Tag Archives: shitbird scale

One Battle At A Time

In the here & now, , ,

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 🙂

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

I’ve Had Worse Weekends…

In the here & now, , ,

Did you have a good Easter? We had a lovely weekend away but I’ll tell you what, I’m so glad I’m off work for the rest of this week, I am knackered. I adore my mum, and it was so nice to spend some time together and make some memories, but she’s so frail these days I feel like I’ve been on pins for the whole time we were away, in case I broke her. We have laughed a lot, but it feels like the last four days have mainly involved me running around with a stressy on, trying to make sure that the right pills were dispensed at the right time, and that mum didn’t trip over the dog, or fall out of bed, or scald herself on the kettle.

And don’t even get me started on the nightly trauma of helping her up the stairs to bed, in a cottage housing the longest and steepest staircase I’ve ever seen, which required at least three rest stops on the way up, me following two or three steps behind mum with my shoulder wedged under her bum to try and provide a little support and forward momentum. Fortunately there was a downstairs loo, or we would have been royally buggered.

We did have one or two trips out to the beach, but mum tires really easily so to be honest we spent most of our time just curled up in front of the fire, in companionable silence you know? Mum with her feet up watching the snooker and me reading my book with Charlie snuggled up to one or the other of us on the sofa. I’ve definitely had worse weekends.

The people who owned the cottage had very kindly left us a bottle of wine in the fridge, and a big box of chocolates by way of a welcome, and you don’t need me to tell you that those fucking chocolates have nearly driven me to distraction. They sat squarely in the middle of the kitchen table, and they didn’t move all weekend, but boy did I ever know they were there.

Mum, having eaten the three little cellophane-wrapped cookies which had been part of the welcome provisions on the first night, put in a request for some more, and I’ve never been able to say no to my mum so we picked up a box of assorted biscuits to bring back to the cottage and they added their ten-penneth to the Asshole voice’s daily seduction routine…come on Dee, just have one…you know you want to…

By some miracle, I resisted. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to face plant into all things wicked, but I knew if I started on either one of those things I wouldn’t be able to stop. So not starting was the only way to go really, you know? I did have a treat on Easter Saturday, in the shape of the biggest fish you ever did see, encased in crisp golden batter and smothered with salt and vinegar from a chip shop in Filey. Holy fuck it was orgasmic.  I used my weekly points and vaporised it without one iota of guilt, and that made up for not starting on the chocolates. Well, almost. The chocolates were Milk Tray. Not my favourite. If they’d left us a big box of Black Magic we might have been having a different conversation.

Here’s the thing though…it’s weigh-day today. And last night I slept easy in my bed because I knew I’d done my absolute best. There was no pacing the floor or wringing of hands at the prospect of my conversation with the Shitbird Scale…I mean yes, okay I always feel like I’m walking the green mile when it’s time to step aboard, but I knew my input had been bang on the money. I wasn’t worried.

And did you see..? Four pounds off. Four! I’m going to struggle not to punch the air with every second step today, I’ve never lost four pounds in a week before! It was a best of one situation…that was my very first reading and I whipped out my phone, took the picture and had that Shitbird Scale back in it’s corner before it had a chance to change its mind. No second or third of fourth hop-on for me this week, even though it’s usually the third or fourth go that gives me the best number. I’ll take the first reading thank you, it’s the only one I need 🙂

 

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

Mission Interrupted

In the here & now, , ,

Have you ever got mid-way through something, only to lose interest and  wonder what madness inspired you to start in the first place..? Yeah, me too. That was me this weekend, having a bit of a sort-out. Spot the inappropriate use of the word bit in that sentence. I massively underestimated the size of the task, and now my bedroom looks like a clothes-bomb went off.

I ran out of steam after I’d been going at it for three or four hours and proceeded to find all manner of distractions. I even did some ironing which tells you how desperate for a distraction I was…anyone who knows me would tell you that I never pick up the iron without a gun to my head.

So anyway, the upshot is my low boredom threshold means I’ve only scratched the surface of what needs to be done. All the stuff in my wardrobe fits me – or is about to – and anything that’s too big has been evicted but I haven’t been near the stuff I have in storage yet, to see what gems are waiting to be rediscovered. There are definitely things amongst that lot which will fit me now, but the buggeration factor is that I don’t remember packing it away in any kind of order, you know? It won’t be as easy as just grabbing the bags I need, because I’m an ejit and that would be too simple.

I came across a bunch of skinny stuff too, when I started emptying drawers…I couldn’t decide what to do with it, so I just put it back and did nothing. I mean, should it stay? I’m working my way down the sizes so it seems a waste of effort to pack it all up and put that in storage but on the other hand I’m barely in the ‘burbs of Skinny Town and I won’t need it for a while yet. Months, in fact. It probably needs to go. If I’m bringing stuff back here I’ll need the drawer space. Fucks’ sake, swapping all this stuff around is going to take forever.

Still, it’ll get done when it gets done. I’m working until Thursday but then I’m off work for about ten days. I’m taking my mom away to the seaside over the Easter Weekend but I have almost a whole week off after we get back so I’ll make it my mission to crack on and finish what I’ve started. I’ll allow myself a couple of lazy days towards the end of the week if I get my arse in gear and do it as soon as we get back. To be fair, I am looking forward to being reunited with some of the stuff I liked enough to pack away in the hope that one day it might fit me again.

I had another positive conversation with the Shitbird Scale yesterday, did you see?  One and a half more pounds evicted from my pants. That’s the fourteenth week in a row where I’ve lost weight, and I’m still completely in control of my food plan so I’m now breaking new ground and I can’t begin to tell you how good that feels. Just a few pounds more and the number will read sixteen something and God was a lad last time that happened.

Can I just mention too that the sun has been shining this weekend, and my arse has been a black-pants-free-zone. How about that 🙂

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

Dee’s Pity Party

In the here & now, ,

You know one of the life skills that I don’t ever seem to get any better at is having the patience to persevere with a plan when it doesn’t run to the schedule I’ve got in my head. And before you start chiding me, I promise I’m not about to fall off the wagon but seriously, I deserved more than the Shitbird Scale awarded me this week. Not even a full pound, despite throwing everything I’ve got at this, including my heart and soul.

How can that be right?  I could accept a nought point fuck-all more easily if I was fannying around like I did towards the back end of last year, taking two steps forward and one step back. That would deserve a measly three quarters of a pound, but seriously, I’m busting my balls here to get a good number. I did four classes last week plus almost ten miles hiking on Saturday and I even stood firm in the face of torture from a cheese sandwich…that on its own deserves more than a nought point seven five on the screen, surely?

If I was able to stamp my foot, I would, but just to add to my list of woes I managed to bust my dodgy knee up pretty good during our hike at the weekend. I have no idea what happened, but somehow it went rogue on me and I couldn’t manage the last half a mile…one of my friends had to walk ahead and bring his car back to collect me. I’m struggling to put any weight through it at all now and the red hot poker that was part of the wallpaper of my life when I lived in Mooseville has all of a sudden moved back in with a vengeance.

I spent yesterday afternoon at the hospital. The doctor reckons my cartilage is inflamed…they X-rayed my knee and all the moving parts look fine, so I just have to rest it, keep it elevated and use ice packs for a few days until the inflammation goes down. Which is fucking marvellous timing. I’ve got a busy week lined up with limited opportunity to work from home, at least for the next couple of days.

I guess the one saving grace going on here is that despite hitting a bit of a pothole, my Asshole voice hasn’t made a grab for the wheel. That would’ve put the cherry on top, right? I was fed up all day yesterday after my conversation with the Shitbird Scale and hobbling around in agony all day didn’t sweeten my mood, in fact I had a full blown pity party going on, which isn’t like me, you know? I guess we’re all allowed a strop once in a while, and I’m just grateful that this one came without a kamikaze desire to face plant into a bucket of Haagen Dazs. Today marks twelve weeks since I brought my A-game. Eighty four days food sober, and there’s not a damn thing the Shitbird Scale can do to pop that balloon.

I’ve woken up with a better attitude today, and I’m forcing myself to focus on the positives. It might only be three quarters of a pound, but it’s the twelfth consecutive loss since New Year and I’m twenty one pounds lighter than I was then. I’m a good dress size smaller now than I was at Christmas. I can still do two classes this week because Muffin Top and Bingo Wings works my core and my arms and demands nothing whatsoever of my knees. And it occurred to me as I laid in bed last night reflecting on the day, that I’d barely got in from the hospital yesterday afternoon before I was in touch with God of Pain asking what I could do this week instead of telling him what I couldn’t.

That’s rather a seismic shift isn’t it?

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

Feeling Just A Little Short-Changed

In the here & now, ,

I hopped aboard the Shitbird Scale yesterday morning with a real sense of anticipation, you know that way where you know your input has been off-the-chart awesome and you’re ready to take the accolade…yeah.  Well. Even with my best of fifteen approach to recording the number it refused to go lower than two pounds off.

And I know it’s a solid number. It’s my go-to number after all…If I lose two pounds a week between now and…blah blah. It’s just with six exercise classes, one 5k park run and a text-book execution of my food plan under my belt last week, I was hoping for a little bit more. I couldn’t help feeling just a teeny bit short-changed if I’m honest. Shitbird thing.

Still, you bounce back, right? That was then, and this is now. Even though I’m a bit miffed at not bagging a number befitting the effort I put in, I’m now just two more pounds away from breaking new ground and that’s when I’ll know for certain that the surety of my step over the last three months has wiped the indiscretions of the three months before that off my record card. I woke up this morning with seventy seven days of food sobriety in my rear-view mirror and I’m starting to really feel the benefit now.

So let me tell you about the Park Run that we did on Saturday. Please understand that I use the word ‘run’ in its loosest possible sense, since I don’t think for one minute that the occasional burst of speed that I managed to pull out of the bag as I walked around the course could actually constitute running. And the fact that I placed 141st out of 143 clearly demonstrates that I completed the course at a snail’s pace when compared to my competition. I’ll tell you what though…I don’t care.

It took me 55.01 minutes to do my 5km, and the truth is I didn’t really care how long it took any of the other 142 folk to do theirs. Well apart from my friends of course, I cared about their numbers. There were two personal best times amongst our gang, some of whom complete the event every week and I was really happy for them. I was happy for me too, I mean I survived. And if I’m going to do this regularly, I’ve got my baseline now haven’t I? I’ll be the one going in just a little bit harder next time so I can beat my own personal best. The only way is up, right?

It occurred to me halfway around the course that wearing trainers instead of walking boots might have been a good idea…it was a deliberate choice because I figured I wouldn’t be running, but then when I was there and caught up in the atmosphere, I wanted to go a bit faster and actually, on the downhill bits towards the end when me and Charlie really got into our stride I was almost running. Almost. Definitely trainers next time.

I knew that dogs were welcome so I took Charlie dog with me, and he loved it, I mean from his perspective what’s not to love…people and parks are two of his favourite things. Well, he loved it apart from the fact that he kept getting lapped by a poodle, whose hooman was considerably faster than me…I don’t think that did his cocker spaniel street cred much good at all. Maybe if I’d had three shits on the way round like he did I might have been able to go a bit faster..? Just sayin’ 🙂

Anyway, I’m going for it again big style this week. I’m going to take 3lbs off by next Sunday if it kills me…then I’m into virgin territory, and how exciting is that 🙂

Check it out…we have a new guest post on our Thoughts From The Posse page…written by one of my very best friends, who has finally caved after all my nagging and put pen to paper. Enjoy!

Like it..? Tell your friends!