The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Friday Link Feast #15

What do you mean, it's Saturday?!

• The Baby-Sitters Club Changed My Life
  Loved this post by a bloke called Stu about how Stacey The Well-Dressed Diabetic From New York helped the girls in his life understand his Type 1 diabetes.
• Cycletta - Cycling events for women
  Any UK cycling ladies out there? I'll be taking part in the Cycletta North bike ride on October 2 in Tatton Park, Cheshire. Cycletta events are women only bike rides on safe, traffic free roads for complete novices and experienced riders alike.
  
  I was offered a media place and my first reaction when I saw the email was to scream/delete - not coz of the distance (can hear my hardcore cycling pals snorting at 40km ;) but because five years after buying my bike I'm still too shitscared to ride it! Once or twice a year is pretty rubbish Cost Per Ride economics.
  
  But I ended up saying YES coz Cycletta seems like a great way to give cycling a proper go, once and for all. More on this soon - including a wee interview with Olympic Gold medallist Victoria Pendleton (woo!) - but thought I'd mention the event now in case anyone out there was up for it too!
• Medicinal Marzipan - Body Lovin' Homework
  I met Mara at Fitbloggin and she was smart, hilarious and charismatic as heck. As soon as I got home I stalked casually perused her blog and discovered Body Lovin' Homework, a series of writing prompts "created with the express intention of bettering our relationships with our bodies through creative means". I tried out some of the exercises and it was powerful stuff.
• Zen Habits - The Spiral of Successful Habits
  I know I've banged on about baby steps around here far too often but this post reiterates how small actions can grow into honking huge changes!
• Green Gourmet Girafe - Why does food history matter?
  You could spend a week reading this amazing post from Johanna - it's packed with fantastic links and insights about food history and memory and meaning. A must for food nerds!

Introducing... Up & Running running e-courses!

Out of all the bumbling sporty things I've tried over the past ten years, none has given me a greater rush than that 5K running race.

Way back in 2004 I got an email from a woman named Julia, an American in Italy. She was a running coach and said that I sounded like I was in need of a challenge. How would I like her to virtually train me for a 5K?

I told her the idea was bloody ridiculous. Running was for skinny girls with long legs and bouncy ponytails. Not for chunky lassies who got puffed running for the bus!

But Julia had already coached thousands of women who thought they couldn't run, so she'd heard all the excuses before. She urged me give it a go.

So for eight weeks I followed her programme. It was hard. I whined a lot. But it was fun! As each week went by I discovered I was capable of far more than I’d ever thought. I found new endorphin highs, new muscles in my legs and new faith in myself. Even though kickboxing and Zumba are my exercises of choice these days, running was the thing that made me ditch my fears about exercise and the "I could never do that" limiting beliefs.

I'll never forget blubbing my eyes out as I crossed the finish line at my 5K race. I wrote en blog:

"There is no better feeling in the world than to take your mind and body to some place you thought it couldn’t go; a place you thought it didn’t belong. You should all try it some time."

Now six years later, you can try it, if you fancy!

I'm chuffed to bits to let you know that today Julia and I have launched Up & Running: kickass running e-courses for women.

We've taken Julia's tried and true running training programmes online, so no matter where you are in the world you can get running too. Julia is your expert running coach, while I'm the boss of the website!

We're starting with our eight-week 5K Beginners Course, with plans for 10K, half marathon and marathon courses later down the line.

The 5K Course, which kicks off on 21 March, is not the usual boring "walk 5 mins, run 5 minutes" training malarkey. This is a mind and body approach. We'll not only get you running safely, we help you set goals and understand your motivations. We help you get in tune with your body and how to look after it when you run so you stay strong and healthy. We've got video tutorials, inspiring interviews with runners.

And we don't just give you a set of instructions then abandon you - you get unlimited support via our community forums - all your questions answered.

I'm really rambling on now - can you tell I'm excited!? I'm just so passionate about this because Julia is a brilliant coach and I so strongly believe in the power of exercise to change the way we see ourselves. Well. How about I shut up now so you can go check it out?*

(* If you want to. If you do, I will love you for life. Woohoo! :)

Scott the Strawberry

These past few months have been rather batty. Stuff that is too personal or awkward to write about in real time. Also, stuff that is too personal and bloody tedious to subject you to.

A healthy eating poster at the local primary school

Basically I took myself off to a shrink. After a year or more of saying I should be able to fix this on my own I thought I'd try talking to an objective person about things.

It was very fruitless to begin with, because I was being very half-arsed about it. There were many conflicting voices:

• Shame and Fraudulent: I'm wasting her time, I should be able to fix things on my own.
• Denial: There's nothing wrong with you; harden the f*ck up whinge bag!
• Hopeless: You've cocked up so badly you're beyond help
  
• Blogging Out Loud: telling "hilarious" stories and not being honest about how crappy things were, in case she didn't believe me and/or thought I was pathetic.

It was three expensive months of not much progress and soooooo much denial. I bawled and/or binged and binged and binged after every session. I was tempted to churn out a few of my "I'm doing great now!" blog posts even when I wasn't, because I felt like I should have been doing better.

But slowly, slowly... light bulbs started going off. The energy saving kind that take awhile to warm up, but still, progress.

Recently I got home from work and went to get changed for a workout. I saw my favourite winter coat in the wardrobe and for some reason decided to try it on. It was so tight that I couldn't get it over my shoulders. I looked in the mirror and the bullshit and denial just fell away. I plonked on the bedroom floor and had a cry for twenty minutes.

Then I thought, Righto, ENOUGH. I got up, put on my gym clothes and did a Cathe weights DVD. I started sniffling again halfway through because I couldn't lift as heavy as I used to, but it still felt like a minor triumph over the "you suck, you're doomed!" voice.

"What has changed?" the shrink asked in our next session. What's changed is that I finally accept that I have work to do. I accept that I need to change the way I think and I accept that this takes hard work. I accept I need to communicate properly with my loved ones and not hide or deny problems.

I accept that I need to build a healthy relationship with food that will sustain me for the rest of my life. I had to buy size 18 jeans recently. I want to get back into my 14s but my approach is different now. It can't be about losing weight so I'll fit into a wedding dress, or have an ending for a book, or look acceptable to promote a book, or to live up to the expectations of certain people. It will never stick until deep down, I want to live a healthy life just for me.

I finally see how damaging the language of shoulds, musts and have tos has been. I see how needlessly worrying about what other people think has steered my actions. I see how hiding my problems has made them worse. Man, it's really embarrassing to realise how you've let things go to pot. Even more embarrassing to see how powerful the LA LA LA EVERYTHING'S FINE denial has been.

But I am writing this with a dopey grin on my face because I feel alive and clear-headed and unburdened. I've just spewed this entry straight from the guts today and feel like a complete WANKER for all the psychobabbly dullness but thought an update was overdue. It's been a very insular, delicate, roller coaster process that leaves you feeling very raw and haggard at times, so hopefully you can understand why the blogging has been sparse. I hope you're well and dandy and thank you, as always, for sticking around!

Who are your self esteem heroes?

Recently I linked to Already Pretty, a fantastic blog by Sally McGraw about personal style and body image. Last Monday she wrote yet another brilliant post about her self esteem heroes.

It's easy to focus on and amplify the memories of those who have given your self-esteem and/or body image a kicking. Family members remarking on sturdy thighs, teachers pointing out chubbiness (so professional), or girls who called you a "red-headed slut" in high school. Despite having red hair themselves.

(Actually that last one made me chortle at the time and still does two decades later!)

Sally wrote:

But let’s talk instead about the quiet heroes of your self-esteem. Who in your life makes you feel gorgeous, powerful, perfect? Which friends and family members are quick with a compliment, or eager to re-route the conversation when you start tearing yourself down?

Such a cool idea. Here's my list - incomplete for sure, but it's been awhile since posts. No time for dilly-dallying!

• Colin the Kickboxing Coach - I wrote previously that he deserves a knighthood for services to self esteem. He makes everyone in the team feel welcome, from prize fighter to prize wussbag. Whenever I'm about to punch myself in the noggin with frustration he'll pop up and say, "nice kick" or "good work, keep going!" and that you suck! voice is sent back in its box.

• Kellie the Zumba Lass - I'm an anonymous number in an insanely crowded classes - she wouldn't know me if she tripped over my beet-faced sweat-basted semi-conscious body. But her classes make me feel so freakin' alive - I'm always there, fully present with shaking booty. Afterward I'm giddy and can't shut up about it all day.
• Sister Rhi - We dissect our lives in a weekly phone debrief, lifting each other up and laughing at ourselves and our misadventures.
• Carla - Our podcast calls leave me buzzing and determined to make the most out of my days. Carla makes me see how important it is to be passionate about what you do and not let other's opinions stop you.
• Dr G - He is very economical with his words - a man of action to my slug with verbal diarrhea.
  
  "Your eyes look especially blue today" I'll say.
  
  "Yeah," comes the reply, "Blue EYE BAGS!".
  
  Or: "You're looking very tan lately, Doc!"
  
  "It's just dirt!"
  
  But he makes me feel loved and happy to be alive by making me laugh - half the time he doesn't even realise he's said something funny, which makes it even better. He also knows when to give a hug and can tell the difference between carefree joke and joke-to-disguise-inner turmoil.
  
  He also always remembers when it's Haircut Day so he can say, "I like your 'do!" when I arrive home even though he can't really see a difference.

How about you?

Better living through The Baby-Sitters Club

The thing I miss least about being a kid is all that longing to be someone else. Oh to be anyone but grotty swotty ginger-haired me!

Like many younguns, I found my escape in books, particularly The Baby-sitters Club series. I didn't want to join the Babysitters Club so much as I wanted to shed my own skin and be one of 'em. I deliberated over whom I aspired to be; which one I most resembled. Kind of like the shrieks of some women in the late 90s: OMG I'm totally a Carrie! No I'm the Carrie! You're the Miranda!  Except less fecking annoying.

When I was ten I wanted to be Stacey. She was so cool, hailing from New York City and all. She also had diabetes. Every time I was busting for the loo I'd think, Dude I must be getting the diabetes like STACEY!

Then I had a Dawn phase. She had blonde hair cascading right down to her bum. I went for a haircut and the lady wanted to give me a bob. I said "sure!" then instantly died inside. CRAP, I was sposed to be growing my hair like Dawn's!

And of course there was my favourite, Claudia. Artist and master accessoriser. We had nothing in common but the desire to stash candy under our beds.

I thought long and hard about this stuff, I tell you. Here is a handy chart to summarise my pre-teen ponderings: (click pic to view full size)

The only BSC character I actually had anything in common with was Associate Member Mallory Pike - she had red hair, was insecure about her appearance and wanted to be a writer. But she was also very annoying. And she liked to read horse stories. Horse stories! I did not want to align myself with that.

In my research I found out that after I bailed out of the series, Mallory got an Australian boyfriend named... BEN HOBART. I will be bwahahaha-ing over that morsel for months.

Radio sucks without Jillian Michaels

To quote the great Hall and Oates, baby come back!

Jillian Michaels has abruptly disappeared from the radio waves and I'm bereft. On Sunday 21th July she gave no indication that the show was to be her last. If I'd known I'd have listened solemnly by candlelight while doing crunches and/or eating her favourite organic peanut butter cups... but nothing! She didn't even say goodbye!

Her final message on the KFI AM 640 website says, "I'm going to be taking a break from radio" which I naively thought meant a summer break. But Jen reports that the guy taking over her time slot said she was too busy to do the show. According to her official website the radio show is "on hiatus". Wah!

I always found it was amazing that Jillian found time for a radio show amidst all her filming and books and DVDs and Wii Fit thingies. It must take a lot of work to prepare for two hours of radio every week. Maybe she finally got in trouble for slagging off The Biggest Loser? Or maybe she got tired of answering the same questions every bloody week... how many times did she have to tell people how to lose the vanity pounds?

But I miss her. Jillian seems to be a love/hate figure but as I've not really seen her in action on The Biggest Loser I only know her through the radio show and one brief magical meeting at BlogHer 2007. She was funny, compassionate, honest, imperfect and completely lacking in bullshit. That's the charm of radio - you can show more dimensions to your character that a heavily edited and scripted television show would never allow.

And what of the lovely Janice, the show's producer? Does she still have a job or did she get sent back to Canada?

It's a sad day. Jillian will still be on the telly for you Americans but I know of fans in Britain, Australia, Finland and beyond who rely on the radio for their fix. I should start a petition. I haven't been compelled to protest since 2002 when I campaigned to get Everybody Loves Raymond taken off the air (91 signatures thank you very much) but this seems like an equally serious political cause to get behind!

We the undersigned hereby kindly request that Ms Jillian Michaels please get thee back on the radio...

Happy Snaps

I was thinking about happiness after rediscovering a ranty pants entry from 2006:

For me happiness is sifting through the shitty bits of life and looking for the good things to latch onto. And always making sure you have something to look forward to, whether that's a weekly choccie bar, an episode of The Avengers or an island holiday. Anything will do...

... I have to work as hard at staying happy as I do at getting to the gym or making sure my guts don't explode out of my trousers. It's a habit that I had to learn. You just have to work on it, every single day.

The only thing more annoying than a smug, happy person is when the smug, happy person is yourself.

Begrudgingly I must agree with Me of 2006. My brain finds it hard to hold on to optimism and cheeriness unless I consciously work at 'em.

My personal formula for happiness:

1. Making time for small, everyday feelgood stuff (e.g.: kickboxing, recent gardening addiction)
2. Having an overall bigass goal to sink my teeth into. A purpose!

Without the above I get all reclusive and maudlin. I used to blame this tendency on my weight, but now I know that I can be happy or miserable at any size!

While I was back in Oz in April, I found some old photos from 2001 - the first year of lardbusting. I was amazed at how cheery I looked. But I remembered the moments the pics were taken and realised why I felt so bloody brilliant back then and why I hadn't been feeling so good these past few months. Back then I was living the formula, baby... big goals; simple pleasures.

NB: The captions on these pics say 2000 but it should be 2001. I can't find the originals now, d'oh!

In this pic I was dead pleased with myself as I was down 40 pounds and for the first time in years I'd managed to keep up with my friends on a walk to this park. All the leaves were broon and Harry the Dog was being his usual demented self.

I think I was another ten pounds down here and taking a progress photo. The dopey grin was coz I fitted into a new size 24 jumper. I was pretty freakin' determined.

And six months later, this is when I got my hair chopped off and felt rather foxy. I'd also been swimming and went to a pub, tackling two big fat girl fears. I'd finally realised that I didn't have to let my weight hold me back. That was a gobsmacking revelation. I was pretty much delirious back then!

It's now actually a month since I started this entry and I can't really remember why I started it and now it's nearly midnight (curfew fail!). Sorry this is not much of a weight loss blog in the traditional sense these days; it's more about happiness gain. I'm latching on to the good things and trying to savour them right as they're happening. Yeehah.

Why don't you love yours?

Channel 4 has a new series called The Sculpture Diaries, in which art critic Waldemar Januszczak is determined to convince us that sculpture is the bee's knees of art forms. The first episode looked at the female form. He spoke with Alison Lapper, a British artist who was born without arms and shortened legs, the result of a medical condition called phocomelia. A statue of Alison, Alison Lapper Pregnant by Mark Quinn, occupied the fourth plinth at Trafalgar Square during 2005-2007.

This is my clumsy attempt to transcribe a part of Alison's interview that I really loved:

"... So many people, not just women, [say] 'How can you love your body?' I'm like, Well, why don't you love yours?

I found that very sad, that there are so many people out there, because of the media and all the rubbish that gets thrown at us, [thinking] that we should all be like stick insects with lollipop heads. No thank you."

My Day In Elle

When it comes to confidence it's all about context. For a long while now I've claimed to be totally cool with all my wobbly bits, as I stomped up hills or paddled canoes or dashed to the hardware shop in a tracksuit encrusted with paint and yesterday's Weetbix. But back in November I had a real test of those convictions: a photo shoot for ELLE magazine!

I was so excited when they asked me to write about how I came to a place of bodily peace, lurve and understanding. But when it came to the accompanying photo shoot, you might say I had an old-fashioned Fat Girl Freakout. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I'd written 1500... so wasn't a picture and a half enough?

"I'm not Elleworthy," is what I whimpered to everyone who said I was being ridiculous. I thought they'd have to amend the slogan on the spine: The World's Biggest Selling Fashion Magazine: Now Contains Morons!

I'd had my photo taken before under less daunting circumstances: just me in my own clothes with freelance stylists and photographers. This time it was in London in a posh studio with Real Magazine People, and they were supplying the clothes! I couldn't sleep for a week beforehand. Despite giving them my measurements I feared they'd not find anything to fit me. I had visions of seams bursting; of buttons flying off and blinding nubile assistants.

I woke at 6AM on the day of the shoot to wash my hair. I dried it at 7AM. At 8AM I became convinced it looked greasy.

Shauna: Does my hair look greasy? I think it looks greasy.
Rhiannon: It doesn't look greasy.
S: But I think it does, I used too much of your hair stuff. It's more powerful than my hair stuff.
R: Is it?
S: Why didn't I use my own? Why did I risk New Hair Stuff today of all days?
R: It doesn't look greasy!
S: I think I better wash it again. Do you think I should wash it again?
R:   . . .
S: I don't know. I can't decide.
R: Well you better hurry up and decide. You only have two hours.
S: Oh my god what do I doooo?

Not only does my nervousness cause loss of appetite, there's also severe indecision and paranoia. In the end I listened to the voice of reason that is my sister and did not re-wash my locks.

We met the lovely Sam and Anna from my publisher outside the studio and together we entered the temple o' glamour. It was all high ceilings and huge windows and yawning white spaces. We sat on a plush couch and were offered refreshments, but I declined because my teeth were chattering so wildly that I feared I might bite a hunk out of a teacup.

The Elle People trickled in, and they were very nice and chatty. I began to relax. Then the hair and makeup artist got to work. She did a great job at disguising all those sleepless nights! Then she bouffed up my hair and pulled fancy moves with the straighteners. All I could do was gawk in amazement. Make up artist? Make up magician more like! Woohoo!

Next I met Bonnie the Stylist and she was gorgeous. She took me off to a dressing room with a rack of clothes and a neat row of swanky looking shoes all waiting to be caressed by my size eight hoof. She explained we'd be doing a series of portraits with a soft, elegant look. I nearly snorted because I saw myself as more suited to a rustic farm girl look.

She pulled a shirt off the rack and it looked impossibly dainty and pretty. Thankfully it fitted. The trousers did not. I couldn't get them past my knees and I mumbled, Sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry.

I was so irritated that I'd said that out loud. What happened to the Happy Just Being Me stuff? I felt crushed and pathetic, but Bonnie was like a reassuring old Aunt trapped in the body of an elegant, tiny young woman. She told me not to worry about sizes and labels, and besides, she had plenty more trousers to try on. Soon I was clothed and climbing into a pair of high heels.

Dudes. Nobody warned me about high heels. I mean really high ones. I started to walk back into the studio expecting my legs to just, you know... walk? But instead I staggered like I'd been thrown out of a moving car. How do people wear those things all day? I was mortified by that entrance and the fact that I was clearly the elephant in the room... yet all this fuss was due to My Amazing Weight Loss?

It was one of those moments when I could stand outside myself and listen to the wild screaming match between my Old Thinking and New Thinking. Who will be the victor today? I hope you can understand how everything I'd learned over the past seven years could temporarily desert me. It was the context - a room full of glossy magazine people, cameras, bright lights, high-heeled clomping. I'd never felt like such a big fat fish out of water. My mind raced as I took my place on the wee set, Who have I been kidding? I should lose another ten kilos. Maybe twenty. Why did I eat so many bloody bagels in New York?

But then thankfully the New Thinking took over. The moment the photographer smiled and lifted the camera to her eye, I felt a massive rush of adrenaline and glee. I'm in London! In a studio! With fancy hair! And crazy shoes! Gettin' me photie taken! For ELLE! This isn't awful, it's pretty much the coolest thing ever.

I remembered my favourite Flight of the Conchords episode with Jemaine's heartfelt speech about racism: "I'm a person. You're a person. That person over there is a person. And every person... deserves to be treated like a person."  All the people in the room were persons, and they were treating me like a person. So I should remember to treat myself like a person, and not a lardy freak!

The camera was hooked up to a computer so the photos instantly popped up onscreen. That could have been daunting, especially when people were clustered around it with serious expressions, pointing to blown-up eyebrows, teeth and jawlines. But somehow once we were in the swing of things I could look at the images with a pleasant objectivity. It was fun doing all the poses too. At first I couldn't stop laughing, so there were dozens of giant gummy grin shots. Then the photographer said, Look sad! So I looked out the window and saw an old lady shuffling towards a mailbox. I pictured a Royal Mail van burning around the corner and mowing her down. I think I even summoned a wee tear. Then she said, Pretend your secret crush has just walked into the room. Oooh. Cue demure blush. At one point I had to toss my hair around, like I'd just stepped out of the salon. Fun and games!

We had a lunch break. There was table full of freshly-cooked gourmet treats but I picked at a tiny wedge of quiche. Not because I'd gone all Starving Model but I didn't want to get anything stuck in my fangs! I thought about models and how its no wonder they snort things and live on cigarettes and have tortured love lives. I can't imagine anything worse than your career being based entirely on the way you look. How do they not explode from the constant scrutiny?

There was a basket of miniature bars of Green and Blacks chocolate. In all the flavours! OH I trembled with joy, or it may have been high heel instability. I grabbed one, clopped back to the dressing room and nestled it beside my Spare Bra. I had to bring two along - one black, one flesh coloured.

The rest of the shoot passed without incident, except for when my arms got STUCK inside a shirt! It was outfit change no. 5 methinks. The top was carefully placed over my head and outstretched arms, but when they pulled downward they couldn't get very far. I felt like a right goose, trapped in designer cotton with my arms glued to my ears, but at least I laughed instead of apologising!

Afterwards, I changed into my civvies and was just about to head out when I remember my choccie. They were packing up the clothes in the dressing room. The stylist's glamourous assistant smiled and scooped up the goods from the table.

"Here's your bra and your chocolate!" she said.

She had the chocolate bar in one hand and my giant, ultra supportive bra in the other. She could have worn one cup as a hat, I swear. It was hilarious.

. . .

So the story is in this month's issue of Elle, but it's only this month's issue for another half hour as the new issue comes out on the 30th. How's that for timely blogging? Anyway, I've done a dodgy scan if you fancy  a peek. Gareth and I keep cackling over one frame in particular because it's like the opening credits of Kath & Kim:

There's always a joker in the pack.
Bwaaaaaaahhahahaa!
(apologies if you've never seen K&K!)


(click for larger)
Full story: page 1, page 2

Chop Chop

On Saturday night I was sitting next to Gareth, poking and prodding my belly and arms with my thumbs.

"I hate being bigger than you," I grumbled.

"Bigger than me?"

"Yeah. I seem bigger today. Taller. Wider. Blobbier all of sudden. Like I am lording over you."

"Like Kermit and Robin?"

"YEAH that's it. Precisely!"

Then on Sunday I was making excuses.

"Haven't got time to do weights today" I said to myself, "Gotta watch the New York Marathon."

Yes, too busy to exercise because I'm too busy sitting on my arse watching other people exercise on the telly. Similar to the entire month of June, when I snapped and foamed at anyone suggesting I go out for a walk. "I'm too busy writing a book about how much I love exercise to do actual exercise!"

But that bloody Paula Radcliffe put me to shame. She popped out a baby just six months ago and there she was leading the race. So I scraped myself off the couch around mile ten and went off to do my weights. I arrived back, muscles buzzing, just in time to see her dazzling victory.

Afterwards I was preening in the mirror, flexing biceps and purring, etc etc. How the bloody hell does that work? They were the same arms as the night before, but now they seemed rather svelte and cool.

So personally, skinniness seems to be just a state of mind. Not much to do with actual state of the body, and greatly influenced by endorphins :)

. . .

Last night I went back to KICKBOXING! Woohoo! I'd done just one class back in January as part of my New Year's Resolutions but completely knackered my dodgy knee again. But this time I wore a knee support, modified moves that I knew would hurt instead of charging ahead and pretending otherwise. I had a bloody brilliant time. Oooh the pain! The violence! The good feeling! Rawk.

This time I was much less wimpy while holding the pads, too. I actually held them up steadily instead of throwing my hands over my head and cowering in fear. I was a bit slow due to the usual Left and Right Confusion - I took too long to make the "L" sign behind the pad so I got kicked in the wrist. Hehehe.

Today my back and arms and abs are sooo sore but the knee feels okay! Touch wood. I will need to be careful but hope to carry on. As much as I try to get excited about gym cardio, the kicking and punching REALLY does it for me. It's something to look forward to and relish, as opposed to merely tolerate.

I also spied some new spinning bikes at the gym, looks like they've started spinning classes. WOOHOO! The Great Indoors suddenly looks quite appealing this winter.

How DietGirl Became Not-On-A-Diet-Girl

You may have noticed that I've not really updated the weight stats on my sidebar in a long long time. I keep meaning to explain why, but all I had to show you is fifteen abandoned drafts. The truth is, everything has changed this year; my attitude to this diet stuff. I needed to pull back from the scales and think long and hard about things. There's been so many incidents that screamed to me that after six and a bit years, I had to change my approach to my health and weight.

It wasn't until the lovely Sarah invited me to write a guest post for Elastic Waist that I actually sat down and put the massive changes in my head down on paper. The post is up today. Thanks all you lovely EW folks for having me over.

Update: I've archived the full post below for posterity.

I’d been on a diet for 333 weeks when the pickled ginger stepped in and saved my sanity.

Earlier this year I was on a spring-cleaning rampage when I came across the long-forgotten package. Instead of the usual pale pink, my ginger had turned into a swampish, scummy brown from sitting on the pantry shelf for so long. I’d bought wasabi, rice and seaweed too, with the intention of making homemade sushi, but for a whole year I’d been putting it off.

I’ve got to lose those last ten pounds first, I kept telling myself. If I make sushi now I’ll get bloated and it’ll show up on the scales! I can’t ruin my diet with a carb fest!

But when I found that dust-covered package I sat down on the kitchen floor and actually said out loud, “ARE YOU INSANE?”

After a lifetime of angst-ing about my weight, I finally saw how ridiculous it had all become. I was almost 30 years old, and I’d been dieting on and off through my entire 20s. My weeks revolved around my Monday weigh-in—what to eat, when to eat it, how it would affect my date with the scale. And it wasn’t just the pickled ginger; I had a whole drawer of wacky ingredients and a shelf crammed with untouched cookbooks, waiting for the day I gave myself permission to cook from them. After 333 weeks I knew I had to move on—before it became 666 weeks.

* * *

Way back in January 2001, I weighed 351 pounds. My weight-loss journey began with very negative motivations—I was depressed, angry and so full of loathing that I wanted to hack off my belly rolls with a knife. Even as I made changes to my lifestyle I never believed they’d stick; I didn’t think I deserved any better.

But surprisingly, my self-perception swiftly changed. The more I treated my body kindly with good food and gentle exercise, the more I positive I felt. At first I could only manage a walk around the block or 10 minutes on the elliptical, but I began to appreciate my size 26 body for what it could do, instead of what it looked like. For the first time I looked in the mirror and saw a worthy human being, not just a collection of flaws.

By August 2006, after 291 long slow weeks, I’d lost 175.5 pounds and weighed 175.5 pounds; I’d shed precisely half my body weight. I had the healthy lifestyle down pat, too. I loved my exercise and instead of binging or dieting I finally had a balanced relationship with food. When I took some progress photos in my new size 12 jeans I loved what I saw. I felt confident, healthy, sexy and content. I felt done.

But how could I be done? I still had 10 pounds to lose before I stopped being fat in the eyes of the Body Mass Index overlords. Surely my happiness wasn’t really valid unless I reached that number?

So for the next year that package of pickled ginger rotted away in the pantry while I became obsessed with my goal weight. But the harder I tried the more the scale refused to budge. I grew panicky and impatient, and instead of keeping faith in my tried-and-true formula of sensible eating and exercise, I scoured my old diet books looking for answers.

Finally in Week 333, I stopped and asked myself, What the hell am I doing? Haven’t I learned anything? Why am I torturing myself?

For six years I’d battled to achieve a balanced approach but now I’d fallen back into my old, obsessive ways. And what for? I was fit and healthy. I liked my body. I finally liked being me. But my weight fixation was making me lose sight of all those positives.

So the moment I tossed that rotten ginger into the trash I tossed my diet mentality too. No more number crunching, no more ritual weigh-ins and no more Last Ten Pounds. I decided to just let go and decided to see where my instincts took me.

Part of me worried what would happen if I didn’t obsess about my weight. How would I stay healthy without all that angst? Without the fear of a weekly weigh-in, would I go wild and wake up in a sea of candy wrappers with chocolate smeared across my gob?

But I didn’t. Instead life got a helluva lot more interesting once I ditched the scales and dieting. I carried on being healthy. I started yoga classes, something I’d yearned to do for years but had put off in favor of workouts that burned more calories. I went for long hikes in the Scottish Highlands with my husband. He’d been asking me to join him for ages but I’d turned him down because he always took sandwiches to eat on the summits and I fretted that bread would screw up my weigh-ins.

These days I’m not afraid of a sandwich. And I exercise purely for the joy of it, not to make my body more pleasant to the masses. Instead of thinking, “These are things I must do to lose weight,” I now believe, “This is just how I live my life.”

I don’t know where the scale will end up, but after 333 weeks I’m not wasting another minute worrying about it. I always thought the prize would be seeing that magic number, but now I appreciate that it was never about the scales or the size of my jeans. The true reward was finding peace and acceptance and embracing my own skin, with all its lumps and bumps. It's getting out there and diving into life, instead of sitting around getting old and moldy like that pickled ginger!

Loose skin after weight loss

So enquiring minds want to know about Loose Skin. What does one look like naked after losing half their body weight? Does my stomach hang down to my knees? Do I resemble a human shar-pei? Will you resemble a human shar-pei if you lose weight?

I completely understand why this issue causes so much worry. At the end of 2000 when I was trying to work up the nerve to Do Something, part of me was reluctant to even start for fear I'd end up looking like my furry friend on the left there.

Of course now I can only answer from my own experience, and I am happy to report I don't look like a roly-poly-dog.

Now lets get down business.

1.    AM I GOING TO BE A SHAR-PEI?

I must have read a dozen articles with varying levels of doom and gloom but most folk agreed that how your skin bounces back from a large weight loss depends on a range of factors:

• the elasticity of your skin - this decreases with age
• how long how you carried the excess weight (eg. 9 months pregnant vs 9 years being overweight)
• how much excess weight you carried
• if you've previously gained/lost large amounts of weight
• how quickly you gained the excess weight
• how quickly you lost it - slower loss allows skin more time to readjust
• your body composition - how much body fat vs muscle you have

One of the more interesting articles I found was by Tom Venuto, author of Burn The Fat, Feed The Muscle. He said that in many cases when people have lost a lot of weight and think they've been left with great puddles of excess skin, it's actually still body fat. You may have reached your Goal Weight on the scales but Tom sayz it's worth looking at your body fat percentage (see point 12 of his article).

"Except in extreme cases, you are very unlikely to see someone with loose skin who has very low body fat. It's quite remarkable how much your skin can tighten up and literally start to "cling" to your abdominal muscles once your body fat goes from "average" to "excellent." Someone with legitimate single digit body fat and loose skin is a rare sight.

So... the key to getting tighter skin is to lose more body fat, up to the point where your body composition rating is BETTER than average (in the "good" to "great" category, not just "okay"). Only AFTER you reach your long term body fat percentage goal should you give thought to "excess skin removal."

... unless you are really, really lean, it's difficult to get a clear picture of what is loose skin, what is just remaining body fat and how much further the skin will tighten up when the rest of the fat is lost."

Now Mr Venuto is a pretty hardcore personal trainer type and his article seems directed at blokes, but in my experience I have found this to hold true. Body composition makes a huge difference. The more muscle I build, the more my skin appears to "tighten up". I have not had any dramatic weight loss on the scales for two years now, but my body composition has changed - I have gone down another size or so and I'm much firmer. I once said I could flap my arms and fly all the way to Australia for free, now I think I'd only make it to say, Dubai. Haw haw haw.

2.    WHAT THE BLOODY HELL CAN I DO ABOUT IT?

Honestly, the best thing you can do is be realistic. I knew when I started out that there was no way my 351 pound body would ever snap back flat and flawless Elle McPherson stylee. But my aims were more about making the bed without getting breathless than attaining perfection.

This article has a few suggestions, including:

• losing weight slowly
• keeping your skin hydrated
• preserving muscle tone and
• eating nutrient rich foods:

"If your meals and snacks consist of junk food (even if you eat it in smaller quantities than before) then you're unlikely to nourish your skin properly and build up its strength.

Choose foods which are high in vitamins and minerals and low in sugar, saturated fat and additives. Include foods high in essential fatty acids such as avocados, olives, oily fish, nuts and seeds and oils made from these and also ensure that you have an adequate supply of lean protein."

Thanks, learned experts!

Here's what I personally found helpful:

• Slow and tedious weight loss - Yes, six years was a bit bloody ridiculous, but the fact that it took me so long seems to have worked in my favour.
• Weight training - This has been THE biggest thing for me and goes back to the body composition stuff mentioned above. I started weight training about eight months into my lard busting and have been doing it 1-3 times a week for six years now. I was about 120 kilos when I read this "No Fat Chicks" article on Krista's Women's Weightlifting page and it changed my thinking forever. Pumping iron has made a huge difference to my shape and tone. I noticed changes within weeks and used to love feeling the muscles developing beneath my baggy size 24 tracksuit pants.
  Years and years later, I'm so glad I persisted. My legs, for example, are never going to be small but they're strong and solid and there's no loose skin.
  My arms haven't fared as well; they're still wobbly but considering they used to barely squeeze into a size 26, they're okay and I'm happy to wear t-shirts.
  I only wish I'd known about weight training from Day One. So if you're starting out, even if you just pick up a can of beans and so some bicep curls, get lifting!
• Pilates - I started a weekly class at work in December 2005 and while it took a good six months to understand what the hell was going on, over time it made a huge difference to the tone of my abdominal area. Not mention better posture :)
• BEING PATIENT - I know people don't want to hear about things taking years to improve, but for me it gets better the longer I simply carry on with the exercise and healthy eatin' .

WELL MISSY, IF YOU'RE SO DAMN SMUG AND SEXY WILL YOU BE POSING NUDE FOR PLAYBOY ANYTIME SOON?

Well, no. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so while I look at my body and think mwrrrrowr, you may recoil in horror. You might see my naked body as a starting point or a candidate for Slice and Dice at the plastic surgeon. Yet I am amazed at what good nick my skin is in, considering everything I've put it through.

I didn't realise quite how happy I was with the ol bod until I visited my friend Argy in Athens this July. Living in Scotland you can ignore your wobbly bits much of the time, since they're hidden under 27 waterproof layers most of the year. But in sweltering Greece I had nowhere to hide. I expected to feel anxious being skirts and t-shirts again, but I felt good. My stomach is still hella wobbly - I don't know if you'd call it loose skin or just flab I could still lose if I could be bothered - so I'll never don a bikini.

But I was perfectly happy in my one piece swimsuit lazing by the pool at Argy's apartment - not hiding beneath towels or kaftans. That is good enough for me. At one point we were going to the beach and I was excited by the prospect rather than worrying how my pale lumpen form would clash with the bronzed Greeks. Hurrah for progress!

IN SUMMARY

What will happen to your body if you lose a lot of weight depends on your circumstances, methods, current condition, etc etc; but time, patience and consistent exercise can help your lovely epidermis. But most of all I passionately stand by what I said in my Things I Have Learned list last year:

"Don't let the fear of loose skin, belly rolls or flabby arms stop you. Do you think Oprah worried about her bingo wings? No. She just flap-flap-flapped and flew away to world domination!"

Three Times A Lady

Thanks everyone who kindly left Entry Requests in my last post. I initially wrote that line as a joke but later thought I quite like the idea of you guys bossing me about. And I'd like to be helpful. Maybe it could be a weekly feature? I remember when I was starting out I had so many burning questions and just wanted some honest answers and encouragement, dammit. So leave a comment or send an email if there's anything on your mind - food, exercise, what's with the Freddo obsession, whatever :) And of course I shall link back to the Question Asker's blog, if they have one.

I'll start with the Loose Skin Conundrum as it's such a FAQ. I've touched on it before but I'm getting together some more thoughts and information.

. . .

It's now September and if my shaky maths serves me correctly this means TWO THIRDS of 2007 is gone! But I've knocked off a New Years Resolution ahead of schedule - Try three new sporty activities. First we had kickboxing in January and canoeing in April and now finally... kayaking!

Yesterday I did a wee taster lesson and it was pretty cool. The most traumatic part of the whole experience was donning the wetsuit, surely the least flattering garment on earth. And even more so when you put it on inside out by mistake, and the inside of the suit is bright yellow with black sleeves, so you look like a bloated neoprene bumble bee. I'm just glad my friend pointed this out before we left the change rooms.

I quite enjoyed paddling around the loch in my sexy yellow boat, even when I kept running into the banks and/or spinning round in circles. I like how I don't feel panicky anymore doing sporty things, just willing to have a go and not feeling like my self-esteem is in danger of being demolished at any moment.

There was one Fat Girl Freakout though; albeit a quiet one. There were five of us in the class - me, Gareth, two of our friends Dave and Lynne and their 8-year-old son Alexander. We had to paddle close together so our kayaks were in a row, then hold on to each others boats so we formed a sort of kayak raft. Then we had to take turns jumping out and walking across the raft then back again. One by one they wobbled over, laughing and struggling to keep their balance.

As I watched them clamber over me I couldn't help crunching numbers. Dave and Lynne are a lot shorter than me and a good 20-30 kilos lighter. Alexander would be no more that 20 kilos himself, and that svelte bastard Gareth is about 5 kilos lighter than me too. So I when it was my turn I froze in my kayak thinking stubbornly, "No bloody way."

It's been so long since I've thought about my weight. As in, you know, my heaviness. I haven't felt conscious of being at all weighty. I wasn't scared of falling or drowning or whatnot, but I did feel my Impending Humiliation Detector going off.

Gareth said, "C'mon Marsho!" and the instructor said, "You've come all the way from New Zealand and you're not going to have a go?" and I just said quietly, "Not today thanks."

Blah. Sometimes you feel like you've come so far then sometimes you feel the opposite, and those moments can happen ridiculously close together.

After the kayaking lesson we got the canoe out again for some capsizing practice! Dave, Gareth and I are going to try some bigger water soon and it's really very highly unlikely we'd ever get chucked out, but Dave likes to err on the side of caution. So the three of us spent about an hour throwing each other overboard and snorting up vile loch water and flipping the boat over and trying to haul ourselves back in. It was such a hoot, especially when I accidentally kicked Gareth underwater and he yelped in shock and said, "I thought it was f*cking Jaws!"

I feel like I've found real joy with exercise this year. Real joy in just living in this body, in general. I'm spending far less time in the gym but I'm so much fitter. Yesterday I felt such strength in my arms and shoulders as I pulled myself back into the canoe from deep water. I also felt goofy and messy and drenched and scared but uninhibited. Today my shins are covered in bruises and it feels like they're the bruises I was too tentative and self-conscious to accumulate when I was a kid.

Hail To The Queen

Very quickly and shoddily written first impressions from Chicago!

Chicago - rockin'

Jetlag - turns me into a babbling moron :)

Deep Dish Pizza, slice of, eaten at midnight - will take approximately seven weeks to digest

Meg - hilarious, wonderful, even-better-in-person got me smashed on a margarita!

Jen - warm, funny, oozes intelligence and a great gal for a good chinwag :)

PastaQueen - tall, slinky, gorgeous complexion, witty... she's not The Queen for nufin, people!

Pamela - We meet at last! She is a lovely, lovely woman and I can't wait to chat to her more. I also met her wee son and her Scottish husband and I almost burst into tears o' joy at hearing his accent. Mmm, Scottish accent.

Kate - Another chick who just radiates so much intelligence that it makes you swoon. I was glad to chat to her for a few wee minutes :)

Weetabix and Sarah - I managed not to squeal like a fangirl and even tho I only got to talk to them briefly they were incredibly charming. I hope to stalk them further today!

Wendy - Oh man. Mah hero! She did a great job on the Bodies panel yesterday. I hope I get to chat to her again, and I hope I don't make a dick of myself. I stood up in the panel yesterday and sprouted some incoherent babble and did you know what I thought? "Aww man. I can't believe I sound so stupid in front of WENDY."

Hehe.

Sorry this entry is devoid of all style, wit, substance, editing, etc etc but it's breakfast time and I don't see the point of being at a blogging conference and spending your whole time behind a computer. That's what you do back home in your jammies! Now is the time for pressing the flesh. And eating the free bagels.

A quick word about the Bodies panel yesterday - I felt quite gutted by some things I heard; the thoughts we have about ourselves. I just wanted to crash tackle some people to the floor with a bear hug. Because I used to feel like that and I remember it all too well. And though I will never be a You Go Girlfriend Love Your Body type of person, I have to say how amazing it feels just to enjoying occupying my skin, every lump and bump. I just want to eat up the world with a spoon, the same way I used to do with the Nutella. I wanted to tell people that it is possible to get a different place, even though it's a very loooong and wacky road to get there.

Twin Peaks

I went to Marks and Spencer for yet another bra fitting today. Out of all the bits of my body radically transformed by this epic lard busting journey, it's the boobs that have changed the most. I started with a 50 inch under-bust measurement and now it's a 32 or 34 in whatever cup size the boobs happen to FEEL like fitting into on a particular day. I swear I just get the scaffolding right then POW! They've shrunk some more. Could you please just STAY WHERE YOU ARE, ladies?

I had a very nice Bra Lady today, short and round with enormous boobs that I kept brushing by accident as she helped me into the various garments. She was very patient and kind as I told her I'd lost some more weight and needed yet another new bra. She made me try on FIFTEEN BRAS, people. I never knew there were so many kinds. But she was determined to wrestle the ladies into submission, even though I knew the very first one was going to be the best one.

She kept scurrying back and forth to fetch more bras so I took advantage of being alone with 360-degree full length mirrors. I like just having a good long look at myself. I did a lot of flexing and posing and sucking in my stomach and doing tricep kickbacks so I could see the muscle pop out. And you know what I thought? I likes what I see. I felt proud. I felt strong. I felt foxy. I had never felt so content to be occupying this body of mine. Dare I say I felt... totally done.

Anyway finally Bra Lady agreed with me that the first bra was the best. Then she asked me just how much weight I'd lost and I said "12 and a half stone". So she said "OH MY GOD 12 and a half STONE!?" and I said yes and explained that this was about my 75th bra fitting in the past 6.5 years and she said all sorts of nice things. I thanked her as she handed me the Chosen Bra and guess what she said?

"That should see you through the next couple of stone!"

As I walked away I snorted with laughter but it wasn't until I got to the checkout that I thought, HEY!  The next couple of stone!? Does she think I still need to lose 2 stone? 28 pounds? 13 kilograms?

All the satisfaction and bravado I've been feeling for MONTHS just sort of wilted right there and the ye olde self-doubt rushed in. Do I still need to lose two more stone? Am I hideous? Have I been deluding myself? Are the exercise endorphins giving me false happiness? Am I just settling? Should I not be satisfied with a size 14? Are all these people who say "you look great" really saying "I mean, compared to BEFORE!" Is it wrong for me to think this body is just fine and dandy as it is right now?

I walked into about six different shops and looked at myself, in as many different angles and lighting as possible. I checked in shop windows and car windows and the public loos as well. Just to make sure I really was satisfied.

Affirmative, captain!

I came home and told Gareth all about it. I didn't punch him on the arm, for I wasn't angry, just bemused and a little wounded. It reminded me again that when it comes to lard busting you have to make sure you're impressing yourself. You'll never have a body that everyone in the world wide world is going to be in love with.

And it's funny how no matter cool and confident you think you've become, there's still a few wee chinks in your armour.

I See Red

Ellen and Kek both kindly nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award which was lovely and surprising, as I haven't been feeling particularly thoughtful lately!

I regretted that stupid Shoe post the minute I posted it, thinking everyone would think I was a horrible angry, violent person who assaults her husband and has no sympathy for the retail workers of the world. It seemed like one hundred torturous years before anyone posted a comment. I said to Gareth, "Do you hear that silence? They all think I'm horrible". Gareth said, "Maybe they're still ASLEEP!"

There are so many frontiers on which I no longer give a shit what people think of me. Like this morning at the gym I was clearly the tallest and blobbiest in the room. In the old days I would have run for the door. But now I didn't care if they thought I was fat, I just hoped they thought I was strong. All my weights were four times heavier than theirs so... rah!

But when it comes to expressing emotions, sometimes I still worry. In particular, anger. Maybe it's because in the old days I always played the UN Peacekeeper, running around trying to keep people happy and calm, striving to diffuse conflict before it happened. I had opinions but I kept them to myself. This started long before I got fat, but it's why I began this blog in the first place, so I could have a faceless place to vent and get upset about my weight without having to bother Real Life people.

It's been 6.5 years now, and this blog is no longer anonymous and you're not strangers. You're friends, family and treasured acquaintances. So I guess there's still a tiny, insecure part of me that worries I am one blog entry away from alienating you all with my Crazy Emotions, eg. my Footwear Freak-out. Honest guv, it was a wee tap on his arm! I'm a pacifist!

When Crankybee and Beck commented that they'd have got angry too, I felt a bit better. I briefly wondered if I was becoming too British and polite? But I just know if I'd gone postal at the shoe shop, I'd have bad shoe karma for the rest of my life. They'd keep my picture behind the counter and hide all the size 8's every time I walked in.

So after nearly 30 years of swallowing my anger I guess I have to figure out how things are going to be. I want to speak up for myself and not be a spineless gimp. I also know that you can't please everyone. I have a brain and I am entitled to an opinion, but it still scares me. What if after all this time there was an obnoxious jerk hiding under my fat?

But just like it's not healthy to bury anger in chocolate, it's probably not the best idea to punch your husband.

Anyway, here are my 5 Bloggers Wot Make Me Think. And quite often cry!

1. I Am That Girl Now
2. Fatslayer
3. Body of Work
4. Susan Wagner (I love the Figure Matters stuff)
5. When I Grow Up

This Thinking Bloggers meme has been going around for awhile so if any of my listed legendary bloggers would like to pass on the baton, you can read all about it here. Thanks again, Ellen and Keksterooni! :)

If You're Happy And You Know It

Sometimes I've been suspicious of happiness. For awhile now I've felt like I was finally at ease with my body, but part of me wouldn't trust that it was real. Anxiety was my default state for so long that it was hard to believe I wasn't deluding myself.

The Mothership and I had one of those honest, difficult conversations on the weekend that start with tears and honking into tissues, but end with hanging up all light and peaceful. We talked about The Past which is something I've been avoiding. When I moved away from Australia I just convinced myself I was moving away from all sorts of things.

She asked about my earliest memories and I told her about one time when I was five years old and starting a new school. She held my hand as we walked up the front path that was flanked by bottlebrush shrubs. My stomach was in knots and my only thought was, "Everybody is going to hate me because I'm fat."

And that's how I've always thought. It didn't stop until two years ago when I did that cracking 5K race, when I finally realised I respected my body for what it could do, instead of being consumed by what it looked like. Since then I've been moving the ol' bod around with ever-shrinking amounts of self-consciousness, without feeling like there were neon signs floating above my head screaming, HEY EVERYBODY, LOOK AT THIS LARD ARSE.

But like I said, sometimes I was suspicious. I wondered if I was only happy in certain contexts. Like the safety of a marriage. Or the security of an oft-shitty Scottish climate, where I can hide my wobbly bits.

So I've been running through a list of places and situations that used to petrify me, and testing my resolve. How would I feel if I faced them again? Here's a few -

• THE BEACH - Swimsuits, ghostly skin, etc etc. I'm cool. I will never don a bikini but as long as I've got a big hat and SPF 457 I'd be happy. I don't feel the urge to compare myself to more slender chicks anymore. That could be inner peace or just surrendering to old age :P
  
  
• BAKERIES - I'd now feel free to buy whatever the hell I wanted and not fret that folk in the queue were thinking, "She doesn't need that scone". If I wanted ten donuts I'd buy ten donuts, instead of buying four here and three at the place down the street and another three in the next town to disguise my gluttony.
  
  
• PUBLIC SPEAKING - If I had to yap in front of a group of people, I would be shitscared about saying something stupid, as opposed to worrying that my gesticulations were making my belly wobble. I think doing that Sky News thing last year sort of kicked the last of that self-consciousness out of me.
  
  
• POSH SHOPS - Actually I have tested this one. There are still about 10 kazillion boutiques with clothes I couldn't fit a toe into, but I no longer skulk past their windows feeling inferior. I go inside and poke through the racks, just to see what it feels like. I'm also lost my irrational fear of department stores. Sometimes I swan about in Harvey Nicks in Edinburgh. I usually end up in the food hall, buying a can of tuna or something.
  
  
• SPONTANEOUS PHOTOGRAPHY - the lovely Mary posted a photo on Health Nuts of her doing some indoor rockclimbing. She looks totally foxy and dead sporty. I thought, "How would I feel if someone took a snap of me climbing up a wall?". I'd no doubt be red-faced and sweaty and my flab would be dangling at some unflattering angle. But when I see shit pictures of myself these days I groan or LAUGH, instead of destroying the camera with a sledgehammer. I think I look alright. Sometimes the camera catches that, sometimes it suggests the opposite; and that's okay.
  
  
• AUSTRALIA - If we moved back, how would I handle scorching summers, barbeques, swimming pools? Now that my thighs don't bleed if I wear a skirt, I think I'd quite enjoy it. I'd be a helluva lot more worried about getting sunburned than the state of my flab, to be honest :)

I'm in a reflective mood lately so sorry if this entry is rather random and incoherent. But I am happy to conclude that I am genuinely happy with my body. I would pass all my tests. I spent about 22 years in a constant state of paranoia and anxiety which made all those little everyday scenarios so exhausting. Now I think I could put myself in any situation and I'd still be comfortable being me. Even if I was thundering down a catwalk with size zero supermodels. That's their look, and I've got mine. I just wish I could go back to that five-year-old me and say, "Chin up, ginger! 24 years from now you'll think you're great!"

Be Your Own Cheer Squad

I was reading Pasta Queen's excellent "Ask A Loser" entry yesterday and one of her commenters posted a link to a blog called The Skinny Website, wherein an intellectual discussion was taking place about a photograph of Star Jones and her Hideous Arm Flab.

I have no idea who the bloody hell Star Jones is, but Wikipedia tells me she's an American lass on the telly who was once rather large but lost 100lb. It doesn't really matter who she is because this entry is about the arm flab, or rather people's reaction to it.

A few choice (unedited) comments from the Skinny blog:

"ew she is sooooo fugly!! the hanging skin is really discusting"

"she is the example of why people shouldn't get very fat in the first place (put down the cake star). you will never get your old body back without seriuos surgery, that flabby skin is just NASTY"

"Why on earth would she wear a dress like that with her arms flapping in breeze? Disgusting. What’s the point of losing all that weight... when she looks so gross with all the left-over, floppy skin?"

The purpose of the site is to discuss the rise and fall of celebrity weights, and that's fine by me. It's not something I want to be involved with, but it's a big ol' internet with plenty of room for everyone and all their niche interests. And it appears there's many folks wanting to weigh in on burning issues such as, Does Victoria Beckham look skinnier this week, does Geri Halliwell have nice legs or not, and does Rhianna look nice in her new bikini?

No matter how gaunt or gigantic the celeb happens to be, some commenter will say she's too fat, another will say she's too skinny, or her hair is shite or her thighs are too big for her torso or she's just plain fugly. You can't please anyone.

What is my point here? I do have one, I swear. I was looking at the photo of Star Jones' arm flab and all the horrified comments and cacked myself laughing.

"If that's what they think of the Star Arms," I thought, "What would they think of mine?"

You may recall I spent a good few years being completely paranoid about my arms. In the early days I referred to them as giant pillows spewing out of my shoulder sockets. Then they were known as the Boeing 747 arms. Then I was hysterical when I could only find a sleeveless wedding dress in 2005 and even more hysterical when my giant arms were displayed to the nation in Grazia magazine.

But then last year I granted myself the Right to Bare Arms. Five years of weight training had bossed them into far better shape than I ever imagined possible. This year they've got even better. Actually to be honest, the real turning point was when I was standing in the change rooms at Zara in a sleeveless dress, whinging about my mega arms and my sister Rhiannon screamed at me, "Shauna. Get over your fucking arms!"

So I am at peace with them now, you see? I am actually proud of them, how they stayed faithfully by my side, adapting and changing despite those years of abuse.

But back to Star Jones. I realised that although I may be happy with my arms and all their imperfections, there are giant packs of bitches out there that would find them horrific. They would be hacking at them with knives. They would cross the road if they saw me sleeveless on the street.

It drove home to me, yet again, that you have to be your own cheer squad. You need to be your own biggest fan. You have to set your own standards and work hard to impress yourself. It is pointless comparing you and your body and your abilities to someone else's. Someone is always going to be thinner/prettier/fitter. Someone is always going to look at you and think you're hideous. It makes much more sense to compare yourself now to where you've been or where you want to go next.

If I'd seen that Star Jones Arm Flab pic three years ago I would have had the same first thought as I did yesterday, "If that's what they think of the Star Arms, what would they think of mine?". But instead of laughing about it I would have seriously bawled my eyes out. And put on three jackets and Groucho glasses before I dared venture into public.

But these days I have finally reached a point where I honestly do not give a toss about what anyone thinks about my body except for me. I'm happy with how it looks and what it can do in all its dimpled imperfect glory. All the healthy eating and trips to the gym are for my own selfish enjoyment, not to make my body less unpleasant for the masses.

And if anyone started poking fun at my arms now, I would happily tell them to rack off... then flap my big arms and fly far, far away!

Bigger

Today I'm dreaming of puddings. Specifically, that pudding I made at Christmas with the sticky toffee sauce. I took a photo of it at the time and right now it's dished up as my desktop wallpaper (click the pic for closeup). I can see the dense crumbs, I can even make out individual chunks of carrot. There's a pool of toffee sauce and melted ice cream and I wish I could dive right in. You can even see the wee flecks of vanilla in the ice cream! Just staring at the picture is almost as satisfying as the real thing.

Aye, right!

. . .

Someone arrived here today from Google with a very precise search string: Dietgirl, the Amazing Adventures of. Like it was in a catalogue or something! For some demented reason, that comma made my day.

There are a lot of new people coming by lately so why not say hello? I don't bite! I am not that hungry.

. . .

The Mothership sent me a card in the post this week. Inside was an old photo she'd found, taken the day I left Australia. On 27 March 2003 I was about 110 kilos (250lb) and a size 20/22.

I gawked at that photo in complete disbelief, barely recognising myself. Which is strange because at the time I'd felt so tiny, having spend the previous two years busting down from 350lb, as you know.

I remember that final morning in Oz - frantically stuffing things into my suitcase, sneaking online one last time to type goodbye to friends, and The Mothership fretting we'd get SARS in Singapore or shot down over Iraq. Now I look at my eternally chubby cheeks in the photo and think, Dude, if only you knew all the crazy shit that's going to happen once you get on that plane. Woohoo!

Sometimes I have trouble remembering how things used to be. When I came to the UK it was almost like wiping the slate clean. The first two years of lard busting had changed me, but the real changes began once we arrived in Edinburgh. I really had to leave the fat girl insecurities and fears at the airport, coz we had to find a job and somewhere to live quick smart. There was no time to be shy and scared of strangers.

These days I am so used to feeling comfortable in my own skin that I almost forget that it used to be very different, and that it was a real stinking struggle to reach this point.

. . .

I was getting a haircut the other day and my beloved hairdresser was chatting away about Dr Gillian McKeith's new show, in which she gets the fatties to live in her house for eight weeks so she can torture them at closer proximity and examine their poos at any hour she chooses. My hairdresser found out about my weight loss so she often talks about That Sort Of Thing with me.

Another stylist overheard us and asked what she was on about. My gal explained, "Well, Shauna used to be... bigger."

I cracked up laughing but then the inevitable questions came. How much bigger? She's lost 12 stone. No way! I know, you'd never know would you? It's amazing! How did you do it!?

"I dunno really," I mumbled, "I ate less and did a lot of exercise!"

You know, I'm bloody proud of myself for turning my life around and I've never been at all ashamed or contemptuous of my former heavier self. Sometimes I do wonder why on earth I made my past so bloody public. It's really unsettling to have someone staring at you, knowing they're trying to picture an extra 70 kilos on your frame.

Just as when you're morbidly obese you want people to see you as more than your fat, when you're smaller you want people to see you for more than the fat that used to be there.

I know people wouldn't really do that, but it's more of a reminder to myself that there's more to me -- to all of us -- than the size of our pants. Past or present!

O Radiant Coupon

I was sitting on the couch yesterday morning with a cup of tea, unwashed and resplendent in baggy tracksuit pants and an old grey XXL hoodie.

Suddenly Gareth peered at me in a thoughtful manner and said, "You have a real glow today."

"Get out!" I snorted. He isn't normally so... poetic.

"No really, you're looking good! Your coupon is radiant!"

Scottish word of the day, folks: COUPON. It's your face. You've got to pronounce like the Scots do; it's not like those things you clip out of the newspapers for discounts. It sounds like coo'pn.

Anyway, I was chuffed that Gareth said I had a radiant coupon because I have been feeling rather radiant on the inside and it is nice that someone thinks it shows on the outside. I feel calm and focused; quietly determined and productive. I am faithfully following my exercise plan and feel stronger and fitter already. My eating has been the height of wholesomeness. So there.

Yesterday I rode a new beast at the gym called an Arc Trainer. Is anyone familiar with these? I thought it was going to be like a normal old cross-trainer machine but my thighs were burning! The resistance seemed much more gruelling. It almost felt like trudging up a hill and skiing at the same time. Normally I avoid cross trainers because they irritate my knee, but this one didn't seem to be a problem. Score!

And finally, has anyone in the UK seen that godawful new Weight Watchers ad? They have all these people talking about an unseen woman and how FABULOUS she is now that she's lost the pork with the Points. Her husband, her neice, etc. But then they show her beautician, who is wielding a wax strip as she says, "It takes half the time to do her legs now."

ARRRRRGH!

I have to admit, I now shave my legs in half the time it took in 2001. But still, I wonder how many people will see that ad and spring up from the couch, "Righto, that's it! If I can get my legs waxed in half the time then I shall join the Twin Dubyas NOW!". I just hope they realise that just coz your legs are smaller doesn't mean the Waxtress will charge you any less.