Monthly Archives: December 2017

Fat, But Optimistic

So, Wednesday was it, right? I’d planned to take Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day off the diet but I’d made a firm commitment to myself that Wednesday 27th was the cut-off point after which normal sensible non-Christmas eating would resume. Quid pro quo, if you like. Dear Gods of Skinny, you give me three days off and I’ll give you four days on, and I mean on it like a car bonnet. I’ll be all over it. I’ll net out even-stevens next weigh-day and it’ll be like Christmas never happened.

It was a good plan, as plans go. The only problem was, my head didn’t want to get on board with it. At all. I went to bed on Tuesday night feeling as determined as it’s possible to be the night before you start a diet, when your belly’s still full and fat. Trouble is, I woke up on Wednesday panicking about all the nice things that I hadn’t eaten yet and I was sunk before I even got out of bed.

And I found myself pulling that all or nothing shit too. I’m not going swimming today because really, what’s the point? I’ll go tomorrow when I’m back on my food plan, today’s a write-off…

I settled down to write a blog post, and no words came. I’d kind of thought I might ‘fess up about my indiscretions, and talk about moving past them so we could all look forward to the New Year and how we were going to get this skinny shit down once and for all. Except I was still chewing and it felt all wrong, and in the end no words came anyway so I put my laptop away and carried on eating Christmas, plus a bit more for good measure.

Then I cleaned out the fridge, took some chicken out of the freezer to defrost overnight and went to bed hoping for an overnight miracle. In my heart of hearts I was expecting yet another epic battle when I opened my eyes yesterday, you know? Getting day one under my belt is a psychological minefield and it never comes without a fight.

However. Do you know what I got? Nothing. I got nothing. No rebellion, no tantrums and no demands to start my day with a bacon sandwich. Just a quiet acceptance that the diet riot was over, and it was time to behave. And yesterday was flawless. Granted, a day later than planned but the point is, it happened.

I hadn’t been logging food on my off-piste days, so there was a half-hearted whoop whoop from the Asshole voice when I logged in mid way through the week and my app told me I had all my weekly points left plus some rollovers…the actual fuck I do, I’ve probably used up all the weeklies due to me as far as halfway through next year. So I wiped them off and closed down that avenue of food fuckery and he didn’t even put up a fight.

It seems I weathered the storm…I feel good. Fat, but optimistic. I’m ready for the New Year, and the new start, hell I’ve even kick-started things early in the spirit of damage limitation. Read my lips, this is OUR year…we’re heading to Skinny Town, people! 🙂

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Am I Skinny Yet?

Hmm. I just caught sight of myself in the mirror and I suspect the answer is no. Fuck. Last Christmas, I was heading into the New Year feeling frustrated that over the course of the year I’d only lost about twenty pounds. This time, I’m heading into the New Year having lost and regained the same fucking twenty pounds several times over, and I’ll probably achieve a net result of sweet bugger all as I step over the threshold of 2018.

You could say that 2017 hasn’t quite gone according to plan.

Don’t you always think that the end of the year is a great time for taking stock of where you’re at? Don’t worry, I’m not about to get all maudlin on your ass, I mean I’m in quite a good place as it happens. My bum might still be the size of a small continent but I’m reasonably fit these days and I’m enjoying living my life. My eyes are focused on what’s in front of me, not what’s gone before, and I have a feeling that 2018 is the year I’m going to knock it out of the park.

I survived a buffet yesterday. Not gonna lie, the only green thing on my plate was a cucumber stick and in the spirit of full disclosure there was an enormous dollop of hummus on the end so I can’t use it as a shining beacon of food sobriety.

I also had a piece of quiche, a handful of Doritos and a small bit of cheesecake but all in all I didn’t do too bad. No sausage rolls and no bread. Most importantly I didn’t come home and think fuck it, I’ve blown today already so I may as well eat Chinese food. I chucked the balance of my weekly points into yesterday’s bucket just in case, and moved on.

I’m now function-free right over the holiday season, and although I’m going to buy one or two goodies for Christmas day, both me and my boy are pretty determined to stay true to our respective food plans so I have no plans to fill the cupboards with food fuckery. This will be my third Christmas without cheese balls…who could’ve imagined that might ever happen? I’m amazed.

So what do you reckon about Sunday’s weigh-in? I’m feeling good about the week, and even though I’ve eaten a bunch of fat-girl food I’ve stayed within points. My money’s on a one pound loss, although I was going for three. Would you care to make a small wager…?

Listen guys, whatever you’re up to over the next few days I wish you all the love in the world and I hope you have an awesome Christmas. Good luck with your respective food plans and I hope Santa is kind. I’m sorry for being an imperfect role model and spending much of this year fannying about eating the wrong stuff. Often in industrial quantities, to my shame. I’ll do better next year, I promise. Most of all, thank you for the big love and massive support…I feel you behind me with every step, and you’re amazing.

I’ll update the Shitbird Chronicles as usual on Sunday, and I’ll be back with another post next Wednesday. I’m totally praying that the Gods of Skinny find a way to keep me on this straight and narrow path between now and then 🙂


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Painting The Sky Purple

So I’ve been doing my Weight Watchers thing for a week today, and you know what, it’s going okay. Better than okay actually, I haven’t stepped a toe out of line. I feel like I’m getting away with murder though…I’ve eaten some lovely healthy meals, but over the last week I’ve also managed to fit in a large cream scone, three small pots of Haagen Dazs and a family bag of galaxy counters and still gone to bed with points on the table most days.

Technically I’m following the flex plan to the letter, but I’m being really fucking creative with the way I’m spending my food budget. I’m sure the clever folk who built this new programme must have looked at case studies of people like me, who colour inside the lines but use the wrong coloured crayons. I think my sky is purple right now.

When they allocate your daily and weekly points they probably have a reasonable expectation that what, maybe 80% of  points will be spent on healthy food with the odd snack thrown in? I’m filling up on zero points food and hitting snacksville with a pocket full of points after sundown because it doesn’t say anywhere that I can’t…

I’ll feel smug right up to the point I don’t lose anything, right?

It’s a bit like Charlie-dog being evicted from my lap when I’m eating and told to go lie in his bed. Technically he does as he’s told, because a quarter of one paw in the bed is still in the bed, right? The rest of him might be stretched out in a masterclass of bed-avoidance with his eyes locked and loaded onto my dinner plate, but to all intents and purposes he’d have a very valid argument to say he’s followed the brief.

That’s exactly like me with my food plan. I’m determined not to go over my points, and I haven’t. Quite the opposite actually, most days I don’t need them all. I’m also determined to eat well, and I have been. I’ve been rooting out zero point foods like a pig rooting out truffles, and making the most of them. Banana pancakes with hot berries and yoghurt for breakfast…cooled garlic roasted vegetables with chicken for lunch…only a handful of points gone by suppertime, but then whoop whoop bring on the points-fest.

Somewhere, in the adult part of my brain I know I don’t quite have the balance right between good stuff and naughty stuff but I’m still justifying it to myself over and over on the basis that I’m following the rules. LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I’m bloody behaving myself and still it’s not good enough!!!

I think maybe I’m pushing the boundaries to see how far I can go over the holidays, I mean let’s be honest, this is without doubt the hardest two weeks of the year for anyone on a fucking diet. I just need to stay in rapport with my food plan and refuse to listen to any lobbying from the Asshole Voice, who will sooner or later engineer a situation which tries to force me into breaking my cracking run of good days.

He’s got no chance of doing that if I don’t feel like I’m on a diet, you know? And right now I don’t. If I’ve gone down a notch or two on the Shitbird Scale by Sunday, that’ll be my Christmas present to myself right there.

Well, that and the handbag I might have accidentally bought to send to Santa… 🙂

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It’s All Relative, Right?

So yesterday morning I walked the green mile into my bathroom to face the Shitbird conversation with more than a bit of trepidation. I probably deserve a prolonged stint on the naughty step to think about what I ate between between Sunday and Tuesday, but from Wednesday onwards I’ve been following the new Weight Watchers flex programme, and I mean following it to the letter.

I didn’t know what to hope for really, so I kept my fingers crossed that the needle didn’t go in the wrong direction, and technically it didn’t. Except it did.

I should probably set the scene…I was already muttering under my breath as I limbered up for the Shitbird Shuffle, because it’s honestly a pain in the ass. My bathroom floor is made up of hundreds of little mosaic tiles, and being a very old cottage there’s not a wall or a floor that’s flat or true, so I can honestly hop on twenty times and get twenty different numbers. It’s a pantomime that I go through every week.

Obviously I’ve always picked the lowest number, which more often than not is offered up by the tiles starting three black squares to the left of the bath. It might not be one hundred percent spot-on but it’s all relative isn’t it, and the numbers I’ve recorded have been a fairly indicative route map of my journey.

The thing is, I’ve just never been sure how accurate the Shitbird really was. The scale in the Kingdom of Pain for example always seemed to weigh a good seven pounds more than mine.  The Asshole voice convinced me that was God of Pain’s dirty trick to make me work harder. The other thing is, it’s not unheard of for mine to offer me a range of 8 to 10lbs between the lowest and the highest number, depending on how long I keep it going and how many times I jump on and off.  So there’s no wonder it pushes my buttons, right?

Anyway, as I set off dribbling the scale around the bathroom like some kind of square glass football, it suddenly occurred to me that if I lifted the Shitbird thing into the bath, it might be a bit less volatile. For the love of God why didn’t I think about doing that before? It turns out I am officially a genius. For the first time ever, it doesn’t matter how much I nudge it up and down with my foot, it stares back at me with the same number over and over again because it’s on a completely flat base. I know! The only downside is the number is higher. By quite a lot.

I think I prefer the wonky number to be honest. Actually, I nearly had a fucking cardiac arrest when the Shitbird thing tried to tell me I’d gained 11lbs, especially since I already knew I’d lost weight this week.  That said, at least going forward if it’s consistent I get a number I can hang my hat on, right? Under the old weigh-day waltz system I’ve lost half a pound this week, not gained, and I’ve still lost the same amount overall. I was just heavier than I thought I was when I started in 2015, and I’m heavier now than I thought I was yesterday.

I’m quite impressed that I’m not freaking out actually. Half of me wanted to carry on with how I’ve always done it just to preserve the not-quite-as-shit-as-that number that I’ve been reporting against, but it’s only a number, right? My arse didn’t get smaller or bigger just because I weighed in the bath, I’ve just recalibrated and I’ve got more to go after that’s all. It’s no biggie, and it feels right that I bring out my dead so I can completely draw a line under everything that’s gone before.

I’ve got one week exactly before I hit Christmas, and I’m going to make it count. Shall we go for three off?  🙂

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Fifty Years’ Experience

Well look  at me, sashaying into day three of my latest new beginning with a smile on my face. I’m officially feeling one hundred percent in control of my food plan, dare I even say enjoying it? I’ve got to be honest, going back to Weight Watchers feels a bit like pulling on a pair of my oldest most comfortable slippers, you know? It’s familiar, even though it’s different.

It’s simple. I prefer points over calories. Don’t get me wrong, spending a few months diligently counting every calorie – ok *looks sheepish* you got me, maybe not every calorie – has been a really valuable exercise, in that even though some foods don’t contain points I have a heightened awareness of what’s in stuff. Just because they have a zero points value doesn’t mean my arse will shrink at warp speed if I throw portion control to the wind. I’m not actually eating air, and I get that now. That was the My Fitness Pal lesson, and it needed to be learned.

Wednesday was my first proper day on the new flexi plan, and if it hadn’t been for that pesky gin advent calendar seducing me as I walked past with the promise of chocolate and cherry gin behind door number twelve I would’ve actually carried some of Wednesday’s points over to Thursday. For a girl who many moons ago mastered the technique of wringing every single food opportunity out of every single day, that feels more than a tiny bit impressive. I had points left but I wasn’t bothered about going to find something to spend them on. The end.

Well, except for the miniature gin, as things worked out. But I am starting today with two points carried over from yesterday…just sayin’.

However. Y’all know as well as I do that I’ve been here before. Too many times to count, right? I’ve got fifty fucking years’ experience of being fat and I’m about as far from being an expert on weight-loss as it’s possible to get. What I do know, is that the first few days of a new beginning go one of two ways. Either, the fire in my belly will carry me along until the new regime is established and the Asshole voice doesn’t even try to de-rail me, or he’ll be at my heels and in my head from one minute after midnight on day one.

This time I’m basking in his absolute radio silence. It feels different from the last few new beginnings. It’s like someone’s kidnapped him. He didn’t try and talk me into a mince pie when they were freely available in the office. The box of Thornton’s chocolates I brought home earlier this week to give to a friend are sitting untouched on the kitchen table and he hasn’t done anything twattish like circulate a memo round my head every five minutes suggesting I could open them for myself and buy her another box later.

I’m making the most of this honeymoon period and I’m going to use it as an opportunity to settle into my new food plan. We’re within spitting distance of Christmas, so the next couple of weeks are going to be a bit bumpy…I know that and I’m ready for it. I need to focus on the fact that my skinny life is waiting for me in 2018 and it’s about fucking time I made it happen having spent the last year treading water.

I’ve got a good feeling about this folks…it’s game on 🙂


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