Katie, Kate and Kim!

I think anyone who’s ever been on a diet will tell you that you feel under pressure to stick to it and make it work. Part of the reason I started the blog was so that I could document my journey, share it with people going through something similar and just try and give an honest portrayal of why some people put on weight, because in a lot of cases it’s far more than just wanting to eat as much food as possible. 

   Occasionally I fall of my dieting wagon and this weekend was one of those times, it was my birthday on Saturday and I just couldn’t be good, in the words of my godson “I tried to be good, but I just couldn’t”. There was much booze consumed, many sweets eaten and I even allowed myself an ice cream. I figure though that once I reach my goal, there will be times when I’m in situations where I have a food treat and the trick is realising that I shouldn’t east like that all the time. So now I’m back on the straight and narrow and will be fully abusing the classes at my new gym, I’m even booked in to see a trainer and I have a fear and slight hatred of trainers, in the same way I slightly hated the P.E teachers at school.

Still my slinky mission is relatively private, apart from the lovely people who read my blog. I’m not on the front pages of magazines with everyone speculating how quickly I’ll “snap back into shape” It’s to this end I feel sorry for the likes of the Duchess of Cambridge and Kim Kardashian (who’d have thought I’d have mentioned those 2 names in the same sentence??)

  When Kate Middleton appeared on the steps of St Mary’s Hospital alongside Prince William clutching our future king, she looked incredible. Not 24 hours earlier she’d probably been screaming all kinds of things and swearing at Prince William. Still when she appeared on the steps, her hair looked neatly coiffed, her make up was done and she had on a lovely dress, which did reveal a slight baby belly. Some people criticised her for getting “dressed up”, but I think she was in a no win situation. The last thing she probably felt like doing was getting dolled up. She probably just wanted to leave the hospital in her pyjamas and make Prince William fetch a chippy supper so that when she got home she could put her feet up and watch back to back episodes of “America’s Next Top Model” Or have I confused her with what I’d want to do?

  Since her appearance on those steps certain magazines have run front covers about what her post baby fitness regime will be and how her personal trainer believes her tummy will just go back to it’s normal flat self. The general consensus is that Kate will be her slinky shiny glossy self within milli-seconds. There’s no wonder that normal women on a diet end up feeling like losers when you see celebrities back in their pre-baby jeans before the baby has even filled its first nappy.

  I’m not really a fan of Kim Kardashian, but during her pregnancy I started to feel really sorry for her, whilst the media praised every move Kate made and outfit she wore, poor Kim could do no right., Her swollen feet were compared to an ugly sister trying on Cinderella’s slipper, and there was a photo doing the rounds where one of her outfits was likened to that of Mrs Doubtfire. My favourite was the fact she was criticised for putting on weight! I mean really fancy a pregnant lady putting on weight – outrageous, she was clearly after attention!

  My point is this, there’s no wonder that as women (or indeed men) we get disheartened when, within the first week of being on a diet we haven’t become our ideal weight, so we give up. I’ve been on my slinky mission since last October and I’ve lost 2 ½ stones, and alright maybe by now I thought I’d be knocking a loss of 4 maybe 5 stone, but I see it this way: I’m 2 ½ stone lighter than I was this time last year, I’ve taken it at my own pace and I’m learning a lifestyle, so that when I do reach my goal weight I know that I can allow myself the odd birthday treat, but that once it’s done I can go back to a healthy way of eating. I’m also learning to control my emotional eating, so I don’t turn to food when I’m upset any longer, I do something else that makes me smile (have a bubble bath, walk the dog, watch my favourite TV show etc.)

  Weight loss is a personal journey and you should take it at your own pace, a pace that suits your body. I think if I was Kate or Kim I’d be inclined to raise 2 fingers to the media (maybe Kim could get away with this more than Kate) and tell them that I was going to enjoy some time with my baby and worry about my skinny jeans when I was getting a decent night’s sleep!

Knickers

Two pounds on this week, which I’m not too mortified about because I know where it’s come from (stuffing my face with an Chinese and an Indian) but I am back on the straight and narrow, my newly plugged in and moved fridge is now full of salad and vegetables. I’ve also set myself a challenge this week of trying to cook some healthy recipes I’ve never tried before, so later on I’m off to the supermarket with an actual proper shopping list!

  Whilst I’ve been unpacking my clothes, I was amazed at the things I own that I’d forgotten about. I was shocked by the number of pairs of magic knickers I own! I appear to have them in a variety of colours and sizes. I think for most women a pair of magic knickers are a staple wardrobe item, they tuck you in, suck you up and then weirdly push the fat they’re sucking and tucking in out under your arm pits, because lets face it that excess fat has to spill out somewhere! 

I remember talking about magic knickers at work once and a lady I used to work with who came up to me in the kitchen to ask me what they were.

  “Jenny” was one of these ladies who was so posh you couldn’t really work out how old she was. She still referred to her Mum as “Mummy” and used words like “aghast” in general conversation. I think she was about mid 40’s to early 50’s and had a cracking figure. She was always off down the gym and would even go running on holiday. I remember her describing in minute detail a run she’d been on in some Spanish hills. My holidays usually consist of me coming back knowing the recipe of a local cocktail, which is probably why she had her figure and me mine. It’s probably no great surprise that she had no clue what magic knickers were. I remember explaining what they were and how they worked. The look on her face must have been very similar to the one that Leonardo Da Vinci got when he was trying to explain to his mate that he’d had this idea for a flying thing that could be called a helicopter. “Jenny” wandered out the kitchen looking aghast (see I can use it in general conversation too) and I can only assume she went back into her office to speak to the other skinny ladies in there about whether they’d ever heard of “magic knickers”

  Now I’ve found my magic knickers again, I shall be wearing them again devil may care. As I pegged them on the line yesterday I thought about my Aunty Dolly. My Aunty Dolly lived her whole life in a picturesque cottage in Blackwell, she was born there, sadly died there and never ventured as far as Nottingham. She was one of those gloriously bonkers Auntys, who when you left her house, she’d send you off with half a tea service, a tomato and a calendar from 1982. Her and my Gran had been friends since they were little and I remember taking my Gran over to see her. As I sat on a stool drinking my tea, they started talking about knickers. Aunty Dolly said she never hung her “breeches” on the line because she didn’t want her neighbours looking at her pants. My Gran pointed out that her neighbours probably thought she didn’t wear any. A few days later my Aunty Dolly phoned my Gran to say she’d thought of a solution to the “breeches” issue she’d bought some stunt pants and would be hanging them on the line, so her neighbours would never get to see her real pants. There’s a part of me that has always hoped my Aunty Dolly’s stunt pants were some black lacy thongs.

Is Honesty Always the Best Policy?

As this blog is about honesty, I’ll start by being honest and saying my hopes for when I get on the scales this week are pretty low. I moved house on Sunday and as most of my possessions have been in boxes, I have frequented one too many takeaway houses over the weekend, enjoying both Chinese and a curry, which has been washed down with a Tequila beer. 

Looking at it in a positive way at least I’ll know where my weight gain will have come from. I hate it when you’ve been good all week and somehow manage to put weight on. 

  In another bid to tell you the truth, I enjoyed the takeaway food immensely; it seemed the perfect reward for sweating my ass off moving house on what was probably the hottest day of the year so far!

  If you’ve never been to a fat club meeting before then they basically work like this;  you turn up get weighed and then there’s a meeting, where the leader gives you advice on ways you can cut down on your calorie intake or boost the exercise you do. They are in no way like a Marjorie Dawes sketch from “Little Britain”

The meeting I go to is great it’s full of women - Mums and slightly bonkers older ladies. There’s always a tale to tell and if we weren’t on the straight and narrow food wise,  I get the feeling we’d probably all sit round having a brew and eating a Victoria sponge made by Marion. In all seriousness, I normally come away feeling quite inspired and with a list of things I can eat that I didn't know were quite low in points (Oreos are only a point a biscuit & they’re my favourite)

  Last week, one lady was telling the class how she’d had to go to the doctors and he’d told her she was “grossly overweight”, when she’d told him she’d already lost 2 stone and was committed to the Weight Watchers plan he had apparently ignored her and shrugged his shoulders. The whole class was in uproar, how very dare he say something so cruel and not commend her on her efforts so far. To put this into perspective this lady was a size 14 / 16, so she looked pretty good. Together the class was united in our distaste for this man. Had he been there, I felt he would have been marched to the front of the class and forced to stand on a box to explain himself. We would have jeered him and thrown rotten fruit at him (the stuff we’d all bought with the intention of being good and eating throughout the week, but had gone off because we’d decided chocolate was more fun)

  As we offered our support, a voice piped up. It was the font of knowledge and wisdom that is Karen, with her hair dyed 50 shades of red in leggings that stretched a little too far and a t-shirt displaying 4 boob syndrome, she said “isn’t it best to be honest?” Her statement filled the class, her words hanging in the air like a secret fart in a lift. We all stopped our shouts of support and had the doctor really been stood there at the front of the class on that box with our rotten fruit dripping down his furrowed brow, that would have been the point he thought he would have been saved.

  However as we all turned to look at Karen, collectively we decided to ignore her, which with Karen really is the best policy.

She Wore an Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

Looks like my efforts at Wimbledon were worth it, another half pound gone. This week I’m moving house, the removal men are booked for Sunday, most things are packed in boxes and I’m in the process of emptying my freezer so my menu choices this week will be slightly random and involve lots of frozen veg. I’m hoping this means I'll have a fairly decent weight loss next week!

  Once I’ve moved then a holiday is definitely on the cards, a week in the sunshine to help me recover from box packing hell!

  As much as I love lazing on a sunbed I hate putting my swimsuit on because I’m always conscious of the fact there’s a million people around me who look better. I haven’t worn a bikini in years, mainly because the idea of being heckled by the locals scares me or even worse being asked, “when it’s due?”. Normally on holiday I role out of bed, squirt on some deodorant and put on whatever swimsuit I’ve managed to find that fits. I tie my hair back and off I go. The day then consists of me trying to position myself on a sunbed so that I look as less fat as possible and moving quickly to get into the pool to avoid being semi-naked in front of people for any length of time.  I spend most of the day imagining the other guests whispering behind their hands about how I must have no shame to look like I do and be out in public and why don’t I just go on a diet? I’m sure their conversations really consist of what cocktail to try next or relaying the plot of whatever book they’re reading to the other half

 Still the next time I go away, I’ve decided I’m having a “beach look”, if I’m going to wander around semi naked in public, I’m going to do it with confidence. I’ve worked hard to lose the weight I’ve lost so far and by the time I go away I hope to have lost another stone and a half. Every year in magazines there’s articles on how to look good on the beach and I always think “well that’s lovely, but you’re definition of curvy is a size 12 on a bad day”, so I’ve decided no more will I shrink away wearing the only swimsuit I can find that fits or something I’ve picked up for a fiver in the sales that involves me spending my holiday shoving my boobs back into it or wondering why a barman is smiling at me, only to realise I’ve been flashing my nipple at him for the last half an hour. I’m going to look switswoo!

I don’t mean I’m going to turn into one of those women who rocks up on an episode of “Maury” wearing a mini skirt with her ass hanging out the bottom and a crop top. A bikini is really a no-no, pants covered by belly overhang is not a good look! Instead I’m going to buy a couple of more expensive, but better fitted tankinis, ones that have panels to suck you in and come in your actual bra size. Bravissimo have some lovely ones at the moment. http://www.bravissimo.com/products/swimwear/#/1

  Then, because I’m not keen on my legs and bum, I’m going to buy a couple of sarongs There's loads of cheap ones in the supermarkets at the moment. That way I can cover my legs as I lounge on my sunbed and not worry about anyone breaking into a chorus of “thunder, thunder, thunder, thunder, thunder thighs”

  I may even treat myself to a kaftan, as I always think these look really glamorous particularly if worn with a big sunhat and oversized sunglasses! Marisota have some great ones.http://bit.ly/19T0vQx

  I’m even going to make an effort to make sure my nails are painted (toes and fingers) and when I get out of bed in a morning do more with my hair than scrunch it up in a bobble. I’ve even priced up some beads so I can make myself a couple of bracelets that won’t go manky in the pool.

As I see it, I’m never going to compete with someone who’s a size 8 when we’re both in swimwear, but I can make an effort to at least make sure I feel good in what I’m wearing. That way as I strut to the bar for a Strawberry Daiquiri (or something less fattening) I don’t care about my slightly oversized bottom, because it’s clothed in something fabulous!

Opinions are Like A*****es Everyone Has One!

So I’ve not managed to lose all my holiday weight yet, but I did manage to knock off half a pound yesterday. I was a bit disappointed, but then I remembered it was the equivalent to a bag of sugar and that’s quite heavy.

  After the meeting, Lucy and I went to the local supermarket, there we bumped into Karen (remember her from blog number 2 – “Fat Barren and Dead”) the more I talk to Karen, the more I think she has no concept of personal space. Before I knew it, her & her newly dyed red hair (think Holly off “Geordie Shore”) were stood a fraction too close and she was saying in a loud voice “how did you do this morning?”, when I told her I’d lost half a pound, she declared in an even louder voice that she’d lost a pound & then for reasons known only to Karen she then put Lucy in charge of monitoring what I was going to eat for the coming week. I must have missed the point where Karen "the supermodel" was put in charge of my life, plus I have actually LOST weight this week!

 We bid Karen good bye and toddled off around the supermarket, I felt I regained some power when I noticed her reaching into the chilled cabinet for a large chocolate tart, which she put in her basket. Smug in the knowledge that I was buying strawberries, chicken and a magazine, I remarked "how cold it was" and made sure she knew that I knew what she'd done! I look forward to asking her loudly next week how she's done!

  At the checkout, the cheery cashier was trying to tempt everyone with the 49p large bar of chocolate they had on “special offer” the woman in front of us cracked and said she’d like one. When it got to me and I was asked the same question, I stood firm and declined the bargain chocolate and remarked “oohh I’ve just come from weight watchers, I’ll be on the naughty step next week if I eat that” I think I accidentally pressed the button to some flood gates, because all of a sudden I was hit by the once cheery cashier’s vitriol for the and I quote “multi million pound diet industry that take advantage of people” she didn’t stop there, she then proceeded to tell me that she’d once lost 2 stone on slimming world and it had cost her a thousand pounds. She didn’t like weight watchers because she didn’t see why she had to count alcohol on her points “it’s just a drink” she sneered “you don’t eat it” Finally she slapped her hands down on the check out and proclaimed “you are what you eat and life’s too short for counting calories”

  With that me and my bag of strawberries, chicken and magazines were dismissed presumably to ponder the error of our ways.

 This is an attitude I’ve come across a lot, particularly from people who obviously want to diet themselves, but for their own reasons aren’t in the place to do it. I’m not judging them for that because I genuinely believe a diet starts in your head, if you’re not mentally in the right place to do it then you wont stick it. What I resent though, are those people who try to sabotage what I’m doing, I call them the “one wont hurt you brigade” They notice you’re starting to look better and seem more content in yourself so they try and trip you up. Tell you they know someone who lost all their weight to promptly put it all back on again, so why bother in the first place? Or there’s those that are more proactive and turn up at your house with your favourite cake!

  I have bought many a bar of chocolate over the years, most times when I was buying them I’d think the cashier was thinking to herself “that’s the last thing you need to be eating fattie” Little did I know it was NOT buying chocolate that would cause me the most grief, still even though I ignored her 49p bargain, I do allow myself a flake - well they're only 2 points!