Yes, I know, April was several months ago and so much for the return of the blog... But here I am, at long last!
So, over
the course of the past year I have been on something of a quest to lose
weight. I doubt it would be spoiling the ending to say that I succeeded,
particularly if any of you have seen me in the past couple of months. And for those
of you that have and were worried that I’ve been ill, I would like to reassure you
that I haven’t! I wish I’d taken a ‘before’ and ‘after’ picture like you see in
those weight loss adverts – inevitably featuring the “pulling out the waistband
to show how many inches have been lost” pose. I always reckon those ‘after’
shots use a much larger pair of trousers too, just to exaggerate things. But
then I’m very cynical as you know.
Anyway,
the next couple of blog entries constitute my progressively more fragmented diary from that
period – a mixture of background on my thinking, my history with food, and a
log of my attempts to lose weight during that time (I did also keep a food
diary, but in all honesty there’s really no need to bore you with it, I don’t
really think it adds anything). When I wrote it I had half a mind that
I’d publish it, but I bottled out until now. I’ve added the occasional comment
from present-day as I’ve gone through it, these are in bold.
(Oh yes, and it goes without saying that certain other things have changed since I originally wrote these, well one thing in particular. Life has a habit of kicking you in the nuts sometimes... *sigh*)
12
August 2012
It’s funny when you think about it. You’re
constantly bombarded these days with official health and nutrition advice (is
five a day still the recommendation?), you read about the ‘latest research’-led
fads in the media (are red wine and carbs good or bad this week?), you hear cautionary
stories from friends, family members and co-workers (a bypass, you say? Oh dear. Lost a leg to diabetes? Can he still play football?) and
yet you remain unconvinced that any of them really has much impact on your attitude
to life. But then one small, seemingly innocuous or even silly realisation,
which doesn’t even have a basis in reality triggers a major shift and causes
you to re-evaluate your whole outlook.
It was a simple enough thing. This morning I
stepped onto the bathroom scales. I looked down. No real change from the last
time - 16 stones, 12 pounds. A quick mental calculation, that works out at 236lb.
A bit on the weighty side, I’ll admit. But for some reason 239lb popped into my
head, rang a little bell and then ran off again. A few minutes later I realised
why, and froze with one leg halfway into my trousers. This was not easy, and is
probably why I promptly lost my balance and banged my shin on the bed.
“Two thirty-nine and
feelin’ fine!”.
Two hundred and
thirty nine pounds.
That’s Homer Simpson’s weight.
That cannot be right.
I can’t be a mere 3lb away from balancing the scales with one of the most
enduring lovers of high fat heavily salted snack treats and beer the world has
ever seen, surely? I mean, I love
high fat heavily salted snack treats and beer (and don’t call me Shirley).
Perhaps I should
start thinking about losing some weight.
Thinking about it, there have been a few
other red flags recently that I’ve been a little slow to pick up on:
- I
find myself breaking into a sweat having just walked to the local shop and back
on a mildly warm day (usually for something snacky, at that). We’re talking a 5
minute walk, tops: down and back up two flights of stairs, carrying nothing
heavier than a loaf and a couple of pints of milk, and perhaps a Snickers or
two. Or a bag of chips;
- Walking
down Princes Street last week, I happened to catch sight of myself in a shop
window and did a double take. I looked like a barrel. I told myself it was just
the glass giving a rounded reflection, rather than observing just how convex I
have become. Then my shadow was cast on a wall and I was reminded of Alfred
Hitchcock, but I told myself it was a trick of the light and just the way the
shadow had fallen;
- Yesterday
I was dressing in preparation for a forthcoming wedding, and although I knew I
wouldn’t be able to fit into my kilt (bought a mere 5 years ago) I thought I’d
give it a try... I couldn’t even get the buckles fastened at either side. A
combination of breathing in to the point where I thought I wasn’t so much going
to pass out as pass away, and punching new holes in the straps meant I did finally
get it on, but when I stood up it looked like I was making some sort of bold fashion
statement (“Gents! Impress the ladies even more by getting a bit more leg out
there! Wear your kilt the new way - with a daring yet fetching split right up
the side!”). So much for that. There’s another wedding down in England in
November, I wonder if I can get into it for then? (I couldn’t - for both weddings I ended up in a suit. I did think I
looked rather smart in it but it’s just not the same when you’re a Scotsman at
a wedding if you can’t have a proper birl on the dance floor, give your tackle
an airing and give it a bit of “och aye”. But as I managed to fall on top of a
bridesmaid, maybe it’s for the best that things weren’t swinging free)
- Prior
to weighing myself this morning I’d been sorting out laundry and put what I
thought was a black t-shirt to one side. It wasn’t - it was a pair of pants. My
PANTS, for god’s sake. This is not good. If nothing else, my drawers drawer
should be cut some slack.
I also turned 33 in July, which for some
reason has been more of a jolt than turning 30 ever was in leading me to think
how I’m now entering the beginnings of early
middle age. And as we old ‘uns know, losing weight only gets harder as you get
older (not so much low-fat spread as middle-age spread). Plus there are potential
health concerns, especially if there’s any possibility of having a family in
the future – not something I’d really thought about much in the past, but
certainly something that floats in and out of the mind occasionally.
A bit of background then. I’ve never exactly
been a svelte chap. I see my high school yearbook photos and shudder - and
that’s without noticing the dodgy hair, the complete lack of style and the big
glasses. I blame the parents myself... (kidding!). Although in childhood I did
take the words “Clear your plate” far more to heart than they were ever
intended to be. And from heart to stomach, chin, thighs, arse and all points
between. It passed into family legend that I’d regularly devour two or three
platefuls of Sunday lunch with relish (or gravy, mustard, horseradish, mint
sauce etc). Then when dessert options came round, it was a given that I’d have
a bit of everything. The convenient excuse in my later teens was that I was at
university and so was a stereotypical starving student making the most of a
rare chance of some home cooking, but that was bollocks. I ate plenty when I went
to uni. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but in hindsight I was a lucky sod
- I began my course in the final year of free student grants (looking back,
that should have been a big flag that the Blair years weren’t going to be as
joyous as everyone thought they would), and by a fluke of circumstances I
qualified for the full whack. I didn’t have to worry about accommodation either,
so I was definitely not in danger of starving, nor did I have to worry about
getting a part-time job which I was grateful for - the last one I’d had in
Buckie was damned near slave labour: £1.50 an hour (and no change to that when
I turned 16, or 18), no lunch break, no toilet breaks if you were the only one
there (which apart from the very start and the very end of your shift, you
were). I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who supplemented their meagre income with
the occasional snack while on shift... You should never mistreat your staff,
it’ll only come back to haunt you at the next stock take.
I used to think that my going overboard with
food was as simple as just hating seeing any go to waste. It’s not though, it
can’t be just that. Even if I’m not even hungry any more I’ll still get stuck
in (as an occasionally wise man would observe “It’s greed, son, not need”). You
don’t want to see me at a buffet, I’d be there all day if I could. Wander into
Jimmy Chungs with a book on a rare day to myself and I’m as happy as a pig (how
apt).
Maybe it’s a boredom or comfort issue, a need
to keep myself busy somehow? Or perhaps a simple derivation of pleasure and
reassurance from the act of eating? All those flavours and textures, yum yum.
But why eating? Why not reading, or writing,
or painting, or even exercise? Well the latter I can explain straight off - I fecking
loathe exercise with a passion. I’ve never been into sports or anything along
those lines, exertion in general puts me off (which without going into too much
detail has no doubt caused girlfriends over the years considerable
frustration). Put it this way, if there’s an easier, lazier alternative then
I’ll find it. Even when vacuuming I can feel prickles of sweat start up on my
back – vacuuming! Madness. Well, more likely an appalling state of physical
fitness.
13
August 2012
Right, day one. OK so far, if you can call
forgetting that I was supposed to be on annual leave and turning up to work
“OK”. I bypassed my usual scone and tea for breakfast and instead had a
satsuma, which is nice and healthy of course. However it didn’t do much to fill
me or satisfy me, as I then had a Picnic bar and a cuppa at mid-morning. Must
stop buying those things. Lunch was better - I made a salad last night of mixed
leaves, pickled beetroot, gherkins, cucumber and tomato. Was tempted to put in
some cheddar as well but decided not to as I’m planning on having some of my
deservedly famous homemade chilli tonight and I know I’ll grate a bit on top of
that. I won’t have the tortilla chips, sour cream and guacamole though, rice
will have to do… *pout* (My chilli is,
though I say so myself, superb – and if needs be I can provide you with
testimonials to that effect from satisfied eaters)
I’m more concerned about the trip to the pub
with C this evening – mid-week suggests it won’t be a big night but since I
came into work today I’m now going to be off tomorrow. I do love an ale, and
I’m pretty certain those things are killers in terms of calories per pint.
There’s no way I’m drinking spirits and diet mixer though, so I’m going to have
to watch myself. Perhaps limit myself to two or three pints at the most? Or
stick to bottles? It’s the middle of the Edinburgh Festival, temptation is all
around – could YOU resist? A warm balmy evening, the smell of grilling meat
drifting across from the outdoor eateries that fill Bristo Square
I
went onto the NHS website today to see what I could find and handily they have
a BMI healthy weight calculator (www.nhs.uk/Tools/Pages/Healthyweightcalculator.aspx).
Based on my current statistics I
have a BMI of 32.91, which means I am officially in the ‘obese’ category. Maybe
I will go down the spirits and diet mixer route tonight after all. On the plus
side, I’m not into the ‘very obese’ category so there’s hope for me yet. The
healthy range is between 18.5 and 25 for a male my age and height (5’11” the
last time I checked – and still a sliver above my younger brother which I’m
sure still annoys him, if his wanting to check our heights back to back at
Christmas is anything to go by), which means a weight of between approximately
9st 7lb and 13st. So taking the average of that, my ideal weight would presumably
be 11st 4lb. Achievable, but seems a lot lower than I would be comfortable with,
which would be a 25% reduction on what I am now, down to 12st 9lb. So let’s
stick to that as a target and see how I get on. I don’t want to have a
Yesterday moment and be “half the man I used to be” but at the same time I need
to be realistic, as I said before it’s not going to get any easier losing
weight as I get older.
14
August 2012
Bugger. Three pints and a bottle of lager,
followed by a portion of chicken pakora on the way home. Sensible drinking was limited to a pint of
soda & lime (£3 by the way, what a joke – no wonder ticket sales are down
for the Festival this year, you’d think they would notice the country’s on its
arse and adjust their prices accordingly). On the plus side, we walked into
town from the flat and back again so I’ll put that down as an hour of exercise.
Result. (Festival prices in 2013 were
little better, so much for the ‘they put their prices up for the month’ thing
being a myth – name and shame time, the Bristo Bar & Kitchen (formerly
Assembly) was a favourite of mine as you could get a pint of West for £2.90,
but come August it mysteriously leapt up to £3.75. Not only that, a plate of
chicken nachos for £9.95 ended up being a starter-sized portion. What a
rip-off. Obviously the fact that they’re right next to one of the busiest sites
for the Festival, with all the extra trade that includes isn’t enough for them.
Robbing bastards, should be wearing striped jerseys and masks)
A day off today so I found myself
predominantly sat on the couch watching TV. Stifling heat, the muggy weather
not helping, feeling uncomfortably clammy despite wearing shorts and drinking
iced tea throughout the afternoon, there was no real chance of my doing
anything strenuous. Of course the amount of time I spend on the couch doesn’t
help, I know that but when I think on it most if not all of my hobbies are
relatively sedentary – walking to the cinema is about as far as it goes. Which
leads to the urge to eat something to help break up the day, relieve any
boredom I might feel. Luckily I avoided that urge for the most part (I did have
an ice lolly after lunch and a choccy bar in the afternoon, but apart from that
my consumption has been low).
So, what exercise could I do? I can’t stand
sports and exertion as I said the other day, so whatever it is would need to be
non-competitive and only moderately energetic - like Stephen Fry’s
recommendation of taking lengthy walks whilst listening to audiobooks (after
all I have a hefty collection of spoken word stuff that I rarely listen to
which I could make something of a dent in). By his account you can get totally
lost in them and end up miles away without realising it. But the danger there
is of meandering under a bus whilst chuckling at an episode of ‘Down the Line’.
Worth thinking about though, I could walk to and from work with the headphones
in when the weather is nice. And the exercise bike which is at the moment in
real danger of becoming a clothes horse, that could that be utilised when
walking isn’t a favourable option. The biggest problem seems to be willpower
and motivation, I need to actually WANT to do these things and stick to them
even when I find them uncomfortable – surely that’s bound to be an issue only
in the early days though? A few weeks in and it should be a matter of routine.
15
August 2012
It’s probably the amount of chilli I’ve been
consuming these past couple of days, and doubtless the increasing amount of
fibre and fresh fruit in my diet is a factor but I’m farting a lot more than I
usually do. And that’s saying something, believe me. Boiled eggs with my
lunchtime salad won’t be helping either. Poor Frankie. Still, it was the
last of the chilli today.
Successfully resisted the urge to get
something to eat this evening while out enjoying a Festival show (Ali McGregor,
who I make a point of catching every year – outstanding singer and someone for
whom the word ‘smouldering’ doesn’t even begin to do justice), but my god it
was a struggle. The scent of doughnuts straight from the fryer wafting around
me, it was like one of those cartoons where the smell lifts a character up and
carries him over to the food. However, I didn’t
give in and that’s the main thing. A single pint of pear cider too, probably
the least I’ve had at any show in the 6 years I’ve been doing the Festival.
16
August 2012
I mentioned to Frankie last night that I was
writing something about the whole weight loss thing, and that in all fairness I
had no idea where it was going or what I was going to do with it. My initial
thought was that it would make a great book but let’s be realistic here, the
chances are slim (oh, a pun!). A blog is far more likely, or a series of posts
on Facebook, which led her to ask why I felt the need to broadcast this to all
and sundry. Particularly if I do plan on being completely honest about things, the potential for changed opinions
of me and the effect on others didn’t really occur to me so I guess I’ll need
to give a few people a bit of warning first. It’s good to have a voice of
sanity in there, she’s no fool is Frankie. She hides it well sometimes, mind
(only kidding, dear).
Why do I feel the need to do this then?
Having read my first few pages of this and given some encouraging feedback, Mike suggested that it could be a form of catharsis or therapy, and I
have to say I agree with him. But more than that I think there’s a large
element of not being able to hide things any more. Previously if I was making
any sort of effort to lose weight I’d keep it to myself and so there was no
knowledge of my success or failure outwith my immediate household. I probably
wouldn’t even have mentioned it to my folks. But with this, simply getting it out
there in the first place means I have more of a reason to stick with it as if
it all goes pear-shaped, this way everyone will know (sort of shaming myself
into continuing). (Oh well, the genie is
well and truly out of the bottle now…)
