The Things We Agree To When We're Drunk!

So far summer has been a bit of a wash-out, which is a huge disappointment to me because I spend the whole year looking forward to those few weeks of warm, sunny weather.  Thankfully though, I’ve booked myself a trip to Corfu in September so I do have a bit of sunshine coming my way.  I’m lucky enough to travel to Europe quite a bit with work; however this will be my first proper “beach holiday” in three years!

 

It has got me thinking though… the idea of being “beach-body-ready” ties my stomach up in knots.  I haven’t felt good in a swimsuit since…well actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt good in a swimsuit!  The last time I probably looked any good, would have been when I was too young to realise that looking good was necessary!

 

It’s one of the main reasons that I decided to join WW.  I know I’m not going to miraculously drop five stone in a couple of months; however I do think I’ll be able to lose enough to feel a little less wobbly in my one-piece.

 

At my first meeting, our leader Karen spoke to us about international cuisine, and challenged us to find ways to adapt some of our holiday favourites to make them SP friendly.  I thought about all the lovely salads and tapas that I generally eat when I’m abroad, and this week I’ve made sure that I’m building my recipes around a more Mediterranean theme.   Reduced fat humus and celery sticks are my go-to snack at the moment, (very unlike me - I usually only enjoy celery as a stirrer in Bloody Mary!) and for a real taste of summer, I’ve discovered my childhood favourite ice lolly (Jubblies) are only 1SP…which has made me deliriously happy. 

 

With summer however, comes the ritual BBQ, which we Brits like to enjoy regardless of the weather from June through to September.  Each year my friend’s husband has a birthday BBQ in July (‘cos, y’know…that’s when his birthday is!) and it’s pretty much standard for me to have far too much to drink, and embarrass myself somehow.  As two of his only childless acquaintances, my friend Corinne and I tend to rock up and hit the cocktails hard.  I’m pretty sure his friends with young families either judge us horrendously as some kind of “Eddie & Patsy” display of shocking morals, or they watch in amusement and look back with rose coloured spectacles on their single days.  I haven’t yet been able to work out which it is!

 

However this year, the BBQ took an unexpected turn, when after cocktail number six, someone floated the idea of running the Wolf Run in the Spring.  For those who don’t know what the Wolf Run is, it’s a 5 or 10km run and obstacle course, where super-doopa-fit-athlete types, try to get round a cold muddy torture race without dying.  Naturally this was an idea I was going to scoff at, given that I do no exercise, and sometimes struggle to haul my body out of bed, never mind around an assault course…only…I didn’t scoff.  Nope, cocktails one through six for some reason convinced me that this was an amazing idea…and so I agreed to do it. 

 

So now here I am, on my lunch break, downloading a “running for weight loss” app to coach me up to 10km, so that I don’t actually die trying to do this blummin’ race.  Alcohol has a lot to answer for…as does summer…and BBQ’s.  Still, maybe if I start training now, I might get a little closer to that beach body!

Go Away Mother Nature - No'one Invited You!

It seems for me, that there comes a point on every diet plan when I have to admit that it’s no longer working for me.  Either I need the flexibility to be able to throw a ready meal in the microwave because it’s 9pm and I still haven’t eaten, or because for several weeks my weight has plateaued and I need to give it a kick start.

Slimming World didn’t work out for me in the end.  I think I became frustrated with the lack of imagination within the group setting.  I approached my leader to tell her that I’d love to see more variety than just spending an hour going round each member and discussing their half pound loss this week.  She bit back telling me I’d really upset her, and it was SW rules that dictated she run the meeting in this tedious and unhelpful format.

In her defence, she was young and new as a leader, (I hadn’t known this last part) and as I’d basically called her meetings dull and uninspiring, she probably felt like she was letting me down.  Unfortunately though her young and overly defensive reaction to my suggestion meant she could hardly look at me during the next couple of meetings, and I figured I probably wasn’t very welcome there anymore!  Recently I’ve toyed with apps such as MyFitnessPal, and various calorie counting apps, but the weight I’d lost just slowly crept back on.  I knew I needed a meeting to get me back into check, so I returned to the old faithful – Weight Watchers.

I’ve lost weight on WW before (about 22lbs ten years ago) so I know that if I stick to it religiously, it can definitely work for me, so I decided I was going to focus purely on the plan, and not factor in exercise too early.  As I went through the week, I was relieved to find following the plan fairly straight forward… However, my weigh in day is a Sunday, and on the Friday before, the dreaded monthly monster hit. 

Now let me tell you a little bit about me during those first few days of surfing the crimson wave.  I suffer from PMS like many women a few days before, and this usually manifests itself in mood swings which quite frankly will give you whiplash.  Giddy highs, through to raging temper tantrums, right down to sitting on my living room floor sobbing uncontrollably because I can’t find an angle to watch the TV at, where the light from the window isn’t reflecting onto the screen.  Honestly, I’m sat there blowing snot bubbles like a two year old, because I’m having a hormonal internal battle with myself over the fact that I’m desperate to watch another episode of Orange Is The New Black, but that it’s just not “proper” to have your curtains closed during the day,

These cray-cray mood swings pass (generally) before Aunt Flo arrives in town (I’m going to see just how many euphemisms for PERIOD I can actually get in this post), however when she does, I eat like someone’s told me the planet’s food supply is just about to run out.  I gorge myself on “naughty” food, and have been known to go to ASDA with the sole intention of stocking up on Doritos, Yum-Yums, ice cream, wine, Feminax and a plethora of sanitary products.  Seriously it’s ridiculous, but the looks of sympathy I get from the ladies on the checkout suggest I’m not unusual.  So you can understand what I’m up against - But this time I controlled myself.  I stuck to the plan…or so I thought.

 

On the Sunday, I took my bloated, cramping carcass to my first week weigh in, and was dismayed to find that I had put 1lb on!  This has got to be an all-time diet low for me.  Usually in the first week you are motivated by a great (admittedly mainly water) loss, and it spurs you on for the next week. I had expected to either stay the same or only lose half a pound because of how bloated I was, but I was pretty crushed to find I’d put on in my first week.

 

I came home, a little subdued at first, but I’m determined not to let it affect week two.  I planned my week’s meals and went straight to ASDA and shopped for the food I’d need.  I signed up for the monthly pass, and created a new Instagram account so that I could document all of my meals and helpful articles that I’ve found.  It’s a little self-indulgent I’ll admit, but if I’m going to be one of those w**kers who posts pictures of their dinner, I’d rather only people who want to see it do!  (Ooh, by the way, feel free to follow me on Instagram: @thelatenightdieter)

One of the main things I did however, was purchase a set of WW scales, which automatically calculate the SmartPoints™ in all of your food….well that was a revelation!  I measured out 40g of pasta, and realised that it is about half the size of the portion I’d been serving myself the week before! So maybe it wasn’t all bloating? I can see those little buggers are going to come in useful!

Either way I’m all set up for week two, and off to a flying start.  If you had a rubbish week too, then sod it, I figure our bodies throw us the odd curve ball to keep us on our toes…It’s all about whether you’re willing to grab that ball and throw it back.  In my case, I’m throwing it back and aiming for Mother Nature’s face!

Chivalry Isn't Dead, It's Just Sleeping!

Non-scale victories were mentioned at this week’s meeting (My first weigh in and I lost 4.5lbs...Yay me!).  When the scales aren’t showing you what you’d hoped for, look for the other little victories that have come as a result of your weight loss...for instance your clothes being too loose, or your bum not hanging over the edges of chairs anymore.  I liked this idea, because after just one week, and even though the scales were being kind (this time), I had a non-scale victory.  For the first time since I was in my early twenties, a man in the pub offered to buy me a drink.

This might not seem like much, but for me it was.  Now I should stress that I haven’t been beaten by the ugly stick or anything like that, but nowadays guys just don’t offer to buy drinks.  Gender equality, for all the marvelous good it has done, has unfortunately also killed chivalry.  Now I’m no princess, and whilst I’d never say that I expected a man to hold the door for me, or give up his seat for me in a crowded waiting room; The traditionalist inside me silently judges those men who don’t at least offer.

As a divorced woman in her early thirties, I am of course always keeping my eyes open for my next victim...*coughs* I mean, my next Mr Right, and without basic manners, and at list a hint of charm, I’m genuinely not interested. I’d rather buy a cat (or six).  I assume guys look at a girl like me and think: when there are so many girls willing to give up everything for free, why would I buy her a drink when I can’t guarantee it’ll get me anywhere?  They only tend to risk making that investment on girls who really stand out as knowing their own worth, because those women appear intriguing and challenging in the best of ways.  I unfortunately, don’t think I’m usually that woman!  Don’t get me wrong, I can see why guys are like this now.  It could get very expensive if they had to buy a drink for every girl they wanted to chat up, but I do think it’s a shame, because usually the ones who appreciate that chivalrous act are the ones who would be worth the investment.

You've got this buddy!

The drink for me was a non-scale victory.  In that moment as I chatted to him at the bar, I must have exuded confidence in my appearance and myself generally, due to the fact I was high on the success of my first week of the plan.  Even more though, I was flattered that he’d made the gesture...that he’d seen something I hadn’t up to this point.  It’s important to remember though, that in the spirit of equality, it’s not just down to the guys to make these gestures, and in a female dominated environment such as a weight loss club, the gestures we make towards the men in group are just as important.  I witnessed a genuinely touching act of support between two members at the meeting this week, which actually led to the discussion of non-scale victories. Perhaps it was just me, but I couldn’t help but feel that choosing to come to a group, and regularly surrounding yourselves with strangers willing to make those supportive gestures (let's face it, when you need them the most!), is in fact the biggest non-scale victory we can claim.  Because after all...it was our decision to suck it up and walk through the doors in the first place...so that little victory belongs to each and every one of us.

Nighty-Night.

Angels & Demons

This is my first week on the plan, and I'm not going to lie, I didn't expect my willpower to be tested this early on! For the last two days I've been working away from my usual workplace and instead I've been delivering a course just a few miles down the road.
My usual workplace in Milton Keynes has a lovely large restaurant with a giant salad bar, and jacket potatoes ready and waiting at lunch time. The course I've been delivering over the last two days however, has been at our UK distribution centre and they always cater for my delegates and I, by providing a buffet. Being prepared, naturally I'd already made myself a nice chicken salad, but as the food was brought in, the smell of soft doughy bread, hot Cajun wedges and meat kebabs had my mouth watering. Did I really want to break into my salad when that was on offer? As I looked at the salad that I'd lovingly prepared I found my internal monologue cursing it.



I don't know what it is with a buffet that makes it so tempting. In reality it's just finger food, but there's something about the sheer variety that you find on a buffet which makes is so appealing. It made me wonder though, here I was at war with myself internally over whether I could risk picking up a cheese and pickle sandwich, when my own Syn free salad was sat right in front of me! After a lot of strong words to the little devil version of me sat on my shoulder, I opted for the salad (phew!)...but what if I'd been going to a party where I didn't have a substitute to hand? Even if I had made the effort to eat before a party, could I honestly say I wouldn't have been tempted to grab a sandwich or a samosa? I haven't yet been able to answer my that question.
 
One thing I do know however, is that if we ignore all the gorgeous smells that wafted off that buffet...my salad actually looked a darned sight better!  The variety of colour from green mixed leaves, yellow sweetcorn, red tomatoes, pink radishes and orange peppers made the buffet look positively beige. The only greenery

Colour me happy!

present on the buffet were a few chunks of cucumber hidden inside a tuna mayo sandwich! I think ultimately that's what stopped me taking anything. I'm quite a visual creature and mine just looked better!  The more I looked at the browny-beige offering, the less inspired I was by it. In particular I noticed that the meat (of unknown origin) kebab that I had initially been so drawn to, very much resembled a skewered squirrel!
 
At the moment these little self discoveries about my eating habits and perceptions are empowering me to stay focused and really immerse myself in the plan. Revisiting my earlier question, I think I'd be naive to believe that being aware of my habits are enough to make feel I've changed them - especially at this early stage. There's a strong possibility that the little devil on my shoulder would convince me that it's okay to cheat because it's a "special occasion". However in the long run I suppose being self aware enough to admit it, might mean that in those moments, the little angel version of me on the other shoulder, may be able to shout loud enough to be heard!

Nighty-Night!

*Sigh* When You're Winning

In an effort to be fully prepared this week, and therefore in control, I decided to batch cook a load of meals for the week, including a rather lovely Slimming World Chili.  I cannot tell you how much I was looking forward to eating it when I got home today.  I usually drive to Milton Keynes every day for work (a rather delightful hour and twenty minute commute), however thankfully today I was working just seven miles down the road, meaning as I left work I’d already been salivating over the idea of chili for a good hour.  I think it’s because I knew it was so close!

When I decided to start Slimming World, one of the things that pushed me towards the plan was the idea that I could eat lots.  Other plans restrict your diet, however this one seemed to be saying; “Want to stuff your face? Okay, well here are a load of foods that you can stuff your face with!”  That’s pretty much what I told myself anyway...until I read an article this week.

The article was featured on bootiquefitness.com and was called “The Sigh – Language Of The Stomach”, and it talked about the fact that so often nowadays, people overeat because they miss the signals their body is sending them telling them that they’re no longer hungry.  It talked about a natural “physical sigh” (which takes place as you eat), which is your body’s way of telling you that food has replaced the air in your empty stomach, and you have now eaten enough.  For some people the sigh is more a sharp or deep intake of breath, for others it’s a burp (delightful)...but, it’s at this stage, that we should stop eating, pause and really question whether we’re still feeling hunger pangs.  If we aren’t, then we should finish eating.

My chili was completely Syn free, and combined with a medium sized jacket potato, could have been eaten in a vast quantity...I mean it’s delicious after all!  But somewhere in the back of my head, the various articles I’ve read online recently, and TV programmes focusing on diet and losing weight had embedded the idea of portion control in my subconscious.  So I didn’t make myself a massive portion.  I spooned two standard wooden spoon servings onto the jacket potato, and left it at that.  On my plate it looked pitiful.  The jacket potato was the size of one of my standard roast potatoes, and having drooled over the idea of the chili for hours, I was certain that I would be going back for seconds once I’d demolished this meagre offering.  With the article about The Sigh at the forefront of my mind though, I found that when it happened (and it really does!), I had only eaten the chili, and half of my tiny potato.




Naturally I questioned my body’s decision that it was indeed satisfied.  I mean I can understand it trying to drop a few not-so-subtle hints after I’ve chomped my way through ¾ of a Large Dominoes Ham & Pineapple Stuffed Crust, but after half a tiny potato?  Ridiculous!  I even started arguing with myself – clearly because I’m thinking about it, it’s a self fulfilling prophecy? Was that even The Sigh? Because it really just felt like a deep breath...probably because I’ve been eating too quickly.  In the time that I spent arguing with the various voices in my head, it suddenly occurred to me that I actually didn’t feel hungry any more.  I didn’t feel full, stuffed or bloated...But the niggling hunger pangs I’d been having since 4pm had gone, and I was in fact satisfied.

So I stopped eating.

It’s now five hours later, and I still don’t feel hungry.  I wondered if the Chinese food principle might apply; You know - where you eat a Chinese, feel as though you couldn’t eat another morsel again (ever!)...and then twenty minutes later you’re ravenous and have had to seek comfort in the bag of prawn crackers that you got as a freebie.  Turns out no, it doesn’t apply.  I feel fine.  My leftover’s went to the dog, who was very appreciative, and I haven’t needed to snack or anything this evening.

When you actually look through the Slimming World literature, it emphasizes that anything with a Syn value, or your A and B choices need to be weighed and measured, but everything free is available to us in unlimited quantities.  It has taken me until now to realise, that just because I can have as much as I want, doesn’t mean I should.  Part of changing my eating habits for the better has to include exercising restraint when it comes to portion control and to listen to what my body is telling me more often.  I’m going to try not to build my plate up with food just because I can, but if I do, and I achieve my Sigh-moment before I finish, I’m going to do my best to take the hint my body is giving me.  I’m not worried about wasting food, after all, if my body doesn’t need or want it, it’s a waste whether I throw it in the bin or down my neck!  Some days I’m sure it will take longer for me to reach The Sigh but the key is that I pay attention, and don’t ignore it when it happens.

Have a go tomorrow – listen for your own sigh/deep breath/burp.

Nighty-night!

The Cross Trainer Hates Me

As a rule I despise exercise.  The idea of dragging my chubby carcass to the gym in front of a room of spandex clad eighteen year old's, and getting that look of “oh look, here comes one of the January gym goer” fills me with resentment.  I mean, we didn’t complain when they visited our pubs in December!  However I know that in order for me to get the best results from Slimming World, I need to work towards one of my Body Magic awards.

Today’s gym session wasn’t actually too bad.  The gym wasn’t nearly as busy as I thought it would be, and with it being the local leisure complex gym, the gym bunny to normal person ratio was actually in my favour for once.  It’s been quite a while since I last went to the gym, and my first hurdle was actually getting through the barcode scanning turnstile that they have in the entrance.  These things never bloody work for me...I spent thirty seconds waving my membership card in front of it, only for nothing to happen.  By this point a queue of people also trying to get in had formed behind me.  Accepting defeat I attempted to turn, and head to the main reception to complain that my card wasn’t working.  There I was, one lone chubby girl trying to push back through a substantial queue, (I can only imagine that this is pretty much how salmon feel most days) when the damned thing finally decided to play ball, and I heard the clunk of admittance, and saw the big red LED arrow signalling I could enter.  This turnstile was a dick though, and timed out just as I’d made my way back and attempted to push through it.  This resulted in another thirty seconds of embarrassing card waving, and a painfully awkward wait for it to finally let me in.  I noticed that the next person in the queue had no such issues getting in, which I’m pretty sure means the turnstile has it in for me and me alone.

Once I was in though, and my wounded pride had got over itself, I headed straight for the cross trainer.  I’ve had a operations on both knees, so the lower impact nature of the cross trainer is great for me to clock up a good thirty minutes of continuous cardio.  In the past I’ve always chosen a manual programme on all of the machines, but inspired to burn some serious calories, I opted for the “Fat Burner” interval programme.  It’s at this point that I discovered...the cross trainer is also a dick.  The interval programme moves through levels of intensity when it comes to resistance, and for the first ten to fifteen minutes, the intensity gradually increased, then slowly decreased.  The last fifteen minutes however followed no such pattern.  In fact, in an effort to completely throw me, it jumped from a low resistance to the highest, this dick move #1 by the cross trainer effectively made me look like a tomato red Duracell bunny once my batteries had finally run down.  I mean I’d got a good stride going, and great pace, and the BAM! High resistance hell...It was like trying to wade through half-set cement!  I wasn’t going to be deterred though.  I pushed on...I’m a freaking athlete! Grrrr...My pace increased, I found my flow and before I knew it I’d found my rhythm again.  Cue cross trainer dick move #2...I’m steaming along at the higher resistance, when WHOOSH!  It drops to the minimum resistance.  Now have you ever started jogging down a slight incline, only for it to steepen suddenly?  Gravity takes hold and before you know it your legs are out of control in an effort to keep you on for feet, rather than face-plant and essentially roll down the rest of the hill...well that was me going from highest to lowest resistance on that blasted cross trainer.

Needless to say, whilst I managed to get a good forty-five minutes of cardio in overall, the cross trainer and turnstile are both in my bad books at the moment.  I can’t avoid the turnstile (pity), but I may have to avoid the cross trainer until I’ve cooled off.  My next adventure is going to involve the bike, and knowing my luck I’ll end up Bridget Jones-ing it off the bike with jelly legs.  

Either way I’m determined to find the exercise that’s right for me. So like food, I’m not going to dismiss anything until I’ve tried it.  That Body Magic award will be mine.  For now though, I’m going to bed to rest my aching muscles. Nighty-Night!