Some Conversations Hit Hard

I went to see my beloved great aunt today in hospital and was struck with severe nostalgia and love for her that resulted in a new feeling of determination to reach goal weight.

As we shared stories of childhood, I remembered that there was a time when I was loved by one woman, in a way that left me incapable of being unhappy for the days I was with her. I was much loved as a child by many people, but my aunt was free from paternal obligations to discipline, correct or explain which meant that time spent together was full of fun, ice cream and games of Uno.

Suddenly today, I was aware of being a little girl again, looking on at my younger self if you like. Through this I realised that I have a true contract with that girl which I need to honour. It might sound corny or trite to some, it even does to me but I would never commit a child to a life of obesity and unhappiness, so why would I do it to myself.

What do you accept in your life that you wouldn’t accept for another? What would you do for your own child but would never do for yourself? Think about it for just a second, please.

You never know what little treasures can come your way in the course of a day…

Why, Oh Why?

Whilst society tends to take a “poor them” approach when faced with emotionally torn people who hit the bottle or indeed the town when distressed, a less empathetic opinion is formed for those that hit the pantry.

In my house, we (and I mean “he”) has fallen into the habit of going walkabout on a Saturday afternoon, returnng guilty faced sometime before dinner on a Sunday. Even though it would be easy for me to go down the “A phone call is all I ask” track, I’m not that predictable.

Or maybe I am? 

I found myself consuming a bag of salt and vinegar chips (bought for his truly), half a block of chocolate and a litre of soda water (at least I had sense there) at 2 am this morning. In a slight panic based on ‘I can’t sleep’, ‘Someone might break in and kill me’ and the classic, ‘Do we have anything in common after all?’, I habitually and slowly consumed more calories than I normally would in a few days.

And for someone who has worked so hard to lose an initial 15 and a half kilos (34 pounds), I felt the shame of a self-inflicted giant leap back. So even if the distasteful image of a fat girl stuffing her face lingers in your mind, I ask you to think about what you do in time of trouble. Be honest.

But just quietly, if memories of hitting the gym for hours come to mind…no need to comment here.

Save Yourselves…Say Yes!

Twenty kilometers from where I live lays the Mecca of shopping in the southern hemisphere. A dreadful place; there lies all shopping experiences from Tiffany & Co., to discount Two Dollar Shops. Yesterday I had my sights set on Target.

I hadn’t been to Target for years, as I felt it had developed into being “too classy” for me (I only wish that was a joke). So after schlepping from the car park and choosing my items, I progressed to the checkout, where a very strange thing happened.

After the young assistant beep-beeped through my items she asked me if I would like to buy a bag. I actually heard myself thinking and the process was much like this: 

• Oh no, I should buy a bag to look good and green.
• Seriously, she’s guilting me into the eco-bag.
• I have 15 of them at home already.
• Can’t we just get a bag…ever?
• If it’s so important she should just give me a green one.
• Bugger this. I’m standing up for myself!

Now before you give me what for, yes I understand that plastic bags are bad for the environment. Yes, I appreciate I shouldn’t under any circumstances condone the use of them. And seeing as you asked, yes I do take my green bags to the supermarket and am more than happy to carry a few items without any bag at all.

But for some reason, yesterday I took exception to the general consensus that if at any time I’m offered, I should fork out another few dollars for an eco-bag. And if said store has biodegradable plastic bags, don’t you dare charge me! You’re a major corporation; you can pick up the bill thank you very much!

“Actually, No.” I replied firmly.

“Groovy!” cashier chirped. Really? Groovy?

Having paid, we had a slight stare-off. It was only when she gently pushed my items towards me that I realized with shock-horror that I was not being supplied a bag of any description, free of charge.

Too stubborn and embarrassed to do anything else, I took underwear, socks, stockings, t-shirts and even a pair of size 12 men’s dessert boots under my arm and started the schlep back to where I had come from, which I swear was at least a kilometer away.

So for the sake of the earth, your dignity, pride, and just so you don’t have to flap your size 18 knickers around for the world to see…

Just buy the damn bag!

The High Point of Lows

In the spirit of full self disclosure, I contacted my loved ones and admittedly, some mutual participants in a few loosely formed friendships to let them know I was starting down the road of fatty emancipation.

That was early last year- 2009. When I arrived at the start of August, and had actually gained 3 kilos, I realised that a clumsily fashioned weight loss plan consisting of diet shakes and broccoli was not going to do the trick. Having already exposed myself to over thirty people (and gained a charitable donation for each kilo lost from most members), I realised that I couldn’t pretend I had never said anything, even though I am sure most would have been polite enough not to ask me.

Two days after that fateful day in August, I walked into weight watchers. Each month, I have sent a detailed account to those supporting me, detailing my failures and losses. Seven months down the track, I’ve hit my first milestone.

This is the email…

Hello Supporters,
 
I’ve just got one thing to say… 

“Ooh Eeh Ooh Ah Ah Ting Tang Walla Walla Bing Bang”

Today I finally reached a weight loss of 15kg (33 pounds)! Yes, it has taken me 7 months at Weight Watchers (an average 2 kilo loss a month) and no, it’s not in line with “biggest loser” expectations but I’m quietly proud as punch.
 
When I started this, I thought the weight would just slip off as quickly as it piled on but alas, it’s a bit more involved than that. Whilst the shakes, pills and the elusive goji berry have called may name when I lost little or no weight, I held strong and continued to weigh, measure, prod and poke my food the good ol’ fashioned weight loss way.

I’ve got a way to go yet, another 20kg in fact but I AM going to make it. Can’t wait to get to 18kg…don’t ask me why, it just sounds like an exciting number!
 
A heartfelt thank you for the sideline cheering!

As exciting as this self-affirming diversion has been, must run…I mean plod to the next weight loss goal!
 
Love (Hauling)

 

Even though some might be asking the question as to why it is taking me so long, or even worse, venturing to ask “Are you sure you should be eating that?” (enter Toolman), the support I have gratefully accepted has extended to those here in this forum.

And for that, I have been delightfully surprised!

The Little Road Trip That Was

Just passed, I enjoyed a long weekend with the Toolman throwing caution to the wind and consuming more calories than was probably necessary in the spirit of “having a good time”. More than once I heard my sister sitting on my shoulder, communicating in a ghost like whisper, “chooooooose the chicken salad…chooooooooose the grilled fish”….

“Shut up will you!” I fought back but then reminded myself she was only there to help me, not to ruin my fun. In truth, I obsessed about what I was putting in my mouth the whole weekend; proud when I chose the fish and guilty when I ordered that panna cotta.

The Toolman and I generally enjoyed our time away in turns, indulging in activities that pleased one or the other but rarely at the same time:

Sleep-in: Me

Train ride: Toolman

Coffee and paper: Me

Boat ride: Toolman

Bookshop: Me

Scenic drive: Toolman

As you may have figured out, riding in a moving vehicle of any kind pleases hubby, whilst sitting and doing nothing pleases myself. Add to this the general principle that for any married couple, being in a moving vehicle is a breeding ground for arguments, the weekend was fraught with loved-up danger.

To illustrate, consider the activity referred to as “boat ride” above. What this actually entailed was the toolman convincing me he was going to row me romantically around a scenic lake, but in reality meant squeezing into a too small, bright yellow life jacket and peddling my way around in circles for the pleasure of all those sipping coffee and overlooking the lake.

You know the ones- bright, plastic contraptions that you both sit in and frantically peddle while murky water splashes out the back. To make matters worse, the toolman was not content with chugging through deep water; he insisted on skirting round the edges of the lake, over rocks and banging into pontoons.

 “Go around it” I spat, “People are looking!”

 “I don’t care, this is fun”, he was a little boy in heaven.

“Stop it! Go around!”…. “Erhhhh..Idiot!”

What made it worse was the couple floating in the center of the lake, in the middle of a full blown proposal, ring in hand, which set us both off. I’m not sure but I think what we did next could be classed as stalking; me trying to casually float on by to get close enough to hear, Toolman churning enough water out the back to make that impossible, just to annoy me.

“Slow down! I can’t hear!”

After all the excitement, I nearly forgot how uncomfortable I so obviously was in that tiny lifejacket. And even though admittedly it was probably an extra large, for just a moment, I didn’t mind.

A Camera Click and Dash for Cover

There’s nothing like a photo to shock you into a calorie deprived stoicism that rivals even the most dedicated organic-eating-water-drinking-carbophobic-skinny-minny.

Thanks to Facebook, even the most discerning Fatty cannot immunise themselves against the flagrant attack their friends seem hell-bent on launching, without diversion, straight into fatty’s heart. Over the top you say? Absolutely! But can I venture to stay…

BLOODY WELL STOP IT!

Yes, I am fully aware that I am overweight. I do not however want this reflected in digital form for all to see. It not only gives fatties everywhere the opportunity to zoom in and pan across images of themselves they despise; it gives others the opportunity to gaze at wobbly bits without the distraction of our over-engaging-over-compensating-very-funny-story!

Add another important variable into this state of affairs. When I look in the mirror, fully dressed, ready to go out, I think I look at least passable. That at minimum, people won’t notice me and at best I don’t offend. In truth, sometimes I think I look quite nice, all things considered. This thinking, my friends, is for my very survival.

After going through the rigmarole of viewing oneself from all angles (side with stomach sucked in, stomach out, from front on with shoulders straight, front on shoulders slumped, belly out, belly in…you get the drift), one must pull themselves up straight, think positively and grab their keys. For if I looked at the situation through clear eyes, I wouldn’t go anywhere at all.

And then, unsuspectingly, you log onto Facebook and someone has snapped you without you knowing (which means belly out) and BANG…your heart sinks as you realise the situation is much worse than you realised.

But I’ve lost 14 kilos! But I’m lighter now! I even sprayed myself  last week with fake tan! How can I look like this? And then, you finally drag your gaze away from fleshy thighs and look upwards towards your eyes and it’s even worse.

Sad eyes are hard to cover up. Anatomically, my eyes are the same as those of my former, slimmer self. Inside, I am the same person, with the same gregarious attitude to life but I am covered with all this extra…stuff…that weighs me down.

And whilst I understand that those who “tag” others in photos on Facebook are probably well meaning and more concerned with how they look in the photo than their loved ones, I beg of you: Look at the whole picture, imagine you are each person in the photo and ask yourself whether you would like to be put out there on Stalk-book…I mean Facebook.

I have a dear friend who would innocently ask of me, “What? You look good!” She has said this about me for as long as I have known her and for most of my life I believed her. It’s a lovely sentiment but even she now half yells frantically…”I won’t take one of you!” as she pulls a camera from her bag. My cousin now hands me her camera to delete any I don’t like before she even has a chance to look at them. Bless!

But sadly, for someone who used to slap on a cheesy grin at the hint of a “click” or unrelated “flash”, this is just the way I like it.