Tag Archives: shhh naughty words

Limping Across The Finish Line…

In the here & now, ,

finish line

Crikey I’ll tell you what, I know I was leaning towards feeling mardy about the fact that I was only going on holiday for a week this year instead of two, but as it turns out that’s probably a good thing. I reckon one more day and caution may well have been well and truly thrown to the wind. We’ve had a great holiday but staying on the straight and narrow was much much harder than I thought it was going to be.

I’d love to be able to tell you that I didn’t put a foot wrong whilst I’ve been away. I mean, I talked a really good game before I left, didn’t I..? I was a woman with a plan, and I was going to stick to it. And I did on day one, and mostly on day two but then as the week’s gone on, I’ve fallen out of the naughty tree and hit quite a few branches on the way down. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being really disciplined and focused and one completely flipping the bird to anything resembling self-control, I started the week around an eight or nine and probably limped across the finish line scraping a three. Dammit.

Pretty much as soon as we got on the ship I headed up to go check out the gym and all the fitness facilities. My head was full of all the things I was going to do. But then I met the fitness woman and she managed to talk me through all the classes that were available whilst at the same time giving me that look…you know the one I mean, where someone’s eyes contradict what’s coming out of their mouth?

You’d be very welcome in the spinning class are the words I heard, but the eyes said don’t even fucking think about it, my gym isn’t for people like you, in fact we’re way out of your league, now run along…go and be fat and old somewhere else.

And I let it get to me, which in hindsight was more than a bit stupid. But it put me right off, you know? I did still intend to go the next day, but I got the times wrong due to switching off mobile data on my phone which then didn’t update the time change on my watch overnight – duh – so I missed the first class, which made me then feel even more awkward about going to the next one…the Asshole voice definitely had a hand in all that because whatever was going on was one hundred percent in my head.

So anyway, to cut a long story short, I decided to stop stressing about it and walk instead. Whenever we cruise, my friend starts her day off with three miles around the promenade deck, and I joined her this year for the first time…hell, I even jogged a little bit of it. At pretty much first light we could be found outside on deck seven, with the wind in our hair and fresh air in our lungs which to be fair was much nicer than the stupid gym anyway. Three times around was one mile, and we just carried on walking until we’d hit our three miles target.

Most days by the time we went to bed we’d walked seven or eight miles, and especially on days where we’d walked around our ports of call we’d done even more. In Alesund there was a viewing platform on top of the tallest peak in town, which was reached by a little tourist train that buzzed up and down the hairpin bends snaking their way to the top, or by four hundred and forty four steps cut into the hillside.

My friend and I went up together on the little train, intending to leave it at the top and walk down the steps but my friend wanted to stay on for the rest of the tour so that’s what we did. Once it dropped us off having shown us all the sights we had a good walk around the town, poking about in little shops and doing our holiday thing, which was lovely. The fact that I’d not even walked down the steps was bugging me though. It kind of felt like a missed opportunity.

So, when we went back to the ship I got changed into my exercise gear and went back on shore, and I walked those steps on my own, every one of them, right up to the top . I swear the views were better second time around, after I’d earned the right to sit and enjoy them. It was steep and tough but I loved it, and more than that, I loved knowing I could do it, you know? Without actually dying. If you’ve been following the Facebook page you might have seen the pictures.

Thing is, knowing I’d done it somehow made me feel like I had license to take my foot off the gas where my food was concerned as we went down to dinner that night. And that wasn’t a good move…if it wasn’t nailed down, I ate it. I’d been fairly sensible up to that point but I’d just walked the steps so in my head that meant I’d earned enough brownie points to take care of however many fucking calories chef could throw at me. Appetiser, soup, main, dessert…cheese board? Hell yeah bring it on…I climbed the steps.

And that’s the point at which I sort of lost the plot…we were halfway though the holiday at this point, it was Tuesday and the wheels were starting to wobble.

I’d carry on telling the tale right now if I wasn’t now in full damage limitation mode, however my walking boots are waiting along with my enthusiastic fur-baby who’s reaping the benefits of me trying to make amends to myself for not quite pulling off the plan…don’t worry, I’ll pick up where I left off next time. You know me, I have to ‘fess up and cleanse my soul to you lot, it’s part of the deal 🙂

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Me And My Big Mouth

In the here & now, , , ,

So I reached Thursday this week without having visited the Kingdom of Pain since the weekend. It wasn’t by choice, I promise, I’ve just had a crazy work schedule this week. I don’t go on Mondays because God of Pain has a stand-in (even Guru’s have to take a day off, right?) and it’s not the same. Tuesday I had early meetings followed at the end of the day by dinner with our new boss, and Wednesday was a proper killer. I had a 3.45am alarm call to get a 5am train and it was almost 7pm when I got back home, so fitting in a class just wasn’t humanly possible until yesterday.

And somehow that made yesterday feel really hard. I did not want to go do that early workout, for the first time in ages. I laid in bed when my alarm went off, running through pretty much the whole of the Asshole’s repertoire you know? Stay in bed, you had such a long day yesterday, you’re too old for this shit…today you should scrape by with the bare minimum, conserve your energy and take a load off…you need a rest. You might hurt yourself if you’re tired…blah blah blah.

I went, of course I went but the going sort of teetered on a knife-edge for a moment. The only thing less appealing than dragging my sorry ass out of bed was cancelling the session and getting nailed by the full force of his disapproval. And I felt so guilty at the way I’d tried to talk myself out of going that I went from one extreme to the other and shot my mouth off, totally putting the kibosh on all things naughty whilst I’m away on holiday in the next couple of weeks.

I think the blood must have rushed to my head or something as I jogged on the spot in-between torture stations, because I only went and made a point of telling him that I was going away, and requested, yes requested that he personally weigh me next Friday before I leave, and again a week on Sunday when we get back to make sure I haven’t put any weight on over the course of my cruise.

I mean WTF?? I earned an approving nod of his head as he agreed to it. Well of course he fucking agreed to it, he’s the actual diet police. I can’t think of a more effective way to make absolutely sure I stick to my food plan.

What usually happens when I’m presented with something I shouldn’t eat but really want, is that you’ll hear me say no…no really I’m sure…yes very sure thanks…oh fuck it go on then. I guess I’ve shut the door on that one, right? And you know what it’s like on a cruise, there are chefs hiding around every corner waiting to force-feed you cake. Step on like a girl, step off like a foie gras.

There’s two big reasons why I need to hit this with a straight bat – firstly if I don’t, and I have a week long chew-fest, no way will I be able to get back in the game when I get home. Secondly it’s taken me the last two months to lose ten pounds, and I could put all that back on in the course of a week, and then some…I’ve done it many times and it’s just not worth it.

Plus which, I’ve got to admit as I dress for my skinny dinners in one of my new little size 18 numbers, not feeling like Shamu in a frock is going to really help in the willpower department, you know? And imagine, clothes that fit me as we set sail still fitting me as we arrive back into port…I don’t think that’s ever happened before 🙂

Anyway, I’m just home from doing the ‘muffin tops and bingo wings class’, which is it’s own little world of pain. Tonight I’m boxing, and tomorrow a bunch of us from the Kingdom of Pain are going to conquer Pen Y Ghent, which is a 6 mile walk up one of Yorkshire’s peaks. At almost 700m it’s not far short of the mountain in Cuba that I’ll be looking at in a few weeks’ time. Then Sunday I’m back for the circuit training and boxing combo to kick off my last pre-holiday week.

Have an awesome weekend chaps 🙂

Before you go, we have a new contributor on the Guest Spot – Thoughts From The Posse Page if you’d like to check it out…Deb is an accidental guest writer, since I pulled the words from a note she sent me rather than her setting out to write a post but I could relate to every word, and I’m sure she’d benefit from a little encouragement from the posse. Knowing other people had walked a mile in my shoes when I started my journey helped me no end…you’re a bunch of wise old owls 🙂

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A New Found Respect

In the here & now, , ,

I had such a good day yesterday…I can say with a degree of certainty that any residual pain  would barely qualify as a stiff neck, and even my legs worked okay…pity I couldn’t make the same claim on Monday, holy crap I was stiff after Saturday’s ten mile hike. More so on Monday than Sunday for some weird reason, it’s like they lulled me into a false sense of security before they pulled a big fat ouch out of the bag.

That worries me a bit, to be honest…its only nine weeks and three days until we depart for Cuba, and I’ve got to walk further than I did on Saturday, for five days on the bounce. With the added buggeration factor of heat and bugs…the Asshole voice keeps chipping away in the background as part of his business-as-usual campaign to undermine my confidence and make me doubt myself but he’s not really getting anywhere with it. Most of the time anyway. I’m throwing everything I’ve got at this, and I’m as determined as ever. I can do this.

Anyway, I mentioned that I’d spent a few hours at the hospital last weekend didn’t I..? I’d rocked up after taking advice from the NHS helpline with a serious pain in my neck and no ability to move my head at all, and in order to diagnose the problem they had to check me from head to toe, including all the usual observations.

They tried to take some blood, and I had to pre-warn them that my veins don’t like to give up so much as a drop without a fight. Apparently it’s because I’m fat. So sayeth the doctors anyway. That doctor. He was actually very nice, along with the medical student who was with him. And let’s be honest, he wasn’t wrong, I mean I am fat. If further proof was needed, they then attempted to take my blood pressure, and the cuff was too small…it kept pinging open. They had to go get the fat-girl cuff.

Cringe…I sat there trying to decide whether I had enough energy left to be offended/pissed off/mortified at the indignity of it all, but for once there was no voice in my head encouraging me down the road of self-pity. I suspect I was too focused on getting through the consultation, you know? They’d already told me that I wouldn’t get meds to wipe the pain until they’d ruled out non-muscular related issues, so I was very compliant in the hope that they’d just hurry the fuck up.

I couldn’t help thinking that this time last year I’d have been devastated when the young doctor stepped back into the cubicle with the fat-girl blood pressure cuff…it’s the ER equivalent of an airplane seatbelt extension, offered up to the fat lady by a young version of Doctor McDreamy. This time, I didn’t much care, to be honest – I even joked with my boy about it as I sat huddled in the cubicle trying to see the funny side of anything in order to take my mind off all the hurting.

What struck me was the change that washed over the young Doctor as he took my medical history.  As he went through his list of questions, I started talking to him about how I might have hurt myself – the day before I’d done two exercise classes, and I told him all about trying to get fit…about the circuit training, and the boxing, and the walking and about the trek and the reasons why I was doing it.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment he stopped looking at me as a fat old woman with a face screwed up in pain, and saw instead a strong determined woman who was turning her life inside out to achieve a goal, not to mention risking life and limb in the process. But there was a definite shift in his perception…it was tangible.

As I shuffled in, he probably thought I’d strained myself reaching for the hob-nobs but by the time we left, diagnosed and drugged up to the eyeballs, I felt like I’d earned his respect. He’d clocked the grit and the determination and suddenly it felt like I was forgiven for being fat.

I can’t really call him on it, right? It wasn’t until it dawned on me that I was really going to see this this through that I started to feel respect for myself…I’ve got to tell you though, when you’re used to folk looking at you with anything on a sliding scale from pity to contempt, seeing respect in someone’s eyes when they look at you is very powerful.

I quite like it 🙂

 

 

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Not Even Close

In the here & now, , , ,

fall-off-the-wagon

Well…where do I start. I think I mentioned didn’t I that I was anticipating the odd challenge towards the back end of last week, but I had a plan, right? I was working away Thursday and Friday, but I had it all figured out. The hotel I was staying in had a gym, blah blah blah…sadly I was accompanied on my trip by the fuck-up fairy, and it’s safe to say things didn’t go according to plan. Not even close.

But let me rewind. The week was going great, right up until Thursday morning when I left for my two-day trip. I’d completed all my planned sessions in the Kingdom of Pain, and I’d walked pretty much every day…I was on track food wise, in fact it was shaping up to be another textbook week.

The two-day meeting was a big conference-type get-together for a sixty strong team that I support and there were a few things which I knew straight off the bat I was going to struggle with. For example, there was an outdoor hog roast planned for dinner on the Thursday evening, and no word of a lie, I’d dreamed more than once in the early part of the week about that crispy salty pork crackling, and how many kinds of awesome it was going to be.

I knew how much I’d struggle to say no. I thought about how many different ways I could avoid even being within sniffing distance and I couldn’t quite figure it out so I set off knowing it was going to test me. What I hadn’t anticipated was all the other stuff.

I got to the hotel well before nine on the first morning after a couple of hours in the car, to be greeted by a massive tray of hot bacon sandwiches in the coffee area. I went through the motions of saying no, before driving myself bat shit crazy for ten minutes walking around the room chatting to colleagues, all the time furiously calculating and re-calculating the effect a bacon sandwich might have on my daily food budget. I came to the conclusion that it would make a big hole in it, as I caved in and helped myself to a plate. I estimated about twelve points out of my thirty five point daily budget. Ouch.

As soon as I walked into the conference room, my Asshole voice started doing his happy dance. There were goodies on every table…dishes of bite-size chocolate bars, chocolate-covered raisins and even bags of candy-floss to support the seaside theme. Whichever seat I’d taken I would’ve been within touching distance of all things naughty. So, did I sit and ignore it all because I’d just eaten a third of my daily food budget and I shouldn’t be even thinking about chocolate..? No, of course I fucking didn’t. I dived right in.

I started off with the intention of counting the points for everything I ate. I made a deal with the fuck-up fairy, brokered of course by the Asshole voice which meant I could take my foot off a little and have a few treats on the basis that I had some exercise points I could dip into, you know? I even wrote down what I ate so I could tot it up later on. Shall I share the list..? One toffee. Then two malteser chocolates, closely followed by two mini galaxy caramels. Then one more of those, one mini mars bar and a handful of chocolate raisins followed by seven mint humbugs.

At the first coffee break there were giant cookies on offer so of course I had one of those, followed by three mini bounties and a jaffa cake. I’d already run out of my food budget by this point although for some bizarre reason I carried on writing things down. Lunch was a buffet and trust me when I say…well, I don’t need to say it do I..? I was out of control. The hog roast didn’t live up to expectations but to be fair I felt so sick by the time  evening came, even if it had I wouldn’t have enjoyed it. But I ate it anyway. Followed by a dirty great piece of chocolate fudge cake.

I laid in bed on Thursday evening and felt like shit. I’d taken my iPad so I could write Friday’s blog post but you know what, I simply couldn’t summon any words…I was transported right back to those dark dark days of binge/food coma/self-loathing/guilt/remorse and repeat. I’d almost forgotten what it was like but hell’s teeth that was a sharp reminder.

I’d love to say that Friday was better, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t as bad but I was way off track. I ate things I shouldn’t, and I didn’t even write them down. I got home and finished the day off by eating chow mein and prawn toast from the Chinese takeaway. I mean, I’d already blown it, right?

Saturday…Saturday was better. But not brilliant. I still made some dodgy food choices but I exercised. I walked with some friends and it felt good. The Asshole voice was busy screaming start again Monday of course but actually, my weigh day is Sunday. So I picked myself up and started again Sunday.

I’ve written the last three days of my last dieting week off, and the bitch served up a three pound gain with a smile yesterday morning. I could weep, but I did it to myself, and I take responsibility for it. I deserve those three pounds.

So I’m a bit shaken if I’m honest, about how quickly I descended into anarchy. I thought I’d cracked it but clearly not. And it remains as ever incredibly hard to climb back on the wagon when I’ve taken a tumble and gone under the wheels…this morning I feel stronger, with a very good day under my belt yesterday…today it almost feels like the binge never happened. With a headwind behind me and the Gods of Skinny on my side I’ve somehow managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat and I’m back on track.

This week, I’m not going to step a toe out of line. I’ve got three pounds to lose, right?

 

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She Wouldn’t Dare…

In the here & now, , ,

scale

So I woke up on Sunday feeling really skinny, you know that way where you’re laid in bed and you put your hand on your stomach and it’s at a lower altitude than your head? I must’ve laid in bed for a good half an hour debating whether or not to chance my arm with the bitch in the bathroom, or whether just to call it, you know? I feel skinny therefore I am. I’ve obviously lost weight this week. Girl done good, the end.

I decided I needed to know. I could sense my Asshole voice gearing up to rub salt in the wound…you stuck, again? Really?? That’s so unfair, you tried so hard and totally gave it your best shot but look you’re over fifty now, and your body has obviously settled at where it’s meant to be…eighteen stone is a good weight for you. 

The fuck it is. And I wasn’t scared of the number as such…I was more worried about the drastic measures that I was muttering about under my breath if I’d been forced to step off for a fourth week with no movement. I was seriously worried that I might demand an appointment to have my jaws wired or try to get my stomach tied in a knot. Surely she wouldn’t dare …I swear, even the dog was sweating as I nudged the bitch onto the correct tile, but to everyone’s relief the number had gone down. Two pounds off.

Well, I say that. The first time I got on it said two pounds off. Then I got on another twice just to make sure and it stayed at two. Once more for good measure and it said three so I nearly broke my neck getting on for a fourth time hoping it would continue going up. I should have stopped at three because the needle went back down to two, and I stubbed my toe on the bath.

Note to self, I clearly weigh more when I’m grinning like the village idiot, so in future I’ll stay mardy. But whatever, the impasse is broken. Two pounds off, and I’ll take that thank you very much. I deserved those two pounds, you know? I worked really hard, in fact last week I walked almost thirty miles, fitted in five exercise classes and stuck to my food plan. The Asshole voice thinks it’s a fucking travesty that I didn’t lose ten pounds and between you and me I agree, but I’m keeping schtum…don’t want to piss off the Gods of Skinny by appearing ungrateful, right?

So yesterday, you’d have thought that buoyed by my success, I’d ace the diet, and you’d be right, I did. Right up until the point that a work colleague rocked up to a late meeting with scooby snacks. One packet of salt and vinegar crisps and two Oreo cookies later I had to re-think my dinner options. I wouldn’t care but I don’t even like Oreo cookies all that much. I mean they’re okay, you know if you’re desperate. For emergencies. But I wasn’t desperate, not even a little bit and there was no emergency. They were just there in front of me for the taking, and I felt entitled. Silly moo.

Whatever…I’m back in the saddle and we continue on. I’d like to think maybe I just paused to admire the view, after all it’s a while since I’ve stood in this spot…I’m officially lighter than I’ve been in probably five years, and when push comes to shove, I toughed it out, right? I faced down the plateau without throwing the towel in. I found something to celebrate…resilience, patience, whatever you want to call it, it’s ass was mine.

Come on, lets push on…that skinny life is waiting 🙂

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