It got worse

So the fat lass has been out of touch again and, hey, what do you know?

For all my brave words in the last post, they have not been backed up by 'walking the walk'. Yep, you'll already know the result. Oh boy, it has not been a good couple of weeks.

Those worries haven't gone away and I still feel that life is 'on hold' until we get some news about lovely hubby's health. We've been invited to a wedding in Lebanon next month, which we'd both love to go to, but there's no way we can make it with this op hanging over us. This is not a positive or productive way to be, I know, but I just don't seem able to shake it off.

The long weekend for May bank holiday and the Royal wedding was dreadful. OK, so I had a wonderful day out walking with lovely hubby on the Friday (sorry Wills & Kate), but worked on my mountain of coursework for the rest of the weekend which wasn't so much fun. So I nibbled... and ate badly... and hit the alcohol when I finally knocked off in the evenings... and didn't do any more exercise.

This was old classic behaviour at it's worst... stress = comfort + emotional eating. The killer for me was that it was such gorgeous weather outside (apart from the Friday when we were out, of course) and I bitterly resented being stuck indoors working when every fibre of me was telling me I 'should' have been out in the sunshine. So to 'reward' myself for being so utterly deprived... I was bad, bad, bad.

And the needle on the scales crept up a bit. Sooo, on Monday morning I thought "ooops", and tried to pull myself together and behave (a bit) better during the week. The effort was half-hearted to say the least.

Then last weeked was worse still. This time round I worked very long hours on the coursework both Saturday and Sunday. Tears were shed, the fat lass was moody and depressed and my lovely hubby was in pain (the poor thing's put his back out now!). I ate absolute rubbish and way too much of it (don't even ask about the Chinese takeaway!) and, of course, did nothing which even slightly resembled moving my butt.

So, by the time this Monday morning rolled around, I found myself dog-tired, feeling depressed/stressed, worried about my man, thoroughly fed up, and yes, you've guessed it, heavier once again. This time the scales showed me 63.5kg... that's 10 stone!... a weight I'd hoped I'd never see again.

So... knowing I have to stop this right now, I try again.

Over the last few days things have been a lot better. I'll repeat that - a LOT better.

I've ditched the snacky foods and sweet stuff and alcohol, greatly decreased my portions and cut out a lot of the carbs. And, I've reminded myself to avoid salt! I'm drinking my water with a passion and am nibbling on my raw veggies and fruit. I am recording everything I eat, once again.

I have made myself go out walking as much as possible and am using the stairs, not the lift, at work. I'm not yet back on the rower or doing abs work... but I am (I hope) beginning to dig myself out of the dark, dreary pit into which I had descended again.

I know I 'can' do it.

I know I 'need' to do it.

I have 'started' to do it.

I just need to keep at it!