Tag Archives: resist temptation

Every Day’s A Lesson

So yesterday I learned two things. I learned that it’s possible to survive two days of conference without eating my own bodyweight in crap. I think it’s the first time ever. And although there was an incident with half a glass of prosecco and two bags of Scampi Fries on Wednesday evening, I’m still claiming it as a victory because forty minutes in the pool more than covered the calories, so I paid my dieting debt and then some.

On the other hand, I learned that it’s not possible to drive the one hundred and thirty miles home with a large carton of cherries on the passenger seat without incident. Like 400 grams’ worth of incident. I was only going to have one or two, but I walked through my front door clutching a carton full of nothing except stalks and stones.

Not surprisingly, overnight I also leaned that eating 400 grams’ worth of cherries all in one go is not compatible with a good night’s sleep although to be fair, after multiple trips to the bathroom I should’ve been at least ten pounds lighter by the time my alarm went off.

Every day’s a lesson, right?

Checking out of the hotel yesterday I felt so smug, like I was unbreakable and I wanted to tell the world about my will of iron. Not even half an hour later, faced with a large carton of cherries I’m a fucking pushover…I wouldn’t care, I only bought them because I noticed they’d been reduced in price when I stopped to buy fuel. Will of iron my arse.

Whatever. I’ve spent the last two days sidestepping bowls of boiled sweets, ignoring the mocked-up tuck shop that had been set out in the corner of the conference room for anybody to just dive right in and bypassing the burgers and sausages and fancy coleslaw on barbecue night in favour of chicken and salad.

I’ve had no chocolate and no dessert, and I shunned the big cooked hotel breakfasts in favour of skinny girl choices. I swam both days, and we had an escorted walking tour around Stratford-Upon-Avon after lunch on Wednesday which put a couple of miles under my feet. I pulled it off, so throwing caution to the wind and vaporising a ton of cherries isn’t worth wasting any angst over. For what it’s worth they were bloody lovely, even if they should’ve lasted me at least three days.

So anyway, with conference well and truly over, my thoughts are turning to the weekend. Are you up to much?

Back in March, when July seemed like a lifetime away (and I’m bound to be skinny by then, right?) in a moment of madness I thought it might be fun to run a 5k obstacle course and haul myself over a load of giant inflatables whilst folk chuck paint at me on the way round. So I signed up to do it with a bunch of crazy-assed friends, and it’s come around rather more quickly than I expected. Like, it’s tomorrow.

The thing is, I appear to be still fat with a dodgy knee.

Fuck.

 

 

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Fighting The Good Fight

The first week of going cold-turkey where refined sugar is concerned is always the pits. I’m hanging in there, and happy to report that I haven’t caved, despite my Asshole voice rolling out every trick in the book in an attempt to cure me of the ridiculous notion that I can live without it.

Wednesday brought its own unique brand of torture. I was working in Birmingham, and one of our recruitment partners had very kindly offered us their office space to do some interviews. The room was lovely, with tea and coffee all laid out, together with a plate of biscuits. And I’m not talking just any biscuits…these were Choco Leibniz biscuits. My favourite. There’s something about the buttery crunchy biscuit base and the thick slab of chocolate sitting on the top which makes me want to lock lips as soon as I clap eyes on them.

I could tell you now exactly how they were arranged on the plate, because for the three hours we spent in that room I was barely able to focus on anything else. There were six of them. Four were arranged down one side of the plate, chocolate side up, and two were in the middle, chocolate side down and leaning against a pile of bleh biscuits which occupied the other side of the plate.

Did you know that the long fluted edge of a Choco Leibniz has fifteen little chocolatey bumps on it? And the short edge has eleven. I fantasised about biting into each and every single one of them. Or resting my tongue in between one of those little chocolatey bumps, and resisting the temptation to lick so it’d last for the longest possible time,  just waiting for that sweet chocolate to melt and explode onto my tastebuds. Or best of all nibbling all the chocolate from around the edge first, before dunking the middle bit in my coffee. For three hours those thoughts wrestled for pole position with everything else going on in my head.

They almost drove me mad, but I didn’t have one. It was warm in the room we were using so we had the window open, and every now and again there was a suggestion of a breeze which carried the scent of them right to my nose. I could feel myself sniffing the air like a lion with an antelope in it’s sights…shit the bed I wanted one so badly. But I left all six on the plate.

And last night, I went out for dinner with three very good friends. We’d picked the restaurant carefully, and researched the menu before we went so we were all confident that we could stick to our respective food plans. And that was fine, except as we were seated, dessert in the form of baclava was delivered to the table next to us. Oh you have no idea.

I could see the crispy filo pastry ready to flake stickily as someone bit into it. I could see the crushed pistachios on the top and the gleam from layers of sticky awesomeness. I think all four of us let out an involuntary variation on ‘Mmmm…I love baclava‘ as we collectively stalked every mouthful taken by the folks who’d ordered it. Three of us are on the same journey in terms of getting the food demons under control, and we had one much-envied string bean in our midst who has to fight just as hard as we do to stay there, you know?

From my perspective, if just one amongst our group of four had voiced the words fuck it, I’m ordering baclava,  I think we all would’ve jumped on the bandwagon. I came this close. It was a bit like being in a baclava-related scene of The Voice, with me and my friends in the big chairs waiting to see who’d push their buzzer first and get first bite before we all turned our chair around. Happily none of us pushed the buzzer for baclava but just because I didn’t, doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it for the rest of the evening, or that I’m not still thinking about it now.

*Sigh*…it’s all work in progress, right? I stared temptation down twice this week, and every time I say no, it gets me a little more skin in the game.

Day five of being refined-sugar- free in the bag…come on day six, let’s see what you’ve got 🙂

 

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One Battle At A Time

One of the guys who I’ve worked alongside for the last couple of years moved on to start a new job last week, and although I was out and about on his last day, when I arrived at the office after the weekend, his parting gift of chocolate for the team was lying in wait on the desk as I walked through the door.

I wasn’t bothered by it on Monday. Beyond a fleeting thought along the lines of how thoughtful he’d been to leave it, it didn’t really register. Yesterday on the other hand, the same chocolate drove me to hell and back. Especially around mid-afternoon when I made a cup of tea.

I’d eaten lunch at 11.40am because the roast beef sandwich on soft wholemeal bread that I’d carefully made to bring to work had toyed with me all morning. Holding out until the clock was at least edging towards 12.00pm had been a miracle in itself given the number of times my mind had unwrapped the foil over the course of the morning. To be honest, it was lucky to survive my journey to work, because It was just one of those days, you know? The kind where your mind is constantly pre-occupied with what you’re going to eat.

I don’t often eat bread these days, maybe once or twice a week. It’s not particularly a trigger food for me – well, not unless we’re talking about warmed Tiger bread lathered with salted butter obviously – but it just always strikes me as a bit heavy on the old food budget and I begrudge spending the points. However, the cold beef left over from supper the night before had begged to be eaten as I’d done a recce of the fridge, so there it was, locked and loaded. And gone, by 11.45am.

Thing is, I can smash down a sandwich in no time. At least with my usual salad box it takes me a beat between mouthfuls to chase a shred of lettuce around with my fork. I might pause to add a little salad cream here or there, or a little seasoning. With a pre-made sandwich, there’s no messing around is there? It was like the culinary equivalent of premature ejaculation. No foreplay, and over in seconds once I’d unwrapped the foil…  yes, yes, YES…oh. Are we done?

By mid afternoon I could’ve eaten my own arm, I mean I was starving. And every time I walked back to my desk from one meeting or another I was greeted by the sight of these two boxes of chocolates. Bit by bit they started to chip away at my resolve. Surely one wouldn’t hurt? I’ve proved that I can survive without chocolate haven’t I, I mean look at me…we’re well into May and I haven’t eaten any since Christmas. I’ve got so much skin in the game it’s unreal, so surely I’d be safe with just one?

I got as far as saying fuck it out loud as my hand reached for the box, only to be stopped in my tracks by a colleague. She looked so genuinely shocked that I might be about to break my long run of resisting temptation that I put the box down and retreated back to my chair with my tail between my legs. And she was right. Of course she was right. She knew as well as I did that I wouldn’t have stopped at one. I would have had three, or seven, or maybe ten and then I’d have stopped at the store on my way home and bought some more. I’d probably still be chewing them as I write this.

Even though I know what lies in store if I awaken the beast, I almost went there. I just about clung on with my fingernails, but I’m hoping today will be easier. It’s a brand new week. My conversation with the Shitbird Scale this morning contained a few naughty words…I’m not sure this experiment about how and when I spend my points is working. I’ll stick with it for another week and then make a call.

I’ve felt vulnerable and a bit out of control these last few days, so I’m claiming yesterday as a victory. That’s how wars are won, right? One battle at a time 🙂

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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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One Foot In Afterwards

It’s not often that I resent the fact that I have to work for a living, in fact the opposite is true. I enjoy my job a lot, and I love the company that I work for, but honestly, after having a lovely long run of ten days off, the very last thing I wanted to do last night was set my alarm for stupid o’clock, and haul my sorry ass back to work. I mean come on, surely it’s my turn to win the lottery or something?

If I didn’t have to work, I could spend my days doing all those things that I never have time to think about when I’m caught up in the daily grind. I’ve never not worked, and I realise that makes me more fortunate than some, but it’s been awesome this week just pottering around at home. And I’ll tell you what else, it’s been much easier to stick to my food plan, because there hasn’t been anywhere near the same amount of temptations that I’m used to fielding on a daily basis.

I can pretty much guarantee that in our office of ten people, one of us will be eating or chewing or grazing on something at any given point in time. And I can also guarantee that as soon as I hear the crinkle of a wrapper, my ears are all over it. I want in.

I can’t help wondering how long it will be before I get to the point where resisting temptation doesn’t come with a hefty dollop of resentment. Will it ever? I’ve become fairly well-rehearsed in the art of saying no and holding the line with the Asshole voice, but I’m still one hundred percent in that place where I want to mutter under my breath and kick whichever lucky bastard is eating the thing I can’t have as soon as the words leave my lips.

Resisting temptation makes me feel good afterwards, especially at bedtime if I’m reflecting on a day that hasn’t turned out to be a smart-points car crash. It’s the same when I go to the Kingdom of Pain, you know? I feel better afterwards, even though the hour of torture itself is still something I have to work hard at not resenting. The people make it fun, but for the record I fucking hate kettle bells until the end of time.

I reckon it’s more of a challenge to live in the moment when you’re trying to lose weight, because all the good stuff seems to happen after the event. Make the right choice, and then feel good about it afterwards. Do you think this is what normal people do, like all the time? Maybe I’ve lived my life so far with an upside-down approach…as far back as I can remember, gratification in the moment and regret and self recrimination afterwards is all I’ve ever known.

It’s taken me a while to learn how to appreciate the afterwards. The penny didn’t drop straight away, about cause and effect. I’m slowly turning the ship, but I’m still wrestling with the wheel and I think I probably will be for a good while yet. Maybe I always will. Maybe I’m just wired in a way that means feeling pissed off in the moment because I can’t eat what I really want to eat will always happen?

I hope not. I hope I’ll get to that place where resisting temptation is as natural as breathing. I live in hope 🙂

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