Ooooh, Devon is a place on earth

I was very sad to come back from our long weekend in Devon; the thought of swapping rolling golden fields and woods for concrete was not a happy one.  I notice the seasons changing in the countryside but in town really the only clue is what is being stocked in the shops.  And since they usually get bikinis in in February and cashmere in August, it’s hardly a reliable guide. 
 
We did less walking than we’d hoped as P had damaged his tendon chasing a friend’s toddler the previous weekend and made it worse by trekking a lot of hills on the first day.  It was an extraordinary hike which seemed to have no level ground on it at all – and a disproportionate amount of up.  I puffed like a steam engine on the ups and on the final one I thought my head and heart were going to simultaneously explode.  Still, it gave us an appetite for our fish and chip supper – we’d skipped lunch and had a bottle of New World sauvignon blanc cooling in the fridge (the only wine that deals with vinegar!) in readiness and I’d checked the opening hours for the chippy.  Except the internet lied and it was shut.  In fact, nothing, NOTHING was open.  Except for Budgens.  Which, as it turned out, was uch the same thing.  We were in a (lovely) B&B so no cooking facilities which restricts the options.  A cheese and pickle roll was not what I’d envisaged but that was our supper. 

Luckily the view made up for it a bit as the sun set behind the trees and the mewing of a buzzard gave way to the hooting of two very chatty owls.

 
We also had a lovely lunch out on a floating platform in the middle of an estuary in glorious sunshine and dinner at a beautiful country house hotel.  And a solitary clotted cream scone for lunch on my birthday! 
 
The concrete jungle and work politics have made for a blue, blue Peridot.  And then a large cockroach decided to have a bit of a fun run around my desk and it was all a bit much. 
 
I only had two days back at work this week and that felt like far too many!  This, and the fact that you have to be very organised to do a starve day, has meant I’m not back on the diet proper until next week.  I’m trying to ease in by cutting out the large amounts of bread-type products I ate whilst away so that I don’t pass out when I eat nothing after Sunday supper until Monday lunchtime – and then only very sparingly (usually just over 200 calories for lunch and just under 300 calories for supper).  But the seasons are definitely changing and as it is, I am not going to get into my winter coat at this rate.

Love, actually

I’ve been thinking a lot about a comment made by Stephbospoon on my last but one post.  It’s not the first time I’ve been told that I need to love myself a little more: indeed it is such a common refrain from P that it makes me grit my teeth in frustration.  And I can’t remember if it was him or someone else who likened it to the guidance provided in planes which tells you to put your own oxygen mask on before helping others – ie, that until you love yourself, you cannot love another.  If it wasn’t P (and admittedly it sounds a little flowery for him) then this is certainly his belief.
 
I disagree.
 
Frankly I find it MUCH easier to love my friends and P than myself.  It’s true, I know I’m not supposed to admit it but I don’t much like myself.  It’s not that I think I am without redeeming features – I know that I am a staunchly loyal friend and wife and that I have enormous (if rather old-fashioned (and I am unrepentant about this)) integrity.  I have character traits I don’t like of course - which I won’t be getting into as I don’t want to alienate you!  But really, it’s my appearance which at best makes me unloveable to myself and at worst, makes me feel actual self-hatred. 
 
I could list all the things I absolutely hate about myself – and in fact have struggled in the past to come up with something I like about my appearance – but that sort of self-flagellation would be a step too far on a day when I’m feeling quite down anyway.  But all of this (unpublished!) list would be bearable if I weren’t fat.  I know it’s not cool, it’s not an attitude that’s anything other than despicable but I hate being fat.  I rarely meet my own eye in the mirror anymore because I just don’t want to see.  When I do see, I feel shame and horror and repulsion.
 
It’s not very admirable is it?  I should be able to say that I’m a nice person (I am!) and that I do the best I can with what I have (having too much!) but I can’t feel it.  I know I’m supposed to.  It doesn’t make it any easier.

Weak week

I’ve not done very well this week.  I only had two starve days scheduled in because I was going to be meeting friends – then on starve day #1 I felt quite ill.  Here I was, on this blog, smugly writing that although excuses for not doing a starve day regularly popped into my head, I didn’t act on them.  Until I did.  I woke up with a really sore throat and an upset stomach and just couldn’t bear it.  Not good.  As it turns out, I had a horrible day at work (office politics at our place suck majorly) and I’m not sure that wouldn’t have broken me in any case. 
 
It’s less of a big deal when I have three starve days as I can always come up with the excuse that I do one more than is required anyway.  Firmly putting aside my imperviousness-to-diets skills.  But when it’s two and I botch one, I’m just not doing it.
 
Today is my second starve day – or rather my first – and it’s also going to pot.  I’ve eaten a nectarine and someone has bought me a latte.  This is enough to throw you out when you only have 500 calories.  I have a salad of leaves, half an avocado and some prawns so I’ll have to have a tot up but I suspect the salmon fillet I had earmarked for dinner is going to be too many calories.  Which means I’ll have to chuck it as I got it out of the freezer on Wednesday – I do hate wasting food.
 
And in the meantime I have had a whole bag of marshmallows (I read that they’re good for a sore throat; only by making you feel so sick it acts as a destraction), a bottle of wine (shared) after my very bad day, a curry (frugal but still), a Deep South meal (oh how I love a well executed cornbread) which included more wine and a cocktail and 3 walnut whips (see bad day.  Not part of the Deep South cooking).  This is over the course of a week, not on one hideously over-indulgent day.  But in no-one’s language is this a diet.  Unless you were trying to pile on the pounds.  Which I’m not.  Trying, that is – I fear very much that I actually am. 
 
The outlook isn’t good either.  Next week is looking like a two starve day week and then we’re away for a long weekend for my birthday.  This already includes breakfasts at a B&B which makes the best blueberry pancakes, an Indian (I’m not even mad about Indian food!), a seafood lunch on a barge in the middle of a river, a cream tea, a pub lunch and dinner at a very beautiful country house restaurant.  Amongst others.  It does include at least one, more likely two, very hilly hikes.  But still.
 
This weekend?  Well, I’m working tomorrow (booooo) but hopefully from the tinhut, technology allowing.  Otherwise it’s a quick turnaround and dash back to London.  Working means no hiking of course.  I am however seeing both my bridesmaids (separately) which will be lovely.

Holy imperviousness Batman

It's my third starve day this week and it's killing me.  Not literally you understand, I have - alas - rather a considerable fat store.  Which is, of course, rather the point.  Each starve day I wake up and think of reasons why I shouldn't do a starve day that day.  By 'reasons' I mean 'excuses'.  I don't act on them and I feel that's rather superhuman of me.

Of course, my actual superpower is imperviousness to all known diets and I can't say I can notice any difference from all this effort.  I need to keep going though - it takes time, thats all.  Right?

I tried on a top that was "neat fitting" when I took it on honeymoon and it's too tight now.  I keep thinking about this as I sit here shuddering with hunger.  It's a really nice top and it's also the tip of the iceburg.  In fact, my entire wardrobe is an iceburg - you can only see the tip of it, most of it is in carrier bags stashed in the bottom of the wardrobe waiting for me to slim into them.

I haven't made it easy for myself today as I have had two coffees: this has meant no lunch and a very light salad planned for supper.  I reckon a flat white is 120 cals and my frozen latte was 150 cals.  This takes more than half my calorie allocation for the day.  I have bought a Pret salad which was 134.  I've got just under 100 calories left and I'm not very confident about the coffees so not sure how much I should use.  I might go mad and buy a packet of Snackajacks - not actually filling but lots of flavour (LOVE strong salt and vinegar and I kind of pretend they're chips!).

Anyway, it's only a day of feeling like this and then it's the weekend.  We have a 12+ mile hike planned tomorrow with a pub lunch half way round and a BBQ for supper.  It's been a long week.  I seem to spend most of my spare time applying for jobs which is really no fun at all (and accounts for yet another poor performance week of blogging updates).  I would say I need a holiday but that's very greedy after our wonderful 3 weeks en route to and around the US.  Still, bank holiday weekend we're off to Devon for fish, hiking and clotted cream - hurrah! 

Fear and clothing in London

If I were asked to describe my personal style I’d have to plump for ‘damage limitation’.  As a painfully self-conscious fat girl, clothes are a permanent worry.  Lack of clothes would be worse of course but finding things that I like AND fit AND suit me is very, very difficult: I usually only manage one out of three (and it’s never the ‘suit me’ one) and sometimes none at all.
 
Yesterday I wore jeans and a blouse – an outfit I’d been reasonably happy with in the past – and caught sight of stomach bulge underneath the hem of the top.  I spent the rest of the day tugging at it and feeling self-conscious and ugly.  I doubt I will ever wear it again. 
 
Every day I dread trying things on: things that had fitted that I’m scared will no longer, things I’ve ordered from ebay which should fit but I’m scared won’t and things that I buy I have that sick feeling as I take them into a changing room.  Sometimes I chicken out.
 
I’d like to look nice (obv) but I don’t think this is possible.  I look wistfully at other people – every day I mentally pick out outfits on passers-by that I wish I could wear.  Recently I’ve been very drawn to neatly fitted linen trousers with a little top – something that with a large bum and saggy belly, I could never look even halfway decent in.  I did admire a girl in a long jersey maxi with a side split – technically I could wear this but it looks much better on a slender frame (as does pretty much everything of course!) – I also suspect I was influenced by hair envy as she had a sheet of pale red hair hanging half way down her back.  My hair is – alas – the only thin thing about me.  It’s just about the only thing you wouldn’t want to be thin!
 
Today is starve day two of this week.  It’s well named – I am SO hungry.  Starve #1 was a success but I had a coffee this morning to try and keep me awake after two nights of not being able to sleep.  When you only have 500 calories, this eats into your budget severely.  Just hoping that the hunger will pass – it’s been growing and growing and I’m trying to ignore it.  I fear I have less than 150 calories left for the rest of the day.  It’s just a day, it’s just a day....

The wrong way

I’m not being a good blogger; I’m hot and cross in our fuggy sauna of an office, work is busy but most of all, I feel like a fake.  A big, fat fake.  This is – allegedly – a dieting blog.  Well, no-one report me to trading standards please because I am being just rubbish.  Not especially rubbish in terms of effort put in but totally, totally rubbish in terms of any noticeable shift in lardage.  I don’t know if I am stupid or dogged by continually plugging away at it.  The thing is that I don’t feel I’m doing this 110% brilliantly and until I do, I feel like I could just crack it.  Or I hope this, at any rate.
 
I did 3 fast days last week but on two of them had minor cheats – on Wednesday the choir I sing with had organised their OAP idea of a party and they were so pleased with themselves I felt that I had to have a small plastic cup of rough red wine.  On Friday I was so hungry that I went all floppy and shaky and had a tsp of peanut butter and a slivver of cheese.  And I still think I have too much on a non-fast day.
 
I need this week to be stellar – I’m not weighing myself so it’s hard to know what effect I’m having but I fear a very slow upward trend – maybe for my clothes to feel more comfortable at the weekend and next week.  It’s nebulous isn’t it?  I think it needs to come down to feeling as if I’m going in the right direction; I know it’s not the done thing to be so candid but I absolutely hate myself at the moment, I literally repulse myself.  And then there are the practicalities: there is no way my winter coat will fit me at the moment – I know that hopefully I have a bit longer of that not being an issue but I’m living on borrowed time.  And in a limited wardrobe.
 
The thing is, I don’t really understand why I’m doing so badly: I know I have never been a good loser (in that I rarely lose much weight at a time) but after a holiday where I’ve put on weight, I have usually managed to lose that weight slowly.  At the moment I don’t think that’s happening.
 
And it clearly does work for a lot of people.  Despite the backlash I’m starting to see, saying that we’re boring or downright violent on the starve days!  All of this is possibly true – although I rarely have the energy to commit violence and that’s despite the heat of my office making me feel as if I am permanently simmering on a short-fuse.
 
So today is a stave day and I’m doing well so far.  It’s keeping going whilst feeling all wobbly and sorry for myself.  And yes, cross.  I’ve had a green salad of leaves, cucumber and half an avocado with prawns for lunch and tonight I’ll have spray roasted courgettes and a piece of seabass with lemon.  I think I may go wild and have a mini Twister (40 cals)  It would be unbearable if it were for more than one day at a time but the genius is that you feel as if you can just about put up with it for a day.  I’ll do it again on Wednesday and Friday. 
 
Something needs to give.  Other than my waistbands.
 

PS Congratulations Badger!

Melt down

I imagine it’s a bit like running: every now and again in dieting, you hit the wall.  I seem to have slammed into it face-first.  I’m not really doing a good job at what I’m doing and I’ve lost my mojo as what I am doing doesn’t seem to be having any effect.  And I can’t seem to find the energy or inspiration to do much about it – I’m drifting along without a sense of purpose, direction or achievement.
 
I think I’ve wrung every analogy out of this situation now but I am sure that all of you have felt like this before.  I find it so difficult because I don’t have anything I can fall back on that I know works; I’m not sure what to do.
 
This lassitude is also probably due to the fact that I work in an office with neither windows nor air-con and by mid afternoon, I feel beaten by the heat.  I am not complaining about the external temperature, it’s lovely to have a summer for a change, but the temperature in my office is hitting 30°and I am complaining about that.  From a semi supine position.  I can barely summon up the mental willpower to stay upright, let alone devise fierce new dieting strategies.  I’m actually looking forward to having to be outside all day on Friday as it must surely be cooler than this.  I’m actually not convinced that this isn’t the fires of hell roasting me.
 
I also have (whisper it) chub-rub, hangs head.  Could there be anything more shameful and painful?  (Well, maybe some venereal diseases I guess...).  I’ve not had it for years but I suspect the combination of a sudden summer and extra weight has landed me back in the territory where every step hurts.  Physically wounded – and sartorially too: I do not think that the heat is a friend to the fat girl.  Maybe some have it sorted but I think I have the sort of body that’s best swathed under layers of wool and flannel (although liberation from opaque tights is wonderful (chub rub aside)).
 
But if summer doesn’t like me, I’m determined to cosy up to it anyway.  We have hike/BBQ plans again for the weekend which I’m anticipating with joy after last weekend saw me skulking resentfully indoors, working, whilst the sounds of other people enjoying the sunshine floated through my window.  I’ve started the countdown to the weekend early.  All I have to do is get there without melting.  Or becoming too delirious....