Yesterday was okay. The test itself wasn't remotely difficult, all I had to do was just lie down and have flashing lights in my eyes for fifteen minutes and then breathe like Darth Vader during hayfever season for three minutes and then they let me have a kip. Staying awake for twenty-four hours prior to that, however, was pretty tough going. Between half past two and half past three I felt ridiculously hyper, between four and six I thought I was going crazy and felt like my eyeballs were going to fall out of their sockets. The worst part was the car journey to the hospital, I couldn't keep my eyes open!! I must've looked dreadful. I certainly felt like I'd died three weeks earlier and my body was just in the process of catching up with me...
When it finally came to the time the nurse let me sleep, and how I managed to stay awake through the rest of the test is still beyond me, as luck would have it - no sooner did I close my eyes than the workmen outside thought it'd be a great idea to start drilling the pavement. Not even a euphemism. Still, after approximately 28 hours, even if they'd started drilling in the exam room I wouldn't have noticed, I was out like a light for fifteen glorious minutes. Sigh. It was great.
Anyway, that's all over now and hopefully I won't have to do it again.
But today was my second weigh-in after a week of generally being good and refusing yummy stuff and being completely sober, I hopped back on the scales, waiting to see how I'd done. The llamas got their new leg-warmers on especially for the occasion, ready at any moment to put on the fiesta of all fiestas. I crossed my fingers, I thought thin thoughts, I said the magic words "Please don't let me put any weight on...!" and then looked at the number on the scales...
It was exactly the same. Exactly. To the ounce. Absolutely nothing had altered.
Positives: Hey, at least I didn't put any on!
Negatives: WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!! What is the point in life?!!? Nothing is worth anything!! I AM POINTLESS!!! I should just die now and save the NHS time and expense on treating any future weight-related health issues!!!! *sob*
After having a mini-breakdown and writing seven different versions of a suicide note, I told my Mum when she came to visit. She said she'd been weighed the previous day and hopped on the scales to see what it said about her. If they're to be believed she put half a stone on in less than 24 hours... Then she said that the scales were actually third-hand and not very good.
So.... erm... Well, the llamas haven't done a fiesta today because we're all scratching our heads in confusion.
I'm changing the scales and getting weighed again tomorrow so I can start all over again. So the llamas will have an extra week to work on their routine. It will be spectacular. Or at least it should be.
Flippin' scales. They do have a habit of spoiling people's day. But they won't do next week!!!
Showing posts with label blip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blip. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
Monday, 6 January 2014
Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off, Start All Over Again
So, yes, it's been ages.
2013 was officially the worst year of my life. Turning 30, surprisingly, was the least traumatic event of the year. Most of my pals know the main things that have happened to my family and I this past year, and just one of them would've been enough to send anyone over the edge - but the culmination of all the traumas ended up with me completely losing it in July and I've been too ill to work since.
Not to mention the fact that the RSPCA have revoked my llama-keeping licence. I sent the boys on holiday to Bolivia and apparently that makes me responsible for the veritable epidemic of llamas in Bolivia. Trust me, nobody was more surprised than I was. All this time I thought they were gay.
Anyway. Now it's 2014 and I haven't stopped thinking about the fact that I've hit the big Three-Oh and still not actually achieved anything I'd set out to achieve. My twenties were mostly a dreadful waste of time and energy. I don't even remember most of them, they were such a non-event. And I'm buggered if I'll waste my thirties in the same way. I don't want to wake up one morning and suddenly realise I'm 40 and be at the same point in my life that I'm at now.
So that's sort of part of the reason I've decided to lose weight again. For the last time. I've really no intention of putting myself through this more than twice. I haven't weighed myself yet but I'm pretty sure I've put all five stone and then some back on. To be honest, the way last year panned out I'm amazed I haven't put twice as much back on. But last year is over. It's time to stop moping and wallowing and sort myself out once and for all. And with everything else spinning horribly out of control - the one thing in my life I do have any say over is what I put into this colossal sphere with limbs known as my body. Maybe if I can get one thing under control, other things might follow. One thing at a time, and all that.
After having lost weight and put it on again, I am aware of a few things. My size actually is important in the way I feel about myself, no matter how much I would like to believe otherwise. I don't judge other people by their size or their looks, and most normal people don't - but I really don't need any excuse to find something to hate and judge myself over. Although intrinsically I'm the same person I always have been, I do know that when I was a bit smaller I wasn't so terrified of going out in public. I'm never going to think I'm in any way awesome, but I know I did get to the stage where I didn't feel like I was too fat and too ugly to live any more. That was quite a nice feeling. I never felt pretty, but I at least felt average-looking, which was a really huge leap for me. Perhaps that's the ceiling. I can't be proud of myself and I can't love myself or like myself - but I KNOW I managed to feel OK about myself. I'd like to feel OK again.
I am not going to rejoin Slimming World, however, I am going to try and stick to the principles of it as closely as I can. It isn't a diet a person can realistically live with for the rest of their life, but there's no denying that their methods do work, Also, I don't want to set myself a time-based target to lose weight by, because I know it took me years to get this gigantic and it's going to take a similar length of time to start looking like a person again. So if by June I haven't lost three stone or whatever little goal I might have in mind, I don't want to freak out about it. It'll happen eventually because I'm going to have to make it happen. Sadly, nobody's gonna come along, wave a magic wand and transform me into Scarlett Johansson!! I have a dress size in mind, rather than a weight. It takes longer to lose a dress size than it does to lose a pound, so that's why I'll be weighing myself once a week. Last time my big letdown was the fact I didn't really exercise, so I know I need to prioritise doing that. Even if it does look like I'm gaining weight at first - someone please remind me that muscle weighs more than fat!!
I'm going to keep the blog going again as well. It's good therapy for me and you never know, hopefully it might help other people too - especially people who've lost a significant amount of weight and then put it back on. It happens. I know I'm not the only one who's done it - and it's nice to know that other people feel the same way and have the same experiences. Being fat is isolating enough without feeling like you're the only one who feels the way you feel. Yes, you do feel ashamed of yourself for being weak enough to get yourself back to the very place you didn't want to be in - but you don't just have one go at weight-loss. For some people it's not an issue, but for a lot of us it is truly a battle - and the one thing you need in a battle is support from your pals. I know how much the support of all my friends meant to me and how much it genuinely helped me keep going when I thought I couldn't back in 2012, and I know I can't do it again without the same encouragement.
I've binned the chocolate. I've knocked booze on the head. Bread and I are no longer friends. I am going to adopt my game face, I will have a cast-iron resolve and hey, eventually - I will have one hell of a wardrobe. In the meantime, I've got work to do.
Now then, where did I put my Skip-It?!?!
2013 was officially the worst year of my life. Turning 30, surprisingly, was the least traumatic event of the year. Most of my pals know the main things that have happened to my family and I this past year, and just one of them would've been enough to send anyone over the edge - but the culmination of all the traumas ended up with me completely losing it in July and I've been too ill to work since.
Not to mention the fact that the RSPCA have revoked my llama-keeping licence. I sent the boys on holiday to Bolivia and apparently that makes me responsible for the veritable epidemic of llamas in Bolivia. Trust me, nobody was more surprised than I was. All this time I thought they were gay.
Anyway. Now it's 2014 and I haven't stopped thinking about the fact that I've hit the big Three-Oh and still not actually achieved anything I'd set out to achieve. My twenties were mostly a dreadful waste of time and energy. I don't even remember most of them, they were such a non-event. And I'm buggered if I'll waste my thirties in the same way. I don't want to wake up one morning and suddenly realise I'm 40 and be at the same point in my life that I'm at now.
So that's sort of part of the reason I've decided to lose weight again. For the last time. I've really no intention of putting myself through this more than twice. I haven't weighed myself yet but I'm pretty sure I've put all five stone and then some back on. To be honest, the way last year panned out I'm amazed I haven't put twice as much back on. But last year is over. It's time to stop moping and wallowing and sort myself out once and for all. And with everything else spinning horribly out of control - the one thing in my life I do have any say over is what I put into this colossal sphere with limbs known as my body. Maybe if I can get one thing under control, other things might follow. One thing at a time, and all that.
After having lost weight and put it on again, I am aware of a few things. My size actually is important in the way I feel about myself, no matter how much I would like to believe otherwise. I don't judge other people by their size or their looks, and most normal people don't - but I really don't need any excuse to find something to hate and judge myself over. Although intrinsically I'm the same person I always have been, I do know that when I was a bit smaller I wasn't so terrified of going out in public. I'm never going to think I'm in any way awesome, but I know I did get to the stage where I didn't feel like I was too fat and too ugly to live any more. That was quite a nice feeling. I never felt pretty, but I at least felt average-looking, which was a really huge leap for me. Perhaps that's the ceiling. I can't be proud of myself and I can't love myself or like myself - but I KNOW I managed to feel OK about myself. I'd like to feel OK again.
I am not going to rejoin Slimming World, however, I am going to try and stick to the principles of it as closely as I can. It isn't a diet a person can realistically live with for the rest of their life, but there's no denying that their methods do work, Also, I don't want to set myself a time-based target to lose weight by, because I know it took me years to get this gigantic and it's going to take a similar length of time to start looking like a person again. So if by June I haven't lost three stone or whatever little goal I might have in mind, I don't want to freak out about it. It'll happen eventually because I'm going to have to make it happen. Sadly, nobody's gonna come along, wave a magic wand and transform me into Scarlett Johansson!! I have a dress size in mind, rather than a weight. It takes longer to lose a dress size than it does to lose a pound, so that's why I'll be weighing myself once a week. Last time my big letdown was the fact I didn't really exercise, so I know I need to prioritise doing that. Even if it does look like I'm gaining weight at first - someone please remind me that muscle weighs more than fat!!
I'm going to keep the blog going again as well. It's good therapy for me and you never know, hopefully it might help other people too - especially people who've lost a significant amount of weight and then put it back on. It happens. I know I'm not the only one who's done it - and it's nice to know that other people feel the same way and have the same experiences. Being fat is isolating enough without feeling like you're the only one who feels the way you feel. Yes, you do feel ashamed of yourself for being weak enough to get yourself back to the very place you didn't want to be in - but you don't just have one go at weight-loss. For some people it's not an issue, but for a lot of us it is truly a battle - and the one thing you need in a battle is support from your pals. I know how much the support of all my friends meant to me and how much it genuinely helped me keep going when I thought I couldn't back in 2012, and I know I can't do it again without the same encouragement.
I've binned the chocolate. I've knocked booze on the head. Bread and I are no longer friends. I am going to adopt my game face, I will have a cast-iron resolve and hey, eventually - I will have one hell of a wardrobe. In the meantime, I've got work to do.
Now then, where did I put my Skip-It?!?!
Friday, 7 September 2012
Sleeves Firmly Rolled Up
Normally, as you know, I get pretty narked when I put weight on after a week of being good.
However, this week, I've put half a pound on, and although the llamas haven't come out for a celebratory fiesta (although to be fair they had two fiestas last week so they could do with a break), I'm really not too worried about it.
This is good because I've taken into account that for the first couple of days since my last weigh in I was still a bit wobbly on the diet before getting back on it properly on Monday so I haven't really had a week of being good, I've had about four days of being good. I've also taken into account the fact that I've drunk a lot more water this week, mostly due to the fact I've walked everywhere. I've walked about four miles a day over the last week, which doesn't seem like much but it's more than twice as far as I usually walk, so for me, it's loads, and I've probably developed a teensy tiny bit of muscle. Not to mention the fact I've worked full-time which always screws up my diet plans, and I more often than not end up skipping breakfast altogether, which isn't ideal, I know. But still, I know why I've put on, and that's less frustrating than being really good and still putting half a pound on. AND it means that I'm finally starting to get a bit of perspective on weight loss, realising that it can't always be a constant thing and just because I put a bit on, it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person or a failure. Which is quite a revelation.
However, at the same time, it's also a bit scary because not being too worried about a weight gain can make you complacent. And I'm not skinny enough to get complacent!
Andrea The Consultant gave us all the New Members' talk again. It's not just been me that's been a bit screw-uppy, everyone's gone a bit off the boil. It's apparently only 16 weigh-ins till Christmas, which doesn't worry me too much because obviously I don't celebrate Christmas and I've no plans around that time anyway other than to eat my own body weight in chocolate and to drink enough alcohol to make Georgie Best, Oliver Reed, Keith Moon and Robert Newton all applaud my stalwart efforts.
But it's only seven weigh-ins until the Michael Nesmith gig, and that does worry me. Even though it shouldn't, really. I know if anyone said to me this time last year I'd be able to wear a size 18 dress to go and see Michael Nesmith in concert, I'd have laughed at the implausibility of both suggestions. So, really, in that sort of context, even if I don't lose another dress size between now and then, I'm still ridiculously thinner than I was this time last year - AND I'll get to fulfill a lifelong ambition and actually be in the same room at the same time as my favourite Monkee. I mean, it's all good. Even if I put four stone on between now and then, the fact I'll be there is incredible enough in itself. Not that I will, of course. I've come much too far now to go back to how I used to be.
But now I'm here, two or three dress sizes to go until I get to target (I probably won't reach that decision until I've lost the next two dress sizes!), and it somehow still doesn't feel like I've done nearly enough. I know it isn't a race. I'm not trying to be thin for an event or because someone else is losing X amount of stones and I want to beat them to it. I'm losing weight because I don't want to spend the rest of my life not doing things because I'm too fat to do them. And if it takes me a year to do it or it takes me 18 months to do it - fine, so long as I do it eventually.
But I still want to get it over and done with as quickly as I can so I can make a start on maintaining it!!
It isn't an impossible ask to drop a dress size in 7 weeks. In fact, it's quite reasonable. I know I can do it. So I'd best get on with it, really, hadn't I?! I've not got time to mope - I've got lbs to shed!
Join me again at some juncture next week when I may have some sort of an update for you. But if not I shall update again on Friday when hopefully, fingers crossed, after a whole week of being good I'll finally have a result worthy of a fiesta from the llamas!!
However, this week, I've put half a pound on, and although the llamas haven't come out for a celebratory fiesta (although to be fair they had two fiestas last week so they could do with a break), I'm really not too worried about it.
This is good because I've taken into account that for the first couple of days since my last weigh in I was still a bit wobbly on the diet before getting back on it properly on Monday so I haven't really had a week of being good, I've had about four days of being good. I've also taken into account the fact that I've drunk a lot more water this week, mostly due to the fact I've walked everywhere. I've walked about four miles a day over the last week, which doesn't seem like much but it's more than twice as far as I usually walk, so for me, it's loads, and I've probably developed a teensy tiny bit of muscle. Not to mention the fact I've worked full-time which always screws up my diet plans, and I more often than not end up skipping breakfast altogether, which isn't ideal, I know. But still, I know why I've put on, and that's less frustrating than being really good and still putting half a pound on. AND it means that I'm finally starting to get a bit of perspective on weight loss, realising that it can't always be a constant thing and just because I put a bit on, it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person or a failure. Which is quite a revelation.
However, at the same time, it's also a bit scary because not being too worried about a weight gain can make you complacent. And I'm not skinny enough to get complacent!
Andrea The Consultant gave us all the New Members' talk again. It's not just been me that's been a bit screw-uppy, everyone's gone a bit off the boil. It's apparently only 16 weigh-ins till Christmas, which doesn't worry me too much because obviously I don't celebrate Christmas and I've no plans around that time anyway other than to eat my own body weight in chocolate and to drink enough alcohol to make Georgie Best, Oliver Reed, Keith Moon and Robert Newton all applaud my stalwart efforts.
But it's only seven weigh-ins until the Michael Nesmith gig, and that does worry me. Even though it shouldn't, really. I know if anyone said to me this time last year I'd be able to wear a size 18 dress to go and see Michael Nesmith in concert, I'd have laughed at the implausibility of both suggestions. So, really, in that sort of context, even if I don't lose another dress size between now and then, I'm still ridiculously thinner than I was this time last year - AND I'll get to fulfill a lifelong ambition and actually be in the same room at the same time as my favourite Monkee. I mean, it's all good. Even if I put four stone on between now and then, the fact I'll be there is incredible enough in itself. Not that I will, of course. I've come much too far now to go back to how I used to be.
But now I'm here, two or three dress sizes to go until I get to target (I probably won't reach that decision until I've lost the next two dress sizes!), and it somehow still doesn't feel like I've done nearly enough. I know it isn't a race. I'm not trying to be thin for an event or because someone else is losing X amount of stones and I want to beat them to it. I'm losing weight because I don't want to spend the rest of my life not doing things because I'm too fat to do them. And if it takes me a year to do it or it takes me 18 months to do it - fine, so long as I do it eventually.
But I still want to get it over and done with as quickly as I can so I can make a start on maintaining it!!
It isn't an impossible ask to drop a dress size in 7 weeks. In fact, it's quite reasonable. I know I can do it. So I'd best get on with it, really, hadn't I?! I've not got time to mope - I've got lbs to shed!
Join me again at some juncture next week when I may have some sort of an update for you. But if not I shall update again on Friday when hopefully, fingers crossed, after a whole week of being good I'll finally have a result worthy of a fiesta from the llamas!!
Friday, 31 August 2012
Le Gasp!! Il Gaspo!! Die Gazpen!!
Yeah that's right, so shocking I had to say it in French and then translate it into Spanish and German.
The shocks are manifold in this blog entry, so if you're of a nervous disposition I'd recommend changing your knickers now and bringing a spare pair back to the computer with you, just in case.
Firstly... I'm writing a blog entry!
I know, it's been ages. Well, I had my mojo working - but it just didn't work on slimming. I ate. And I drank. And I was merry. Well - I may say I was merry, but actually it was just one long stretch of beating myself up for being weak-willed.
Also, it turns out that I am still very addicted to chocolate. I thought after giving it up for eight months I'd be absolutely fine. No. Not at all. In fact all I want to do with my life is to eat chocolate for breakfast, dinner and tea, give up work and eat my body weight in cocoa-infused products. It's a dangerous substance.
Anyway. I think I'm back on the straight and narrow now. I said I'd give myself twelve months and it's only been eight so, y'know, I won't give up.
The second shocking revelation in today's blog entry is this... the llamas will be having TWO fiestas today!!!
I know, after weeks and weeks of training, they're finally ready for two fiestas. The first one is because, two weeks ago - I finally got my 4stone award. Take it away, chaps...!!
*dances round like a mad eejit* Phewf!!
Yeah, that's right, four stone - that's 56lbs to my American pals and 25.4kg to my... metric pals. It's a small child. Or at least a substantial percentage of the average adult. I only got my certificate on the night, they'd run out of shiny stickers, but fear not, I've got my shiny sticker now and it's there, shining proudly on the back of my Slimming World book.
The second fiesta will come later.
The third shock is this - after nearly two weeks of eating and drinking like an attendee at a Roman banquet, I hopped on the scales last night at Fat Club, and lo and behold, I'd lost a pound!!
I was convinced I'd put at least 10lbs on. At least 10. I'd really given it a good go, y'know. I had chocolate, and doughnuts, and... a lot of booze... and takeaways, and crisps, and basically everything I haven't had in the last eight months!!
In fact, I was so convinced that I'd ruined things for myself that I seriously considered just quitting and carrying on the diet from home. I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of getting back on the scales. I knew exactly how much I'd gone off the rails. Although, to be fair - I've really got Jo to thank that I've got this far anyway, she's an amazing cook and has really kept me on the straight and narrow far more than I realised.
Thankfully, I had a stern talking-to from various friends and family members, and so last night I trudged down the hill to the Church Hall to hop on the scales. I dunno if I've mentioned, but the song that always plays in my head when I get on the scales and get a good result is 'You're the Best' by Joe Esposito (the theme tune to The Karate Kid - the real one, not the silly remake). It was like it was playing in some sort of quadrophonic stereo type capacity when I saw the scales say I'd actually lost weight!!
And now - the FOURTH shock of this blog!!!
The song faded out as the Weighing Lady (I think her name's Natalie but I'm not sure. I really should find out, shouldn't I, I've been going for eight months!) started interrogating me about whether I'd been to group last week, or the week before. I felt a bit guilty but I told her I skipped Fat Club last week and didn't stay to group the week before. She started mumbling to herself and then asked the Check-In Lady (Dawn) if it was definitely me, and Dawn said that it was, and then after a few moments' conflab between them, the Weighing Lady and I had the following conversation:
WL: Because, erm, well - you've been named Woman of the Year!
ME: Oh yeah, right!! Hahahahaha!!!!!
[awkward pause]
ME: What, really?!
WL: Really.
ME: Me?!
WL: You.
ME: [points to self] ME?!?
WL: Yes, that's right.
ME: You mean.... me?!?!!???
WL: [rolls eyes] Yes, you!!
ME: Are you sure???? There must be some sort of mistake!!
WL: No, no, it's you.
[SPEV gazes off distractedly as the record player in her head starts up again - "You're the best... AROOOOUUND!! NOTHIN'S GONNA EVER KEEP YOU DOOOWWNNN!!!!"]
Unfortunately, Andrea the Consultant was on holiday, and so I won't know more about it until next week. I have no idea what it means, but the reports all seem to suggest that I will be getting a certificate, hopefully a shiny sticker and, most excitingly of all - A SASH!!!
That's right, all I'll need is a peaked hat and I could join International Rescue.
So, when I told the llamas, naturally they were all delighted and started leaping about (gambolling, even, I think you could say), doing back flips and Miguel even moonwalked down the street with happiness. Our Joanna cried. It was all very exciting. The latest member of my dancing llama troupe, Pedro, called up one of his 'contacts' and actually arranged a float for the second fiesta!!! I mean it's only a milk-float but you've got to take what you can get, right?
Without further ado - let's all shake our maracas, shimmy like we've no backbone and roll our Rs in a celebratory Latino fashion!!!!
I'm amazed and shocked and... well... Amazed. I can't believe people actually voted for me. I didn't think anyone noticed - I mean not even I've noticed! I hope I don't have to say anything next week.
So, if you've not died of boredom yet, that's basically what's happened over the last couple of weeks, slimming-wise. It didn't feel as though a lot went on - but clearly, it did!! Fabulous.
I've got eight weigh-ins left before the Michael Nesmith concert. I would love to have got my 5 stone award by then, and I'll certainly be working towards it. I've done it four times before so I don't think it's exactly impossible. But it'd still be nice to have done it by the time October 29th comes round.
Join me again - next time... whenever that might be.... maybe next week... when I might have something else to say. Possibly....!!!
The shocks are manifold in this blog entry, so if you're of a nervous disposition I'd recommend changing your knickers now and bringing a spare pair back to the computer with you, just in case.
Firstly... I'm writing a blog entry!
I know, it's been ages. Well, I had my mojo working - but it just didn't work on slimming. I ate. And I drank. And I was merry. Well - I may say I was merry, but actually it was just one long stretch of beating myself up for being weak-willed.
Also, it turns out that I am still very addicted to chocolate. I thought after giving it up for eight months I'd be absolutely fine. No. Not at all. In fact all I want to do with my life is to eat chocolate for breakfast, dinner and tea, give up work and eat my body weight in cocoa-infused products. It's a dangerous substance.
Anyway. I think I'm back on the straight and narrow now. I said I'd give myself twelve months and it's only been eight so, y'know, I won't give up.
The second shocking revelation in today's blog entry is this... the llamas will be having TWO fiestas today!!!
I know, after weeks and weeks of training, they're finally ready for two fiestas. The first one is because, two weeks ago - I finally got my 4stone award. Take it away, chaps...!!
AAARRRRIIIIIIBBBAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ole!!!
*dances round like a mad eejit* Phewf!!
Yeah, that's right, four stone - that's 56lbs to my American pals and 25.4kg to my... metric pals. It's a small child. Or at least a substantial percentage of the average adult. I only got my certificate on the night, they'd run out of shiny stickers, but fear not, I've got my shiny sticker now and it's there, shining proudly on the back of my Slimming World book.
The second fiesta will come later.
The third shock is this - after nearly two weeks of eating and drinking like an attendee at a Roman banquet, I hopped on the scales last night at Fat Club, and lo and behold, I'd lost a pound!!
I was convinced I'd put at least 10lbs on. At least 10. I'd really given it a good go, y'know. I had chocolate, and doughnuts, and... a lot of booze... and takeaways, and crisps, and basically everything I haven't had in the last eight months!!
In fact, I was so convinced that I'd ruined things for myself that I seriously considered just quitting and carrying on the diet from home. I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of getting back on the scales. I knew exactly how much I'd gone off the rails. Although, to be fair - I've really got Jo to thank that I've got this far anyway, she's an amazing cook and has really kept me on the straight and narrow far more than I realised.
Thankfully, I had a stern talking-to from various friends and family members, and so last night I trudged down the hill to the Church Hall to hop on the scales. I dunno if I've mentioned, but the song that always plays in my head when I get on the scales and get a good result is 'You're the Best' by Joe Esposito (the theme tune to The Karate Kid - the real one, not the silly remake). It was like it was playing in some sort of quadrophonic stereo type capacity when I saw the scales say I'd actually lost weight!!
And now - the FOURTH shock of this blog!!!
The song faded out as the Weighing Lady (I think her name's Natalie but I'm not sure. I really should find out, shouldn't I, I've been going for eight months!) started interrogating me about whether I'd been to group last week, or the week before. I felt a bit guilty but I told her I skipped Fat Club last week and didn't stay to group the week before. She started mumbling to herself and then asked the Check-In Lady (Dawn) if it was definitely me, and Dawn said that it was, and then after a few moments' conflab between them, the Weighing Lady and I had the following conversation:
WL: Because, erm, well - you've been named Woman of the Year!
ME: Oh yeah, right!! Hahahahaha!!!!!
[awkward pause]
ME: What, really?!
WL: Really.
ME: Me?!
WL: You.
ME: [points to self] ME?!?
WL: Yes, that's right.
ME: You mean.... me?!?!!???
WL: [rolls eyes] Yes, you!!
ME: Are you sure???? There must be some sort of mistake!!
WL: No, no, it's you.
[SPEV gazes off distractedly as the record player in her head starts up again - "You're the best... AROOOOUUND!! NOTHIN'S GONNA EVER KEEP YOU DOOOWWNNN!!!!"]
Unfortunately, Andrea the Consultant was on holiday, and so I won't know more about it until next week. I have no idea what it means, but the reports all seem to suggest that I will be getting a certificate, hopefully a shiny sticker and, most excitingly of all - A SASH!!!
That's right, all I'll need is a peaked hat and I could join International Rescue.
So, when I told the llamas, naturally they were all delighted and started leaping about (gambolling, even, I think you could say), doing back flips and Miguel even moonwalked down the street with happiness. Our Joanna cried. It was all very exciting. The latest member of my dancing llama troupe, Pedro, called up one of his 'contacts' and actually arranged a float for the second fiesta!!! I mean it's only a milk-float but you've got to take what you can get, right?
Without further ado - let's all shake our maracas, shimmy like we've no backbone and roll our Rs in a celebratory Latino fashion!!!!
Waahhooooo!!!!! *shimmy* *shake* *wiggle* *etc*
I'm amazed and shocked and... well... Amazed. I can't believe people actually voted for me. I didn't think anyone noticed - I mean not even I've noticed! I hope I don't have to say anything next week.
So, if you've not died of boredom yet, that's basically what's happened over the last couple of weeks, slimming-wise. It didn't feel as though a lot went on - but clearly, it did!! Fabulous.
I've got eight weigh-ins left before the Michael Nesmith concert. I would love to have got my 5 stone award by then, and I'll certainly be working towards it. I've done it four times before so I don't think it's exactly impossible. But it'd still be nice to have done it by the time October 29th comes round.
Join me again - next time... whenever that might be.... maybe next week... when I might have something else to say. Possibly....!!!
Monday, 23 July 2012
Starting All Over Again
I know it's been ages, but I've really had very little indeed to report on the weight loss front.
Although...
On July 5th (exactly 6 months after I first stepped on the scales) I managed to hit my half-way target of 3 1/2 stones. In fact I got just over my half way point, and all I needed was to lose another 5lbs in 5 weeks in order to hit my 4 stone mark. Then the boredom set in. And when it set, it stuck good and proper.
I don't know why, when I'd worked so hard over the last six months, I suddenly decided it would be a fabulous idea to go completely off the rails because I couldn't be bothered keeping on the straight and narrow. Yes, because getting halfway there totally means you're allowed to give yourself a week or two off, just because you 'can't be bothered'!!
No, actually, I shouldn't be allowed to give myself two weeks off 'just because' yet. I've not done anything yet. Halfway does not count. I've been here before. I've been halfway, and I've always fallen into this trap and the weight has piled straight back on and I'm back to where I was before I know it. I haven't done anything to congratulate myself for yet. I'm not taking away from the fact that it's been a long hard slog to get this far. And I know that losing over 3 1/2 stones in six months is an achievement, and I'm not really detracting from that. But it isn't the target. It isn't where I want to be.
You don't see people training for marathons giving themselves a few weeks off from training after they finally manage to run for thirteen miles solid, do you? Exactly. I haven't made it yet, I've got no reason to start messing around and giving myself lame excuses to fall off the wagon. So what if I've had a tough day at work? That doesn't instantly mean that I have to have a few large glasses of something interesting. It's not going to make my tough day any less tough. It's just a bunch of extra Syns that I don't actually need and that will only serve to make me feel guilty for a lapse in motivation.
Perhaps, and the thought did occur to me earlier last week, I've really never known myself this size. It feels weird. I look in the mirror now and I only see two chins, rather than 50. I saw my collar bone when I looked in the mirror the other week. It was just, y'know, there. I genuinely panicked for a few moments and thought there was a tumour growing below my neck, until I realised what it was!! My shoulders have gone skinny. My cheekbones are huge. I don't look like me any more.
Being smaller than I already am, although I want it desperately, will seem so weird. Being 'big' is very much an intrinsic part of how I see myself and what I think I am. If I haven't got that instant, bizarrely comforting, self-deprecating joke of me being fat to hide behind, then I'm not really sure what I have got. Perhaps my firm thwack on the 'self-destruct' button last week was because I'm actually really scared of the physical aspects of being smaller. I already hate the attention. And no, no I haven't had any attention from blokes, they still have no idea I exist - but getting told, "Wow, you look great!" and "Oh my god, look at you!!" or "I can't believe how amazing/stunning/beautiful/fabulous you look!" (and seriously - words like 'stunning' and 'beautiful' should never be associated with me) and all that sort of thing... don't get me wrong, it's lovely, I really appreciate how supportive everyone is - and it's a lot nicer than "Holy hell, look at that fat bitch!" which I haven't actually heard for a while now. But to be truthful, I don't feel like I deserve it and it really makes me uncomfortable. I don't really want to be looked at. I thought that's what being smaller would help me achieve - a nice little degree of invisibility.
Still. That's still no reason to go completely off track. I've got things to do. I've got clothes to fit into. I've got a Michael Nesmith gig to go to at the end of October!! So I'm going to stop feeling sorry for myself, I'm going to stop being scared and I'm going to get the hell on with it.
In the wise words of Tony DiNozzo from NCIS - "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got." In the equally wise words of Stanley Holloway - "You can't jump with one foot on the floor." Basically, this week, I need to get my finger out and make damn sure I don't completely put the last six months to waste.
Four stone mark - I am going to own you...!!
Although...
On July 5th (exactly 6 months after I first stepped on the scales) I managed to hit my half-way target of 3 1/2 stones. In fact I got just over my half way point, and all I needed was to lose another 5lbs in 5 weeks in order to hit my 4 stone mark. Then the boredom set in. And when it set, it stuck good and proper.
I don't know why, when I'd worked so hard over the last six months, I suddenly decided it would be a fabulous idea to go completely off the rails because I couldn't be bothered keeping on the straight and narrow. Yes, because getting halfway there totally means you're allowed to give yourself a week or two off, just because you 'can't be bothered'!!
No, actually, I shouldn't be allowed to give myself two weeks off 'just because' yet. I've not done anything yet. Halfway does not count. I've been here before. I've been halfway, and I've always fallen into this trap and the weight has piled straight back on and I'm back to where I was before I know it. I haven't done anything to congratulate myself for yet. I'm not taking away from the fact that it's been a long hard slog to get this far. And I know that losing over 3 1/2 stones in six months is an achievement, and I'm not really detracting from that. But it isn't the target. It isn't where I want to be.
You don't see people training for marathons giving themselves a few weeks off from training after they finally manage to run for thirteen miles solid, do you? Exactly. I haven't made it yet, I've got no reason to start messing around and giving myself lame excuses to fall off the wagon. So what if I've had a tough day at work? That doesn't instantly mean that I have to have a few large glasses of something interesting. It's not going to make my tough day any less tough. It's just a bunch of extra Syns that I don't actually need and that will only serve to make me feel guilty for a lapse in motivation.
Perhaps, and the thought did occur to me earlier last week, I've really never known myself this size. It feels weird. I look in the mirror now and I only see two chins, rather than 50. I saw my collar bone when I looked in the mirror the other week. It was just, y'know, there. I genuinely panicked for a few moments and thought there was a tumour growing below my neck, until I realised what it was!! My shoulders have gone skinny. My cheekbones are huge. I don't look like me any more.
Being smaller than I already am, although I want it desperately, will seem so weird. Being 'big' is very much an intrinsic part of how I see myself and what I think I am. If I haven't got that instant, bizarrely comforting, self-deprecating joke of me being fat to hide behind, then I'm not really sure what I have got. Perhaps my firm thwack on the 'self-destruct' button last week was because I'm actually really scared of the physical aspects of being smaller. I already hate the attention. And no, no I haven't had any attention from blokes, they still have no idea I exist - but getting told, "Wow, you look great!" and "Oh my god, look at you!!" or "I can't believe how amazing/stunning/beautiful/fabulous you look!" (and seriously - words like 'stunning' and 'beautiful' should never be associated with me) and all that sort of thing... don't get me wrong, it's lovely, I really appreciate how supportive everyone is - and it's a lot nicer than "Holy hell, look at that fat bitch!" which I haven't actually heard for a while now. But to be truthful, I don't feel like I deserve it and it really makes me uncomfortable. I don't really want to be looked at. I thought that's what being smaller would help me achieve - a nice little degree of invisibility.
Still. That's still no reason to go completely off track. I've got things to do. I've got clothes to fit into. I've got a Michael Nesmith gig to go to at the end of October!! So I'm going to stop feeling sorry for myself, I'm going to stop being scared and I'm going to get the hell on with it.
In the wise words of Tony DiNozzo from NCIS - "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got." In the equally wise words of Stanley Holloway - "You can't jump with one foot on the floor." Basically, this week, I need to get my finger out and make damn sure I don't completely put the last six months to waste.
Four stone mark - I am going to own you...!!
Friday, 29 June 2012
Two Steps Behind
Thank you to Def Leppard for providing the title to today's blog post. It's in reference to the fact that at the moment I seem to be two steps behind the step forward I'd taken at last week's Fat Club.
I'm sending the llamas to Madrid for the weekend. It's the Euro 2012 final on Sunday and they're supporting Spain. They're all so excited it's been pandemonium round here, what with them flinging their sombreros in the air with jubilation, Enrique doing back flips all over the place, Ricardo getting busy making red and yellow leg warmers for the occasion and Miguel finally getting up from his sick bed to look for his passport. He's still only on three legs at the moment but the cast is due to come off next week, and he can start training again in a couple of weeks.
You know what that means, of course, and they're so busy celebrating the fact that they're going on holiday that they've failed to notice that there will be no fiesta this week. They only get upset when I don't lose weight, and have you ever seen an unhappy llama face? It'd melt a heart of lead, I'm telling you. Look:
Imagine twenty of those. I simply couldn't do it to them.
After a week of hard slog, self-deprivation, a will of cast iron and Synning like a Puritan in an attempt to lose half a goddam sodding pound - I somehow inexplicably managed to put ON half a pound!!
I was gutted. And really really narked. Those blooming scales haven't been on my side since Andrea the Consultant bought them!!
So, I felt the only thing to do under the circumstances was to come home, pour out a few large glasses of something interesting and have my first pizza of the year. Let's face it, if I put half a pound on by being majorly strict, I may as well eat yummy food and have a good time putting weight on!!
Of course, I'm back on it today. I do think having nights where you think "Soddit!" is an important part of the whole process. I'm not going to put 3 1/2 stone back on by eating half a pizza and a enjoying a couple of drinks while I'm watching the football once in six months. So long as it's just ONE night of forgetting about it out of seven or fourteen or thirty or however often you officially come to the end of your tether, rather than every night, it's not going to do you any harm and it does keep you going on the straight and narrow for a lot longer. Constantly saying 'no' to food and drink that you're dying to say 'yes' to just depresses you, especially when you feel like you're constantly saying 'no' and not seeing any results from it. Like me, at the moment.
Although I was genuinely buoyed when one of the ladies at Fat Club who hadn't been for the last couple of weeks turned to me and said, "Bloomin' 'eck, you haven't half gone skinny! You can really see it in your face! You're doing brilliant!" I mean, I was so pleased that I didn't even think about correcting her grammar!!
I know half a pound isn't the end of the world, but it's just so annoying. I honestly feel at the moment that I will never ever get there. Ever. So I'm not going to think about it for the next few days, it's just too depressing.
Besides, I've started reading again. You know the biggest tip writers get? READ. As much as you can. Just give it a whirl. Get reading. Open a book, sit down for an hour and let your eyes dance across the pages. Not literally. I have to say, when I was younger I was known to (my friend Emily will testify to this) read at least two books in one night. Of late, I've totally got out of the habit of reading. It's sheer laziness. I've had the best of intentions of reading and just never got round to actually doing it in ages and ages. Not properly. Not in that 'I am actually so into this book that I have utterly lost my grip on reality' manner that made me fall in love with books and reading and writing in the first place type fashion. Until yesterday when I started reading The Prisoner of Zenda. I have a feeling that even though I've only read the first three chapters, if anyone wants me for the next week or so, I'll be in Ruritania.
The reason I'm telling you this is because I think I've discovered the real cause of my writer's block. I vaguely realised it yesterday afternoon when I read a snippet of Suzie Tullet's current work in progress, and couldn't stop thinking about all the different directions the story could have come from and might go to. The realisation was cemented when I started reading Zenda. I haven't read anything - and so it naturally follows that I can't write anything.
I don't even know how this works. It's some sort of magic. I had worried for a while that writing after reading would be viewed by others as a type of plaigarism. This, however, is a stupid line of reasoning because - as everyone knows - there are only seven stories, therefore there are no original ideas, there are only variations on themes. But reading actually doesn't have the effect of making someone write a carbon copy of what they've read. It does more than that. It somehow manages to realign your brain into thinking creatively, so that you can form your own plots and subplots and tangents from what you're writing - no story ever really finishes because everyone can add to it or put their own spin on it. It brings characters and worlds to life and it shows you the way you need to construct sentences, paragraphs and dialogue in order to do it. They're How-To manuals for the Muse. It makes the Muse think 'hang on a minute, I can do better than that!' and then before you know it you've written something, most of the time completely different to the thing you've been reading. I simply haven't had anything to work from. That's my problem.
I really wish I'd made this glaringly obvious discovery a lot sooner. I might need to go off-grid while I get some heavy duty reading done over the next few weeks. I have ideas and hopefully this will help me to realise them.
So, all in all, the utter devastation I felt last night has somewhat dissipated (I think the pizza and brandy helped massively, in fairness) and I'm really rather looking forward to the weekend. Hopefully I'll get a lot of reading and some other rather important things done and when I report back on Monday I can tell you all about The Prisoner of Zenda and what happened to Rudolf Rassendyll at the coronation... I hope that Michael fella keeps out of it. Never trust a fictional character who has been played onscreen by James Mason - that's my advice!!
Whatever you're up to this weekend, have a lovely time, and thank you so much for sitting through this torturously long blog entry!!
I'm sending the llamas to Madrid for the weekend. It's the Euro 2012 final on Sunday and they're supporting Spain. They're all so excited it's been pandemonium round here, what with them flinging their sombreros in the air with jubilation, Enrique doing back flips all over the place, Ricardo getting busy making red and yellow leg warmers for the occasion and Miguel finally getting up from his sick bed to look for his passport. He's still only on three legs at the moment but the cast is due to come off next week, and he can start training again in a couple of weeks.
You know what that means, of course, and they're so busy celebrating the fact that they're going on holiday that they've failed to notice that there will be no fiesta this week. They only get upset when I don't lose weight, and have you ever seen an unhappy llama face? It'd melt a heart of lead, I'm telling you. Look:
Imagine twenty of those. I simply couldn't do it to them.
After a week of hard slog, self-deprivation, a will of cast iron and Synning like a Puritan in an attempt to lose half a goddam sodding pound - I somehow inexplicably managed to put ON half a pound!!
I was gutted. And really really narked. Those blooming scales haven't been on my side since Andrea the Consultant bought them!!
So, I felt the only thing to do under the circumstances was to come home, pour out a few large glasses of something interesting and have my first pizza of the year. Let's face it, if I put half a pound on by being majorly strict, I may as well eat yummy food and have a good time putting weight on!!
Of course, I'm back on it today. I do think having nights where you think "Soddit!" is an important part of the whole process. I'm not going to put 3 1/2 stone back on by eating half a pizza and a enjoying a couple of drinks while I'm watching the football once in six months. So long as it's just ONE night of forgetting about it out of seven or fourteen or thirty or however often you officially come to the end of your tether, rather than every night, it's not going to do you any harm and it does keep you going on the straight and narrow for a lot longer. Constantly saying 'no' to food and drink that you're dying to say 'yes' to just depresses you, especially when you feel like you're constantly saying 'no' and not seeing any results from it. Like me, at the moment.
Although I was genuinely buoyed when one of the ladies at Fat Club who hadn't been for the last couple of weeks turned to me and said, "Bloomin' 'eck, you haven't half gone skinny! You can really see it in your face! You're doing brilliant!" I mean, I was so pleased that I didn't even think about correcting her grammar!!
I know half a pound isn't the end of the world, but it's just so annoying. I honestly feel at the moment that I will never ever get there. Ever. So I'm not going to think about it for the next few days, it's just too depressing.
Besides, I've started reading again. You know the biggest tip writers get? READ. As much as you can. Just give it a whirl. Get reading. Open a book, sit down for an hour and let your eyes dance across the pages. Not literally. I have to say, when I was younger I was known to (my friend Emily will testify to this) read at least two books in one night. Of late, I've totally got out of the habit of reading. It's sheer laziness. I've had the best of intentions of reading and just never got round to actually doing it in ages and ages. Not properly. Not in that 'I am actually so into this book that I have utterly lost my grip on reality' manner that made me fall in love with books and reading and writing in the first place type fashion. Until yesterday when I started reading The Prisoner of Zenda. I have a feeling that even though I've only read the first three chapters, if anyone wants me for the next week or so, I'll be in Ruritania.
The reason I'm telling you this is because I think I've discovered the real cause of my writer's block. I vaguely realised it yesterday afternoon when I read a snippet of Suzie Tullet's current work in progress, and couldn't stop thinking about all the different directions the story could have come from and might go to. The realisation was cemented when I started reading Zenda. I haven't read anything - and so it naturally follows that I can't write anything.
I don't even know how this works. It's some sort of magic. I had worried for a while that writing after reading would be viewed by others as a type of plaigarism. This, however, is a stupid line of reasoning because - as everyone knows - there are only seven stories, therefore there are no original ideas, there are only variations on themes. But reading actually doesn't have the effect of making someone write a carbon copy of what they've read. It does more than that. It somehow manages to realign your brain into thinking creatively, so that you can form your own plots and subplots and tangents from what you're writing - no story ever really finishes because everyone can add to it or put their own spin on it. It brings characters and worlds to life and it shows you the way you need to construct sentences, paragraphs and dialogue in order to do it. They're How-To manuals for the Muse. It makes the Muse think 'hang on a minute, I can do better than that!' and then before you know it you've written something, most of the time completely different to the thing you've been reading. I simply haven't had anything to work from. That's my problem.
I really wish I'd made this glaringly obvious discovery a lot sooner. I might need to go off-grid while I get some heavy duty reading done over the next few weeks. I have ideas and hopefully this will help me to realise them.
So, all in all, the utter devastation I felt last night has somewhat dissipated (I think the pizza and brandy helped massively, in fairness) and I'm really rather looking forward to the weekend. Hopefully I'll get a lot of reading and some other rather important things done and when I report back on Monday I can tell you all about The Prisoner of Zenda and what happened to Rudolf Rassendyll at the coronation... I hope that Michael fella keeps out of it. Never trust a fictional character who has been played onscreen by James Mason - that's my advice!!
Whatever you're up to this weekend, have a lovely time, and thank you so much for sitting through this torturously long blog entry!!
Wednesday, 27 June 2012
Shortest Blog Post Ever
I feel I may have been unintentionally misleading. I said at the end of my blog on Monday that I might have some exciting news on Wednesday and now everyone seems to think that I have a huge announcement of excitement.
I... well... I really don't. Sorry. I just meant it in that usual, "I might have something exciting to tell you - but the likelihood is I won't," capacity that I normally end posts with. I should've made myself a bit clearer. Apologies for building your hopes up. If I did have any exciting news to announce, I'd just announce it, I wouldn't make you wait!!
No, there is truly nothing to report in my boring life, as usual. It's a general state of OK-ness in Wainwright Central. I'm a bit skint, but I'm always a bit skint. I'm still not a bestselling novellist, but I haven't written in months. I'm not at target yet, but I won't be for a good few months yet. I will get there, though, that's a fact. I'm not going out with David Mitchell, but then I never was. Curse you, Coren! Everything is pretty much the same as ever.
I'm feeling a little midweek slumpish, to be honest. Just a general feeling of 'meh'. I know why, like, and I suppose in a way it makes things easier knowing that you're feeling 'meh' for a reason, because at least you know you're not going mad. Or, if you are going mad, there's a a perfectly logical reason for it.
Still, at least Friday will coincide with pay-day. What's more exciting than pay-day on a Friday, may I ask? Answer - NOTHING! Except of course for a fiesta led by a troupe of dancing llamas!!
Let's all cross our fingers and hope for the best - I need to have lost at least half a pound by tomorrow to get my shiny sticker and certificate - but if I've lost more then hopefully I will be well on my way to the 4 stone shiny sticker!! I wonder what colour that is?! Liz will know, she'll tell me. Although I sort of like the surprise of finding out when I get the shiny stickers. "Oooh! A green one!! Shiny!!" I mean, you know. It's pathetic but it's a thing. Just go with it.
There's nothing more to see here. I think this probably qualifies as my shortest blog post ever. I bet you didn't even get time for a little swig of tea, did you?!
I... well... I really don't. Sorry. I just meant it in that usual, "I might have something exciting to tell you - but the likelihood is I won't," capacity that I normally end posts with. I should've made myself a bit clearer. Apologies for building your hopes up. If I did have any exciting news to announce, I'd just announce it, I wouldn't make you wait!!
No, there is truly nothing to report in my boring life, as usual. It's a general state of OK-ness in Wainwright Central. I'm a bit skint, but I'm always a bit skint. I'm still not a bestselling novellist, but I haven't written in months. I'm not at target yet, but I won't be for a good few months yet. I will get there, though, that's a fact. I'm not going out with David Mitchell, but then I never was. Curse you, Coren! Everything is pretty much the same as ever.
I'm feeling a little midweek slumpish, to be honest. Just a general feeling of 'meh'. I know why, like, and I suppose in a way it makes things easier knowing that you're feeling 'meh' for a reason, because at least you know you're not going mad. Or, if you are going mad, there's a a perfectly logical reason for it.
Still, at least Friday will coincide with pay-day. What's more exciting than pay-day on a Friday, may I ask? Answer - NOTHING! Except of course for a fiesta led by a troupe of dancing llamas!!
Let's all cross our fingers and hope for the best - I need to have lost at least half a pound by tomorrow to get my shiny sticker and certificate - but if I've lost more then hopefully I will be well on my way to the 4 stone shiny sticker!! I wonder what colour that is?! Liz will know, she'll tell me. Although I sort of like the surprise of finding out when I get the shiny stickers. "Oooh! A green one!! Shiny!!" I mean, you know. It's pathetic but it's a thing. Just go with it.
There's nothing more to see here. I think this probably qualifies as my shortest blog post ever. I bet you didn't even get time for a little swig of tea, did you?!
Friday, 1 June 2012
Land of Confusion
Ah, it's Friday! It means most of us in dear old Blighty will be looking forward to four whole days off work - with pay! However, it turns out I've got to work tomorrow, so I'll have three whole days off work, which is almost as good. And the weather has sorted itself out just in time for an epic bank holiday. Yes, that's right - gone are the sizzling tropical temperatures, the humid air, the old men traipsing round town just wearing a little pair of shorts and socks with sandals (why oh why?!) and the threat of a nice barbecue in the back garden. The air has regained the usual summertime nippiness we're used to, the skies are a sort of charcoal grey colour and the weather has been, as they call it in Spain (Joanna reliably tells me this, and she's very good at Spanish, so she should know) "El Pissi Downio". Ah, yes. British Summertime. It's back, and I love it.
So, things are going very well. I'd like to thank Anonymous for their lovely and very encouraging comment from Wednesday's blog. It turns out that my block lifted quite substantially after that lovely advice and some equally kind and helpful tips from Mr L. Although I've still not really got a plot together yet, I have indeed made a start on the Western (tentatively entitled The Western With No Name). Turns out it had no intention of ever being a book, it wanted to be a screenplay all along. Which in some ways is slightly easier, I'm much better with dialogue than narrative, but even though you only really need minimal narrative for a screenplay I still don't think I have enough. But I'll come back to it later when I've figured out more of a structure to the story. My biggest problem is that I want it to be instantly perfect, rather than just acknowledging that the first three or four rewrites are going to be ropey at best before I get it close to being right and writing it anyway. I bet Joss Whedon didn't write The Avengers perfectly on his first run-through!!
I know what you're thinking. 'She's avoiding the weight-loss topic'. Well, yes. I am.
I put half a pound on. I have no idea how. I was doing really well, I'd been dead good, I hadn't cheated (there's no point in cheating because the only person who suffers is me) - I was at least hoping for a couple of pounds' loss. Maybe even three. But putting half a pound on?! What the -?!?!!
Baffled. Stumped. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. Discombobulated. Narked. All appropriate adjectives to describe my reaction to the number on the scales yesterday.
Enrique was quite relieved I'd put weight on. He's still convinced he has athlete's hoof from when I sent them swimming last Friday and has taken to his bed with bandages from hoof to fetlock on all four of his little legs. The rest of the llamas were delighted to have another week off and have all gone on a coach holiday to Blackpool for the weekend. If you're in the Blackpool area and come across a collective of llamas in gold lamee leg warmers, go and join them, they're a great bunch of lads!!
I mean, things aren't all bad news. I'm getting smaller. If I'm honest with myself about my original starting size (i.e. Beyond Huge. If there was a dress size that could be renamed "AY CHIHUAHA!!" that'd probably be where I was!), I've actually lost three dress sizes already and I'm probably only another stone away from hitting the fourth. So actually I've not done at all badly. It's just one of those things. Maybe it was just the way I held my gob when I stood on the scales. Who knows. I'm lots thinner than I was, and that's a fact. I just need to be... you know. Thinner than this. And I will be. This time in three months I might've lost another two sizes and then I'll be very nearly almost there.
You know what it'll involve, of course. I've been threatening it and then putting it off since January, but I am actually going to have to... I can't even bring myself to say it. You know, though. And I know. It's got to be done, there's truly nothing else for it. I have plans and extremely good intentions, I just have no willpower!! I hate running, walking round an industrial estate is no fun, and I'm just not disciplined enough to attempt any form of E***cise at home!! Gah!! That blasted E word. Why is it never fun?! If I could do the E word and not notice I was doing it, that'd be brilliant!
Ho hum.
Join me next Wednesday, if you don't mind. I'll be taking Monday off due to the Bank Holiday and I'll probably still be in a very dark state of depression following my birthday on Sunday. I get SO depressed on my birthday, there's literally no point in even acknowledging my existence, you'll only end up similarly suicidal! I don't want to be old! Don't make me!! Nooooo!!! PETER PAN NEVER HAD TO DO IT!!!
I dread to even think how I'll cope next year when I hit the big Three-Oh...!! *shudder*
So, things are going very well. I'd like to thank Anonymous for their lovely and very encouraging comment from Wednesday's blog. It turns out that my block lifted quite substantially after that lovely advice and some equally kind and helpful tips from Mr L. Although I've still not really got a plot together yet, I have indeed made a start on the Western (tentatively entitled The Western With No Name). Turns out it had no intention of ever being a book, it wanted to be a screenplay all along. Which in some ways is slightly easier, I'm much better with dialogue than narrative, but even though you only really need minimal narrative for a screenplay I still don't think I have enough. But I'll come back to it later when I've figured out more of a structure to the story. My biggest problem is that I want it to be instantly perfect, rather than just acknowledging that the first three or four rewrites are going to be ropey at best before I get it close to being right and writing it anyway. I bet Joss Whedon didn't write The Avengers perfectly on his first run-through!!
I know what you're thinking. 'She's avoiding the weight-loss topic'. Well, yes. I am.
I put half a pound on. I have no idea how. I was doing really well, I'd been dead good, I hadn't cheated (there's no point in cheating because the only person who suffers is me) - I was at least hoping for a couple of pounds' loss. Maybe even three. But putting half a pound on?! What the -?!?!!
Baffled. Stumped. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. Discombobulated. Narked. All appropriate adjectives to describe my reaction to the number on the scales yesterday.
Enrique was quite relieved I'd put weight on. He's still convinced he has athlete's hoof from when I sent them swimming last Friday and has taken to his bed with bandages from hoof to fetlock on all four of his little legs. The rest of the llamas were delighted to have another week off and have all gone on a coach holiday to Blackpool for the weekend. If you're in the Blackpool area and come across a collective of llamas in gold lamee leg warmers, go and join them, they're a great bunch of lads!!
I mean, things aren't all bad news. I'm getting smaller. If I'm honest with myself about my original starting size (i.e. Beyond Huge. If there was a dress size that could be renamed "AY CHIHUAHA!!" that'd probably be where I was!), I've actually lost three dress sizes already and I'm probably only another stone away from hitting the fourth. So actually I've not done at all badly. It's just one of those things. Maybe it was just the way I held my gob when I stood on the scales. Who knows. I'm lots thinner than I was, and that's a fact. I just need to be... you know. Thinner than this. And I will be. This time in three months I might've lost another two sizes and then I'll be very nearly almost there.
You know what it'll involve, of course. I've been threatening it and then putting it off since January, but I am actually going to have to... I can't even bring myself to say it. You know, though. And I know. It's got to be done, there's truly nothing else for it. I have plans and extremely good intentions, I just have no willpower!! I hate running, walking round an industrial estate is no fun, and I'm just not disciplined enough to attempt any form of E***cise at home!! Gah!! That blasted E word. Why is it never fun?! If I could do the E word and not notice I was doing it, that'd be brilliant!
Ho hum.
Join me next Wednesday, if you don't mind. I'll be taking Monday off due to the Bank Holiday and I'll probably still be in a very dark state of depression following my birthday on Sunday. I get SO depressed on my birthday, there's literally no point in even acknowledging my existence, you'll only end up similarly suicidal! I don't want to be old! Don't make me!! Nooooo!!! PETER PAN NEVER HAD TO DO IT!!!
I dread to even think how I'll cope next year when I hit the big Three-Oh...!! *shudder*
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Writer's Block
It's driving me IN-FLIPPIN'-SANE!!
For anyone who's had any contact with me over the last few weeks and I've seemed a little distracted and non-conversational, or you've wondered where my three hundred word text messages had gone to and why I haven't spoken to anyone unless it's been completely necessary - I CAN'T WRITE!! My brain can't even process enough thought to hold a proper conversation at the moment, let alone actually write anything. This may seem like a really trivial thing to you, and I apologise if you're bored already - especially because I can't even explain why it's so important that I do write. That's not a pretentious, pseudo-artistic 'if you don't write, you wouldn't understand' type excuse, it's true. I can articulate most things, but just not why I need to write.
It isn't that I haven't got any ideas at all. I've got vague thoughts for stories, books, scripts, sketches - you name it - in spades. But I don't have full ideas. I don't have enough of any one idea to be able to write one word. The floodgates of the imagination are simply groaning with the effort of keeping the plethora of sentences that are stored up in my brain - if only I could hold onto ONE sentence long enough for it to blossom into a fully formed idea, rather than simply remaining stagnant as the beginning of a maybe.
ARGH!!! It's the most frustrating thing ever.
Having ideas, being able to write, writing itself is probably one of the most liberating things ever. That really irritating moment (everyone who writes must have gone through this at some stage) of waking up at two o'clock in the morning and HAVING to get all those ideas down before your brain explodes under the weight of them - yes, it's a pain when your body needs sleep but your brain won't stop whirring into overdrive. Still, nothing makes me feel more alive than my fingertips flying across the keyboard, the eyes almost glazed over as the old imagination completely takes over body and soul, and before I know it I've actually created something, a person, a world and an adventure and I look back at it and think, "Woah, when did I write that?!"
When I read it back again in the morning, I might wince and think "Oh dear, when did I write that?!" but the fact is, I wrote something and the idea got out into the open.
It's like part of my brain has totally switched off. This year started out so creatively, I wrote loads in The Phantom Winger, Adam and I wrote Slim Chance (hey, top 10% out of over 800 entrants is no mean feat!), I've written the liner notes for Nathan's album (released officially on 4th June, physical copies are already in circulation and are available at the album launch on 2nd June). But then it's all sort of stopped.
There are things I really want to write, but I can't. I want to write more in The Phantom Winger - Alex's adventure hasn't even begun yet and I'm only about five paragraphs away from breaking the block on it!! I want to rewrite Slim Chance but I know that's pretty much on hold till Mr Leslie comes back from his sojourn to the colonies - which is fine because it's probably still a bit too fresh in my mind for me to be objective enough for a rewrite just yet.
I really want to write a Western. I've wanted to write one for years, for my Dad. We've always watched Westerns together and he loves stories about cowboys and I thought it would really make him happy if I wrote him a story - but it's taken me forever to get an idea. Now, I've sort of almost got a plot together, I've got an idea about what I might call my main character, and I've got a basic theme for the story... but that's it, I've not got anything definite, I've not had that light-bulb flash, Eureka style moment to spur me on (no pun intended) to write something that'd make Big Aitch proud. I know Westerns are probably the most difficult things to write because there are so many rules with a Western, and they require years of detailed research before you even settle down to writing anything in it. All of those obstacles, coupled with the fact I've grown up in Central Lancashire and as much as I turn into a pile of mush at the very thought of a Southern State accent, I simply don't know if I would ever be fluent enough in the Southern vernacular to make my dialogue convincing. I don't think I'm cut out to write it - but that's the thing my brain keeps telling me needs to be written. Even though I still haven't got enough of anything to start writing it yet.
You know what I need? I need a month or two in Texas. On an entirely academic, research-driven basis, and not just because I've been desperate to go to Texas since forever. Certainly not because it's the home of barbecue sauce. Or because it's filled with the sounds of the most incredible accent ever. Gosh, no. Whatever'd give you that idea?!
Basically, all my ideas are just too vague to even think about formulating a sentence with - let alone trying to eke them out into a story/script/whatever.
I'm sorry this has turned into such a big rant. I know people have real problems out there and that I shouldn't really whinge so much about it - but it's seriously doing my head in. Perhaps ranting about it will help it shift. I flippin' hope so.
Please join me on Friday, when I'll give you a report from Fat Club and take an excited look towards four whole days off work for the Jubilee weekend. Wasn't it nice of Her Majesty to know that I'd be so depressed about my birthday on Sunday that I wouldn't want to do any work for a couple of days - and subsequently arrange her Jubilee celebrations accordingly?!
For anyone who's had any contact with me over the last few weeks and I've seemed a little distracted and non-conversational, or you've wondered where my three hundred word text messages had gone to and why I haven't spoken to anyone unless it's been completely necessary - I CAN'T WRITE!! My brain can't even process enough thought to hold a proper conversation at the moment, let alone actually write anything. This may seem like a really trivial thing to you, and I apologise if you're bored already - especially because I can't even explain why it's so important that I do write. That's not a pretentious, pseudo-artistic 'if you don't write, you wouldn't understand' type excuse, it's true. I can articulate most things, but just not why I need to write.
It isn't that I haven't got any ideas at all. I've got vague thoughts for stories, books, scripts, sketches - you name it - in spades. But I don't have full ideas. I don't have enough of any one idea to be able to write one word. The floodgates of the imagination are simply groaning with the effort of keeping the plethora of sentences that are stored up in my brain - if only I could hold onto ONE sentence long enough for it to blossom into a fully formed idea, rather than simply remaining stagnant as the beginning of a maybe.
ARGH!!! It's the most frustrating thing ever.
Having ideas, being able to write, writing itself is probably one of the most liberating things ever. That really irritating moment (everyone who writes must have gone through this at some stage) of waking up at two o'clock in the morning and HAVING to get all those ideas down before your brain explodes under the weight of them - yes, it's a pain when your body needs sleep but your brain won't stop whirring into overdrive. Still, nothing makes me feel more alive than my fingertips flying across the keyboard, the eyes almost glazed over as the old imagination completely takes over body and soul, and before I know it I've actually created something, a person, a world and an adventure and I look back at it and think, "Woah, when did I write that?!"
When I read it back again in the morning, I might wince and think "Oh dear, when did I write that?!" but the fact is, I wrote something and the idea got out into the open.
It's like part of my brain has totally switched off. This year started out so creatively, I wrote loads in The Phantom Winger, Adam and I wrote Slim Chance (hey, top 10% out of over 800 entrants is no mean feat!), I've written the liner notes for Nathan's album (released officially on 4th June, physical copies are already in circulation and are available at the album launch on 2nd June). But then it's all sort of stopped.
There are things I really want to write, but I can't. I want to write more in The Phantom Winger - Alex's adventure hasn't even begun yet and I'm only about five paragraphs away from breaking the block on it!! I want to rewrite Slim Chance but I know that's pretty much on hold till Mr Leslie comes back from his sojourn to the colonies - which is fine because it's probably still a bit too fresh in my mind for me to be objective enough for a rewrite just yet.
I really want to write a Western. I've wanted to write one for years, for my Dad. We've always watched Westerns together and he loves stories about cowboys and I thought it would really make him happy if I wrote him a story - but it's taken me forever to get an idea. Now, I've sort of almost got a plot together, I've got an idea about what I might call my main character, and I've got a basic theme for the story... but that's it, I've not got anything definite, I've not had that light-bulb flash, Eureka style moment to spur me on (no pun intended) to write something that'd make Big Aitch proud. I know Westerns are probably the most difficult things to write because there are so many rules with a Western, and they require years of detailed research before you even settle down to writing anything in it. All of those obstacles, coupled with the fact I've grown up in Central Lancashire and as much as I turn into a pile of mush at the very thought of a Southern State accent, I simply don't know if I would ever be fluent enough in the Southern vernacular to make my dialogue convincing. I don't think I'm cut out to write it - but that's the thing my brain keeps telling me needs to be written. Even though I still haven't got enough of anything to start writing it yet.
You know what I need? I need a month or two in Texas. On an entirely academic, research-driven basis, and not just because I've been desperate to go to Texas since forever. Certainly not because it's the home of barbecue sauce. Or because it's filled with the sounds of the most incredible accent ever. Gosh, no. Whatever'd give you that idea?!
Basically, all my ideas are just too vague to even think about formulating a sentence with - let alone trying to eke them out into a story/script/whatever.
I'm sorry this has turned into such a big rant. I know people have real problems out there and that I shouldn't really whinge so much about it - but it's seriously doing my head in. Perhaps ranting about it will help it shift. I flippin' hope so.
Please join me on Friday, when I'll give you a report from Fat Club and take an excited look towards four whole days off work for the Jubilee weekend. Wasn't it nice of Her Majesty to know that I'd be so depressed about my birthday on Sunday that I wouldn't want to do any work for a couple of days - and subsequently arrange her Jubilee celebrations accordingly?!
Monday, 14 May 2012
Guess Who's Back...
Hello, hello, hello!!
I'm sorry I failed on the blogging front last week. Last week was horrible. Please can we pretend it didn't happen? That would totally work for me. I know the whole purpose of the blog was to be some sort of personal therapy when times got tough as well as the chroncling of joys and euphoria when times were good - but there are reasonable limits to everything. My head is feeling really rather screwed up at the moment. Life with the Wainwrights just hasn't been the kind of thing anyone would want to blog about for the last seven days.
Aside from the stuff you don't want to know about, on Thursday's weigh-in it turned out that I had put half a pound on. The llamas were extremely disappointed. I didn't pack them off to Magaluf again this week, but Enrique did say that if I have a good result this week he'd choreograph an extra special fiesta for me. What more incentive do I need?!
My slimming mojo seems to have vanished since the Debacle of the Scales. It's ridiculous. I know it's only a little thing but it's really just thrown me off-balance - no pun intended. Just when I'd finally started to think I could really do this and I could finally start looking like a person rather than an orb with feet, it was a huge knock I wasn't prepared for. Andrea the Consultant has got a lot to answer for. I am seriously lacking in confidence now, and being slimmer now feels more like a pipe dream again than the achievable goal it had started to become.
I'm not going to get my target of reaching my half-way point by my birthday. Or at least, if I do, it'll be a miracle. I know that now, and I suppose knowing that has taken a bit of pressure off, but the best I can do is to try and get as close to it as possible by then. I've still got three weigh-ins to go. Who knows. It might happen. I'm being really tough this week. I've got 3 1/2 lbs to go before I get my 3 stone boxed off and if I don't do it this week - or certainly the week after, I'll be completely gutted.
On the plus side, everyone buy my best friend Nathan's album when it comes out in a couple of weeks. Not only is he incredibly talented, makes amazing music and is, indeed, my favourite man since creation - I wrote the liner notes!!! Wahoo! I knew I'd see my name in print somewhere this year. Now I just need to get rid of this fershlugginer Writer's Block on The Phantom Winger. I've been advised to write the end first. I don't know how I feel about this, I think it might be a bad idea. Although I might start from mid-way in the third chapter, I'm only about five or six paragraphs away from breaking the block.
Actually, you know what, first of all I think I just want the world to stop spinning so flipping quickly for five minutes and let me get my head together before I go any further with anything...!!
I'm sorry I failed on the blogging front last week. Last week was horrible. Please can we pretend it didn't happen? That would totally work for me. I know the whole purpose of the blog was to be some sort of personal therapy when times got tough as well as the chroncling of joys and euphoria when times were good - but there are reasonable limits to everything. My head is feeling really rather screwed up at the moment. Life with the Wainwrights just hasn't been the kind of thing anyone would want to blog about for the last seven days.
Aside from the stuff you don't want to know about, on Thursday's weigh-in it turned out that I had put half a pound on. The llamas were extremely disappointed. I didn't pack them off to Magaluf again this week, but Enrique did say that if I have a good result this week he'd choreograph an extra special fiesta for me. What more incentive do I need?!
My slimming mojo seems to have vanished since the Debacle of the Scales. It's ridiculous. I know it's only a little thing but it's really just thrown me off-balance - no pun intended. Just when I'd finally started to think I could really do this and I could finally start looking like a person rather than an orb with feet, it was a huge knock I wasn't prepared for. Andrea the Consultant has got a lot to answer for. I am seriously lacking in confidence now, and being slimmer now feels more like a pipe dream again than the achievable goal it had started to become.
I'm not going to get my target of reaching my half-way point by my birthday. Or at least, if I do, it'll be a miracle. I know that now, and I suppose knowing that has taken a bit of pressure off, but the best I can do is to try and get as close to it as possible by then. I've still got three weigh-ins to go. Who knows. It might happen. I'm being really tough this week. I've got 3 1/2 lbs to go before I get my 3 stone boxed off and if I don't do it this week - or certainly the week after, I'll be completely gutted.
On the plus side, everyone buy my best friend Nathan's album when it comes out in a couple of weeks. Not only is he incredibly talented, makes amazing music and is, indeed, my favourite man since creation - I wrote the liner notes!!! Wahoo! I knew I'd see my name in print somewhere this year. Now I just need to get rid of this fershlugginer Writer's Block on The Phantom Winger. I've been advised to write the end first. I don't know how I feel about this, I think it might be a bad idea. Although I might start from mid-way in the third chapter, I'm only about five or six paragraphs away from breaking the block.
Actually, you know what, first of all I think I just want the world to stop spinning so flipping quickly for five minutes and let me get my head together before I go any further with anything...!!
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
I Wish I Had Something to Say
This is my problem, folks, and I would like to start by way of an apology for no blog on Monday. I'm just out of stuff to talk about at the moment. I've even got writer's block on my blog.
It's difficult to find new things to say when you're only really blogging about one thing. I had a few complaints when I wrote about the stuff I was writing, that nobody was actually interested in that - and that's fair enough, I completely understand that. The actual, physical, sitting-down-and-typing aspects of writing are extremely boring indeed. Writing only rates a 'meh' on the Rock'n'Roll Artistic Scale, after all. It isn't instantaneous enough. I bore myself about it, so I dread to think how many people I've sent to sleep over my updates on things I'm writing!
So, really, the whole purpose of this blog has been to keep me encouraged while I lose weight. Losing weight, it turns out, is probably the only thing more boring than writing.
This is my mindset on the weight loss front: I need to lose weight. I am losing weight. I am doing this by eating more healthy stuff and eating less rubbish. I have cut out full-sugar Coca-Cola and replaced it with sugar free stuff. I've cut down my alcohol intake massively. I do a bit of exercise where I can and when I can be bothered.
When it comes to chocolate and pizza and beer and crisps and all the things that make life worth living - I will have those things. I will. When I've lost the weight. If I get a craving for something, I think about something else. I'm very tough with myself and I don't mind that because I know *eventually* it will be worth it and any self-deprivation is only temporary. It comes down to this - I would rather be able to fit into lovely clothes than eat chocolate. When I'm thinner I'll be able to fit into lovely clothes AND eat chocolate - so if I have to miss out for 8-10 months, that's fine by me.
A lot of people have asked me if I'm proud of myself for nearly losing 2 1/2 stone. I'm not. I'll be happy when it's over and when I've done it. But at the moment I just want to get there. There's no point in being proud of myself when I haven't actually achieved anything yet. I haven't given up, which is good. But that's probably about it.
Having said that, I am so happy that so many people are proud of me, and that everyone's saying such lovely things about my progress so far. It helps to keep me going more than any of you realise. It isn't just me I'll be letting down if I don't do it this time - it's family, friends, complete strangers who have started reading the blog - and not forgetting the llamas! Ricardo will be heartbroken! It's pressure, but it's a nice pressure, and one that I'm very grateful for. I love that people care about me enough to talk to me about it and ask me questions about how I'm getting on and how I'm feeling. Focussed. That's how I'm feeling. I've still got my game face on for this thing. I'm going to do it. Even if it takes longer than I'd like, I'm going to do it. I've had enough of feeling physically sick every time I walk past a reflective surface and get a glimpse of myself.
So, nothing to worry about really. Everything's okay - but nothing's happened that requires reporting on. Everything's still the same, I'm still attempting to go forward in the war on obesity. I've got a bit of writer's block which is really annoying me, but it'll clear eventually. I'm not stuck to a deadline or anything. In short, and for a person with nothing to say, I do realise this blog entry's gone on for about a year - although I'm absolutely fine and there's nothing the matter and I'm not about to go out and consume my body weight in fried chicken, I'm just feeling a bit nothing-ish at the moment. But it's just a blip and I'll get over it.
I promise I'll be less miserable and grumpy next time - so please join me again on Friday. Hopefully I'll have got the 2 1/2 stone shiny sticker and certificate by then and the llamas will put on a fiesta that will blow your minds!!
It's difficult to find new things to say when you're only really blogging about one thing. I had a few complaints when I wrote about the stuff I was writing, that nobody was actually interested in that - and that's fair enough, I completely understand that. The actual, physical, sitting-down-and-typing aspects of writing are extremely boring indeed. Writing only rates a 'meh' on the Rock'n'Roll Artistic Scale, after all. It isn't instantaneous enough. I bore myself about it, so I dread to think how many people I've sent to sleep over my updates on things I'm writing!
So, really, the whole purpose of this blog has been to keep me encouraged while I lose weight. Losing weight, it turns out, is probably the only thing more boring than writing.
This is my mindset on the weight loss front: I need to lose weight. I am losing weight. I am doing this by eating more healthy stuff and eating less rubbish. I have cut out full-sugar Coca-Cola and replaced it with sugar free stuff. I've cut down my alcohol intake massively. I do a bit of exercise where I can and when I can be bothered.
When it comes to chocolate and pizza and beer and crisps and all the things that make life worth living - I will have those things. I will. When I've lost the weight. If I get a craving for something, I think about something else. I'm very tough with myself and I don't mind that because I know *eventually* it will be worth it and any self-deprivation is only temporary. It comes down to this - I would rather be able to fit into lovely clothes than eat chocolate. When I'm thinner I'll be able to fit into lovely clothes AND eat chocolate - so if I have to miss out for 8-10 months, that's fine by me.
A lot of people have asked me if I'm proud of myself for nearly losing 2 1/2 stone. I'm not. I'll be happy when it's over and when I've done it. But at the moment I just want to get there. There's no point in being proud of myself when I haven't actually achieved anything yet. I haven't given up, which is good. But that's probably about it.
Having said that, I am so happy that so many people are proud of me, and that everyone's saying such lovely things about my progress so far. It helps to keep me going more than any of you realise. It isn't just me I'll be letting down if I don't do it this time - it's family, friends, complete strangers who have started reading the blog - and not forgetting the llamas! Ricardo will be heartbroken! It's pressure, but it's a nice pressure, and one that I'm very grateful for. I love that people care about me enough to talk to me about it and ask me questions about how I'm getting on and how I'm feeling. Focussed. That's how I'm feeling. I've still got my game face on for this thing. I'm going to do it. Even if it takes longer than I'd like, I'm going to do it. I've had enough of feeling physically sick every time I walk past a reflective surface and get a glimpse of myself.
So, nothing to worry about really. Everything's okay - but nothing's happened that requires reporting on. Everything's still the same, I'm still attempting to go forward in the war on obesity. I've got a bit of writer's block which is really annoying me, but it'll clear eventually. I'm not stuck to a deadline or anything. In short, and for a person with nothing to say, I do realise this blog entry's gone on for about a year - although I'm absolutely fine and there's nothing the matter and I'm not about to go out and consume my body weight in fried chicken, I'm just feeling a bit nothing-ish at the moment. But it's just a blip and I'll get over it.
I promise I'll be less miserable and grumpy next time - so please join me again on Friday. Hopefully I'll have got the 2 1/2 stone shiny sticker and certificate by then and the llamas will put on a fiesta that will blow your minds!!
Monday, 12 March 2012
Crash! Boom! Bang!
Can't believe it's Monday again. Can't a girl get a break?! All I want is just one day off, just one, on my own, to get my little head straight, to get some things done that need doing and to just have a few hours of silence. God. Sounds like heaven. It's all too much. I need everything to stop for a while so my head stops spinning. I have a feeling it won't happen until at least Easter, though. Even then, I have my doubts!
Saturday was lovely. I haven't seen my niece and nephews (collectively still termed 'the kids' despite the fact they're all grown up and only a few years younger than I am) all year. Which is partly due to general bad auntie-dom, but also due to the fact Southport is a hell of a place to navigate into and out of on public transport - and the fact my niece now lives in Bristol. Which is quite a walk. Still, getting to spend time with any of them is on my favourite things to do in the whole world list - so spending time with all three of them at once made me ridiculously happy. It's my Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary at the end of March and the celebrations began on Saturday. Well. Technically I think they began last Wednesday when Mum invited some of my cousins over, but this was the first actual party for them, and there will be more celebrations as the month progresses. I mean, why not? If you're going to celebrate something so monumental, do it properly!!
I got really upset yesterday. I have never known an overweight person get heckled more than I do while minding their own business walking down the street. Honestly. It's ridiculous. I must be some sort of monster. People must visibly recoil in horror when they look at me and get a little bit sick in their mouths at the sight of the putrid mass that is me. Honestly. I was just walking to my pal's house, feeling quite proud of myself for not being knackered at the half-way point, when I saw three kids on the pavement a bit further up the road. I hate children (I say 'children', they were probably about 17, however, evidently still not old enough to have learned any people skills), as you know, so I thought rather than have to share the same airspace as them, I'd just cross the road. As I did, this happened:
BOY 1: Bloody hell, you're fat, aren't you?
ME: [thinking] Ignore him, ignore him, he may be talking to... someone else... even if you are the only other person on the street!
BOY 1: Erm, excuse me, didn't you hear me?
ME: [thinking] Holy hell! Vile people are getting braver! I wish I knew more people on this road so I could just call on them and hide till they went away!
BOY 2: I'm sorry, were you talking to me, I thought you were talking to the fat person who just crossed the road!
ME: [thinking] If only there was a convenient tall building I could throw myself off at this juncture - it'd be over quickly, I must have one hell of a gravitational pull!!
I mean - goodness only knows what they'd've said if they'd seen me walking down the street at the beginning of January, they'd've probably had a heart attack - as between all three of them they probably only have one heart.
I know. I know what you're all saying. They're idiots - and this is true. They were only showing off in front of their friends - and this is true too, because one of them was a girl. I am quite aware that their hostility and attempts to humiliate me in public was merely due to the fact that they likely have to compensate for inadequate-sized, ineffectual genetalia. And I do derive a smug sense of satisfaction that, if they ever read this blog entry, they wouldn't have a clue what the last sentence meant. But then you can't help that little voice in the back of your head saying, "They're only saying what everyone else is thinking because they don't know you so they're not worried about offending you." You'd think, the more it happened, the less it'd hurt, but to be honest, it doesn't hurt any less - if anything, especially after all the hard work I've put in over the last nine weeks, it hurts more.
I'm feeling very wobbly at the moment, I think that's what I'm saying. I keep having dreams about devouring the contents of a sweet shop and I wake up feeling really bloated and horrible, even though I know I haven't really eaten anything. I felt a bit of a failure on Thursday night and managed to talk myself round by Friday - but now I feel as though perhaps my initial self-loathing was possibly warranted. The thing is, I'm really doing my best and I feel like it isn't good enough but I've no idea what else I can possibly do to make it better. I know I'm a bit grumpy, but by and large I like to think I'm quite a nice person - I definitely wouldn't go out of my way to upset anyone, and I don't understand why complete strangers feel the need to inform me of how large I am when I am clearly already painfully aware of the fact. Really. Stop it. It's fine. I know. I'm doing something about it. It isn't a miracle cure, it's a long, hard slog - so it'll take time, but I'm doing it. Just... back off and stop heckling me! I wouldn't mind but they're not even funny like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show!!
So, all in all, I'm feeling far too Mondayish for my own good today. Still. There's only seven hours until I'm on the train on my way home. Sorry. Six hours and fifty nine minutes...
Join me again on Wednesday. The good thing about that will be the fact that as I'm already pretty much at rock bottom today, I can't hit a midweek slump by Wednesday - so with any luck I'll be feeling far more cheerful and positive about everything. Well. Perhaps!!
Saturday was lovely. I haven't seen my niece and nephews (collectively still termed 'the kids' despite the fact they're all grown up and only a few years younger than I am) all year. Which is partly due to general bad auntie-dom, but also due to the fact Southport is a hell of a place to navigate into and out of on public transport - and the fact my niece now lives in Bristol. Which is quite a walk. Still, getting to spend time with any of them is on my favourite things to do in the whole world list - so spending time with all three of them at once made me ridiculously happy. It's my Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary at the end of March and the celebrations began on Saturday. Well. Technically I think they began last Wednesday when Mum invited some of my cousins over, but this was the first actual party for them, and there will be more celebrations as the month progresses. I mean, why not? If you're going to celebrate something so monumental, do it properly!!
I got really upset yesterday. I have never known an overweight person get heckled more than I do while minding their own business walking down the street. Honestly. It's ridiculous. I must be some sort of monster. People must visibly recoil in horror when they look at me and get a little bit sick in their mouths at the sight of the putrid mass that is me. Honestly. I was just walking to my pal's house, feeling quite proud of myself for not being knackered at the half-way point, when I saw three kids on the pavement a bit further up the road. I hate children (I say 'children', they were probably about 17, however, evidently still not old enough to have learned any people skills), as you know, so I thought rather than have to share the same airspace as them, I'd just cross the road. As I did, this happened:
BOY 1: Bloody hell, you're fat, aren't you?
ME: [thinking] Ignore him, ignore him, he may be talking to... someone else... even if you are the only other person on the street!
BOY 1: Erm, excuse me, didn't you hear me?
ME: [thinking] Holy hell! Vile people are getting braver! I wish I knew more people on this road so I could just call on them and hide till they went away!
BOY 2: I'm sorry, were you talking to me, I thought you were talking to the fat person who just crossed the road!
ME: [thinking] If only there was a convenient tall building I could throw myself off at this juncture - it'd be over quickly, I must have one hell of a gravitational pull!!
I mean - goodness only knows what they'd've said if they'd seen me walking down the street at the beginning of January, they'd've probably had a heart attack - as between all three of them they probably only have one heart.
I know. I know what you're all saying. They're idiots - and this is true. They were only showing off in front of their friends - and this is true too, because one of them was a girl. I am quite aware that their hostility and attempts to humiliate me in public was merely due to the fact that they likely have to compensate for inadequate-sized, ineffectual genetalia. And I do derive a smug sense of satisfaction that, if they ever read this blog entry, they wouldn't have a clue what the last sentence meant. But then you can't help that little voice in the back of your head saying, "They're only saying what everyone else is thinking because they don't know you so they're not worried about offending you." You'd think, the more it happened, the less it'd hurt, but to be honest, it doesn't hurt any less - if anything, especially after all the hard work I've put in over the last nine weeks, it hurts more.
I'm feeling very wobbly at the moment, I think that's what I'm saying. I keep having dreams about devouring the contents of a sweet shop and I wake up feeling really bloated and horrible, even though I know I haven't really eaten anything. I felt a bit of a failure on Thursday night and managed to talk myself round by Friday - but now I feel as though perhaps my initial self-loathing was possibly warranted. The thing is, I'm really doing my best and I feel like it isn't good enough but I've no idea what else I can possibly do to make it better. I know I'm a bit grumpy, but by and large I like to think I'm quite a nice person - I definitely wouldn't go out of my way to upset anyone, and I don't understand why complete strangers feel the need to inform me of how large I am when I am clearly already painfully aware of the fact. Really. Stop it. It's fine. I know. I'm doing something about it. It isn't a miracle cure, it's a long, hard slog - so it'll take time, but I'm doing it. Just... back off and stop heckling me! I wouldn't mind but they're not even funny like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show!!
So, all in all, I'm feeling far too Mondayish for my own good today. Still. There's only seven hours until I'm on the train on my way home. Sorry. Six hours and fifty nine minutes...
Join me again on Wednesday. The good thing about that will be the fact that as I'm already pretty much at rock bottom today, I can't hit a midweek slump by Wednesday - so with any luck I'll be feeling far more cheerful and positive about everything. Well. Perhaps!!
Friday, 9 March 2012
I am Not a Number, I am a Free Woman!
You see, there's a reason for me updating my blog on a Friday rather than on a Thursday night. If I'd asked the llamas to dance for me last night, Ricardo would have looked derisively at me and replied, "La mitad de una libra? Eso no vale ni siquiera una sonrisa, la novia!" - or, as they say in Spanish, "Half a pound? That isn't even worth a smile, girlfriend!"
He'd have been right. I was gutted. There's no point in all of this 'any loss is a good loss' thing as soon as you get that news. It's very encouraging and motivating two or three hours later when you've finished beating yourself up and you're in the process of dusting yourself down and starting all over again - and admittedly it's more helpful than handing over a large slice of chocolate cake and saying "to hell with it, get this down you!" But at the time - when you'd been hoping and striving to lose a minimum of 2lbs and you only lose 1/2lb - trying to get any posititivity out of that feeling of abject failure is really tough.
However, I've slept on it. Not the llama - the bitter disappointment that after a week of sensible eating and walking like a true Wainwright, I only lost half a blasted pound. Now, after a fabulous night's sleep - now I can say the words we've all been waiting for all week:
Hit it, llamas!!!
*shimmys around the room shaking maracas*
Why the celebration?? Because, as I realised this morning, my focus had been dead wrong all week.
When I first started this weight loss thing, I wanted to lose five dress sizes. I had absolutely no idea how much I weighed because I'd been too scared to stand on a pair of scales for at least five years (even when I got weighed at the doctors I closed my eyes and told them not to tell me what the scales said!), and I had no idea how much I wanted or, indeed, needed to lose in pounds and ounces. That's still my aim. I didn't think I'd lost sight of that, particularly, but when people start bringing scales into the equation, naturally your focus gets shifted to how much you weigh now and how much you ideally should weigh.
Thankfully, Slimming World aren't interested particularly in focussing on BMIs and don't have that "if you're X feet and inches tall you should weigh X stone otherwise you're fat" mentality. You set your own target, you don't even need to tell them what it is if you don't want to, they'll just give you the right support until you get to wherever you want to be. Which is great. But, for practical and logistic reasons, they do need to focus on the pounds. Which is a very contagious focus, especially when you can't really see much difference but the scales tell you that you're definitely losing weight.
This week was completely the opposite. I can now see that I'm getting smaller. Even though it's only been a week I can see how the walking is helping to tone me up. I can tell by my clothes being a lot more loose-fitting that I'm getting smaller. I am still working towards being five sizes smaller. I've lost one dress size already. I've only got four to go by August. I'll still do it. It's all about the shape. I'm not going to be dicatated to by a set of numbers on a pair of scales. I'm still Being Skinny!! Even if I did only lose half a pound!!
So, to any of my pals or my other readers who are also on a weight-loss journey and have had similar blip, honestly - don't feel down. You've not failed, even though you might think it. You're still winning. It's the small battles that count. We can all do this. It'll happen. We just need to keep our focus in the right place. You will never wear a pair of scales but you will wear lovely clothes in smaller sizes. You will. It'll happen. Let's do this!!
Join me again on Monday, when I'll give you a full report of the weekend's activity - I'm really excited about seeing my beautiful niece and gorgeous nephews (biological and adopted!) this weekend for one of the early celebrations of Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary. It'll be a lovely weekend - and whatever it is you're up to over the next couple of days, have a fabulous time and I'll see you back here on Monday!!
He'd have been right. I was gutted. There's no point in all of this 'any loss is a good loss' thing as soon as you get that news. It's very encouraging and motivating two or three hours later when you've finished beating yourself up and you're in the process of dusting yourself down and starting all over again - and admittedly it's more helpful than handing over a large slice of chocolate cake and saying "to hell with it, get this down you!" But at the time - when you'd been hoping and striving to lose a minimum of 2lbs and you only lose 1/2lb - trying to get any posititivity out of that feeling of abject failure is really tough.
However, I've slept on it. Not the llama - the bitter disappointment that after a week of sensible eating and walking like a true Wainwright, I only lost half a blasted pound. Now, after a fabulous night's sleep - now I can say the words we've all been waiting for all week:
Hit it, llamas!!!
*shimmys around the room shaking maracas*
Why the celebration?? Because, as I realised this morning, my focus had been dead wrong all week.
When I first started this weight loss thing, I wanted to lose five dress sizes. I had absolutely no idea how much I weighed because I'd been too scared to stand on a pair of scales for at least five years (even when I got weighed at the doctors I closed my eyes and told them not to tell me what the scales said!), and I had no idea how much I wanted or, indeed, needed to lose in pounds and ounces. That's still my aim. I didn't think I'd lost sight of that, particularly, but when people start bringing scales into the equation, naturally your focus gets shifted to how much you weigh now and how much you ideally should weigh.
Thankfully, Slimming World aren't interested particularly in focussing on BMIs and don't have that "if you're X feet and inches tall you should weigh X stone otherwise you're fat" mentality. You set your own target, you don't even need to tell them what it is if you don't want to, they'll just give you the right support until you get to wherever you want to be. Which is great. But, for practical and logistic reasons, they do need to focus on the pounds. Which is a very contagious focus, especially when you can't really see much difference but the scales tell you that you're definitely losing weight.
This week was completely the opposite. I can now see that I'm getting smaller. Even though it's only been a week I can see how the walking is helping to tone me up. I can tell by my clothes being a lot more loose-fitting that I'm getting smaller. I am still working towards being five sizes smaller. I've lost one dress size already. I've only got four to go by August. I'll still do it. It's all about the shape. I'm not going to be dicatated to by a set of numbers on a pair of scales. I'm still Being Skinny!! Even if I did only lose half a pound!!
So, to any of my pals or my other readers who are also on a weight-loss journey and have had similar blip, honestly - don't feel down. You've not failed, even though you might think it. You're still winning. It's the small battles that count. We can all do this. It'll happen. We just need to keep our focus in the right place. You will never wear a pair of scales but you will wear lovely clothes in smaller sizes. You will. It'll happen. Let's do this!!
Join me again on Monday, when I'll give you a full report of the weekend's activity - I'm really excited about seeing my beautiful niece and gorgeous nephews (biological and adopted!) this weekend for one of the early celebrations of Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary. It'll be a lovely weekend - and whatever it is you're up to over the next couple of days, have a fabulous time and I'll see you back here on Monday!!
Friday, 27 January 2012
The Blip
So. As promised in the little blurb at the top of this blog, I will be detailing my ups, downs and plateaus during this weight loss adventure.
This week was a down. I put on 1 1/2 lbs.
The dancing llamas have packed up their leg-warmers and have little droopy ears under their sombreros. The maracas are gathering dust. I am less buoyed than usual (which is funny because I put weight on and therefore must be very buoyant indeed at the moment! Don't throw me in any water to find out though - I can't swim and I have the feeling that, like the Wicked Witch of the West, I might melt if I come into contact with water. "Oh, what a world, what a world!").
*sigh* I didn't even overeat. I didn't have too many Syns. I thought I'd been dead good.
I've been told to start a food diary this week. I have. But unfortunately I had to buy lunch today and the only thing I could find was a chicken sandwich from Boots that, when I checked it out is actually worth 13 1/2 Syns. Chuff that for a game of soldiers!! I'd rather have three Bacardis!!! So I've got a little packet of fruit and some diet lemonade. Chuff.
God I'm hungry. Just wish there was better free snacky stuff than fruit. If I had any actual cash on me I'd've gone and bought some hot chicken from the shop across the road. Oh well. I suppose one hungry day won't kill me. After all, I'm still eating stuff. I'll eat more tomorrow.
Meh. Forget it. I've decided to just eat the filling. I think all the Syns are in the bread and the mayo. There's definitely nothing Synful about chicken breast, rocket and tomatoes (although I'll probably still count some, just in case!)!!
There's also the exercise bit that I'm finding trouble with. I'd go for lovely walks, but I live on the edge of an industrial estate, which frankly isn't the most inspiring place for that type of exercise. I've just ordered my Skip-It and it should be here within the next week or so. A good half-hour of that every day and I'll be like a stick in no time!! Well. Fair enough, I'll need to build up to it. Still. It's better than doing nothing, I guess.
So hopefully this time next week I'll have lost weight again. I've either completely cut out, or cut down massively on things like saturated fat, chocolate, crisps, chips, booze and other yummy stuff. I've even stopped eating the skin off chicken - which, as everyone knows, is the best bit!! And I haven't cheated once. I mean, I really haven't. I've been really self-disciplined. So maybe it was just a bit of a glitch this week. Also, without wanting to be too graphic, I did have to jump up and down quite a lot in the queue due to the complete lack of bathroom facilities. How I managed not to embarrass myself in front of a room full of people is a miracle. So, perhaps that didn't help too much either.
I didn't stay to group - mostly because I was about to burst into floods of tears and nobody needs to see a fat girl crying, so I can't tell you how Dave the Bloke or Beth the Legend, or even Barbara of "Having A Bloody Brilliant Week" fame got on, but when I left Dave was deep in conversation with Andrea the Consultant - so either he did really well or really badly. I'm sure he did well, he was really determined last week.
As if yesterday wasn't traumatic enough, I got a haircut as well. Now, you must understand that I am terrified of hairdressers. Terrified. I mean they're up there with masks and gloves as my biggest phobias. I do everything in my power to avoid haircuts and I do tend to do very well in my avoidance of them. I think averaging out at one every eighteen months is quite good going, considering how expensive they are and how much I get cut off each time. No hairdresser has ever made a profit from me!! I think my eldest sister is partly to blame for that time she decided to give me "a trim" when I was about 12 and cut my hair from just past my bum to just above my shoulderblades. My mother takes the rest of the blame for cutting my eyelid one time when she decided to cut my fringe. She was more hysterical than I was, in fairness. But still. Bad memories. And I hate people messing with my hair, it makes me claustrophobic. So, all in all, hairdressing salons are not the type of place I would ever willingly frequent. On reflection it was quite a good cut, however, I have no idea what on earth she was thinking when she styled it, I genuinely looked as though I'd just fallen out of bed. It was awful. Luckily it had dropped quite a lot by the time I had to go out in public so I didn't feel too bad. Now all I need to do is get it dyed tonight and I might start looking like my old self again. Well. Like my old self who's just eaten a whole person. But still, you get the idea.
So getting a haircut and finding out I'd put on weight all in the space of one day didn't, as you can imagine, put me in the best of moods. Such a shame. I had a brilliant day on Monday, now I'm a miserable old sod again. Ah well. I knew it wouldn't last.
This weekend I am going on an adventure with my lovely pal Helena to Liverpool, best city in the world and home of the best football team in the history of the game. Also home to Liverpool FC. Sorry about that, folks. But to make up for it, we did give the world The Beatles.
Join me on Monday when I will give you the gossip from the weekend and take a look toward the week ahead. Whatever you're up to over the next couple of days, have a lovely time, take care of yourselves and remember - if you're going to get on a pair of scales, make sure you have an empty bladder first...!!
This week was a down. I put on 1 1/2 lbs.
The dancing llamas have packed up their leg-warmers and have little droopy ears under their sombreros. The maracas are gathering dust. I am less buoyed than usual (which is funny because I put weight on and therefore must be very buoyant indeed at the moment! Don't throw me in any water to find out though - I can't swim and I have the feeling that, like the Wicked Witch of the West, I might melt if I come into contact with water. "Oh, what a world, what a world!").
*sigh* I didn't even overeat. I didn't have too many Syns. I thought I'd been dead good.
I've been told to start a food diary this week. I have. But unfortunately I had to buy lunch today and the only thing I could find was a chicken sandwich from Boots that, when I checked it out is actually worth 13 1/2 Syns. Chuff that for a game of soldiers!! I'd rather have three Bacardis!!! So I've got a little packet of fruit and some diet lemonade. Chuff.
God I'm hungry. Just wish there was better free snacky stuff than fruit. If I had any actual cash on me I'd've gone and bought some hot chicken from the shop across the road. Oh well. I suppose one hungry day won't kill me. After all, I'm still eating stuff. I'll eat more tomorrow.
Meh. Forget it. I've decided to just eat the filling. I think all the Syns are in the bread and the mayo. There's definitely nothing Synful about chicken breast, rocket and tomatoes (although I'll probably still count some, just in case!)!!
There's also the exercise bit that I'm finding trouble with. I'd go for lovely walks, but I live on the edge of an industrial estate, which frankly isn't the most inspiring place for that type of exercise. I've just ordered my Skip-It and it should be here within the next week or so. A good half-hour of that every day and I'll be like a stick in no time!! Well. Fair enough, I'll need to build up to it. Still. It's better than doing nothing, I guess.
So hopefully this time next week I'll have lost weight again. I've either completely cut out, or cut down massively on things like saturated fat, chocolate, crisps, chips, booze and other yummy stuff. I've even stopped eating the skin off chicken - which, as everyone knows, is the best bit!! And I haven't cheated once. I mean, I really haven't. I've been really self-disciplined. So maybe it was just a bit of a glitch this week. Also, without wanting to be too graphic, I did have to jump up and down quite a lot in the queue due to the complete lack of bathroom facilities. How I managed not to embarrass myself in front of a room full of people is a miracle. So, perhaps that didn't help too much either.
I didn't stay to group - mostly because I was about to burst into floods of tears and nobody needs to see a fat girl crying, so I can't tell you how Dave the Bloke or Beth the Legend, or even Barbara of "Having A Bloody Brilliant Week" fame got on, but when I left Dave was deep in conversation with Andrea the Consultant - so either he did really well or really badly. I'm sure he did well, he was really determined last week.
As if yesterday wasn't traumatic enough, I got a haircut as well. Now, you must understand that I am terrified of hairdressers. Terrified. I mean they're up there with masks and gloves as my biggest phobias. I do everything in my power to avoid haircuts and I do tend to do very well in my avoidance of them. I think averaging out at one every eighteen months is quite good going, considering how expensive they are and how much I get cut off each time. No hairdresser has ever made a profit from me!! I think my eldest sister is partly to blame for that time she decided to give me "a trim" when I was about 12 and cut my hair from just past my bum to just above my shoulderblades. My mother takes the rest of the blame for cutting my eyelid one time when she decided to cut my fringe. She was more hysterical than I was, in fairness. But still. Bad memories. And I hate people messing with my hair, it makes me claustrophobic. So, all in all, hairdressing salons are not the type of place I would ever willingly frequent. On reflection it was quite a good cut, however, I have no idea what on earth she was thinking when she styled it, I genuinely looked as though I'd just fallen out of bed. It was awful. Luckily it had dropped quite a lot by the time I had to go out in public so I didn't feel too bad. Now all I need to do is get it dyed tonight and I might start looking like my old self again. Well. Like my old self who's just eaten a whole person. But still, you get the idea.
So getting a haircut and finding out I'd put on weight all in the space of one day didn't, as you can imagine, put me in the best of moods. Such a shame. I had a brilliant day on Monday, now I'm a miserable old sod again. Ah well. I knew it wouldn't last.
This weekend I am going on an adventure with my lovely pal Helena to Liverpool, best city in the world and home of the best football team in the history of the game. Also home to Liverpool FC. Sorry about that, folks. But to make up for it, we did give the world The Beatles.
Join me on Monday when I will give you the gossip from the weekend and take a look toward the week ahead. Whatever you're up to over the next couple of days, have a lovely time, take care of yourselves and remember - if you're going to get on a pair of scales, make sure you have an empty bladder first...!!
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