Monthly Archives: May 2016

According To Plan

In the here & now, ,

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If you’re wondering what that glow is in the sky over North Yorkshire, I think it’s just the shine coming from my halo. Yesterday, I ate clean. Well, all except half a portion of sticky toffee pudding at dinner…nobody wanted to go halfsies so I had to order a whole one, which tested my willpower and then some, but you would’ve been proud…I left half on the plate.

And this morning I was in the hotel gym at 7am, I mean if that doesn’t warrant a Mexican wave from the posse I don’t know what would. It’s the first time I’ve seen the inside of a gym in years, and I enjoyed it every bit as much as I used to. As in, not at all. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon, but I was determined, you know?

I’d brought a pair of fat yoga pants with me and a t-shirt so as I strode purposefully across the hotel reception in my trainers I was feeling the part even if I wasn’t Lycra-clad and pert. Once I got in there though it all went a bit wrong, and it’s all because I wasn’t on my own.

Turns out that only the most hardcore gym bunnies turn out of their deluxe rooms as soon as the gym opens. There I was, part of the gang. I appreciate that I probably looked like I’d just taken a wrong turn and ended up there by accident but even so, I wasn’t going to lose face, right? They stretched, I stretched. They slung their towel and water bottle on their treadmill and I…well I just got on, it hadn’t occurred to me to take accessories.

They started running…yeh well that was never going to happen was it. I stopped copying them at that point, I mean I want to survive the weekend. But I did walk, quite fast. Then I had a go on an exercise bike, and I finished off with a swim. I broke a sweat.

I must admit, I felt rather smug as I ate a good breakfast, knowing that actually not only was it a bright shiny new Weight Watchers week, but I’d also put extra Smart Points in the bank before a single morsel had crossed my lips. This must be how skinny people feel, all the time…gotta admit I quite like it.

What I don’t like are these pissed off muscles…my chuffing arms are killing me, I’m assuming because of the swimming. It’s a long time since they’ve been asked to pull this fat old body through water, and I’m totally paying for it now. Still, we are back at the hotel after a lovely day out, and I’m now heading back to the spa for a hot tub by way of an apology to every sore muscle.

I’m doing it…I’m really here on a weekend away, playing by the rules and not being bothered at all by the Asshole voice. How the hell did that happen?

 

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Happy Fat Girl

In the here & now, ,

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It’s so lovely to get away from it all…the reality is we are only an hour away from home but the hotel has acres and acres of grounds and it’s a bit off the beaten track so now we’ve unpacked and had a couple of Pinot Grigios in the wood-panelled bar, home feels a million miles away.

This is a treat for our mums, both of whom are less independent than they used to be. As we speak, the wrinklies are having a little siesta and my friend has his nose in a book so I’m just going to grab ten minutes with you guys before going for a nice long walk around the grounds, then maybe a swim. Heaven.

We stopped and had lunch in a gorgeous little market town on the way here. The cafe was rustic and quite small, and as we walked in my heart sank when I realised the only free table was tucked right away in the far corner. As the skinny string bean in an apron grabbed the menus and indicated I should follow her as she glided in and out of the tables (which were packed in as tightly as sardines in a tin) I stood rooted to the spot, desperately trying to think of a reason why we couldn’t possibly eat there. No way was there room for me in that corner. I couldn’t even get to the table.

And yet, I did. And there was room for me. I didn’t knock anyone’s lunch off on the way either, and nobody had to move their chair so the fat girl could get through…who knew. And then, get this…as we had a post-lunch poke around the lovely little town, I saw the most gorgeous sweater in the window of a boutique.

Im not sure why I went in, I mean I’m used to my eyes not even bothering to linger on clothes in non fat-girl shops. Little independent boutiques, forget it, I mean seriously. They had a lot of layered look stuff which tends to be free size anyway, but there’s free size and free size you know? Not usually my size.

But today I was lucky, both the sweater and a pair of co-ordinating pants were up to the challenge! I think the lady in the shop was a bit taken aback when I hugged her, but I was just so bloody happy I couldn’t quite help it.

I’m reminded daily how awesome it feels to be plain fat, rather than the kind of fat that I was before. Everything I’ve done this perfect day wouldn’t have happened just a few months ago, and remembering little fist-bump moments like this on days where I’m struggling is what’s going to get me over the line, you know?

Right, I’m off for my walk…have a great weekend all ?

 

 

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Resisting Assholio’s Agenda

In the here & now, , ,

no to cake

So after a very busy four day working week I’m like a dog with nine tails at the prospect of logging off from work-related matters for a whole week. My downtime is rolled out in front of me and some of it’s already filled with awesomeness, although I’ve got to be honest there are more than a few challenges too. I’m going to need to be really really wary of the Asshole voice, whose agenda will undoubtedly be a bit different to mine.

I’m setting off in the morning for a lovely two night break in a swanky hotel with one of my best friends, and our mums.

My agenda; relax and laugh a lot. Make full use of the hotel gym and spa, get a little bit of walking in and a mooch around the local towns, and have some really nice meals within my food budget.

The Asshole’s agenda; relax and forget the diet. Ignore the gym, enter the spa only if you don’t have to lift a finger and someone is going to deliver you to the edge of heaven. Eat a full breakfast every day followed by lunch, afternoon tea and a nine course meal washed down by several bottles of decent plonk. Get hammered with your friend both nights because you’re on holiday.

We get home on Monday afternoon and I’m just kicking back at home until Thursday, when I’m due to drive down to meet my favourite bunch of girlies for our bi-annual get-together…I haven’t seen them since Vegas in October, and I’m too giddy for words. We’re staying at our favourite log cabin complete with hot tub in the middle of nowhere, for three nights.

My agenda; relax and laugh a lot. Have a nice long walk in the surrounding countryside every day, pace myself with the Prosecco and ignore most of the chocolate and other Scooby snacks. The weekend is about the company, not the food. Gossip, watch movies and share my deepest darkest secrets but never take my eye off my food budget. Remember I have an appointment with the bitch in the bathroom when I get home on Sunday.

The Asshole’s agenda; screw that, of course it’s about the food, don’t be ridiculous. It’s a fine tradition carved out over the last ten years that you get there, get hammered, peak by 8pm on the first night and apart from hot tub time never make it out of pyjamas all weekend. Eat maltesers, onion rings and cheese balls till your eyes pop out and hang your head in shame if one drop of Prosecco remains undrunk. Forget about the bitch and let her do her worst…you can start again Monday.

See what I’m up against..?

I’m not as worried about this weekend, I’m fairly confident that I can make good choices and have a great time. I’ll definitely use the gym to counteract some of the things which might tempt me and I’m looking forward to that as a bit of a change. I’m planning to over-walk on Tuesday Wednesday and Thursday to build up a little buffer for my Smart Points because next weekend is going to be the killer, you know?  It’s the first time since I started the diet that we’ve had one of our girly weekends, and seriously, we usually eat our own bodyweight in crap.

Focus, Focus, Focus. I can do this…

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The Sun Has Got His Hat On…Oh Sh*t

In the here & now, ,

sun

Hasn’t it been a gorgeous day today..? I’ve been too busy at work to enjoy much of it but I did nip out at lunchtime and it was glorious. Everyone I saw looked very summery and rumour has it this warm snap is going to continue over the weekend. So, on the face of it that’s awesome, and as it happens I’m away this weekend so even better. Except. Despite losing a chunk of weight I’m still not really built for a summer wardrobe.

Actually there’s no not really about it…I’m not, period. Summer wardrobes involve light fabrics and floaty little numbers which do absolutely nothing to try and fool the world at large that underneath these clothes I am in fact a size twelve.

Drawing on years of fat experience, I’ve found that black pants and a longish loose-fitting top with some sort of handkerchief hemline is the most effective ensemble when it come to disguising the worst of my lumps and bumps. My wardrobe is full of such items, and to be fair, whilst they don’t leave anyone under the illusion that there’s skinny action going on underneath, I don’t feel exposed, you know? I’m reasonably comfortable, like I’m making the best of a bad job.

So it’s not really the tops I’m worried about.  It must be twenty years since I did sleeveless, and probably six or seven since any flesh above the elbow saw the light of day but lot of mine have three quarter sleeves and that’s practically arm naked in my book so I’ve sort of got summer covered for my top half.

The bottom half is a completely different story. I feel like a complete tool wearing black trousers on a hot sunny day, but it’s literally all I possess in my fat wardrobe. I mean I have a variety of them…black pinstripe for work (three pairs which have been worn in rotation for at least the last two years Monday to Friday) and plain black the rest of the time.  And generally it works fine, except when it’s seventy odd degrees outside and everyone else has got their legs out for the summer…I feel completely out of place, like a proper numpty.

Skirts are not an option until I’m at least another two or three dress sizes down from here. I have horrible memories of severe chafing incidents and I’m not risking that…once it’s there even trousers don’t stop the burn, right? So it has to be pants. The warm weather has kind of caught me unawares, I thought I could give it another month before I needed to worry about a summer wardrobe. Bugger.

I seem to remember buying some elasticated navy palazzo pants with white spots on for the cruise last summer but they made me look like Coco the clown so I never wore them. Maybe I’ll try and dig them out from wherever I flung them in disgust and see whether almost seventy pounds off makes me look less like I’m missing a red nose and a hat with a flower.

On a slightly more positive note, whilst I was walking around Marks and Sparks this lunchtime I did have to keep pulling up said black pinstripe pants…I’m not filling them quite as well as I once did, and they are very stretchy so they’ve kind of flexed with my shape but pretty soon they’ll be consigned to the old life pile. Happy days.

This time next year I will be embracing every single sunny day, and telling you all about how awesome it felt to blend in…I can’t wait 🙂

 

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A Helping Hand From The Gods Of Skinny

In the here & now, ,


chef with mustache showing off menu clipartSo I’d be the first one to admit that I’m not always the best at planning. I think it’s something to do with the fact that in my working life I have to be super organised and that goes against my nature, so outside work with nobody to bollock me if I’m not on top of everything it quite often goes to pot. And broadly speaking I’m okay with that, I mean occasionally I make life a bit more difficult for myself than it needs to be but things have a habit of working out in the end. I think you might call that blind faith.

Yesterday was one of those days where in respect of my food plan it didn’t work out that well, in fact it went completely tits up. You might call that the exception which proves the rule. I had an afternoon meeting a couple of hours away from home which started at lunchtime, and it wasn’t catered in the way it usually would have been. I didn’t realise this, so my plans to skip breakfast and preserve a few extra points to spend on the lunchtime buffet backfired.

By the time the meeting started I could have happily eaten my own arm. No breakfast, a long drive and no lunch either…it’s fair to say the day wasn’t going well. There was a large glass jar of Fox’s Glacier Mints on the table, and having flirted with them from a distance for an hour or so I caved and ate one, followed in quick succession by two more.

It was only the thought of everyone noticing my fat arm snaking across the table again as I went in for number four which prevented me hoovering up the lot. I wouldn’t care, I don’t even like Fox’s Glacier Mints…my Grandad always had them and I swear they wouldn’t have been his sweetie of choice, except they were the only ones which allowed him half a hope of having some left after I’d been for a visit. Normal Grandads have Werthers Original, I mean come on, everybody knows that, right?

Anyway…I’d arranged to meet a friend for dinner last night but the traffic was shocking on the way back and it took me almost three hours to drive home. Bear in mind I’m still running this body on three mints and a gallon of coffee, so it’s fair to say by the time we hit the restaurant I was really knackered, and I felt like I hadn’t eaten for a month.

You can see where this is going, right? Not the best mind-set in which to make food decisions…the Asshole voice was seething with indignation that I’d experienced an actual hunger pang or two and pulled out the stops to try and make me order the biggest fattest dinner available. He was so pushing on an open door. You’ve barely eaten all day so why don’t you have a big fat juicy steak with all the trimmings and a side order of that, that and THAT…yeah, go on then, don’t mind if I do.

Thankfully, the Gods of Skinny were on my side. It came, and it wasn’t good. Whichever muppet was in charge of the grill had ruined a perfectly good steak by overcooking it until it resembled shoe leather, I mean if that was medium rare I swear I’ll bare my arse to the world. There was nothing green on the plate at all, not even a salad garnish, and the chips and onion rings just tasted of cooking oil. Even the mushrooms came wrapped in breadcrumbs. Brown, surrounded by three sides of beige…mmmmm, lovely.

I sat there and thought you know what, it serves me right…I should have gone for a healthier choice. Just because I had a huge chunk of food budget to spend didn’t mean I had to go for the most points-laden option on the menu, you know? That’s fat-girl thinking. It was only the fact that it was truly minging which saved me from myself. I sort of picked at it and ate the mushrooms but most of it went back untouched. And despite being sorely tempted, I didn’t order the sticky toffee pudding although I have to ‘fess up to a bit of spare spoon activity with my friend’s portion.

So yesterday, the Gods of Skinny were in my corner. Today, they’re taking the piss. I collected a mystery parcel with my name on from the post office this morning after the postman left a card yesterday and it seems my utility company decided to send me a box of chocolates to say thanks for my custom. Hotel Chocolat chocolates…if only they knew.

One foot in front of the other and repeat, right?

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