The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Well, it appears that Christmas, New Year and Easter have all come and gone, but it's still the season to be... er, brutally honest actually.

You know how when someone disappears from the weight blogging world for a while you kind of wonder whether everything is OK? Oh no, you perhaps think, I hope it hasn't all gone pear-shaped.

Well, since I last wrote something here - way back in May last year - it has. I'm feeling decidedly pear-shaped, and not a little disappointed in myself. In fact, re-reading that post and a few earlier ones makes me realise just how badly things have gone wrong.

Hey kids, let's go to to hell in a handcart!

So, to get back to the title, let's focus on the 'good' for a moment, well... 'good' being a bit of a relative term.

I haven't gained back all the weight I lost. Sounds alright, doesn't it? Well I suppose if one looks for silver linings, this is a microscopically paper-thin sliver of one.

You see, then there's the 'bad'.

OK, I'll just get the worst news out of the way. My weight is currently 61 kg = 134 lbs = 9 stone 8 lbs. That's more than a stone higher than my 'happy' weight, and an increase of more than 10% of my bodyweight. Hell, it hurts typing that.

Worse, this is somewhere I have been for a pretty long time. Up a couple of kg, down a couple maybe, but close to this figure for waaaay too long.

Now, technically, this scary figure is apparently still within some mythical 'Normal Weight Range' BMI band so some might say that it isn't quite an unmitigated disaster yet... but it rather feels like it's headed there.

Oh yeah, while I'm at the 'bad' part, I'll confess that the gym and I appear to have broken up. More of this later.

Which sort of leaves the 'ugly' part?

Alright,let's get down to the rest of it. The results of 'bad' mean that I feel and look flabby and unfit, and my clothes (particularly around my tubby, and rather matronly middle) tell me this is very real.

Huh, how did this happen? Why? Well, of course there are some contributory factors at play - yeah, yeah, aren't there always. This has not helped, but the blame is still squarely on me!

Yes, that's right - the real reason is down to me. That's 100%, as I know full well that I have choices, and appear to have consistently made crap ones.

Probably the biggest factor (a.k.a. excuse) is that I came off HRT a while back. Goodness, it's probably about eight or nine months ago now!

That decision was made after several conversations with my GP about the length of time I'd been on it, risk factors and the like. Mind you, it's a bit like guesswork, as no-one seems to be able to tell me very much that's actually the accurate and copper-bottomed truth when it comes to matters menopausal. Anyhow, a consensus was reached using some arcane formula and off HRT I came.

I'd like to say it was a good decision, but it hasn't exactly gone smoothly (oooh boy, that's putting it mildly).

I've generally felt a bit like a pile of c**p ever since. My joints hurt - it's not just the dodgy knee these days. My skin tone has gone to hell in a handcart. I am back to sleeping poorly, with near-nightly disturbances and a welter of bad dreams and night sweats. I seem to have an almost constant mild, off-colour, slightly achy 'heading for a bug', feeling and the black dog is a regular, if slightly distant companion, sniffing around my ankles once again almost as though he wants me to know he's there but has chosen not to take up full-time occupation...yet.

Those delightful, so-called 'night sweats' are not constrained by the hours of darkness either. My dodgy thermostat has retinstated itself so my temperature regulation has gone haywire once more. I'm shivery cold one minute, but blazing hot the next with an unwelcome return of the human waterfall sessions. Oooh, what fun!

The problem is, I can't 'just go back' to my old HRT medication, even if the medical profession would agree, as it simply isn't available any more. This has not helped, but all of this is still an excuse. The blame for where I am right now weight-wise is still firmly on me!

Exercise next. To begin with, in my 'new' job (which I still love) I'm hardly what you'd describe as active. I'm sat on my expanding tush in front of a screen all day, most days. Quite a difference to just about almost everything else I've done in my former life.

I've also been away from the gym since before October. This is a real problem, as it's not just a matter of weight and shape, but also one of keeping osteoporosis at bay so it's a pretty serious omission.

Yeah, sure, there are lots of reasons for this (a.k.a. excuses, such as being crazy busy in the job for a while so spending lots of hours working overtime, a period of illness, a bloody painful minor injury and the growing collection of painful joints). Sure, all contributed to 'some' of the absences. But the sad truth is, when my once-good habit was broken I let it continue. I haven't got back in the groove - despite having 'tried' a few times (albeit in a rather lacklustre manner).

Hell, it's not even as though I'm doing much walking these days. This not helped, but that weight gain blame is still on me!

And then there's the big one. You know the one I'm about to mention - this is all about food choices. Yes, I have fallen right off the wagon here, not only in 'what' I've eaten, but 'how much' I've consumed and 'when' I've chosen to feed myself.

First off, I dove right in and took the opportunity to indulge in 'treats' of scones and Welsh cakes during our holidays last year (dragging poor lovely hubby along with me for goodness sake). Not a good plan! And guess what? We've just returned from another holiday and we'd indulged even more!

Low carb were these 'treats', you ask? Nope! Not even close, and while we're still eating home-cooked fresh food at home a ketogenic diet is right out of the window. Keto? What keto!

It's taken a toll on me too, as I continually seem to be 'fancy hungry' and craving similar c**p.

Then there is the problem of larger portion sizes than I know are wise. Moderation is NOT my middle name, and I've probably consumed more alcohol than I should have too.

When I've been eating has also slipped off a cliff. Sure, we are still only eating a full meal twice a day generally speaking, and these are relatively healthy meals, definitely hitting a lot more than the 5-a-day guidelines. That said I've slipped back into the habit of taking snacks to work, and nuts have been a killer here.

But it's not just the content - also the fact that the intermittent fasting has taken a hit. As my 'fasting period' has shrunk, so the fat lass has grown. For this the blame is squarely on me!

For a little while I almost got away with it to some extent, gaining a bit then 'being sensible' for a week or so and losing the odd pound or two. Mind you, I never quite got back down to my 'happy' weight, never mind stayed there. The lbs crept slowly upwards, so I think I've been hiding my head in the sand for quite a while.

Worse though, there seems to have been a definite sea-change since Christmas, and what was 'just about acceptable' (who am I kidding?) when I'd reached 57kg (9 stone) crept upwards to 59kg, suddenly leapt up to 62kg, then higher again to 64kg. Yes kiddies, that's over 10 stone in old money! At that point I really got scared and tried to begin to turn things around.

So, where am I now? Well, I may be down a few kilos but I'm still sitting, unhappily, at 61kg. I know that I have to change. I'm struggling with the will to be consistent in changing.

There, that's it. That's the awful truth.

All I can do is keep on trying to get my head back in the game. You know my usual sign-out. Onwards, ever...

An interesting week

It has been quite a week. As ever with life, there have been some ups and a few odd downs, but simply beginning, and knuckling down to get on with it, is the only way forwards.

I'd say the most positive part of the week was starting my new job (albeit I was scared stiff on my first day), and deciding that it was indeed the correct choice to have made. Did I mention that I'd been offered another job, on the day I signed my contract, which I turned down?

I think this one offers me stability and a fair bit of scope for the future, but isn't utterly overwhelming to start with. The journey is fine and the people (I'm part of a team of eleven) really do seem to be as nice, and friendly, and supportive as I'd hoped too.

With everything that has happened in the last few years I really appreciate landing something like this that doesn't send my tentative, much-shaken confidence running for the hills. Yes, I have a LOT to learn (serious understatement), but I feel supported, not simply left to flounder!

But that wasn't the only positive bit. I went to the gym yesterday, after recovering (mostly) from the cold and sore throat which had kindly broken out just in time for my first day at work - typical, eh? When I woke up I still wasn't feeling 100% so didn't expect much more than a gentle, let's get back to it session. Indeed, I took it easy and dropped a couple of weights to begin with. But that was fine, and seemed too easy, so I soon reverted to my 'usual' weights... until I got to the compound row.

By now I felt pretty confident so set the weight a shade higher. For the first time ever I used the 56kg setting on the stack. It might not sound that big a deal, but that's more than I actually weigh! Progress is definitely being made - the fat lass is getting stronger.

Oooh, I forgot to say - there's a gym where I work too. It's fairly small, so slightly restricted with the equipment on offer, but it does mean that even if I can't make it to my beloved boxing/bodybuilding gym more than once or twice a week I have another option. It even has carpet on the floor - what luxury. Now that's what I call work benefits!

One down side was passing on my grotty coldy bug to lovely hubby. He seems to have been hit rather harder by it, poor love. He doesn't feel good, though he's not sneezing quite as much, and still looks a bit pale. Still, it is only a cold and he will get better. In that we are blessed - all too many of our friends and acquaintances have a lot more to contend with.

I'm trying to look after him as much as I can - he deserves it. So, for dinner tonight I've slow cooked some chicken legs with mushrooms, celery, green pepper, onion, garlic, tarragon and a quartered lemon. Oh yes, there are a few bits of leftover Polish sausage in there too. It smells great and should be nutrient-packed to help him fight the bug.

I've also made a nice big bowl of red and white cabbage salad (plus a varied assortment of odds 'n ends of veg bits from the fridge) so I can take some for lunch each day this week, with cheese or eggs or cooked meat. The canteen at work is nice (airy and open, and subsidised too), but not exactly low-carb friendly.

The last two paragraphs probably indicate that I'm still trying to eat as healthily as possible, with good food and as much variation as I can manage, and am still a firm adherent to the low-carb way of life (I simply will NOT call it a diet!). This means my weight is holding pretty stable at between 54kg and 55kg.

You know what? My darling Mum was dead right about having blessings to count. Onwards, chaps...

A rollercoaster day

After yesterday's good stuff, this morning looked set to kick off in decidedly disappointing vein. An email popped into the inbox first thing, to tell me that a planned interview (scheduled for tomorrow) was being postponed. 

That didn't exactly fill me with joy. Indeed, it did rather make me wonder whether the multi-coloured elephant from the last post had got the message. It dumped something on me alright, but that 'something' didn't quite feel like positive vibrations. 

Through the day, I also got pretty antsy awaiting the result of last week's interview. The longer the day went on, the more convinced I became that when the call finally came it would be of the 'thanks, but...' variety again. So much so, that I decided it was best to look for other jobs to apply for, found one that was worth a shot, and got stuck in to yet another bloody application.

However [drum roll here], I have good news to report.

I had a phone call mid-afternoon to offer me the job. In fact, it gets better. I was offered the full-time, permanent position not just the fixed-term contract I thought might have, maybe, perhaps, possibly be offered... at a push, if the wind was in the right direction and the stars were aligned in my favour.

Yep, the fat lass is happy. If truth be told, I'm even more delighted as the interview process threw up a few things I hadn't been aware of. There were just four of us to get as far as to be interviewed, after fifteen of us embarked upon a morning of 'assessments' which included 'group activities' and timed 'computer-based' tests. Whilst the assessments were not really 'difficult', they were certainly challenging. Me being me, and my confidence not being the highest these days, I didn't feel I'd covered myself in glory by the end of them... just sort of done OK. 

Now I'm pretty used to there being considerable competition for any job these days, but I was surprised to hear that this one had had nearly 200 applicants. Just getting to the final phase seemed like success to me. But being offered the job...? Yep, I'm very happy.

I will wait for the contract, for references to be taken up, and a 100% definite start date before I go out and paint the town red but it looks likely that I could start as early as next week. I really liked the team members I met last week. They seem a friendly and supportive bunch and I feel that once I get settled and used to the new role (it's always intimidating in the first few weeks) I could fit in with them and be happy and content working alongside them. I have every digit crossed.

Hey, maybe the elephant got the message after all. Whatever, thanks go to my pachyderm pal!

Let's think about progress

Today brought yet more fun - another of the wonderful job application 'thanks, but no thanks' email rejections. I have to admit that it performed the usual trick of making me feel completely inadequate, ancient, worthless, a failure... [actually, you can choose your own words here]

So I really wasn't in the best frame of mind as we headed to the gym, first thing this morning, in the cold and snowy wind. Things didn't improve when we got there and lovely hubby slipped going down the metal stairs as the soles of his shoes were wet. Thankfully, though he cut his hand a bit (and doubtless dented his pride), he didn't really hurt himself too badly - but it shook us both.

This meant that as we started doing our usual set the fat lass was cold (for some reason they hadn't put the heaters on), definitely grumpy, a bit tearful and decidedly unmotivated. Even a stint on the rower (usually my favourite) didn't do the customary magic of making me feel better.

But, after a little while, in fact when I got on the machine crunch thingy (you know, that one designed by Torquemada), I realised something. When I first used it, back in mid-November, I did so with no added weights and found it quite a challenge (understatement!) as abdominal strength has never been my forte. Well, I've gradually added some weight over the last couple of months, and while I don't know what the weight equates to I'm now using it on weight No.5 in the stack. And it's a similar picture with everything we use. The weights have increased as I've got stronger and gradually, as they become manageable, increased again - progress!

Great, eh?  But what I wasn't really aware of is what has been happening to my body. Trouble is I don't 'see' any change and so tend to focus on the number I see on the scale to decide whether I'm on track or off the rails. In fact I've been feeling pretty bad again as my celebrated 54kg seems to have been quite a short-lived phenomenon. When I weighed at the weekend I was horrified to see that I was back to just under 55kg.

But there's been progress here too.

What informed me was getting dressed in my smartest clobber for an interview on Wednesday (this time for a job I'd really like - one for which I have the chance of a second interview). I pulled out my trusty grey trousers and popped them on. Now last time I wore them they fitted me perfectly. This time I had an 'ooooh' moment. They are now too big in the waist! No problem though - even if there was an initial panic - a long sweater covered the waistband up nicely.

Another marker of progress comes from my volunteering, this time not on the physical front. Though I haven't been there all that long I'm being trained to become a shift supervisor. Given that it includes the responsibility of cashing up and closing the place at the end of the day that's really quite a compliment.

So, you horrible Black Dog - take that! Try as you will, you are not having it all your own way after all.

Right, onwards....

Keeping going

Yippee, that grotty buggy thingy seems to be finally running it's course, thank goodness, and although not yet back to 100% I'm pleased to report that I do feel a bit more human.

As yet I still don't have all that much of an appetite (slight sore throat, a bit of a cough, and nothing tasting quite right sees to that) and I seem to become sated pretty quickly, without having eaten a whole lot of food. However, I can feel my interest in food increasing and my desire to eat returning, bit by bit, each day.

That's a good thing in one sense, but let's not break out the champagne just yet, eh. Looked at from another perspective it really ought to sound a teensy bit of a warning. Now this here life isn't all about weight, but - as a reminder to the fat lass.

Where I'd reached mid August: 59kg [9 stone 4 lbs]
Where I am currently: 55kg [8 stone 9 lbs]
Where I want to be: 54kg [8 stone 7 lbs]
...or perhaps just a little less

I still have some of that flubber to shift to get back to my former 'happy' weight, and stay there. So, as I do get back to feeling fine and dandy and being rather more active than my still-buggy body can handle right now, I'll need to make a conscious effort to be 'sensible' about what I eat. That is, I need a plan, a strategy if you like, to not go gung-ho crazy once my appetite is back.

Unpleasant as it's been, this bug's provided a welcome period of grace and enabled (er, more forced) me to get my weight down, from my 'aaaargh shock, horror' moment of a few weeks back and get closer to those old long-term comfortable levels.

What I was doing pre-bug was patently the cause of my steadily gaining weight, so I need to be honest with myself about my behaviours and set myself some clear limits, i.e. cutting out that sneaky 'comfort' eating (I know it really doesn't help with the worries) and restricting how much I consume.

So lovely hubby (who had also gained some weight and wasn't overjoyed about it) and I have put on our thinking caps, done some reading and decided that, in addition to being much more vigilant about our portion sizes (bye bye piled plates - let's see a bit of that rim!) and carb intake, we'll also give intermittent fasting (IF) a try. There seems to be some evidence that it might give us a little more help with shifting those last stubborn pounds, and keeping the beggars off, so why not!

There appear to be a variety of ways to 'do' this intermittent fasting business, but only one of them feels workable for us, particularly given the constraints of hubby's Type 2 diabetes, however well 'under control' it might be. That is to set ourselves a 'fasting period' and an 'eating period' every day, rather than consider skipping whole 24 hour periods of food to fast for a day or couple of days each week. While I'm sure the latter works for some folk, it doesn't sound attractive to us.

So, we've chosen a daily 16–hour fast followed by an 8–hour eating period. The exact timing may shift over time, especially if I start full time work again, but right now it suits us.

We're a few days in and so far, so good. We decided to skip our customary early morning breakfasts (I can almost hear the sharp intake of breath), exchanging them for 'brunch'. In practice, this means we eat nothing until after 11 a.m. We'll still have our main meal in the evening usually around 18.00 (6 p.m.) or a tad later, then we make sure we do not eat anything after 19.00 (7 p.m.). If we want to eat between these times then we could have a little snack, but so far we haven't felt the urge to do so.

Neither of us are feeling 'deprived' in any way, nor hungry in the morning (as long as regular cuppas are forthcoming!). Lovely hubby is monitoring his blood glucose every day and, happily, is seeing no signs of IF causing any problem in that respect. In addition to this we are both keeping track of our weight and will test our urine weekly to check that we remain in dietary ketosis. Every little tool helps!

Speaking of things helping - a slight side-track, but on a related note - starting IF seems to have simplified our day a bit too. We're not juggling fitting in preparing/eating our usual three meals a day with the time-consuming palaver which goes in to looking after poor hubby's skin. While we're confident that things are going to plan with his treatment, it is pretty hard on him. Anything we can do to lower daily stresses in other directions has to be a good thing.

The proposed finish line where my weight is concerned (and hubby's, for that matter) isn't too far off. If IF can help us reach it, and stay there, then all power to it. We'll keep you posted.

So for now, dear fat lass, you know what you have to do. You just have to keep going. Onwards, ever... and all that jazz.

Life's obstacle course

Right, going to swear. Pee, po, belly, bum and drawers! Did that make me feel better? Er, no.

Well, I gave it a damn good go, but I'm sorry to say things just haven't worked out. I handed in my notice this week. A hard, hard decision, but I think it was the right one for me.

Maybe I've let that 'gotta be perfect' side get the better of me but I just cannot make of the job at the school what I'd like it to be. Despite some lovely people, circumstances have made me realise that there have been/are too many obstacles to overcome. It's so hard to see concrete progress in sorting things out, no matter how hard I try. I've put in a lot of extra hours and a lot of effort but I just can't carry on any longer so I'll finish this school term then it's curtains for me. I'm very sad, there have been many tears, sleepless nights and difficult conversations.

Lovely husband has been fantastically supportive, but he's also been very much on my mind for the last few months too, as he has some ongoing health problems (nothing life threatening, thank heavens but hard to cope with) which aren't helping with stress levels.

I'm pretty exhausted right now and looking after me has taken a back step [shock, horror]. My weight is just about hanging in there but is right bang up against the upper end of my 'acceptable' range. I seriously need to get a grip on it as I really don't want it to get any higher. I'm trying to eat healthily, just probably eating a bit too much. Comfort eating probably as it's easier to handle at weekends when I'm not at work.

So, changes once again, and it's back to the drawing board for this fat lass. Oh well, onwards...

Tempus fugit

Goodness, here we are in 2016 and Easter is already upon us. I've been away a lot longer than I'd thought... So, hello again to anyone out there who might remember this MIA fat lass.

Yes, I'm still here, still moderately healthy, still 'fighting' those daily demons to prevent a reversion to my former fat lass days, still following the low carb, high fat and moderate protein regime (it's not a diet, dammit!) and loving it, and I'm extremely glad to say that, insh'allah, I'm still on the winning side.

My clothes still fit me, the scales needle lies somewhere in the ballpark I'd call my ideal range and, although I am not doing much 'formal' exercise, I'm moving a lot (on my feet most of the day, lifting, carrying and walking a lot!) so I'm still fairly fit for a woman rapidly approaching 56.

A lot has happened since my last diatribe. Having been invited to more interviews than I care to remember, then being pipped at the post at every turn, I finally gave up on writing yet more pointless and unsuccessful applications for the sort of job I 'thought I ought to'. I'll admit to hitting a really low patch - that damned Black Dog sank his teeth into my hide and the beggar shook me like a rag doll for a while.

Instead I applied for something a bit less glamorous, something I'd done off and on for decades (since I left school as a callow young thing with damn all to show for it) and didn't really expect to go back to. OK, so it doesn't really make use of all those hard-won qualifications I worked so hard for later, but what the hell - they are just letters after my name. There are other things which are pretty important in life.

I have returned to my secondary education roots and, yep, I'm working at a local school as a science technician. This has meant setting aside those pipedreams of a nicely inflated salary to help build a bit more pension cushion, but on the plus side also means a great deal of fulfillment.

It's a fairly rural school, at the edge of the city, so I see trees and hear birds every day, and start early enough to greet the odd bunny in the mornings. The travelling is OK, on local bus which runs to time. How extraordinary! Oh, and I'll also get most of the school holidays.

Both the teaching and suport staff seem a decent bunch, and the kids have been a real eye-opener - and in a good way. I'm called 'miss' once again every day, I have doors held open for me, I hear 'please' and 'thank you' regularly. Not bad, eh?

All credit to a strong and dedicated management team for promoting a great ethos and holding good behaviour and discipline dear to their hearts. Biased I may be, but it doesn't harm that the Head and his Deputy are from my neck of the woods in South Wales. OK, I confess we do have a sprinkling of little blighters (hey, I've remembered how to bellow at times like this), but they are definitely in the minority.

Sounds great, doesn't it? I had a bit of rough start mind you. One week into a very hands-on, practical job I developed cellulitis which meant I couldn't use my right hand for around a week as it hurt like the devil and swelled like a bitch. Not ideal! I can't express how grateful I am for the existence of antiobiotics (and a very efficient medical service) in dealing with a rather painful and very inconvenient episode. Still, another storm weathered and it made for an interesting and fast-track 'new job' learning curve.

My intention is to write something here now and again, if for no other reason to keep my mojo going when it comes to maintaining the weight loss. It's also good to look back and see how far this journey has brought me, especially when I have the Black Dog days. So, hope to see you around. As always, onwards ever...

A long road travelled...

...and boy, does it ever feel like it!

Hello world. Not sure if anyone will be left to read this as it has been such a long time since I last wrote anything but... if anyone is interested, I'm still around. Settle down with a cuppa kids, this is shaping up to be a looong read!

A whole helluva lot has happened since the last time anything got posted here, and if I can stand aside from the chaos for a moment to report back, the vast majority of that journey has been positive. Some stuff not so, and some pretty rotten (as life tends to be), but I'll get to that. Let's start off with the good stuff.

The move from our former flat and an end to living in the 'not very exciting' flatlands of Cambridgeshire territory went ahead just as May came to an end. Janey Mac, but that was a hard slog! However, my darling lovely hubby and I now benefit from land which has height as well as breadth. I always knew I'd missed hills, but didn't realise quite how much until we came to Nottinghamshire.

This is definitely a big plus. I really love seeing the play of light and shadow across distant hillsides on the walk downhill into town. I love the feeling of 'making an effort' walking uphill back from a shopping trip - especially carrying bags of heavy shopping. I love the fact too that I can do this relatively easily, and that probably tells you something as well.

Despite the multiple (and seemingly never ending) stresses of:
- downsizing (a LOT!)
- shedding much-loved possessions (aaargh - books!)
- making the move to a very much smaller flat in a completely unknown area
- knowing no-one at all
- quitting my job (hmmm, some definite pluses and minuses here)
- getting accustomed to being at home all day (for now, anyway)
- my lovely hubby's retirement and a lack of 'routine'
- finding 'trustworthy' contractors to rip out/replace a very tired and crappy bathroom and kitchen (all within our rather restricted budget)
- the dust, disruption, and glitches & hold-ups of the work taking place
- the joys of searching (unsuccessfully as yet, dammit!) for a new job
and SO much more, I'm still here.

Better yet (and I'm actually quite surprised to be able to say this), there hasn't been any significant change to my weight. Blimey! My clothes still fit me (now they've been unearthed from somewhere within the depths of a gazillion boxes!). I'm still fairly fit for an ageing former-fat lass too, as shifting furniture, those jolly old boxes, and so much more hasn't killed me off yet. Yes, I know I 'could do better' and could do with a bit of (er, lot of) toning but I promise that will come as life settles more.

I can happily report that, having moved to a new area, our health has been thoroughly checked out by a new GP practice. Hey, both of us are doing pretty darned well, even with our kooky way of eating which completely flies in the face of all NHS advice. Yep, we're still low carb, high fat and adequate protein munchers, and loving it.

We're well, that is... with one small proviso. We're waiting for an MRI scan for lovely hubby as there's a niggling concern about the underlying causes for his increasing hearing loss - the upshot is they are hoping to rule out something sinister behind it. This is a regular source of worry to me in the dead of night at the moment, but my tame angel assures me it'll all be fine... honest guv'nor.

But back to the positive stuff - counting those blessings that remain as a daily memorial to and reminder of my darling Mum. Oh yes, I did get that tattooed on my back by the way. I'll see if I can be brave and put a photo up at some stage.

After a bit of a shaky start I'm beginning to love our new home. Although compact and bijou the flat is fine - secure and warm, and a permanent place to settle for the future. Although we are not 100% done yet and still have the bedroom to de-box and organise, somehow, we have carpet on the floor at last (I could not have begun to understand the joy of this statement until we'd lived in a bare and echoey box for months!) and fresh clean paint on the walls. We now have hot water, a shower, a fully workable (and whizzy) kitchen, our beloved pictures on the walls and our remaining books beautifully arranged on the shelves (now this has made a real difference for the better).

We are a little way off a main road into the city so everything we could wish for is pretty close by, and the transport links are really good too. Great now and a definite bonus for the future as we get older. We look more or less southwards out onto an old brick-built mill building (converted to flats) across a grassy slope with trees gently beginning to shed their goldening leaves (in the sunshine at the moment and it is beautiful). We even have bats performing a synchronised fly-past each evening - now there's a joy to watch indeed. We have a colony of argumentative magpies visiting every morning to scavenge and squabble, and even the occasional visit from a jay and a couple of squirrels.

As life always goes though, not everything is entirely rosy. My dear friend is having a pretty bad time after her surgery (which thankfully went well) ever since the path lab reported back with less than positive news from the biopsies. She's now subsumed within a welter of ongoing and traumatic treatment, with none too jolly prospects and a lot of pain, and trying hard to stay positive. It's hard as there's nothing we can do to help in any way.

We also just lost a friend from our old neighbourhood, a little over a week ago. A lovely, smart, sophisticated, funny, incisive, gentle gentleman who was a real high-flyer back in the day. He'll be sadly missed, by us (lovely hubby was especially close to him) but especially by his wife. Again, it's hard knowing there's nothing one can do to be of any real help. Life really does suck sometimes.

I've been finding I miss friends and colleagues from my former life more than I thought would happen, so feel/have felt slightly isolated at times. Logically speaking, I know this will doubtless change when I do find work and develop some sort of social life (and by that I mean regular interaction with a range of people, rather than going out and about on the town) in this new area. Until then though it sometimes feels just a tad lonely - that means the dreaded black dog sniffs around whenever he gets a chance. At times he gets the upper hand, but thankfully not for too long.

Until I'm working again finances are a bit of a concern too, but these negatives notwithstanding I think we made the right decision to move. It's been a long journey, and one which isn't over yet, but on balance life is pretty good. I think we can settle down and feel at home here and one of our big worries about growing older (the old insecurity) has been lifted from us.

A very nice thing on the horizon is a visit from my sister later this week. She hasn't been able to come until we were a bit more organised and I'm really looking forward to a few days catching up, sharing time together and relaxing. Glad we always have the phone to keep in touch but a big sis hug is always best.

Right, enough of me blithering. As I usually say... onwards, ever upwards.

Emotional, worried and some major news

While I haven't disappeared off the face of the planet entirely, I thought it best not to post anything while I'm not at my most coherent, and there have been a variety of reasons why coherence has not been my middle name!

Let's start with the worried part, as the emotional part stems from this as well as from the major news. I'm worried about my oldest, dearest friend. Very worried to be honest, as her recurrent breast cancer has entered the arena with a vengeance this time around. She went into battle for 'round one' of a huge treatment regime last week (sentinel lymph node biopsies) and until early this week all was apparently as well as could be expected - she was just, in her words, 'damn sore and tired'. Sadly, Monday she was re-admitted as she'd developed an infected haematoma and was on intravenous antiobiotics awaiting more surgery. Oh, and all this is just a precursor to the main event - double mastectomy plus all the bells & whistles which hits her in a couple of short weeks time. Can I say the 'F' word please.

And then there's 'our' major news... which is that we are about to move, with a corresponding huge change in lifestyle as my darling lovely hubby is going to retire and I'm going to start a new job hunt in a brand new and unfamiliar area. And all this has happened in a whirlwind - we really did not anticipate things taking place so fast.

Er... exciting? Yep, that it is. Scary? You betcha! Actually, I'd use the word 'terrified' to describe how I feel in the early hours of the morning when I contemplate just how much there is to do in such a small amount of time - we move on 29th May! Suffice it to say that neither of our bosses are exactly over the moon.

As to us, we are currently packing, packing, packing and downsizing massively to attempt to fit into a one bedroomed retirement flat (which we go to measure precisely tomorrow - wish us luck). The local charity shops think that Christmas has come early! Whilst that's a positive, the sad part is that Connie, the super duper rower, has had to go as no way would she fit into the new flat. Boo hoo indeed, but she's gone to a local school to be used by the kids at their fitness centre, so some good has come from this (even if it doesn't feel exactly great just at the moment).

Oh, and our tattoo bookings were cancelled on us at short notice (very valid reasons though) so I've somehow got to reschedule that for before we leave the area.

So you'll understand that any semblance of coherence kind of went to the wall for a while. Amazingly, sensible eating hasn't! All I can say is that life throws curve balls at you just when you don't expect it and all you can do to retain your sanity is to roll with it.

Onwards, ever... from the bubble wrap queen!

Let's keep things real

Well, as you'll know I've been reading other peoples' weight-related posts for a long time and still find it to be a massive support, in all sorts of ways, particularly when times get tricky (er, like weeks of low- to moderate-ish level stress at work).

I know I've said in the past that my journey will never be over and that I still have things to learn along the way, but every now and again someone says something that makes a little 'click' happen and a lightbulb glow brightly in my brain.

Food... for thought, that is - wouldn't you agree?

Last week, one of Jeanette's posts did it, and the lightbulb glow has put me to thinking. Always a good thing for the fat lass - a little exercise for the grey matter. Anyhow, in that post she talked about shifting her mindset and getting back to the "Let food be thy medicine" approach.

Instead of letting herself think she isn't "allowed to have that food" she reframes things to look at it differently, and goes on the explain that this means she 'could' eat anything she wanted but she actively 'chooses' not to eat things which could damage her health or wellbeing. Ping! Lightbulb time.

A little recent history... although I have aimed to stay ketogenic (and have done so according to the dip-stick wee tests) I have also had the urge to eat something sweet for some weeks. To 'treat' or 'indulge' myself in some way, and make myself feel better (oh boy, remember that work stress business?). So, since Christmas I've been 'choosing' to nibble on sugar-free sweeties.

More recently I'd say this has become rather more of a bad habit than I like... from just one every now and again, to 'several' over the course of a day. Although there doesn't seem to have been any noticeable effect on my weight this doesn't, however, mean it isn't a burgeoning problem. The first step on a slippery slope, if you like.

Having read Jeanette's post I took a belated look at the little box these things come in and actually 'thought' about the contents. OK, the rest of the ingredients may look fairly innocent and 'natural', but the biggest percentage of their makeup, that sweet bit, is isomalt/sucralose.

Now I've 'justified' (excused, call it whatever) this behaviour to myself on the basis that this sweet stuff 'isn't' sugar. That it 'is' thus low-carb in a sense, so OK... no harm done, right? Hey, the body can't easily digest the stuff so it passes through the intestines a bit like dietary fibre.

Wrong! What I'd cheerfully bypassed in my head is that these substances are NOT natural in any sense (they are man-made 'Frankenfoodstuffs' in fact) and are certainly not an intrinsically good or healthy thing to be putting into my body.

Time to do a little reframing myself, methinks. OK, they are now OFF the shopping list for this fat lass. Thanks Jeanette, that was a wake-up call I rather needed!

A life, and Christmas, re-defined?

Like many people, for the greater part of my life, Christmas revolved around food. Tempting treats and too much turkey, a little something special under (or on) the tree, the fun of carrying on a family tradition (like the flaming brandy, and finding silver sixpences in the Christmas pud), and all those things which, through the years, I thought made a Christmas complete.

As a child, I remember it was THE time of year when we had a box of Quality Street on hand, open for anyone and everyone to dip into whenever they pleased. OK, we had to endure those awful (as a child) Brussels sprouts, but we had tins of assorted biscuits, my Aunt's lovely home-made Chocolate Log (complete with plastic robin), and home-made sausage rolls and mince pies aplenty, Advocaat 'snowball' (a sophisticated glass of which I was allowed, well-diluted with lemonade, from a fairly young age), pigs-in-blankets and all sorts of other goodies we didn't see at other times of year.

There was always a tray of nuts (in their shells) for us to dip into, and the traditional Boxing Day well-buttered rounds of cold meat and stuffing sandwiches, usually with a liberal helping of my Mum's home-made green tomato chutney. We maybe even had a Cadbury's selection box to enjoy all to ourselves if Santa thought we'd been good boys and girls. As I grew older, you could add wine with dinner, a glass of sherry with those mince pies, and other alcohol to the mix too.

There's nothing surprising or unusual here, to be honest. Most people I know, and have ever known, have or do something pretty similar. After all, it's Christmas!

I can recall all this with nostalgia now but, d'ya know, I've slowly begun to realise that the entire focus of my Christmas has changed over the last few years. Firstly with the changes in how I ate for weight loss and now with the low-carb lifestyle, food, while it's still important and both enjoyable and enjoyed as a part of the festive season, is no longer the be all and end all. It's just that - a 'part' of the celebrations. If I'm honest, with the way we eat nowadays we'll probably seem like party-poopers to many during the festive season, but I'm just not too interested in the 'traditional' Christmas feasts any longer.

Overindulgence with those seasonal 'treats' is no longer a thing to be eagerly anticipated because of the relative rarity of the goodies involved - I guess that's part of it. But the lack of scarcity doesn't cover everything.

Even though the goodies are now readily available, I just don't really feel the need to overdo it for the sake of a 'good' Christmas any more. What's even better, the sometimes (OK, often!) uncomfortable after-effects of wall-to-wall festive munching are something I no longer feel I 'have to' endure because they too are now something that's pretty much past. But hey, I can still enjoy the Christmas carols, the decorated tree, the joy of time with family... and let's not forget those presents!

Gradually, I've come to see what a valuable, incredible, and long-lasting Christmas gift this is. One of Mum's 'blessings' to be counted indeed, so here's to a Merry low-carb Christmas.

On a slightly sadder note, the season will be redefined in another way too this year. We won't be heading off to look after my lovely (and much missed) Mum, to cook a tempting turkey roast for her or see her open her stocking. Yes, it'll be different this year. Yes, there'll be sadness because we won't be with her. But there will also be a host of beautiful and happy memories to look back on.

There's also the knowledge that she'll never suffer again, and that she is where (for the last few years) she had desperately wanted to be - safe and secure in the arms of her God, reunited with my Dad and other precious family.

So, keep that in your mind, fat lass - then how could you possibly see it as a bad thing, eh?

Latest Update:  
My poor darling, who had just gone back to work today after his 'problems', now has another thing to worry about. He managed to cut his hand badly this morning and had to go to the surgery. He'll have to go again tomorrow to get it re-dressed. 

Ho hum. What was that about it never raining, but it pours! Guess I'm on KP duty full-time this festive season, eh? Ah well, at least it'll take my mind off things. 

Still not out of the woods...

Or to put it another way, 'just when you think it's safe to...'

I have a plethora of extremely rude words in my head right now. I'd best make them stay there as I'd be banned from blogging if they overflowed and leaked out into print. This has come about because we seem to have developed a small cloud on the horizon and I'm frightened (OK, scared witless) that it presages a storm.

My poor darling lovely hubby, having made such good progress, now displays another little symptom or two (things like slightly elevated blood glucose readings, and other less pleasant manifestations) which I am guessing means he's developed an infection... er, in the region previously affected. To put it mildly, he isn't over the moon, and neither am I.

He can't get hold of the GP today so will try again tomorrow (hiss, spit, grrr - this is one source of my rude word thoughts!). Obviously, we'll keep an eye on things but I have to admit I'm quite worried as he'd only just started to pick up again from last week's fun and games. I know, I know, it'll probably just mean a round of antibiotics, but... (call me Mrs Clucky Mother Hen!)

Stress! Wow - what a powerful and immediate force it is. Having just spoken to him, the fledgling appetite which I thought was beginning to make a decent return has been kicked into touch, and my lunch (which I was looking forward to for the first time in days) now seems as appetising as a box of wood chippings. Worse, I'm back to feeling marginally queasy.

Odd as this sounds, coming from the fat lass, I really do not need to lose any further weight. I'm currently at the lowest on record (as an adult) and am not entirely comfortable with this. I'm frustrated because I CAN'T eat. Gee, what a turn up for the books this is.

Still, 'nil desperandum' and all that jazz. The trick is to keep positive. We'll get this sorted and then life can return to normal again. Onwards, to wherever it takes us...

Random thoughts and minor miracles

Do please excuse me if I'm beginning to sound a shade fanatical here, but just a short week ago we lost a friend, and that has set me to me pondering the fragility of life and health and why it is so damned important to look after ourselves as best we can. Pretty deep for a Tuesday, huh?

Oooh, how easy it can be to let our guard down and slip into old (and usually bad) habits which do little to promote or support our health. Boy, we really do need to be vigilant... don't we fat lass. However, in thinking about vigilance, a concept that I'd never actually considered, but one that I can only describe as an unexpected bonus - a little miracle if you like - has become evident to me.

Now I know I've mentioned before the 'relative' ease with which my weight remains under 'reasonable' control with the low-carb lifestyle, but I didn't really think too much more about it (or particularly deep and hard) until I met someone I haven't seen for a while.

This is a lady who knew me when I was obese, through the years of my calorie-restricted weight-loss (which I am NOT in any way going to knock - hell, it worked for me!), and in the early days of trying to maintain that loss. But, we haven't seen each other, nor talked, since the advent of my low-carb adventures.

From back in the 'old days', she remembered my telling her that I sometimes found it quite a challenge to keep 'on track' with the 'diet' (and what I really mean here is 'way of eating') that ensured I first lost my weight, then didn't regain it. She commented that she recalled my scouring every single food label I encountered for the energy values (calorie content). She also remembered my workplace 'snacks' pile - generally a sizeable arrangement of fruit, a box or two of 'healthy' cereals and cereal bars, and various other 'low-cal' options which I used to tide me over when I got the munchies. She was a little surprised to see that those had all gone, gone, gone.

It was only after she'd left and when I stopped to consider the sugars (oh yes, even in that fruit), and the grains and other carbohydrates, and the chemical additives (I guess the fruit's excepted here, thankfully) that used to make up my 'go to' snacks that I realised that going low-carb has done much more for me than merely helping me stay at a 'sensible' weight without too much of a struggle. One of the clues lies in that word 'label' above.

To bear a label implies that something has been processed and, when I look back at it, quite a lot of my old lifestyle food intake was in some way processed. It was purportedly 'healthy' (often with this very word proudly emblazoned on the label) but, aside from that fruit, it was not usually raw and definitely not in the form which nature provides us with food. Man (yeah OK, probably woman too) had 'messed about' with it in some way.

Being pre-prepared (a.k.a. processed and packaged) it had a 'shelf-life', so inevitably contained preservatives and anti-oxidants and, very often, there were colours and added vitamins too (I guess they were there because the processing had stripped away any colours and vitamins nature provided).

My choices were predominantly low-calorie, so generally low in fat, which meant that other substances (usually sugars - oh yeah, including that universally recognised 'super-food' high fructose corn syrup!) had been added to make it taste of something. What fat was present wouldn't have been natural saturated fats, but cheap, industrially processed (and often partially hydrogenated) oils of some sort.

There'd even be delights like bulking agents (wow, what a horrid term that is) and other chemical joys. In short, those 'look after yourself' snacks were processed crap and a one-way ticket to screwing with one's metabolism.

The way I eat now isn't 100% perfect and I don't suppose for a second that it ever will be (weak-willed is my middle name), so there is 'some' inevitable processing to some of the foods I choose. Still, it's a dramatic improvement over what I considered 'good' choices back then.

The little miracle to me is that the vast majority of what I eat now, and this is largely led by the serendipity of my moving to a low-carb lifestyle to fit in with lovely hubby's needs, is either natural, or has been only 'lightly' processed. What I mean by this is that it does not automatically contain the sort of junk and padding which makes us sick.

I wouldn't classify my eating habits as primal per se, but there are a lot of overlaps. Mark's Daily Apple sums up the basic approach in his advice on "What to Eat and What to Avoid for Lifelong Health". Must admit, while I don't necessarily agree with him over supplements (or the carbs for athlete's option, being only an armchair athlete myself), his primal food pyramid makes pretty good sense to me

Hey, though - there was silly old me thinking primarily of my low-carb food choices in terms of keeping my weight settled (and lovely hubby's blood glucose levels under control), when all along it's also helping to promote an altogether healthier fat lass and family.

Miraculous indeed, and another of Mum's 'blessings' to be counted.

A corner turned, or just an anomaly?

Different people react to periods of stress in different ways. We all know that, right? Well, it's funny, but something about that seems to have changed - hence the post title.

In the past, a 'difficult' period in life would inevitably mean a hike in weight. If the source of worry/upheaval/distress continued over months (er, like this time), that'd almost certainly translate into quite a significant gain.

That's mostly (no, more like entirely) because throughout my life I've had a real tendency to comfort eat when placed under emotional pressure. Problems? Hey, let's start eating! My 'must nibble' mode would be activated almost immediately and I would actively seek out something, anything, I could munch which might, just maybe, help make me feel better.

D'you know what though? Whatever that 'something' might be it rarely, if ever, made me feel any better at all. Just guilty afterwards... usually... but it was also a reaction I seemed unable to stop. And, as I've mentioned before, looking back to 'what' I'd eat, it was almost always heavily carbohydrate based.

There has been a whole lot (!) of stress in my life over the last few months. Hmmm, there still is if I'm absolutely honest. Plenty of opportunity for my old demons to come to the fore. And heck, I can't and won't pretend I haven't comfort eaten at all either. I have doubtless consumed a fair few more nuts and olives and a bit more cheese than I would normally think reasonable.

But I haven't gained weight this time around. In fact I've actually lost a little weight in the last couple of months. Not masses, just 'some'. Still, this really is quite extraordinary and a very different experience for me... though, unfortunately, one I'm not sure that I can claim any personal credit for.

Now this 'oddity' may just be happenstance. It could merely be that 'anomaly' I mentioned in the title, but I don't quite believe that it is. I think it's more likely that something of a corner has been turned. Sadly, not in terms of 'my' response to stress exactly - after all, I've just confessed that I have still eaten outside of my current norms (and that's something I don't take a great deal of pride in saying).

But maybe this little bit of a loss that I've seen, rather than an almost 'expected' gain, can be explained as a consequence of dietary changes. Cutting out those carbohydrates as much as possible and actively avoiding grains, sugars and crap seems to have helped. Despite some comfort eating, I don't seem to have descended into the cycle of overeating in the way I would have done in the past, and it makes a difference.

Now I'm not trying to say that a low-carb lifestyle is the Holy Grail here, nor do I say it would work in any circumstance to keep weight stable through stress, even for me. It just does seem to be giving me a helping hand this time around. And hey, it's nice to think that (even if I'm dead wrong in this) there's a possible silver lining to this particularly emotionally charged black cloud.

I wonder...

Sorry chaps - this one has turned into particularly lengthy fat lass ramble so do feel free to skip me blethering on. Perhaps it's been triggered by recent events or maybe I've reached that stage in life, but I've found myself deep in thought for many reasons recently.

Yep, the fat lass has definitely been 'wondering' about stuff in recent weeks... hmmm, make that months... and loads of different things have zipped through my thoughts. Just like the Grinch, I've been puzzling and puzzling 'til my puzzler is sore.

One of the random and inconsequential things I've wondered about is when, precisely, did tomatoes morph from being a savoury staple to a sweet treat (well, in my opinion anyhow).

Looking back to the days before the new low-carb 'us', we used to buy and use tomatoes in bulk. We loved 'em, and almost everything we cooked included them, be they fresh, tinned or paste (and sometimes a mixture). Think of that holy trinity of tomatoes, onions and garlic as our starting point, and you'll get the picture. And it always, always, always seemed like those gorgeous red globes were savoury, to me. Since we moved over to our low-carb lifestyle, and as tomatoes pack quite a carbohydrate punch, we've drastically reduced this reliance on them in our cooking.

Imdeed, we've moved away from buying weighty bunches of the big beefy vine tomatoes and now buy maybe one small box a week of the teensy tiny cherry toms instead. No longer, even in a salad, do we have a whole large tomato or more each. Now one, or maybe two, of the teeny weeny cherry tomatoes apiece is quite sufficient.

And, d'ya know what, these little darlings are amazing. They're like sweet little flavour bombs. I suppose I 'knew' they were fruits but wow! I find I really do only need one or two, chopped into small sections, to be satisfied with that sudden burst of juice-filled tomatoey flavour. Guess now I don't eat much in the way of 'added' sugars my tastes have changed.

I've also wondered a lot about how (or rather, whether) I would have coped with the events and stresses of recent weeks and months had lovely hubby and I not changed the way we eat.

By 'change', I don't mean any recent change that I haven't mentioned before, but the sustained move over the last year or so to cut out all added sugars, processed foods and associated 'crap', and minimise our carbohydrate intake drastically. In other words, to maintain our bodies in a ketogenic state as far as possible (and possible it is!), dip-stick testing weekly to check that we haven't inadvertently strayed. To keep to this plan, we now only include smallish amounts of fresh veggies (primarily things like spinach, leafy greens, and the cruciferous veg) and a few lower-carb berries for most of the carbohydrate contribution to our diet. Hey, know what? It's easier than it sounds too.

Somehow, without this move to a radically different diet/lifestyle, I think I'd now be writing to confess my latest descent off the back of the wagon.

I'd doubtless be bemoaning a weight gain, maybe a pretty substantial one by now, grumbling about how challenging my struggles had been and coughing up to those the 'treats' I'd indulged in. I'm guessing that an unhealthy reliance on comfort eating may have been involved in this (sure, with vending machine crisps and chocolate playing their part). Yeah, the old-style fat lass was definitely an emotionally driven eater.

I cannot and won't say I haven't comfort eaten at all through this - because I have. Perhaps a bit of an increase in the cheese and olives 'snack' component of my diet is testament to that - but it hasn't been overwhelming, and I've actually lost weight in recent weeks (much to my surprise). This is significantly different than during previous periods of stress in my life. And, whatever I have nibbled under stress this time hasn't tipped me overboard into stuffing my face until I feel like I could burst. Now how amazing is that? There you go, Mum - that's a blessing counted.

But, back to my main point... I've mostly wondered just how much of an ass I must have been.

Much as it pains me to say it, I think I've probably been an ass for years. How could I (supposedly trained as a scientist, for heaven's sake) have believed in and dedicatedly followed the 'sound dietary advice' spouted by so-called experts, about basing the bulk of my food intake on 'low fat' pseudo-foods and those 'healthy' whole-grain carbs, for so long?

What's worse, this slavish adherence just plain 'happened', without my giving a single moment's thought to it's validity or taking a nano-second to consider whether the advice was, in fact based on good solid science. Instead, without so much as a backward glance or a quibble, I accepted what I read and heard and 'assumed' it was right.

Silly old fat lass! Assumptions, after all, make an ASS out of ME (...and maybe U too).

Having now pored over lots of detailed explanations (er, I guess some may still call it 'heresy') from the likes of Phinney & Volek, John Briffa, and the Eades, John Yudkin, Robert Lustig and a lot of other people who lay out the scientific basis for carbohydrates (and especially sugars) being something rather less than the 'healthy' basis for a balanced diet that the 'eatwell' plate (amongst other things) recommends, I wish I had come across this years ago.

Maybe, just maybe, had I encountered this scandalous idea earlier, and taken the time to review the science behind it as I have been trained to do, I wouldn't have endured my decades of obesity. Perhaps I wouldn't have tried and failed at so many 'diets', always beating myself up for my failures, and despairing as I grew more and more heavy over time.

Maybe, had I encountered this earlier, I could be looking back at photos taken of my Mum and her grown-up 'little' girl (me) together, and not always see her tiny frame dwarfed alongside her gargantuan daughter. Bless her, though. While I know she was worried about me, she never, ever judged me and she loved me anyway. Still, I can't turn the clock back and it does make me feel sad.

That may be so, but I'm so very, very grateful that she got to see me change my bad habits in the end - steadily moving downwards through the weight-loss pathway towards where I am now. Healthy again. There you go again - that's another blessing counted. How am I doing, my lovely Mum?

So, back to this wondering business...

With regards low-carb, this time I haven't been content to just read what this new bunch of 'experts' say and accept it, but I've thought and wondered, and checked, and counter-checked, and researched, and even gone back to some of the original published research papers myself, and generally made use of a little grey matter.

Between this newly acquired 'knowledge' and with the benefit of seeing the positive (if empirical) results for both me and my lovely hubby, I'm finally happy to concede that the 'eatwell' plate is, after all, the 'eatbadly' plate that Zoe Harcombe describes. Sorry if this is beginning to sound like so much evangelical zealotry on my part, but I do rather feel like Saul on the road to Damascus at times.

I've been wondering about other stuff too. I've read quite a lot in various blogs and books, over the last few months, about addiction. Food addiction, that is. Specifically, an addiction to sugar and to wheat.

Now I'll be the first to admit that I've been seriously sceptical about 'addiction' to any sort of foods in my own case. If I'm honest, I thought it was hogwash! Until recently I've been much more inclined to think my penchant to overeat was of my own making. Hey, there's that self-blame all too many of us are willing to take on board - but before I condemn this as 100% negative, in my case I think a healthy measure of it actually helped me.

You see, a good part of my 'self-blame' stemmed from all the years I spent on that decades-long 'diet' roller-coaster, looking for 'something' (anything, whether it be hormones or circumstances!) upon which I could 'blame' my obesity. Now I look back at it, what I was doing was quite a commonplace thing. I was looking for someone or something to take the hit, and a for there to be a nice neat quick fix for whatever was 'wrong'.

The mythical magic bullet was what I was seeking. For way too many years, I didn't countenance that any 'blame' for my weight problems could ever be pointed in my direction. What? My actions the cause? Hell, no way!

But, there probably always was a tiny seed of doubt there and, for me anyway, it turned out that I was only able to bite this particular bullet and take positive action to first lose and then maintain my weight loss once I'd accepted personal responsibility for 'my' part in the original (and subsequent) gains. That's where the self-blame (or call it taking responsibility if you'd prefer) helped me. Until the point when I took on board that it was to do with 'me' and there wasn't an external (if convenient) 'cause' for it, year in year out, diet by failed diet, this ageing broad just kept on growing broader!

However, and this is a pretty large 'but', the more I have read about this subject, the more I now wonder... was all of that responsibility 'really' mine to take?

As I say, when it comes to 'me' and food addiction I was sceptical in the extreme. In part, this was because (as you'll know if you've read older posts from the 'losing' days) I didn't lose the bulk of my weight and improve my health through the low-carb route, but followed a low-fat, reduced calorie 'diet' and increased my activity levels. And this was successful... for me.

Maybe I'm one of the lucky ones, and because of this I really have doubted that the 'healthy' food I was choosing could possibly be addicitive or cause me harm in any sense.

Sugar (or sweet stuff) in itself hasn't generally been such a big thing for me. While I've always been partial to the odd cake or scone or chocolate up to a point, they weren't 'my' thing in a that big a way - most of my passions were, and still are, savoury. Sweet or savoury though, a good many of my 'go to' foods used to be wheat based and the overwhelming majority were seriously carbohydrate heavy.

Potatoes and other root veg, pasta, pastry, bread (hey, wholemeal of course!), those occasional scones, potato and wheat-based snack foods, lots of sweet fruit, etc.... heck, you get the picture.

But now I wonder... were those carbohydrates, whether sweet or savoury, a driver (at least to some extent) for my desire to eat, or stuff down, more than I could reasonably hold. Although I've always considered (and still do) that I don't have a carbohydrate tolerance problem per se, maybe, just maybe, I was not entirely correct. Maybe that constant top-up of insulin-triggering foodstuffs did indeed tip me into a whole different place - one I didn't knowingly recognise or understand anything about.

Perhaps that's not too surprising though. Karen over at Garden Girl has described her own problems with sugar and wheat as leading to "brain fog and numbing" and she, quite rightly, goes on to say "this stuff is COMPLEX..."

A little aside...

Before going low-carb, if you'd dared suggest that I could and would willingly put aside my life's 'staples' I'd have been absolutely horrified. I've been prepared to compromise on a lot of things, and indeed had already done that with a lot of things I'd previously thought almost 'essential', but give up my good, wholegrain, home-made bread? No way, Jose!. Almost certainly I would have growled at you and muttered something like “Nope! Don't be so bl**dy silly - I could never ever give up my beautiful healthy bread!”.

Since I have done though, it isn't such a trauma. I've realised now that life without bread isn't a deal killer at all. Whee, what a liberating thought that is. Could it be that my declared adherence to bread as 'necessary' to my life (my staff of life, perhaps?) was a form of addiction? Who knows.

So, maybe those years of obesity weren't actually 'all' my fault, even if I still feel that some part of my seemingly never ending weight gain was down to me - see, there's that mea culpa again! But, could I have been, in any sense, an addict?

I'm not sure, and I'm not convinced I'll ever really know, but if I was, and if behavioural changes are anything to set store by, maybe 'recovering' addict would be closer to the truth these days. After all, I now better understand my own weaknesses and am all too aware that I'll always be just one slip away from the carb-fuelled chaos of comfort eating. A low-carb lifestyle certainly helps me, but...

Hmmm, I really do wonder...

Oh no! Not the nibble monster...

I'd say that yesterday was a successful day. I had to go to a long (though very interesting) committee meeting so was out of my normal routine. I'd thankfully anticipated correctly that there'd be coffee and biscuits on arrival, so took the precaution of popping a little handful of almonds in my pocket as a low-carb alternative to the biccies. Good plan, as the cookies we were offered were large, home-made, smelled amazing and looked delicious! So glad I had my nuts.

Lunch was more of a problem, but I'm pleased to say I stayed strong. We were presented with platters of sandwiches, bowls of crisps and nachos, a plate of ready-cut sweet fruits (sadly no berries) and a tray of mini fresh-cream buns and muffins. Looked pretty, but not even remotely low-carb, so I picked some salad leaves, a sliver of Brie (scraping off the red 'jammy' stuff) and a few bits of ham out of some of the sarnies and ditched the bread. I chose the two smallest pieces of melon (the best on offer carb-wise) and turned my head away from the nachos and cream cakes.

Meagre? Yep, and I wasn't anywhere near 'full', and in fact I left the meeting starving of the hunger but I felt proud of myself, despite those odd looks I got from other committee members at lunch.

However, a day away from routine and it does feel like the scales have dropped from my eyes so I can now recognise something that has been happening, on and off, for a few weeks. I also think I'm seeing a pattern to it. Hmmm, this is not good.

I realised that, of late, the fat lass has turned all 'fancy hungry' again. It's not that I'm actually 'hungry' or 'need' to eat, as such, just that I fancy a little something and find that I'm casting round for the very thing that fits the bill. And very often, as is usually the case in this situation, oh dear Lord...  whatever I try simply doesn't do it.

Hmmm, so why is this happening?

Despite changing to the new medication (thankfully!) and seeing some big improvements, I'm still not sleeping terribly well. There are still life's stresses and worries which pounce like a stalking tiger in the night. In fact, aside from when physical activity has been way above and beyond the norm meaning I'm going to sleep right N-O-W... even standing up if needs be, I can't remember what a normal 'good' night's sleep really feels like.

So, when I get up around five every weekday morning I'm very often not feeling rested and ready for the day, but tired... Some days are OK-ish, some worse than others.and sometimes I feel draggingly bone-tired.

I think this is part of it. Being so tired means that, just recently, at six o'clock in the morning,after doing my (non-negotiable) rowing, abs stuff and hopping in the shower, I've really been struggling with the idea of breakfast again. I guess this starts my day off all wrong.

Remember, this is the woman who used to hate (make that H-A-T-E) eating at sparrow-cough... er, I mean first thing. So now, I make an effort and I can usually say, yes, fine, OK, alright, I'll eat... Usually, but not always.

To be fair though, my darling lovely hubby wouldn't let me out of the house without eating 'something'! But I find I'm eating without any great enthusiasm quite often. Over recent weeks I'll regularly just finish about half and take the rest in a box to work for mid-morning break time at ten-ish, when I do actually look forward to and enjoy it. That's OK, I guess.

Then just before the lunch break, at around about midday, I have got into the habit of munching through my veggie crudites while I work. Is that a good thing, or a bad one?

Having done that, when I do stop working, I get my ass out into the fresh air and set off for a good hour's walk (this usually racks up around three miles or so). Great, eh? Well, yeah, it is, but I'm now generally wanting 'something' to eat when I get back to work.

Hey, so what if I want something, hmm? That's not a problem. I've been bringing a little pot of olives or yoghurt and seeds or something to have then. So far, so good... except that it isn't.

Because by around mid-afternoon, say three o'clock, I've started to feel distinctly nibbly of late, and my eye begins to wander around those little low-carb snacky bits I keep at work. Now I don't have very much of anything at a time, but I might have more than one 'not very much' portion, because whatever I've munched didn't satisfy me.

Something ain't right here and it needs to change. This doesn't happen at weekends when we usually get up and eat breakfast later. I can go all day and barely feel hungry then.

It didn't happen a while ago. So why is it happening now? That's what I'd like to figure out.

Is it the tiredness? Is it the stress? Is it boredom? Is it that I'm eating the 'wrong' things so I don't stay sated? Is my body craving some nutrient that I just don't recognise? Maybe I need to think fats and proteins as a base for small meals, rather than my beloved crudites.

Heck, I don't know - but I will figure this out and I WILL change it because this feels like an unsafe place to be. The nibble monster really isn't my friend. Constant looking for 'something' is too close to home - just too similar to my old bad behaviour, and I really don't want those hard-lost pounds to start finding me again.

Ah well, onwards ever...

I've seen fire and I've seen rain...

Actually it's more sun, snow, frost, hail, fog, flood (and other adventures) which seem to be the order of the day... well, OK, month if you must be picky! Please can we stop messing about and just get to Spring?

Oh well, I know that March is generally a month of mixed weather, even in a 'good' year (remember that old 'lions' and 'lambs' weather lore?), and it has certainly been pretty changeable around here recently.

I don't know about you, but I find that the prevailing weather conditions are fairly closely linked to my state of mind lately. And, this seems more the case these days than it's ever been - another sign that the fat lass is getting long in the tooth? I find that on the (all too rare of late!) sunny days my spirits rise and I feel more engaged with the day and more willing to make positive steps to maintain and improve my health.

Conversely, on days like yesterday, when it rained and rained and rained some more and never appeared to actually get properly light, I was miserable as all heck. It would have been quite easy to disentangle myself from reality, hibernate somewhere warm and cozy and head for the comfort foods. Thankfully, I had 'things to do' so got on with it, and since moving to low-carb life we don't really keep many of those old standby 'comfort' foodstuff around so that wasn't really an option either. Saved by pure serendipity.

Thanks to the rain, and the constantly waterlogged state of the land, this morning we woke to the return of the dreaded flooding, added to which there was frost (oooh, it felt decidedly nippy out) and quite thick fog, so I was a serious grump first thing. Now, just a few hours later, the sun has been shining so I felt more settled again. In fact, I actually looked forward to getting out at lunchtime today.

Now the clouds are rolling in again and, my mood is shifting to a darker shade once more. The forecast keeps changing, so I don't feel that I can predict how the next few days will go. It makes me kind of unsettled - almost a feeling of not being quite in control, in a funny sense, and I don't feel comfortable being this way. I feel like a weather vane - just reacting to the elements.

I need to find a way to change this and make myself more consistent, regardless of what's going on outside my window. I think it's time to consider setting myself a tangible goal. I don't want to lose any more weight though, so I'm just not sure yet what shape that should take. Time to get my thinking cap dusted off.

Onwards ever...

Walkies!

 A timely post over at Karen's site today, which I spotted just as the finishing touches were going into this one. Life's full of coincidences sometimes, isn't it.

Well, I'm not quite ready for a return to the rower yet (sorry Connie, my dear), but I still have the last dregs of that darned bug hanging onto me - it just won't seem to go away. I feel grotty once again and have a throat like a saw blade this morning!

However, because I know that exercise is an important part of my 'down-sized' life, as well as good food choices, I am making sure that 'some' activity takes place and I move my sorry ass a bit. To this end, I'm walking whenever I can, and I've unearthed my old step-counter to merrily monitor how much I'm walking.

The other thing I unearthed was the information about steps per day I looked up a few years ago. Wow! It's interesting reading... so more of that in a minute.

On Monday, I totalled around 11,850 steps. I know from what I did and where I went that this is generally a wee bit less than my 'usual' habits, when I'm feeling energetic, enthusiastic and on top of the world.

Today, I got to around 9.30 a.m. and had already clocked up over 3,750 steps... and counting! I'll be off for a walk at lunchtime (albeit under grey skies, in the cold and rain - grrr), then there'll be another (shorter) walk to catch public transport home later on, and I will do the usual running about at work, all of which will add to today's total. It may come to more than yesterday, it may come to less, but it'll probably be roughly similar.

As I say, I'm not firing on all six, so imagine my surprise when I checked out what this sort of level equates to...

Huh...me? Somewhere between 'active' and 'highly active'? Doesn't seem possible at the moment as I'm feeling rather more sloth-like than cheetah-like right now. It's a nice surprise, but I'm taking it with a pinch of salt as it's one I don't have an awful lot of faith in. Still, every little helps.

The sick-bed roller coaster ride

Ooooh, and what a wild ride it's turning out to have been, for both me and for my lovely hubby.

As a supposedly 'normal' person (i.e. someone without frank diabetes or any recognisable signs of metabolic disease), a combination of sickness, then recovery, adding in a little stress (er, make that a lot!) along the way, now my lovely hubby getting sick, the continuing family tensions and some rather worrysome developments at work have affected my weight to an astonishing degree.

I guess you could say it's hit my much-vaunted 'stability' right out of the ballpark! In the words of those Magnificent Men... when applied to the numbers I've been seeing on the bathroom scales:
They go Up, Tiddly, Up, Up
And They're Down, Tiddly, Down, Down.
Up! Down! Flying Around.

That quite astounding loss I talked about, which happened when I was unwell and had no appetite, did indeed turn around in double-quick time as I got better. Despite not going crazy-mad on the food front as I recovered (after all, I still didn't have all that much of an appetite as most food tasted slightly weird), within the space of just a bit more than a week or so I'd somersaulted around like crazy. Stability? Whoa, not likely chum!

Overall, I descended from my pre-poorly bunny supposedly 'stable' 54kg right down to 51.5kg (actually dipping a little below that, in fact, to not much over eight stone) then galloped all the way back up to a whopping 56 kg (8 stone 11 lbs). Thank heavens I didn't stay there long!

I'm happy to say that I am now back down again to my 'comfortable' 54kg but heck, what changes to to take place within such a short space of time - not much longer than a few days really - and apparently with precious little connection to my actual food intake! Bizarre, eh? I guess it's something the body does in response to a period of physical 'stress' but even after much puzzling I can't figure this out at all. However, it surely did happen.

As to my darling lovely hubby, it's been a similar roller coaster ride, but for quite different reasons. He has been, and indeed is still quite poorly, but his weight has, amazingly enough, remained pretty stable over this whole period of sickness. Good, eh? Well, not entirely as his blood glucose and blood pressure have taken the hit instead.

As those who've put up with my rambles in the past will know, he is Type II diabetic (albeit, usually very tightly controlled). However, whilst he's been poorly, his fasting and after-meals blood glucose levels have been significantly higher than they usually are. Having said that, they haven't hit levels which would prompt a call to the GP... thankfully. Now he's over the worst of the fever (he had a temperature of nearly 39 degrees C) and getting to feel a bit better, the BG levels are dropping back towards his 'normal' levels, thank goodness.

The chart we produce from his daily readings actually indicates when he got sick pretty clearly. He's obviously feeling a bit better now because he has the energy to be a little peed-off, as he says that the recent high numbers 'b**s up' his averages!

The scary change was to his blood pressure though (er, never very high to begin with), which plummeted over the weekend whilst he still had the worst of the fever.

Although he thinks I'm exaggerating (not so, babe!), I was on the verge of calling an ambulance early on Saturday morning when he came within a gnat's-whisker of collapsing on our bathroom floor. He was completely out of it and couldn't even acknowledge me, let alone stand unaided. To be honest, I'm soooo glad he's lost a lot of weight over the last few years - even at his new slinky-self mass he's still a five foot ten inch male (that's a whole lot of man to tote around!) so it took all my strength to support him and get him back to bed.

Thankfully, returning to the horizontal and a rest in bed worked wonders and restored him to something resembling OK once again, but he did have me worried for quite a while afterwards.

What really strikes me is the apparent differences in the way our two bodies respond to a period of illness. It'll be interesting to see if there is any effect on his weight as the days progress, and I do rather wonder if my own BG or BP (untested, sadly) saw any changes while I was ill.

Food for thought, eh? Onwards ever...