As the wise and learned regular readers of my blog will know, I decided a few weeks ago that it was time to terminate the baby that Mr Kipling had deposited inside my belly and get, if not properly fit, at least a bit more comfortable within myself. Here's another progress report for you about how it's going.
My dear and lovely mother said to me the other day that she thought I had lost some weight. By 'weight' she could well mean general standing and influence in the community, but I think she actually meant it in relation to my portly girth.
Now, the reason for her saying this will either be because:
a) she knows that's what I've been trying to do. So being the kindly soul that she is, she's telling me what she thinks it is I want to hear, whilst privately weeping about how I will never present her with a grandchild while I remain this large. (Hmm, a lot of 'she' in that sentence there. Oh look, here come some more).
or
b) she genuinely thinks that I have lost weight. Whilst on the surface she pretends this is great, inside she'll be worrying that I'm wasting away and will start baking me lots of cakes and pies.
But in truth, I really do feel like I am making good progress in the right direction to get in shape. I have deliberately stayed away from monitoring the situation with weights and measures because I know I'd get obsessed with them and the roller-coaster of emotions they'd trigger.
I have no hard facts to present to you as evidence of my stoic adherence to a way of life that now excludes the second, third and fourth helpings I would have at one time shovelled down my gizzard.
So instead, I have to rely on other, more wooly indicators. These are far less tangible, but they still provide me with encouragement and hope.
I thought I'd share a few of the things I've noticed that have changed since I've started eating a bit less and doing a bit more. Who knows whether they're all related to my new regime, but I think in all likelihood they are:
* previously when I used to walk along, I felt like a cow who had reared up onto her hind legs and was strolling along with very full udders that were swinging from side to side (not sure where the teats came from mind). But now I feel like someone has given me a jolly good milking and there is far less udder / belly sway during movement.
* my trousers keep trying to fall down! Honestly officer, it happened all of its own accord. Yes I know it was an unfortunate coincidence to be walking past a 6th form college at the time. No, it's always that shape. Yes, it is cold today.
* I now get full half-way through a meal. This has honestly never happened to me before! I usually manage to last right until the end and then come back for seconds straight away. So embarrassing.
* I've somehow mastered the art of taking tea and cake without the cake! I know this sounds abhorrent, but a cup of tea by itself is actually really nice. I've started to appreciate the flavour of it much more. Plus, it can actually be quite filling in an odd way.
* I've learned that eating healthy food has an interesting effect on one's bowels. Who knew that filling up on fruit and nuts (note: not Fruit and Nut) could actually power you to blow your entire duvet clean out the window. And by 'clean' I really mean, oh never mind. Was particularly proud of a late night [insert polite word for fart] that sounded exactly like the noise they play when someone gets an answer wrong on Family Fortunes. Epic.
* no one has given their seat up for me on the bus in ages now. Although that could just be because of a moral breakdown in society, rather than people no longer thinking that I'm expecting.
One insight I have had from reducing calorific input, is just how much my excess eating had been emotionally based. I know that comfort eating is a well known phenomenon, and I would do my fair share of this. But actually, more often I would have a feast to celebrate feeling well and happy. Either way though, the end result is the same.
I am aware that my feelings of good progress could all just be clever trickery on the part of my subconscious. My cunning mind might be trying to convince me that all is fine now, so I can stop this reduced eating nonsense - "ooh, looking good Mr Skeletor, now stop this charade and feed me with cake again".
But I will persevere because I HAVE THE POWER!!! *holds baguette aloft like a sword*
And if you've never watched He-Man, you'll be thinking I'm mentally disturbed right about now. But really, we both know you're the one who has missed out.
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Saturday, 8 September 2012
To do or diet
I must admit that I wasn't expecting to write a 'diet' progress report quite so soon, but after what has been two full days of eating sensibly, doing more exercise and sucking my belly in whilst in polite company, words of this kind are now spilling out of my fingers.
I don't actually like the term 'diet' very much. To me it implies either cutting certain foods out, introducing new ones (like very expensive Chinese seaweed that's been licked by turtles), and generally meticulous watching of calorie intake. I'm not doing any of that.
'Eat a bit less, do a bit more' (or 'EABLDABM') is my philosophy. I shall continue to enjoy cake, faggots, beer and ice cream - liquidised and topped with caramel sauce and nuts - just as I did before, but 'less of it, less often' (LOILO). And of course I shall combine this with more exercise: lots of 'walks and nightly kinetic stretches' (WANKS).
Wow, with all this funky terminology I've just invented, I could probably actually create my own weight loss society. Or a cult where I'm worshipped! The 'cult utilising nutritious temperance' (CUN...oh).
I am tempted to take before and after photographs of myself, just in case I do need to produce some promotional literature to encourage membership. Rather than waste money on two separate photo shoots months apart, I can get all of this done in one go. All I will need is a giant pair of trousers (held out in front of me whilst I look ecstatic) to pose in for my 'after' shots. In fact, wearing giant trousers (or a corset) may be a short cut to looking slimmer any way. Maybe my cult will have an oversized uniform. Join up and even on day one, you'll be feeling a lot slimmer as your baggy jeans keep falling down and tripping you up.
When I do reduce my portly girth a little, it'll be like getting a whole new wardrobe. Well, a wardrobe of tired old shirts that finally fit me again, but still more choice than I currently have.
One of the advantages of having Crohn's disease was, under normally circumstances, a constant slimness regardless of what I ate. This meant that I always bought nicely fitted shirts that were described as 'tailored' or 'slim fit'. I couldn't wear these now for fear it would actually cause damage to the litter of Battenbergs gestating in my belly.
If I ever manage to fit into those again, it will be a tangible sign that my EABLDABM programme is working (or that my illness has flared up and once again I'm wasting away).
Yesterday I enjoyed a lovely picnic in the grounds of Salisbury Cathedral with the delightful company of my two best pals, Jessington Cupcake and Keira Husky. This was quite a challenge as we'd travelled via my favourite local bakery that stocks all manner of tempting treats, but I managed to restrain myself and buy just a sensible lunch that a normal person would enjoy (unlike my two companions who bought every last pasty they had).
It proved to me that I could have a brilliant, fun lunch with my pals and not completely gorge myself. There were also signs that [insert deity or higher power of your choice] was helping me in my endeavour to get trim in three different ways.
Firstly, despite it being a most beautifully warm, sunny day at a busy tourist destination, the ice cream kiosk was shut. I deliberately hadn't bought a cake from the bakery so as to allow myself a nice ice cream for pudding. Obviously, given the surroundings, I had a stern word with the Christian God upon learning of this, wondering why he had been so cruel. A thunderous voice replied, "BECAUSE YOU ARE A FATSO".
Well, I couldn't argue with that. But I did then question Him about why the grass was still so damp. He said He'd get back to me on that one and mumbled something about being too fat to understand.
The second thing that reduced my waistline was the emergence of a random bagpipe player (complete with kilt and funny hat - not sure about pants). Whilst enjoying the tranquil surroundings, chatting to my girlfriends about knitting and 50 Shades of Grey, suddenly our peace was shattered by the lusty lungfuls of air being passed through this dead sheep (or however bagpipes actually work). The anger I felt about this, together with the gesticulations I directed towards the performer, surely helped burn off a few extra calories.
The final bit of assistance I got to aid my weight loss was being held up in a shop, only to have to then run to catch my bus home. Yes, of course I could have walked home, thus ensuring even more energy being used up, but it's hard to tackle greediness and laziness at the same time.
Running is something that I only normally do when being chased by monsters, or if there's a limited supply of free cake somewhere. Since neither of those happen very often, it's not an action that comes naturally to me. I have to really concentrate of putting one foot in front of the other in quick enough succession to propel me forward and not end up going round in a circle or falling over.
The sight of me wobbling through the city centre at speed must have been extremely alarming for Salisbury's Friday afternoon shoppers. I imagine the CCTV operators might have thought for a moment that a small hippo had escaped from the zoo, popped on some clothes and a rucksack and was now trundling menacingly towards a stationary bus.
The worst things about running for a bus are:
a) being too out of breath to ask for my fare
b) having a very crippled old lady offer me her seat
c) waiting for a good three minutes for it to finally depart - during which time, there's the slow dawning realisation that I didn't need to run anyway
But hey, it must have shaved at least a millimetre off my belly (and probably an inch off the length of my pavement-pounded legs).
As I finish writing this post, it's quite ironic that I've just been to answer the door to the postman who has delivered me a pot of jam from a friendly jam company on Twitter. It's with great self control then, that I'm saving it to try later and resisting firing up the toaster immediately. Maybe I could just dip a finger in though...
*heads off to kitchen for a table spoon*
*feels proud that it's not to the shed for a shovel*
I don't actually like the term 'diet' very much. To me it implies either cutting certain foods out, introducing new ones (like very expensive Chinese seaweed that's been licked by turtles), and generally meticulous watching of calorie intake. I'm not doing any of that.
'Eat a bit less, do a bit more' (or 'EABLDABM') is my philosophy. I shall continue to enjoy cake, faggots, beer and ice cream - liquidised and topped with caramel sauce and nuts - just as I did before, but 'less of it, less often' (LOILO). And of course I shall combine this with more exercise: lots of 'walks and nightly kinetic stretches' (WANKS).
Wow, with all this funky terminology I've just invented, I could probably actually create my own weight loss society. Or a cult where I'm worshipped! The 'cult utilising nutritious temperance' (CUN...oh).
I am tempted to take before and after photographs of myself, just in case I do need to produce some promotional literature to encourage membership. Rather than waste money on two separate photo shoots months apart, I can get all of this done in one go. All I will need is a giant pair of trousers (held out in front of me whilst I look ecstatic) to pose in for my 'after' shots. In fact, wearing giant trousers (or a corset) may be a short cut to looking slimmer any way. Maybe my cult will have an oversized uniform. Join up and even on day one, you'll be feeling a lot slimmer as your baggy jeans keep falling down and tripping you up.
When I do reduce my portly girth a little, it'll be like getting a whole new wardrobe. Well, a wardrobe of tired old shirts that finally fit me again, but still more choice than I currently have.
One of the advantages of having Crohn's disease was, under normally circumstances, a constant slimness regardless of what I ate. This meant that I always bought nicely fitted shirts that were described as 'tailored' or 'slim fit'. I couldn't wear these now for fear it would actually cause damage to the litter of Battenbergs gestating in my belly.
If I ever manage to fit into those again, it will be a tangible sign that my EABLDABM programme is working (or that my illness has flared up and once again I'm wasting away).
Yesterday I enjoyed a lovely picnic in the grounds of Salisbury Cathedral with the delightful company of my two best pals, Jessington Cupcake and Keira Husky. This was quite a challenge as we'd travelled via my favourite local bakery that stocks all manner of tempting treats, but I managed to restrain myself and buy just a sensible lunch that a normal person would enjoy (unlike my two companions who bought every last pasty they had).
It proved to me that I could have a brilliant, fun lunch with my pals and not completely gorge myself. There were also signs that [insert deity or higher power of your choice] was helping me in my endeavour to get trim in three different ways.
Firstly, despite it being a most beautifully warm, sunny day at a busy tourist destination, the ice cream kiosk was shut. I deliberately hadn't bought a cake from the bakery so as to allow myself a nice ice cream for pudding. Obviously, given the surroundings, I had a stern word with the Christian God upon learning of this, wondering why he had been so cruel. A thunderous voice replied, "BECAUSE YOU ARE A FATSO".
Well, I couldn't argue with that. But I did then question Him about why the grass was still so damp. He said He'd get back to me on that one and mumbled something about being too fat to understand.
The second thing that reduced my waistline was the emergence of a random bagpipe player (complete with kilt and funny hat - not sure about pants). Whilst enjoying the tranquil surroundings, chatting to my girlfriends about knitting and 50 Shades of Grey, suddenly our peace was shattered by the lusty lungfuls of air being passed through this dead sheep (or however bagpipes actually work). The anger I felt about this, together with the gesticulations I directed towards the performer, surely helped burn off a few extra calories.
The final bit of assistance I got to aid my weight loss was being held up in a shop, only to have to then run to catch my bus home. Yes, of course I could have walked home, thus ensuring even more energy being used up, but it's hard to tackle greediness and laziness at the same time.
Running is something that I only normally do when being chased by monsters, or if there's a limited supply of free cake somewhere. Since neither of those happen very often, it's not an action that comes naturally to me. I have to really concentrate of putting one foot in front of the other in quick enough succession to propel me forward and not end up going round in a circle or falling over.
The sight of me wobbling through the city centre at speed must have been extremely alarming for Salisbury's Friday afternoon shoppers. I imagine the CCTV operators might have thought for a moment that a small hippo had escaped from the zoo, popped on some clothes and a rucksack and was now trundling menacingly towards a stationary bus.
The worst things about running for a bus are:
a) being too out of breath to ask for my fare
b) having a very crippled old lady offer me her seat
c) waiting for a good three minutes for it to finally depart - during which time, there's the slow dawning realisation that I didn't need to run anyway
But hey, it must have shaved at least a millimetre off my belly (and probably an inch off the length of my pavement-pounded legs).
As I finish writing this post, it's quite ironic that I've just been to answer the door to the postman who has delivered me a pot of jam from a friendly jam company on Twitter. It's with great self control then, that I'm saving it to try later and resisting firing up the toaster immediately. Maybe I could just dip a finger in though...
*heads off to kitchen for a table spoon*
*feels proud that it's not to the shed for a shovel*
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Food for thought
This morning I caught sight of my naked self in the mirror. My reflection made me gasp.
"Gee whiz, am I really that big? Wow, it's colossal! I should probably take a photo and show it to people I want to impress."
Alas, the part of me that was proudly standing there all massive and gargantuan was my belly. I knew it had expanded over the past year or two, but today was the day it dawned on me that I really ought to do something about it.
It looks as if I'm expecting some kind of mammal. As much as I'd enjoy to hear the pitter patter of baby elephant feet trotting around my house, I suspect the birthing process would be really too painful (are they born with tusks? Yikes!).
Those of you who know me will be aware that I do have a particular fondness for cake. It would appear that my love affair with Mr Kipling has, despite being as careful as possible, finally resulted in me being impregnated with his cake baby. Whilst a litter of Battenbergs would be brilliant, eating one's own young is something that I could never do - not even for some delicious, succulent marzipan. Mmmmm...marzipan.
So it's time to say enough is enough Mr K! I'm going to have to start a new relationship with Ry Vita.
Funnily enough, being fat is something that I've absolutely revelled in up until now. Let me explain.
For twenty years I've suffered with Crohn's disease which in case you don't know, is an inflammatory bowel disease that can affect any part of the digestive system.
This arrived literally on my 18th birthday (worst fucking present, ever) and has caused me varying amounts of trouble in the intervening 20 years, some of it extremely severe.
For a long period of this time, I was essentially just skin and bone. Doctors encouraged to eat as much as possible to try and gain some weight, but inevitably when you have poorly guts, absorbing the nutrients just doesn't happen. In fact, eating too much could cause overload, stomach ache and ultimately cause more harm than good.
Thankfully, in more recent times, things have stabilised and putting on weight has not been a problem. The mindset I've had since I was 18 was that I could eat as much as I wanted of anything and, so long as it didn't cause my stomach to get sore, there were no consequences to this. In many ways it was wonderful!
When I was weighed at my last hospital appointment and found to have a BMI of 26 (ie one point into the overweight category), I was cock-a-hoop! After years of struggling to get past 9 stone, I was up to 12 and feeling tons better for it. What would have caused most people to feel despondent, made me feel very proud indeed.
I'm actually not too bothered by weights and measures. What I think is more important is how you feel. I think it's quite easy to tell whether you're really overweight or not just by paying attention to your feelings. I've no idea what my weight is currently and I won't be measuring it going forward. What I'm aiming to do, is get back to a place where I feel well again. If this technically means I'm still overweight, I don't care - I know it's right for me.
Now it's time to break my long entrenched habit of being able to eat whatever I want without consequence, and get back into a regime with a more considered diet. I'm not planning on going crazy, or even giving anything up as such. I'm just going to try and eat a bit less (cutting out third helpings will surely benefit) and do a bit more, developing a new set of habits that will help sustain a healthy weight, rather than a situation where I fluctuate between extremes.
I'm not helped by some of the medication that I take for the Crohn's. It has the dual effect of sometimes causing a ferocious appetite, and also water retention. As much as I'd like to blame this for my current shape, I know that's it's far from the whole story, but it is a factor.
Basically I know that I need to be kind to myself during the adjustment process and let things happen at their own pace. As I write this, I'm thoroughly looking forward to a lovely picnic with Jessington Cupcake and Keira Husky tomorrow. And let's be honest, I'll probably also have an ice cream. But this will be a special occasion treat rather than something to be done everyday (as much as I would like that).
I will blog occasionally about my progress with all this. It will be interesting to see how it goes. This time next week I might be crying into a giant bucket of Hoola-Hoops doused in Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream. But hopefully I'll be eating an apple and feeling all the better for it.
And no Mr Kipling, by 'apple', I certainly do not mean a couple of your gorgeous little apple pies, heated up and covered in fresh Madagascan vanilla custard. *shakes head* Definitely not. No way.
*heads off towards kitchen*
"Gee whiz, am I really that big? Wow, it's colossal! I should probably take a photo and show it to people I want to impress."
Alas, the part of me that was proudly standing there all massive and gargantuan was my belly. I knew it had expanded over the past year or two, but today was the day it dawned on me that I really ought to do something about it.
It looks as if I'm expecting some kind of mammal. As much as I'd enjoy to hear the pitter patter of baby elephant feet trotting around my house, I suspect the birthing process would be really too painful (are they born with tusks? Yikes!).
Those of you who know me will be aware that I do have a particular fondness for cake. It would appear that my love affair with Mr Kipling has, despite being as careful as possible, finally resulted in me being impregnated with his cake baby. Whilst a litter of Battenbergs would be brilliant, eating one's own young is something that I could never do - not even for some delicious, succulent marzipan. Mmmmm...marzipan.
So it's time to say enough is enough Mr K! I'm going to have to start a new relationship with Ry Vita.
Funnily enough, being fat is something that I've absolutely revelled in up until now. Let me explain.
For twenty years I've suffered with Crohn's disease which in case you don't know, is an inflammatory bowel disease that can affect any part of the digestive system.
This arrived literally on my 18th birthday (worst fucking present, ever) and has caused me varying amounts of trouble in the intervening 20 years, some of it extremely severe.
For a long period of this time, I was essentially just skin and bone. Doctors encouraged to eat as much as possible to try and gain some weight, but inevitably when you have poorly guts, absorbing the nutrients just doesn't happen. In fact, eating too much could cause overload, stomach ache and ultimately cause more harm than good.
Thankfully, in more recent times, things have stabilised and putting on weight has not been a problem. The mindset I've had since I was 18 was that I could eat as much as I wanted of anything and, so long as it didn't cause my stomach to get sore, there were no consequences to this. In many ways it was wonderful!
When I was weighed at my last hospital appointment and found to have a BMI of 26 (ie one point into the overweight category), I was cock-a-hoop! After years of struggling to get past 9 stone, I was up to 12 and feeling tons better for it. What would have caused most people to feel despondent, made me feel very proud indeed.
I'm actually not too bothered by weights and measures. What I think is more important is how you feel. I think it's quite easy to tell whether you're really overweight or not just by paying attention to your feelings. I've no idea what my weight is currently and I won't be measuring it going forward. What I'm aiming to do, is get back to a place where I feel well again. If this technically means I'm still overweight, I don't care - I know it's right for me.
Now it's time to break my long entrenched habit of being able to eat whatever I want without consequence, and get back into a regime with a more considered diet. I'm not planning on going crazy, or even giving anything up as such. I'm just going to try and eat a bit less (cutting out third helpings will surely benefit) and do a bit more, developing a new set of habits that will help sustain a healthy weight, rather than a situation where I fluctuate between extremes.
I'm not helped by some of the medication that I take for the Crohn's. It has the dual effect of sometimes causing a ferocious appetite, and also water retention. As much as I'd like to blame this for my current shape, I know that's it's far from the whole story, but it is a factor.
Basically I know that I need to be kind to myself during the adjustment process and let things happen at their own pace. As I write this, I'm thoroughly looking forward to a lovely picnic with Jessington Cupcake and Keira Husky tomorrow. And let's be honest, I'll probably also have an ice cream. But this will be a special occasion treat rather than something to be done everyday (as much as I would like that).
I will blog occasionally about my progress with all this. It will be interesting to see how it goes. This time next week I might be crying into a giant bucket of Hoola-Hoops doused in Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream. But hopefully I'll be eating an apple and feeling all the better for it.
And no Mr Kipling, by 'apple', I certainly do not mean a couple of your gorgeous little apple pies, heated up and covered in fresh Madagascan vanilla custard. *shakes head* Definitely not. No way.
*heads off towards kitchen*
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