The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Diary of a Deranged Dieter

It's easy to look at the Before and After photos and forget about all the wackiness that happened in between. But whenever I need reminding I look at my trusty Diet Diary of August 2004. Holy analogue angst, Batman.

I'd had a brainwave to keep a paper diary of my food-related thoughts and become more conscious of my scoffing. 2004 was a transition year in the lard-busting process - sometimes I was too busy travelling and swooning over Dr G to care about my weight, but other times I was hitting new heights of scale obsession. It annoyed me that that my social life was slowing down my shrinkage. 

I was convinced the paper diary would be my saviour; The Very Thing to sort myself out Once And For All! It lasted all of two weeks. But it is bloody hilarious to read now; such desperation and bossiness. 26 going on 13. That's the beauty of diaries though - they're the perfect dumping ground for extremes of emotion.

It's a relief to see how my relationship with food and my body has mellowed and balanced out. It's sobering to remember how difficult the process was.

WARNING: ANGST AHEAD!
Not to mention shitty handwriting.

Exhibit A: Mantras
Don't remember actually chanting out loud, but evidently I was using envy and the snugness of my Enell sports bra as motivation. My sister was on a health kick at the time and I was spewingly jealous.

Mantras
- Would Rhiannon be eating that?
- think of yr jeans & yr sports bra

Exhibit B: The Twix
Why the hell was I angry at a supermarket!?

Bought Twix & scoffed even tho didn't really want
- was angry coz of supermarket!

Exhibit C: Hot Love
My job at the time was a hotbed of dietary temptation. Every morning the Hot Roll Man arrived with hot rolls and fresh scones and every morning I'd struggle to resist his siren call.

Carb craving. Hard to watch ppl eating scones, choccies, bacon rolls.
But I want to be smaller than I want that shite.

Exhibit D: A small victory

** RESISTED WORKPLACE CHOC! YAY ME! **

Exhibit E: Message from above?

Was going to have SCONE but they were sold out
IS THIS A SIGN?

Exhibit F: Longing
I was so obsessed with getting under 90 kilos, and felt like my lardy issues were a dirty secret.

I want to be an 80s girl.
I want to stop secret eating.
I want to be honest w/ G about my issues.

(I'm much more honest with Dr G these days. One of his nicknames for me is "Issues" Reid. Hehe.)

Exhibit G: Great Expectations
This was the last entry in the diary. I didn't realise how early on I'd pondered the Book Thing. And Gareth would have had a coronary had he known how early on I'd pondered the Marriage Thing!

What Do I Want?
- to be able to wear better clothes
- to write a book about my experiences
- to be able to wear something ultra foxy for possible VERY SPECIAL OCASSIONS!!

Moonwalk Training - 16 Miles

5 weeks to go

I was due a crappy training walk; things had been going far too smoothly!

Despite being well-fed and watered, my legs felt weak from mile three. The weather was strange too, humid and sticky like Sydney. Normally I just let my mind wander with the music and almost forget that I'm in motion, but on Saturday I was conscious of every step. I wanted to throw rocks at the runners who breezed past me, with their infuriating ability to run therefore covering distances in far shorter times.

I had to give up my usual obsession with Making Good Time and just plod. At mile eleven my calves seized up, it felt like I had tennis balls trapped under the skin. FLAMING tennis balls. With metal spikes. Mile twelve I considered taking a bus. Mile thirteen saw thunder and lightning. Then it poured rain for the last two. I thought about crawling on my hands and knees. When I finally got home I gingerly lowered myself onto the couch and did not move for three hours. Job done!

Another Case for the Time-Traveling Fat Detective
More fodder for my forthcoming blockbuster novels - The Mysterious Case of the Abandoned Lipstick. It was broken and floating in a puddle - L'Oreal Colour Riche in a pale, aloof shade. Probably fell from the handbag of a leggy blonde as she was stuffed into a dark Mercedes. Or some litterbug that needs a smack in the chops.

Pace
Urgh. 16 miles (25.75km) in 04:20:46. Average pace 16:16 (3.38 mph)

Observation
If you decide to empty your bladder in a deserted bit of wilderness, for goodness' sake check for nettles before you crouch down.

Not At All Half-Assed Interview with Jennette Fulda

In a crowded session at last year's BlogHer conference in Chicago, I sat next to Jennette Fulda, the famous PastaQueen. I couldn't focus on the panelists or the bizarre audience questions ("I've been blogging for a whole month. Why don't I have any readers? Where is my money?") as I was too busy marveling at how surreal the moment was. Just a few years earlier, the two of us would have taken up twice as much space.

I stole a sideways glance and noticed she had her legs crossed, too. Did she do that without thinking now? Or did she still feel a flutter of awe that such a simple movement was now possible?

I had a million questions for Jennette. Because how often do you meet another person who has lost half their body weight? Who also blogged and wrote a book about the process? Who also is a Scorpio? (hehe)

Jennette's book Half-Assed: A Weight Loss Memoir has just hit the shelves. It's an cracking read, beautifully written and brimming with Jennette's trademark wit. I developed a sore neck from nodding, relating so much to her experiences. But I also appreciated the differences - Jennette has an incredibly calm, level-headed and rational approach to life that I only wish I could relate to :)

Dietgirl is today's stop on Jennette's Blog Tour, so I finally got ask her a few nosy questions. Read on for the answers.

Hot Carb on Carb Action!

Not the best timing after a post about healthy food, but I have secured photographic proof of the wonder that is the great British chip butty for those of you who were curious.

(more hot greasy action over at WNP!)

I've also added a new page tentatively titled Useful Stuff. Basically I'm attempting to compile all the rockin' health and fitness websites and resources that have helped me over the years, so when people ask me about that sort of thing I can point to this page instead of drooling helplessly!

Make It Easy

The most excellent Kathryn Elliot at Limes & Lycopene confessed her hatred of stir-fries in an entry called, Do small impediments stop you from eating well?

"Don’t get me wrong stir-fries are a great meal and I love eating them. They’re quick, easy and healthy ... Plus we always have tofu and vegetables in the house, which are perfect stir-fry fodder. Our mid-week meals would be better and easier to prepare if I made more stir-fries.

Instead I hate and avoid cooking them.

There are lots of reasons for this.  I don’t think I cook them very well, we often run out of necessary condiments etc, etc.

But the real reason I don’t cook stir-fries is . . . I can’t stand cleaning the wok."

Rather than kidding herself that there would come a miraculous sunny day when wok cleaning suddenly appealed, she devised a different strategy - she steams her veg and grills her tofu then throws over a quick dressing.

I agree that it's often the small, seemingly trivial things that lead to less healthy choices. Kathryn gave examples like skipping brekkie because you didn't have milk in the house; raiding the vending machine because you forgot your afternoon snack.

Personally I've found eating well becomes easier if you're truly realistic. What fits into your life? What are your likes and dislikes? What can you manage without wanting to stab yourself with a fork? Some people wouldn't mind washing a wok but for others it could mean, Screw this! I'm dialling a pizza. (Not that Kathryn would do that, mind; being an ace nutritionist and all!)

I love food and I love cooking. In my fantasy life, I slave over complicated casseroles and ponce off to the farmers market to stroke the organic spinach. But in reality? I'm lazy, busy and irritable. And hungry. There's no point pretending otherwise; you just have to work around it.

So I have a list of about 20 easy meals in the back of my notebook. There's old Weight Watchers recipes, food blog recipes, soups, salads; things I swiped from Ready Steady Cook. Half of them aren't meals so much as assembling things. I use the list to plan our meals before doing the weekly online grocery shop. I take into account the Level of Busyness - what will I have time and energy to cook? What could I be arsed to peel or steam after work or kickboxing?

I chuck the notebook at Gareth and ask for his opinion. He says, I don't mind! You're in charge of Foods. I say, Just look at the damn LIST would you.

We debate for five minutes: Yep. Nope. Bored of that. Aye. Nope. Too hard. That one's good. Too much chopping. Too many utensils. Can't we just have CHIPS for dinner? No. Oh.

Right now, with the Kitchen of Chaos, it's about minimum effort. For example, in the past I've made falafels from scratch, blitzing chickpeas and herbs and whatnot. Currently the very thought of messy food processor and messy chickpea hands and messy frying pan makes me want to stick my head in the oven. So this week I bought ready-made, non-dodgy falafel that take ten minutes in the oven. Last night while they baked I slapped hummus, salad leaves, cucumber, cherry tomatoes and grated carrot on a wholemeal wrap. Then I plonked on the wee falafel... squeeze o' lemon... dinner in 15 minutes. Rock n roll.

In summary: Online shopping, a daggy old list and a strong sense of reality make it easier for me to do the healthy thing. It took a lot of time and effort to find my groove, and sometimes I still fall out of it. But when I screw I just return to the basic formula and soon enough we're rattling along again.

I realise this topic won't be particularly earth shattering for some, but I know from experience that eating healthy can feel like a royal palaver and totally overwhelming. Do you have any crafty strategies for eating well? Let's hear 'em!

Moonwalk Training - 14 Miles

6 weeks to go

An important part of my training has been numerical ignorance. As a metric Australian, I had no real concept of a mile. It was meaningless to me as a unit of measurement. So last year I signed up with great enthusiasm, unable to fathom 26.2 miles. 26.2 units of something didn't sound bad at all.

It's like when I first came to Scotland in 2003 and couldn't comprehend the pound. "£3 for a sandwich?" I'd say, "Sold!"

But of course the danger comes when you do the conversion. "Eight dollars for a shithouse mayo-drenched sandwich!? HIGHWAY ROBBERY!" (the exchange rate was particularly rubbish at the time).

Likewise, it occured to me recently that 26.2 miles is actually 42 kilometres. I know how far 42 kilometres is. I can relate that distance to places that I know. Suddenly the Moonwalk went from being a casual walk in the dark to: a bloody long way.

"That's like walking from Cowra to Canowindra and back!" I spluttered to Gareth. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

"From where to where?"

The next day I was telling my Aussie friend Jenny about the Moonwalk on the phone.

"42 kilometres?" she said, "That's like Cowra to Canowindra and back!"

Back to the training
Saturday's walk was 14 miles and it just about took the first mile to calculate that 14 miles was 22.5 kilometres. Man. That's soooo many numbers.

But the sky was gloomy and threatening so I trudged on regardless, trying to forget that I was walking to Canowindra.

Scenery
It was a long and lonely walk; I hardly saw a soul all afternoon. Just lots of rabbits and bees. Bees are so huge in this country. Australian bees, or at least the ones I've been stung by, are lean and mean. The British bees are round and furry. Like cockroaches wearing bee suits.

Soundtrack
Podcast-o-rama. Inspired by this list on Textism, I listened to The Bugle (with The Daily Show's John Oliver), This American Life, and Stephen Fry banging on about Oscar Wilde. All those intelligent folks made for a very smug and soothing walking experience.

Pain Report
The soles of my feet started to hurt around mile 10, and both knees were aching by mile 11. It wasn't an injured kind of pain, just the ache of fatigue and cannae-be-arsed-ness. I thought I'd collapse once I got back home, but I felt revitalised enough after a bottle of water to give the kitchen another coat of paint before dinner.

Pace
14.03 miles in 03:37:28. Average pace 15:30 (3.87 mph)

Tangent
All this walking makes me HUNGRY. I wouldn't advise getting into this sort of caper if you think it'll make you lose weight. In April I walked 78 miles, plus weekly kickboxing and Spinning and twice-weekly weight training. In between? I ate. And ate and ate and ate.

Somehow it all balanced as my weight stayed the same and my flesh is still safely contained by my jeans. But I wonder how I'd have reacted to all this training a couple of years ago, when I was still gung-ho about weight loss and scale numbers. Right now my motivation is to get fitter and stronger so I'm willing to listen to my body if it says, "GIMME FOOD!" But back then I think the raging appetite and weight fluctuations would have truly messed with my head.

Feats of Strength and Stupidity

I've been feeling kinda strong and feisty lately with all my kickboxing and weight training, and last night I gave Gareth a stunning demonstration. He was checking the kitchen floor for loose tiles and asked if I could help him move the washing machine. Two minute job, nae bother.

Separate laundries, a.k.a. utility rooms, are not common on the tiny isles of Britain. At least not in our sector of the housing market. So the washing machine is usually in the kitchen, wedged under the counter.

Ours machine is clunky and heavy so shifting it is a two man job. But I wanted to prove my brute strength and usefulness so I started dragging it out myself.

"Whoa!" said Dr G, "Nice one, She-Ra!"

I beamed.

"Can you just move it a little bit more to the right?"

I tugged with a Monica Seles urrrghhhh. There was a CRACK. Then a whoooosh. Then Gareth was almost knocked off his feet by the mighty jet of water that shot straight into his belly.

"You broke the hose! Turnitoff turnitoff turnitoff!"

"What? How? Where!?" I helpfully threw my hands in the air.

The severed hose writhed and the water spewed, rapidly flooding our stupid little kitchen. Gareth fought his way to the cupboard under the sink. Washing powder, garbage bags, shoe polish and sponges plopped into the water as he dug around for the switch.

Finally there was silence.

"I'll get a towel," I said.

"This has done nothing to improve your reputation for having No Practical Skills."

"This wouldn't have happened if we lived in a civilised country where laundries are not just for a privileged few!"

So apparently the hose is attached to the washing machine with a screwy-in-thingy and the screwy-in-thingy snapped right in half. Hopefully I can track down a new hose soon as it would be nice to wash the 27 towels it took to soak up the chaos.

"What were you trying to do there?" Gareth was laughing, despite being soaked to the bone, "You're always so violent. No more kickboxing for you!"

It seems funny now but last night it felt like the straw that soaked the camel's back. I  wanted to throw myself into the puddle and thrash like a toddler. This Fixing Up The Flat bollocks is getting old. Why does Two Minute Job task turn into an ordeal? Why can't we just live in a dorm with a futon and a cardboard box?

I think Dr G has had enough too, going by his expression when he sat down on the couch last night and stretched his feet out under the coffee table, only to smash his toes against the microwave I'd neatly stowed there. Mess! Destruction! Trip hazards! Floods! Enough!

And what the hell does this have to do with weight loss, you may ask. Well. Perhaps we could fashion yet another weight loss analogy. Weight loss is like moving a washing machine because... people will tell you that it'll be be quick and easy and painless but the reality can be very very messy and make you very very cranky.