More truth..and courage....

This is not actually the blog that I had planned to write this week. All will become clear in due course, but, in the meantime, permit me to meander in my usual way. When I lived in Cyprus, one of my local friends, a very wise lady told me that the Cypriots have a saying: “When you make plans – God laughs” Now I have a feeling that there might be something lost in translation, because I don’t think that the planning refers to making preparations or taking precautions for a certain outcome. And in previous blogs, I have exhorted that “preparation is key”. I still hold to that. No, in this context I think that the saying is referring to behaving in a certain way with the expectation that a specific outcome will definitely happen. In anticipating, even feeling entitled to, a definite result according to your own desires or perceived needs. I have seen this paraphrased as “God will wreck your plans when he sees that they are about to wreck you”. Now this is not going to become a theological or spiritual discussion, feel free to substitute ‘God’ with ‘The Universe’, ‘Fate’, the Higher Power of your choice, or even the subconscious within you. My point is that it’s fine to plan, but never expect or take for granted that what you believe will happen will actually happen. You are setting yourself up for a fall. I took one of those very tumbles just yesterday at my weigh in. So far, my weight loss has been speeding along very nicely, thank you, with regular weekly losses of 6,7or 8 pounds which has been very gratifying. I did however, express to my consultant my concern that, possibly I was losing weight too fast. Be careful what you wish for… In the previous weigh-in, twelve days earlier, I had lost a cumulative amount of 3stone and 6lbs. That was fabulous. Now I was just eight pounds short of a four stone loss, and my first interim target. So I set my sights on achieving it at the next weigh in. I stayed thoroughly on plan, I worked even harder on the exercise bike and, all the time, I was doing the mental arithmetic. I would repeatedly, and obsessively work out my average daily weight loss since starting the plan, which had amounted to around an amazing  0.9lb a day so far (yes- I was truly this anal!), multiplied it by the 12 days between weigh ins and worked out that I should have lost 10lb at the next anticipated weigh in. Even give or take a couple of pounds, I would still achieve that illustrious and coveted goal. My eye was on the prize. So, as yesterday’s weigh in approach, my excitement was growing, I wanted this target. I needed this target. I was going to lose at least EIGHT pounds. Definitely. I had PLANNED for this. In fact, I was already mentally MAKING PLANS as to how I would celebrate this achievement. So, yesterday, in the sanctity of my consultant’s room, as I stepped on the scales, breath held and looking across at the lady like a small child anticipating an ice cream…I waited excitedly…and was then given the verdict. “You have lost FIVE pounds”. At that point, I couldn’t just hear God sniggering, He was guffawing, holding his belly and rolling about as celestial tears ran down his holy cheeks…. Of course, being the proud individual I am, I smiled sweetly and behaved graciously, expressing a “slight disappointment" in the result, but for the remainder of our meeting I was screaming inside. This was so unfair! I had done everything right! I deserved this!!!! On returning to my car, I let forth such a tirade of expletives that the Almighty’s laughter would rapidly have turned to blushes and then anger. It was only after I had cooled down a little that I began to see the error of my ways. I started to understand that I had become blinded by my obsession, I had so focused on my sense of self entitlement and become so convinced that I would achieve what I expected that I failed to see the positive in my actions. After all, five pounds is a bloody good weight loss, even over twelve days. But, back there, in the weighing room, I had failed to adhere to my plans.  Ergo – I had failed. And the fear of failure is my Achilles Heel. So I think it’s time to address what I truly believe that Failure is. I think I need to rethink and redefine the word in my head. I know that in past blogs I have talked about having lost weight and then regained it (and then some), and therefore called it a Failure. The Oxford English Dictionary defines Failure thus: 1.       Lack of success 2.       The neglect or omission of expected or required action. It also cites the term “An unsuccessful person or thing:” Care to hazard a guess which definition I related most strongly to??? Yep, when I make a mistake or fail to come up to my expectations I AM A FAILURE. Pretty derogatory, huh? I would never, ever consider using this term to describe my precious children, no matter how many mistakes they make, so why on earth do I deem myself low enough to bear this title? The problem was that I focussed utterly on the outcome I had planned and not on the process of reaching for it. So, I ignored the fact that I did actually succeed in losing weight, on several occasions.  I denied myself any credit because the final outcome was not permanent. This is as fatalistic as aspiring to live to the age of 90, and then declaring your life worthless when you find yourself on your deathbed at 88. It is as cruel as turning to a child who has fallen over and telling them that they may as well stay on the floor, because if they get up again they will risk another tumble. Life is simply not like this, so why am I expecting it to be so? This is what has held me back in trying to lose weight for so long. The fear of failure – again. But, really, has this failure actually killed me? Has it irreparably damaged me? Categorically not. In fact, if I look back, there are many things that I have learnt from my failings. That some things don’t work, and some only work temporarily. The challenge now is to take stock of what went wrong last time, and apply the new experience to build on a better way of tackling my problems once and for all. But it’s scary. It means facing demons and uncovering ugly truths. It means looking at yourself in the mirror and actually seeing what is there, not what you wish to see or prevent yourself from seeing. I discussed the other day with a friend my blinkered view of myself, naming it “reverse anorexia”. By this I mean that, in the same way that a seriously ill anorexic individual looks at themselves and see a grossly overweight person, I can take a glance at myself and think that I don’t look so bad. I can believe that I’m not really that overweight. It’s only on seeing pictures of myself that the undeniable truth hits me hard. Right now, I am not just a bit overweight, nor even fat, I am OBESE. Even having lost the weight so far, I am still burdening my body with an excessive amount of fat that is highly detrimental to my health and threatens my longevity. It is a cold, hard, unpalatable yet unavoidable truth. And I must accept this if I am to succeed in my goal of becoming a healthy individual. I do wonder if this inability to accept my true size contributed to my failure in other attempts to lose weight. Long before I should have, I became complacent, the “reverse anorexia” got its hold back on me. Once I had dropped a few stones, I could tell myself I “looked good”, not just “better”. Because I was viewing myself from a platform of self-delusion, I was able to convince myself that I was more successful than I actually was, and so I began to lose my focus,  and release my grip on the  issues that I was holding barely at arms’ length. This tenuous veneer dropped and I fell, very hard, from the pedestal. It is horrible to have to accept yourself as you really are when any aspect is wrong, but it is an absolute and utter necessity if you truly want to change. This is where I am now. Sometimes the extent of my anticipated journey can overwhelm me, but I know I must trudge on.   This is not a small honing of my inadequacies, it is not a ‘patch up job’. I have to break myself down back to my lowest common denominator, shed all my preconceptions and self-deceptions. I have to see myself “warts and all” to really understand what I need to do to change. But whilst I am doing this, I must treat myself with love and respect. And, sometimes, that can be the hardest thing to do. Up until now, I have kept my starting weight as a closely guarded secret, not even telling my husband the dreaded number. Why did I do that? Shame. Total and complete self-horror which, I believed, would also be expressed by those to whom I dared to impart the “secret”. I dreaded and feared the look I expected to see on the faces of others when they learned the extent to which I had allowed myself to balloon. I was not prepared to subject myself to this level of perceived disgust. The problem was, it made me guilty and unhappy keeping anything from my husband. Therefore I was double-bound, by the fetters and chains of both Guilt and Shame. I had left myself nowhere to go. Something had to give. And last night it did. Discussing my weight loss with my spouse, he asked me if I had much more to lose. I sighed and gave the generic response “oh yes- you have no idea how much”. Instead of placating me with the refutes and positive strokes that I craved, my painfully honest husband just nodded and grunted. And that is what spurred me on to push things further. My plan (already God was giggling…) was to ask him to guess how much he thought I had started off weighing, and then, when he had underestimated the figure (as I anticipated he would), I would brush it off with a casual “ a bit more than that, I’m afraid”. The matter would then be closed and Pandora’s Box would remain un-tampered with for another day. Unfortunately, this was not how it transpired, and, by now, God was nearly about to pee himself.. My dear, beloved husband guessed almost exactly my starting weight. I was flabbergasted, and managed only to mutter a shameful “er – yes, that’s right”.  Immediately I was stripped of all dignity. My Emperor’s New Clothes had been exposed and I was stood naked, waiting for the stones to be thrown and the whips to be lashed against my helpless bulk. But the derision never came. To my husband it was just a fact, a number. A dangerous number, albeit, but no reflection on his love and respect for me. It never was, never had been. If there was anything to be ashamed of, it could only be my willingness to project my self-disgust onto him. After the shock had subsided I was filled with an incredible and overwhelming relief. I felt free – released. For the first time in a very long while I was blinking in the sunlight of liberty. So why is shame such an issue for me? I have thought this through and can only allude to my family history, which I have mentioned in earlier blogs. I was raised in a dysfunctional, narcissistic home, ruled over by my volatile alcoholic father. I was fortunate enough that the volatility was never physical, but the psychological and emotional abuse played a terrible toll on my self-esteem, which has taken a lifetime of therapy and self-contemplation to rebuild. Despite all that went on in the family home, it was tantamount to keep the “secret” of my father’s condition and subsequent behaviour. The shame was so great that it was never to be mentioned to anyone else. I was berated severely on more than one occasion when I happened to comment on my father’s drinking outside of the family (in fact punishment was more severe if I tried to discuss it within the family), so I soon learned that silence, lies and deception were the easiest routes to survival. And I got good at it – too good at it. Several years ago, I was seeing a psychotherapist who, when I revealed my then weight to her, was astonished. She then confessed to being taken in by my rhetoric about my behaviour to the extent that she disbelieved what her own eyes were telling her (she was not a very good therapist!). Ironically, however, in respect of my father’s drinking, after the alcohol got the better of him and he passed away, at the too young age of 56 in 1998, when I felt safe to speak openly about his alcoholism, nobody who knew him was in the least bit surprised. They all knew. Despite the best efforts of our family, his actions and behaviours spoke for themselves. It was the ultimate “elephant in the room” – visible to all except those who were inconvenienced by it. And so, I now understand my weight is probably as visible and quantifiable as my father’s drinking. After all, I wear it daily, plain for others to see. It is only me that has made the subject unspeakable. I bet if I walked out into the street right now, and asked a random person to be utterly frank and guess my weight they wouldn’t be far out. So, in this spirit of embracing courage, I am going to do something that thoroughly and totally terrifies me. I am going to publish my starting weight. I can feel my fingers trembling over the keys as I type…here goes…. On May 14th 2015, when I was weighed, prior to starting my plan, I clocked in on the scales at 24 Stones exactly. There, I’ve said it. It’s out there. It can harm me no more being expressed than it did when the shame and guilt gnawed away at me internally. It’s a terrible, horrible, frightening number. Some may be shocked, others think nothing of it. It horrified and disgusted me. But the positive thing about it is that I have now distanced myself from it by 53 pounds. And I have no intention of ever, ever even approaching it again. In fact, I never want to see a figure in the twenties ever again. After all this deepness, I will end on a more positive, lighter note. At yesterday’s weigh in, my consultant, clearly sensing my disappointment despite my best efforts to conceal them, suggested that I might want to consider going “up a step” on the Cambridge plan. This would involve dropping my salad lunch in place of an additional soup or shake, and removing all carbs from my diet so that I go into a state of Ketosis and the weight loss accelerates.  I said I would consider it, and, at the time, it seemed to me to be a very attractive proposition. However I have now slept on it and seen the error of my disappointment and I have decided, at least for now, to continue on the path I am currently on. I understand that the next step is the best choice for many but I believe it is not for me. My reasons may surprise you……. I do not want to give up having my salad at lunchtime. Now, close friends, my consultant and regular readers of this blog may well now having to be wiping coffee off their screen having read the last statement. I have made no secret of the fact that for all of my life, I have been veggie-phobic. In this very blog I described salad as “the Devil’s own bogeys”. So why would I not jump at the chance to eliminate salad from my diet again? I certainly have not developed a love affair with all things green, and do not salivate over the produce section in Asda, but I have learned that, although I do not love salad, salad loves me. It is doing me good, it is making me healthier. Above all else, I now feel an innate righteousness that I am fuelling my body with stuff that is doing me good, instead of gorging on cheap and dirty fast food which has little or no nutritional value. For as many years as I can remember, I have been overshadowed by the regret that I did not eat vegetables. Unfortunately, until recently I did not find a force strong enough to drive me to take action against it. I cannot tell you how proud it makes me feel, when I take a bite of the leafy greens, to know, on a very deep level that I am DOING THE RIGHT THING. Together with my increased water consumption, elimination of fizzy drinks and caffeine and recommenced daily exercise, I feel a wonderful satisfaction that I am finally making the right choices. Choices that even managed to bypass other times I was “on a diet”. To be honest, I actually derive more joy from the knowledge that I am doing this than the thrill I receive when the scales register a loss. It is the act of proactively taking control and making changes that give me the biggest buzz. I don’t want to lose that buzz. So I’m sticking with the salad. I have noticed my vocabulary change, too, when my weight loss and my journey are discussed. On previous efforts, I used to talk about “being slimmer”, “looking good”, “and “fitting into nice clothes”. I have noticed that my language now is peppered with aspiration to being “healthy”, “fit” and “well”. This tells me that not only is my body getting healthier, my mind is too! Long may it continue! Well I’d better round things off for now. Thank you for persevering through another long blog entry. Wish me luck!!

Confessions...

A friend of mine shared a quote on Facebook the other day that strongly resonated with me, for all the wrong reasons. It was supposed to be humorous, but, in me, it sparked a deep-seated guilt. The quote went like this:~ “ I didn't want my family to judge me so I walked past them with 2 cookies on my plate and 4 in my pockets”  Pretty harmless, eh?  We’ve all done it haven’t we?  Well, probably, yes. But for me, and possibly for others like me, it triggers shame and remorse at the many, many times that I have employed devious and subversive methods to distract from and disguise my terrible eating habits. Since I have embarked on my new, healthier lifestyle, my husband has  bemusedly enquired, on many occasions, how I have managed to gain the weight I have, as he has rarely witnessed me gorging on food and snacks that amount to the calories that must contribute to my size. There is a reason for this.  I do not have underlying health issues that affect my weight, no underactive thyroid or side effects from medication. The answer is quite simple. I have indulged in my worst eating habits when there are no witnesses present. I have eaten in secret, in the safe sanctuary of denial. It seems a little ironic that being fat can hold any form of secrecy. After all, by our very presence Fat People are extremely overt. We stand out in the crowd, are still the subject of ridicule and “harmless” ribaldry; we have to buy clothes in “specialist” shops; the “obesity epidemic” is constantly up for debate. And in all this, as our bodies are getting larger, our self-esteem is getting smaller.  It was very hard not to enter a fast food restaurant and wonder if onlookers were watching me with disapproving eyes; as I hauled my bulky frame through the supermarket I would contemplate whether others are reviewing the contents of my shopping trolley with critical eyes; when I browsed through a clothes shop that does not cater for my size, looking for items for my daughter, I considered whether the assistants believed that I am deluding myself.

It is this very conspicuousness, I believe that can drive folks like me into conducting our shameful, compulsive behaviour behind closed doors, or in deceitful and subversive manners.  And, like any addict knows, compulsion goes hand in hand with shame, and shame breeds denial. Therefore the problem does not go away, it just gets hidden deeper and deeper and more difficult to tackle.

For me, the true antidote to Secrecy is TRUTH. But it is a hard and bitter pill to swallow. It requires courage e to admit our transgressions, for if we do not admit them, we cannot acknowledge them. And if we do not acknowledge them, we cannot change them.

So, as part of my Campaign of Truth, I am going to purge, to confess some of my “Food Sins”, in the hope that I will never choose to repeat them again, and will learn to think more healthily.

So here goes….

•         I have, indeed, hidden cookies in my pocket whilst carrying others on my plate
•         I have gorged on cakes, trifles, ice creams etc and then carefully concealed the empty packets so that my actions are not discovered.
•        I have bought food “for the children” which never reached their hands.
•         I have “looked after” party bags for my children on the front seat of my car whilst we travelled home from friends’ celebrations and then feigned empathy at my offspring’s  disappointment that somebody “forgot” to include the cake or sweets, whilst surreptitiously wiping the icing from my mouth.
•         I have concealed chocolates  in my desk drawer and waited for the office to clear before consuming  my stash.
•        I have waited for my husband to go on night shifts and for the children to go to bed before scoffing an entire tub of ice cream.
•        I have entered chocolate shops, pretending that I was purchasing a selection “for a friend”, going to the extent of “umming” and  wondering out loud what “they” would like in a theatrical effort designed entirely to ensure that the shop assistant would not suspect that I would be going home and stuffing my own face with the whole lot in one sitting.

My husband used to have a “Magic Toblerone Bar” he kept in the fridge. This bar, of which he would occasionally consume one section at a time, had the mystical property of “magically regenerating” every now and then.

My other half has an excruciatingly irritating and completely alien habit of only eating what he needs and then putting the remainder back in the fridge 

The next time he indulged a craving he would return to the fridge, anticipating, perhaps, six segments left, he would discover, curiously, that  the entire bar would sudden be whole again. How could this be?? What witchcraft was this?

Well, I’m sure you’ve guessed….Yes, Dear Reader, this poor unfortunate blogger had failed to resist temptation again and, lacking the self-restraint demonstrated by her spouse, consumed the entire bar  in a very short space of time. This left me with a conundrum…whilst my husband might overlook a segment or two missing the next time he fancied some triangular Swiss confectionery, I couldn’t imagine that the absence of an entire bar would go unnoticed. Therefore, I had no option but to traipse to the nearest chocolate retail establishment and purchase a replacement so that suspicion could be evaded. 

Of course, in the early days  (as, after all, this was not a one-off scenario. Oh No!) I was sloppy, and merely replaced the partially-eaten bar with a whole one. 

But, once I was rumbled, I got wise.

 The next time my compulsion got the better of me, I did, yet again, venture out and obtain a replacement. However, as my deceptions grew deeper, I learnt to remove a number of segments before returning it to the fridge so that it resembled exactly the previous bar prior to consumption. It was the Prefect crime and I had become a Criminal Mastermind.

I did not, however, restrict my nefarious activities to Toblerone bars. Other victims of my misdemeanours included several Terry’s Chocolate Oranges, a number of large Dairy Milks and, on one particularly debauched and shameful occasion, one of my children’s’ chocolate Advent Calendars. All had to be replaced similarly.

Whilst I can see some humour in this situation, the underlying pathos in all of this is not lost on me. These are the desperate actions of a desperate individual too lost in their addiction and denial to seek a way out and escape to a healthier lifestyle. No matter how contrived and complicated my deceptions became, no matter emotionally and mentally draining it was to construct and uphold these masquerades, I was more prepared to sacrifice  that part of my soul than to invest  the same amount of energy into redressing my own wellbeing. It wasn’t the Toblerone that needed regenerating, it was my skewed self-esteem.

If I were to read back the last few paragraphs and replace the references to food with references to alcohol or narcotics, they would not be out of place as part of the rhetoric of alcoholics and junkies.  The issue is the same.

So how am I addressing this? Well, I am still most definitely a work in progress. I am grateful right now that the benefits of the weight loss and health that I am enjoying are far outweighing the momentary sensation that I feel when I place something sugary on my tongue. I just need to continue to reinforce that in my head so that the “default” thinking switches to self-love and not self-delusion.

I know, for a fact, that the above list of confessions is not definitive nor exhaustive. Those few examples are just ones that popped into my mind as I considered my blog. Do I feel better making these confessions? After all “confession is good for the soul”. Well, in a way, yes I do. I don’t feel fabulous that they occurred in the first place and I am frustrated that I am still battling with the consequences of these and many other actions. But at least these secrets are no longer festering inside of me, as damaging as fat and sugar to both my body and soul. Now I must forgive myself. And forgiveness is only possible once a wrongdoing has been admitted.

I was wrong. I was stupid. But I’m trying to change that.

Wish me luck…..

Making it work

After my mega-blog last week, there is not a huge amount to report at the moment. I’m really pleased to say that the weight loss is still progressing nicely, I have now lost two and half stones in the seven weeks since I started this venture. Two weeks ago I was disappointed to have “only” lost two pounds, and, rightly so, I was berated heartily by my peers for complaining about it. In most diets that would be a commendable loss, however, having been used to weekly losses of four, five or six pounds, I felt a wee bit robbed. Sensing my despondency as I stepped off the scales, my on-the-ball consultant asked me where I was in my monthly cycle, and it just so happened that my period had started on that very weigh-in day. I was advised to maybe attribute the small loss to that phantom- “water retention” and continue on plan, as, with luck, the scales would set themselves right the following week when my hormones had stabilised. What had really frustrated me was that I was only one pound short of reaching the two-stone goal. Now, unlike other slimming groups and clubs, I am not rewarded with stickers, rosettes or fridge magnets, however it is still nice to mark a milestone, and the fact that I had fallen so close to the target was a distinct blow. No matter how hard I try and focus away from them, numbers on the scale and in my weight loss record still dominate my psyche. I really hope that, one day, they will not matter so much. Anyway, I resolved to keep going. In the past, even a slight “setback” like this would have the potential to catapult me into the self-pity pot and I would feel compelled to “cheer myself up” with food. If it had been a weight gain it could have escalated this course even further and this has been known to propel me into “fuck it mode” where I give up on the diet altogether because “it obviously doesn’t work”. Ah, denial…it is so much easier to apportion blame than to take a good hard, honest look at yourself and face facts. A young lady I know, who does my nails and has become a good friend, has recently featured in the media as she has lost a very impressive 13 stone, going from a size 28 to a size 10. She achieved this through Bariatric surgery. Although this isn’t my method of choice, mainly because, unlike her, I am not 22 and have a family to consider which could be impacted by my undergoing risky surgery, I have come to commend her courage and tenacity in the past year in which she has lost this weight. I say “come to” because, I am ashamed to admit that, at first, like many,  I considered this method of weight loss to be “cheating”. Reading through the newspaper articles about this lady on social media I have noted that there are plenty of others who still share this view. Naturally, as is the curse of internet anonymity and subsequent “trolling” much of the negative comments have been delivered with such vitriol and scorn that it makes my own skin crawl, but I cannot deny to myself that I used to share the basic sentiment of distrust and derision aimed at those that have achieved a goal that I, truly, have craved but felt unable to achieve. I have touched on this subject before and I am learning, more and more, that the only way forward to a new, better place sometimes involves breaking through barriers. Barriers that you have built up yourself. It’s all part of a self-protection mechanism, as the saying goes, the truth hurts, and it is a natural human urge to avoid pain. So we protect ourselves from short term discomfort as a knee-jerk reaction, unaware that the long term problems can be far more damaging. Thus, I make excuses, lie to myself, apportion blame and accuse. I need to stop this. Now, when I remove   the scales (excuse the pun) from my eyes and see things for how they really are, I truly understand. My friend has not “cheated”, she has endured a year of discomfort, invested a lot of money; she has had to completely review her habits – for life – and taken considerable risks to achieve the result. And she has been rewarded for it. It has been an incredible journey and she needs to stay on this path for the rest of her, hopefully extended, life. That is no faint achievement. It deserves commendation and praise, not sneering and criticism.  I’m a big fan of Harper Lee’s popular novel, "To Kill a Mockingbird", with its iconic quote: ““You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”. This is very, very true and promotes compassion for one’s fellow man. However, do not forget to include yourself amongst humanity – get to know yourself totally inside and out – warts and all, then show yourself true compassion by being truthful and frank, nurture what is really good for you, and you might stand a chance of being a better you.  Anyway, back to the weight loss. After my “disappointment” I continued along the “good” path, stuck to plan and refused to be disheartened. At the following week’s weigh-in, I harboured a little fantasy of “wouldn’t it be nice to have skipped the two stone mark and gone straight to two and a half stone?”. Of course that would have entailed an eight pound loss which, even though I dreamed of it, seemed a very unlikely possibility. Well, Dear Reader, sometimes dreams do come true. To my utter amazement and delight those magical eight pounds had, indeed, melted away and I was two and a half stone lighter. Of course, I’m not expecting this to happen every week, but it’s nice to have that moment at least once. Talking of expectations, I’m still working on addressing my fear of failure. All the time I am doing well I battle with the inner voice that tells me that this success won’t last, that I will eventually fall off the wagon, that the “honeymoon period” won’t last and I will, one day, end up back where I started, or even worse. So I am trying to look at things differently. And here are my thoughts. Instead of focusing on where I made the same mistakes in the past, I will concentrate on the areas that I am approaching differently. I have lost considerable amounts of weight on previous diets and, while I experienced short term success, I am coming to understand that I didn’t learn new habits. Reducing calorie intake has the obvious result in weight loss but it is the sustained changes in behaviour that determine long term results. A famous quote attributed to Einstein (although not confirmed) is “ 'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”. And in every other diet, I was doing the same thing – cutting calories but not replacing unhealthy options with healthier ones. And in certain diets, I wasn’t even practising portion control as certain plans permitted ‘unlimited’ and ‘free’ foods. This was great for me at the time, I could gorge on what I liked amongst the free items, safe in the knowledge that weight loss was imminent. However, as the weight dropped I should have tempered the quantities. And instead of opting for the ‘free’ meat or pasta, I should have gone for the better options of fruit and vegetables. But I didn’t have to – the diet told me it was ok. And when I fell off the wagon, as I inevitably did, I hadn’t learned to reduce what was on my plate, therefore counteracting any other items that slipped under my knife and fork too. On the path I am on now, I am realising that I have to be stricter with myself if I want to permanently undo the results of my non-discipline. It goes back to the “no pain, no gain” scenario. It’s all well and good promoting diets as “extra easy” or full of “free” food if the dieter does not have an addiction to sugary, fatty food, as I believe I do. These plans work for folk who approach with a modicum of self-discipline and who can sensibly adhere to healthier options. Unfortunately, this does not seem to suit my personality at all. I have exhibited an addictive personality for as long as I remember and I will indulge that wherever possible, using sneakier and more self-deluding methods as I degenerate.  As a teenager I used to work in a pharmacy in a dodgy part of town frequented and occupied by the local junkies. A number of these had attempted to address their drug habits by seeking help from the doctor who prescribe methadone to replace their heroin use. They were supposed to come to the pharmacy for a daily prescription of a controlled amount of methadone, which would gradually taper off and, theoretically, reduce the need for opiates. But of course, the addicts were smarter than that. They would turn up only once or twice per week, allowing the supply of methadone to accumulate so that they could binge on it and get the ‘hit’ they needed. No doubt they were supplementing their addictions with other substances in the interim also. And, unsurprisingly, they were destroying themselves. Now this may seem a bit of an extreme example, but to someone of my disposition, being offered a selection of ‘free foods’ within a diet plan is akin to telling a junkie that they can’t have heroin but they can help themselves to as much methadone as they like. The effects may take longer to establish but the results are eventually the same. And you never learn the discipline that you need. This, so far, is why things are different on this plan. Of course, I still have the right to deviate, but if I deviate I cannot justify it as being “allowed” because it is “free”.  Right now, nothing is free, if I want to succeed and stick to the programme I have to have only what and how much the plan tells me to. I have to weigh and measure, I must restrict my intake. Plus…and here is the big thing…I have to eat vegetables and salad or starve. There is no alternative to lunch, no lashings of pasta nor piles of lean meat. It is salad or nothing. And I have to say, I’m getting used to it. My consultant jokes that, in my earlier blogs I referred to green, leafy vegetables as  “ the devil’s bogeys” whereas a few weeks later they had been downgraded to mere “rabbit food”. Now that’s progress.  I have mentioned on more than one occasion that I have spent most of my life being “veggie phobic” but, underneath it all was a deep regret that I didn’t have the courage nor resolve to eat them. I even considered finding a way to get hypnotised to force me to like them. Other diets offered me the “get out clause” of continuing to avoid them in favour of other “free foods”, but, now my choices are severely limited. I need this discipline. I need to go “cold turkey” and replace my drug with another substance entirely, one that doesn’t promise a “hit” of any kind, but nurtures my body. And I hope that “rabbit food” will one day become something I actively choose and enjoy. I am getting there…I have been out for meals on three occasions and chosen, and more importantly heartily consumed, a healthy salad each time. Maybe there is hope for me this time… Another change to the other diets I have chosen is my increased consumption of water – this definitely fills me up and I am seeing and feeling many health benefits already. In fact, water has replaced my excessive intake of diet fizzy drinks, in particular Pepsi Max. I definitely used to use diet drinks to satisfy my craving for sweetness (I have always had a very sweet tooth) when I felt I needed to deprive myself of something more sugary and I reckon I was, at the very least, bordering on addiction to diet drinks, too. I have recently read articles on the dangers and side effects of the artificial sweetener, aspartame. It was a very scary read indeed! The list of health issues is quite extensive. Of course this could be considered to be scaremongering but I have to say, I believe that diet drinks were having a detrimental effect on me. I have always suffered from migraines which were exacerbated by my hormonal cycle, and I have always been paranoid about keeping medication on hand to avoid suffering the debilitating pain and nausea of an attack. It occurred to me recently that I have not suffered one migraine episode since I gave up aspartame seven weeks ago. And migraines are a well-documented side effect of this substance. Furthermore, I don’t seem to suffer the same cravings for sweet things I used to since I weaned  my taste buds off artificial sweeteners. So those are the, frankly radical, changes I have undertaken. I do hope I can make these part of my life from now on until the end of my , hopefully now extended, life. One last thing before I sign off. I have also been taking 20 minutes of exercise on the exercise bike at least five times a week for the past few weeks. All those excuses that I “didn’t have the time” turned out to be utter rubbish. Most nights before bed I would catch up on iPlayer or YouTube videos before I went to sleep. Watching these would inevitably reduce my sleep time by 20 or 30 minutes per night. Now I just stick my tablet on the bike and pedal away while watching them during the day. That way I benefit not only from the exercise but also from extra sleep. I started off by managing 10km in the 20 minutes, now I am doing 11km in the same time, so progress is happening!! In the back of wardrobe a fortnight ago, I found a discarded impulse buy - a pair of exercise “Hot Pants”. These are neoprene leggings designed to make you sweat more, and they certainly do, especially in a south-facing conservatory during a heatwave in July! They take a little effort to wriggle into, but I guess that’s just extra exercise! My husband laughs when  wear them as they make a disconcerting swishing noise when I walk, but he’s grateful that I can’t give him a fright by silently sneaking up on him whilst wearing these fashion horrors. So that’s it for another blog. Let’s see what the next few weeks bring. Wish me luck……

Lots to Say....

It’s been a little longer than planned since I last posted a blog entry, but I’m pleased to say that I’m still very much on track. My poor mobile phone had to go to the Phone Hospital with a cracked screen and it took with it all the voice notes I make when I think of something I want to blog about later.  Plus I’ve had a mentally busy week and simply haven’t had the time or opportunity to commit my thoughts to text. Still I’m here now! Since my last blog I’ve attended two weigh-ins and lost 6lbs and 5lbs at each. That brings my weight loss to 25lbs in five weeks. I couldn’t me more delighted. I am fully aware that I won’t lose at this rate all the time, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to see the back of those numbers on the scale. I am hoping that there are two numbers I will never, ever see on a scale again. Well that’s me outing myself as weighing over 14stone , tee-hee!!! Talking of “outing myself”, recently a Facebook blunder led to me ‘fessing up to my 400+ friends on FB that I am currently on the Cambridge Weight Plan. I do, admittedly, have a wee obsession with Facebook and it has proved to be my best friend and my worst enemy on many occasions. This time, it began as the latter and then became the former…. Recently, I formed a Facebook group aimed at folks on the Cambridge Weight Plan who, like me, have a long journey ahead of them. This is where I find Facebook the most useful – in the creation of support communities where folks can safely discuss specific common issues. I have strongly believed for a considerable time that success in conquering demons lies with mutual support from people who can truly empathise and identify with your situation. This group has already gained considerable success and I have gleaned a great deal of encouragement, inspiration and positivity from the good people who share their journeys with me in this little online sanctuary. Anyhow, one day I posted a few sentences about what had motivated me to try the Cambridge Plan to this group.  Or so I thought…  I had actually posted it to my own timeline and unwittingly shared it with every single friend who reads my ramblings. By the time I realised my error it was too late, my remarks had been seen and even ‘liked’ by a good number of people. On realising my mistake, my heart leapt to my throat and I felt really quite disturbed. Until then I had made the conscious decision not to share the fact I was doing this plan. Why? Because I lived in fear of the disapproval and judgement I would receive from people who would not condone my decision to go on this plan. Would they think I was “cheating”? Would they start to have expectations about my progress which I would, inevitably, fail to achieve? It was a terrifying prospect realising that I had exposed myself so transparently and vulnerably to their opinions.  At that moment it dawned on me, I had two feasible options: I could sink into my default state of denial by deleting the post and hoping that nobody would remember it; or I could summon up some courage, apply brutal honesty and admit everything in the open forum of my timeline.  Dear Reader, I hesitated but in the end I decided to take the Road Less Travelled. Even as my fingers were poised above the keyboard I wondered if I was about to throw myself into the Lion’s Pit of Judgement, but I pressed on and hit ‘send’ before I could change my mind. And then, to my surprise there followed nothing but a flood of encouraging and supportive words from my peers….I was, frankly, quite overwhelmed by the compassion and positivity that emanated from all of my friends. In fact, I felt considerably ashamed to realise that, instead of being judged I had actually been the one passing judgement on others, expecting nothing but cruelty and contempt from those who have never shown evidence of either to me. As my journey progresses I am starting to understand that I have been projecting my own deepest fears and insecurities on others. I am beginning to comprehend that this is  part of the denial I have been deeply entrenched in for far too long. “I feel I am cheating” becomes “You think I am cheating”. “I will fail” becomes “You think I will, or expect me to, fail”. “I am afraid of change” becomes “ you will reject me if I change”. Why do I do this? The only conclusion I have come to is that is easier to ignore or  rebel against feelings and thoughts that you have convinced yourself come from anywhere except inside  your own head. You can apply the “stick and stones” approach to disapproval that you tell yourself is being aimed at you. You can apportion blame to others who you see as being uncompassionate to you, and you can then dedicate your energy on fighting these people, and engender a false pride from tackling the detractors head on. I have armoured myself for too long with “fat pride” and “I am what I am” . But this armour was not only weighing me down, it was totally unnecessary. There was no battle.  The true battle is to acknowledge that these voices are in your own head, that there is a mental tape on loop playing within that tells you that you are worthy only of disdain and condemnation. And to recognise this voice for what it is, to fight against it and disprove it will lead eventually to victory in a long-waged war. I am now fighting. I will win. Of course, a true war is really a series of small battles and some I will win, others I will lose. But I must not give up. I must don a new, truer armour – the breastplate of Courage and the shield of Honesty and march forward. I hope that this hasn’t come across a little too “Pilgrim’s Progress” for some readers, but I do like to engage metaphors to put make my point!!My consultant told me that, on reading my blogs, she felt the sense that this weight loss journey was “a life and death thing”. I guess it is, I am fighting for my life. At work the other day, in a totally non weight-related matter, I had to resolve a disagreement with my boss. He told me “you are your own worst enemy”. This has been a mantra my husband has adopted for some time, too. Maybe I should start listening. The only demon I don’t feel ready to disclose yet, is revealing my own weight, not even to those closest to me. I now know that this is linked to the issues I have detailed above, I just can’t yet get over the fear that I may confront shocked faces saying “you weighed HOW MUCH???”. It’s probably in my head. But maybe when I have distanced myself a fair bit further from that number I can finally free myself of its tyranny. So back to the real world. I am pleased to report that hunger still hasn’t hampered me in my efforts. I went with friends to an open-air music event last weekend, which is typically the mainstay of a Gorge-Fest, where food and drink flow liberally. This time  I held my ground, I brought my own supply of food and stuck to it. Preparation and Determination , these are the keys to success! Currently, I seem to be able to mentally flick a switch in my head whenever I get the urge to eat something naughty. I’m only human, if I pass a table filled with doughnuts I still have my ‘Homer Simpson Moment’ ..”mmmm…doughnuts…”  but, right now, I am able to prevent the previously inevitable actions of hand to doughnut – doughnut to mouth. When I go shopping I still make a beeline for the pudding and snack aisles, however these items have, thankfully, remained out of my shopping trolley. When I went to the cinema recently with my husband, as soon as I entered the complex my thoughts were not on the anticipation of the film we were about to see (even if it did have Chris Pratt in it...mmm…Chris Pratt…”) but wondering which ice creams were on offer at the stall that day. These thoughts are just formations of Habit. Habit, as well as Emotional Eating are the two biggest enemies of weight loss. If you repeatedly do the same thing enough times your brain will condition you to expect that action each time you are in similar circumstances. So if, every time you visit the cinema you visit the ice cream stall , the two actions will become fused in your subconscious. You will expect and crave ice cream simply because you are at the cinema! The same goes for passing the doughnut table, eating crisps in front of your favourite show and so on and so forth. I read about this recently and it was a real eye opener to realise that I was fully adopting this behaviour without really knowing it. But Knowledge is Power and once I had found this small nugget (mmm…nuggets…) of truth it lost its power over me. I’m still a long way from total success but now I recognise this way of thinking I can learn to counter it. I once read that a good way of dealing with cravings does NOT involve telling yourself that you cannot have a certain item of food. Not at all. In fact, tell yourself you can eat anything you want! But don’t stop there..the full sentence continues : “you can eat anything you want…but you have to live with the consequences of eating it..” Now doesn’t that change things? Those of us who are parents will already have applied this psychology to our children at some point. Have you ever had a time when your darling little offspring has persistently and repeatedly performed an action that you knew would end badly? Such as pulling the cat’s tail or provoking their older sister. Despite your exhortations they ignore you and continue on their course of action. Eventually the inevitable happens, the beleaguered moggie loses patience and directs a well aimed claw, or the exasperated sibling retaliates. What do you say when confronted by a wailing child? “I told you so..”. Isn’t it about time we listened to our own inner parents before we grab that slice of cake??? Talking of parenting, a little while ago I lost the plot with my youngest child and ‘went medieval on his (literal) ass” (thank you Pulp Fiction for that awesome phrase).  In our house over the past few weeks the only consumers of crisps and treats have been my children. I recently went into my son's room and, behind his bed, unearthed a massive stash of empty packets -crisps, sweets, ice lollies and other items he had nicked from the fridge. This wasn't the first time I’d caught him out  he had been repeatedly offending. Even though I had  given him chance after chance he simply continued regardless  of the punishments. So on this occasion, Mummy went Postal….... I ransacked the kitchen and removed and disposed of all tempting and unhealthy foods, figuring that the only way to prevent temptation was to completely remove the objects tempting him. There were tears and tantrums, begging and pleading but I stuck to my objectives. What frightened me most is that I recognised this behaviour in myself in the past and it terrified me to think that the two most precious things in my life, my children, could end up like me. This compulsiveness I knew so well in myself reflected back through my son scared me.  So now my house is a crisp, fizzy drink and chocolate free zone. There will be treats offered again, as I believe total deprivation is a dangerous path but my son is now encouraged to choose fruit and healthier options. He won't appreciate it now but maybe one day he'll thank me.... This week I’ve also started doing 20 minutes, or 10km , on the exercise bike. All good stuff. After all this heavy navel-gazing and self-contemplation I am going to attempt to lighten the mood by broaching a potentially taboo subject. The Pre-Weigh-In Poo. Having done the rounds of slimming clubs and doctors’ visits where stepping on the scales would be inevitable I am all-too-familiar with this concept. When the dreaded appointment looms, all that you can focus on is what number would appear on that infernal scales and wondering if it would be less than the last time you approached it. And in such critical times every ounce counts! Just as a hot air balloon ditches sandbags in order to maintain altitude, you start considering yourself what you can throw overboard. First it starts with the clothes you are going to wear.. Jeans and heavy boots are a no-no, even on the coldest of days you would rather risk hypothermia than see a gain on the scales. Then comes the jewellery, anything of value must be discarded in case it registers adversely against your progress. However, the balloon is still not floating high enough, so now you have to consider the cargo. Anything you are carrying within the ‘basket’ must be jettisoned as soon as possible. And so, with the ominous Moment of Reckoning approaching you find yourself heading to the toilet, hoping beyond hope that the Pre-Weigh-In Poo will come…You will strain, you will burst blood vessels, you will risk a life plagued by hemorrhoids in pursuit of that elusive bowel movement. If the Poo doesn’t come you are doomed to abject disappointment. If you are fortunate enough to pass a substantial log, well…victory has never smelt so sweet…. I found myself in this very predicament the other week as, half an hour before my consultant appointment I was perched upon my throne urging my bowels to move, when suddenly the ridiculousness of it all struck me full pelt. Why was I doing this? What did I really want to achieve? I have mentioned in previous blog entries that slimming clubs brought out the competitive streak in me and every week I sought the prize of the “slimmer of the week” accolade. A successful dump before the meeting would considerably enhance the chances of me snatching the sought-after fridge magnet from the hands of my adversaries in the group. But this time, I am doing this weight loss journey purely by, and for, myself. I have no-one to compete with anymore, so why am I getting obsessed with moving down the scales just an iota by straining myself when success will come at the same pace if I simply continue on the same path I am by following the plan? On reflection it is utter insanity, what real difference does one poo really make? Another bad habit that I picked up at Slimming Clubs was a concept we used to call ‘Bermuda Triangle Night’. This was based on the fact that the ‘diet’ for the week ended just prior to the weekly weigh-in, and then recommenced the following morning, thus leaving us an evening of indulgence to “blow out” before we stared afresh the next day. Included in this was either a sense of reward (“I’ve lost weight, therefore I shall treat myself with something naughty”) or commiseration (“I didn’t lose weight therefore I shall cheer myself up with something naughty”). This is truly utter madness. I got myself into the predicament of being the size and weight I am by persistently rewarding and commiserating myself with food in the first place, why did I think that I was behaving any differently simply because I restricted this to one night? I hadn’t addressed the one, glaring issue – Food should never be used to provide any gratification other than its nutritional intention. This is a tough one, because food is entrenched with ceremony and celebration in our culture but for those of us who struggle with eating issues, every incident has the potential to become a celebration or compensation. And that is where we fall down. Food should be part of an event, not the primary reason for it. I know I am guilty, when about to go out for a meal with friends, of anticipating more what food will be on offer than looking forward to enjoying the company of good people. This is unfair not only to my friends, but to myself. I am now focusing on finding a new non-food reward or commiseration on weigh-in day. I try to schedule my weigh-ins for Tuesday evenings just before my session of Choir. I love choir, singing makes me happy, how could it fail to? If I do well on a weigh-in, I have choir to look forward to. If I don’t do so well I can cheer myself by singing my heart out. This appointment schedule also has a couple off added benefits. My Tuesday routine is -  come home from work at 5:30ish, weigh-in at 7 then choir 7:30 till 9:30. This forces me to break another insane cardinal rule of weigh-in night: “Thou shalt not eat before stepping on the scales”. If I were to adhere to that I would be starving ! So dinner has to be fitted in before weigh in. And by the time I get home I just want to go to bed, so no late-night nibbles after….Winner!!! I know that this has been a particularly heavy (excuse the pun) blog, but I have had over two weeks since posting of contemplation and rumination, all of which I wanted to commit to text while it was still fresh in my mind. I will end on a positive and more cheery note, maybe even comedic. This morning I attained what is known as a non-scale victory. Whilst getting ready for work this morning, I eyed the blue skies out of my window and decided I would retrieve a pair of linen trousers from the back of my wardrobe to wear. These trousers still bore the price tag from last summer as when I had purchased them they were indecently snug. Today they fitted and, so delighted was I that I paraded around the bedroom and woke my sleeping husband so he could pay homage to my success. I stood pointedly in front of the snoozing bear and just as he opened one weary eye, my trousers slithered unceremoniously off my waist and hips and dropped to my ankles. They were actually too big!! It took a little explaining that my intention was to wow him with my new size, not to cause hilarity with a slapstick trouser moment. Still, laughter burns calories! So that is my latest update. Hopefully the next one won’t be quite so protracted. In the meantime, wish me luck……

A Wish List

Tonight I was browsing Amazon, as I am wont to do of a Sunday evening. As I found items that I quite liked the look of, but didn't want to buy immediately, I sent them to my "Wish List". Clicking merrily away, I got to thinking: What is my Wish List for my weight loss?
In my determination to shed those unwanted pounds I realised that I haven't really considered the specifics of what I really wanted to achieve. All I wanted was to Lose The Weight, to exchange the scary big number on the scales for a slightly less scary one. Of course this is a very common goal shared by many, and  certain benefits of taking this course are well documented - to look better, to feel better, to wear smaller clothes. But these are too generic for me, I am starting to realise that I need to explore the specifics that will motivate and push me further towards my ultimate goal. To me, to simply choose the aforementioned generic objectives would be akin to attempting to put "a fictional novel" in my Amazon list. In fact, it's probably as useful to me as when my husband asks me "what would you like for your birthday" and I reply "Oh just get me something nice". Without being a little more specific I am setting us both up for potential frustration. The same goes for my weight loss journey. If I don't tell myself what I want to achieve, I will always have the get-out clause when I don't reach my target. Just as I couldn't blame my husband if my birthday pressie fails to ht the expectation mark.
So I am going to commit to text some very specific goals that I want to achieve. I am not talking numerical or temporal goals, these are little milestones that I want to pass sometime soon.....

• I want to live a long and healthy life without fear or trepidation at every little twinge in my chest (which is probably just gas).
• I want to walk into the doctors surgery with my head held high, and not with shame that I will probably receive another warning, or that every health condition will be blamed on my weight.
• I want to learn to enjoy vegetables, and actually choose to eat them.
• I want my children who are still pretty veggie-phobic to see me making healthy choices and follow my example.
• I want to take part in sports with my kids, maybe even participate in sporting events with them.
• I want to be able to fit in a wet-suit so I can go swimming with the kids on holiday.
• I want to be able to wear clothes that stop at the knees and be confident to show off my legs, knowing they don't look like overstuffed sausages.
• I want to wear knee-high boots without having to buy them from 'speciality shops' that cater for larger calves.
• I want to be able to walk in high heels without feeling crippled.
• I want to wear sleeveless tops and not want to hide my arms.
• I want my original wedding and engagement rings to fit again.
• I want to wear pretty bracelets that drape around my wrist, not fit my arms like handcuffs.
• I want to go shopping and check the style of the clothes first, instead of looking to see if they actually have my size.
• I want to come off, or at least reduce my hypertension meds.
• I want to join my friends in doing a walk (or even a run?) for charity.
• I want to roller skate!
• I want to be able to sit, and fit, in any seat - anywhere.
• I want to never, ever have to ask for the seat-belt extender on a flight again.
• I want to sweat less.
• I want to snore less.
• I want to never again have to worry that the bunch of laughing teenage lads I have just walked past are actually laughing at and mocking me because of my size.
• I want to enjoy a meal out, and not just anticipate what's for dessert.
• I want to be offered something sweet and be able to, sincerely, say 'No, thank you'.
• I want to pose for photographs where I am not standing or hiding behind someone to conceal my size.
• I no longer want to be "The Fat One".
• I want to no longer be afraid of failing.

I am sure that I will be adding to this list as I, hopefully, progress through my journey. And no mention of numbers or timescales. The weight I have gained is a symptom of my distorted attitudes and self esteem, and I should not treat it as the cause. I am working on the cause, learning to deal with issues and concerns without the aid of food. It is a steep learning curve, but right now, I am willing to do this. I hope this determination stays with me.

Wish me luck.... 

A First Success

Well, it’s always good to start on a positive note, and what can be more positive than to announce that I am now officially one stone lighter than I was four weeks ago. Yes – one Big One, fourteen pounds, six kilos.. I am a very happy lady. The news was broken to me at my weigh-in on Tuesday. As I stood on the scales the consultant told me that, since officially commencing the plan last week, I had dropped six pounds. I was elated. Then she measured me, and we learnt that one inch had fallen off both my hips and waist.  I was delighted.  As she completed my weight record card she suddenly announced that she had made a mistake. My heart sunk, suddenly the trepidation overwhelmed me. What was the problem? Where had I gone wrong? Was my bubble about to be cruelly burst? “Actually, I’ve miscalculated your weight loss. When I told you last week that you had lost four pounds prior to starting on your plan, I got it wrong. You had actually lost eight pounds” Cue party poppers, tickertape, confetti and streamers…. “Really???” I was beyond elated, delighted or even thrilled. I was ecstatic. What a fantastic surprise to learn that my efforts had already paid off so well, And what better motivation? So let’s backtrack to the days leading up to my result… The weekend was always going to be a bit of a spectre looming up for me. I find weight loss to be easier when I am at work. The routine and the consistency help with the willpower, but most of all, the separation from a big kitchen stuffed full of treats and temptations is a big plus. Weekends are for kicking back and relaxing, and our typical family weekends involve large cooked breakfasts, takeaways and occasionally alcohol. Frequently, of a Sunday afternoon I would get the urge to bake and produce a large batch of banana muffins, laced heavily with chocolate chips. As I merrily mixed the delicious, sweet batter, I would tell myself how much my colleagues would appreciate my gift of cakes the next day. As I poured the mixture into the cake tins, I would content myself with how happy the children would be enjoying my baking in their lunchboxes. As I licked the bowl clean of a generous amount of the sticky batter, I would feel smug at how much my husband appreciated the occasional cake. As I removed the warm cakes from the oven I would mentally apportion myself the best and biggest ones. And, over the next few days I would consume these and a considerable number more. Much more than my children and family, and even a few from the batch I had taken to work. So as Saturday and Sunday loomed I started to wonder how I would cope. First and foremost I warned my family that there would be no takeaways and no baking. They were surprisingly accommodating. Then I simply resolved to take it one hour at a time. I can’t even really say how I did it, but, come Saturday evening I realised that I had succeeded at sticking to the plan. I was spurred on by encouraging text messages from both my consultant and a very good friend, and I also discovered a myriad of CWP support groups on Facebook. These really helped, reading the success stories and seeing clever recipe suggestions. I also continued with my campaign of increased water consumption. I have discovered that sparkling water is very good at staving off hunger. Plus, the frequent trips back and forth to the toilet not only kept my mind off the food, but also increased my exercise levels. On Sunday I had planned to check out the local boot fair. These trips usually involve a visit to the burger van as the kids inevitably reach boredom point early on and are most easily assuaged with junk food. And of course, if they’re having something….. Same goes for ice cream and the goods on offer at the local fudge stall….. So on this occasion I decided to come prepared. I brought my salad and soup packet with me. An as the kids chomped on cheeseburgers I munched my greens. My relationship with salad is warming up a little, I’m not sure if my taste buds are changing but I seem to dread opening the lunchbox filed with rabbit food less these days.  I am learning that preparation is key. So many times in the past I have fallen down because I have not organised something wholesome and healthy to eat for lunch and dinner – especially dinner. Coming home after a long day at the office, the last thing I want to do is think about what to have for dinner, let alone prepare it (and as I store most of the food in the freezer, there is also defrosting to consider). So, far too often, the mantra has been “shall we just get a takeaway?” Any day now, I am expecting a Sympathy Card to pop through the door, sent by our local kebab house. Our uncustomary inactivity in the last few weeks can only have led them to conclude that we are dead. So –preparation. Now I make sure that I have an idea what is for dinner each day and that the food is stocked accordingly. I also take a salad, a soup, or at the very least, a small measure of fruit with me (blueberries and raspberries are always a winner) so that I am not caught short if other plans go awry. I did this on Monday when my mother and I took a trip to London. As well as the obligatory handbag contents (half of the contents of my bathroom, a million used receipts and my woefully empty purse) I packed two little snack pots with my favourite berries. We were due on the 3pm train, so I spaced out my lunchtime salad and soup to ensure hunger pangs were averted as far as possible. The reason for the trip was that we had standby tickets as audience to the filming of an episode of QI. My mother and I yomped across London from Kings Cross to Waterloo and arrived at the studios to dishearteningly discover that a considerable queue was already snaking around the building. Being thoroughly British we joined the back end anyway and waited our turn. Frustratingly, when we were just ten places from the front of the line we were turned away as the studio was full. So it was time to revert to Plan B. Except, in all my preparation with regards to my nutritional requirements, I had utterly neglected my recreational needs  and there was no Plan B. My Mum and I ummed and erred for a few minutes and then reached a general consensus that we both fancied a mooch around Covent Garden. I love Covent Garden, it is so vibrant and exciting and there is so much to see and do…and eat…... Anyhow, reaching our destination required another trek across London so mother and daughter duly made our way to the West End. As expected, Covent Garden was alive with fascinating stalls and even more fascinating street entertainers. Every other shop also seemed to stock a veritable cornucopia of confectionery and ice cream. My very own heaven had become my very own hell. Dear reader, I am proud to say that I resisted, and when our rumbling bellies became too hard to resist we popped into our local Bella Pasta where I ordered and consumed (and dare I say it?) enjoyed a chargrilled chicken salad, heavy on the salad. This is quite an achievement for me as I have an over-fondness for cream, cheese and bacon loaded pasta dishes, my favourite being carbonara. As I munched away at the leaves I realised that I had to ‘fess up to my incredulous mother what I was doing. Thankfully, not only was she relieved that I had not taken leave of my senses, she was actually very supportive. So yet another of my fears has proved unfounded. I am starting to understand the fears and obstacles I had previously perceived mainly reside solely in my own addled head, and it is up to me to challenge and overcome them whenever I can. Another fantastic resource of support I have is my husband who has decided to accompany me on my weight loss journey. He, like me although not to the same extent, has suffered the toll of our all-too-frequent takeaways and ill-advised snacking habits. He is not joining me in using the CWP products but he does join me in the healthier choices made for the main meal of the day, and is exercising portion control and dodging the crisps and bacon sandwiches. It means a great deal to have him join me on this quest to become healthier. He told me that he is doing this for two reasons, primarily for his own health benefits, but also because he is acutely aware that the best way to encourage me and keep me on track is to follow me in my plans. I am very grateful to have such support close at hand. There is nothing more demotivating when you are nibbling at a lettuce leaf than to have to share the dinner table with someone guzzling a KFC. Together we aim to live long and healthy lives and see our children and future grandchildren grow up, and our previous lifestyle made the probability far less likely. Now we might have a fighting chance. Our next goal is to increase our activity and exercise more. We do have an exercise bike in the conservatory but it typically adopts the common secondary usage of clothes airer. We aim to address that. I do struggle with trying to get regular exercise and would love to attend classes however the difficulty I encounter with that is that my husband works shifts. On the days he works late I have to look after the kids so can’t get out to classes. On his off days I work late to accommodate my flexi-time so by the time I get home and have dinner, it’s getting too late to go out. This is why we got the exercise bike, which was great – in theory. Of course the other thing, carrying excess weight makes exercise all the harder so I opted for the much less challenging activity of sofa-surfer. I am also planning to use my lunch breaks at work to go for a brisk walk. As I now bring in my salad and soup lunch I don't need the break to go out and buy food. I can eat at my desk and then use the reamining half hour to get some exercise. I must remember to bring in my trainers tomorrow. Things are defintitely changing . I had taken Monday off work for our later London trip and in the morning , my husband, who was off-shift, and I had a few hours to ourselves. Typically these hours would be eaten up by going back to bed, lounging around on Facebook or going out to grab a bacon buttie or four. This morning, as I drove back from the school run, on a bright and sunny day, I passed by the local woodlands where the family occasionally go for a stroll. When I arrived home I shook my husband from his blissful slumber and suggested loudly “let’s go for a walk in the woods”. Now, waking my husband can be a highly dangerous manoeuvre, let alone doing so with the suggestion of exercise so I stepped back, waiting for the hibernating bear to growl and lash out. To my surprise, his reaction was unprecedented. He stirred, blinked a few times, stretched groaned, rubbed his eyes and then said “Alright then!” A little while later, allowing for cups of tea and getting dressed, we were donning our trainers for our first walk together. I am pleased to report that I survived 3km trek up and downhill and we completed it in forty minutes. Normally the same circuit is completed, with children in tow, in at least an hour but little did I know what a hard Taskmaster lurked inside my husband’s unassuming form. Breaks were only permitted at the crest of hills and only to briefly sip our water. He strode on purposefully as I staggered behind him, puffing and sweating and trying to keep up. But I did it, and as I triumphantly collapsed by the car at the end of our trek I felt a strong surge of satisfaction (as well as trembling knees). I am happy to report that I am still doing well with the water consumption and not one drop of fizzy drink (unless you count sparkling water) has passed my lips in the lat fortnight. I am still getting the hang of Green Teas but over the past few days I have taken to starting and ending my days with a glass of hot water and the juice of half a lemon. I actually find it quite refreshing. The toilet and I are still very much more acquainted than usual but I accept that as a good sign that my internal organs are functioning well.  I am also finding a more positive side effect to consuming at least three litres of water per day. As soon as the air starts to get warmer, I have been prone to suffering from terrible water retention, particularly in my feet and ankle. On a hot day, the joints at the bottom of my leg feel like they have been insulated with pipe lagging, my ankles are actually stiff and hard to bend, so engorged are they with retained fluid. It’s one of the reasons I never wear skirts or cropped trousers, I take ‘cankles’ to the next level and I’m not fond of advertising the fact to all and sundry. Since I’ve upped my water intake I don’t seem to suffer much at all from this. Yes I still have cankles but these are ‘food cankles’ not ‘water cankles’. I’m not going to be slipping out of the maxi dresses and trousers quite yet but at least I no longer feel like my legs are pumped up like balloons anymore and the flexibility is much better. Well, that’s about it for this blog entry. On the whole I’m feeling pretty positive , although I still battle daily with the demon on my shoulder who keeps asking me when I’m going to fall down and fail. I now have fourteen reasons to batter him and will do that every time he rears his mischievous little head. I am realising that if I live in the present the future will take care of itself. As for the past, that’s history –literally. So, like Dory. I will continue to “Just Keep Swimming”…

Wish me luck….