Thursday, 27 February 2014

In the pink

So much for my resolution to post twice a week.  This week and next are likely to be one-post weeks - because we're going away!  A long weekend in Yorkshire beckons.  Great news for everything except my diet.

I decided to weigh today - rather than tomorrow which would have been a week - because I was visiting a friend and new baby today and I knew there would be cake.  With the exception of two (delicious) cocktails I have had a sensible - verging on austere - week and I didn't want the cake to marr that.  2lbs off.  That's pretty damn decent for me.  And it's not the first week (when I didn't weigh) so hopefully it's not a one-off blip.  I can't help but do the numbers (you know, if I lose x a week then by y I'll be...).  I tried to look at the bigger (forgive the pun) picture and just say, okay, I want to be back in my beloved tweed coat by October: I fear this means 3 1/2 stone though and I fear even more that this may be too big (there it is again) an ask.

Talking of blips (or indeed blimps).  I'm going to make the best choices I can whilst we're away but it's clearly not going to be the same as eating salads at home (if it is, we're doing something wrong).  I intend to choose the most carb-free foods I can (I won't be diving headfirst into a vat of pasta for instance) but I'm anticipating more wine than usual. 

Tomorrow night we're staying with friends of P who are great drinkers - I won't (and can't!) try and keep pace but even so, it's likely to be a bit over what I'd normally drink.  Then we're off for three nights in a pub - chosen for its links to P's beloved meat supplier in London (The Ginger Pig.  No that's the butcher, not me but I'm very much alive to the amusing double meaning, thank you).  At least it's not Italian!  Food choices ought not to be too difficult.  There may be the occasional pudding but, thank the lord, I'm so fussy about pudding that more often than not I don't see anything I fancy.

We hope to do a bit of walking too.  Probably better for the soul than the waistline but a fringe benefit is a fringe benefit.

Apart from SoD, I now have another monitoring exercise - taking my blood sugar.  I'm getting reasonably blase about whacking a needle in me but the sense of failure if my blood sugar levels aren't low enough is almost as profound as when SoD throws me a curveball.  I am keeping a grip because it's early days and it may be that my drugs haven't kicked in.  The biggest similarity is my reluctance to engage when I know things won't be good.  Today, for example.  I know cake is likely to produce a bad result so I don't really want to see it.  Today has been a needle free day thus far.

I also went shopping today.  I have read that this is supposed to be fun - that some people actually enjoy it.  I may even know people who enjoy it - but they mystify me.  Nothing is more likely to induce crippling self-loathing than looking at myself in mirrors and coming home empty handed.  I gave myself the distraction of accessories (some navy shoe-boots and a new work bag) but failed on all counts.  The seemingly inocuous task of a (preferably stripy) long sleeved t-shirt was in fact an impossible quest (who knew?).  I tried to steer clear of all other clothes but, sick of the boob-pain, resolved to buy a bra (Reader: I have bottled this twice recently).

I went to Bravissimo as I have proven to myself repeatedly that I have no idea what size I am.  This requires military style planning as I know it means standing in front of someone, half-naked.  It had to be a skirt for stomach-camoflaging properties - I couldn't display myself in jeans.  Luckily the fitter was kind (although appalled that my current bra only contained half of my breasts - the other half being forced to skulk under my arms resentfully) and although the resulting bra is now hurting, I suspect it's just the newness rather than gradual boob bisection.  I even bought a patterned hot pink 2nd bra: Reader, I detest pink.  Still not sure what happened there but this is it (no, don't worry, not me in it but a pretty, normal lingerie-model type):

It says red.  It's not red.  I was also way out in the size I thought I was - a whole underband size smaller and 2-3 cup sizes bigger.  My cup runneth over indeed.


Seren said...

Bra shopping is probably the worst kind in terms of ritual humiliation. Sigh. But I'm with you that clothes shopping, in general, is just not fun. I don't care how fat or thin one is, changing rooms are lit in such a way as to be universally unflattering and always, ALWAYS overheated so you end up a sweaty mess.

Anyway. Brilliant result, well done. And have a wonderful and well deserved break in God's own county.


Lesley said...

I'm SURE I commented on this already....something about sympathising with your feeling guilty about the blood sugar cos I feel guilty that I may have A pre-senior moment perhaps??

Anyway, my thoughts are entirely different this time round. Firstly - 2 lbs off!!! Yay!! That's a proper drop. Well done and keep it up.

Secondly - now I feel guilty for abandoning my previously strongly held principles re proper fitting bras and just grabbing a cheapo couple in the supermarket to "tide me over til I drop a stone"! Well done you...a good bra is soooo much more flattering.

Thirdly I hope you're enjoying a winderful break in the county next to and nearly as good as God's Own (which is of course Derbyshire....).

And fourthly, less of the mock, self-deprecating references to blimps and Ginger Pigs, madam. You're not allowed to put yourself down, ever, even in jest. You're gorgeous and must not forget that.

L xxx

Lesley said...

Winderful...?? Of course I mean wonderful.

Seren said...

I'm even worse, Lesley, I have been known to buy bras on EBAY. One day I am going to venture into Bravissimo but I may well be buoyed up by gin beforehand.

Re gout - I think it has an unfair reputation with regards to its sufferers. I had a friend at university who got it - a tiny, petite, nineteen year old who used to cycle for fun.

And in any case, neither of you are allowed to feel guilty. I absolutely forbid it.