Naked at dawn?

Yeah! 13 st 2 lb! That means I'm 2lb lighter than I was a week ago! Go Jemima!

So:

Q1.Have I lost 2lb of fat or water?

Q2.Are my scales that accurate?

Q3.Is it because I've done all this exercise or is it just due to random fluctuations in the space-time continuum?

A1.Well, as far as I know it is easier to lose water than fat and water actually weighs as much as fat. A cup of tea or two could undo all the hard work.

A2.Um, no, they aren't all that accurate. If I stand on them twice in a row, they weigh me heavier the second time. If I stand on them repeatedly I can put on half a stone in five minutes.

A3.Who knows? We weigh less in the morning than we do at night (no, I don't know where the weight goes during the dark hours). Unless you weigh yourself wearing the same clothes, and at the same time of day, then you really can't be all that sure that weight changes are real.

So, naked at dawn, then?

40 strokes

Well, after my exertions yesterday I thought I'd go for something a little less energetic. I quick dip in the pool, a few gentle lengths up and down. The gym membership comes with a pool pass, so I decided to give it a go.

The car park looked ominously empty when I pulled up. I thought it was shut, but no, there were three lads in the pool, and two sleepy looking life-guards. I wrestled myself into my swimming costume and tried not to look totally conspicuous as I climbed into the water. This is difficult if you are the only moving object in the room, and at least two of the people present are paid to watch you.

Swimming is supposed to be the best exercise, isn't it? It uses all the muscles but cushions the joints. So I swam up and down. After the first dozen or so lengths, the three boys got out, so I swam up and down on my own, with my own personal bodyguards watching out for my safety.

Eventually six staff members arrived and got in the pool for a training session. Out of the corner of my eye it looked like they were practicing synchronised swimming. When I looked more closely it turned out they were practicing a life-saving technique on each other. I bet they do synchronised swimming when I'm not there.

I did 40 lengths and felt very virtuous. According to the NutriStrategy websiteI have used up 863 calories, or would have if I'd swum for a whole hour, and not just 45 minutes. This appears to be one of the more efficient calorie burning activities. Riding a bike very, very fast for an hour burns off over 1300, but I challenge you to actually cycle like a bat out of hell for that length of time without falling off or getting cramp. The least energy wasting activity listed is ice fishing (i.e. sitting really, really still in the cold) at a mere 173 calories burned per hour.

I don't think I fancy that either.

The Gym

I joined a gym today. It's part of the new 'keep fit' me. I had to fill in a million forms and have every part of my body measured and recorded. I'm not going to share that information with you. It's just too shameful. After the detailed cataloguing of both me and my bank account details, I got to try out the equipment.

The nice instructor, Paul, showed me how each toy worked and then set me a target. I've used gym equipment before, but usually only for the odd week here and there. Each time the gym has a 'free' trial session or a freebie week to bring in the punters, then I'm there, trying it all out, but never actually committing to having my bank account slimmed down.




For a while, back in the 1990s, there was a fascinating incentive that GPs would 'prescribe' gym membership. For all I know, they do it still. The idea was a good one. Get the wobbly patients to get out there and do something instead of sitting around eating and watching TV. It sounds brilliant. I'd like a prescription for three sessions a week and a massage, please.

I wonder how successful it was? I'm guessing it was either too expensive for the NHS or the take up rate of the prescriptions was not high enough, because I haven't heard of anyone getting free gym membership lately. There's also the ongoing controversy about whether free stuff should be given to those that don't provide for themselves.

There was a debate on the radio a couple of weeks ago about the killer of that poor 11 year old. The schoolboy was caught in crossfire between rival gangs. The debate was about how to stop this sort of thing from happening again. On one side there was the local preacher, who suggested that youth facilities needed to be improved. Then there was a woman talking about giving the disaffected youth more opportunities, like recording their own album. Finally there was a completely incensed man raving about how his piano playing daughter would also like a recording contract, and she hadn't been thrown out of the local youth club for assault like the kid that pulled the trigger had been. Why should we reward them? he screamed. Bring back National Service! (I'd argue that we don't actually want to train them to use guns, so maybe National Service is not such a great idea.) But the point stands. Why should we give them things that better adjusted people have to pay for?

I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, the gym. So, I'm providing for my own well-being by taking up regular exercise. I'm going to be the fittest, leanest, most sexy woman on the planet. I am going to lose the extra three stone I'm lugging around with me. I am shedding the pounds as I speak.

I spent 25 minutes jogging (OK, a fast walk) up a simulated hill, going more purple by the stride. Then I squeezed poundage between my thighs, and lifted a few weights. Finally, once I had regained my breath, I was asked to do some sit-ups and back lifts.

So I lay on the mat, looking like the proverbial beached whale, with this odd device to hold on to. It rocks as you attempt to sit up. I managed a few pathetic curls, with my bulging stomach preventing me from bending any further. Talk about humiliation. The back lifts were worse. I never lie on my stomach. It's like lying on a cushion. I am balanced on three points - two boobs and the acreage of fat covering my belly.

"Hands by your head and lift!" says Paul cheerfully.
I wobble slightly.
"Well done!" he says encouragingly. "Just 15 more!"

I promise I will go again, once I've recovered. The whole session lasted about an hour and I managed to burn off the grand total of 300 calories. I'm fairly sure I can scoff 300 calories during an advert break on TV. I reckon my abdomen is carrying an excess of about 3,000, 000 calories, so it will only take me 10,000 trips to the gym to burn it all off.

No problem. I'll go again tomorrow.

Jem xx

Quality (Street) Time

So, the waist line is expanding again. The goose has been eaten, the roasties polished off. The left-overs have been stir-fried with extra Brazil nuts, ginger and onion. The corporate tins of biscuits are there on the side, just waiting for little fingers to unwrap the shiny foil and nibble away.

I am full; stuffed to the gills. I can feel my stomach straining against the volume of sugar laden food I have forced into it these past two days. It is truly a sin to indulge so much when there is so much poverty in the world.

I saw a documentary a few years back. There was this new Christian Slimming Fad in America (where else). The catchphrase went something like:

Lose Weight! Eat What Jesus Ate!

Now, I'm not a Christian, so I can't pretend to fuel myself with religious zeal about my eating habits. I'm sure it works for some people, but not for me. (Actually, I'm not sure what does work for me, but religious fanaticism isn't it.)

What interested me about this diet is that (at face value) it really might work. The idea, of course is that you eschew any processed food and only eat natural, basic foods that were available 2000 years ago (in Jerusalem I assume). Consequently the only sugars you can consume are natural ones like honey and fruit. Meat is OK, as is fish, cheese and eggs. Grains, like wheat and corn are good. Bread is OK without added preservatives and salt. Fruit and veg are good so long as they are fresh. Hamburgers and pizza are out.

I'm guessing that half a tin of Quality Street is not OK either.

On the down side, I'm sure some of those Tax Collectors and Roman Emperors are portrayed as a little overweight. Didn't the Romans have Vomitaria for throwing up in? If I eat any more, I might need one too.

Mrs Blobby

Holy Crap! How much can one family eat in one day? Christmas lunch goes on until tea time, followed by cheese and biscuits, nibbles, Xmas pudding, ice-cream, several glasses of wine and a Yule Log that was really only a Swiss roll in disguise.

Everyone was walking around saying they were totally full and wondering if we could actually fit tea in yet! How mad is that? If you're full, you don't need to fit tea in. Just stop! It's OK! But do we? No, of course not.

Then there's the picking at the left overs to look forward to.

I am Mrs Blobby, incarnate.

Turn off my talking toaster.

I was listening to the radio today. The bloke was recanting a story about a soldier in the desert who survived for ages on a small bottle of water and a minimum amount of food in his backpack. It was the sort of inspirational story that makes you want to post boxes of biscuits to the fighters on the frontline in Afghanistan.

The training the soldier had recieved had enabled him to eek out his meagre rations for ages, keeping him alive until he managed to find his regiment again. During training he had actually practiced scenarios like this, saving his food and making it last.

I'm not very good at this. If it's there, I tend to eat it, before someone else does. With hungry children in the house, food tends to disappear before your eyes. Often the biscuit barrel is empty before I get a look in. (I'm not a great biscuit eater, compared to the rest of my family, but every now and then I do sneak one or two).

Hoarding food is not really in my nature. If I can see it, I eat it. This is definitely one of my triggers. I can happily ignore food, if I've forgotten it's there, or I can't see it, but if I see it, I want it.

Somebody once pointed out to me that in the modern convenience world, food is always there. Just walking into the kitchen or sitting infront of the TV you are bombarded with advertising and packages, which continually ask you if you fancy a snack.


Did you ever watch that episode of Red Dwarf where they had an annoyingly stupid talking toaster? Despite being given the gift of consciousness, the toaster's only concern in life was to repeatedly ask if anyone wanted a toasted bread product. I feel a bit like all food is harassing me in the same way.

Hey! See me? Yes, you there - see me here on the shelf? Do you fancy a small cupcake? Go on! I know they're for the kids lunch-boxes, but I'm sure no-one will notice! Just one... or maybe two? We are only small you know. You can pop one in your mouth whist unwrapping the second one! It's so easy! Yum! Now, isn't that better?


No! No! No! I am a soldier! I am going to eek out my rations. I will make the food last! I will not eat it unless I have no choice! I have to save it for when I really need the energy. I will not be fooled into burdening my body with food it doesn't need!

Free me from the tyranny of endless temptation.

Turn off my talking toaster!

Don't buy the cake!

Welcome to my blog. I'm Jemima and I'm in my mid-thirties. I live somewhere in the West Midlands, in the UK and I'm about to embark on an adventure. This is not the sort of adventure most of us would sign up for - it is more a journey into the realms of transformation.

As you may have guessed I'm a little overweight. It is a state that has been bugging me for the past 6 years or more, though I have managed to do little about it. I got on the scales this morning to discover that I am the staggering weight of 13st 4, or 84kg in metric money. That is a pound heavier that I was the night before I gave birth the first time. Sadly, I don't have the excuse of a large pregnancy to explain away the weight anymore. I just look like I'm pregnant, with out the joyous occasion to look forward to. (Remember how crap you felt when you were 9 months pregnant? Yes, it's like that, but without the kicking.)

So, this is a journey into weight. It might be a journey into weight loss if I'm lucky. At the very least it may be a journey into what I'm doing wrong (eating, obviously), and where my triggers are (the fridge probably), and hopefully what I can do about it.

So, it's Christmas eve and the house is knee deep in chocolate bars, chocolate biscuits, mince pies, wine and crisps. Kid in a candy shop? Yep, there is temptation all around, so why the hell am I suddenly inspired to avoid all this largess? I don't know. Maybe it's just too much. The mission to eat it all is too difficult.

Sometimes I'll look at something nice, say, like a ginger cake, sitting there on the side. It is there on the plate, all gooey and moist, smelling like golden syrup and ginger, just asking for me to cut a piece off it. The thing is I won't just cut a little piece, I'll cut a generous slice. Then of course the bits that got stuck to the knife will need to be wiped off with a clean finger, and sucked up into my mouth. The actual slice of cake itself can be polished off in a matter of minutes, and once the taste sensation has hit me, I will go back for another slice, and another. It becomes a mission to finish off the cake, and scrape crumbs off the paper underneath. OK, so it may take me 24 hours to eat the whole thing, but eat it I will.

Why? Well, obviously it is just greed. I am quite ashamed to admit this. I'm greedy and I have no control over my whims. If the cake had not been there I would not have eaten it. So, rule number 1 is 'Don't buy the cake.' Oh, if only it was that simple!

OK, so I don't buy much of anything that I think I will munch through without thought. I generally avoid buying crisps as I know these are a weakness. I won't buy myself chocolate bars when I'm out and I try not to fry food. These things I do already. BUT.. and here's the big but (butt?) I have kids and a husband, all of whom eat copious amounts of forbidden food and don't have a problem with their weight. (Actually hubby is starting to expand around the waist but he's got a long way to go before he catches up with me.)

There are lunchboxes to fill every day, and a biscuit tin, that hubby fills up even if I don't, and at work there are always biscuits available. All of these things I grab and stuff into my gaping maw without any thought for the guilt and consequences later. It is a brief taste, a small sugar rush, then gone, to spend forever wobbling around my middle.

Indeed, so ashamed am I of my greed, that I will pretend I haven't eaten any of this food. I will only raid the biscuit barrel if there is no-one looking. I will steal fun-sized bars from the drawer only if no-one can find out. Clearly my subconscious knows it is wrong, or I wouldn't hide it. When I keep a food diary, I stop writing in it once I get to the parts I don't want to admit to. It all becomes very surreptitious, the cloak and dagger of nutrition.

So, this is where I'm at: I have a problem, and I'd like to do something about it, but I'm not sure how to tackle it.

Jem xx