Weight Expectations

I have the festive fear (the moment of accounting for all the calories) colliding with the January blues – it makes for a bleak outlook.

I knew I’d put on weight from three pointers:
1. My engagement ring was feeling tight
2. My walking coat was feeling tight
3. My jeans – which had been on the loose side – were feeling tight. And then I wore them walking and got them muddy and – schoolgirl error – I HAD TO WASH THEM. Well, if I hadn’t had them on the previous day, I would not have believed that they could fit me at all. I pretty much had to cut myself in half to get them done up. When I got home the next day, I gave in and put my size 18 old jeans on – physical relief, mental anguish.

I reckoned I’d put on about a stone as suddenly pretty much everything was too tight. Except my Christmas coat, luckily (and curiously), although I daren’t wear anything too chunky underneath. Other than myself, obviously, and only then because I have no choice in this. This has been caused by the following factors (or fat-tors):

• Chocolate every day
• Wine every day (sometimes sharing 2 bottles with the bf – and a glass of sherry sometimes too. Sweet of course!)
• Bread products every day (crumpets, cheesy bread, baguette, white bread)
• Pudding every day (cake, ice cream....)
• Crisps – not every day but frequently (Tyrrell’s ham and cranberry, mmmm)
• A bottle of elderflower cordial (diluted, I hasten to add)
• Occasional sneak eating (yep, more chocolate) – something I thought I’d left behind me

On the flipside, we did 4 walks in Suffolk in between Christmas and New Year – a 5.5 miler, a 3 miler (not really planning a walk that day), a 4.5 miler. And then we did a 13 miler! Briskly and without stopping to ensure we got back before dark. When I finally collapsed on to the sofa, I seized up and had to stagger like an old lady before my shocked muscles loosened up.

And – my final feeble badge of honour - when I had hot chocolate, I used skimmed milk. Although that probably didn’t make up for the marshmallows and squirty (low fat people!) cream a great deal....

Yesterday I had my final day of bad eating – crumpets and jam for breakfast, a brie and cranberry sandwich on white and crisps for lunch, a chocolate bar snack and tacos for dinner (actually dinner was fine). And today I screwed up my - frankly rubbish - courage and got on the scales. 11lbs on. No wonder the fat skirt I have on today has split along a seam on the stomach. This makes me Fat.5 (and a half). I was in Tubby, setting my sights on Chubby. Chubby is now some way off, let’s say.

I spent yesterday making roasted ratatouille to put in the freezer and what I suspect will be a singularly joyless soup for lunch (a very watery looking celeriac and celery) which I’ll have to buy something to go with. Back to baffling what I can eat on the new WW plan then.

Next Christmas I want to be in size 12 jeans really. I find that unimaginable to be honest, but I definitely need to be starting to look at wedding dresses in the various sample sales this time next year and I think I’m going to have to be a 12 for that. I certainly don’t still want to be ricocheting between getting down to a 14/16 just before Christmas each year and then eating my way up to a 16/18 in January every flipping year. I know I’ll always put weight on over Christmas, but I’d like to do it from a lower starting point (and possibly in a less maniacal way). I also have a lovely jumper that I just about could start to wear at that 14/16 point but then inevitably get too fat to wear it whilst it’s actually a seasonal item and by the time I’ve shed sufficient blubber the weather is too warm (yes, it takes that long)!

On the non-food treat front, I re-read all the Harry Potter books in order from start to finish – yay! Actually I read the last one first, then started again from the beginning, ending with the 6th one. Bf laughed at me when we saw some quiz show (QI?) with Daniel Radcliffe on and I was indignant that he’d got the rules of Quidditch wrong. I won’t elaborate for fear of ridicule.

I hate January.