Good Feeling

So how do you hold on to the Good Feeling? I’m a huge MotoGP fan, and when you see the riders getting interviewed after a race they often talk, in their endearing English As A Second Language way, about their Good Feeling.

"The bike gave me a good feeling today," they’ll say if the race went well. And then I snigger, coz I’m sure I’d have a bloody good feeling too, if I was straddling a gigantic vibrating motorcycle! But if things go bad, they will say, "I could not find a good feeling with the bike."

They’re talking about the harmony between man and machine. What’s this got to do with anything? Well, if you say hypothetically my brain is Valentino Rossi and my body is a motorcycle, then it’s clear we’re not having our best season. It’s that elusive mind/body connection I was talking about last month. I still haven’t quite got it back!

The last time I truly felt the Good Feeling was back in Chicago in July. I’d just finished the first round of book edits and was so happy with how it turned out and with the message I’d put across. I felt this lovely peace with everything. It was like there were dozens of those dinky tealight candles, racked along on my ribs, so I was just glowing glowing glowing from within.

But ever since various things… mostly my own sabotaging brain… have chipped away at the ol’ confidence a bit. Do not fear, scale-watchers! I’ve not stacked it back on. It’s just that a little black cloud has been loitering like a seagull outside a chip shop.

The other day I went out for a bike ride ON THE ROAD. Analogue bike, that is. I’d never ridden a bicycle on a road before. I grew up on a farm so it was all rattling over gum leaves and sheep shit. After a year of adult bicycle ownership I thought it was time to venture beyond cycle tracks and illegal footpaths, so I got Gareth to take me around the road loop he does a few times a week. I felt a grim determination about the task. I wanted to come back to the blog and report my triumph and be all positive and light and endorphin-ed, like I always do after these new sporty forays… mind and body hooked up again. Instead of clicking New Post and staring at the blank space for an hour.

The ride was bloody terrifying! Especially because I don’t have any road sense. I’ve driven a car once in the past 4.5 years, so I’m rusty on road skills and peripheral vision. Gareth pedalled along behind me on a lazy country road, and yelled out when a car was coming. I would shake my head vigorously in denial, as if that would make them go away! I could barely pedal, my quads were so ridiculously tense.

Somehow we made it to the Big Mother Roundabout with all the buses and trucks hurtling along towards Glasgow. I froze in terror and pulled over, feeling angry tears catch in my throat. It was like that Yoga Incident a couple months ago, where my physical fear and crapness felt like a metaphor for everything else I’d been crap at lately. But after glaring at some trees for ten minutes I got back on, approached the roundabout and made the shakiest hand signal ever and arooooond we went. DUDES, MY HAND WAS OFF THE HANDLEBAR FOR A WHOLE TEN SECONDS. I can’t believe it took me a year to get up the nerve to do that. Mwahaha.

Then I pedalled painfully slowly through a wee village that was far busier than should be legal on a Sunday. Why do people insist on not only driving cars , but parking them and getting in and out of them and flapping their big scary doors!? My teeth were chattering with terror, but then I got the giggles at how I was too knackered to pedal any faster to get out of this situation any quicker.

Finally I made another hand signal – this one more of a limp flash of a Hitler salute – and we were back on a country road. Oh my leggggs. They had nothing left to give! I had to get off and walk for the second last hill. Gareth reassured me he didn’t make it either earlier in the year, when he’d put on a slight Winter Coat of lard over Christmas, stillI couldn’t help feeling annoyed.

But then we got to the last hill, and I recognised it right away. The same "XTREME" hill I was too terrifed to ride down in February; the same hill I failed to pedal up! It looked so hilariously tiny now. I huffed and I puffed but I got to the top, no worries!

We finally got back home after 1hr 20mins – Gareth usually does it in 45mins, the shapely bastard. I curled up on the couch to listen to my muscles sing. The exercise hadn’t brought on the Good Feeling; I’ll be honest… but I suddenly felt okay about not feeling the Good Feeling.

I’ve been very negative recently, thinking that I should be cool with all the Big Changes in my life by now. I worried that I’d never shake it and find my way back again. But the highs and lows of that little bike trip made me see where I’ve been going wrong. It’s impossible to see the way forward if you’re too busy beating yourself up. It’s not a failure of character if you dare to feel a bit lost and incompetent. Sometimes life gets challenging and things are plain uncomfortable for a sustained period. The Good Feeling is harder to come by, but that doesn’t mean you’ll never find it again! I keep thinking of that dinky little hill that seemed so impossible six months ago, and remember that I’ve been here before. I’ll be back up to fullhorsepowers soon enough. Vrooooooom!

Old Dog New Tricks

Diets are dead, they’ve been telling us for years; it’s all about lifestyle changes. I’m down with that rather annoying phrase. But what irks me is just when you manage to make changes, the style of your bloody life changes so those changes no longer fit in… to your lifestyle. Does that make any sense at all?

This week I’m trying to figure out arrangements for the latest changes. How long can I feasibly snooze before gulping down brekkie and getting out the door? Which is the fastest route to the office? Does the office have a microwave? How long must I eat Quiet Fruit like bananas before I feel comfortable enough to chomp an apple? Where does exercise fit into this new schedule? Before, lunchtime, after? I’ve got timetables and graphs and diaries and still haven’t figured it out the logistics.

Sometimes people ask "What’s the secret?" in regards to the flab busting. There’s no secret, I say squirmingly, just exercise and eating healthy and spilling your guts on the internet, over and over for six years! But seriously, if I was forced to pick something I’d have to say an ability to adapt. Finding new ways of doing things when things change, over and over again.

But that kind of thinking will have to wait for the weekend, methinks. MY BRAIN IS FULL! Information overload. I keep fantasising that the Career Fairies will sprinkle me with brainy dust, so I will be blessed with all the workplace knowledge right now and able to bypass the whole uncomfortable Stupid Questions and Silly Mistakes phase. It’s like when I started my Lifestyle Change back in the day – I longed for miracles and instant results, without having to endure all the panic and salad.


A Little More Action

I’ve been stuck in a perpetual state of Freaking Out for the past month or so. It’s either right there in my face, intense and debilitating and bloody irritating for all around me, or it bubbles under the surface – a nice jittery background panic, just enough to cause insomnia.

There’s nothing wrong per se, it’s just that everything seems to be changing all at once. And I’ve always been rubbish with change. I tend to find a nice little rut, fill it with mud and roll around all comfy and safe for as many years as possible. Splash splash, wallow wallow! But then one thing changes and it seems to set off a chain of further changes and suddenly that cool pool o’ mud no longer surrounds you.

If you look at it all with calm and rational eyes, you see change as challenge and opportunity. It really is positive stuff what’s happening to me. But I always seem to have to go through a tedious period of Headless Chickening before I can embrace that. This involves funny breathing, spontaneous sobbing, making lists of things to do but being so overwhelmed by said list that I do nothing at all, etc etc.

You’d think when things are uncertain that that would be when you’d REALLY make sure to look after yourself and exercise and eat right. But nooo… the routine got chucked out the window. I have been moping on the couch, doing a few half-hearted DVDs or going for a bike ride only because Gareth spent an hour persuading me.

This isn’t about fat or diets or weight loss, it’s just that basic mind and body connection. Personally, when I deliberately move my arse and eat the fruit and veggies on a regular basis, I simply feel better equipped to handle the world. When mind and body are humming along together as one kick ass machine, I have the energy and self-assurance to muddle my way through challenging periods.

So why the bloody hell do I always abandon that connection when things get tough?

I’ve been drafting and deleting entries all month about this, because I am a paranoid loon and so many people I know read this now therefore I hate being a whinger. But this blogging malarkey has always helped me work through things and to GET OVER the Freak Out and GET ON with the action. So if you will indulge me today. What I am going to do is:

  1. Draw a Microsoft Paint representation of my current state of mind, because Microsoft Paint really is an underrated as an artistic and therapeutic tool
  2. Get off the couch and do my Muscle Max DVD then
  3. Report back to you.


My abba-dabbas are screaming and my triceps are still shaking and I have gained perspective. Score!

A basic lesson I need to remember is that no matter how petrified one may be feeling, nine times of out ten that feeling can be soothed (temporarily or otherwise) by one or more of the following:

  1. Fresh air
  2. Exercise
  3. A cup of tea

I feel much better. I feel kinda… rebooted. I will get back into my routine, darnit. Like I said, this isn’t about weight loss, it’s just knowing what my brain and body needs to feel capable and excited about moving forward, rather than terrified.

I am determined to be done with the Freak Out phase now. So it’s on to the Action phase.

This arvo I am going to make a pot of veggie soup (with guest appearances from barley and split peas) then I am going to do the dishes and then I’m going to store all my summer clothes so there is more room in the drawers so I don’t have to swear at the drawers when I can’t find anything and can’t close the fucking drawer afterward AND THEN I’m going to read some more of this book or tackle the Email Backlog of Doom and then I am going to figure out what the hell to wear for the first day of my new job on Tuesday (ARRRRRRGH no I didn’t mean arrgh I meant YAY) and then I think I’d better have a bath.

Thanks for putting up with me, comrades. Bloody hell.

Keep Calm And Carry On

I’m hardly going to help diffuse this blog’s alleged reputation for frank language when I say I’ve had stinky bastard of a week. But things are somewhat challenging at the moment and I’ve been stalking through the days all tense and angsty. Nothing major, but you know those moments when you temporarily forget your usual optimism and just let things completely overwhelm you?

Thankfully I’ve not sought solace in a tub of mashed potatoes. My declaration of Listen To Your Guts week turned out to be timely. A simple equation kept popping into my simple mind:

Stress = Eat!

During one moment of frustration I found myself walking to the kitchen like a zombie. A dull chant rang in my ears, food food food!

But I remembered just in time that I was supposed to be remembering to listen to my guts. I had an apple instead. Green. Granny Smith. Crunchy!

There was a great post on Angry Fat Girlz yesterday that asked, what do we substitute for food? The diet gurus have helpful suggestions like, "Take a bubble bath!". Aye right. It takes our bath half an hour to fill. Do you think I am going to just stand there patiently saying, "Dude, just you wait til I jump into you. I shall be A BEACON OF CALM!". Besides, we’re in a drought and I don’t want to waste water. I do realise the drought is in Australia and I am actually in Scotland now, but still.

They also suggest to write down your feelings in a journal or blog. I don’t mind doing this after I’ve simmered down a bit, but I’m talking about what to do in the actual moment, you know when your hand is poised over the bread bag. If I wrote en blog in the midst of an angstypants session, I’d have no visitors left or at the very least The Mothership would disown me for foul language.

So this week my substitutions for mindless eating were: ranting phone call to sister, ranting to Gareth and kicking a door frame.

For a more long-term tactic I have just hung up this inspirational poster! I’ve always hated fluffy motivational items with cheesy poems and proverbs and daffodils and kittens, but via Ed I found this bloody brilliant reproduction of a World War II poster. Elegant simplicity in a glorious shade of resilient red. Just one look at that noble font and soothing words makes me sit up straighter and say "Chin up old chap!" in my worst English accent.


So carry on then, chums! Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.

The Last Tempation of Dietgirl

Oooh it feels good to be exercising again. Aside from Pilates I hadn’t done a thing for two weeks! I went back to the gym on Friday and did HIIT on the bike for half an hour then did an extremely grueling upper body weights on Saturday. Then yesterday I did my new Pilates DVD. Okay I didn’t do it, I sat on the couch and watched it. You have to build up to these things.

I’ve also been skulking around Fatblogland, reading my eleventybillion favourite blogs frothing with jealousy at those of you who are displaying stellar self-control and sailing through the holidays, saying nay to festive fatty foods at every opportunity. I salute you, and also weep with envy. Does anyone else do this, or am I just completely pathetic?

It’s not that I’m on some sort of wild sugar bender; I just know I’m not in my usual Routine and it feels uncomfortable. For example, I couldn’t do my weekly online grocery shop because all the delivery slots were full. I didn’t realise how ESSENTIAL this is to keeping me on track. When you shop online you have plan an entire week of meals in advance, so you really can’t go wrong. The pantry is always stocked with wholesome things. There’s no excuse nor means to be unhealthy. Like last week Gareth was prowling through the cupboards and I said, "What’s wrong, is there nothing good to eat?" and he said, "Yes there is, that’s the problem! Everything’s GOOD! There’s nothing BAD! I want something BAD!".

Hehe. Anyway, we had to venture to the Real Supermarket on Friday night and actually prowl the aisles instead of paying someone else £4 to do it. We went at 10pm thinking the crowds would have died down, but noooo! You had to fight your way down every aisle, bodies and crates of vegetables and loo roll everywhere. Depsite having a shopping list, we soon got so stressed we were tossing random crap into the trolley just to get it over with, and of course when we got home I only had about 50% of what we needed and a whole bunch of ingredients that just don’t seem to go together.

So I got online immediately and put in an extremely wholesome grocery order for the next available delivery slot – bloody Thursday! I felt better already.

Now I just have to get through today. Christmas Dinner with the Reids. I hereby vow to avoid the wee bowls of crisps and pretzels that will no doubt be laying about. I hereby vow not to eat the entire sticky toffee pudding.

And then it will be Boxing Day and I will go for a walk and lift some heavy objects and make some hummus. And order will be restored.

Going For Tin

I couldn’t post yesterday as I was incandescent with rage. Such a nice phrase, but I wish I didn’t have to use it. I gained 0.6 kg (1.5lb) which meant after three weeks of Going For Gold I am 0.3 kg heavier than when I started.

Before anyone suggests I’m self-sabotaging or stalling, let me assure you this is not the case. Nor is it a plateau. I don’t believe in plateaus, not for me anyway. Besides, a plateau suggests that one has levelled out from some sort of height. I haven’t even got off the floor yet! Trust me, I want to get to goal. I am determined and I have been working hard, but it just wasn’t reflected on the scales.

So I managed to talk myself down from the ledge. I know last week was a Good One. But the week before was a shocker. Sometimes the true crapness of a Crap Week takes longer to properly show up on the scales, just as a Good Week doesn’t always show up instantly.

(I am also bloated like a mofo. That should be over with by the end of the week, hopefully without me taking any prisoners!)

I have also been at this long enough to know it is dangerous to focus too much on the dreaded machine. All I need to do is have another Good Week, and then another and another. Consistently staying conscious of what I eat and how I move my wobbly arse. Until I rack up a whole bunch of Good Weeks in a row I can’t expect to see great movement on the scale. So I have to keep going and not panic!

Have to admit though, despite the fact that my trousers feel looser and my waist is smaller and I could lift heavier weights this week… as soon as I stepped on the scale I felt completely shit for awhile there; that sinking realisation that my goal was now even further away.

But I got on with it, and as soon as I started flinging around some dumbells and admiring my so-called biceps I was reminded again what this is supposed to be about. Gettin’ healthy! Being strong! Pushing myself! Why do I forget that so easily?

Onward and downward!

300 Weeks

In the kick ass October Rules post, Fat Blogger also mentions an old entry from April 2005 called God I Hate Being Fat. It’s one of those entries that attracts a tonne of Google traffic, and over a year later the comments thread is still buzzing with people venting about how much they hate themselves and hate their fat. It really is a fascinating, heart-wrenching, horrifying but ultimately inspiring thread, in no small part to FB’s encouraging comments throughout.

What struck me most were the commenters with large amounts of weight to lose, and the overwhelming sentiment that it’s too hopeless, too much, too bloody impossible. It made me want bawl because I understand that feeling so well. I just wanted to write a wee something today for anyone out there who’s in that position.

I remember how it feels to truly loathe yourself. I’d grab handfuls of flesh and want to hack it off with a knife. It seemed like there was no way out of this lardy prison. Even when I did finally get up the nerve to start fighting the flab in 2001, I still often felt I was in a hopeless situation. In some ways it was worse, because I now knew the cold hard statistics – 351 pounds, with at least 185 of them to lose.

I’ve told the story a million times before how after a month  I decided I had to start exercising. I only managed to shuffle to the end of the block before my lungs wheezed and rattled in protest. I remember thinking bitterly, What was the point of that? How is walking fifty metres ever going to add up to anything? What’s the point of any of this?  It’s never going to get any better.

But — *insert soft-focus montage of the past five 3/4 years, sweat, tears, caramel shortcakes* — as we all know, these seemingly tiny changes do add up over time. And the more little changes you make, the easier it gets, giving you the confidence to you make even more changes. And the more you do it, the more you feel good about yourself and those negative voices are hushed.

I know the numbers can be overwhelming. I know it feels like an impossible mountain to climb. But if it seems too much, don’t try and fix everything all at once. Don’t try some fancy diet. Just pick one thing this week. Walk to end of the street and back. Cut out the teaspoon of sugar in your tea. Just try one tiny little thing for seven days. Then when you’ve done that for a week, add another tiny little thing for the next.

I know this approach is not quick enough for some. Where’s the gobsmacking results? Where’s the meal replacement shakes and the deprivation? Where’s the dramatic statistics? I’m always having people tsk-tsking at what I eat – whether it’s some toast or the occasional chocolate – and saying things like, “You’ll never get to goal eating that! Carbs are bad! Last year I lost 20 pounds on Trendy Diet Of The Month, why don’t you do that? “.

Never mind that the person usually has put back on those 20 pounds plus more. How can you say a diet Works if you gained the blubber back? I’d rather enjoy real food and take longer to get to goal in my slow-ass bumbling way, than crash and burn on a Trendy Diet and wind up with even more pounds to lose.

Sure it sounds BORING to take it slowly. But just add up all the time you’ve spent losing and regaining pounds on Trendy Diets. How many weeks or months would that be? Imagine if you’d used that same amount of time to lose half or one pound a week? Would you be heavier or lighter than you are now?

I was moaning about my own excruciatingly slow progress the other day. I’ve now been Busting Lard for five years and nine months, which is roughly 300 weeks (fark!). And I say roughly, coz I am shite at maths. And now for some statistics:

300 weeks
78.3 kilos (172 lb) lost
A paltry average of just over HALF A POUND (220g) per week.

But… imagine if I’d gone the other way? What if I hadn’t changed anything? What if I’d maintained my addiction to ice cream and cheese n bacon rolls and family blocks of Cadbury’s Black Forrest?

If you think a pound or a half a week sounds too slow, or if you think your walking around the block or switching to wholegrain bread or doing twenty squats or increasing your veggies isn’t going to amount to anything… don’t worry. Be patient. Don’t give up. Take all the freakin’ time you need. Sure, it might take 300 weeks or more. But at least it’s 300 weeks in a happier direction.


My lard-busting efforts are like an old manual focus lens on a crummy SLR camera. This could possibly be the crappiest analogy I’ve ever come up with.

I remember this ancient Pentax I used in my photojournalism class at uni. I would peer through the viewfinder and wrap my chubby mitt around that lens, twisting the dial til it got in focus. But it never seemed to stay there for long. The slightest false move, the smallest tremble, and everything went blurry again.

So that’s how it’s been lately. Focusing. Losing focus very easily. Feeling fuzzy and blurred. Refocusing. Over and over again.

The couple of weeks have been completely out of focus. I am one of these people who does not thrive on chaos. I like routine. I like planning my exercise for the week, ordering the groceries, laying my clothes out every night for the next day, getting to bed by a certain time. As soon as anything unusual is thrown into the mix (Mothership visit, weekend camping trip) I don’t cope well.

And that’s in spite of all my forward planning for these events. I plotted healthy meals for Mum’s visit and packed healthy foods for the camping trip, but none of that counts if you eat the healthy food and then eat a whole pile of crap ON TOP OF IT. Mum ended up staying an extra night, so instead of cooking something healthy I suggested we get a takeaway curry, aka a steaming bowl of grease. Then while in the Highlands on the weekend, I easily persuaded myself into an ice cream cone, a large serve of greasy chips and a handful of shortbread.

It’s like as soon as I venture outside of my home/work routine into the Real World, all my planning and logic fades into the background and I give myself licence to chow. As though calories don’t count if they’re eaten in the non-everyday Super Happy Fun Zone.

The eating is always so mindless, I don’t feel guilt or remorse and I never stop to think, Is this something I really need to eat? It wasn’t until I got on the scales yesterday and realised I was up 2.5 lb (1.1kg) that I remembered all that crap I ate.

. . .

Yesterday I felt so bloody fat and cranky and ugly. My face was all puffy and itchy, my legs were a mess of red blotchy bites; I had a severe reaction to the midges (small, annoying Scottish insects) that attacked us on the weekend.

So I was in a small, shitty supermarket for the sole purpose of buying one red onion to put in our homemade bean burgers. Why is it when you feel fat and ugly you want to eat crap that will make you feel even more fat and ugly? I selected my onion then prowled the aisles, all reckless and defiant, wondering what rubbish I could cram into my gob. I wanted to grab anything and everything. But this particular supermarket is tiny and poorly stocked, I could only huff at the lack of decent ice cream; the paltry selection of chocolate and crisps. Sure I wanted a binge but I wanted a binge of decent QUALITY. Long gone are the days when I’d be happy with Home Brand ice cream and cooking chocolate.

In the end I just lined up in the queue with my stupid red onion. I put it on the conveyor belt and waited for the old lady ahead of me to painstakingly count out small change to pay for her beef mince, solitary apple and pint of milk. So I paced back and forth to the ice cream freezer at the front of the store, eyeing the Magnums and Soleros and Mars Bar Ice Creams. On my third trip I thought, FUCK IT, I’m going to have a Mars Bar Ice Cream!

But then I remembered a moment from last year, when I’d just moved in with Gareth and was feeling confused and overwhelmed by the whole cohabiting/marriage thing. I’d sneaked off to the shop for a Mars Bar Ice Cream while his friends were visiting. I stood at the bottom of the hill scoffing it down then looking for somewhere to stash the wrapper. I remember it didn’t taste anything special.

So I just went home with my red onion.

I said hello to Gareth then went straight to the kitchen and stuck two fat pieces of grainy bread into the toaster. I slathered them with an obscene amount of peanut butter then gnashed it all down with two huge glasses of milk. I ended up giving Gareth half a slice, but I ate enough to feel satisfied. All those peanuts and grains jabbing my gums and sticking in my teeth, it was all rather violent and messy.

I dunno what comes over me sometimes. You’d think after 5.5 years of fat fighting I’d have learned not to confuse eating and emotions, but it never ever stops. To Gareth it just looked like I was eating a piece of toast, but for me it was a compulsion that I couldn’t ignore. I won’t kid myself there’s a cure. But as I’ve said before, if I can’t eliminate these episodes altogether, at least these days the damage is less calorific, and I can put a stop to it a helluva lot quicker.

I’m going to have a quiet weekend. Clean up and cook and write and exercise and settle down again. Think about what I want and what needs doing.

Refocus, refocus.

Keep Going

You know, Dr Phil is a bit of a tool, but I have always liked his mantra, You Gotta Name It To Claim It. Dieting in secret never worked for me, and neither did keeping my writing ambitions secret. Being secretive just meant I faffed around and achieved nothing. But now I’ve finally stopped the vagueness and properly defined my goals. And most importantly, I have Claimed ’em out loud. Now that openly declared that I want to Finish The Lard Busting and that I want to Write A Stinking Book, I feel motivated and focused. Saying it out loud makes it feel real and accountable.

It’s also making me better organised with my time and energy. I am about to finish my second week in a row of Proper Planned Exercise! My muscles ache deliciously and it’s great to feel smug two weeks in a row. Woo bloody hoo.

. . .

My favourite mantra is actually a quote by Winston ChurchillWhen you’re going through hell, keep going.

It’s particularly useful during catastrophic events, but also works for trifling inconveniences, such as When The Bloody Scales Won’t Go Down.

I’ve been having my Fat Camp fantasies again. When I was super lardy, I used to dream of being banished to a type of gulag for the obese, where I would be pummeled into shape by a crack team of nutritionists and trainers, before being returned to society a brand-new, slim and healthy person. Oh, just to be removed from society for a year or so, to focus on nothing but losing weight! No work, no social events, no family dinners, no Christmas feasts, no corner stores with chocolate bars.

I hadn’t thought about Fat Camp for ages.  But lately with my less than spectacular results, I’ve been daydreaming about being Sent Away to finish the job without Real Life getting in the way. I’d only need two months of extreme regime. Three, tops!

Last night we went to a friends house and the plan was to get an Indian takeaway for dinner. I’d been sulking in advance all week, knowing that even the vegetarian dishes would still be greasy. Why do we have to be social anyway? Can’t I just live in a vacuum til I’m done? Bah humbug!

It was fine in the end. The veggie food was nice, I ate too much naan but didn’t drink the wine. I’m not one to waste calories on liquids. It was great to see our friends. I realised once again that life does not stop for weight loss. I am not about to bring along a bowl of lettuce to someones house.

I guess all I can do is aim to be consistent as much as I can, and minimise the damage on these special occasions. I have to remember what works for me in the long term — slow and steady, no extremes. If I stay consistent, my efforts will bring results eventually.  Which of course brings to mind another quote by another great 20th century philosopher, Rachel Hunter.  As she famously said in the Pantene commercials, It won’t heppen overnight, but it will heppen.

rachel hunter

. . .

Here’s a most excellent, sane and informative podcast that’s well worth a listen even if you don’t have kidlets – Getting Children To Eat Well, by Dr Joel Furhman, author of Disease Proof Your Child. All via the lovely Loobylu.

The Spectrum

When I am on top of the world and everything is cruising along with healthy eating and exercise, it seems impossible that I could ever I behave any other way. The idea of ever sitting down with a 100g block of chocolate and ploughing through the whole thing seems absurd. Who was that piggy in the window?

But when things are not cruising along, it seems impossible and hopeless that I could ever reach a point where I wasn’t out of control. I can’t remember ever not thinking about chocolate every waking second. Who is that stranger with the diet blog and the gym membership and the pile of jeans in diminishing sizes?

When you’re at one end of the spectrum, you just can’t believe that you could ever be at the opposite end.

The latter is how I felt after coming back from holiday last week. The successful Dietgirl seemed like some lofty stranger. But I am crawling my way back, the old baby steps routine. My exercise has been good, my eating has been healthy although my portions have been too big on some days. Och well, I’ll get there.

. . .

I was up til 3AM on Sunday watching the Commonwealth Games. Oh lordy, I love sport. What’s not to love? It’s competitive, it’s exciting, it’s emotional; it’s full of gorgeous bodies to perve on!

Although not exactly top drawer in the perving stakes, I particularly enjoyed watching the marathon. The women’s race was won by Aussie Kerryn McCann in a nailbiting finish. After running for 2.5 hours, it was neck and neck for the last 300 metres. I was screaming at the telly, GO AUSSIE WOO WOO WOO! And then she won! And then I shed a few wee tears.

The men’s race featured Errol Duncan, from the tiny Indian Ocean island of St Helena. This was his first marathon! From the Sydney Morning Herald:

"He immediately dropped behind, stumbled over a witch’s hat marker and almost missed the exit [of the stadium] as he acknowledged the cheers of the crowd."

He ended up finishing almost exactly an hour behind the winner.

Now this is the kind of thing I really love! It’s so refreshing a world where it seems sport has had the soul sapped out of it by commercial interests. And it’s so inspiring. People from all sorts of backgrounds overcoming all sorts of obstacles to compete. You don’t have to be a runner to be inspired by that. It’s just people wanting something, working their arses off for it then experiencing the pure joy of seeing that come to fruition.

. . .

I’ve seen a lot of people mention SparkPeople lately on their blogs. SP is a free website packed with weight loss tools. There’s a food diary, exercise planner, a thriving message board community and personal webpages.

I got an email from Grant from SP inviting me to check it out. I get random emails now and then from companies asking me to put up links to their crackpot diet drugs or whatnot in return for a link on their sites (wtf!?!) and this freaks me out no end. But since Grant writes a nice polite email and SP is a free, non-crackpot website, I was happy to take a look around. It looks like a great resource, I really like the goal setting bit. While I have my own lardbusting method down pat now, I think SP would be a great site particularly if you are still looking for tools to help you. There’s a lot of top advice on there and Free is a nice price!

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Oooh there’s a thing come on the BBC just now about the obscenity trials in the 1960s over Lady Chatterly’s Lover. It promises Strong Language and Adult Scenes. Sounds good to me. Til next time, groovers.