I’m really, really pissed off with myself.
I dared to take a step onto the scales on Monday morning.
I don’t know why I do it to myself. When I’d last taken a tentative step onto the scales of doom 2 weeks previous, I was rather pleased with what it flashed back at me. OK, so it wasn’t my ‘goal weight’ or even close to it, but the numbers were going down as opposed to up.
I’m not quite sure why, on Monday, when I furtively stripped off my clothes and waited with baited breath to see what I’d be told, I ever thought it would be good news. The night before I’d drank copious amounts of white wine and decided to scoff the entire contents of an XXL Papa John’s pizza box.
Talk about kidding yourself eh?
The scales of doom, the bastard things, informed me I had in fact put on 6 pounds in 2 weeks. Almost half a bloody stone. Stands to reason I guess when it’s been drink then meals then more drink and don’t forget to factor in the weekly takeaways since my Birthday party in April too.
I shook my head, proceeded to move the scales around the bathroom a bit, you know, just in case they were inaccurate and resolved that I would be uber good over the next few days and weeks.
So, I’m on day 4 of this ‘diet’ (I hate the word diet and all it comes with) and I’m currently staring at an empty share bag of Malteasers wondering what the hell happened.
Well, I happened didn’t I? My hands delved into the freezer (don’t judge, it’s the best place to store chocolate, just don’t tell your dentist) pulled out the grab bag of treats and found their way, one after another, shovel after shovel into my disgustingly greedy gob.
Of course, the short term enjoyment soon paves the way for the overwhelming feeling of guilt. And shame. Don’t forget the shame.
I’m not gonna pretend I’d been really good in the days that preceded this gluttonous binge but I’d managed to avoid chocolate and was eating rather healthily (well, for me anyway).
Toast, bowl after bowl of cereal and cheese or bacon rolls had been replaced with smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and I’d even factored in a short spell of exercise yesterday evening too. I wouldn’t claim to be in ‘the zone’ but it was certainly an improvement on recent weeks.
I’m not overweight, far from it in fact, but I have put on weight over the last 12 months, which has certainly gained pace over the last few weeks. Certain clothes I have languishing in my wardrobe are calling out to me to stick them on my person as they are currently collecting dust. But, alas, they’re just a teeny weeny bit too tight and so in the wardrobe they have to stay. I hope one day they’ll see the light of day again, there’s some beautiful things in there.
My once toned and sculpted arms are now the definition of the term ‘Bingo Wings’ and the almost abs I could once see are now covered in a layer of fat. And I don’t like it one bit.
Where has my willpower gone? I lost over 5 stone in my mid-twenties for goodness sake. What’s changed? Have I changed? Why am I finding it so damn hard to stick to a diet and exercise plan? I can no longer blame the winter like I have done. I can’t pretend it’s my Birthday celebrations anymore as that’s now a distant memory.
Another reason I’m very annoyed with myself and my severe lack of willpower comes in the form of smoking. Many of you are well versed with how I’d decided to give up smoking once I’d turned 30. I’m now 2 weeks in and after a promising start, this week has failed to match the success of the first week of my endeavours. While I’ve still cut down, I’m not being as strict with myself as I was at the beginning.
It’s like a vicious circle that I’ve found myself in. I’ll eat something I know I shouldn’t, so then I’ll have a fag to hopefully abate my appetite, then I’ll feel guilty about that so I’ll have something else to eat and before I know it I’ve had more cigarettes than I should have done and yeah, you can guess where my head is at. And probably my greedy little hands as well! Right in the back of the fridge.
So, that’s it. I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of berating myself after indulging in a binge. I’ve had enough of mentally telling myself off after stubbing a fag out, I’ve had enough of looking in the mirror and feeling disappointed and annoyed and above all I’ve had enough of constantly coming up excuses to try and make myself feel better.
I am writing off today as a fuck up and starting again tomorrow. I’ve never began a diet on a Friday. I used to say always begin a diet on a Monday but that’s not improved my ability to stick to it in recent months so perhaps this little plan will.
Wish me luck guys, I’m sure as hell gonna need it.
Ooooooo is that a Toffee Whole Nut residing in the back of my fridge?