Where next?

So what am I going to do? A plan I can stick to seems to be the endless problem.

Firstly, I want a date that is not so far in the future. I'm going to pick Easter, because I'm going on holiday for a couple of weeks and I want to be comfortable on the flight, not full of gallstones and misery. Easter is 12 weeks away.

I have no great illusions about what I'm capable of. Even half a pound a week seems impossibly difficult, but setting a goal of less than that seems pathetic. So: 12 weeks = 6lb. Half a stone is enough to make you feel better in yourself.

Next question: How?
I have limited success with limiting food. Maybe I should just try to cut certain things out altogether. Counting things doesn't work. I forget and get confused and bargain now against a later which never comes. So I shall cut out certain food stuffs altogether for the 12 weeks.

Looking at the Eatwell plate, I think I should cut out everything from the fatty section except margarine on my sandwiches. No alcohol, cake, biscuits, crisps, chips, pizza... hang on, haven't I posted this before?

Oh bugger.

Summing up

Merry Xmas everybody. It is Boxing Day already. The feast has been eaten. Well, half eaten, anyway. We couldn't manage the entire spread, even between nine of us. In fact, it was a mission so large I didn't even try. Consequently, I didn't overeat excessively yesterday - merely a mild stuffing instead of a nauseating one. I didn't even drink so very much that I got tipsy. A serious oversight, I feel!

So, I think it is time to tally up the year. I have been blogging for a year, trying to lose weight for about seven years.; failing repeatedly for most of that time. This year, I have been to the gym about 30 times, been swimming maybe fifteen times, walked the dog about 500 miles, climbed peaks totalling more than 6500m and been to the climbing wall around 50 times. This morning I weighed 13 st 2, so total weight loss from highest point is 5lb. Aargh! The frustration.

Bridget Jones gained and lost the same pound 16 times over the year (go read her diary) so I know I am not alone in this. Little comments like that from Bridget obviously resonated with enough people to make the book a huge side-achingly funny success. Trouble is, it isn't funny when your sides are aching from blubber instead of laughing.

Well, do more Jemima things, says Max. Trouble is, Jemima likes eating or rather, dislikes depriving herself. I got the feeling he was coming up with something off the top of his head. It didn't help that the Centre had just had a police raid and the final summing up was carried out in the public foyer. Not exactly conducive to deep, meaningful or productive advice.

Hmm. So where next?

Tuesday, Wednesday

So yesterday, I read my book snuggled into bed. I even finished it, which is a nice thing to do. So often, since I had kids, I get interrupted when trying to achieve anything, that I give up on it. I swear I didn't read a book for about four years when the kids were small.

Today, I have to say, I've done nothing 'me'. I wanted to go climbing or swimming but neither of those things seem likely to happen and now I have a bit of a sore throat, so I think I'll have an early night instead.

I might even write some Xmas cards. Better late than never.

Having too much fun?

Max, my guru, says I should just have lots of fun, build up my self-esteem and stop worrying about losing weight. This sounds like my kind of religion. Let's enjoy life to the full and worry about nothing. We all want to do it. We all believe this is the ideal. So why is it so hard to do?

Well, we've been trained to be responsible for things; for ourselves, our children, our environment, our futures. It is nearly impossible to let go of that conditioning, even if we truly wanted to. A life of hedonistic fun becomes empty without some sort of grounding. It is the grit that makes the pearl.

So, I am trying to find a comfortable balance between wild abandon and drudgery.

1. I'm trying to have some really good Jemima time every day: something I can list as a 'me' thing.
2. I'm trying to avoid all the things that make me feel crappy: like work and criticism and kids that are just in your face rude
3. I'm trying not to get too tired or stressed or hungry
4. I'm trying to spend some time with my amazing kids
5. I'm trying to have a plan for what I'm going to do next, so the adventure never goes from life.
6. I'm trying to remember that life is way too short and we should cherish every minute.
   

So far:
Friday 11th: had some 'one to one' time with my youngest
Saturday 12th: climbed a big hill and marvelled at the wonders of nature
Sunday 13th: went to a birthday party and spent time with some nice people
Monday 14th: did some writing (and didn't eat a large bag of crisps despite feeling like I wanted them after bitch of a teenager made personal comments about me. Didn't slap said teenager, either, though she really needed it and I was desperately itching to. Hope my own kids don't grow up like that.)

On the whole, a pretty good week, yes? I haven't weighed myself, more because I've been too busy, than anything else. I suspect the partying hasn't made me any slimmer, and the walk up the hill was a poor substitute for burning off the excess. Still, I'm reasonably happy, if you don't count work. I'd much rather being climbing a hill than being abused, but then, who wouldn't?

Pizza Free Zone

The kids are eating pizza downstairs with their three friends, who have come over to play. I am not eating pizza. Not one slice. I have learnt my lesson. Pizza gives me terrible gallstones. Despite having the most wonderful smell and mouthwatering taste, I am NOT eating any. It is not worth the pain.

Slime Mould

I am scared. Maybe this is not the place to admit to it, but I am. It is probably tied up in my sense of worth but nonetheless it won't go away. My health advisor has reached an impasse with me. He has spent six months where I have consistently failed to lose any significant weight. It is preying on my mind, that there will come a time, when they will just give up on me.

"Come back when you are ready to put the effort in, Mrs Williams," he will say. "The NHS can't justify wasting anymore resources on you. You're just not worth it. You're just not trying."

I get that tightness in my chest at the thought of being abandoned, but I suspect it will come. I have so much riding on this. For me, this was the way of solving my motivation problems. I would learn to focus and succeed where endless diets have not. I would learn the secret of self control. I could shed this outer layer of blubber and be, once again, the beautiful person I was. (Unlike many obese people, I was a normal weight until about seven years ago. This coincided with my last pregnancy and training to be a teacher.)

Of course, as a grown woman, I shouldn't be psychologically reliant on such a thing. I should be independent and confident. I should be coping with anything life throws at me; taking it in my stride, and all that.

Sorry, folks, I am a fragile flower that needs nurturing. Around seven years ago, my little blossom got moved from its comfy flower bed and dumped in a municipal wasteland where it gets trodden on every few hours. Is it any surprise it has turned from a bright blossom into a type of slime mould?

After a few years of being trodden on, the slime mould comes to expect it. This, I imagine, is where the fear of being rejected comes from. In its own green oozy way, the slime mould will cope with abandonment, but it won't be any closer to becoming a pretty flower again.

Shock Response

I have been doing a fair amount of thinking about self esteem and self worth. I realise that over the past few years my sense of self worth has been steadily eroded by a poor career choice and (deliberately eroded by) a campaign of bullying from my former employers. Whilst struggling with the stress and general crappiness of my job, I believed that changing jobs was the answer to my weight problem.

Indeed, since changing employer, I have lost maybe 6-7lb altogether. Unfortunately the full three stone I am trying to shed has not melted away, as I wishfully anticipated.

Despite a much happier outlook on life, I still wobble when I walk and have a Tourette's view of myself. I can't believe that anyone values me and I am paranoid that my current employers are out to get me, in the same way that my previous ones were. I am watching my back, scared and waiting to f**k things up. My whole sense of who I am has been shredded.

To be fair, my present employers probably don't give a hoot about what I'm up to. They aren't on my back watching my every move, like the last lot. They aren't waiting in the wings to savage me, but the (previously justified) paranoia won't quite go away. It may take me a long time to heal.

I think teaching leaves you in a state of shock, daily. I spend several hours a day shouting , living on my wits and trying to defend myself against the imminent eruption of unruly children. I wouldn't be surprised if the shock response is a physiological part of the problem. Doesn't adrenaline release lots of sugar into the blood stream, leading to a sudden dip in blood sugar later? One that only the hardiest of dieters could counteract?

The theory is: that if I value myself, I'll start looking after my body and only putting good things into it. This could go one of two ways.

a) I value myself and I feel I deserve more treats, rich food, nice wine, meals out ...
OR
b) I value myself and I feel I deserve to live long enough to see my grandchildren so I treat my body like a temple and only feed it healthy, moderate amounts of the best food ...

Obviously the second one is the one we want to aim for. In the past, however, when I have been reasonably happy, I have felt I deserved treats, and these aren't always healthy. When I have been supremely miserable, on the other hand, I can go a fortnight without managing to eat a full plateful and attend enough aerobics sessions to make me ache all over for days.

Somehow I have to get my head into the second scenario space. I need a mantra or some other way of focusing my intent, but then I always knew that. The problem is not in knowing what to do, but in getting me to do it.