This time last year, almost to the day, I wrote a blog post entitled 10 Excuses To Swerve Dieting And Exercise. My opening gambit explained how at that point I was the heaviest I’d been for a while. Tellingly, I went on to say that I’d wrote something to the same effect the previous year and I’d likely write something similar next year.
WELL GUESS WHAT PEOPLE?
Here it is. Here it sodding well is.
It was always going to happen. I spent the majority of last year using all of those excuses I’d written about in that post. Thus, it stands to reason I was only going to put on more weight and not lose it.
I’m not overweight. I could probably put on another stone at least before I’m considered overweight. However, that doesn’t negate the lack of body confidence I currently have. It doesn’t stop me having negative thoughts about my figure, my tight clothes, my lack of willpower and my reflection in the mirror.
I look back on photos of me from a couple of years ago and remember how I felt during that time. I wasn’t entirely happy with my figure but I was a damn slight slimmer, back then. My clothes fit as they should, back then.
I’ve been a variety of sizes over the years. Growing up I was very slim, probably too slim as a child. This was in part due to my eating disorder as I had an overwhelming fear of being sick which meant I had an extremely restricted diet.
During my late teens I was still very slim until I reached about 20 when the weight slowly started piling on. At 21 I was considered overweight as per my BMI. Over the subsequent years the weight increased significantly until at the age of 24 I was in the obese bracket.
A throwaway comment from my Dad spurred me on to do something about this weight gain. And between 2010 and 2012 I lost a notable amount of weight. Over 5 stone in total.
Of course, me being me I got totally obsessed with my weight. It doesn’t take much for me to become obsessed with something. I attribute this mainly to my OCD. To complicate matters further, I also have an addictive personality, so you know; I have to be mindful of balance.
In the main I lost the weight in a healthy way. Certainly for the first year or so, but I know how obsessed I was with calorie counting throughout 2012. I know how I’d often starve myself and sometimes weigh myself several times a day after ensuring not even water had touched my lips. It wasn’t healthy. But often things aren’t with me. So like I said, I have to be careful about balance.
At my lightest I don’t think I looked very nice. I can see that now but I couldn’t then. I was just too obsessed with “being skinny”. Permanently hungry and permanently guilty if I’d eaten something I’d told myself I shouldn’t.
I recognise that guilt now though. Because I often feel it. Sometimes I just can’t stop myself from gorging. Feeling great for that minute I’m shovelling shit into my gob then hit by that wave of guilt mere seconds after finishing the last morsel.
I’m in a constant state of beating myself up about my body.
Studying every roll of fat, grasping at the layer I’ve gained around my hips and back. Obviously, this does absolutely fuck all for my self-esteem. I just so don’t want to go back to being as big as I was in my early twenties.
I’ve set myself a challenge for 2018. Nothing major. Major stresses me out, you see. All that pressure. Because I know that if I had a bad week or a bad month and I didn’t do the things I’d told myself I have to do then I’d end up beating myself up and once again find myself in a vicious cycle of self-loathing.
The challenge is for me to abstain from something for a month at a time.
So, January has been alcohol. Not a drop of booze has come within a metre of me since the end of December. And it’s been fine. I’ve not even missed it. This is mainly due to the fact I’ve been quite ill over the last week or so. Plus no bugger goes out in January anyway. The Sunday’s where we’ll often go out for a family lunch and I’ll order a beer has been spent with me ordering orange juice and lemonade and not feeling like I’m missing out in the slightest.
Tomorrow is February and I’m giving up blue milk for the month.
This stuff. This wonderfully creamy, cereal enhancing liquid gold.
It’s one of my many downfalls. I never used to have it until my son came along and once his days of formula feeding were over and we switched to cows milk, I embraced the blue stuff. And it’s not been kind to my waistline. Not one bit.
From February 1st it’s green top or that orange top – you know the 1% fat stuff. Apparently it takes 21 days to break a habit. So, come 3 weeks from now I’m hoping I wont even miss it.
I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes. Hopefully making these small, less than radical changes will make a difference to my body and also to how I view myself too.
We’ll see. If I can give up chocolate for a month surely this will be a walk in the park?
Walking in the park. That reminds me, I really need to get increasing my step count.