The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

L'Étape, Oh Crap! - Part 2: Just Like Starting Over

Guest post from my husband Gareth. He's writing monthly training updates as he heads towards his Étape du Tour crazy Alpine cycling adventure.

Onward, G!

I've always been really lucky with my health but last year I got sick and it pretty much kept me off the bike from July until New Year. When I tentatively hopped back on the spinning bike to assess the damage I found it fairly depressing. Half an hour in, I was dripping sweat and puffing like an old train.

A trial run on the real bike wasn't much better, ending with thigh cramps five miles from home. I'd gone from a fairly competent and fit road cyclist to someone who was struggling to ride five miles without stopping for a breather!

I was already feeling pretty bad then I read this warning about the level of preparation required for the Etape:

"Try to imagine 2500 cyclists, that’s like an entire UK Sportive not making the finish line – it can be for various reasons – they get swept up by the Sag wagon because they are not fast enough or they physically just cant make it - but as I came up Ventoux in 2009 and the Tourmalet last year, the roadside was littered with bodies of people walking; lying in gutters asleep; people seeking shade; people who had just fallen off their bikes with exhaustion.

It may not be what you want to hear, but so many people are ill-prepared for the difficulty of the Etape or they're simply not fast enough to avoid the Sag Wagon – the Sag is a series of coaches filled with Gendarmes and they hold no mercy for those deemed too slow. If that’s you, you get dumped off your bike, it gets chucked in the back of the truck and you have quite possibly the most depressing coach ride of your life…"

There are around 10,000 cyclists in the Etape so 25% won't finish? Cue moaning to Shauna: "Bloody hell... how am I going to finish this thing, I can't even ride for 30 minutes on the flat without stopping. What's the point?"

Around the same time I was watching the American version of The Biggest Loser. One of the contestants is Emily, is a former champion weightlifter. For various reasons she gained weight and is now learning how to lose the pounds and deal with the issues which led to her weight gain.

During the episode Emily was not happy with her weigh-in result. She was struggling to come to terms with the fact that she used to lift enormous amounts of weight and now she could only lift relatively baby weights. She started to cry up there on the scale, until the brilliantly crabbit Bob Harper gave her a piece of his mind!

I'm paraphrasing but he pretty much said, "I don't care what you were or what you used to do. I don't care what anyone else thinks! All that matters is where you are now so get on with it!"

(Or as Garth Algar would tell you, "live in the now!")

The man is wise

Emily and Bob's exchange really struck a chord as I realised I was in one of those strangely exhilarating situations where you only have two choices:

1. Try your hardest and give it a red hot go, or
2. Give up!

Has to be Choice #1 really.

There really is no point beating yourself up for the situation you find yourself in. Nothing will change; you'll still be where you are.

So whilst fighting every fibre of my Scottish "snatching defeat from the jaws of victory" being, I experienced a rare bout of positivity. At that moment I couldn't ride 70 miles or batter through a Sufferfest training video. So what. When I got back into cycling twelve years ago I was 30 kilos (65lb) overweight, still smoked and after riding four miles my legs were shaking so much I couldn't get up the stairs! It's all relative.

Lo and behold, we're midway through February and things are getting easier. I can now ride the spinning bike for an intense hour. I still sweat and puff but it feels much better. I'm back to completing Sufferfests and at my pre-Etape medical check last week the doc told me my resting heartrate was nice and slow. It's still a bit too cold and icy here to ride outside regularly but I'm feeling positive and am looking forward to getting my fitness back and ramping up my training for the race.

I'll sign off with a nod to the moral message segment at the end of He-Man and leave it to the brilliant Scott Walker and his brothers to say,"Make it easy on yourself". Au revoir!

 

L'Étape, Oh Crap! - Part 1

Please give a warm welcome to our guest correspondent Gareth, my husband and chief typo spotter. I roped him into telling you about his crazyass cycling plans for 2012. Take it away, Doc!

Bloke and bike, recovering after a long ride.

I've been into bikes since I was a little kid. Anything with two wheels, with or without an engine. I've been riding bicycles from the age of four and motorbikes from fourteen.

When we were weans a bike was a huge part of our lives. We spent days racing each other, jumping over piles of bricks, jumping over other kids like stuntmen and generally hooning around. Sometimes we'd cruise around in pairs like the Californian dudes in the TV show CHiPs. There was much less traffic on the roads back then today so our parents were a bit more relaxed about letting us roam free.

My brother and I raced motocross bikes as teenagers (thanks dad, it must have cost you a fortune!) and I started mountain biking when I sold my motocross bike to raise some funds for university. Mountain biking is brilliant fun and, as long as you don't crash too often, a good way of keeping fit. It's a pretty chilled out sport with ample opportunities for mucking about and jumping over things like the big kids we've all grown into. We're really lucky in Scotland as we have amongst others the 7Stanes mountain bike centres which provide blue, red and black trails with obstacles ranging from easy to deranged!

I slowly became interested in road riding through watching the Tour de France on ITV4. Shauna and I had also made some new friends (hello Gillian and Jason) who were big time cyclists. After a bit of dithering I bought a road bike, a Specialized Allez Sport. It's nothing fancy but after riding a mountain bike for years this thing felt so fast and responsive that I was an instant road riding convert!

Gareth in a knights helmet at Greenwich Museum, because: "if you're going to put a picture of yourself on the internet you may as well use the one when you're wearing a cool helmet!"

Road cycling has its own distinctive culture which to the relative newcomer such as myself seems to be based upon the art of suffering! Suffering is big in road cycling, the ability and willingness to suffer is a badge of honour. Pro cyclists have perfected the art of pretending to suffer in order to dupe their rivals into an misplaced state of relaxation or will strive to appear strong and relaxed whilst feeling like their legs and lungs are on fire. These tactics are used in order to try and gain an advantage on the beautiful and iconic climbs and mountain passes in the Alps and the Pyrenees during the Tour de France.

The names of the mountains sound so evocative and, well, so French: Alpe d'Huez, Col de Tourmalet, Col de Madelaine, Mont Ventoux. Many iconic cycling battles have been won and lost on these mountains, amazing athletes have lived and died. Sometimes when I'd ride up Cleish Hill or up the street back to our house I'd pretend I was leaving Cadel Evans et al in my dust up the slopes of the Galibier! When I watched the Tour on the telly with Shauna I'd say, "I wouldn't mind a go at that!".

Unfortunately about two months ago Shauna called my bluff! I've been given the opportunity to ride in the Etape du Tour which allows mere mortals to ride a stage of the Tour de France a couple of days ahead of the Pros. Shauna dared me and I couldn't look like a chicken, could I?

So, I appear to be entered into Acte 1 of the 2012 Etape du Tour!

The route is 140km or 87 miles up four(!) mountains. Proper mountains. In the French Alps. We don't have Alps in Scotland. And it's never 40 degrees celcius in Scotland. And I've never ridden further than 70 miles in one day. And I didn't have to ride up any of the Alps when I rode 70 miles. And I was knackered. My legs were weak. I bonked.

Here's a picture of the stage:

You may have guessed that I'm feeling a bit apprehensive so Shauna kindly suggested that I contribute some blog posts to Dietgirl in order to keep myself accountable. After all, who'd want to explain that I skipped a training ride to all of her lovely readers!

So, if all goes according to plan I'll string together some incoherent ramblings over the next six months or so and let you know how I'm getting on.

Well I'd better get back on the spinning bike and get some miles in. Au revoir, a la prochaine!

New Years Goals Check-in: October

I'm doing monthly updates on my New Year Goals.

Late again! I could almost write you a Quarter of November review. Highlight of November thus far: seeing an episode of The Simpsons I'd never seen before! It was Homer of Seville, in which Homer develops the ability to sing opera after falling into an open grave, with sexy results.

October review

• Kick butt on new post-Cycletta exercise plan (spinning, weights, Pilates) Check!
• Keep up the exercise during the Royal Mothership Visit Aye!
• Watch the portion sizes and really pay attention to the hunger signals. Yep! Despite that the scale did not budge. I think it was all the restaurant meals - even eating mindfully it was a lot richer than everday food. Plus there was that giant bag of marshmallows... and the birthday cake(s). Okay. No surprises there.
• Continue work on Operation Morning Person. Indeedily! Averaging 7.45am, which is an improvement on the old 8.24 panic, but not early enough to do anything productive before I go to work. So this month I am going for 7.30. Don't laugh, all you proper early birds! A gradual approach is needed when trying to reform decades of snooze buttoneering.
• I also started an awesome new yoga class and roped Gareth into coming with me. We'll teach that bloke to relax if it kills me!

November plans

• Get through the month without stabbing anyone. Here we go with Scottish Winter Number 9 and the annual "should I get one of those sunrise alarm clock thingies or is it just an overpriced lightbulb" debate.
• Be consistent with my food tracking. I'm using Weight Loss Resources this month, at slowest rate of weight loss (½ pound per week). We've established I can maintain weight but I'll be honest - I want some proper progress before the year is out. It's vanity and it's belly rolls annoying me at yoga. So time to pay closer attention to what I'm eating but without being crazy dame about it.

Golf is evil

On Saturday afternoon Gareth and I went to a driving range to whack some golf balls. Neither of us have any interest in golf but we were both in a cranky mood (boring homeowner issues) and needed to hit things.

The driving range, a former cow shed, was empty except for a cluster of teenage boys. I felt about seven hundred years old because as soon as they saw us they hastily stubbed out their cigarettes and tried to look busy. Do we really look that old now?! I've never smoked in my life but I wanted to pick up a smouldering stump and puff away, just to let them know I was young and hip to the cancer sticks.

Then I wanted to run away as I hated the thought of the youths witnessing my lack of skill. There is no laughter more mocking that the the multi-pitched cackle of a teenage boy. But they turned out to be very lovely and helpful, perhaps overcompensating for us busting them with the ciggies, "Have you been here before? Do you know how to use the ball machine? Do you know where the shop is?". Are you lost, old people!?

(I think Gareth was crushed to realise the anti-aging properties of his baggy jeans and hoodie uniform may finally be wearing off.)

Before long we had the cow shed to ourselves and I was quickly reminded that I freaking stink at golf. I didn't nearly kill anyone this time, though I did hit the wall of the shed three times. How the hell the ball managed to turn 90 degrees I will never know, but I do know that I hate golf. At least with a driving range you just hit the balls and leave. It would be so much worse if you had to wander around a course for hours, hating golf while old men in crazy trousers tut-tutted at your incompetence.

Anyway the point of this post was to tell that I now have Golf DOMS. DOMS of course being delayed onset muscle soreness. Somehow 45 minutes of ball-whacking (and pirouetting because I couldn't keep my feet planted) has resulted in two completely useless arms today. My biceps are on fire and the underside of my forearms hurt like hell. I cannot straighten my arms properly. Go go gadget robot arms!

DOMS, from a driving range. Ha ha ha, say the golfers of the world, this is what you get for mocking our sport. Gareth is in pain too, but since it's Man DOMS you can imagine it is so, so much worse.

Man DOMS & Hundred Push Ups Update

You will be familiar with Man Flu, the medical phenomenon whereby a man with a cold will suffer at least 10000% more than a woman with the same symptoms. Turns out there is also a thing called Man DOMS. Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness is when you hurt like a bastard a few days after a strenuous workout. Naturally if you're a bloke, it's so much worse.

"I've got DOMS," Gareth announced, two days after hiking up two very pointy mountains in Glen Coe. "Severe DOMS. So whatever you do, don't poke my legs."

"When I had DOMS after the Moonwalk you did nothing BUT poke my legs."

"Yeah but I did it with a touch of class. It wouldn't be funny if you did it."

"I want my revenge!"

"No way man! I'm in agony!"

"When I was so DOMS-ed out after 26 miles that I couldn't walk you dragged me around the living room saying, Dance! Dance! Dance, Shauna! Dance!"

"Aye but you just went for a wee stroll in the dark. That was minor DOMS. My walk was really hard."

"So what've you got then? DOMS majora?"

"Yeah. You just had... DOMS trivialatum."

. . .

Hundred Bloody Push Ups Challenge Update #3

(Apologies if you're bored of push-up talk!)

I'm still stuck on Week 2 of the Hundred Push Ups Challenge (HPC). I reckon I could now pass the 16+ reps test in order to move to Week 3, but I want to improve the quality of the repetitions. I've got a dodgy shoulder from an old injury so my last few sets can get shaky and painful.

My solution was to move up to the next level of Week 2 - each week has three levels of difficulty depending on how many reps you perform in the initial test. I've finished Week 2, Level 2 and now I'll do Week 2, Level 3. Taking it slower means the six week challenge is going to take more like six months, but I'd rather do that and make sure I can do strong, deep push ups and not screw up my shoulder again.

Are any fellow Push Uperers finding it difficult to fit the three weekly sessions around your other exercise? How do you make sure you've got enough arms left? Right now I can only manage two sessions because they keep throwing in push ups at kickboxing and Body Pump. I can only take so much pushing up dammit!

If I've done the HPC the night before class I shake like a shitting dog. This makes me feel like a sissy in front of the hardcore kickboxers. I spose I could protest, "Let me explain violent femmes! I'm not a wuss, but there's this internet challenge thing..." but I'd rather resign myself to slower HPC progress and have enough arms for everything.

Hey Gareth, Pretend To Be Me And Update My Blog

Today I wanted tae eat some chocolate. Oh, the anguish. I didnae ken whit tae dae.

I was starvin' but I couldnae eat any chocolate or I would stack it on.

Oh, the humanity...

Lumps and Bumps

Hidey ho, old chaps! I'm on the train back to bonny Scotland after my couple of days in the ye olde English countryside. I've been massaged and manicured and now I'm ready to get back to reality.

Have to admit I'm feeling a wee bit fragile right now. I don't know if many of you read my non-fat blog, but we found out on Wednesday that my permanent residency application has been denied. Basically when you marry a Brit you get a two-year temporary visa then after that time you have to prove you're still a red hot legitimate married couple so you can stay together forever and ever in your British love nest. If they don't think you've proved it, you're oot, baby!

And whaddya know? The Home Office thinks me and the good Doctor G ain't the real deal.

I have been through all the emotions over the past few days. First the knee-jerk reaction on my blog and generally feeling sick to the stomach that anyone could question our lovely wee relationship. Then anger because I know we filled out that goddamn tedious form properly and sent the correct documents. Then came a hysterical kind of bemusement because the rejection is just plain absurd and there is absolutely no logic behind it.

This was followed by my old friend PANIC, because this really could not have happened at worse bloody time. Like there is a good time for these things, but anyway. Everything is happening all at once and the pressure is a wee bit overwhelming.

You know those moments where everything builds up and you have to decide whether to sink or swim? Well, I allowed myself to splash around in the panic pool for awhile but now I've calmed down. I refuse to fall in a heap. I've got my lists and plans and thought out how to deal with everything logically. And I know me and my Scottish Companion are the real deal, thank you very much; so we will get this sorted.

. . .

The massage was nice, by the way. No paper pants, just strategically placed towels!  I was too chicken to take off my undies but there were no major Fat Girl Freakouts.

It was bizarre how knotted my body was. There were great lumps of tension in my shoulders and arms and even in the palms of my hands. When she kneaded my back it felt like there were marbles under my skin. She even said my scalp was all stiff. Urrgh. Rather painful at times but still enjoyable!

I couldn't seem to switch my brain off. This may sound bizarre but the whole thing made me extremely emotional. I kept thinking of my Skinny List and how I felt about my body way back when I wrote it in 2001. I always try and downplay how much the lard-busting process has changed me, I don't know why. Perhaps a little embarrassment that I got so big in the first place, or defensiveness coz I'm "still the same person". But with a strangers hands poking and prodding the body that I used to feel so ashamed of, I couldn't deny how much has changed. It was a strangely powerful moment, like the past six years rolled past my eyes in a Rocky-esque montage...

Shit shit shit. I dunno what's wrong with me at the moment, I keep getting teary at inappropriate moments and the dude sitting opposite is looking at me funny. So I will sign off and gawk out the window instead. And I hope this entry doesn't come across as self-pitying in any way. I am slightly scared but quietly determined. Keep calm and carry on, as they say. Hope you are all well :)

The Right to Party

This weekend I learned that there are more important things in life than your big fat Boeing 747 arms. Friends, family, love, cake - they are more important than the arms.

Actually, the arms aren't totally bad these days. It's amazing what weights and running and regular moisturizing can do. Considering what extra-large lumpy loaves they used to be, they have shrunk and shaped up far more than I ever believed possible. I doubt I'll ever have the confidence to strut about in a strappy top, but I recently I have been buying cap sleeve t-shirts coz that's all I can bloody find, and they actually look alright.

Anyway, what was I saying? The arms. Saturday was our Scottish Wedding Party and it was a stinking hot day. Hot for Scotland, that is. It may have been in the high twenties, but it was even hotter inside our wedding venue. We had a ceilidh, in which there is a band with fiddles and accordions and everyone does crazy dances. It is bloody great fun.

I rocked up in my wedding dress, all nervous that I didn't know 60% of the guests and that no one would have a good time and I would be held personally responsible. It's amazing how much panic you can work up in your mind. But at least I looked pretty good. The dress fit soooo much better than when we eloped in Vegas four months ago. I may have only lost a couple kilos on the scale since then but I can breathe in the damn thing now! The Scottish Companion's mother gushed, "You look lovely! You have definitely lost a lot of weight, the dress sits so much better now!". I laughed but she looked horrified when she thought about her words, "Ooh! Not that didn't look good before! Oh dear."

Still, I felt self conscious about my wobbly arms and tried to disguise them with my shawl-wrap-thingy as I greeted our guests. But as soon as the dancing started I realised I'd have to abandon it. It was just too stinking hot! After just one dance people were sweat-slicked and stumbling off the dance floor to the bar. I was handing out all the cards we'd recevied with wedding gifts, so folk could wave them in front of their faces like fans. I downed a gin and tonic for dutch courage, chucked the shawl on the table, then didn't spare a thought for my arms for the rest of the night. I mean, really. Who gives a shit about my arms? People were there coz they were my friend or SC's friend or some grey-haired stranger that SC's folks knew and they wanted to celebrate our marriage. Plus dance and get drunk. They were too busy having fun to be bothered with my arms. So why the hell was I bothered? Wasn't I there to have fun too?

So I did. As much as I loved running off to Vegas, having a big party with all our friends was even better. All those happy smiley partying people around us finally made it sink into my brain that we were married. And I was really chuffed about that. And even though I was quite nicely sozzled for most of the night, I was also chuffed to realise I felt comfortable in my skin. I chatted to strangers and friends alike, I danced when the dancefloor was practically empty. I just felt happy and grateful to be alive and well and to know a whole bunch of lovely people. I don't think this Lard Busting Journey is so much about busting lard as it is about busting insecurities and fears, gaining perspective and learning how to like yourself... and just to like life, really. I used to crawl through my days like a slug, both in body and mind, numb and listless. Not anymore.

So two weddings down, one to go.

...

All that partying led to a gain on the scale this week. I'm back up to 87.1 kilos. Ooh er! What can I say, not only did my sister and I get reacquainted with each other, but also with some brownies and chocolate shakes and burgers and chips and sausage rolls. I had a great time, but now with just ten weeks til I fly back to Australia it's time to get my arse into gear. I am not going to set dozens of lofty goals, but instead just one: Track Food Every Single Day using WLR. If I can do this, everything else usually falls into place.

...

I just have to share some a recent Woohoo Moment. Today I am wearing a t-shirt from John Lewis and it is a size 14. I bought some 3/4 gym pants and they are a size 14. I bought some little padded bike shorts online for my RPM class I got the 14/16 and they were too big so I sent back and got the 12/14 which fits perfectly. Now this means sweet bugger all since everything else I own is a size 16 and fits just right. I have some size 16 undies my Mum sent from oz that are way too tiny. Sizes are weird and inconsistent. But holy crap, I have some stuff that has a 1 and a 4 on the label! Do you know the last time I had something in a size 14 was my Year 10 formal dress? Twelve years ago! So even if it means diddley squat, I do like to look at those labels and shriek, "Woohoo! There's a 1 and a 4 on there!".

Incidentally I got fitted for a new bra the other day since the cups were swimming on some of my old ones, and I was a 34DD! What the hell? Last time I got measured in December 2003 I was 38C. I was coughing and spluttering indignantly at the Measuring Lady for daring to give me such a hefty measurement. She had to explain to me very patiently how it all works. I must be the only person in the world who didn't realise that the cup sizes change along with the band sizes. So the cup of a 34DD is smaller than the cup of a 40DD or 38C. So I had shrunk and she wasn't implying I was a fatass. You learn something every day, I tells ya.

Husband Training

The Scottish Companion is shaping up. It's quite attractive but incredibly infuriating. He was always moaning about his "Thesis Handles", the apparent spare tyres he'd accumulated around his waist and hips while finishing off his PhD last year. Too many Hula Hoops and not enough exercise. But in the month since I've moved in he's really trimmed up, thanks to me imposing my healthy habits on his former bachelor paradise.

Not only has he been accompanying me on my walk/runs, he's dusted off his mountain bike and feeling fitter. His diet has changed too. He used to cook healthy meals a couple times a week and generally eat a fair amount of fruit. But often when he got busy he'd just have toast or cereal or and biscuits and cheese, and often succumbed to greasy takeaways. But now he's eating salads and loads of vegies and grilled fish (he's largely veggie but still eats fish). He's hooked on my ye olde Weight Watchers spinach pie and now loves berries and yogurt for dessert. And he's cooking too! He made a mean broad bean and feta tortilla for dinner last week.

I've also introduced him to the joys of the Misto Oil Spray. I don't really like using Spray n Cook or Pam or whatever it's called in your respective countries, it just seems a bit chemical-y to me. So I just pour some olive oil into this contraption then after some wild pumping action, it sprays just the teeniest hint of oil onto your food. A teeny tablespoon of oil has about 90 calories and 10g fat so it's incredible how quick that can gobble up your daily allowance. So SC was amazed that you can "fry" an egg with the tiniest spritz of oil in a teflon pan, rather than drown it an inch of bubbling oil.

He also used the Misto to make THE BEST fries/chips you've ever had in your life! He did what I usually do - peel and chop some spuds, drop into a pot of boiling water for about ten minutes then drain. Shooggle spuds in the colander to get their edges roughed up, then dump onto an oven tray. Spray with some oil then sprinkle with loads of cracked black pepper and a shake of Herbamare before chucking into a hot oven for 30-40 minutes. He added the extra step of re-rinsing the drained parboiled spuds with boiling water, then draining them again. That seemed to make them just extra cripsy on the outside, fluffy inside and generally just gobsmackingly delicious and not at all greasy. We had that with grilled tuna and salad.

Anyway, he's totally losing those Thesis Handles. It is so bloody infuriating! I guess the sudden healthy eating shocked his system into action. It is just so annoying coz he's not really TRYING, he's not thinking about food and exercise day or night or writing things down or counting calories. He is just cutting back and moving his butt and living like a healthy person. Which is what we're all SUPPOSED to do.

I dunno about you but that just seems too freakin' easy! Where's the guilt and torment and exertion and struggle and obsessive planning? Surely for every kilo you lose there has to be at least two kilos worth of stress and conscious effort to go with it? Ha ha ha.

Feel Our Power

Would you cop a look at all those ideas for workout DVDs in the last entry? Thank you SO much to the groovy groovers who posted their favourites. Feel free to keep adding your comments, other people seem to be finding it handy too. I had no idea there were so many out there.

. . .

You may remember me mentioning the lovely Julia, who has in the past sent me sporty clothes and helped me get started with running. She has just started a blog herself, as she's aiming to blast away 5 stray post-baby kilos in the next 5 weeks. She's also training for a marathon! 5 days a week! She needs a cheer squad so why not head on to Five in Five. I give it 5 stars. Hehe.

. . .

Speaking of fabulous people you meet via the internets, I have to talk about Jillian again, San Francisco hostess-extraordinaire. You may recall me mentioning how Scottish Companion, my then-fiancee, did not know that I knew Jillian through Dietgirl. I just told him we'd be staying with This Chick I Know From The Internet. As the big day loomed I just couldn't seem to bring myself to tell him the truth, still feeling strangely embarrassed about the site and the fact I'd kept it from him for so long. Jillian told me she'd go along with whatever I decided, she and her hubby were even training each other to call me by my real name and not Dietgirl, ha ha!

Finally when we were sitting in Amsterdam airport waiting on our connection, I decided to 'fess up. We were tired, disheveled and barely coherent, so the timing was perfect!

"Hey Scottish Companion," I said nervously, "I have to come clean about something."

He turned paler than his already pale Scottish Complexion. "Oh?"

"I didn't meet Jillian through my blog. I met her through this other blog I have. It's about losing weight and stuff. And I've had it just as long as the other one. And I put in about the same amount of time on it. And people read it just as much."

"You are kidding me?"

I babbled on about being sorry for not telling him and blah blah blah, but he just said, "Jeez you had me worried! I thought it would be 'Wedding's off'. The last time a girlfriend said she had to come clean about something it was REALLY BAD! This is totally cool!"

So I told him a wee bit more about it and how there's all these groovy diet blogs and it's really motivating and blah blah blah. He couldn't believe I'd managed to keep it quiet for so long but he thought it all sounded very cool.

Anyway 12 hours later we sat in Jillian's SF kitchen and I told her that it was okay, HE KNEW THE SCORE! She seemed relieved, hehe. And as she prepared some verrry delicious salad plus soup with teeny tiny alphabet pasta in it, she told SC how she'd been reading Dietgirl for ages after someone at her Weight Watchers meeting mentioned it, and that it had been a fun and inspiring read. Well I tell you what, it was SO freaky to hear a real live person talking about this site, a person you'd only just met knowing all this stuff about you. It was like it finally dawned on me that the website was a real thing about a real person that people actually read while sitting down in front of their computers with a coffee. Until then I think I'd naively thought I was just tapping out my rants and raves and they just sort of floated around in the ether and some otherworldly beings left comments now and then.

And she talked about how she'd witnessed Dietgirl slowly transform from being very large and lonely and struggling with depression to someone significantly smaller and happier and about to be hitched. And I sat there thinking, "Holy shit! She's talking about me! I did all that stuff that she read about it! So that's who I've been writing about all this time! And now I am on the other side of the world about to eat her soup with teeny tiny alphabet pasta in it. How freaky cool is that!?"

Later as SC and I were drifting off to sleep at the jetlagged time of 7.30 PM, he snuggled up behind me and told me he was so proud of me and just amazed and awed that I was doing something that was helping and inspiring a lot of people. I squirmed and was too mortified to speak for awhile. But here's what I said to him and what I want you to all know.

"Well, hold on there tiger," is what I said, "I'm not like Oprah or anything. I am but one drop of oil in the large, vast deep fryer of inspirational bloggers out there."

I read a helluva lot of diet, health, fitness blogs, whatever you want to call them. It's the first thing I do when I get to work every morning (what a dedicated employee). Every day, without fail, there will be something there to make me think or smile or cry or giggle. Some  of you inspire me to run, some inspire me to cook some aduki beans, some inspire me to like myself more, some make me stop my whining and get on with it. No matter what mood I'm in, there'll be someone feeling the same way or someone who'll say the write the perfect thing to snap me out of it. This blog palaver has been the most important tool I've had while busting this lard. Not those bloody Slimming magazine stories where they say, "I walked the dog and ate fun-size Mars Bars and lost a steady 1 kilo a week!".

No, us bloggers are all in it for the long haul and share our ups and downs. We share information and inspiration and understanding. Think of your non-blog circle of friends out there in the Real World. How many of them are on Lard Busting Missions? How many of them understand your freaky struggles with Whole Pints of Ice Cream and love/hate relationship with the scale? How many of them are interested in talking about squats and omega-3s and calories burned?

So I just thought we should all stop and think for a wee moment about how cool this stuff is. It's only since I met Jillian and confessed to SC that I think I really fully appreciated just how important it is. So lets all gather in a big circle, group hug then hump each others legs like overexcited terriers and thank your chosen deity for bringing us the technology. RAWK!

Domestic Bliss

Today I went CRAZY in SC's kitchen. Or should I say Our Kitchen. It was time to blend my array of kitchen shite with his. I took things out of cupboards, ruthlessly chucked out anything I'd not seen him use in the past six months, wiped and scrubbed and polished. He kept offering to help but, at the risk of sounding like my mother, it was quicker to do it myself ;) So now the cupboards are all organised logically, instead of in his freestylin' bachelor way. My endless bags of lentils and brown rice and quinoa and seeds are finally nestled all cosy with his Spaghetti Hoops. And our spice racks are now one! You have never seen so much bloody cumin in your life. It's one of those things that seems to breed.

Everyone's been teasing me and SC that I would Take Over the flat as soon as I moved in and make great sweeping changes. People seem to forget how fundamentally lazy I am - I couldn't be arsed redecorating. But the kitchen is one place I like a bit of order, especially after sharing a kitchen with six others for the past two years! Now everything has a place and my seeds and oats are all packed in their wee containers ready for this weeks' breakfasts, therefore I feel ready to face the world!

Things have been happening on the exercise front. Last Sunday in addition to the Couch to 5k Run, SC took me out for another bike lesson. I was a reluctant student, on the verge of a tantrum. I always talk about how I'd like to get into cycling, but every time he takes me out I freeze up and get panicky. But SC was persistent, and before long I was hurtling along the cycle path, changing gears and everything! The last bike I rode had pink streamers coming from the handlebars and a basket on the front! It was utterly terrifying, I couldn't steer straight for the life of me. I was so embarrassed I'd stop every time I could see someone coming. But after awhile I pedalled on, and was passed by a family on tandems. The mother smiled sympathetically and said, "They're hard to control, these contraptions, aren't they?"

I was so bloody mortified, but oh well. You gotta start somewhere! In the end I did about three miles until my arse got numb. SC walked along in the background, then I pedalled back to the start of the cycle path and sat on a tree stump and waited for him to get back.

"What did you think of that?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. Not bad I spose."

So we've kept up with the running. Getting outside is the hardest part. Lots of whining and moaning before finally getting the shoes on, "FINE! Alright! I'll go!". Saturday I was on my own and managed to run a whole freaking mile! Huzzah! My personal record. How the hell to marathon folk run 26 of them!?

Today was pouring rain all day long and I was looking for any excuse to stay on the couch, but we got the waterproof jackets on and trotted out. It was walk 2 minutes, run 1.5 minutes, times six as per the Couch to 5k, then some more walking at the end. It was so weird but I really liked running in the rain! The park was deserted and the rain was light and steady and I felt so much stronger than last week. You could almost say I enjoyed it! I can't believe it either.

Wednesday Weigh-In - Week Ten

So I gained half a kilo this week - I'm up to 89.8kg. I am too miserable to be arsed posting the usual list of stats. It's not as fun when the number goes up!

There were a few days this week that I seemed to forget I was this overweight person who cannot get away with eating chocolate bars. I had not got organised with grocery shopping yet so I didn't have good snacks for work. Instead I made trips to the vending machine. I had Mars Bars, Twirls and this strangely addictive Kinder Bueno thing.

I was in serious denial on the weekend, in my Saturday entry I said I was feeling "vague and half-hearted" about weight loss. Vague and half-hearted is one way of putting it, but being a mindless sugar pig is another! Saturday afternoon, after joining the gym, I walked to a mini supermarket in search of olives and peppers for our pasta that night. There were no peppers and this tiny jar of olives for 89p. I got all huffy and resentful, the expensive olives being a metaphor for the utter shiteness of the town I now live in. I stomped around the shop looking for something to calm me down, and then I spotted the freezer.

"AH HA!" I thought, "There is the freezer, and in that freezer is ICE CREAM, that substance that I really wanted last week but didn't get! So now it will be mine!"

I bought one of those Mars Bar icecream bars, just to continue the Mars Bar theme of the week. It was "only" one bar, as opposed to a box, so I got another one of those Kinder Buenos in case I wasn't satisfied with the Mars Bar.

I was walking back home, halfway up the big hill when I remembered SC was there, and all his mates were over. So I stood there scoffing down this Mars Bar ice cream, lurking behind a tree like some pervert, putting the bar down every time a car went by so people wouldn't think I was the Greedy Fat Chick. I was so edgy that I didn't enjoy a single mouthful, then I had to squint into car windows to see if I'd left chocolate evidence on my mouth.

I got home and pretty much lurked in the bedroom all evening after saying hi to everyone. I read my book Running Made Easy while sneaking bites of the Kinder now and then, stashing the wrapper in my handbag.

I was struck by the ridiculousness of my behaviour. What the hell was I doing? Who was this benefiting? Was this how I wanted my married life to be? Clandestine chocolate bars and foil wrappers in my undie drawer for the rest of my days?

I think I am just feeling unnerved by of all the change going on at the moment. Don't get me wrong, I am over the moon to be married to SC, but the whole moving out to his place and giving up my old routines and favourite haunts has been harder than I expected. I didn't expect to feel so resentful. I hate having to come up with all new ways of doing things, especially in terms of weight loss - because as you know I had a cracker of a routine happening before the wedding, I had great losses and was making progress with my fitness. Now I am struggling to get the formula right. That said, scoffing down chocolate bars is NOT going to get me back on track. It's not rebellion eating, it's just dumb eating.

Sunday became Get My Shit Together Day. I know that only planning brings me success. So I finally ordered the groceries online, we now have a fridge full of healthy stuff. Then I emailled the lovely Mistress Julia about the 5k and she is going to send me a training plan. I decided not to wait around in the meantime - SC and I went out and did Week One Day One of the Couch to 5k programme. It was a bit rough, I found running outdoors with hills and winds so much harder than faffing on the treadmill - but I was glad I did it. SC could have gone a lot faster but he insisted on staying with me. He is so bloody sweet and encouraging, I love him to bits. His encouragement as I bitched and moaned and huffed and puffed made me feel guilty for the secret binge the day before.

Monday night I braved the new gym and went to Body Pump. It was four weeks since my last class but I am proud to say I didn't need to reduce any of my weights. I was in agony yesterday though, and my triceps are still killing today! And we're off for another walk/jog tonight. I still feel kinda shaky at the moment, all this new stuff seems to have dented my confidence for some reason. But I just have to keep doing these positive things. Putting down the chocolate bars, putting on the running shoes. I can do it.

Only Fools Rush In

Arrgh! I wrote a bigass entry in my email program and it CRASHED before I saved the draft. So now I have to rely on my memory. Do you know how unreliable that is?

First of all... I'm back! I'm married! So now I am finally at liberty to tell you what went down with our connubials. We eloped to Las Vegas. Twice! Complete with Elvis impersonator! You can read all the wacky details on my non-fat blog, starting right here.

Thank you so much to the groovy groovers who sent us wedding gifts while we were in the USA! Amazon doesn't give you contact info so if you could email me so I can chat properly that'd be tops! So a big thanks to Veronica (handblender!), BethK (fondue set!), Celina from Washington (Vertigo DVD and George F Baby Grill!) and to the anonymous soul who sent the egg poacher thingy!

This may sound like an odd collection of goods but this was all stuff we really wanted so it was so bloody cool to come home all post-holiday depressed only to find PRESENTS! Thank you kindly for your good wishes.

And now for an update on the fat.

. . .

Wednesday Weigh-In - Week Nine

last update: 16 March 2005

original start weight: 159.2 kg (351 lb) on 17 Jan 2001
original start bmi: 53.4

fresh start weight: 95.9 kg (211.4 lb) on 12 Jan 2005
fresh start bmi: 32.2

current weight: 89.3 kg (196.5 lb)
current bmi: 29.9

result this week: +0.6 kg (1.7 lb)

loss in 2005: -6.6 kg (14.6 lb)
total loss since 2001: -69.9 kg (153.7 lb)

initial goal weight: 75 kg (165 lb)
distance to initial goal: 14.3 kg  (31.5 lb)

. . .

You may recall my goal for the last three weeks of wedding/honeymooning was to simply STAY IN THE 80s! With a 0.6  gain I am at 89.3 which I am happy with. I will have to be really careful this coming week, but overall I am pleased with how things went.

After being so vigilant for the preceding six weeks, I was shitscared about travelling to the USA - land of super sizing, bountiful buffets and Peanut Butter Cups. How would I resist? The first four days of the trip were a BREEZE, thanks to my lovely friend Jillian. Jillian is a brilliant Dietgirl reader and we have been emailling for ages. More on that soon. She kindly offered us a place to stay when she heard we were coming to San Francisco. We took over her lovely guestroom (complete with deck) that she'd dubbed the Pre Honeymoon Suite.

And what a Pre-Honeymoon is was. She cooked us yummy food (her salads rule) and took us wine tasting and sushi-ing. She even took me to her pilates class on the Monday before the wedding. It was one of those yoga/pilates combos (yogalates? poga?) and I tell you, my abs were SCREAMING for the next FIVE DAYS. It was such a good class. I literally could not suck in my stomach on the wedding day coz it hurt so much to breathe in. Ha ha!

Anyway, all this combined with my grim determination to fit into my dress meant my pre-wedding behaviour was great. Post-wedding down at Las Vegas my eating went a bit shite. I ignored the salad bar at the buffet and had some stodgy stuff. And there was apple pie with cream and giant breakfasts - I was on my honeymoon after all! But unlike my previous holiday all-you-can eat binging I largely felt I was in control and sane about things.

Even with this moderate approach I felt the old Sugar Insanity take hold of me again. Plus raging PMS. After Vegas we headed back to San Francisco for another five days, where I told my new husband that I was going healthy again, and he was to remind of this vow if I thought about straying. My resolve was pretty rubbish. The day before we left I was going ON and ON about ice cream.

"I want ice cream! I must have ice cream!"

"You told me to tell you that you don't need ice cream!"

"But this is supposed to be a HOLIDAY and I haven't eaten anything good."

"But what about the restaurants?"

"We didn't have DESSERT in any of those. Dessert is good. The dinner stuff is just dinner. It doesn't count as something Good."

"Didn't you have dessert at Greens?"

"We SHARED a dessert between FOUR people and I only had like two bites."

"Wasn't it four?"

"I had THREE, tops. I just want something SWEET!"

"Oh."

"And I really wanted to go to Ghirardelli for the apparently Famous Hot Fudge Sundae but we didn't end up going and I'm still spewing about that! I have not had my treat quota!"

"But we shared that bar of chocolate in the park today..."

"That was DARK chocolate with nuts and raisins. All those antioxidants, that's health food!"

"What about the chocolates we ate on the bus to the Grand Canyon?"

"I ate that because the only other thing available was a banana that cost ONE DOLLAR. Plus tax. And it was crap chocolate. It wasn't something I was BUSTING TO HAVE."

"So..."

"So it doesn't count. It's only a treat if it's something you really, really wanted. Can't you see the difference?! Jeez."

Now I am back home and the PMS psychosis is over. I have started tracking my food again and I am all fired up to get lard busting. Since I didn't go too crazy with the food in America, I don't feel like I'm completely "starting over" like after my holidays this year. This time I feel calm and in control.

However, I am still thinking about that bloody Sundae. Someday I will go back to San Francisco and it will be mine, all mine!

Wednesday Weigh-In - Week Six

I'm late, I'm late! Sorry for the lack of update yesterday. I have come down with the mother of all colds so spent the day in bed sneezing and wheezing and feeling sorry for myself. I am still weak as a kitten and struggling to stay awake. My friends and colleagues have all had cold or flu over the past two months and I thought my healthy lifestyle had spared me from the same fate. But noooo! Rudolph Red nose right before our freakin wedding!

Anyway, here's this weeks stats.

last update: 23 February 2005

age: 27
height: 173cm (5'8")

original start weight: 159.2 kg (351 lb) on 17 Jan 2001
original start bmi: 53.4

fresh start weight: 95.9 kg (211.4 lb) on 12 Jan 2005
fresh start bmi: 32.2

current weight: 88.7 kg (195.2 lb)
current bmi: 29.7

result this week: -0.8 kg (1.7 lb)

loss in 2005: -7.2 kg (15.8 lb)
total loss since 2001: -70.5 kg (155 lb)

initial goal weight: 75 kg (165 lb)
distance to goal: 13.7 kg (30.2 lb)

Can you believe it after 4 years and one month of Lard Busting, I am finally classified as plain "Overweight" instead of "Obese"? Those damn BMI people really know how to make you feel like a pork.

And now I have now FINALLY hit 70 kilos lost, which blows my mind. I've almost lost a whole Scottish Companion! I've lost 140 tubs of margarine! I have lost as much weight as what I'd like my goal to be!

. . .

I owe people emails and replies to comments and I have been quite slackety slack on other people's sites as well. Here is my humble apology and I vow to catch up after the connubials! I also have to say a HUGE thank you to Julia for sending us a CD, and to MR (what is your email?) for sending us a GIANT FOUR SLICE TOASTER and Donna for sending us a groovy silicone oven glove from the wishlist/wedding register thingo. SC hasn't had a toaster in his house for three years, and I set his oven glove on fire after trying to grill bread, so you can really see how a new toaster and oven glove were gratefully received!

Someone anonymous sent a copy of "How To Steal A Million", one of my fave Audrey Hepburn movies. I would love to know who you are so I can say thank you properly, so please chuck us an email if you're out there!

. . .

You may have been wondering why I have been so cool, calm and collected about the wedding. That would be because we are actually having three weddings. Sorta.

As you know my family is in Oz, his family is in Scotland, and we have to be married quick sticks otherwise I'll be deported. We were busting our guts after he proposed trying to organise a venue in a ridiculous short time with no money. And meanwhile it was looking incredibly dodgy and expensive to get any of my people over here, especially my Ma who is the principal of a small school and can't really just pack up and leave at short notice. Our only feasible option seemed the register office, which has a crowd limit of 30. It just felt so WRONG and rushed, like he'd knocked me up and we had to get wed to make it look proper. We were both stressed and panicky and dreading the hell out of the wedding instead of being excited. Where's the joy in that? Eh? EH?

Suddenly we came up with the genius idea of running away, just the two of us. It has all happened so fast we felt the need to escape, say our vows together and take some time to digest what we're really doing, time to reflect. THEN in the summer we will have a wee party here for the Scottish crowd. Then in October we will be visiting Australia, so what better time for an Oz celebration. This way EVERYONE gets to celebrate, and we have time to plan decent events. They will both just be casual parties, but at least people will actually be able to be there, and not have to remortgage their houses for airfares! We of course talked it all over with our folks first, and they are cool with it happy we found a compromise that suits our style. Best of all me and SC get to do something that WE are finally happy with and finally excited about.

So it's not that weird really. We're simply having the wedding and honeymoon BEFORE the receptions. Just a slight reordering of events! And I will get to wear my dress three times, is that not value for money?

There will be photos for all three occasions, and full saturation coverage on my blog, so you the reader also get plenty of value for money too. Woohoo!

We head off tomorrow and won't be back until March 12. So this is the last Wednesday Weigh In until 16 March. In terms of my lard, I am aiming to stay under 90 kilos. I don't want to stack in on! But at the same time I'm not eating lettuce for dinner.

I will be sneaking online whenever I can, hopefully with photos. Thanks to you all for being soooo lovely, hilarious and supportive over the past few years. I am deliriously excited about everything that's happening and it's been great to have you along for the ride. So speak to you soon!

Puffy

So much for the Water Disguised As Gin plan! The barmaid poured my water into a gigantic pint glass, so there was no hiding the fact I was teetotalling. "Why are you drinking WATER?" everyone demanded, "It's your night out!"

I ended up with one real gin and tonic but somehow made it last the whole night. Saturday night I had two and half gin and tonics and another pint of water which is a miracle considering I was out with seven of my work colleagues who are quite enthusiastic about their drinking.

Finally, Sunday night! The calorific dessert my friend had planned turned out to be a banoffee pie - a rich crust filled with bananas, sticky caramel and whipped cream. Holy crap. I had a small slice and my head was throbbing - it was sooo delicious but sooo rich! The main was a delicious spicy lime and lentil soup, but I passed on the accompanying hunks of fresh white bread and butter, and also skipped the wine. All in all I was really pleased with how I handled the weekend.

I tried on the wedding frock again. It still fits but there's some dodginess getting the final inch of zip up. I am so bloated from those lentils today, so will have to be really careful about what I eat for the next ten days. I'm not trying to lose weight, I just know how easily I puff up. Can anyone recommend what foods to avoid? Aside from lentils. My stomach is still groaning and I am one big fart just waiting to happen!

. . .

I thought I'd be freaking out about the wedding by now, but I haven't had any time for that yet! I'm moving to Chez Bagpipes tonight so I've been busy packing my stuff. And going out on the town. And going to the gym! I put my weights up at Body Pump yesterday. I'm up to 20kg for the squats which is really good for me, hehe.

So I'm not freaking out, but I'm freaking EXCITED! I cannot wait for next Thursday. Whoa, what? Next Thursday? NEXT WEEK? OKAY maybe it is time to freak out. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

(NB: Come back on Wednesday coz I will tell you all about what's going to happen)

. . .

I had a comment in the last entry (hi Skinnie Minnie!) about skin. With 69 kilos gone you'd think I'd be a saggy baggy mess, but so far I am happy with how things are looking. Luckily I started lifting weights about September 2000, just 9 months into the Lard Busting Journey. There's been patches of months at a time when I didn't do this, but if you look at it over the four years I've done it more weeks than I haven't. So this seems to have helped a lot, exercise in general really helps.

Most of all the fact that is has taken me so damn long to lose this weight has probably given my skin time to adjust. It's not been a sudden and dramatic loss. My stomach is lardy, as are my upper arms and thighs, but it's all still fat there, not skin. I am never going to have one of these super sleek taut bodies - I was way too obese to ever recover fully - but at this stage I don't think there is going to be any great globs of skin. Let's see what happens anyway, I still have a long way to go, and I will definitely be upping the exercise to help things along as much as possible.

If you're quite overweight and reading this, please don't let the fear of skin deter you from losing weight. Just start exercising as soon as you possibly can and make sure lifting heavy objects is part of that!

So Many Bodies

Just dandy, my period arrived last night so now I will head off to London all grumpy, bloated and full of loathing. Just perfect for a grueling weekend of frock shopping!

Oh well. I am determined to remain calm. Thanks for you all your suggestions by the way! As my sister said, it is going to be a Try-On-athon, I will just have to keep going until something works. I'm not altogether too worried. If I don't find the perfect dress this time around, I'll get something fancier for the Oz wedding in October! That's the beauty of having your families scattered all over the planet - you get to have two weddings WITHOUT having to find two different husbands!

I am just BUSTING to get the altar. I'm so much more focused on that than the dress stuff. I just want to get the ring on my finger, I am dead excited about that. I can't believe I get to marry him! I know we'll have a blast together. I am so relived and freakin happy that he wants to do this, that he thinks we're worth all this trouble. I get all teary just thinking about it. He is just such a sweet, lovable dork; he has a way of phrasing things that makes me laugh til my guts hurt. I love it when I stagger in from the gym all red-faced and stinky, he'll give me a hug and kiss regardless and say, "How was the Body? Which Body was it today?" And I'll say if it was Body Pump, Combat or Jam, and he'll always say, "Oh yeah. So many different Bodies, I can't keep up."

. . .

There is a book currently screaming up the UK bestseller charts called I CAN MAKE YOU THIN, by hypnotist Paul McKenna. From the gushing customer reviews on Amazon it sounds like the advice in the book is perfectly sensible, nothing new at all, but could the title be anymore stupid? But it's selling like hotcakes, so I guess people are walking by and seeing that title and saying, "CAN YOU? Can you really make me thin? COOL!" and then buy the book. Oh well.

Have a good weekend, groovers!

And The Bride Wore Blubber

What a difference 24 hours makes! I finally have some news, groovers. He proposed this morning! I said yes! 

Can you believe it? I'm going to marry Bagpipes, as Airlie called him. Are you excited? I'M EXCITED. I wanted this so badly, it felt so right. The turning point for me was during SC's Rawk Concert when I looked up at him and swooned and knew I never wanted to be with anyone else. But I never really told anyone that marriage was my desired outcome - as opposed to deportation or a work permit - coz I am always afraid if I say things out loud they will never happen!

Anyway, I am saying it now. Woohoo! It took SC a few more months to realise that was what he wanted too, and I have to tell you I have never been so happy in my entire life. Proposing to someone in bed at 2.02 AM is a little different, but to me it is perfect and I will never, ever forget it. The tone of his voice and the happiness when I said yes and the way my whole life just seemed to fall into place. I was so stunned and shocked and kept saying, "I'm so stunned and shocked!". He said to me so sweetly, "Well that's what you get for being so nice to someone. For letting someone just be who they are and encouraging them and loving them. And for being a chick who likes MotoGP."

My eloquent response? "I'm so excited I could SPEW!"

Let's get back to the fat for a moment. You may have guess what I'm going to say. That I am slightly annoyed with myself for not busting some lard last year and eating like a pork over Christmas, as I will be a rather dumpy bride on a budget. Not that we have made any plans yet, but I ain't going to be looking my best! I have 11 weeks til my visa ends, so we'll be getting hitched sometime before then - not much time for a miracle!

But you can't turn back the clock, and as I said the other day, I don't begrudge 2004 and all the fun I had instead of focusing on my weight. I never thought I would feel so relaxed about the whole thing, but I am just so happy that SC and I are going to stay together that the other issues pale into insignificance. I am sure I will scrub up reasonably well, somehow :)

Serenity Now!

November is traditionally The Month That I Can't Cope With The World, if you can call something a tradition after just two occurrences.

Perhaps it's just a coincidence, but I was miserable and confused this time last year and plagued by a crushing inability to write. I thought I would find the transition to the 4PM Darkness easier to cope with this time around but I'm just as bewildered. And tired. I feel like a little old granny that needs to retire with a cup of cocoa as soon as Eastenders is over. All I need is a cardigan and a small, yapping terrier to kick around.

It now seems a lifetime ago when I woke up in Spain and looked out the window of the World's Shittiest Hostel and screamed "MY EYES! MY EYES!". What was this blinding light assaulting my irises? What was this strange warmth I felt on my skin?

So, how to get the body to cope with the lack of light? I keep meaning to step out for a lunchtime walk to but the times I've actually remembered this plan I looked out the window and it was raining. My other tactic has been to Exercise Like A Motherfucker in the hope of producing some happy chemicals in the brain. I've been managing a good three gym sessions as week (around 1.5 - 2 hours each) consisting of a Body Pump or Body Jam class as well as some running and/or some elliptical trainer and rowing machine. I've been so haphazard with my exercise this year, but now I'm in a routine I'm finally starting to see some results.

This has not, however, turned me into a beacon of sparkly happiness. Mostly due to me being a lazy whining bastard. Yesterday at 5pm I stood in the darkness outside the gym, bitching down the phone to my sister, "I don't wanna go in. I wanna go home and sleep. Don't make me go in there. I can't do this today."

Her reply, "So don't do it!"

"But I suppose I have to! I lugged my gym gear all the way to work and now I'm right outside the door. FINE, fine. I'm going in. GoodBYE!"

Even when I was standing on the treadmill, headphones in place, doing a warm up walk, I was still moaning to myself, "I can't do this today, I just can't." Fifteen minutes in I was whinging in my head, "This sucks ass. Why can't I just eat chocolate?".

And then I was cranky all through the Body Jam class afterwards because I had my running shoes on and they are so bloody sturdy and determined to hold my feet in a forward direction. Fantastic for running but utterly useless for dancing. And just the week before I'd worn my cross trainers and had a Cranky Attack on the treadmill because of course the cross trainers give no support for running at all and I ended up having to walk coz it felt I'd do damage. I realised last night that I will just have to take both pairs of shoes. JUST GREAT!

Tangent: WHERE THE HELL can you buy cross training shoes in this bloody country? Every sporty shop here either has running shoes or stupid colourful trainers that are meant to show the world what a hipster you are, ie. not intended for sporting use at all.

I asked one pimpled teen at Foot Locker, "Do you have any cross trainers? What happens if I want to play tennis or do an aerobics class?".

"Oh we don't really stock any of those. But look at these running shoes!"

"Are they suitable for anything other than running in a straight line?"

"Well, no."

"ARRRGH!"

I bought my cross trainers in September 2000, which happens to be the time I first went to a gym, and in the following four years as you know I have basically done more exercise than the preceeding 23 years combined. Thus, the shoes stink, are full of holes and have no tread left on them. I know for a fact that every bloody sporty shop in Australia has at least a dozen different cross trainers for me to choose from, even with my gigantor size 10 feet! Not so in the Motherland.

My sister, the lucky bastard, will be buying new cross trainers when she goes back to Australia in a couple of weeks. She has scored herself a job in London and consequently a work permit that will allow her to stay in the UK for years to come. Now please please please don't email me to say "Why don't you do that?" as I have a stack of rejection letters as testament to my attempts to do this. I will just say her industry (luxury hotels) is more open to taking on foreigners than in any field of mine. Work permits are all about proving to the UK government that they cannot find a native to fill the role, and my sisters new employers could not find a Brit as well-qualified and dazzling as herself.

Anyway, she starts in January and is off to Oz for a flying visit to see everyone since it could be a couple of years til she makes it back. And so, she will be able to get new shoes. And get them SO MUCH CHEAPER. I'd ask her to get some for me but it's risky with my awkward, freakish hoofs.

One good thing is that she is cleaning out her wardrobe and has given me some suits that no longer fit her. Remember my Jacqui E suit from Oz that I finally fit into last year, size 18? Well now I can get into hers, exactly the same but SIZE 14 (US 12). Holy crap. I cannae do up the jacket yet, but give me time, mark my words.

I was close to tears as I zipped up those pants. Sure they were a bit too tight but crikey, I never ever thought in a million years that my flesh could be successfully arranged into a garment of such small size. The last time I had anything in a 14 was 1993. I thought it was a fluke coz the Jacqui E sizes aren't particularly small, but sis gave me a skirt from Myer that also fits (just a bit too clingy on the arse). This certainly was a change from the week before when I almost kicked the mirror at H&M as I had to buy new trousers in a size 20. My sister assured me their sizes can be Euro tiny but still, ARRGH! I was raging and felt sure the United Kingdom was united purely to make me feel like a heiffer.

Well as you can see I am just full of rage in general today, aren't I? I am just emotional as my sister will be in Glasgow two weeks from today, where she will fly to Dubai and then to Sydney in AUSTRALIA where it is WARM and mangoes are in season and all our friends and family will be there and they will have Christmas together while I am working at Geriatric Rescue on both Xmas and Boxing Day.

YES YES, I am still doing shifts at that evil place to pay off my stinking credit card. My sis and I had previously agreed I'd do Xmas and she'd do Boxing Day as it is triple time and we'd have our little Xmas dinner on the Monday instead. But then a few weeks later she got her new job out of the blue, and now this whirlwind trip to Australia. I tried to wriggle out of the Xmas shift, but ended up with another - my bosses begged me to do Boxing Day as no other staff can/will do it. HUMBUG!

So I will spend my Xmas Day feeling depressed as hell, as the only old people who call us needing help on Xmas Day are those old people with no family all alone in their cold houses and fall over and can't get up or who have burned their Marks & Spencer Turkey Ready Meal For One and set their smoke alarms off.

But! Realistically, i's not like I had anything better to do. And triple time, my friends. My credit card balance will be zero for the New Year. Woohoo!

Anyway, yes. I'm an emotional disaster. My sister and I are breaking up. We've been living together for four years. I know the time is right and we have to move on but it is scary. Everything is changing. Her future is sorted, now I have to figure out mine. And I can't even bring it up with the Scottish Companion right now as his PhD exam thingy is coming up and is stressed out of his brain trying to revise his thesis and worrying about whether he will be upgraded to Doctor Scottish Companion or not. His boss has already printed business cards stating that he is. NO PRESSURE!

So of course I am trying to Be There, all supportive and patient, when all I want to do is scream at him most selfishly, "WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME! WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO!? I NEED ANSWERS!"

For once in my life, the only thing going well is the food and the exercise. How bizarre.

Thank you for letting me vent. You guys rule the school. I will be back as soon as sanity returns.

Pina Coladas

Last night my lovely Scottish boy and I were poking around on the internet, catching up on news while we had been away in Spain. At one point I closed the browser window and my email program popped up behind it. It was open to a Dietgirl New Comment Posted notification email. My heart nearly stopped as I saw him looking at it. I wanted to lunge for the mouse and close the window but how pathetic would that have looked? He was pretty sleepy so I don't know if he took it in, the URL was there for the world to see.

Now I am at work and he is back at my place having a wee sleep-in. I am trying not to panic thinking of him cranking up my iBook and typing in www.dietgirl.org and seeing this site.

I don't know why I never mentioned it to him, lord knows I've hinted a million times. He knows I submitted some chapters for Erin's book but I never explained how I happened to become involved - he reads my non-fat blog and you wouldn't see the connection from there. I just never got round to telling him about how far I have come with this weight loss caper. The other day I was totally out of clean undies and had to put on this old pair of size 22 ones that almost come up to my boobs, we were having a laugh at how silly they looked and I said, "These used to fit, you know." I told him I'd show him a Before picture sometime, but I conveniently forgot about it.

I found out the other day he weighs just 73 kilos (160 lb). I told him I weighed more than that and he wouldn't believe me. Arrgh! I doubt I will ever weigh that much. I know he's a lean mean machine and I am a curvy build by nature, but jeez! When I think about the twenty-something kilo difference between us I start feeling like a heiffer. Sometimes he'll try to lift me up and I squirm away shrieking, "Nooo! You'll break your back!" and he'll say I'm being too harsh on myself. But little does he know!

It's all completely irrational because he is the loveliest thing you could hope to meet and totally rules the school. He is always kind and supportive to me regardless of whether I am being all vigilant about healthy eating or ripping into a bar of chocolate. I am sure if he found this site he'd be just as proud of me as I am of myself. But I still feel funny about him seeing those Before pictures, my weight on the sidebar, years of archived struggles with depression and bitching and Issues. I think it's coz I feel guilty for holding back on something thats been such a big part of my life, I have been quite sneaky and secretive about it all. I guess it just takes time to feel ready to share certain pieces of yourself.

Och well. If you're reading m'love, HELLOOOOO!

. . .

Despite all I've said above, can I just say the following one more time. I am not obsessed with weight loss, I am not always preoccupied with The Fat. While I was away I received a few emails on this topic. It's been suggested that if I took away the time and energy fretting over it, there would basically be nothing else in my life.

This is absolutely not the case. I have plenty of other things that fill my time. Must I list all my non-fat hobbies for you? I love travel, I love writing, photography, pina coladas and long walks on the beach. I have many friends that I spend time with and when we go out to the pub I do not shred my napkin into a million pieces coz I'm worrying about the calories.

This is weight loss blog. Thus the writing herein is largely on the topic of weight loss. If you bought a book about birdwatching, would you flip through the chapters and say, "Dude, this is just about birds! Is that all the author bloody thinks about?". Of course you don't, it's a publication with a specific purpose.

Writing these entries takes up about twenty minutes of my life, once or twice a week, or less. That leaves a shitload of days and hours and minutes full of life that is occupied by other things. It just happens to be that I like to write my way through the blur of thoughts in my head and this, thanks to the interaction with you lovely folks, has become my favoured medium for doing so.

. . .

Anyway, I am back from Valencia where I remembered what it felt like to feel sunlight crawl over your bare arms so deliciously. We did sooo much walking as our hotel was miles from anywhere. I also ate relatively well and enjoyed FRESH LOCAL PRODUCE instead of some shrink-wrapped Kenyan cucumber like you get here in Britain. Hehe. I have logged back into WLR and I'm ready to get back on track.

So how're you doin'?

Back to the Fat

Two weeks have passed since I got back from my holiday and I have still not returned to the gym! For shame! We're off to Body Jam this arvo though. Knowing my luck the songs will have changed, so I will spend the hour swearing and untangling my feet rather than getting a decent workout, but you gotta start somewhere.

. . .

According to my math(s), approximately 97.537% of married Dietgirl readers met their spouse online. That figure may be slightly enhanced but from the comments (and an email) sparked by my O, Tortured Love Life entry, it seems this is the way of the future! You all seem incredibly happy and best of all (from my selfish point of view) it allowed you to give me oodles of advice and Things To Think About while I wasn't busy curling up in a ball and freaking out.

But then! Everything changed on Tuesday night. I went along to a gig featuring my boy and his band. It was the first time I'd seen him in action. So it was true, after all, he does know how to play that bass, he does spend his Saturdays in a dingy studio that reeks of Man Fumes for good reason. He walked on stage, squinted through the lights til we made eye contact, then gave me a goofy grin and The Fist Of Rock, a la Derek Smalls in Spinal Tap.

And that's when I felt like I'd been punched in the guts. All of a sudden I just knew, knew knew knew, that I had to have this guy in my life no matter what. Whatever it takes, I'll do it, and I'll be happy to do it. All my doubts and fears and freaking out seemed trivial, just annoying little technicalities that we could bumble our through. I just saw everything with perfect clarity, what I wanted, where I wanted to be, and suddenly felt so peaceful.

Let's hope the feeling's mutual! Mwahaha.

. . .

Anyway, back to the fat.

My sister and I were both financially crippled by our holidays but we're in desperate need of some new clobber. Our jeans in particular are looking tired. We want new jeans! But we cannae afford them for awhile. And we don't want to buy new jeans in our current sizes. Myself in particular - in the past 3.5 years I have bought six new pairs of jeans and each time they were smaller than the last. My current pair were purchased on 4 November 2003 (hours before the first Hot Date with the Scotsman) and have been worn approximately five times a week and almost 11 months later are still the same perfect fit. This is soooo infuriating, especially since in the six months before that I'd gone down two sizes. I'm not used to needing new clothes because they're worn out - I've only been buying new clothes coz the old ones fell off.

So we have set ourselves The Six Week Challenge. Six weeks to scrape together the dosh for fresh denim, and six weeks for the old pair to become at least a little roomy so the new purchase feels financially justified. Our plan is all about gym classes and morning walk/runs, wholesome food, journalling and NO SCALES. Time and time again the pair of us have let our motivation be slaughtered by the scale. We'd weigh in right before our gym class, and if it was bad we'd spend the whole class moaning about how useless we were, how it was all for nothing, looking in the mirrors and pointing out flaws. Which totally takes away from the fact that you made the effort to get to the class and move your ass. Which is 1000 times more important than a number on a scale.

Do you think I can go six weeks without peeking? Hmmm...