Tag Archives: determined

Too Much Information..?

I can’t begin to tell you how many poo stories I’ve listened to over the last day or so, I mean seriously, there have been lots. It seems I’m not the only one amongst our band of merry men who’s found themselves locked in dispute with their own pipes. And the thing is, I always forget how many people that I actually know in my real life who read the blog.

It’s one thing when you realise your lack of filter has left people around the world wondering whether or not you’ve managed to open your purse, but it’s something else entirely when you pass someone in the corridor at work and they pull a face and say anything yet..? 

One of my friends in the office pressed a maximum strength senocot pill into my hands and suggested it might help. I carried it home with the same care I might have reserved for a stick of dynamite, having (wisely I thought) decided against road-testing it before I was safely home and within sprinting distance of the bathroom. I mean it hadn’t just been a day or two, and I was worried that wouldn’t end well at all.

I’m very pleased to announce that nature took its course before said pill was swallowed, much to my blessed relief. It felt like a Lion King moment, I mean I appreciate I’m not exactly holding anything aloft or introducing the fruit of my loins to the nation but metaphorically speaking I’m sure you’ll all sleep easier in your beds tonight knowing my agony is over. And over, and over, and over as it happens.

It’s only the second time in my life that I’ve suffered this badly. The first time was worse actually. I was in the Maldives with my best friend, and without going into sordid detail my body was on lockdown then in the same way that it has been this week. I can only liken that experience to a breach birth, and due to the dodgy plumbing on the tiny island and my utter mortification at not being able to make the offending article go away after upwards of a hundred flushes, I ended up wrapping it in a carrier bag and cycling up to the big industrial waste bins behind the kitchens with a suspicious baguette-shaped parcel in the basket on the front of my hired bicycle.

Fuck, I’ve done it again haven’t I? No filter. Still, you can’t beat a good poo story between friends, right?

So anyway, things are looking up. I had another false start yesterday on account of some Thornton’s chocolates and a pub lunch however I’m now full subscribed to Weight Watchers again, and I’ve done my food shop. I sat and read every scrap of information about the new flex programme last night as I was oven-roasting some vegetables to take to work for lunch today, along with a chicken breast. My porridge oats are primed for breakfast, and a portion – not a punnet – of grapes is all bagged up for my mid-morning snack.

I’ve got this. My 2L water bottle is full and completes the hat-trick. I feel quite excited, although I recognise that I’ve been here before. That doesn’t really matter though, does it? All that matters is that I’m here now 🙂


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Wading Through Treacle

I appear to have sparked a mini panic by failing to pop up in your news feed with my usual Friday words. Sorry about that, and I love the fact that you noticed, but I’m fine, I promise. It was just one of those weeks where work was off-the-scale demanding of both my time and my head-space, and there were a couple of nights out that I wouldn’t normally have in my diary. There just wasn’t time to fit everything in.

By the end of the week I was banjaxed, and a last-minute cobbling together of anything worth reading didn’t feel do-able. I hardly ever miss a post, but I think by Thursday I’d had every last drop of creative juice wrung out of me, and then some.

I had a really mixed week from an eating perspective. Sunday to Tuesday went really well. I was completely sure-footed, you know? Wednesday was a little bit wobbly, although I can’t pinpoint what it was that threw me off my game. Thursday and Friday went completely to shit. Saturday I played at being good until I went shopping, and then I had to sit on the naughty step until bedtime. By some fucking miracle, the Shitbird Scale awarded me a one pound loss yesterday morning. I have no idea how, I mean genuinely no idea.

I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it so hard to stay focused with Christmas just around the corner. Every single step feels like I’m wading through treacle. I don’t have a choice but to focus…if I take my eye off the ball I know full well that I’ll hit the holidays fifteen pounds heavier than I am now, and by New Year I’ll look like a fucking Buddha. So I have to keep my head in the game, but it seems like everywhere I turn there’s food just taunting me.

Mince pies and Baileys almost got me yesterday in the supermarket. I saw them out of the corner of my eye as they lit up a gondola end with their special offer tags. I ran around the aisles refusing to make eye contact with anything tasty, in fact I probably looked like I was on some kind of special ops mission. Milk, chicken, veggies and OUT…BAM BAM BAM. Do not engage with any special offers and if it’s in a shiny Christmas wrapper it’s bad…step away.

Yesterday was a good day. My unexpected one pound loss provided the impetus that I needed to keep my feet in the sweet spot. I swam, and I ate within calories and I did it willingly because my head played nicely. I’m hoping for more of the same today, but there’s a danger-zone between twelve and two, with a Christmas lunch to be navigated.

Tuesday and Wednesday should be uneventful and I’m determined they’ll go without a hitch but Thursday through Saturday will be the real test of willpower because it’s our bi-annual girly weekend away in Foxy Lodge, and you know what temptations are on offer there, right?  Worst case scenario, it’s two days out of seven, so even if the prosecco gets me and I dive headlong into food fuckery, providing I bring my A-game between now and then it’ll be fine.

I’m trying to plan, but I may well end up treading water this week and to be fair, as long as the needle doesn’t go up, I’m kind of okay with that. I’m living my life.

Step by sticky treacle-ridden step…


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There’s Safety In Numbers

So I’m looking ahead to this week with a bit of trepidation, I’ve got to be honest. It’s full of lovely things to look forward to, but most of them involve food. I’m trying not to feel inconvenienced by being on a diet, you know? That’s the wrong kind of thinking and I don’t want to start feeling pissed off all over again.

Monday we’re having a lunch for the seven of us from work who did the trek to Cuba last year…we won some recognition at last December’s company bash for raising the most money for charity, and we’ve just never got around to spending the voucher. It’s well overdue and it’ll be fun to reminisce. Tuesday I’m working in London all day and we’ll be catered at lunchtime, and home late with dinner on the fly. Wednesday evening we have a meal out with the team at work, and then Thursday we’re away overnight at a sort of team spa night which also involves a meal, and more than likely a tipple or two.

My food sobriety has held quite well this week and I don’t know about you lot, but for me it’s always a bit more fragile in the early days of a reboot, you know? That said, I have a whole week under my belt now. I just need to stay focused on dodging the food bullets which will be coming thick and fast from every direction over the next few days.

It’s been a bit noisy in my head over the weekend with the Asshole voice being petulant and demanding. I took Charlie dog for a walk yesterday and it was just a constant barrage of head-spam.

It’s far too cold to be out, turn around and go home immediately. You don’t have any gloves, you might get chilblains. (I’ve never had a chilblain in my life.) Besides it’s muddy up here on the bridleway and Charlie-dog had a bath and a haircut yesterday, you’d better turn around and go home before he gets dirty otherwise you’ve wasted your money.

And your ankles are aching. That must be a sign of something, so don’t overdo it. You’d both be much better curled up in front of the telly with the fire on. You’ve had a busy week, and you deserve to relax instead of walking around in this cold. Even the dog looks miserable, go on and turn around, you know you want to…

On and on, all day. I just couldn’t quite manage to tune it out, but I did manage not to act on anything. I stayed solid. I’ve got no reason to suppose that the Asshole voice will be any less intrusive this week with all the food-fuckery opportunities that are coming my way. I’m also going to be time-poor in terms of opportunities to work out or swim.

I am planning to drink lots of water and plenty of coffee to try and keep myself feeling full. It might only help a little bit, but at the very least it’ll diffuse some of the temptations, right? I’m really lucky to have the support of some good friends who I can message and lean on if I’m feeling wobbly. I’m going to pay particular attention to the way I look because  if I look nice, I feel nice and that helps me stay in control.

I’m doing what I can. The bullets will fly and I’m really hoping none of ’em get me, because I know they’re coming, and I have a plan. It’s silly season and I’m guessing a fair few of you will also be staring the run up to Christmas straight in the eye and wondering just how the actual fuck you’re going to navigate it all.

Together, that’s how. Come on, link arms…there’s safety in numbers and we’ve got this 🙂


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It’s A Sign!

I have to admit to having a bit of a spring in my step. I’ve completed five straight days without a single unplanned eating incident and given that I’ve struggled to deliver a full five minutes of good behaviour just recently, I’m feeling accomplished. I’ve got skin in the game again, and the first hurdle is already in my rear-view mirror. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Yesterday had the potential to go pear-shaped when I left home without my carefully prepared lunch, which I’d taken out of the fridge and placed right next to my bag on the kitchen table as I was getting ready to leave.  It was right there, but I still walked out of the house without it, I mean come on, seriously. I left at 6am with a three hour drive in front of me and I was too far away from home to turn around by the time I realised.

The first indication that my head has landed back in the game came as I went into the motorway services on the way to my meeting, having left too early to eat breakfast, and bought coffee. No muffins, or croissants or pain-au-chocolate. Just coffee.

The biggest indicator came mid afternoon as I called back into the same motorway services, having not had chance prior to that to grab lunch. I was eat-my-own-arm starving as I walked in and considered my options. Greggs, Burger King, and a full on selection of confectionary. Fat girl heaven.

With the Asshole behind the wheel, it would have been BK. Or maybe a cheese and onion pasty or steak bake from Greggs, and large bag of crisps and at least one item of chocolate but probably two. Hell yeah, let me hear you say ay-MEN!

I didn’t do that, and what’s more it didn’t even occur to me to do that, you know? I walked into M&S Simply Food, picked up a turkey wrap and a small tub of fresh fruit and walked out again without giving it a single thought. No strop because there was all this stuff I couldn’t have, and no inner turmoil. I was hungry, and I fancied a turkey wrap and some fruit. That my friends, is a sign. I’m back 🙂

I half expected that Charlie-dog might have helped himself to my forgotten sandwich by the time I got home again, but in a show of solidarity he hadn’t. How’s that for willpower, right? He was clearly on the verge of bursting though, having sat and supervised it all day, in between playing out with all his doggy-day-care friends.

I’d fixed chicken, avocado and sweet pepper with a little light mayo and black pepper on a seeded flatbread, and it looked all kinds of awesome. Having bought and eaten something else in its place, I reluctantly rewarded his patience by allowing him to eat it, given that it’d been out of the fridge all day.

I figured his furry constitution was robust enough to deal with it, on the basis that unless I manage to grab him in time he eats cow pats and horse shit when we’re out walking. I soon realised it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had…overnight he has single-handedly done his bit to obliterate the ozone layer by filling the room with enough gas to blow the roof off.

Come on day six…show me what you’ve got 🙂

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Walking On Quicksand

You know when I was a little girl, I couldn’t imagine what quicksand was all about. Clear as anything, I remember the day my mum told me about it and I was fascinated by the concept that the ground beneath your feet could suck you down and swallow you whole. I had nightmares about it for weeks afterwards and I’m not kidding when I say it was years after that conversation before I set foot on a beach again, I mean there was no point in taking chances, right? As far as I was concerned, fat girls would sink quicker.

I don’t know for sure, but I imagine this is what it feels like, to walk on quicksand. With every step forward, it seems like I’m getting sucked further and further away from the next step forward after that. Wednesday was my day one, and it was going okay until I had a little wobble over a catered lunch. I pulled it back in the nick of time but dwelled on my semi-okay lunch all afternoon.

It turned out to be a really long day. I’d done no planning whatsoever, on account of getting back from my weekend away too late the day before. I figured I’d just wing it in a healthy way. Because I’m good at doing that…ah. That’s right, my bad…I’m not good at doing that. I knew it was one of those. Who the fuck am I kidding?

When I walked through the door after twelve hours and a long commute, off the back of a night with disturbed sleep listening for robbers, my resolve cracked into a million pieces and I fell headlong into the wrong kind of supper. You don’t need the detail, but it was a definite screw-up. I’d also missed my exercise class after getting stuck in traffic. I was tired and I was still freaking out about bad men in my back yard so I didn’t go swim either. In the space of an hour I pissed off the God of Pain, irked my boy and ate my bodyweight in crap.

However, I got up yesterday and had another stab at it. Even though I was tired and grumpy after yet another disturbed night, where between the hours of one and five sleep had eluded me in favour of having ears on high alert whilst Charlie-dog snored quietly right next to me. I ignored all that and threw myself into the business of day one. And last night when I got in I ate a healthy supper. Go me, right?

Wrong. I’d actually used up all my calories by mid-afternoon so technically no matter how healthy my supper was, I shouldn’t have been eating supper at all.

I’m acutely aware that I’m bouncing around all over the fucking place. But I’m trying to be forgiving of myself. I’ve had a massive shock and my defences are low on account of all this broken sleep. There’s no question that at the moment, my Asshole voice is ruling the roost.

I do have a plan. A friend of mine is coming to sort out my CCTV today, and install security lighting, service my burglar alarm system and fit additional locks to the back door. That will help me sleep more soundly in my bed. I’ve not wanted to leave the house un-guarded this week but I think all the additional security will encourage me to stop acting like a fucking drama queen. And stop eating the wrong kind of supper.

It’s been a funny old week. But today is day one, right? Let’s hope this one sticks…I’d love to meet day two tomorrow 🙂


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