during the diet, and it goes without saying that the effect that alcohol has on your weight is enormous. So I’m cutting it out again … although I have reserved the right to have a few glasses of something inappropriate at our Christmas party. I’m not a martyr
Tonight is the long-awaited Moulin Rouge ball. I spent an amusing half an hour last night while the Boy endeavoured to wrestle me into my corset, with reasonable success. Unfortunately he won’t be there this evening to help me get dressed and I’m relying on a friend of mine. I hope for both our sakes she’s feeling strong! I also have a sneaking suspicion that after the ball the Boy will do his usual trick of falling asleep as soon as he walks through the front door and I’ll end up sleeping in the damn thing. That could be grounds for divorce, frankly!
Thanks to all of you who emailed or posted after the last post. I’m very flattered that some of you have used this blog as the inspiration to start lighter life or as the motivation to continue with it. It means a lot to me, and I really want to wish all of you the best of luck. I’m sure you’ll all be very successful indeed.
Well, this is it. I’ve officially finished management. I am now at liberty to eat and drink exactly what I like, when I like and, if I choose, I need never go near a food pack again.
And do you know what? It feels really, really weird. When I began this, back in February, I put the dates in my calendar. I imagined some joyous day at the end of September (ish) when I would be whooping for joy and my new svelte self would be literally leaping up and down. Well, in reality, it doesn’t quite happen like that! I’m not saying for a moment that I’m disappointed, because this last year has been an incredible journey for me, both mentally and physically, but there is an odd sense of anti-climax, of being a bit lost after it all. Does that make sense? I remember talking in a post ages ago about a conversation I’d had with a friend of mine. In her experience, people who are overweight can fall into the trap of thinking that being thin means that everything else in their life will be perfect. Clearly that’s not true. I feel almost as if I’ve gone to the other extreme … in a concerted attempt not to pin the ‘it will be perfect’ tag on my future life, I’m risking not allowing myself to enjoy it. Perhaps my pessimistic side had nothing to do with being overweight and I am, in fact, just a miserable cow!
What I do feel is a colossal sense of separation from my old self. Clearly I’m the same in my heart, or soul, or whatever you want to call it, but the person that goes about her daily business is not the one who was sat at this very computer a year ago. I really do believe that I’ve achieved the aim I’ve stated in the ‘about’ section of this blog … after 35 years of being awkward in my own skin I am the person I think I deserve to be. Without being too sentimental, there is a photo that I have of myself and my sister, taken when I was about eight and she was about four (forgive me if I’ve mentioned this before). We’re standing in the back garden of my first house wearing our school uniforms, probably because she was just about to start primary school. There were times when I couldn’t actually look at that photo because I would see my tiny, trusting little self gazing at the camera and I would feel that I’d let her down. On occasion (usually after one red wine too many!) it actually made me cry. When I look at that photo now, I feel overwhelmingly happy.
The oddest thing is that I haven’t achieved the weight goal that I originally set for myself. I still think I was right to stop dieting when I did (because I didn’t want to lose any more at the speed that I was) and equally I still think I should lose some more. I’m in a situation now where I’m not actually gaining weight (hurrah!), but I will need to make changes to my new regime in order to lose any more. So more dieting for me! In my darker moments I find myself thinking about a brief return to abstinence, but I think that’s the equivalent of a reformed alcoholic being tempted by ‘just one glass of fizz’ at Christmas! I need to prove that I can manage my weight in the same way that everyone else does.
I’ve decided to keep this blog going for a while. Not only do I enjoy writing it (despite being a bit slack recently!) but I want to share my experiences of the rocky road after lighter life. In the first week of the diet I drove myself a little crazy reading lots of negative publicity online about how ‘you just put all the weight on afterwards’. I’d like to prove that it’s not true.
I’m still gym-ing, and still personal training, and that’s going well. The recent pressures on my time have made it a little harder than it was, but I’m absolutely determined to stick with it. And I can be very bloody-minded, I can tell you! One of the suggestions that my trainer has made to me is that I eat six small meals a day rather than the traditional three. Now, I’ve heard this theory before, and I understand the logic. My biggest worry is that I’ll simply end up eating twice as much as I need to! I have always had issues with discipline, frankly … That said, I may well try it.
Also, in my ongoing pursuit of vanity, I’ve taken a drastic step. When I began lighter life I had long, straggly, dark brown hair. I’m now the proud owner of a very short, very blonde crop (well, I’ve got a long fringe, but both me and the Boy were worried that I might look like a man if I went too crazy!). I cannot tell you how therapeutic it was to watch all that long hair falling on to the salon floor. It was like losing the weight, and its associated baggage, all over again.
Thanks to those of you who emailed about my ball dress dilemmas. I now have an outfit (corset and long fishtail skirt) which I’m quite optimistic about. I’m going to see a dressmaker tonight to make sure it all fits and looks wonderful … the fact that I won’t be able to breathe, eat, drink or sneeze in the damn thing is besides the point! The ball is in a week so I promise photographic evidence.
So … farewell to management and hello to normality! Good lord, that was a long time coming …
Another long gap between posts! This is such a busy time of year. Before I know it, it will be Christmas, which is a scary thought.
I went to the pub the other night with my Dad to watch football and have a chat, and we had dinner there (I had salad while he had a burger … that’s how well behaved I am these days!). We were sitting at the front of the crowd, pretty much under the TV screen, and were therefore surrounded by dozens of blokes all watching the game. I realised that I was sitting there eating in front of all of these people, without a care in the world. I didn’t feel uncomfortable, I didn’t feel self-conscious, I didn’t think that the blokes behind me were looking at me and thinking ‘haven’t you eaten enough, love?’. I mentioned a while ago that I didn’t realise how damning I was being about myself, and how insidious my negative thoughts were, until they stopped being there. That moment in the pub illustrates that perfectly. For years and years I’ve been desperately uncomfortable about people watching me eat. I wouldn’t say that I’m exactly over the moon about it now, to be honest, but I’m getting better. In fact, I think I was in a vicious circle. I hated public eating so much that I would wolf down my food as fast as possible so that nobody saw me do it. I didn’t allow myself to eat slowly, thoughtfully and healthily. I’ve always wanted to be able to eat and not be noticed (critically or otherwise) for doing it … now I believe that I can.
I went shopping for a ball dress last night. The last time I went to a ball was just after I left university, which is a very long time ago indeed. With my new-found retail confidence I went to Coast on Regent Street on a recommendation by a friend and was confronted by a wide array of beautful evening wear. Having never bought anything there before, I took a range of sizes and styles and holed myself up in the changing room. Now, in the past, shopping for formal wear and dresses has been a total nightmare. I was never able to step into a dress without doing a very convincing impersonation of Mavis Cruet. I was confident that this would no longer be the case. And what did I discover? Dresses that fit my bottom half like a glove haven’t a hope in hell of getting over my ribcage, whereas dresses that I can actually do up on the top sag around my bottom half like a baggy old bin liner. So I stood there, in two hundred quid’s worth of beautiful but il-fitting dress, staring at my reflection and giggling. Being thinner doesn’t make everything perfect, not by a long shot. And the hunt for the dress goes on! Any suggestions?
I’m on my way to Stockport this morning to listen to housewives talk about cleaning their toilets. I’m not lying … that’s how glamorous my life is. It means that I’ll be stuck in a darkened room behind a one-way mirror for several hours. Past experience tells me that the temptation in these situations is to graze your way through crisps, snacks, biscuits and fizzy drinks purely to alleviate the boredom. With that in mind I invested in a bag of nuts and a packet of dried mango (my new favourite treat!) on the way to the station. I’m hoping that I have the willpower to reach for that instead of the chocolate when the discussions about removing limescale get too thrilling for words …
Ten days since the last post … I should be ashamed of myself. Well, my excuses are pretty valid. Not only have I started a new job (and my brain is melting under the strain of taking on loads of new information) but I’ve been sick and I’ve been away. So I don’t feel too guilty.
The most significant thing for me was a long weekend in Cornwall. I’d been really looking forward to this trip … work has been a hard slog for me over the last few weeks and I was counting down the hours until I could put my feet up and enjoy the sea air. Thirteen of us went to a cottage near Tintagel, and bloody gorgeous it was too. For the first time since I began dieting (and before that) I felt that I could join in absolutely everything in good conscience … the activities, the chilling out, the food and the drink. I didn’t feel unable to participate in anything too energetic, I didn’t feel guilty about being lazy when I wanted to be, and I didn’t have to have ’special food’. It was brilliant.
In keeping with my new exercise regime, I was up with the lark on the Saturday morning and did something I’ve not attempted for many years. I went for a run. It was indescribably beautiful jogging along a country lane, passing fields of sheep and watching the sun rise. I managed about a mile and a half, maybe two, by my calculations, and ran for about ninety percent of it. Just as I was feeling on the point of giving up, I passed a man walking his dog and my pride forced me to carry on running … a strange, red-faced and sweating townie who is running along the road looks much more acceptable than the same person simply walking along the road! I was so pleased with myself. I’ve always liked the idea of running and struggled with the reality … it was brilliant to actually enjoy it. However, despite stretching before and after, I was stiff as a plank and did hobble about a lot for the rest of the weekend like an old lady. Well, that’s something I’ve been getting used to recently!
The real excitement happened later that day when we clambered down the cliff path to the beach to go surfing. Old me would have been sitting on a rock watching everyone else having fun. New me, however, clambered into a wetsuit and took the plunge. I can honestly say that I’ve never, ever worn a wetsuit in my life. They’re not the most flattering of garments at the best of times, but in the old days it would have been unthinkable. As it was, I did look a little bit like a squeezed tube of black toothpaste, but I felt perfectly comfortable in it. I had to couple the suit with a pair of chunky black Caterpillar boots for the walk to the beach so I did look slightly like I was going to a grunge fetish party, but I coped. Clearly I’m too much of a novice to do proper surfing on a grown-up board, but I managed a bit of boogie boarding, didn’t drown, swallowed about three pints of sea water and only smacked myself in the face with the board once. Not bad for a first-timer!
The fun didn’t stop there. When the tide came in we all showered, dried off and went to Tintagel Castle. Anyone who’s ever been there will recall the steep climbs up and down hundreds of narrow slippery steps. It’s not the kind of tourist attraction that would be popular in Florida, put it that way. Again, unthinkable for the old me but nothing more than a strenuous stroll for new me. OK, I was limping a little and starting to make whining noises about going for a beer by about 5.30, but it was fun. In fact, I loved it. I even had enough energy to go surfing again on the Sunday (despite my wetsuit being very cold and damp … ugh).
And as for the food … well, we ate tons of the stuff. To be fair, all of the fresh air and exercise did make us genuinely hungry, but I for one ate much more than I have in recent memory. And I probably drank my own bodyweight in red wine. Did I care? No. Did I feel guilty? No. Did I almost cry when my new denim skirt was a bit on the snug side come Tuesday morning? Yes. But that’s the way it works. I’ve not dared to go on the scales but my clothes are telling me all that I need to know. So it’s sensible eating this week and next, lots of trips to the gym, and back on the straight and narrow for me. The advantage of having an entirely new wardrobe is that I can’t ‘cheat’ myself into bigger clothes and pretend I’m the same weight. I don’t have any bigger clothes. So, unless I want to look like an overstuffed sausage, I have to lost any weight that I gain. Easier said than done, and sometimes I do miss the simplicity of those lighter life packs (yes, it’s true!) but this is what normal means, and what I’ve wanted for more years than I can remember.
What a lovely weekend! Well, I know it peed down with rain for most of it, but it was still a good one. On Saturday morning I dragged my aching bones to the gym … I knew I had to do it as I was facing a weekend of indulgence, and I needed to stretch out my poor old leg muscles. Feeling quite virtuous for spending a Saturday morning somewhere other than under the duvet, we then went off to a festival organised by a friend of mine. It’s not quite on the same scale as Glastonbury, but the effect of being in a muddy field in Surrey in wellies was pretty similar. There were people there that I’ve known since school, some of whom I’ve not seen for years and years. As ever, I took most of them by surprise. I was told by at least three people that they didn’t recognise me (the very fetching hooded cagoule I was wearing may have had something to do with it, mind you) and was repeatedly told ‘you look well’. Is ‘you look well’ the polite way of telling someone they’re not fat any more? Only my closer friends, or those that knew about the diet, commented on the weight loss outright. It’s funny, I’d never realised before just how sensitive people are about referring to other people’s weight … it might be seen as gauche to tell someone they’ve piled on the pounds, but is it bad to tell them when they’ve shifted them?
The festival involved lots of drinking and barbecued food. I stuck to wine (red, this time) and steered clear of Old Sheep Dip or whatever weird ales and ciders were on offer. I was pretty restrained on the barbecue front, too, and managed not to chomp my way steadily through the afternoon. This all went slightly to pot on Sunday when I had to meet a succession of people for breakfast, lunch, drinks and dinner. There’s only so much salad a girl can take, I can tell you! To be honest, I think I did pretty well in the face of some quite serious temptation. Well, the scales will tell on Thursday.
I was out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6am today to meet my trainer in the gym at 7. This session wasn’t as cripplingly difficult as the last one, despite some intensive bursts of activity on the rowing machine and the bike. I did actually fear I might be sick at one point, but my pride prevented me from spilling the evidence of an indulgent Sunday on the laminate floor. I had more comedy moments trying to lift weights. My arms, particularly my left one, are pathetically weak. It’s a wonder that I can lift a handbag, frankly. But I have to stick at this. I’m never going to be a dainty little thing, so the sooner I can turn this chunky physique into a more athletic one the better. I just wish that exercise came in pill form, that’s all
I need to be careful this week. The exercise means that my body is demanding more calories and I’m wary of lapsing back into a carb-heavy diet. Because I’m approaching the end of management now, and will soon be going it alone, I need to get to a happy place between dieting (as such) and a normal routine. As I’ve said before, I still want to lose some weight, and I’m giving myself a deadline of Christmas by which to do so. I think that’s achievable, but I need to be strong. It’s harder to exercise willpower in the world of food than it was during abstinence, and I’m permanently conscious of that fact.
I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop thinking about my weight. Sadly, I think I already know the answer to that question …
Oh … my … god. I am in pain! I went to my personal training session on Tuesday morning, all keen and full of beans. My trainer is a lovely Australian guy who’s athletic enough to show that he knows what he’s doing but not one of those ridiculously over-pumped muscle types. That suits me just fine. He’d told me that the first couple of sessions would be all about assessing my fitness and working out a suitable programme. In his words, ‘you’re going to feel a bit like a lab rat’. Again, fine. To be honest, I’ve been weighed, measured, poked and prodded so much over the last few months that I’m quite used to it.
So the lab-ratting began with some squats and lunges and things while he peered at me and wrote notes down in his brand new ‘Joanne’s fitness plan’ notebook (pink and from Paperchase, I noticed … nice touch!). We discovered that my left side is weaker than my right, so despite my best efforts to lunge like a pro I kept veering comically to one side like some malcoordinated toddler. When I’d finished making myself look stupid I did a fitness test on a bike, and was delighted when he told me that I’m fitter than I give myself credit for. I’m holding on to that thought, I can tell you. In fact, when I first met him he seemed to be genuinely surprised that a lifetime of being overweight hasn’t given me a catalogue of slipped discs, back problems and knackered joints. There’s still time …
Then the real fun began with the free weights and resistance machines. Picture me – a slightly flabby and red-faced blonde chick – surrounded by enormous men with muscles bulging out of tight vests, lying on a bench trying desperately not to drop twenty kilos onto my face. I can’t say it was my finest moment. And, of course, my dear trainer was trying to see how strong I was so kept piling on the weights until I thought my arms were going to drop off. And I can’t even begin to tell you about the machine where you have to push heavy weights in the air with your feet … all I can say is that it took all of my willpower to keep my legs from buckling completely when I climbed off of the damn thing.
Since then I’ve been shuffling around in absolute agony. I was warned by the trainer that the first couple of sessions would be hard and that I’d really feel it afterwards. He omitted to point out that for the last three days a one-legged octagenarian could easily have beaten me in a run for a bus. I’m having to take stairs sideways, for goodness’ sake.
And I paid for this …
But, undeterred, I was back in the gym this morning. The absolute truth is that I need to show those muscles who’s boss (er … they are, at the moment) so I creaked out of bed while it was still dark and managed a very respectable 20 minutes on the cross trainer and the same again on the rowing machine. So the regime is most definitely on track, and I will be meeting the torture-monger … sorry, trainer,at 7am on Monday for session number two.
Food-wise I’ve been up and down. The main revelation is that good old lighter life shakes make a great breakfast if you mix them with a banana, some strawberries and a broken up peanut food bar. That will be my staple post-gym energy boost in the morning to stop me from reaching for the dreaded snacks before lunchtime. I’m due at my counselling session this afternoon and I’m 99% certain that the scales have gone in the wrong direction, but I’m not too bothered about that. For me it’s all about getting the balance right … reasonably healthy eating and regular exercise. When I’m comfortable with that routine, and safe in the knowledge that I’ll stick to it, then I’ll consider that I’m at the end of lighter life.
I now have to leave my desk and go to a meeting. Standing up will only take me about three and a half minutes, so here goes …
What a whirlwind last week was! And all of a sudden it’s Monday again and another weekend has disappeared.
The chaos is all down to my new job. I’m with the same company, but I’ve been promoted and my role has changed which has involved lots of inductions, meetings and general strain on the old brain. This has meant that anything diet-related has had to take a back seat. Frankly, after months of thinking solely about lighter life and my weight, maybe that’s a good thing!
When I wrote my last proper post I was on an enormous high having managed to shift the weight I’d gained on holiday. I’ve not been near a set of scales since that day, nor to a counselling session (thanks to three all day meetings back to back last week). So goodness knows what my weight has done since then. I need to be more disciplined about weighing myself regularly. I come from the school of thinking that you shouldn’t necessarily weigh yourself every day (I know many people will disagree with that) because I think it’s far too easy to get obsessive about it. I had a terrible tendency in my teens to go through binge/purge cycles where my weight was concerned, and for years after leaving home I refused to have a set of scales in the house. Clearly I went too far in the other direction, but I really want to remain rational and sensible about what the scales say.
We had a barbecue at my house over the bank holiday weekend, and some friends came who were over for ten days from Boston. They’ve been monitoring my weight loss progress (mainly through this blog and facebook) but it’s still flattering and rewarding to see the kind of surprise that they registered when they actually saw me in the flesh. I think I’m pretty much used to my new physique now (although, in my heart of hearts, I do still consider myself to be a fat person in many respects), and most of my friends have seen me, but it’s still a shock for some. I know that I’ve been lucky in the support and reactions that I’ve had from the people around me … I just hope that I won’t slowly pile the weight back on and have to see the disappointment on their faces, not to mention face up to how dreadful that would make me feel.
I don’t feel like I’m dieting anymore, even though a proportion of my diet is still lighter life food. I’m trying desperately to get back to normal. When I say that, I mean normal for the ‘thin people’ that I envied for so long, not normal for the old me. The old me would be putting her feet up and reaching for a bag of crisps, whereas I’m trying to plan a new lifestyle and a new regime that will take me into a healthier future. As I write I’ve just returned from a meeting with a personal trainer. I have my first session tomorrow at 7.30am. The old me would rather have eaten her own shoes than sign up for something like this, but I know that I need help, support and motivation to build on what I’ve achieved to date. I just hope that I can do it.
I have another meeting now (will I be this busy from now on, I wonder?), but I’ll let you know how the training goes tomorrow. Er, provided that I don’t oversleep …
Just a lightning quick post … I haven’t emigrated to the moon, nor lost the use of both my hands, but I’m in three all day meetings this week and haven’t found a moment for blogging. I promise a decent post by the end of the week!
Crazy week this week, work-wise, so I’ve been a bit slack on the blogging front. Naughty me.
The great news is that I’ve just been to my weigh-in and I’ve shifted the weight that I put on while I was in Tenerife. I was a bit down in the dumps when I came back, as I felt podgy, and as you know was endeavouring to go back into abstinence to shift the pounds. Well, that didn’t work, but a return to sensible eating and regular exercising has done the trick. I’m not yet at the weight I achieved before going into management (76 kg) but I’m not far off (79 kg). I’m so happy that I could skip. I feel so normal, for want of a better word. I had a normal holiday, with the normal indulgences, put on a normal amount of weight, and shifted it in the way that normal people do. This bodes so well for life after lighter life.
Today was a big day for me in other ways too. I’m being promoted at work (yippee!) and part of that promotion involved three hour-long meetings with my potential new clients today. I had to make them comfortable with having me moving into the role (I’m replacing a colleague who is going abroad) … in a nutshell they had to come away from those meetings believing that I had the right personality for their respective teams and that I do actually have a working brain between my ears. I realised yet again what a difference this diet has made to my confidence. I know damn well that I would have hated going through this process as fat me … I’ve mentioned this before but I was living with a perpetual sense that I didn’t deserve certain things before simply because I was so unhappy about how I looked and felt. It’s at moments like these that you realise that dieting is about so much more than the superficial matter of how you look. It goes right to the heart of how you are and what you believe you can do.
I think the meetings went well. I guess I’ll find out soon enough! I did have one fabulous moment when I realised that I’d met one of the clients before. We were having the ‘where do I know you from?’ discussion until I suddenly remembered that I’d been on a conference with him almost eighteen months ago. Without thinking he said ‘yes, I remember you … good god you’ve lost a lot of weight’ then clapped his hand over his mouth in case he’d offended me. Of course I wasn’t offended, I was delighted. He told me that he himself shed 30 kg about three years ago and I had the double pleasure of telling him that I’d lost more than that
So I’m sitting here now, exhausted from the brain strain of today, but absolutely ecstatic about the fact that I seem to be managing my weight while living the life I always have. The most significant change is the amount of exercise I’m doing. I’ve been to the once dreaded gym three times this week, and even managed 20 minutes on the rowing machine yesterday. If I can keep that up, I may soon be able to class myself as fit (in the health sense not the attractiveness sense, you understand). Just a few months ago that would have been unthinkable.
For those of you who are on lighter life, or a similar programme, or considering starting it, you will undoubtedly have read the reams of criticism online from people who claim that once you finish the diet you simply pile all the weight back on. Well … at the moment I’m proving that to be untrue, and I can’t tell you how great that feels.
I fell off the wagon on Sunday and ate lots of pies …
No, not really. But I did fall off the wagon. In fact, it was less of a fall and more of a graceless slide. On Saturday night, at Walthamstow dogs, I caved in and drank three pints of beer. I was saved from drinking any more than that by the fact that the place was packed to the rafters and the bar queue was a good twenty minutes long. I was with two of the most hardened drinkers that I know and even they couldn’t face the wait. I have to say that it was a brilliant night, though. The atmosphere was amazing … what really struck me was how many families were there, and families who are clearly local to the area and have a long-standing relationship with the track. All around us we could hear people being addressed as ‘Auntie’, ‘Dad’ or ‘Grandma’ rather than by their names … in many cases there were three or four generations of one family there celebrating the end of 76 years of racing at the track. Of course there were lots of tourists too, and Londoners (like me) who aren’t exactly what you would call regular dog racing enthusiasts! I was very glad that I was there, but I do wish that I’d steered clear of the bar entirely. Oh well.
On Sunday I went down to Chiselhurst to visit my friend’s flat, which is absolutely gorgeous. The weather was lovely and he’d booked us in for lunch at a pub on the edge of Chiselhurst Common. I simply didn’t have the heart to sit and watch him eat on his own, so went for what I thought was the most sensible option and chose a chicken caesar salad (with the lardy dressing on the side, of course) rather than the attractive but carb-laden roast dinner. Frankly, I don’t feel very inclined to eat roast dinners in the summer … for me they belong to cold winter afternoons and it feels odd to tuck in to roast potatoes when the sun is blazing outside.
So far so good … OK, I’d broken my vow of abstinence but was at least behaving sensibly. It was after lunch that it all went horribly wrong. We took a leisurely stroll back, via a couple of local pubs, and soon the bottle of wine we’d shared over lunch became two bottles. By the time we got back to the flat, two became three. I’ve said many times before just how much I love red wine, and I’ve been really disciplined about avoiding it over recent months, even now I’m officially allowed alcohol again. Well, all that unravelled yesterday and I was far from sober by the time I crawled under my duvet last night. The good news was that it didn’t make me eat more … as I’m sure many of you will recognise, drinking alcohol suddenly makes snacking seem very attractive. Apart from a few twiglets at my friend’s flat, I didn’t feel the urge to stuff my face with rubbish once the alcohol had kicked in. I was mightily pleased about that when I woke up this morning, I can tell you.
In an attempt to repair some of the damage I was up with the lark and in the gym by 7am. I did a full hour’s workout, which is the longest to date, and felt really good about it afterwards. I can’t undo what happened over the weekend, but I can try to make up for it. Clearly my plans to abstain this week have gone out of the window, so I’m going to have one meal and three packs every day between now and my weigh-in on Thursday. I’ve also upgraded my gym membership (for a very reasonable £6 extra a month … thank-you, Fitness First!) so that I can use any of their outlets. This means that I can now go to the local gym down the road on a weekend, and I fully intend to do that. I think it’s a sign of how much my attitudes have changed that I’m excited about that … I used to loathe gyms but I’m now starting to feel good about exercising and, in some ways, am now viewing it as my insurance policy against a return to fat me. Ideally I’d be swimming, but I’ve contracted some strange ear problem (like an adult version of glue ear, apparently) which means that it’s out of the question for the next few weeks at least. So the gym is the way forward at the moment. I’ve even (and anyone that knows me well will choke on their tea when they read this) considered signing up for some sessions with a personal trainer.
What’s happening to me? Am I still the same person inside that I was before the diet?!
So I’m back on the shakes and, frankly, it’s not so bad! This is my third proper day and it’s a lot easier than I thought it would be, which is a colossal relief. This may sound odd but there’s something very familiar, even comforting (!), about getting back into the rhythm of the lighter life regime. And by that I don’t mean that I intend to seek refuge in abstinence if I discover that I can’t manage my weight in the future, rather that I wasn’t comfortable about the weight I’d achieved which was like a perpetual nagging voice in the back of my brain. That voice has shut up for the time being, and I feel much happier.
I went to my group meeting on Thursday night and had a long one-on-one chat with my counsellor (most of the group are on holiday). She was, as ever, incredibly insightful and helpful. We talked about the pros and cons of a return to abstinence. Her point of view was that I needed to think long and hard about my motivations for shifting that extra stone (ish). She said, which is very true, that I’d come so far and achieved all the goals that I’d set myself … could I genuinely gear myself up mentally to do it? I came away from the session feeling very positive. She recommended that I tried three food packs a day and one light meal (similar to the first two weeks of the management programme) which would enable me to lose weight at a rate of about 3lbs a week. When I got home and thought about it I knew that this wouldn’t be enough. Weirdly I have the discipline to throw myself wholeheartedly into abstinence, but I think that a halfway house would frustrate me immensely. Also, I promised myself when I began this diet that I’d be settled at a comfortable and healthy weight by the end of the year. If I go the slow route, that might not happen, especially if the pounds start bouncing up and down like a yo-yo. At the very least, I owe it to myself to give this a shot.
You wait … the next post will probably begin with ‘I fell off the wagon on Sunday and ate lots of pies’ …
The real test, as ever, will be booze. I didn’t drink a thing for about five months which, for an apprentice alcoholic like myself, was pretty impressive. Over the last few weeks I’ve obviously been drinking again, but not nearly to the degree that I used to. I’ve tried to make myself enjoy white wine spritzers rather than pints of Guinness or buckets of red wine, and I’ve been pretty successful. But I’m going out tonight (for the last night of racing at Walthamstow dog track … what a terrible shame!) and it’s going to be difficult not only admit that I’ve had to go back on the diet, but also to be disciplined enough to drink water. I’ll have to keep thinking about how virtuous I’ll feel in the morning when I don’t wake up with a fuzzy head!
Other than tonight’s little challenge I have a very nice weekend planned with lots of things to keep my mind off dieting. My Mum’s coming round today to see the newly-decorated house, so a spot of panic-tidying is in order. (I’m hoping that the return to abstinence will put me back in purge mode and I’ll manage to get rid of the last few bits of junk that are sitting woefully in boxes in the dining room). Then tomorrow I’m off to Kent to visit a friend’s new flat. I say ‘new’ but he’s actually owned the place for about nine months … he just refused to let anyone near it until he’d completed all the work on it and everything was perfect. Well, I’ll be casting my critical eye over it, I can assure you
Right. Time to get the hoover out.
Well, I’m back! It feels like I’ve been away forever. Even sitting in front of a laptop feels a bit weird.
It goes without saying that we had a great time. I’ve not been on a beach holiday for years, not least because me and swimwear have never been the best of friends. And I’ve never been on an all-inclusive holiday like this one, ever. As you know, I went with the Boy’s family, and their biggest priority is keeping his 7 year-old niece and 4 year-old nephew entertained (no small feat, I promise you), so this type of holiday is perfect for all concerned. And I have to say that I felt bloody good … I was by no means the thinnest person by the pool, but I felt absolutely confident wandering about in my swimming costume and sarong. It was actually quite emotional, if I’m honest. I felt like I had a right to be there and that nobody was staring at me. One of the big triggers for me embarking on lighter life was the knowledge that this holiday was planned and booked … it would have been unbearable had I not lost the weight.
From a diet point of view, this kind of holiday is potentially nothing short of disastrous The supply of food and drink is unrelenting … obviously, as we all know, willpower does exist and nobody is ever forced to eat or drink, but for people with a tendency to overeat then all-inclusive holidays are a minefield. Many people that I saw over the last few days were using their stay as a licence to indulge to alarming (and sometimes disgusting) degrees. It wasn’t unusual to see people consume three loaded plates of food at one sitting and then pile up another plate with cakes from the dessert trolley. I don’t mean to sound pious, but I was genuinely shocked. It was like the barbecue effect (graze until you might explode) magnified a hundred times. Now, as I’ve said before, people’s weight really is their own business, and if adults choose to be overweight then that’s entirely up to them. What really got to me was the children. It was absolutely heartbreaking to see young kids, some of whom were already significantly overweight, piling their plates high with junk, junk and more junk. I think there’s something in the mentality of an all-inclusive package that says ‘well, I’ve paid for this, so it doesn’t matter if the food goes to waste’ which meant that some families’ tables were literally groaning with food … and if kids can help themselves to as much ice cream or chips or chicken nuggets as they can carry, then that’s exactly what they’re going to do. It was incredibly sad. These are the kids who are going to grow up to find themselves in the same situation as I did … overweight, unhealthy and downright miserable.
And how did I cope? Well, I’ve not dared to go near the scales just yet, but if I’m not significantly heavier than when I left twelve days ago then I’ll be mighty surprised. I didn’t go crazy, by any stretch of the imagination (although I have identified two major personal weaknesses in the form of bread and ice cream), but I was by no means perfect either. Broadly speaking I limited myself to two meals a day (thanks to my trusty vanilla shakes), stuck to salad and protein, went easy on the carbs and avoided fried food. Back in the bad old days I had an alarming fondness for chips, so I was delighted to discover that I could avoid them quite easily (I had them once in the whole time I was there). I steered clear of beer, and drank mainly dry white wine topped up with sparkling mineral water. That said, I’m still estimating that I’ve probably gone half a stone in the wrong direction.
A couple of posts ago I was discussing the fact that my counsellor has suggested that I go back into abstinence. I’ve decided that’s what I’m going to do. Not only will it help me to compensate for the excesses of the holiday, but I don’t feel that I’ve settled at a weight that I’m happy with. Going into management early meant that I had no buffer zone and, frankly, I’ve come so far that it seems lunatic not to use this opportunity to get to where I want to be. So as of this morning I’m back on the shakes and bars. I’m hoping that I have the willpower to stick at it for those critical few weeks (I’m hoping no more than four, but who knows?). If I really do find it impossible, then I think I will compromise with three food packs and one salad and protein meal. Here’s hoping that I can do it.
Anyway, I must go. I’m up to my eyeballs in dirty washing. Deep joy!
