True to my word, I attacked my wardrobe again this weekend. In fact, I attacked my whole bedroom. Trust me, it was long overdue. So I now have a grand total of eight bin liners neatly stacked and waiting to go to the charity shop. I’m going to make the fat bargain hunters of South London very happy indeed. Eight bin liners! It defies belief. Before you think I have some sort of compulsive shopping habit, many of these clothes have been lurking in the wardrobe for over ten years. Well … not any more. And the Boy will be happy as he now has an entire wardrobe to himself (I was cruelly overtaking half of his with my clutter).
My Mum asked me whether I was going to get any of my clothes altered rather than giving them away. Now, I’m a keen green who recycles everything and I had considered that, but there are two things that stopped me. On a really shallow level, I don’t like any of the clothes enough to make the effort to do that. I really don’t. Secondly, and more importantly, the fact that I’m getting rid of them has a psychological root too. I want to say goodbye to my fat life and start afresh. The clothes that I had to wear (even the nicer ones) are very obvious reminders of that life and I know damn well that every time I look at them I’ll remember what it was like to wear them when I was much bigger. So they have to go. And if it sounds terribly profligate, then so be it. It’s more important to me at this precise moment in time that I don’t hold myself back. Partly to salve my conscience (and partly to ensure that the Boy keeps his wardrobe space) I’ve made a pact with myself not to over-buy on clothes when I’m at the size I want to be. It would be very tempting to go absolutely crazy with my credit card and end up with eight new bin liners of new stuff. So I’m going to be more restrained than that. You could say that I have a new-found respect for clothes!
As part of my ongoing transformation (or should that be improvement?) I went to the hairdresser this weekend and am now more blonde and more chic than I was before. I’m very pleased with it, too. I was especially pleased with the slightly backhanded compliment from my (male) hairdresser who said that my haircut would not have suited me three stone ago! Well, that’s the kind of truth that I need to hear, especially as I’m almost nine weeks into this now and starting to long for the days when I can rejoin my fellow food-eating human beings. I’m not one to wish my life away, but I’m keen to live normally again.
That said, I’m still sticking with it! I was talking to a friend about the weird and wonderful lighter life recipes that people concoct in an effort to alleviate the boredom of the same food all the time. I understand why people do it, and applaud their creativity (I found a recipe for cheesecake, for heaven’s sake!) but I’ve decided not to attempt anything like that. The simple reason is that it would make me crave normal food, I think, and might have the disastrous effect of making me resent the food that I have. I can’t afford to knock myself off track like that. I’m quite happy with my soups … there’s something very comforting about them. They don’t represent denial and deprivation to me. Instead, they represent my ticket to a healthier and happier future.
I’m going to endeavour to walk to work again tomorrow … on a Monday morning no less! I managed three trips last week, and I have to be honest that I was shuffling around like a rheumatic old woman on Friday. My poor muscles didn’t know what had hit them. Thankfully they’ve stopped screaming at me and I’m keen to hit the pavement again, not least because I watched my TV in awe this morning as about 40000 people began the London marathon. If they can run 26 miles, then I can sure as hell walk 5 a few times a week. You never know, I might run that marathon myself one day … but one step at a time, eh.