The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Ginger Ninja

I pre-purchased my Post-Grading Bacon on Saturday morning.

"Didn't you do this before the Moonwalk too?" asked Gareth, "It's like you're a dog - you only get a treat for performing tricks."

Too true! The bacon before that was because I finally found a new job. The bacon before that bacon was because I'd turned in my book. But it's bloody amazing bacon and it must be treated with reverence. Except for Saturday when I was starving and turned the whole lot into a toasty bacon, tomato and avocado sandwich. Hubba hubba.

I was concerned that Grading Day would suck without a bacon-shaped carrot dangling in front of me, but I pulled through!

I broke out my sexy new Official Fancy Trousers. Many times my pals had asked, "Why do you not wear the Trousers?" and I said snootily, "Because I haven't earned them yet!" But as with the bacon I decided to seize the reward before I'd earned it and see if the universe fell apart. I only wish I'd bought them earlier - sure it looks like you're storing a picnic lunch in your crotch but the bagginess is makes for free and easy kickin'.

The grading felt different from previous sporty events. With the 5K and Moonwalk I could zone out and fall into a rhythm once I'd crossed the start line - the only thing to remember was put one foot in front of the other. The grading was more like high school exams - so much information crammed into your brain; wondering if you could get away with writing the answers on your arm.

To prevent freak-outs, I broke it all down into chunks: three different belts, six different sections for each belt, then sparring at the end. A total of 19 components. We weren't allowed to bring anything into the room with us except a bottle of water, so my spreadsheet had to be a mental one - I ticked off each chunk as we went through. Five chunks down, 14 to go! It was much easier to deal with that way. I calculated what percentage of the grading had been completed, percentage remaining; number of tasks cocked up versus tasks successfully executed. Etc etc etc!

I tell you what's irritating: when you're spewy with nerves and you can hear someone prattling, "I'm not nervous at all. I'm feeling quite relaxed and calm." Oh reeeeally now! In contrast, one of my mates was convinced she was going to screw up. My heart pinged because she'd worked so hard and there was no logical reason for her not to believe she'd kick arse. So I'd say after each panic, "You can do this dude! I've seen you do it a thousand times before."

Just saying those words out loud to someone else helped soothe my nerves. Throughout the four long hours of grading I'd mutter to myself, You have done this a thousand times before. You have done this a thousand times before. It pains me to admit that such cheesy self-talk bollocks was helpful.

Of course there were stuff-ups. The worst segment is like sight reading in piano exams - they yell out a random sequence of kicks or hand techniques and you've got to do them on the spot. ARRGH! It's so hard to stay focused and not totally forget the instruction. I always seemed to be kicking with the wrong leg and doing the wrong punch at the wrong time. It was hard not to feel demoralised for mucking up but I kept up the chatter: That's just one of 19, calm the hell doon!

I think Orange went the best - it was the hardest one, but by the time we got round to it we'd been going so long that the nerves had eased. For the first time ever I did the Orange set movement in a flowing fashion, without Rain Man-style mutterings!

The sparring turned out okay because I was mercifully grouped with my mates - we'd kicked each other plenty of times before so I didn't feel scared. Finally I was calm enough to think about the moves and actually throw some, instead of waiting for the blows to rain down. About bloody time.

Finally the grading was over! OVER!

All twelve kickboxing dames gathered wearily before our Great Leader, where he informed us that we had all passed.

Woohoo!
White belt!
Yellow belt!
ORANGE BELT, BABY!

And then our Leader actually shed a few wee tears, saying he was so proud of us and how much work we'd put in. Aww. It was a tender moment.

I didn't blub, for once in my overly emotional life. I was too busy feeling euphoric and relieved and stunned. And wishing I hadn't already eaten that bacon.

Moonwalk Report - Part II

Alternative Title: The Flaming Calves of DOOM!

After the Crotch Whacking Cones, Miles 9 through 12 were a blur. It was so dark as we trudged along Queensferry Road, plastic ponchos whooshing like a lullaby. I drifted in and out of conversations, trying to ignore the ache in the ball of my left foot. At Mile 10 the people doing the Half Moon turned left and headed back towards the city centre. They only had another 3.1 miles to go, lucky bastards.

Now we headed away from the big roads and down towards the sea...

Moonwalk Report

Aside from the toaster, the greatest invention ever must be the Time and Date thingy on digital cameras and mobile phones. Two weeks after the Moonwalk I can barely remember it; my brain seems determined to suppress the finer details of all the pain and glory. But thankfully I can look at photo data or my Sent text messages and let the memories spew forth... "OH YEAH, that's that precise moment I wanted to fling myself under a double decker bus rather than take another step."

So here we go...

Saturday 14 June, 10AM - On the morning of the Moonwalk there was nothing left to do but carb it up. The training was done. The bra was decorated. The socks had been nestled inside the shoes in readiness. Bring on the rice and porridge.

I lazed around between bowls. We picked up Jenny from the airport, and some most excellent bacon from the farmer's market ready for my post marathon sarnie.

6PM - Tried to take a nap but Lionel Richie's All Night Long was stuck on an endless loop in my head.  How can one sleep with those saucy beats? I got dressed and paced impatiently. In the end I wore a tank top underneath my decorated bra. I was okay to bare arms but the belly was a bridge too far!

7PM - Had a last minute brainwave to live blog the walk on Twitter so I linked my phone to my account. Didn't realise until the next day that I'd put in the wrong number and had been rambling sending texts to some poor sleepless bastard all! night! looooong!  

8PM - Hitched a ride to Edinburgh with my Moonwalking comrades. On the way over we compared carbo notes and the joys of coating your feet in Vaseline. Try it, I tell you. Lube up your feet then slide into a pair of cotton socks; it feels like you're walking on air. Or a field of pillows. Or across the plump buttocks of many cherubs. For the first two miles, at least.

8.45PM - Arrived at MoonwalkCity, aka a gigantic pink tent in the middle of The Meadows.

Suddenly it was all rather exciting. I knew there would be 12,000 Moonwalkers but I didn't fathom the scale until I saw the sprawling sea of feathers, flowers and sequins. And pink pink pink. Mostly women but a few blokes gleefully showing off their brassieres.

We all plonked down in the tent. And so began the waiting.

9.30PM - Pinned race number to my trouser leg. Felt smug since I had proper safety pins instead of staples this time.

9.40PM - Ate my allocated vegie pasta ration. Surprisingly tasty!

9.50PM - Smugness came to abrupt halt when I noticed that I'd somehow managed to KNEEL IN MY PASTA, leaving a greasy red stain on my race number.

American Cycle

Gareth has decided that he prefers to remain an enigma, so I'm afraid it's back to verbose ol' me again!

My gut was sore from laughing at his entry; it took him all of twenty seconds to tap out yet he'd managed to distill seven years of public babbling and a lifetime of lard-related angst.

I'd been feeling self-conscious as it is lately, doing press for the book and sometimes being struck mute mid-interview thinking, What a ridiculous thing, to spend so much time going on about the size of ones arse.

But I'll keep on anyway, because I've been meaning to tell you about what was quite possibly The Greatest Day of My Life. Woohoo!

(Warning: I'm really knackered therefore beware of rambling and excess exclamation!)

You may recall my road cycling debut of mid-October - tears and trembling and brown underpants. It was a crash course of sorts, because the following week we were off to New York and I'd booked us on a cycling tour.

At first it seemed like a crafty way of disposing of Gareth for a few hours so I could do some shopping, but then I decided I wanted in, too. Sure I have no peripheral vision and I cannae hand signal but I've done twenty minutes on a Scottish country road... LET THE MUPPET TAKE MANHATTAN!

We assembled at a bike shop near Union Square – me and Gareth, three chicks from Kansas and a Melbourne lad with wholesome soap star looks. The two tour guides helped us chose a bike. I'd hoped they'd all be pretty pink ones with baskets on the front, but it was a random tangle of scary Sporty Ones. Where was the BELL? How would I cry for help?! My beast had a terrifying 21" frame with a really high crossbar. I called it the Crotch Masher 2000.

There were two guides. They were former couriers, with that lean sculpted-calf appearance that, if a pathetic amateur, might leave you intimidated and tugging at your husband's sleeve, "If you ride off on me, I'll KILL YOU!"

We were told to keep in line behind the front guide and he'd make hand signals telling us when to go or stop or slow down. Nae bother. As we set off I kept my eyes glued to the guide in front and totally blocked out the fact I was in New York otherwise I would have vomited. I couldn't look anywhere but straight ahead and I couldn't change gears because they were twist grip gears and I never knew there was another kind of gear!?

But after five or ten minutes I calmed down. I looked up at a street sign and it said 5th Avenue and I thought Hee hee heeee I'm riding down 5th Avenue! Then a bus whooshed up beside me and I could feel my ribs rattle. The adrenaline kicked in and I spent the next five hours in a state of joy and delirium!

Some highlights:

• Brush with death in the West Village! As we approached an intersection I caught sight of a pet shop with a windowful of tiny yapping dogs. "GARETH, LOOK AT THE DOGS!" I yelled and sailed on towards them, at the same time Gareth yelled, "SHAUNA, LOOK AT THE TRUCK!" Luckily the truck had good brakes and the information is now branded on my brain: Americans drive on the right.
• Bruising my lady parts every time I dismounted gigantic bicycle to take another squinty Holding Camera At Arms Length Shot
  
• Bruising lady parts due to inability to ride in anything other than a straight line therefore barreling through every pothole in the Meatpacking District
• Powering along the Hudson River Greenway - sweet merciful taxi-less bus-less cycle path!
• WALL STREET!
  

• Riding across the Brooklyn Bridge as the sun was setting and laughing in deranged manner, I can't belieeeeeve I'm on the Brooklyn Briiiiiidge on a biiiiike!
• Dismounting on Bridge then looking back to see the skyline lit up and falling in love with New York for the 457th time that week
  
• Zooming past the Supreme Court building and making the DUN DUN! noise from Law and Order
• Weaving in and out of traffic in Chinatown, teeth chattering in terror, completely overwhelmed by all the crazy honking and colours and chickens but loving it!
• Scoffing dumplings and sesame pancakes at a nice hole-in-the-wall type of place
• Riding down a grotty little street that could have been anywhere in the world then looking up to see the Empire State glowing in the distance!

So this happened two months ago and only now can I talk about it without getting teary and/or giggling hysterically. I know people ride bikes in cities all the time; my Amazing Adventures may be your tedious commute. But I had never felt so deliriously happy in all my life...

(even during the last half hour of the tour, when the guide that was supposed to stay at the back of the group drifted forward, leaving me and the Old Lady of Kansas to swear and scream and dither when the lights went amber, as to whether to stop and get left behind or go forth and pedal to our deaths)

... I suppose on some cheesy level it was a bit of a Wow I used to be welded to the couch now look at me moment but more it was so deliciously surreal to see places that you've only known from the telly, while on a bicycle, when you used to ride over sheep poo in Australia. It just makes my mind explode sometimes, life and all its possibilities. Now I wish I could go back to every city I've ever visited and see it again from a two-wheeled perspective.

Will Climb For Food

This Week In Hillwalking News: I've bagged my first Munro!

From the Wikipedia: "A Munro is a Scottish mountain with a height over 3,000 feet (914.4 metres). They are named after Sir Hugh Munro (1856–1919), who produced the first attempt at an exhaustive catalogue of such hills, known as Munro's Tables, in 1891."

There are 284 Munros in Scotland and freakishly fit people like to scuttle up as many as possible, obsessively ticking them off the list in a practice known as "Munro bagging". I can't imagine ever being that dedicated to the cause. I think I reached my peak of obsessiveness in Greece when I was madly compelled to try as many varieties of Fage Greek yogurt as possible ("yogurt bagging").

Anyway, after my tentative forays into hillwalking Gareth reckoned it was high time I graduated to a Munro. So off we went to Ben Lomond (3195ft/974m), which funnily enough looms over the bonny banks of Loch Lomond. It's like the Disneyland of munros, wildly popular and crowded especially in the summertime. But since there's a path all the way to the top and not considered particularly difficult, it seemed like a good Virgin Munro.

Some statistics from the day:

 Walking time - 5 hours 55 minutes (including Whinge Breaks)
Whinge Breaks - 27 (approx.)

You know how Jillian Michaels said you should do the sort of exercise that you like to do? I don't think I like hillwalking very much. This is what I told Gareth about five minutes into the walk. Specifically, "This SUCKS. And so do YOU for making me do this."

Normally my bad attitude doesn't kick in for about 500 metres but it suddenly hit me that this was going to be a long day. Weeks ago when Gareth suggested the walk I wasn't really paying attention, "Sure, big hill, yeah, no worries". When the day came I just ate my porridge and laced my boots in a la-di-da fashion as if I was off for a casual stroll to the shops. It wasn't until I got on the hill and noticed the endless path stretching ahead of me, up up up, that my heart sank and the surliness began.

Tissues Used - 56

My nose didn't help my mood. What the hell is going on with the pollen this year? My hay fever will not let up. After a few minutes amongst the heather it felt like there was a brick inside my brain. My sinuses throbbed and I was continually blowing my snoz which really slowed down my walking pace and delivery of bitchy comments.

Pathetic Declarations of Defeat - lost count

• I can't do this.
• I don't want to do this.
• I'm going back to the car.
• You just go ahead, you athletic bastard. I'll wait on this rock.
• I never even wanted to do hillwalking in the first place. I only did it so we'd have something in common!

Gareth captured this moment of tantrum about 3/4 of the way up (you can see my tongue poking out in the larger version). I was full of murderous rage by this stage and wanted to stab him with my walking sticks as he was barely breaking a sweat.

Masochist Level - Extreme

By the time the top of the hill was in sight I was suffering. My legs were trembling, my head was fuzzy and I almost cried when a wiry bloke RAN past us. I yearned to trip him up with my stick, but I could barely muster the energy for a snailish stagger by that point. This was despite that giant bowl of breakfast porridge and a calorific yet nutritious Nakd bar scoffed halfway up. I swear I felt the precise moment the last drop of energy drained out my toes. But on some grimly determined level I enjoyed the sensation.

"Do you want to stop for a sandwich?" asked Gareth.
"No!" I hissed.
"Why not?"
"BECAUSE I HAVEN'T EARNED IT YET!"

Munros Weakly Ascended - 1
PB&J Sandwiches Devoured - 2

Finally after 2 hours and 50 excruciating minutes I'd shuffled to the top.

"How does it feel Marsho?" said Gareth, "Your first Munro!"
"Bah! Sandwich!"

I slumped on the grass, closed my eyes and wished really hard for a funicular railway to appear. No such luck, but the view was wonderful, despite the crowds and some wanker yapping on his mobile phone.

Thanks to the restorative powers of my sandwiches and two cups of flask-tea-that-sort-of-tastes-like-coffee I stopped being such a grumpy git and posed for a windswept half-triumphant, half-sarcastic photo.

Falls on Arse - 1

A fascinating aspect of hillwalking is how it brings out the very best and the very worst of your character.

There are two ways to descend Ben Lomond. The quickest and easiest is back down the tourist path, the way other is steeper and involves a wee bit of scurrying over rocks. Gareth asked me which way did I want to go?

"The quick and easy way, of course."
"Borrrrrrrrring!"
"ALRIGHT HAVE IT YOUR WAY THEN!"

And Ms Cranky was back.

What I hate most about hillwalking - just when you get over the thigh-screaming hell of the ascent you and enjoy the view, you have to come back down... which just means your body hurts from different angles.

In hindsight it wasn't that difficult; three hours of descent featured all of ten minutes of rocky bits. But with the mist rolling in as I shuffled down on my hands and knees and arse, I was seething with venom and fear and resentment and once again decided it was Gareth's fault.

"You're a PRICK. I TOLD you I didn't want to come down this way!"
"I thought you said you liked challenges?"
"Only when the challenges are over!"

About an hour later I tripped on an innocent rock and landed comically on my arse. Gareth watched my face for signs of tantrum but by then I'd started to enjoy myself and found it rather hilarious. Here's a picture of mud on my butt.

Crushed Toes - 10

The last hour was hell. My body started to betray me - aching calves, knees, back. My pollen-brain was pulsing with pain. And either my boots are too small or I'm a total wimp, because my toes were smashing against the front. It was so excruciating I wanted to bite them off. But there's just no respite because the ground is continually so bloody steep. I tried walking backwards for awhile out of desperation.

But it was tolerable, because the end was in sight and the views were grand and glorious. Here's Gareth amongst the ferns, looking infuriatingly energetic.

Post-Walk Sexiness Rating - ZERO!

Finally we hit level ground again. We were done. Gareth was cheering kindly, "Woohoo! You did it Marsho! One Munro down, 283 to go!" But I was too knackered to feel any triumph whatsoever. I had never been so utterly shattered in my life. There was not a single ounce of energy left in my body.

Below is the worst, most hilariously unflattering photo of me I've seen in a long time. I was reluctant to post it but in some ways it's the best photo of all time. I barely recognise myself with the red nose and tired eyes and greasy limp hair and the smile so strained and pathetic because lifting my face any higher was just tooooo much effort :)

But that crazy moment of exhaustion is preserved forever. Two days later, with legs so sore and stiff I'm walking like a zombie, I like that I don't recognise myself in the photo; the face or the person I've become. It makes me wonder what other surprises I could find up my sleeve. I've never been so proud of a bad hair day.

Are We There Yet?

All I want is to get to the finish line.

Whenever I use that phrase I get reminded that there's no such thing as a finish line, that healthy eating is for life, that maintenance is the real bitch, etc etc etc. While I am aware of this, I just want to be done with the losing part. It's been six weeks short of six years, and I've bloody had enough.

People often ask me why I'm shooting specifically for 75kg. According to every calculator and online tool I've ever used, this is the very top of the healthy weight range for a 173cm (5'8") large-framed chick. After all these years of lard-busting I will be more than happy to simply reach the upper limit of that range. That will be enough. I just want to be able to say I got there; that I saw it through to the end. I've watched the sidebar statistics ping down and down and up and down throughout this lard-busting journey, and now I'm just hanging out for the one fine day where I can make it say, To go: ZERO kilos.

And after that, I will not give a shit about the number! I don't want maintenance to be about Scale Anxiety. I could go on a new mission to get somewhere more in the middle of my healthy weight range, but I refuse to expend any more energy on numbers. I am just so bloody tired after nigh on six years of ceremonious weekly weigh-ins, arrrgh! Once I hit 75kg I am going to make my goals entirely about fitness, and if they result in the the scale going down that will be a happy accident. Who knows, it could go up if I gain some muscle! Either way I will let it settle where it wants to and let the fit of my jeans be the measure of what shape I'm in.

I just want my goals to be completely removed from the scales. It will be about building muscle and getting stronger and leaner and healthier. I want to learn to ride my bike without wobbles and take up yoga and get to a point where I can swim laps for half an hour. I just want to get on with it, continuing my healthy lifestyle. I want to take it further and push harder each and every year just because I want to; because that's how I live my life... not because I'm trying to lose weight.

But right now I have some more pounds to lose. I am chugging along with the Going For Gold challenge. I'm eating well and doing as much exercise as my wonky body currently allows, all while keeping an eye on the scale because DAMMIT, I do want that numerical satisfaction of reaching a set goal. Throughout my life I've started so many projects and never quite finished them as I am fundamentally lazy as hell. But since this has been the most time-consuming, life-altering project I've ever undertaken, I want this to be one I actually complete.

I only wish this determination could have come a little earlier in the year. There's only six weeks left in the GFG Challenge and the big fat festive season is plonked right in the middle of it. Where was this hunger and focus during the long days of summer!? I was too busy watching the bloody World Cup instead. Oh well. I dunno, you're either in that Zone where you really want to succeed or you're not. And only now do I feel genuinely in the right head space to galumph my way to the finish line.

. . .

Something wacky was up with Bloglines this week. I use that site to read all your blogs and for some reason it wasn't telling me who'd updated. I got a whole weeks worth of entries last night from the likes of Kathryn, Amanda Jane and Emily. I thought you were all GONE FOREVER! You think I would have just manually checked the sites the old fashioned way, but nooo. I'm not very bright.

. . .

I've always regretted not taking measurements throughout all this fat fighting caper. I would love to know what my waist measurement was in 2001! At the time I didn't bother because the scale number was scary enough, let alone getting out the tape measure. And did I even have a waist? Not that the tape would have fitted round me. Nothing bloody fitted then; not towels, bathrobes nor seat belts.

But since so many of you guys have sung the praises of measurements I finally did it a few weeks ago. Awkwardly. It is so hard to be accurate! I had to choose landmark freckles. Anyway, I measured again on Sunday night and found there was another half-inch off my waist, taking it down to 33 inches. Everyone keeps banging on about waist measurements and the risk of heart disease, like the UK government and that Doctor Oz bloke on Oprah. So if I can shrink another inch-and-a-bit and get below 32 inches then I will be deemed Of Healthy Waist and perhaps I will get a certificate from Oprah or the Prime Minister. Cool!

Officially Half The Girl I Used To Be

Happy days, comrades! I lost 1.5 lb (0.68 kg) this week, which means I'm finally officially Livin' in the Seventies! 79.6 kg! Everybody get down and boogie!

(I am sure my mum must be thrilled that the fancy Electronic Publishing course she sent me on after university gave me nothing but the ability to Photoshop my head on to other people's bodies. Still, wouldn't it have been cool if there'd been a ginger Bee Gee?)

It has been a gruelling slog getting back to this most groovin' of decades. I hadn't been there since Year 9 in high school, fourteen years ago.

I had cruised into the 80s in February of last year and kept losing steadily for awhile there. I got halfway to the 70s but then I larded back up to 89.4kg in mid-December, after eating way too much during and after our holiday in Australia. So if you go from that point, it has taken a ridiculous 34 weeks to finally crawl under that 80 mark. I know one is not supposed to get hung up on the scale, but I have been SO bloody sick of seeing eighty-point-something that I almost ran over that digital beast with a truck. But better late than never, I suppose.

My current weight of 79.6 is also a nice wee milestone - I'm officially half the girl I used to be! I've lost 50% of my starting weight. How freaky is that!? It does make the stats on the sidebar look kinda cool.

Alas, there are many dietary dangers lurking in the week ahead! It's going to be another busy set of seven, so I'm aiming to maintain and not go crazy. Stay calm! BREATHE!

But I've only just scraped into the 70s, so part of me worries it was just an illusion. Like when it's a really hot day and you're walking home from the train station and you think you see Johnny Depp waiting for you on the street corner brandishing a margarita, but when you get up close you realise it's actually just a mailbox.

Mind The Gap

I loved Zara's post about her new dance class. Fun cardio, is what she calls it. Goddamn, we all should have some fun cardio. I still pine for my old Body Jam class. Don't get me wrong, I am rubbish dancer. Every class ended with me whining to my sister, and her very patiently walking through the steps, and me still cocking them up. But it was fun and ridiculous and difficult. It made you get sweaty but it made you feel sexy. And there were Beyonce songs!

My favourite tracks were always the Latin ones. Probably because I finally found a use for ample hips. And probably because the steps were easier than the hip hop songs. But mostly because the rhythms were so irresistible.

I thought of looking for a salsa class or similar, but the Scottish Companion isn't really interested. That would be my fault, because I once told him salsa classes are where marriages go to die. At least that's what happens on the telly. Has anyone seen Lantana? Or what about Rico and Vanessa in Six Feet Under? They went along to put the spark back into the marriage but turns out Vanessa was popping pills then Rico ended up with that lap dancer and it was all downhill from there.

Another reason I am wary of salsa classes is that you have to wear high heels. I have never worn high heels. Well I wore them once, on our wedding day. I clomped around like a footballer in drag. Luckily I only had to go from our hotel room to the taxi, then from taxi to Chapel, then down the aisle and back again. God bless Las Vegas and its moving walkways.

...

Elsewhere in Blogland, Nancy wrote a cracker of a post called The Truth About Weight Loss, and actually says a lot about the Truth About Maintenance.

Oh! And three cheers for Triathlete Sue!

...

The brain and the body are never in synch. The brain feels proud after a good workout, or when it has passed up a chocolate cake, or drunk all its water. The brain feels like it should be rewarded. So the brain goes running to the scale and feels crushed when the number hasn't changed.

But the body is slow. It has a vague idea that it is being fed differently and made to move in new ways, but it gets confused and takes awhile to catch on. Huh? What are you doing to me? Wha' happened?

There can be weeks or months of the brain getting impatient, stamping its feet and throwing plates at the wall. But then one fine day the body will catch up, and it feels like a whole bunch of things change overnight.

It's probably coincidence and my being chronically unobservant, but this happened to me last week. After weeks of frustrating nothing, I seemed to notice oodles of changes all at once and proved yet again why Patience, Grasshopper is my mantra:

• The new Australian trousers that sliced me in half in October can now be put on without undoing the zipper!
• The boobs no longer fill the bra! My cup runneth under! (Memo to boobs: ENOUGH! I don't want you any smaller)
• My once skin-tight H&M tops are loose around the waist!
• I increased my weights for Body Pump!
• Strange tendons appeared in my feet. I was getting seriously creeped out by them, and started shrieking about "freaky bones", until SC explained they were tendons everyone has those. Indeed, my feet used to be seriously lardy, folks.

And most exciting of all, there is a gap between my thighs. When I stand up straight and press my knees together, there is a little gap between my thighs. There's light shining through! You could put a person either side of me and they could peer right through and wave at each other. If they squint a little.

It may seem ridiculous to you, how much this thrills me. But even though my stomach has long stopped spilling down south, I have always had chunky thighs and was resigned to the idea that they would always be smushed together, crashing and clashing like pale, doughy cymbals. Behold the miracle of exercise!

The other night, after prattling on about The Gap all evening, I was drifting off to sleep when the Scottish Companion suddenly wriggled his hand between my legs.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm checking out your Gap!"

"What?"

"You could drive a truck through that Gap!" I could hear him grinning.

"Listen, I'm not going to tell you these things if you're going to mock!"

"I'm not mocking! It's like the Arc de Triomphe!!

Wednesday Weigh-In - Week Five

Here we go again!

last update: 16 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: 89.5 kg (197 lb)
current bmi: 30

result this week: -1.1 kg (2.4 lb)

loss in 2005: -6.4 kg (14 lb)
total loss since 2001: -69.7 kg (153 lb)

initial goal weight: 75 kg (165 lb)
distance to initial goal: 14.5 kg  (32 lb)

. . .

My weekly hop on the scales is so precise it borders on a religious ceremony. I do it as soon as I wake up. I take the scale into the bathroom, because the floorboards in my room are uneven. The bathroom floor tiles are black and white like a chessboard, and I place the scale on THE SAME tile every week. Then I go to the loo, then I wash my hands, then I strip off, then I get on the scale. I make a note of the number. Then I weigh myself four more times to make sure it wasn't an accident.

If I deviate from this routine I'd feel like it was cheating somehow. At least I know I am starting from the same place each week - naked with empty stomach. I fear this week's weigh-in, however, is not a true reflection of the past week. I won't go into the details, but lets just say last night's vegetable chili was having a rather dramatic effect on my digestive system this morning, and the ensuing evacuation may have made the numbers go down more than usual.

So this week I SHOULD be jumping up and down because HOLY FREAKING SHIT, I'm an 80s Girl! But I will wait and see what happens next week and celebrate then if applicable. I had some champagne and pizza on the weekend so I'm just not sure how I could lose so much in a week, even if I did walk around London for six freaking hours with only twenty minutes stop for lunch. Hmmm.

Anyway, even if the scales go up next week, let us just pause and reflect that I saw a number on the scale that began with 8. It has taken me for-bloody-ever to reach this moment. I became a 90s girl about August 2003. And I have not weighed under 90 kilos since 1994. Eleven years ago! Holy moly. I can't believe I've lost eleven years of lard.

It's tempting to go a bit crazy for the next two weeks before the wedding. After all, the dress is damn fitted and if I gain an ounce it could all explode! EXPLODE, I tells ya. But if I cut my calories too low, I won't have enough energy for the gym, I will feel like shit and my skin will look rubbish. So I am going to stick to my usual regime but be extra careful to lay off processed foods and refined carbs.

I also need to make sure I don't drink too much. Nothing puffs me up like alcohol! I have a night out on Friday, another on Saturday, and dinner at a friend's place on Sunday night who said she is planning some calorific dessert to wow us all. So my plan for the nights out is to sneak to the bar and get glasses of iced water with a wedge of lime or lemon, so I can pretend I have vodka or gin. I can alternate that with real drinks. They'll all be so drunk before long they won't even notice what I'm doing.

As for the Sunday Night Cal Fest, I will just make sure I be extra healthy and wholesome during the week so I have some calories up my sleeve for Sunday. Plus plenty of exercise! Woohoo.

So that's the plan, just remind me to stick to it!

Wednesday Weigh-In - Week 4

And here we go again. Four weeks went by pretty bloody quick, eh?

latest update: 9 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: 90.6 kg (199.3 lb)
current bmi: 30.4

result this week: -1.2 kg (2.6 lb)

loss in 2005: -5.3 kg (11.6 lb)
total loss since 2001: -68.6 kg (150.9 lb)

initial goal weight: 75 kg (165 lb)
distance to goal: 15.6 kg  (34.4 lb)

There's some little milestones to celebrate this week. I'm now in "onederland", as the pound watching Americans call it when you crack the < 200lb mark. And I've hit 150 pounds lost, which is good because that's how much I said I'd lost in my bio for Erin's book. The book comes out in May, so I was hoping I'd get to that point by then. So now there's all the more incentive for not gaining weight - I don't want to be a liar in print!

I had a cracker of a week, overall. I planned every mouthful at the start of each day using Weight Loss Resources' groovy little Food Planner. Then I add in whatever exercise I've planned to do. That way I see how many calories/fat/protein/carbs etc I'm set to scoff, then I can decide whether I'll be eating too much or not enough, and I chop/add snacks as appropriate. This week I knew I was going out for lunch on Saturday so I cut back during the week and piled on the exercise. Sunday morning SC had a sudden craving for fish and chips, so we had the oven-baked kind for dinner that night. It was still way over my calories but I'd cut back on breakfast and lunch to compensate.

I know I must sound like some sort of control freak, but planning is, and what always has, worked best for me. I am not doing anything extreme here. You'd think we three weeks to go to the wedding I'd be drinking SlimFast and nibbling on seaweed in an attempt to drop a size. But I just couldn't be arsed. I feel happy and optimistic and level-headed with the way I've been eating.

I had the bread and the fancy French butter at the restaurant on Saturday, but skipped on wine and picked a vegetarian main and a fruity dessert. I'm trying to strike a balance, to shed my old extreme behaviours. If I am mega-healthy for the vast majority of the time, I can afford to eat out or have some fish and chips once in awhile. I'm not panicking, I'm not in a rush - I am just enjoying logging my weight here and at WLR every Wednesday and watching the numbers inch downwards.

Maybe I am speaking too soon, it's only been four weeks. But I feel like my head is finally in the right place, I've come to terms with the fact that I know what works best for me and that it's all about focus and hard work.

I have some freakin' huge challenges this coming week (London, baby!) and the week after (my hen do - aka bachelorette party to you Americans) and of course the wedding and honeymoon after all THAT. Yet I'm finding myself looking forward to the challenge of all these events and seeing if I can handle 'em without with a sense of balance. Bring it onnnnnn.

Moscow on my mind

Last Monday I was in Moscow. When I first hoofed it into Red Square and looked over at St Basil's and the Kremlin and Lenin's Mausoleum, suddenly my breath caught in my chest and I felt lightheaded and woozy. It was not because I was so blubbery and unfit from hours of walking that I was about to keel over, but simply from pure bloody elation that I was in Red Fucking SQUARE and everything was good in the world.

I take it for granted these days, the fact that I can walk as far as I want for as long as I want. I don't think so much about how now I can find something decent to wear, how I can talk to strangers, how I can catch a train in a strange city or lift heavy objects. I don't like to congratulate myself in case I should develop a fat ego, but on that day I allowed myself a moment. I couldn't believe it was me on Red Square, in the country I've wanted to more than anywhere else, the same scared person who rejected the idea of living overseas just a couple years ago coz I was 'too fat and stupid' to do such an outrageous thing.

Now I was just burning with excitement and adrenaline. I thought about all the things I'd had to change and all the work I'd had to do to get to that point and suddendly I just wanted to eat up the world and all its scrumptious possibilities. My fingers were almost twitching. If I could get myself to this point, this place, what else could I do?

Bloody anything, really. There is no greater thrill for me than pushing myself as hard as possible. I like to stretch and I like when it isn't easy and I like when it hurts. Many people see me as lazy git with untapped potential, but they don't realise that I am always working on some goal quietly and privately and passionately. I just don't tell anyone in case I screw up.

. . .

Elated rambling aside, I have to say that no matter how much I change and how confident I grow there's always the little worm of insecurity bobbing around in my guts. This is the part of me who would shrivel up inside anytime someone on our tour would start a conversation with me, or asked me to sit at their table, or buy me a drink. I can't stop making the Lardy Chick's automatic assumption that they're only talking to me out of politeness.

But I got over that after a few vodka shots.

There was also the tiny, deranged part of me that was afraid my gorgeous boy would change his mind while I was away. He'd realised that I was actually a moron and not worth his time. He called last night and as soon as I heard that warm Scottish accent, life was sweeter than all the chocolate I'd scoffed in Finland. He asked should we get together tonight. I said rather timidly, well if only if you have to come into the city for work (he's across the water a wee bit), I mean don't make a special trip, I can see you on the weekend, whatever suits you best, and other assorted ridiculous statements in which I basically apologised for my existence. And he simply said, "I haven't seen you for three weeks!"  You'd think after almost eight months of blissful togetherness that I could just shut up accept that someone could want to be around me on a voluntary basis, but I am still bewildered by it all.

. . .

So anyway, lovely folks, the trip has left me energised and excited about life. Now I must call the gym and book in for some classes. I'm having serious withdrawls. I attempted some squats in our Minsk hotel room, awkwardly brandishing my backpack across my shoulders like a bar. It ranks very highly on the list of Stupid Things I Have Done. Everyone knows you can do effective squats and lunges with your own body weight, and I have plenty of that to spare. But I thought it would be fun to weild a big fat bag full o' dirty undies, shoes, black market vodka and furry Russian hats. They were some pretty lopsided squats, I tells ya.

Dude, I'm An Athlete

Thanks for the kind comments on the last entry. I'm not usually one for talking about my personal life, but I happened to be at the keyboard during a fit of paranoia, so you guys got to read all about it. Ha ha!

I remembered something from my Missing Entry. I wanted to tell you all about a bloody brilliant woman named Julia. She emailled me after my Flying Boobies entry and offered to send me a bunch of sports gear as she works in sports promotion and had some spares. So imagine the excitment at Chez Dietgirl when we received a box from Italy, full of sporty tshirts and bras and the like. What didn't fit me fit my sister, so we have saved a pile of money thanks to the generosity of a stranger! Thanks so much Julia.

My favourite bit was a purple Nike crop top. It's not supportive enough for cardio, but it's perfect for Body Pump. I was so excited to fit into a size L Nike top that I had a tiny cry when I put it on. I am no brand-name freak, but to fit into something that wasn't a plus size was such a shock and so goddamn exciting after all these years, I couldn't help getting emotional! There is no way I could ever wear the top as it is intended (ie. on its own) due to my wobbly bits, but I like having this little secret under my t-shirt, it makes me smile as I squat and lunge. I even found some Nike gym pants (size XL) at a discount outlet and you wouldn't believe how my motivation at the gym has been boosted now that my shape isn't hidden by tracksuit pants three sizes too big! Woo!

You Can't Hurry Lard

I finally got reaccquainted with the scale on Sunday - 98.4 kilos (217lb). Well whaddya know, kids? I've finally got under 100 kilos. Double figures, baby! It has been 9 years since I was under 100 kilos.

It's only taken me two and a half years to reach this milestone. Crikey. Way back in the day, I wanted to get under 100 for my sisters birthday. In 2002. So yeah, that kinda didn't happen. It's taken me a helluva lot longer but I've learned a lot in that time. You know how that song goes... You can't hurry lard... no you just have to wait...

Seriously though, you just cannot put a time limit on this thing. Fat waits for no man. Etc etc. No matter how long I can sit here doing crazy calculations, figuring out how many kilos per week I would need to lose to weigh X by Y date, it just never works out that way.

These days I am taking it slow. I am sure you're all thinking, isn't she there yet? But nooo, I'm not. I'm kinda enjoying my new life here in Scotland, and that happens to involve the occassional drink and the odd chocolate or three. So it's coming off slower, but it IS coming off.

Another little milestone has passed - I've now lost over 60 kilos. I remember my euphoria at hitting 20 kilos gone - that meant I didn't have to have the Special Super Fat Extra Weight added to the scale at my Weight Watchers weigh-in. I remember my mum taking me out for dinner when I got to 30 kilos gone. It seems like a lifetime ago now.

Some days I get so depressed that I am still very overweight, but I guess I just need to look back and realise I've lost an average person now. I used be carrying 60 kilos/10 sacks of potatoes/120 tubs of margarine/240 family blocks of Cadbury's on my back. And now I'm not. So I will try and remind myself to be proud of this and use it as motivation to keep going and lost another 23 kilos or so.

I really need to post some pictures soon! I hope you'll be able to notice a difference. Otherwise, I will cry. Mwahaha.

Now We're Getting Somewhere

I have long been an advocate for not paying any attention at all to the scale. But every now and then there's a little milestone on that cursed machine that you just have to stop and celebrate.

I'm just back from my weigh-in - 112.54 kilos. That's 247.59lb! What does that mean?

1. I am finally finally FINALLY under 250 lb.
2. I have finally finally FINALLY cracked the 100 lbs lost mark! 102.65 gone!

I had a fantastic week. The week before was a shocker. A close family member passed away, and I turned my grief into fat. Cheesecake, chinese food, you name it. But I kept exercising. I did post a gain, but this week I got right back on track. I remembered this time last year, the very same week, when family problems saw me go completely off the rails for months and months. Not going to happen this time.

100 pounds! Woohoo! I can't believe it! :)

But more important than the scale is the tape measure. I got re-measured last week - this happens every four weeks. I was all pissed off about the gain on the scale, but then discovered I'd shrunk:

Chest - 4.5 cm gone
Hips - 4 cm gone
Waist - 10 cm gone

10cm in four weeks! How many inches? Umm. I think an inch is 2.5 cm? So that's four inches off.

Holy crap. I got the chick to re-measure just in case. I knew something funny was going on coz I've had to yoink my pants up all the time. I thought they'd got stretched in the wash. Ha! I wish my stomach would shrink that dramatically!

Anyway. I really cutting out the processed crap has helped big time. I know exactly what I'm eating and where it comes from. Just the wholesomeness of the food seems to be making a difference.

Then of course there is That Bloody Mountain. I have been managing to haul myself up there once a week. God I hate it! The first 20 minutes are purest hell. Hell on an severe incline, that is. My thighs go twing! and I huff and puff and swear and tell my sister There is no fucking way I am going to fucking climb this fucking hill any fucking further and she just laughs.

Once we get to the top, I limp around yelling, "KING OF THE WORLD!" until jelly legs force me to sit down. Then it's another 40 minutes to walk back down. And by the time we get back to the car, I'm thinking, "Hey that wasn't so bad. Piece of cake!"

Until of course the next day when I wake up and every muscle is screaming. On Sunday I only made it halfway up, I'd really hammered myself at Body Combat on Thursday, plus I hadn't drank enough water during the day. I've found I just drag my ass if I don't keep hydrated beforehand (we don't do the walk til about 5pm).

I really think it's the stinkiest bitch of a thing I've ever done, exercise wise. So that's why I'll keep on doing it.

Btw, thanks for the lovely guestbook and e-mail people who've piped up lately. Diary-X doesn't have comments so the good old GB will have to suffice, until (if) I get the energy to go back to Movable Type :)

Reflections on 60 Tubs of Lard

Can you believe it? I lost 1.7 kg last week! Damn. 31.5 kilos gone forever, that's 69lb for your non metric people. Damn. I was looking at the dairy section at Woolies the other day, and realised that I was somehow lugging round the equivalent of 60 tubs of margarine. It's an old trick but a good one - getting a visual picture of how much you've lost.

I never, ever thought 5 and a half months ago that I'd be here. 5 and a half months ago it was summer, I was so big I couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep in, and I was so wheezy I'd wake myself up with the sound of my shaky breathing. I couldn't reach my shoes properly to tie the laces. I couldn't walk around the block without being totally and completely exhausted. Making the bed in the mornings left me puffed. I ate McDonalds about 3 times a week. I'd eat a family block of chocolate in one sitting. My size 26 clothes were way too tight. I had about 27 chins!

Now I sleep just fine and I'm discovering bits of me I never thought existed. My spare tyres are slowly slowly shrinking. Beneath the fat I can feel muscles forming, in my calves, my thighs, my stomach, even my dreaded upper arms, they're there and they're hard and by the time I blast off this fat, give me a year or so... the body underneath will be pretty nice.

Now I'm comfortably in a size 24, flirting with a 22 (the 24 jeans are getting too big now!), my shoes feel bigger, my socks stay up now, my bra size has dropped from 26D to a almost too big now 24C.

Now I can look in the mirror and not cry :)

Now I go to the gym 3-4 times a week for 45-50 mins, I go on the cross trainer, the treadmill, the bike, the rowing machine. I look forward to my workouts. I never, ever thought I'd say that about exercise. If you've been reading from the start you may remember that it took me a good couple of months to get into exercise, it was just so difficult at first, hauling that bulk around. Isn't it just amazing how you can transform yourself, if you persist? If anyone's reading who thinks they're too big to exercise, just walk to the end of your driveway and back a few times! Do it again and again and again and before you know it you'll be going further and further than before and you may even find yourself *gasp* enjoying it!

trust me! :)

I saw a friend of mine on Tuesday that I hadn't seen for three months. She kept hugging and grinning and telling me she "barely recognised" me when I got out of my car. She also said my face looked "heaps skinnier!". I told her not to humour me, because I don't feel like I look much different. But she reminded me that she hadn't seen me since March and insisted I look dramatically different.

Hehe.

Please don't think I am bragging here, it's more of a reminder for me. If you read the last entry you'll notice I very VERY easily lose sight of my progress. Writing it down and reading it back to myself makes me stop and think, crikey! You HAVE come a long way! Sure I still have a looooooooong way to go but there's no reason why I can't stop and have a hip hip hooray! I'm only a third of the way there... I wonder how good I'll feel when i get to my goal?

Speaking of losing sight, your emails and gb entries have made SUCH an amazing difference to me, always coming at the right time to put me into respective. I've been busy again and bloody AWFUL in terms of replying to emails, I'm so sorry! I will catch up on the weekend for sure.

But for now, I'm off to bed. I'm spent!

50 Freakin' Pounds!

Can you believe it kiddies, I lost 1.4 kilos (3lb) last night. That brings me to 23.3 kg, which is 51.2 lb! YEAH BABY! Milestone time: I made it to the 50lb mark. I also finally got out of the evil 300 lb range, I'm now scraping in at 299.

So today I was half asleep and getting ready for work when I picked up this lovely grey jacket I have. I wore it once about 18 months ago, but never wore it again because it was clinging to the Three Tier Wedding cake (my boobs and two spare tyres) and was just too tight. Later on I took to wearing it as an open jacket with a black sleeveless top underneath. The last few weeks I'd been thinking to myself, "Hmmm, I think I'll be able to wear this done up soon..."

And guess what? TODAY WAS THE DAY! It did up, as if by magic. I couldn't believe it. I raced into my sisters room and woke her up, just to get her opinion and ask her was she SURE it fit properly, and wasn't too tight? She assured me it looked great.

Saturday marked 3 months since we joined WW, and three months ago I was bursting out of my size 26 clothes. Now I am starting to get into 24's. This may seem HUGE to most people, but even that difference in size gives me a lot more options about what to wear.

And I feel good too. I'm starting to enjoy exericse. Sometimes I even crave it. Never thought I'd say that. Hehe :)

Things To Do When I'm Skinny

I could feel it in my bones that I'd lost weight this week, and I had. Another kilo (2.2lb) gone forever!

I'm so determined lately. Haven't been getting to the gym as much as I'd like to, but have been doing a fair bit of walking. I'm getting speedier every day. Before I would huff and puff along with aching knees and the dog gagging on the leash coz he was trying to go forward because I was too slow. Now I can almost keep up a decent pace for him. I went walking at 6AM today and it was beautiful, nice big lungfuls of fresh air. Then when I got home from work we went out for another 20 minutes.

So my clothes are finally getting a little bigger. When I started, I was squeezing into a size 26. On the weekend I bought a size 24 top for winter and it fit everywhere, just a bit too clingy round the tummy and hips. By the time it gets really cold I think I'll be right!

I also got to drag out some previously too-tight bras. Before WW I had a 26D but now the ol' girls are swimming in a D cup. My 24C fits just fine now, albeit a bit faded. I should treat myself to some new frilly things!

At the meeting last night I couldn't help yelping when they told me what I'd lost. 22 kilos all up. I did a little wriggly dance on the scale, I didn't care who was watching, and there was a huge queue behind me. It was so nice not to have to get to the meeting extra early, or late, so I could get weighed with the extra weight with noone to see. I could just hop on like a "normal" fatty. I went over to buy another 4 week meeting package, and this woman that I always smile "hi" too said to me, "You're looking great, you really must be working hard at this!". And I could say in all honesty, yep, I am. It was such a buzz that someone actually noticed!

We had a different leader last night coz ours was out of town. This lady had lost 56 (133lb) kilos at WW. Wow, I thought, that's inspiring. But then she told us that she had previously lost 40 kilos at Jenny Craig, but gained all the weight back plus more. And before THAT, she'd lost 40 kilos with one of those meal-replacement diet milkshake things. All up, she said she had lost 220 kilos (480lb) over the years, with all her yo-yo dieting.

She said her problem was, none of her previous attempts were a "permanent" solution. Once she stopped eating the Jenny Craig meals, she didn't know anything about cooking healthy food, or what a healthy portion was, so she stacked back all the weight in just 8 months. And the diet shakes, well, obviously you can't keep that up forever.

I am not endorsing WW or whatever,  I am just saying if you want to be realistic and serious about shifting your lard arse, you have to do it in a manner that you can sustain for the rest of your life. There's no way you can keep up the wacky milkshakes forever. Just be sensible about it, and stop looking for miracles. That woman last night made me more sure of that than ever before.

Some things that help me keep so determined: imagining the "new me" so clearly I can taste it, and it's more tasty than all the Lindt chocolate in the world...

Random list of things I wanna do when I'm skinny:

1. run!


2. wear dainty, strappy little shoes (currently would make me look like a drag queen with my pudgy ankles and feet)


3. walk up to a guy that catches my eye and say hello (too chicken when I look like this)


4. go swimming


5. have a fully body massage (like i'd let anyone look at me right now!)


6. have proper photos taken of me (but no cheesy soft-focus glamour shots! cack!)


7. get some sexy leather pants. rrrowr.