Tag Archives: determined

Life In The Quiet Zone

So I’m two days into this sugar-free living malarkey and I’m feeling cocky because it’s not bothering me at all. Normally, for the first few days I can be a bit tetchy (she says, as friends and family fall over laughing…actually I’m usually like a bear with a sore arse, in fact a bear with the sorest arse any bear ever had) as my eyes adjust to a bleak and barren chocolate-free landscape.

This time, nothing, in fact I feel amazing. It’s like my head has just gone along with the plan… oh right we’re doing this sugar-free shit now? Cool, no worries..knock yourself out. I nipped out of work at lunchtime yesterday to pick up food, and some bits and pieces for a bunch of my colleagues. There were two different kinds of crisps on the shopping list which required me to pause and browse the snacks aisle, as well as two packs of cookies which meant I had to stray into that other well-known danger zone. Even as I was throwing stuff into my basket, it didn’t bother me one bit because…well, that’s not my kind of food any more is it?

Back in the office, the cookies were opened for general consumption and they sat on the desk opposite mine all afternoon. I didn’t flirt with them, not even once. And I don’t mean in a huffy I refuse to even look at you kind of way either…they just didn’t make it onto my radar. Now, we all know that normally they’d drive me bat-shit crazy from across the room, and I can’t begin to tell you how liberating it is when previously impossible-to-ignore food become invisible. I feel normal.

The most amazing thing of all is the way I sat in the armchair last night catching up with a bit of TV, and my mind stayed locked and loaded into the programme I was watching. It didn’t set off on a mental adventure around the cupboards in my kitchen wondering what snacking opportunities may be lurking behind closed doors. It wasn’t calculating how many of my weekly points I could get away with using up by the end of Tuesday. I didn’t even consider licking a piece of Charlie’s dog-chocolate. I mean, nothing. 

I’d been so absorbed in what I was watching, it wasn’t until I climbed the stairs to bed that I realised just how quiet it’d gone inside my own head. And the more I thought about it, the more I remembered that feeling of calm from the last time I kicked sugar to the kerb…it’s like someone throws a blanket over the incessant chatter which exists to de-rail my good intentions and the noise just stops. My mind becomes a dieting quiet zone and it’s fucking awesome.

Now, y’all know I’ve crashed and burned at this point several times so I’m not counting my chickens. And I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but this time I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m not fighting with myself and it just feels like the time is right.

I’m calm. I’m determined and I think it’s time to bring this home 🙂



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My Sugar Swan Song

So I weighed in yesterday at the end of my first full week in this shiny new year and happily it was a number worthy of the effort I’d put in, so I’m feeling great that I’m off to a flying start. It’s also one whole year since I started recording my weekly weigh-in with a picture on my Shitbird page, which makes it easy to look back and see what I lost this exact week last year.

I’d started my clean eating challenge if you remember, and I managed to cut out sweet things altogether. At the time I think I described myself as refined sugar free, and although when I look back I wasn’t exactly sugar free, my version was good enough. No sweets, cake, ice-cream, chocolate or crisps. I gave a very wide berth to every single trigger food on my list, and I felt calm and in control. It really worked for me, so guess what…I’m going there again.

I’ve had a great couple of weeks. I’ve lost my Christmas weight, and I’m not getting mega-hassle from the Asshole voice, but he is there snapping at my heels. I know I’ve been playing with fire, and filling up on free food so I can snack on the sort of stuff that should really send me straight to hell. I’ve got away with it so far, but I refuse to spend the next twelve months in a scene from Groundhog Day, losing and gaining the same thirty pounds. I’m putting my foot down, I mean, I’m really not doing it. 

I don’t want to get bogged down in analysis paralysis, but I look back at those numbers from the first few months of last year and you know what, there’s no getting away from the story they tell is there? By the end of April I’d lost thirty pounds. Thirty pounds!!  Then comes the point where I obviously rekindled my love-affair with the fat-girl crack and for two months after that I lost fuck all, well except for the plot, clearly.

I briefly wrestled control back in July, before spending the next six months snaking my way right back up to just two pounds away from where I’d started.

I’ve done a lot of reflection over the weekend, and it’s no accident that the most successful bit of last year coincided with my decision to eat cleanly and cut out the crap. So, that’s my plan, only this time I’m going to keep it up for longer. I managed four whole months last year, including a sugar-free holiday aboard a ship where chefs waited around every corner just to tempt me, and still I lost weight. I enjoyed the challenge, so I know I can do it when I put my mind to it.

Right now feels like the right time. I might as well capitalise on the fact that I’m not being a dickhead. The stars are aligned and my head is playing nicely, so I’m all in. I enjoyed a lovely meal with friends yesterday where I had a small slice of naughty, and I ate a ginger nut last night…let’s call that my sugar swan song shall we, because from now on, I’m done.

I find that weirdly exciting 🙂

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A Brand New Copybook

Ok so this is special. It’s a Monday, and it’s the first day of a brand new year…that happens only once every seven years, right? Unless leap years bugger up that sequence once in a while, but whatever. The stars are aligned and I’m actually feeling more than a bit giddy as I write this. It’s a sign, kind of a double whammy if you like.

I’m trying to frame this in my head as though everything I’ve done, and everything I’ve learned in the two years, four months and sixteen days since I decided to wrestle my life back from the brink of obesity-related immobility has led me right to this point. And this point is where my dummy run ends, and I step out for real. I know. I feel like I should be speaking in hushed tones, so significant is this moment…

Okay okay so I know I’m being a bit over the top, but come on, if ever there was a new start that was worthy of being called a new start, this is it. I’ve opened a brand new shiny book, and I’m ready to start filling the pages with my 2018 story. I’m going to make it a good one.

Last year…well. Let’s just say that 2017 failed to impress me on a number of levels. That’s an understatement actually, it was probably the most difficult year I’ve ever had. Losing my Godmum was a sucker punch even though we knew it was coming, and watching my mum become increasingly frail in both mind and body has been excruciating.

On the other hand, I have so much to be grateful for. I’m surrounded by some amazing friends. My boy makes my heart swell with pride every single day. I have a job that I love and I feel really established in my life, you know? I get to travel to some amazing places and I’m healthy enough to really enjoy all of it in a way that I couldn’t before this all started.

And lets not forget these pages…having this creative outlet where I can let all my thoughts and feelings loose and hang out with you guys is awesome. I can be completely honest, safe in the knowledge that you understand me without judging because you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, and you’re always ready to join me in laughing at the utter tragedy of living my life on a fucking diet. All of that is the reason I’m still hanging in here as determined as ever to reach my goals.

I’m still trying to get a grip of it all but to be fair that’s one of the things I’m most thankful for, you know? There’s been no quick fix, no instant results and most of all no cure for the surplus curves I stuff into my pants every day but by some miracle I’m still here almost two and a half years into my journey.

I’ve fallen down a lot and I’ve taken so many wrong turns I’ve lost count but it doesn’t matter does it? All that matters is that I learned over and over how to get up again and keep on pushing forward. Perfection isn’t the secret...tenacity is where it’s at.

Let’s try to take more steps forwards than backwards this year eh? I’m looking at my weight loss across 2017 and accounting for the genius relocation of the shitbird scale into the bath which bumped the number upwards, I’ve netted out the year with a 2lb loss. Yes boys and girls, in the whole of 2017 that’s all I lost.

Now, I could hurl myself at the floor and have a big fat tony bear tantrum and the sheer injustice of that, or I could suck it up and pat myself on the back for at least ending the year smaller than when it started. I choose that one, because I don’t want any negativity colouring the pages of my brand new copybook. Only good things are getting included in my 2018 story.

How about yours? Come on, let’s make this year count…we deserve skinny after all this effort, right? We have so much support in these pages, because we’re all on the same journey and we’re all here to prop each other up. See that little map at the top of the page? That’s where you’re all at…it’s the geolocation footprint of everybody who reads along. The orange bits are where we have the highest number of friends, but there are readers, and lurkers, and regular corresponders everywhere that’s coloured in…that pretty much blows my mind.

Wherever you’re celebrating New Year, I’m sending big love to each and every one of you in the hope that 2018 will be your best year yet. I’m excited to continue sharing this journey…Skinny Town here we come 🙂

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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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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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