I feel horrible. As horrible as a wet January morning. But, erm, fatter. I reckon that I’ve gone up two stone brackets since the wedding. I was in the mid range Porkies – too much and some of the wedding photos make me wince – but I reckon I’ve streaked through the rest of Porky, ballooned into Fat and am now festering in Very Fat. If I’m very unlikely I’ll be in Obese – which is where I started LighterLife all those years ago. I don’t think so though – that was a couple of dress sizes bigger than I think I am even now.
Of course, it’s all just conjecture as I CANNOT make myself get on the scales. I’m just too chicken. That would be chicken force-fed with crisps, chocolate, chocolate log, hot chocolate, sandwiches, mince pies, roast pear and butterscotch trifle (yum!) and booze.
But my stretchy jeans are stretched to bursting point – I can only bear to wear them for a few hours – and they were comfy before. And I have two identical skirts – I was just in the smaller size before Christmas but now I’m filling out the larger size. I reckon I have very little in my wardrobe that will actually fit me. My coat is too tight, my walking coat won’t do up and I can only just squeeze into an old, larger coat (I really need to stop buying fitted stuff. Or wire my jaws shut. Or both.). The only thing I’ve felt comfortable in is some VERY unflattering fleece trousers that I am embarrassed to even wear hiking.
And the carbs definitely don’t suit me – apart from the astronomical amount of blubber, I have spots and a perpetually upset stomach and savage shakes from carb-withdrawal.
It’s not even as if I went mad; I wasn’t perpetually stuffing my face. But I did go to bed most nights feeling a bit too full for comfort – and P actually groaned ‘I can’t wait for January and dieting’ once and has formulated his own dieting plan. Which involves no booze. Stunned silence here.
To be honest I’d be thrilled if I could continue life by having a lunch that consisted of a sandwich, a handful of crisps and a piece of chocolate log. To have pudding after every supper and wine with dinner (and an aperitif). But I can’t. This all has to stop. Now.
Today I have been carb-free. I’ve eaten more than I’d like but motivated by hunger rather than greed or boredom or self-indulgence. I need to get my blood sugar levels back on an even keel before eating less so I don’t get the shakes and have to grab something sugary to stop feeling so ill. I can’t be too gung-ho and extreme or I’ll fail before I’ve begun. But I’ve made sure that my meals and snacks are the right type of food (a yoghurt or a handful of nuts).
And as P and I discussed, none of this can be a diet. I’m actually signed up for that. I LOVE carbs but they make me feel ill so they need to be an occasional treat rather than a dominant staple. I can’t let the odd occasion where I know that I will be off-diet turn into an excuse to abandon the diet altogether. I have afternoon tea with a friend for her birthday next week (and I didn’t want to duck out- can you imagine how hard it must be to find anyone to do anything nice with for an early January birthday?) and we’re going to go away at the end of January for a night on a deal as we can’t visit our tinhut until March now. I need to be able to deal with these sort of things calmly without allowing them to totally derail me; because that’s life. If I’m to have a life that is. And I do rather want one!
But I need to stop feeling as uncomfortable in my clothes. And to be mindful that we have our honeymoon at the end of May where, amongst other things, I need to be able to wear evening dresses on the boat.