Monthly Archives: April 2017

That’s Not Normal

I’m a bit late posting this morning, on account of the fact that my ass was dragging when I got into bed last night…sorry about that. I remember propping myself up on my pillows and balancing my Macbook on my lap like I always do when I’m getting ready to talk to you, but somehow things get a bit hazy after that point, right up until I woke up with a crick in my neck at about 4am. Muppet.

So, the post went unwritten, and I grabbed another couple of horizontal hours before scooting down to the Kingdom of Pain for my hour of torture and then coming home to eat beef stew for breakfast. I know, but in my defence there were the same number of points in the leftovers from last night’s supper as there would have been in poached eggs on toast and I’ve got to say for an impulse food choice it’s up there with the most enjoyed ever. Nom 🙂

So much for my lazy week off, it’s been hard work, due to my determination to sort all these clothes out. I spent half the day on Wednesday at it and all day yesterday – you might have seen the chaos if you follow the Facebook page- and although I’ve broken the back of it I’m probably looking at another full day today. Fuck’s sake, my storage locker is starting to take on mythical qualities, because despite carrying a steady stream of stuff out it doesn’t seem to be getting any less full, and I’m starting to suspect someone keeps bunging more stuff in it when I’m not looking.

I rent the storage locker because my little cottage has barely any storage space at all, so you know when you need somewhere to store random stuff like Christmas decorations and decorating equipment…the kind of things you don’t need very often? I do need additional space and it’s cheaper than selling up and buying a bigger house. Except over the years it seems to have been taken over by clothes. And you know what, as I’ve been going through them I’ve come to the realisation that I’m not right in the head. Nobody needs that many clothes.

On some level I get it, you know? Last time I reached the hallowed territory of size 12 – or 8 to my friends Stateside – I went wild with clothes shopping, and to be fair after losing a ton of weight I felt like I deserved it. Except I only stayed there long enough to smell the fucking roses and before I’d had chance to get settled in I started filling out my pants again, and then some.

Looking at the stuff I’m surrounded by as I write this, I can’t help thinking that maybe I was filling the void previously occupied with food by buying all this stuff? I mean, every skinny girl needs a pair of linen pants for the summer, right? I’m not sure she needs a pair in every fucking colour of the rainbow with several tops to match each one. Much less strappy tops which look gorgeous on anybody else’s body but never on mine because I don’t get my arms out for anyone.

For some reason which baffles me now, I’ve bought stuff I’d never wear in a month of Sundays, because being a skinny string bean still doesn’t unlock the door that stands between you and being able to wear anything ‘just because you love it’. It has to flatter the residual effects of all the time served in a very fat body and trust me when I say that in my case, that does not include strappy tops. The sight of that would scare children and small animals.

So I’m still plugging away. I’ve now got piles and piles of size 12/14/16/18/20/22/24/26/28 clothes to put on eBay. A lot of the smaller stuff hasn’t ever been worn for all the reasons I just talked about. I’m also looking at stuff through the lens of being the wrong side of fifty now, in particular the length of skirts and the depth of necklines. I mean I don’t mind being a rebel and I’m not particularly conventional anyway, but I don’t want to look like skinny mutton dressed as lamb, you know? *Shudders at the thought*.

I’ve got similar piles of stuff to keep in 18/16/14/12 and they’re all bagged up in sizes, so it’ll be easier going forward, I can just sell on the things that get too big, and go bring home the next size down. I’ve probably got another 4 big bags of stuff to bring home and sort out, and then I can take all the stuff I’m keeping back to the lock-up, and I’ll know exactly where to put my hands on it when I need it.

Yesterday, I sat and cursed the fact that I’d even started this…today I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m going to crack on and finish the job. It’s a bit like this whole journey when I think about it…daunting at first and feeling like I’ll never make any inroads much less finish the task but with the right amount of effort things always start to take shape, right?

Onwards 🙂

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I’ve Had Worse Weekends…

Did you have a good Easter? We had a lovely weekend away but I’ll tell you what, I’m so glad I’m off work for the rest of this week, I am knackered. I adore my mum, and it was so nice to spend some time together and make some memories, but she’s so frail these days I feel like I’ve been on pins for the whole time we were away, in case I broke her. We have laughed a lot, but it feels like the last four days have mainly involved me running around with a stressy on, trying to make sure that the right pills were dispensed at the right time, and that mum didn’t trip over the dog, or fall out of bed, or scald herself on the kettle.

And don’t even get me started on the nightly trauma of helping her up the stairs to bed, in a cottage housing the longest and steepest staircase I’ve ever seen, which required at least three rest stops on the way up, me following two or three steps behind mum with my shoulder wedged under her bum to try and provide a little support and forward momentum. Fortunately there was a downstairs loo, or we would have been royally buggered.

We did have one or two trips out to the beach, but mum tires really easily so to be honest we spent most of our time just curled up in front of the fire, in companionable silence you know? Mum with her feet up watching the snooker and me reading my book with Charlie snuggled up to one or the other of us on the sofa. I’ve definitely had worse weekends.

The people who owned the cottage had very kindly left us a bottle of wine in the fridge, and a big box of chocolates by way of a welcome, and you don’t need me to tell you that those fucking chocolates have nearly driven me to distraction. They sat squarely in the middle of the kitchen table, and they didn’t move all weekend, but boy did I ever know they were there.

Mum, having eaten the three little cellophane-wrapped cookies which had been part of the welcome provisions on the first night, put in a request for some more, and I’ve never been able to say no to my mum so we picked up a box of assorted biscuits to bring back to the cottage and they added their ten-penneth to the Asshole voice’s daily seduction routine…come on Dee, just have one…you know you want to…

By some miracle, I resisted. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to face plant into all things wicked, but I knew if I started on either one of those things I wouldn’t be able to stop. So not starting was the only way to go really, you know? I did have a treat on Easter Saturday, in the shape of the biggest fish you ever did see, encased in crisp golden batter and smothered with salt and vinegar from a chip shop in Filey. Holy fuck it was orgasmic.  I used my weekly points and vaporised it without one iota of guilt, and that made up for not starting on the chocolates. Well, almost. The chocolates were Milk Tray. Not my favourite. If they’d left us a big box of Black Magic we might have been having a different conversation.

Here’s the thing though…it’s weigh-day today. And last night I slept easy in my bed because I knew I’d done my absolute best. There was no pacing the floor or wringing of hands at the prospect of my conversation with the Shitbird Scale…I mean yes, okay I always feel like I’m walking the green mile when it’s time to step aboard, but I knew my input had been bang on the money. I wasn’t worried.

And did you see..? Four pounds off. Four! I’m going to struggle not to punch the air with every second step today, I’ve never lost four pounds in a week before! It was a best of one situation…that was my very first reading and I whipped out my phone, took the picture and had that Shitbird Scale back in it’s corner before it had a chance to change its mind. No second or third of fourth hop-on for me this week, even though it’s usually the third or fourth go that gives me the best number. I’ll take the first reading thank you, it’s the only one I need 🙂

 

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A Nice Problem To Have

I think I mentioned didn’t I, that I was going away for the weekend with my mum? We’ve rented a little cottage near the sea, just for a few nights and when I went up to help her pack her bag last night she was almost beside herself…she does giddy almost as well as I do. To be fair, I think she’s just excited about spending four days with Charlie dog, who she utterly adores, but she doesn’t seem to mind that I’m tagging along too.

Mum’s packing was easy. She only has a tiny wardrobe, housing a few carefully selected clothes. My packing on the other hand, is proving more difficult, and it boils down to the fact that there’s just too much choice in my wardrobe these days. My first cut would have kept me comfortably clothed for a month, so I fannied around for ages putting things back and trying to second-guess what the weather’s going to do so I could pack just the right amount of stuff. Yeah, epic fail on that front by the way, my bags are stuffed to bursting point and anyone would think I’m about to leave home.

I’ll tell you what though, how much more enjoyable is it, packing for a trip when you’re excited to wear the things you’re taking with you? I know I won’t wear half the things I’ve packed but choosing which ones to leave behind is impossible because I want to wear them all so I’m unashamedly dragging a ridiculously large suitcase with me because you know what, I’ve earned the right to revel in these clothes. I’ll try them all on and do a fashion show for my mum every morning and then decide what to wear.

I have this wonderfully romanticised picture in my head, of me, gliding along the promenade with the gentle sea breeze ruffling my hair, looking so stylish in my new duds that folk take a moment from their busy day to just admire the look. Come on, that’s never going to happen. I’m more likely to be battered by the hoolie blowing off the east coast, which will whip my hair into a frenzy as I try to control a hyper-excited cocker spaniel and prevent my tiny octogenarian mum from blowing down the beach.

It doesn’t matter, does it? Whether anyone notices I look nice or not, I’ll feel nice. I’m about to go work out, and as I grit my teeth all the way through my muffin tops and bingo wings class, I’ll be thinking about those size eighteen linen pants hanging on the outside of my wardrobe. For my friends in the States, that’s a fourteen in your neck of the woods…I know, right? I’m five dress sizes down from where I started. I don’t care that there’s barely room to squeeze out a trump once I’ve put them on…they fasten, and I can still breathe if I sit down so as far as I’m concerned, they fit.

I hope you all have a wonderful Easter. Keep your eye on the Facebook page for postcards from the East Coast, and I’ll see you on the other side 🙂

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All My Knobs Are At The Top

You know what, this week is shaping up to be an absolute corker, I mean I’ve had a couple of really cracking days. After all that sorting out at the weekend, I swear the last thing on my mind was going out and buying more stuff, but on Monday I tagged along with a couple of friends from work for a cheeky lunchtime mooch around a local retail park and I accidentally came home with two dresses, two tops and a jacket. Mainly because I really liked them but also because I could. I should probably feel guilty, but you know what, bite me 🙂

Then, I was out of the office all day yesterday on a course at the local University designed to help me develop resilience in the workplace, and I had lightbulbs going off in my head every five minutes. It was supposed to be a work thing, but there were more parallels than I could even count with this weight-loss journey that we’re all on, so I couldn’t wait to tell you.

One thing in particular really resonated, about mental toughness, and God knows those of us on a diet need a bit of that to resist all the pies, right? I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain it.

This professor dude talked about ‘The Four C’s’ of mental toughness, which are Challenge, Control, Confidence and Commitment.

Challenge is about understanding what the challenge is – what needs to be done and the benefit you’ll get if you do it. Confidence is about believing that you have it in you to pull it off. Control is about feeling in control of both your environment and your emotions and commitment is…well, as it sounds – it’s about committing to a goal or an outcome.

It seems you can pretty much write a cheque for success in any situation if all four of those things are present and correct. As he was talking, I was supposed to be applying the theory to a work context but in my head, my thoughts set off running like a hare in a meadow…I started thinking about my weight-loss journey, and I started to get very very giddy.

Because. I understand that I need to lose weight, and I know how much better I’ll feel when I’m skinny. I one hundred percent believe that I can do it and right now I’m in control of what’s around me, and what’s inside me…the Asshole voice is well and truly gagged. And I’m totally committed to my food sobriety.

Imagine a graphic equaliser. In case you’re too young to remember what one of those was, (get out of my blog immediately) they existed in an era before digital sound blew the need for manual twiddling out of vogue. They looked a bit like the picture I’ve stuck at the top, with knobs you could move up and down to isolate and adjust the different bits of sound when you were playing a record, like dialling up the bass or the treble.

Now think about one of those knobs next to each of the four C’s…right now, all four of my C’s are dialled right the way up. All my knobs are at the top and they have been since I gave my head a wobble in the New Year and rediscovered the sweet spot. They’re all up there on full volume, and yesterday I made the connection between all this lovely theory and what’s happening with me right now. My unbroken run of fourteen losses in fourteen weeks. Not a toe out of line where my food plan is concerned. It’s because all my knobs are at the top.

In the last three months of last year when I was climbing on and falling off the wagon with alarming regularity, my knobs were not at the top. Sometimes one or two or maybe even three of them might have been, but if just one of those four things is switched off, you are on the back foot completely and the chances are you won’t succeed. I’ve lived it, remember? I regained twenty two pounds in the last three months of the year. I’m telling you, it was like fucking Blackpool illuminations in my head yesterday when I made the connections.

Where are your knobs? It might be worth doing a quick recce, especially if you’re in that place where you’re taking two steps forwards and one step back…I guess understanding which one of your knobs needs adjusting might just make the difference, right?

On another note, I’ve changed my weigh-day. I decided that since I’m spending my weekly Weight-Watchers points on days three to five of my dieting week it would make more sense if those days fell on a weekend. So, my new weigh-day is Wednesday. Today. And to my surprise and delight although it’s only three days since my last weigh-in, Shitbird Scale offered up one and a quarter pounds.

Told you I was having a good week 🙂

 

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Mission Interrupted

Have you ever got mid-way through something, only to lose interest and  wonder what madness inspired you to start in the first place..? Yeah, me too. That was me this weekend, having a bit of a sort-out. Spot the inappropriate use of the word bit in that sentence. I massively underestimated the size of the task, and now my bedroom looks like a clothes-bomb went off.

I ran out of steam after I’d been going at it for three or four hours and proceeded to find all manner of distractions. I even did some ironing which tells you how desperate for a distraction I was…anyone who knows me would tell you that I never pick up the iron without a gun to my head.

So anyway, the upshot is my low boredom threshold means I’ve only scratched the surface of what needs to be done. All the stuff in my wardrobe fits me – or is about to – and anything that’s too big has been evicted but I haven’t been near the stuff I have in storage yet, to see what gems are waiting to be rediscovered. There are definitely things amongst that lot which will fit me now, but the buggeration factor is that I don’t remember packing it away in any kind of order, you know? It won’t be as easy as just grabbing the bags I need, because I’m an ejit and that would be too simple.

I came across a bunch of skinny stuff too, when I started emptying drawers…I couldn’t decide what to do with it, so I just put it back and did nothing. I mean, should it stay? I’m working my way down the sizes so it seems a waste of effort to pack it all up and put that in storage but on the other hand I’m barely in the ‘burbs of Skinny Town and I won’t need it for a while yet. Months, in fact. It probably needs to go. If I’m bringing stuff back here I’ll need the drawer space. Fucks’ sake, swapping all this stuff around is going to take forever.

Still, it’ll get done when it gets done. I’m working until Thursday but then I’m off work for about ten days. I’m taking my mom away to the seaside over the Easter Weekend but I have almost a whole week off after we get back so I’ll make it my mission to crack on and finish what I’ve started. I’ll allow myself a couple of lazy days towards the end of the week if I get my arse in gear and do it as soon as we get back. To be fair, I am looking forward to being reunited with some of the stuff I liked enough to pack away in the hope that one day it might fit me again.

I had another positive conversation with the Shitbird Scale yesterday, did you see?  One and a half more pounds evicted from my pants. That’s the fourteenth week in a row where I’ve lost weight, and I’m still completely in control of my food plan so I’m now breaking new ground and I can’t begin to tell you how good that feels. Just a few pounds more and the number will read sixteen something and God was a lad last time that happened.

Can I just mention too that the sun has been shining this weekend, and my arse has been a black-pants-free-zone. How about that 🙂

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