Tag Archives: determined

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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Going The Extra Mile

What a tremendous weekend we just had…the boathouse was perfect with the most amazing views of the sea, and I can’t even tell you how lovely it was to kick back and relax with my best girls. The three days passed in a flash, with plenty of laughing, a bit of walking, a few movies in pyjamas with a steady trickle of prosecco and of course gossip in the hot tub. And guess how many wrong steps I took with my food plan…? Not a single one. You would’ve been proud of me, I totally pulled it off.

How on earth I managed it is beyond me, but despite being surrounded by multiple booby-traps in the shape of a hundred different trigger foods, not a single naughty morsel passed my lips. Steady on there, mind you don’t go getting dazzled by the light bouncing off my halo 🙂

Our girly weekends usually pass in a haze of prosecco, and I do enjoy a cheeky gin or a few glasses of fizz but somehow, spending my limited food budget on booze makes me feel like I’m not getting the best value out of it, you know? I’m not generally a big drinker, and don’t forget I have the heart of a fat girl so in order to balance the books if it comes down to one or the other, I’d rather eat.

We were self-catering and everyone had brought pretty healthy stuff, so clean eating was easy. It just worked. Of course the healthy food was in complete contrast to the mountain of chocolate and salty snacks which also made the trip, but to be fair this is usually an all bets are off kind of weekend where over-indulging on crap is par for the course.

I’m sad it’s over ’till the next time but I’m feeling relieved and a tiny bit proud actually, at the fact that I navigated it without putting so much as a foot wrong, I mean weekends like this, where my guard is completely down and I’m surrounded by temptation should be difficult, right? Thing is, it wasn’t. I don’t really understand why but I’m happy to just accept it as a gift from the Gods of Skinny. I’m in the sweet spot and this is day 72…more than ten weeks without a wobble. Who knew that could even happen?

I’m a bit pissed off with the Shitbird Scale. Just for a change, right? I feel like my superhuman effort should be being rewarded with supersize losses but I’m still having to drag every fucking pound kicking and screaming from my pants. I weighed and posted two days early last week because I was going to be away on my normal weigh-day but despite a positive result last Friday and a stellar weekend I haven’t lost an ounce since. Where’s the justice in that?

Whatever…the number is less important than the fact that I’m getting the input right, and it’ll catch up eventually. I’m only 4lbs over my lowest weight on this diet so far and I’m impatient to start breaking new ground, you know?

I’m working my cahoonies off this week in the Kingdom of Pain,  skidding into Wednesday with three classes under my belt already and number four looming tonight. Friday will see number five and Sunday will see number six. Plus I’ve registered to do a 5k park event with a bunch of friends on Saturday so I tell you what, if the Shitbird scale doesn’t keep it’s end of the deal on Sunday with a number worthy of all that effort I’ll proper see my arse.

Come on, I’m pitching for 3lbs off this week…who’s with me? 🙂

 

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A Fair Trade-Off

I’m buzzing this morning…it’s a little after 6am and I’m heading off to the Kingdom of pain shortly to attack my muffin top and bingo wings – the name of this morning’s class – and then I’ll be coming home to shower, change and pack for my weekend away. I’m bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of seeing my best girls.

I had to laugh last night as I was getting the stuff together that I’ve bought to take with me…prosecco and gin, obviously but instead of chocolate and cheese balls there are four melons and at least a ton of grapes. How times change, huh? Last time we were away I managed to wrestle the Asshole voice into submission and keep my treats to the bare minimum, but this time I’m going to have to keep away from naughty stuff altogether due to this whole clean eating malarkey. And you know what, I’m cool with that.

My gold seven disc will be coming with me, in fact it’s already in my bag and I’m determined to trade it up to the gold fourteen after the weekend. Today marks 67 days of being food sober, and I’m all over it to the point that it’s sickening, although I’m saying that with a smile on my face. It’s funny, my head is slowly catching on to the fact that the high I get from having a ball without self-sabotaging is totally worth the effort of expending a little willpower here and there. It’s a fair trade-off, you know? I do this and I get this.  And the Asshole voice remains strangely quiet…the balance of power has definitely shifted since I pissed on his chips with this abstinence from refined sugar.

I thought I’d killed the Shitbird Scale yesterday…I was feeling skinny, so I thought I’d have a cheeky little mid-week step-on just to see whether I’d dropped ten pounds since our last encounter. Unlikely, you say? Yes, but hey you never know, right? I felt thin so it was worth a try.  Anyway, I was met with a blank screen, even after I’d nudged it with my toe several times. Nothing. I was about to have a hissy fit on the basis that it’s barely out of the box, until I realised it just needed a new battery. Clearly it finds my ‘best of fifteen’ approach to weigh-day quite draining. Shitbird thing.

So anyway, once I’d had every cupboard and drawer in the house upside down looking for the right sized battery, and then tracked down a munchkin-sized screwdriver to unscrew the ridiculous battery cover, to the untrained eye it looked like the house had been ransacked, and I’d worked up a proper sweat. It would have been totally worth it if I’d lost the ten pounds I’d fancied, but as it transpired it’d only budged by one. Still, since it was only three days since weigh-day, I’ll take a pound. I’ll happily take a pound.

Right, best get a wriggle on…my hour of torture awaits. I hope you all have an awesome weekend, and I’ll catch up with you next week 🙂

 

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My Skinny Talisman

I set off for the office yesterday morning with a bit of added spring in my step, it being my last full day in work and all…don’t you just love that feeling when you’re winding down for holidays? I have a few bits to finish off today, before my out of office gets whacked on at lunchtime and I head off to get my spray tan and my holiday toes. Not even the thought of those paper knickers can dampen my mood, I’m too giddy for words 🙂

Yesterday was the ultimate test of my pre-holiday willpower, and as I took my place around the table at work for our full day meeting I did a quick recce to see whether the usual nibbles had been provided…who am I kidding, of course they bloody had. There was a box of flapjacks to my right, a box of marshmallow teacakes to my left, several bowls containing wrapped sweets dotted around, and in the middle of the table was a massive bowl of green bananas.

Flapjacks are my favourite. So are marshmallow teacakes, as it happens. Green bananas are not. They make my teeth squeak and my toes curl, and unless they can be dipped in hot frothy coffee (yes, I know, I’m weird) they’re to be avoided at all costs.

I’m puffing my chest out with pride as I tell you I didn’t put so much as a toe out of line. Well, in the spirit of full disclosure I did risk squeaky teeth by having a crack at a green banana, but as for the rest…not a single naughty morsel passed my lips. I wasn’t bothered, not one little bit.

Now, I’d love to tell you that this masterclass in restraint set off some kind of skinny chain-reaction, but according to God of Pain’s scale this morning I’m a pound up. On Wednesday night the same scale said I was two pounds down. His scale is clearly as barking mad as the Shitbird in my bathroom, however due to the Asshole voice’s continued hiatus I shrugged it off as some kind of normal body fluctuation and it hasn’t even come close to putting a crimp in my mood.

So, the challenge now is keeping it going, right? I am forty seven days food sober and tomorrow I am flying out to meet our ship in a land far far away, where chefs will be lying in wait around every corner with the intention of feeding me. Let’s be honest, it does have the potential for disaster written all over it. I’ve been really excited about the trip whilst harbouring a degree of trepidation about how I’m going to deal with the barrage of food opportunities. ‘Just saying no’ isn’t always that easy for a food addict.

That said, my recent steadfast occupation of the sweet spot has made me feel a lot more relaxed about the whole thing, and I’m also taking a secret weapon in my suitcase. God of Pain introduced a three month clean eating challenge back in the New Year, and various milestones of food sobriety have been rewarded with a magnetic disk. Bronze seven, fourteen and twenty eight days for month one, the same in silver for month two and gold in month three. I’m currently on silver fourteen and I’m due for my upgrade to silver twenty eight in nine days’ time…the day I get back from holiday.

If I fall off the wagon, I have to give up this hard-won badge of honour and start all over again. Over my dead body, right? So it’s coming on holiday with me. My silver fourteen will be liberated from its spot on my cooker hood and will be carried with me right throughout my holiday so it can act as my skinny talisman and help me keep my eye on the prize.

That, along with the thought of having to post a picture in here of my conversation with the Shitbird Scale when I get home, might just help me to get the balance right between eating well, and diving headlong into a week of culinary hedonism. Watch this space… 🙂

I may get chance to post a few pictures on Facebook over the next week or so, wi-fi permitting and I’ll be back a week on Sunday. Lots of love to all in the meantime and I’ll see you on the other side!

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A Wrong Turn Down Numb-Nuts Alley

You know when you wake up with what feels like a cracking idea? That was me yesterday morning. I know, (I thought to myself, having updated the Shitbird Says page with this week’s 2.5lb loss) why don’t I look back at my weight-loss journey in the round, and see if I can spot any patterns that I can learn from, now I’ve rekindled that fire in my belly

Yeah. Really cracking idea that was. At the end of January 2016 I weighed in at 267lbs having lost 11lbs in the month. And I started this year weighing 267lbs. Effectively what I’ve done between the end of last January and the beginning of this January is have a fucking gap year. Are you kidding me??!

In my head it didn’t look like that at all. I mean even a few days ago when I did a blog post reviewing my journey I knew I’d lost weight much more quickly in the early days and then fannied about a bit, but despite the highs and lows I didn’t realise that I’d netted out over the last 11 months to a big fat zero.

I sat there for a couple of minutes trying to decide whether I should laugh or cry but in the end it was a chuckle that found its way out. I mean come on, seriously?

Over the last year I’ve held the diet up to scrutiny, examining every forward and backwards step in forensic detail. I’ve listened carefully to all your advice and followed the bits that worked for me, and I’ve fallen down and pulled myself up again more than a few times but throughout all this I’ve felt like I was cutting my way through the mire, you know? Making progress.

Seems I took a wrong turn down numb-nuts alley and I’ve sweated and slogged my way around a circular route back to where I started. Well, not quite…by some miracle, the weight I dropped in the first five months never found its way back into my pants. It always has done in the past like a sort of arse-shaped boomerang, but thankfully I didn’t go right back to square one this time. I’m 65lbs down as it stands right now, and that’s still awesome.

I refuse to join the I’ve tried everything and I just can’t lose weight massive. I clearly can lose weight, when I’m on it. Let’s be honest, my problem is staying on it, right? But you know what, January’s been a good month for me, with nine and a half pounds gone. Technically, providing I lose two more pounds between now and the end of December I’ve beaten 2016 into a cocked hat.

I’ve got three weeks left before my forthcoming holiday (well, if we’re splitting hairs it’s actually two weeks and five days 🙂 ) and by the time me and my friend fly off for a dose of winter sunshine I’d like to be six pounds lighter than I am now. That would put me at the same weight I was when I went on holiday last August, and I felt great. There’s a novelty, two holidays six months apart and me wearing the same clothes…that’s a rare and beautiful thing.

It might look like I was treading water last year but I wasn’t, not really. I made very slow and steady progress. Mainly forward momentum, but when the fuck-ups happened they really happened. I can’t pretend I’m impressed with the speed of my journey overall, but you know what, I’m stronger, I’m fitter and I’ve learned a lot about myself so it’s all good.

Now it’s time to pick up the pace…I’d quite like to reach Skinny Town before I’m too old to enjoy it 🙂

 

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