It is these reflections, reflections on how you're going to try your damndest to make things work again, work in your favour, that some would like to avoid and some like to pick over like there's no tomorrow. The new years resolution. I didn't really sit down to make any new years resolutions this year because there was so much I want to resolve that there seems to be no point in listing them all! At the same time, Psychologies magazine was running a piece about how new years resolutions only made people feel resentful towards themselves and general all round failures when people inevitably fell off the bandwagon.
This bandwagon is something with which I'm intimately acquainted. Each evening I go to bed thinking 'tomorrow will be better, I will make it so'. In the morning I wake up, and I usually start off pretty well. I jump up on that bandwagon, and I boldly venture forth.
By six o clock in the evening, however, I begin to waver. It's always the evening, and I have no idea why! Perhaps it's because Ben gets home and I have him wrapped around my little finger. Perhaps I've just got no will power. Perhaps it's the evening cookery shows. Perhaps it's because of a lot of reason. I fall off the bandwagon quite unceremoniously and undo my hard work for the day in one fell swoop.
I am, of course, talking specifically about my not so succesful attempts at controling my weight.
I started thinking about this somewhat seriously just over a year ago. Being that I have PCOS, Ben and I bravely ventured forth to the doctor and asked for help to have a baby. Anyone who knows us will know that then and there, that time and place, wasn't the time to be bringing a baby into the world...however, knowing the issues we'd face, and knowing one of the first things they'd tell me to do would be to loose
The doctor and I began to see each other every month. We talked over diet and I tried to make some changes. I was working at the time. I started taking salads to work. That lasted about two weeks before I got bored of making them up every night. We switched to sandwiches. I'd wait for Ben to finish each evening as we were working at the same place and he finished an hour after me. I'd spend this hour reading and eating what can only be described as "crap" out of the vending machine.
Then I'd go back for my checkup with the doctor and I'd have put weight on. At my heaviest, I got up to 24st 3lb. I'd worry for about another week, vowing to be more thoughtful over what I put in my mouth. Once again, it would last a week, maybe two, then I'd spiral back. Weak will power. Too easily succumbed to temptation. Comfort eating. Happy eating (I have this strange thing that when I get eccstatically happy I over eat because I'm all like...yeah, eat drink and be merry! It's worse than when I comfort eat, it's like the great mood I'm in slings me completely out of control) Eventually it got to the point where I'd had a couple of months where I'd maintained my weight, and then finally a month where I'd lost some. Not much, just a couple of pounds...but the loss was there.
By this point, I think the doctor and I were getting frustrated with each other. Each week she'd regurgitate the same old facts and figures about nutrition, stuff that I already knew, and had known for years. She'd emphasize how the summer was coming along and that it'd be great to get out for walks with Ben to loose some weight, as his own fertility certainly couldn't suffer from it. She said how she'd been calld "tubby" as a child and so could "completely understand" where I was coming from. This I found to be quite condescending, though I understood her intention was actually to be encouraging in an "if I can do it, so can you".
She referred me to see a dietician, and advised me that there was quite a waiting list. Then, the unthinkable happened and my father in law died very suddenly at the sadly young age of 52. We spent two weeks with my husbands family, and when we returned my doctor had finished her contract. She had only been there for maternity cover, and I got my old doctor back. She smiled at my progress and suggested that if I was seeing the dietician I wouldn't need to come back any more. It kind of made sense.
Months before my first dietician's appointment came along, I was seriously looking at my life. The events of the summer had, hand on heart, scared both me and Ben shitless. I put an end to numerous health endangering vices that I was partaking in, and part of this was in trying to take control of my diet once and for all. I found a website which offered a food diary and a weight tracker, etc. It's pretty much a free calorie counting "programme" if you will. I read up on all the suggested links and all the official material it offered. It all made sense, and I dived right in. A couple of months passed, and I managed to loose 16 pounds. Thats just over a stone. I was the lightest I'd been since before my wedding. I could walk up and down the street without getting tired or having to stop because of my bad back. I could do the weekly shopping without being hunched over the trolley in agonizing pain and begging Ben to stop browsing the magazine rack because I needed to go home and sit down (I'm not over exaggerating, this is how bad I was). I had more energy in general. Despite our recent bereavement, I found that actually, I wasn't very depressed at all. Grieving still, yes, but a combination of this wonderful weight loss, being active, and trying my very best to stay positive for Ben was working wonders for my mental health (something quite awesome as winter was coming). I was active on the weight loss forums, and blogged there about how I was achieving my success, by following everything to the letter. Eating all of my calorie allowance each day, exercising at least 10 minutes, drinking 4 pints of water, avoiding alcohol and caffeine. I'd allow myself to lapse at the weekends a little, but it didn't seem to be having a detrimental effect.
Eventually, as is inevitable, the weightloss slowed right down. I knew the reasons for this, and percevered on. A couple of family events were scheduled, and this completely whacked me out of my routine. I tried to get back on board, but it never worked. I could never bring myself to take it all up again for some reason. The calorie counting fell by the wayside by Christmas.
I've been trying to hop back on since new years. I've seen the dietician a number of times now, but whilst she is lovely and encouraging, she seems only to regurgitate those same facts as the GP. Yes, she regurgitates them with more substance, but that just means that I find our sessions more fascinating than actually helpful at all. She has helped me to try and understand where my evening cravings come from, and putting a stop to them has helped. But I find that even when I'm not craving, sometimes a low mood can overule this. And oftentimes, it does. Still, last time I dared step on a scale (Friday, when I had my asthma review), I'd put a lot of the weight back on. Everything. That little badge at the side there saying I've lost ten pounds? Nah, it's lying. Going by how heavy I was when I started using MFP to loose weight, it should probably read "0lb's lost"
I didn't make any resolutions in January. I did, however, set myself a goal for the end of the year; to loose 48lb's (taking my heaviest weight as a benchmark). This is one for every working week of the year. I split it up into little mini goals of 12lb's every 4 months. I'm supposed to have lost 12lb's by a week on friday (1st April) and frankly, unless I starve myself, it isn't going to happen. I keep chickening out of stepping on the scale again and updating my little progress chart not because I'm afraid, but frankly because I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed that I can't say no, I'm ashamed that when my friends order dessert I can't resist temptation, I'm ashamed that I can't order pasta or salad instead of steak and chips or pizza. I'm ashamed that every night, when Ben comes home from work, and he asks if we need or want anything from the shop I look up and say "Crisps and chocolate please". I'm ashamed I ask for a big, cinema sized bag, and a big one pound bar. Every single night, no matter how positive I've been trying to keep. I'm ashamed I log onto MFP each morning and write down what it is I'm going to eat for the rest of the day and proudly pat myself on the back for being within my calorie limit, then chicken out of going back to add said crisps and chocolate onto it after I've gorged myself.
No more, I'm tired of this defeatist attitude.
I know what you're thinking. What's so different this time round? Well, nothing, but as this is the start of a new quarter, why not try again? They say it takes 8 attempts for a smoker trying to quit to be succesful. Isn't food my addiction? I eat to be sociable, I eat to relax, I eat because it's a habit. Sure, I will always have to eat to survive, but the chocolate and crap...no, I don't need to always eat these. If someone can give up a physically addictive substance like nicoteine, then why can't I give up my bad relationship with food?
If I am to be succesful in my goal of loosing 48lb's by the end of this year, it might be a good idea to stick to my current mini goal deadlines. That means 24lb's by the first of July. That's most certainly still achievable. That's still only 2lb's a week, on average, and I will probably loose more at first, as is always the way. The trick will be to not slip back like I did when I started this.
I'm going to take this one day at a time. I will do this. I've proven before now that I can tackle problems this way, and I've proven I can loose weight before too. This time, there shall be no excuses!
Now, excuse me while I go cook up some soup and ryvita.
PS -
My weight loss progress button on the side there is no longer totally inaccurate. I plonked in my weight as of when I saw the nurse on Friday. I thought I had put much more on than this :) I hearby vow to keep this updated, each and every Friday I shall weigh in and keep this thing up to date! Let's see if I can't loose those 12 pouds before my birthday in April :)
No comments:
Post a Comment
What do you think?