Monthly Archives: February 2016

Head Seeks Zone For LTR

Freeform thoughts

shameville

The post I put up a few days ago called The Asshole’s Greatest Hits prompted a flurry of emails from the posse, and one of the pennies that dropped for me when I was reading them, was that sometimes it’s not about being talked into eating this or that…those are minor asshole victories and you know what, let’s be real and accept that sooner or later he’s going to win some of those battles.

Your Asshole voice can only win the war if he manages to convince you that you just can’t get your head in the zone, and that sadly the time isn’t right for you to be on this diet so you should return to your stash of hob-nobs with immediate effect and wait until some as-yet undetermined point in the future when you might be ready to embrace a new diet with open arms.

As soon as you raise your white flag in surrender, that’s it. The asshole voice scores pay dirt, and you’re out of the game. So is it best to keep plugging away and fight it battle by battle, or is walking away, easing the pressure and giving yourself room to breathe the best option?

It’s a hard one to call, when you think about it. I know better than most how emotionally draining it is, going to bed every night still ‘on a diet’ but having blown it, again, and having to promise yourself that tomorrow you’ll be better. Only tomorrow goes to shit too, and you end up repeating it all on a loop, over and over again until your self-worth feels crushed under the weight of so much failure.

I used to feel shame, real shame that I couldn’t seem to get a grip, but at the end of the day if your head isn’t in the zone, you might as well be trying to push water uphill.

As I was thinking about tonight’s post my thoughts turned to those people who fell off the New Year’s Diet wagon a couple of weeks into January because they lost a battle with one temptation or another, and threw in the towel instead of waking up the next day ready to step back into the ring and try again. I wonder how many of them have looked back since, and thought if only I’d kept going I could’ve been ten pounds lighter by now instead of back to square one and then some…

So I’m coming down on the side of keep going, even if you fail every day…what do you think? Maybe it’s more important to take the pressure off by learning to forgive yourself when you screw up instead of taking yourself out of the game altogether. I’m thinking about it in the context of being committed in the way you would be to a long term relationship, you know?

You don’t walk out at the first sign of trouble. Yes you might have some humdingers in terms of fall-outs but you forgive and move on. You learn tolerance, patience and most of all the hard work seems worth it when harmony is restored. When good times happen. Until the next time you have a wobble, but isn’t that just life?

Thing is, whilst some partnerships are just not meant to be, you and a happy healthy body are a marriage made in heaven so it should be worth every ounce of commitment you can muster, even when it’s bloody hard. You’re worth it.

Part of this journey for me is all about reaching acceptance that my Asshole voice isn’t going to disappear when I reach Skinny Town. I’ve got to keep my head in this zone for the long term, and just continue putting one foot in front of the other, one battle at a time.

No white flag here 🙂

I’m doing a trek to Cuba in October, to raise money in memory of my dad. You can read his story HERE and I would be so grateful if you’d help me honour his memory by donating whatever you can afford so together we can make a difference and help other people who have been affected by mental illness. Thank you!

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Tick Tock

In the here & now

tick tock

I didn’t get away from the office yesterday until later than normal, for no other reason than I was really busy and on a roll with the piece of work I was absorbed in. All in all it was a good day, made even better by the fact that in the early afternoon I’d taken myself out of the office for half an hour, to get a breath of fresh air and make a quick trip up to an amazing farm shop near where we work.

When I eventually got away, I’d expected the traffic to be fairly light, given that it was past peak time but someone had had a fender bender on the motorway, and it was backed up for miles so I had no choice but to crawl along at virtually no miles an hour for a big portion of the journey. One and three-quarter hours to be precise…accompanied by a bag full of goodies from the farm shop on the seat beside me. Oh dear…you can probably predict where this is going, right?

I wasn’t hungry, not really…I’d chomped my way through an apple with organic peanut butter and a whole bunch of grapes in the afternoon, so my belly wasn’t demanding to be fed. However, the Asshole voice looked at the clock as we inched nose to tail on our slow journey homewards and decided that since it was fast approaching the time I would normally eat, I’d better have a good root around in the bag of goodies in order to avert disaster – I mean I was in very real danger of actually getting a hunger pang.

I’d left some stuff in the office for later in the week, so there was no fruit to hand. There was a pack of venison and some handmade sausages which I had to rule out for obvious reasons, and then I struck gold. I’d bought a box of artisan crisp breads, which looked amazing and better yet, I’d pointed them up in the shop and they were only one smart point each. Result!

It became obvious halfway through the first one that they would definitely work better with something. No shit, right? They’re crisp breads, and it’s kind of in the job description to be the support act and not the main event. I mean they really looked the part, they were a bit wonky, as you’d expect artisan products to be…a lovely golden colour and really thin and crunchy. The only drawback was that they tasted like MDF, which, to be fair most crisp breads would without the benefit of something on top.

But I didn’t have a topping, so I persevered ‘cos I’m hardcore, egged on by my Asshole voice who kept reminding me that they were only one point each and how lovely and crunchy they were. Three crisp breads later it was starting to feel like the cream cracker challenge. I was desperate for a drink, my tongue felt about four times too big for the size of my mouth and I had a mouthful of sawdust which didn’t seem to be getting any nearer to being swallowed.

It took about half an hour before I was able to breathe without spraying the dashboard with a fine layer of dust. When I walked into the house I fell on the tap like a man who’d just crossed the sahara without a water bottle, much to the consternation of Charlie dog, who’s used to his cuddles being first in the pecking order of just-home activity.

Note to self…nobody dies from a single hunger pang. Next time the Asshole voice pulls a stunt like that remind him that your life is not in danger if you eat a little later than is normal.

In case you’re wondering, I ate tuna with a little cracked black pepper and garlic mayo at lunchtime on the very same crisp breads, and I can confirm they were every bit as delicious as I’d hoped they might be once they’d stopped being emergency food 🙂

ps…today was an exciting day – I finally received the link to set up my fundraising page for the trek to Cuba in October, which I’m doing to raise money in memory of my dad. You can read his story HERE and I would be so grateful if you’d help me honour his memory by donating whatever you can afford so together we can make a difference and help other people through mental illness. Thank you 🙂

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Getting A BAFTA Body.

Freeform thoughts

redcarpet

Did you watch the BAFTAs this week..? I love watching a red carpet awards event on TV, especially the Oscars…I keep the TV in my bedroom on low all night on Oscars night. I mean, I don’t stay up and watch it exactly, but every time I turn over in bed I just have a quick nosy to see who’s wearing what, and who’s winning all the gongs you know?

Given that I have a red carpet event of my own coming up in a couple of months albeit on a slightly smaller scale, I was particularly interested to see an article in the Daily Mail yesterday about how to get a body like a BAFTA winner. Splendid, I’m all over that.

Now, don’t get me wrong, much as I can’t wait to be skinny, there’s skinny and then there’s like toothpick skinny. I’m not aspiring to that look really, and in any event I suspect if I lost that much weight I’d look like I was wearing a flesh-coloured onesie. Years ago, when I’d lived on a liquid diet for months I looked a bit like a lollipop by the end, with a head that seemed too big for my body. I don’t want that…I just want to be normal.

So anyway, I was interested to see exactly what went into getting a BAFTA body, on the off chance that, you know, I could at least have a crack at it.

It seems Pilates is a big thing. I’ve just been looking it up, and it sounds very much like Callanetics. I think most of the diets I did in the 1980s were accompanied by me flexing one bit of my body or the other on a daily basis. Not exactly fat-burning, in fact it was more like the sloth exercise of choice but you know what, I do remember getting quite bendy.

Not like now…these days if I drop something on the floor I have to devise a three-point strategy to pick it up, not to mention the accompanying grunt. I appreciate that I’m twenty five years older than I was back in the day, but I wouldn’t mind giving Pilates a go at some point, I reckon that could be quite good. Do any of you dabble..?

One of the ladies walking the carpet seemingly did six hours a day of dancing and I’ve got to be honest that  suggestion got shelved before I’d even finished the sentence, along with the BAFTA-body habits of those people who exist on a diet of macro-biotic dust and other associated taste free morsels.

Not for me. I mean you only live once, right? In any event, much as I’d love a washboard stomach, I do appreciate that at fifty years old, never having had one I’m rather unlikely to get one at this stage. I’m happy to put the effort in but let’s keep it real. Besides, I don’t have a problem if I’m left with a bit of a belly…it’s having ten bellies that I fall out with.

I used to have one of those exercise belts, which promised the earth, working your muscles one twitch at a time by dispensing little electric shocks as you went about your day. I’m sure they’re hugely effective for those string beans who just need a little toning up and the blurb on the box definitely promised miracles.

The results were more disappointing than they might have otherwise been had I given any consideration at all to the context…carrying 140lbs on top of any abs that might be lurking somewhere way down deep presents something of a toning-up challenge to both man and machine.

Anyway, I reckon between the walking, the hurt machine and fierce attention to what I’m feeding my face with, I’ve pretty much got all bases covered. Plus, if all else fails, I know where to find Spanx… 🙂

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The Asshole’s Greatest Hits

Biggest struggles

asshole

I don’t know if you caught up with the comments thread underneath my Valentine’s post, but my heart went out to Jo, one of our lovely posse who had an altercation with her asshole voice yesterday, and it didn’t end well. I get so cross…not with Jo, obviously but with whoever or whatever it is that plants one of these asshole voices inside all of us with the sole intention of making the wheels come off our good intentions.

I can only liken mine to one of those con-men who arrive at your door full of charm, wangle their way inside and then bugger off with the family silver whilst you’re making them a cuppa.

I thought it might be helpful to compile an Asshole voice top ten, sort of a twisted thinking hit parade if you will. Mine’s had some success with these over the years, but maybe calling them out will demonstrate that your Asshole voice is in fact involved in a much bigger plot to pepper the world with fatties, and by virtue of the fact that you’re reading this I’d hazard a guess that you’re front and centre of it all with a target on your back.

So, your Asshole’s pick of the pops might go something like this…

  •  That thing that you’re not supposed to eat, well I know you don’t want it, but you need to eat it just to prove that you can stop at one.
  • Well that’s it, you’ve gone one point over your allowance for the day, so you may as well park the diet and have a hob-nob. You can start over tomorrow.
  • Look, this craving has been twisting your melon for the last three hours…why don’t you just have a tiny taste of the double chocolate sundae and get it out of your system? You don’t have to eat it all.
  • You just had a big poo so you must have dropped like two pounds in an instant…that bag of cheese balls won’t even register if you eat it right away.
  • There’s stuff in the fridge that’s tormenting you, right? If you finish it off now, all of it, tomorrow you’ll not be tempted by anything, because there’ll be no naughties in the house.
  • If you really want two family bags of Maltesers it’s fine, because you can just eat bananas and drink coffee for the rest of the week.
  • Look there’s food in the fridge that’s about to go out of date – it’s a gazillion points but it’s wrong to let it go to waste, you should absolutely eat it.
  • A balanced diet means eating from all of the food groups, right? So really you need that slab of freshly baked bread lathered with butter to avoid becoming malnourished.
  • Look! Cheese balls are on offer, two for one…they’re a bargain and you don’t have to eat them, they’re useful to have in, just in case someone who likes cheese balls comes round.
  • You just had a terrific weight loss this week, well done…you don’t have to get on the scales for another week now, so you can so get away with being naughty.

Now I’m relying on you guys to tell me if I’ve missed anything obvious off the list…this is sort of like a public service you know? They say that forewarned is forearmed, so anything that helps us dodge these particular bullets as we jog on towards that skinny life can only help.

Right back at the start when I began this diet, almost 6 months ago now, one of the first things I did was to give my asshole voice a personality. I imagine him looking a bit like the picture at the top of this page, sitting on a stool in the corner of my head just waiting to pounce on opportunities to undermine what I’m trying to achieve.

I can’t tell you how much that has helped me…it allows me to separate his voice from my proper thoughts. I’ve learned to recognise when he’s the one speaking, and close him down straight away. Well, most of the time anyway. If you’re anything like me, and have a stubborn streak running through you, the minute you think someone else is trying to sabotage you, you just get more determined.

I had an email once from someone who said I wasn’t taking responsibility for my own thoughts by blaming someone else, and my diet was doomed to fail on this basis. I pointed out that I didn’t actually think there was a bloke living inside my head – duh – but you know what, if it helps me to squash the twisted thinking for the first time in my life, who the hell cares that someone disapproves of the way I choose to do it. I’m more than 50lbs down, go figure.

Whatever works, right?

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Chalk And Cheese

Reflections on past times

chalk-cheeseI’m not sure whether it’s the really cold weather that prompted us to get serious about making plans for summer, but my friend and I have been dedicating some serious time this weekend to holiday planning. Last year I was lucky enough to have two amazing holidays, but this year I need to scale it back a bit because I’m still trying my best to save up for a new bathroom. Trouble with me is, I want it all and this new bathroom never seems to get any closer given that I keep getting knocked off course by handbags and holidays 🙂

My friend and I are like chalk and cheese. She’s a proper sun-worshipper, and I don’t tolerate the sun very well at all, so beach holidays aren’t really an option. Cruising works well for both of us, plus which it plays to my low boredom threshold in that we wake up somewhere different every day. There’s usually an adult only spa bit where I can settle down with my holiday reading when we’re at sea, whilst my friend curls up on the sun deck with her kindle and her suncream.

I think it’s fair to say that last year I surpassed myself with the amount of food I ate over the course of our two week holiday, I mean seriously. If it was on offer, I ate it and as anyone who’s cruised before will tell you, it’s always on offer. I don’t think my jaws stopped moving for a fortnight, in fact if anyone had been counting calories consumed I reckon records would have been toppled.

Although my friend and I spent our ‘at sea’ days in different bits of the ship, we used to meet for late afternoon drinks right at the back. It was a perfect spot, with glorious views of acres of blue sky and ocean as the sun was going down. Trouble was, the spa lounge where I spent my days was right at the front, and I’m here to tell you that much as I enjoyed those cheeky afternoon cocktails and glorious views, it was a massive effort to drag my sorry ass from one end of the ship to the other. I mean really.

It sounds ludicrous to even say that out loud, but it’s true. I was somewhere around 320lbs, and by the time I’d walked the length of the ship, my knee was bitching at me, my ankles ached and my back would be really sore. I’m not quite sure which of my spare tyres held my centre of gravity, but in any event the effort of holding my buddha body upright was a big ask, and there’s no wonder shit hurt, right?

Shore excursions didn’t come without their challenges either. We visited some awesome places, but whilst my friend (who’s a keen photographer) was busy taking pictures, I’d be constantly on the lookout for a low wall to sit on, or a bench. Anything. Because everything hurt. I felt like I was flirting with disability, which is unforgivable when it’s self-induced.

I know, that folk who have to navigate their life whilst sitting on a mobility scooter because they’re too fat to walk around got to that same crossroads that I did, and I offer up a vote of thanks every day that I came home from that holiday, started my diet and started writing my blog. It’s the only thing that saved me from a life on four wheels.

So, this year’s holiday will be like chalk to last year’s cheese, right? Although we haven’t actually picked our holiday yet there’s a strong possibility that we’ll book another cruise, and there will still be a gaggle of chefs whose mission it is to feed me like I’ve never been fed before. The difference is, this year I’ll be joining my friend as she does her two miles around the promenade deck every morning, and given that I’ll have the luxury of time I’ll probably work up a sweat in the gym too.

What a difference a year makes huh?

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