Tag Archives: Asshole

Having A Moan

I’m don’t imagine that any of you will have lost sleep worrying about the bruises on my nether regions following Sunday’s adventures with the saddle, but just in case you did, you can rest easy…it’s feeling much better. I mean, if I could be bothered to contort myself near the mirror and get a good look I suspect it’d still be a lovely mottled shade of purple but at least now I can sit down without wincing and I’m even starting to fancy another go.

At the risk of having a moan, I’m really struggling this week to stay upbeat and I think I’ve bumped headlong into a great big wall of dieting boredom. Progress is painfully slow and at this rate by the time I earn my skinny stripes I’ll be too fucking old and addled to enjoy that shiny new life. In the grand scheme of things I’d planned to rock skinny whilst I’ve still got some powder in me puff, but the clock’s ticking, you know?

I suppose when you’ve been on a diet for nearly eighteen months it’s only natural that boredom will set in at some point, and it has. It’s arrived with a vengeance. And you know as well as I do, my Asshole voice is going to be all over that like a rash.

I’m bored…I know, let’s eat something. Just have one. Or ten. 

It’s funny isn’t it, when I started this journey eighteen months ago I was reluctant to let my mind wander into the territory of how long it was going to take to undo the damage caused by years of food abuse. I didn’t want to run the risk of my Asshole voice screeching FUCK YOU and forcing me to dive headfirst into a big vat of cheese balls at the prospect of years of depravation.

Not thinking about it has served me well…I can’t remember a time where I spent this long following any kind of food plan. I’ve lost big amounts of weight before, but I never had this much to lose. I’m a stereotypical fat-girl…every time I’ve lost weight, I’ve found it again and then some.

By the time I arrived in Skinny Town last time I’d lost around 100lbs. This time, 100lbs will only get me a little over halfway there and I the reality of that is starting to bite. I’ve also woken up to the fact that even when I get there I’m going to have to carry on counting and measuring ’till the end of time because if I don’t, I’ll do exactly what I’ve always done and bounce right back up the scale without even pausing to admire the view.

I guess I’m just having a moment, right? I’ve done well to stick at it but my progress has slowed and the Asshole voice is trying to lead me into the is it really worth it? school of thinking. It’s a good job know it’s him, and not me.

I’m buckling in…things might get a little bumpy for a while 🙂

 

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A Quick Transaction

Well yesterday was testing, I seemed to spend pretty much the whole day vexed with one thing or another. My mum had lost one of her hearing aids when I went to collect her after lunch, which is unfortunate because the one she wears in her other ear is currently away being repaired, so with no help in either ear it’s fair to say we’ve had easier days when it comes to communication.

God knows where it’s got to. She thinks she put it in a safe place, only now she can’t remember exactly where that was. She was frustrated because she couldn’t hear anybody and by the end of the day, I was getting that way myself. And then I felt guilty. It’s not her fault, you know? Mum gets very confused these days although to be fair, even before old age messed with her memory my Mum’s safe places had a lot in common with the fucking Bermuda Triangle .

The day wasn’t helped by my decision to burn fourteen of my thirty three points on a big breakfast. I had no weeklies left, so I sailed really close to the wind, in fact I went over by a couple of points at the end of the day. I’d done a supermarket shop, so the fridge was full and the cupboards were looking healthy which is always dangerous when I’m starving. Eating a big breakfast meant that I wasn’t hungry at lunchtime, so I just grabbed a piece of fruit, and ate dinner around 4.30pm, which used up the rest of my daily points allowance. By 8pm I was ravenous. And skint. No food budget left at all.

That’s the point at which the Asshole voice woke up and spied a window of opportunity. Why don’t you have something to eat? This is ridiculous! You’re hungry, and you’ve had a really tough day…nobody would blame you for going over your food budget just this once and you’ve only really bought healthy stuff so what harm could it do? You’re a grown woman, it’s not right that you should have to sit there and starve! 

I resisted all evening. Right up until the moment I went into the kitchen to pick up my bag so I could take it upstairs with me to bed. On the way past the food cupboard I accidentally ate three walnuts and a drizzle of organic honey. As you do. And that little indiscretion pushed me three points over what I’m allowed for the day. I mean, I appreciate that doesn’t sound a lot but it’s almost ten percent over. It’s the start of the slippery slope. That’s all that was racing through my head as I lay in bed last night and reflected on the day.

I’m chasing two pounds this week. Going over my daily allowance isn’t exactly going to cover me in glory, is it? I won’t be doing a victory step-on after I’ve recorded the number on Wednesday if I let that frame of mind take a hold, you know the one that thinks it’s okay to push the boundaries.

In the back of my mind yesterday as I stood in front of the cupboard and pushed those walnuts into my face, tipping my head back so I could squeeze the honey straight into my mouth I was transported back to those days where that kind of action was familiar. It was a quick transaction, you know? A swift surreptitious snack in the half light of the under-cupboard halogens, out of sight of anyone. Well, anyone except the dog, who heard the food cupboard open from three rooms away and immediately assumed the position by my feet like a one-dog SWAT team just in case anything got dropped.

Also in the back of my mind was the intention to knock those extra three points off today’s total…sort of like a loan that has to be paid back. This morning, I can see that for exactly what it is…a fine example of broken thinking. The Asshole was behind that pearl of wisdom, in a move designed to undermine today too. Go to bed feeling like you messed up and start the next day feeling disadvantaged and with an even smaller food budget than usual…way to go to set today up for a fail too. But at least I see it, right? I know his game, and he can fuck right off.

Yesterday’s gone. All I need to do today is colour inside the lines. Stick to my food budget, and make good choices. It’s all okay…I can do that 🙂

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Almost But Not Quite Human

Well, I’m feeling more human than I was this time last week…that ear infection was nasty. I managed to make it to my friend’s house this last weekend, a couple of hours north of here. It was our bi-annual pilgrimage to the craft and food fair that we love so much and I was reluctant to miss it, but we had to adapt our usual drill to reflect the fact that I was feeling a bit feeble. I haven’t seen my friend since we got back from holiday in February, but rather than sitting up chatting into the wee small hours which is customary on the first night, I was asleep in bed just after nine.

I was wiped. And I still had ear ache. I still have, actually, although it’s not anywhere near as bad as it was. I’m going to go stage a sit-in at my Doctor’s surgery today until they either give me something to sort it out once and for all, or chop the damn thing off.

The Asshole voice has been both enthusiastic and persistent this weekend. There was a steady stream of helpful suggestions emanating from the corner of my head where he lives, including his permission to throw caution to the wind and eat what I wanted because apparently it doesn’t count when you’re poorly. Sly fucker. I had to push the voice away at every single stall in the food hall. Speciality sausages, pies overflowing with steak and stilton, brownie bars and a hundred different flavours of cheese were all fair game…the Asshole lobbied hard and fast for all of them.

I’ve got to be honest, I was tempted. Don’t you think it’s harder to resist stuff when your defences are low? I do. I even tried a few samples this time, where last time I had a zero tolerance and managed to make it around without a single one. I counted them though, so it was controlled. I had four fingernail-sized pieces of cheese, a mouthful of pork pie and an eighth of a sausage on a stick so I’m fairly confident it won’t break the points bank. I bought a small pouch of smoked almonds which were all kinds of awesome, but they fitted easily into my weekly points, and that was the only thing I bought in the food hall.

It’s a shame I couldn’t quite pull off the same restraint when it came to the non-food side of things. However. I’ve only got one extra chin nowadays, so it’s harder to resist some of the lovely hand made jewellery because it’s starting to look nice on me again. And even though I’m still a bit Buddha-shaped, my body pretty much manages to squeeze into a size large these days, so the lack of XXXL duds didn’t cramp my style like it has done in the past.

There were lots of lovely little boutiques selling exactly the kind of stuff I like to wear, and I had arms like a fucking orangutang by the time we made it back to the car from carrying all the bags but you know what, I figured it was better than than allowing myself to get talked into buying pies, right?  I can’t be expected to resist everything, I mean I’m still a work in progress after all.

I’m not feeling confident about weigh-day tomorrow. My food plan has been on point, but I’ve been laid low and didn’t make a single visit to the Kingdom of Pain last week due to the pain and the pressure in my ear. But on a brighter note, the Physio has declared that my dodgy knee is on the mend, and I can go back to classes as normal this week, with just a couple of minor adjustments so hopefully I’ll start to build up my fitness again. I missed it, like a proper weirdo.

I’ll update the Shitbird page tomorrow whether it’s good, bad or ugly. Please lets all close our eyes and pray that it’s not bad or ugly 🙂

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I Didn’t See That One Coming…

So here was I, coasting along under the rather cocky misapprehension that wrestling with the Asshole voice was a pastime well and truly relegated to days gone by. I mean, he’s been silent for so long that surely he must have relocated to someone else’s head, right? Sadly, no. Yesterday I was subjected to four hours of torture over a cheese and pickle sandwich.

I found myself in a catered meeting at work facing my old nemesis, the buffet. I knew it was coming, and I was cool with it, you know? I’ve spent the last 81 days being a rock star with my food choices so I strode confidently into the meeting room, and I even picked my seat before throwing a glance towards the lunch table. Let’s just say it hasn’t always happened in that order…in the past, whilst trying to give the impression that I’m holding back, I’ve been known to cover the area between door and lunch table at warp speed, knocking people over like skittles in my haste to fix a plate.

Yesterday it was a good buffet, I mean it was all seeded wholemeal bread with green stuff, and some wraps with chicken as well as a big bowl of crisps and some cakes.  No sausage rolls or fries or wedges, just a handful of puff-pastry savouries…really, aside from the crisps and cake it was wholesome and healthy. And I made careful choices from the sandwiches, mentally calculating my weight-watcher points as I went. The crisps didn’t worry me, and I barely noticed the cakes. It’s all good, I remember sitting and thinking I’ve so got this…look at me, I’m cured!

Famous last words, right? After we’d finished eating, and there were just the dregs of the buffet table left, well that’s when the fun started. There were two cheese and pickle sandwiches on a tray that nobody had picked. Me, I’d gone for the ham salad ones, and a chicken wrap. I’d scrutinised and rejected the egg mayo and BLT and of course the cheese ones on the basis that they contained stuff from the naughty list and were too point-heavy. I was happy with my choice, right up until I clocked those two leftover cheese butties.

Go on…they won’t kill you. They’re tiny, probably not even an ounce of cheese between ’em… (as I looked at two wedges of cheese clearly cut with a generous hand)…you’ve been so good and besides you’re having chicken for tea and there’s hardly any points in that, so you can afford the cheese. You deserve cheese, you really do. It’s not cake, or crisps, is it? That would be a bad choice but you know cheese is good for your bones. 

On, and on, and on, for four hours. The meeting finished at 4pm, and as I threw a glance back over my shoulder as I left the room and mentally waved farewell to those two cheese sandwiches which were looking a bit curled around the edges by that point, I still wanted them.

I probably could’ve spared the points but you know what, I recognise cheese as a trigger food. It wouldn’t have been the two cheese sandwiches which left collateral damage, it would’ve been the pack of Cathedral City strong cheddar that I might have picked up on the way home which just begged to be grilled until it was bubbly and golden and on my plate. 

Truth is, I can’t allow myself to get the taste. If two curling sandwiches can torture me for four hours, then allowing it over the threshold is never going to end well is it? It was hard not to eat them but on reflection, by the skin of my teeth I escaped unscathed.

Guess I’m still a work in progress after all 🙂

 

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Choosing My Miserable

fat

Well, it’s been an interesting few days. The battle between me and the Asshole in my head has raged on and on to the point where it’s becoming old news. I’m bloodied and battered but you know what, I’m hanging in there. Yesterday was a good day. I ate clean, no naughties at all and I did two classes last night. Before you worry that you’re about to be dazzled by the light bouncing off my halo, don’t be…Saturday was shit and Sunday wasn’t much better.

So it’s been a rollercoaster, you know? It’s weird, I was off-reservation when I got back from Cuba and I’ve been sailing close to the wind ever since, as well you know but it’s fair to say that things sort of came to a head towards the back end of last week when I had to face the reality of what I was doing. I’d somehow got caught up in this whirlpool of self-sabotage for reasons known only to the voice in my head. I told you he was an asshole.

Anyway, a combination of real-life encouragement from some of my buddies and some proper wisdom and insight from you lot is helping me navigate my head to a calmer place. It was something Margaret said which provided the first reality check, in her thoughts on Friday’s post. She articulated beautifully how that first slip is a really big deal, but when the world doesn’t end the second slip feels less important, and on that sliding scale I’d reached the point where saying fuck it was pretty much part of my daily routine.

It’s a bit like boiling a frog, right? I’m not suggesting you should, but if you were to stick a frog in a pan of boiling water he’d immediately jump out screaming. Stick him in a pan of cool water and slowly turn up the heat, chances are he won’t notice how hot the water is until his legs are cooked. I didn’t notice how hot the water had got, is the long and short of it.

God of Pain provided the second reality check. I was talking to him on Sunday about how hard it’s become all of a sudden. In his usual telling it like it is way, he pointed out that I’ve got just two choices. Hate the journey for a while but stick with it anyway and reach my goals, or abandon the journey and hate the life I will inevitably go back to, and probably myself too just for good measure.

Talk about Hobson’s fucking choice, I mean both of them involve me being in turmoil and I’m miserable either way, right? But not really. Maybe right here and now, in this moment I’m pissed off because I can’t eat crap every day and lose weight. But one year from now when I’m rocking my size 12 skinny jeans I doubt very much that I’ll be pissed off at all.

So I’m sticking with it folks, even if I’m doing it through gritted teeth. I am going to do better because I am not going back to that old life. So here’s the thing. It gets harder to remember how I used to feel when I was at my heaviest. When nothing I wore felt nice, when I was so uncomfortable with a huge downer on myself because I knew I looked like a moose. I kind of felt like I needed a reminder.

Yesterday, I had to ferry my mum around to a few medical appointments, and I dressed in a pair of leggings – every lump and bump was magnified to the tune of at least a hundred, in fact who even knew it was possible for legs to be that lumpy? I’d bought them on-line, and let’s just say they didn’t look like they did on the picture when I put them on, you know? Enough said. They’d never graduated from the ‘fashion mistake but maybe when I’m thinner‘ drawer, well not until yesterday.

I teamed them with a top which is a little bit too snug, good grief it was a total car crash…there was nowhere to tuck my extra one hundred pounds into so it wasn’t on display. Never in a month of Sundays would I E.V.E.R go out looking like that…except yesterday I did. The hospital was so warm and I was sweltering but I didn’t dare take my coat off because I knew what a mess I looked underneath…it was a sharp reminder that I used to feel like that all the time. I haven’t, in a while, and I don’t want to again.

It helped. Yesterday was day one of my season two. And I’m sure it won’t all of a sudden get easier again, but I’ve chosen which miserable I’m going after…I picked the temporary one 🙂

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