Tag Archives: hard

A Head Like Elvis

In the here & now, , ,

I imagine more than a few of you will be familiar with the self destruct button, right? You know that thing you press which immediately snatches defeat from the jaws of victory? Mine’s seen a bit of welly over the years, in fact the letters have worn off and it feels as smooth as a pebble washed a million times by the sea. It’s under my thumb right now, and it’s like I’ve got some weird kind of fat-girl twitch making me press it, over and over.

Why do I do it? Yesterday was bleurgh. I dodged a few things I shouldn’t have, ate salad for lunch but wobbled a bit in the afternoon (fucking refresher lollies ambushed me again at work, although I did count them) and then I went and ate a monster portion of chilli for tea which pushed me right over my calories. It’s all officially gone tits up, in fact my head is like Elvis…it’s left the building.

What I’m eating isn’t the only fuckery going on here. I’m sleep-dodging too. I sat up last night until eleven thirty or so before heading up to bed knowing I needed to write this post. No careful drafting it out and marinading it for a while before refining and making it just right…no no no. Not this girl, in this mood.

What I actually did was sit in the chair and binge watch ninety day fiancé all evening, even though it’s a pile of shite and I couldn’t give a damn about the stupid people in it and their badly scripted trials and tribulations. Maybe it’s because I imported my own car-crash fiancé years ago from over the pond and I’m fascinated watching other people’s disasters unfold in slow motion just like mine did.

That particular life disaster is buried in the archives somewhere for those of you fancy a good laugh, but whatever…I sat and watched five episodes back to back till I could hardly stay awake from sheer fucking boredom, when I should have been busy tipping the contents of my head onto the page and rearranging it all in the medium of words to help move me on a notch.

In the end it wasn’t far shy of 1am by the time I’d tipped up my word-count, and my alarm goes off at six. Five hours’ sleep plus change, to prepare me for a one hundred mile round trip commute and a job that’s wringing me out on a daily basis at the moment. Way to go to nourish my mind and body, right? I’m such a dickhead sometimes.

Mimi was so astute on Monday when she called me out on lining up an excuse ready to wheel out at the weekend as I try and justify three days of over-indulgence with my friends. She was absolutely bang on. I was doing that. I still am. I’m looking at the pictures and GIFs and Memes that we’re all sharing on WhatsApp as we get giddy about seeing each other and making cocktails and eating chocolate in the hot tub, and staying in pyjamas to watch movies.

I want to immerse myself in the full experience including drinking buckets of prosecco and eating my own bodyweight in inappropriate snacks. Same as everyone else. The trouble is, for them it’s a one-off, but me, well…I don’t know when to quit.

So, yeah. I can feel this fucking button under my thumb, but I’m wandering around in fat-girl fog and I’m not sure I can resist the urge to push it. Again.

I’m heading out Thursday afternoon and there’s no internet signal at Foxy Lodge so I won’t be able to post on Friday, although I’ll be back in time for the Shitbird Chronicles on Sunday.

I can’t wait for that one, I mean seriously just bloody shoot me now…

 

 

 

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Jury’s Out…

In the here & now, ,

So I think I mentioned didn’t I, that my friend and I are heading out on holiday in a couple of weeks – I’m on countdown, with just eighteen sleeps to go. My friend is the world’s best travelling companion…she is uber organised. My modus operandi is to skid into my holidays having worked up to the very last minute with no preparation whatsoever but you know what, I totally get away with it because my friend does enough organising for the both of us. It’s the only bit of my life where I happily sit back and trust someone else to crack on and just tell me what we’re doing.

We’re cruising again – you know how I love life on the ocean – and this time we’re picking up our ship in Abu Dhabi and sailing into Oman, Fujairah, Sir Bani Yas Island and Dubai. I’ve never been to that part of the world and I’m curious to see what it’s like. It’s also my first hot holiday in a while, so I’m looking forward to finding a shady spot and devouring three or four good books as we sail through the week.

Things are going so well with my food plan at the moment that I’m in an agony of indecision trying to decide what food strategy I’m going to adopt whilst I’m on holiday, you know? Even though I stayed active on our last holiday by scaling waterfalls and climbing the odd mountain, and didn’t feel like I went overboard on the eating, I put on a ton of weight over the course of our week in Norway. I know I lost it again within a couple of weeks of coming home – once my plumbing recovered from the trip – but even so, watching the needle go up by eight pounds or so when I got home didn’t exactly fill me with joy and loveliness.

I’m not sure I ever really got back to the real focus I’d had on losing weight before the trip. I mean I limped along between getting home from that holiday and setting off for Cuba, but the impetus definitely fell off a cliff somewhere towards the end of summer.

My dilemma now, is that it feels a bit too soon to step away from this much more disciplined New Year mindset that I’ve manage to kick-start. By the same token I want to be able to enjoy the kind of carefree holiday moments where my friend and I throw caution to the wind and work our way through the cocktail menu for example, which always seems like a great idea at the time. The trouble is, my inhibitions diminish with each sip of whatever I’m drinking.

It’s not as if I’m a big drinker…actually I’m a bit of a fanny but it’s different on holiday somehow. And let’s be honest, you only get a thimble-full of french martini in your glass so it’s too easy to order another, and another…I seem to remember doing exactly that last time, and waking up the next morning with the remains of a cheesecake in my bed and a spoon stuck to my cheek. Not my finest hour, right?

Today marks my 31st day of eating properly, in terms of no processed food, and barely any refined sugar. I’m feeling awesome to be honest, and I know I can definitely keep the momentum going for the next two and a half weeks. The question is can I keep it going whilst I’m on holiday. Should I..?

I’m trying to steer clear of the kind of fat-girl thinking which equates having a good time with how much I can fit in my mouth, but I can already feel the asshole voice gearing up to flood my head with suggestions like it’s okay to relax a bit, you’re on holiday, and come on, you’ve been so good you deserve a treat…life’s too short, live a little and eat the fucking cake!!

I know those kind of sentiments are built on a crooked belief that denying myself the indulgences I want in the moment is some kind of punishment which will spoil the holiday I’ve worked so hard for. Which is bollocks, and I know it.

Still…

 

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