Still here, still trying

To be honest, that's all I can really say right now.

Unfortunately, I've had a particularly tough time over the last week or so.

Why is this?

Well, work has certainly been one aspect. Circumstances have meant that it's not been my finest nor easiest week. Maybe that phase is over, maybe there's another avalanche waiting to engulf me. Who knows. I certainly don't. But I'll keep showing up, and I'll keep doing as much as I can. Stubborn? You betcha!

Secondly, I received a copy of my assessment, as was sent to my doctor, there it is in black and white. Oh sh*t. It wasn't all a bad dream after all, it really does say what I thought it did, and it's there. In writing... Set in stone... Shared... Visible... On the record... No taking it back.

The other more affecting part is that I've been working on that project my counsellor set, to try to put down in precise words a description of those long-buried feelings and my pain. This has meant opening the box and taking a long hard look at said feelings. Exhumed and unburied, they are not a nice sight and I'd can only say that, like a rotting corpse, they stink.

She did warn me this would not be a quick, nor an easy task. By damn, she was correct!

Doing so, rather unsurprisingly perhaps, has truly unleashed the beast which stalks me in the night-time (hmmm, in the day-time too). I have to say he's a pretty effective beast and has done a damn good job of mauling me, biting chunks from my psyche and gnawing away at my innermost insecurities. Result = bad dreams, early hours worries, and tears 'R us.

This in turn has led to a week where I've been pretty fragile. So I've ended up 'coping' with the added angst the old-fashioned way. Not exactly bingeing, but certainly having several days where my eating has been anything but stellar.

Keto? Nah, you must be 'aving a laraarrf! Days where I made decidedly poor choices though (how's that for a weasel-words way of putting it).

Want to hazard a guess as to the effect of this? Yep, you've got it in one. That's one kilo upwards to be exact - 63.5kg and unimpressed.

But whoa, stop, halt! OK, let's not get too disheartened here (come on, listen to yourself girl) and let's not pile misplaced guilt onto whatever negativity's already in place.

Yes, it's a gain. No, I'm not pleased. But, you need to take on board that there will be no true healing until this hurt is exposed, recognised, picked apart and dealt with. I guess it's like lancing a boil - it's going to hurt like a bitch but it really is necessary.

If it comes with some collateral damage, so be it. Just ride it out for now and deal with it when you can. Still, I'll try a little harder this week.

I'll work on sticking to health-giving food choices. I'll drink my water (try to cut down on the caffeine a bit). I'll do my very best to remember why this is necessary. And I will be kind to myself. I'd naturally be kind to someone else in this position, so I need to be there for me too.

OK, big girl knickers are pulled up and in place, so it's onwards ever...

Damn, just damn

Well, I've been away for an age again and as you may imagine that means things haven't exactly been going well. I've pretty much ended up descending into a deep, dark black hole

Why? A combination of s**t ganged up on me and things went completely to pot after the New Year. Yep, I guess that includes a pot belly!

The nastiest news was that my weight did hit 67kg for a while. That meant at 10 stone 8 lbs I was over two stone heavier than my 'happy weight'. Crap!

While I'm glad to say that has come down a bit, to 62kg at the moment, it's still not good. It's also been a very hard slog even to get this far.

I mentioned back in December that some of the strategies that have worked for me in the past just don't seem to be cutting it any more. Sadly, that's still the case. I'm trying, but any progress is very slow.

OK, that's the weight, but my mental health has also taken a pretty big hit. I guess I've mentioned it a few times but haven't really laid it out in too much detail (keeping head planted firmly in the sand, I guess), but the last X weeks... well, months really... have been somewhat tough.

I've struggled in some nebulous 'can't cope' sort of way. I've been down, bluesy, sad, under the weather, prone to tears, you name it - often with no identifiable cause. My confidence, always somewhat tenuous, has taken a nosedive. There's absolutely no single concrete reason for this, that I can see - just a whole load of smallish setbacks which have piled up like a snowdrift. Unfortunately... that's just the way it just is.

It's quite a while back that my old nemesis, the Black Dog, saw his chance and leapt at it. He invited himself in by sneaking through a crack in the door, made himself comfortably at home with a cup of tea and settled in for the duration. He's there now, the little beggar, half hidden in the shadows and grinning at me with his teeth ever so slightly bared, displaying his defiance and contempt. Once he'd made himself at home, he invited along his old mate Anxiety for the ride. Fun, huh?

Suffice it to say I don't like this at all and hate the way I've been feeling. I'm so tired of just soldiering on. Some days are alright, but on others my 'worries' feel like I've managed to avoid being run down by a car only to be hit by a bus I didn't even see coming. Don't get me wrong. I don't need to tell you that there are so many people in this world for whom life is a whole lot more of a struggle than it is for poor old me. But still...

It's taken me some time to get to the point where I'd accept that I need some extra support, but I finally have and I have recently started counselling. The jury is out as to how well I'll do, but at least I've begun.

And I can do something else that I've mentioned more than once - something my lovely Mum used to do. Actually write down (yep, list in black and white) the reasons I am blessed. Express my gratitude for the good things I have in my life. And try to identify the positive things about 'me' (though I do find it difficult to see the good, not just the negatives).

If I write down just one little thing a day, that list should begin to build. If I watch it grow and read it back to myself, however corny it may seem, it might just give me another weapon in my personal armoury to help me beat off the Black Dog.

I am going to try to post here more often (er, at the moment I can't realistically make promises), as I know it has helped me in the past and your support has been a boost too.

Ah well, let's keep my fingers crossed. For now all I can really say is my customary onwards, ever...

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...

Not the finest start

I know things could be worse, but the beginning of 2017 hasn't exactly been ideal.

A rotten throat bug wouldn't have been my No. 1 choice to kick the year off. Ten days on and two trips to the doctor later, the second to get the results of a throat swab (not bacterial so probably viral), this bug is finally starting to relinquish its hold. I still feel like a limp dishrag (and still ache too) but actually possess rather more of a voice today - something almost totally absent for a good three days. Mind you, according to my lovely hubby and his kooky sense of humour, I now sound like Fenella Fielding.

The doctor also gave me the results from a panel of blood tests I had before Christmas for another little worry. Thankfully, all reported back as 'normal', barring one. That's one of the clotting factor tests and probably explains why both my big toenails started to go black for no discernible reason (bleeding under the nail) for the festive season. Oooh, how pretty! Also, why I seem to have picked up a raft of unexplained bruises and why minor nosebleeds have been a regular aspect of the last few weeks. The doctor isn't particularly concerned though, so I won't fret unless things don't settle down.

Then today, a further joy. I had not one but two emails to tell me that my applications for the latest jobs aren't going any further. I won't type the words that popped into my head. Nothing like kicking the fat lass when she's down, eh?

Oh well, can't change it so just get on with it girl. Here goes - onwards and all that jazz. Things have to improve...don't they?

Always the bridesmaid, dammit...

Oh pooh, bah and humbug! After the multiple stresses of the previous week, there appeared to be a positive start to this one. Unfortunately it has actually proven to be a challenging week. 

This week had a pretty upbeat beginning, going to the gym for a brilliant session on Monday, then day brought me down to earth with a bump. On my way back home I had a phone call with the result from the interview I attended a week on Thursday. Not positive news, as you'll have guessed. 

Yet another flaming job I didn't get, and I'm still surprisingly upset about this one. It seemed ideal, and my experience and qualifications fit their job description like a glove... apparently. I felt confident answering the interview questions and comfortable having met the people there. It was a small team and I felt that I could fit in and really give it my best. From the feedback it seems I came across well on the day, and had all the skills they were looking for, but... [insert appropriate swear words here]

Tuesday was alright, I suppose, even though I felt rather down for much of it. Not too big a shock there then. The volunteering at Oxfam cheered me up a little but not really enough to drag my sorry butt completely out of the doldrums. My poor lovely hubby was probably better off with me being out of the house for the day if I'm honest. Even the Christmas lights switch-on, pretty as it was, didn't lift my spirits.

And then came Wednesday - hey, it's another day. Let's see what this one had in store, apart from the breast screening appointment that is. Always a fun experience. Morning dawned, clear and cold, with sunlight catching the frost to sparkle on the grass outside my window. Maybe it was going to be a good one. 

But no, an email popped into the inbox to let me know I'd 'not been selected' to interview for another of the jobs I've applied for. You could perhaps say this one wasn't quite such a big deal as it was only a relatively short contract, but I am quite dejected by my repeated failure to land a decent post. 

What the F is wrong with me? Am I (as a friend suggested) overqualified? Is it my age? Could it be something in my CV? (hence the doctored cartoon)

Thursday went in similar vein - a slightly crappy session at the gym with no great motivation and seemingly less strength than on Monday. Probably in part down to lack of sleep, as that seems to be quite a problem at the moment, what between bad dreams, nebulous worries and negative two a.m. thoughts.

Friday was a bit better, with a trip out to get Christmas presents (mostly sorted now) and a carol concert in the evening. Still wasn't (and am not still) on top form though. 

Yesterday we had an appointment to discuss setting up power of attorney (we're getting to be old farts now), then finished the Christmas shopping. Today we went to the gym again. I'd like to say it was a fantastic session and everything went swimmingly, but it was just OK. 

I've been close to tears for no discernible reason for several days now. Not good, huh. All the ominous signs and portents are in place - it appears that this way lies that horrid downward spiral and the return of the bloody Black Dog. I have one foot on that slope, but I do not want to head there. So I need to take some time and sit quietly to remind myself of those blessings my darling Mum used to ask me to count.

Sorry for the doom and gloom. Be back once I've hauled my ass into a better place. Onwards... I guess.

The Ups and the Downs

Nope.

I'm not going to mention weight this time, since it appears to be neither of these things and I'm still right where I was as far as the scales are concerned. I suppose that can be viewed either way, as a good thing or a not so good thing, but the jury is still considering this.

Here I'm more about life's ups and downs, so feel free to move along and come back some time when I blether about weight-related stuff instead.

So, let's focus on those lovely 'ups' for a little while.

One bit of good news was seeing the supermoon on Monday. We went out quite early in the evening and walked for a while to find a good spot, then sat on a bench to await moonrise. Well, I say we saw it, but for us it wasn't exactly like the wonderful photos we've seen since. It was more a fleeting glimpse here and there between thick banks of cloud. But it was still amazing and I'm really pleased we made the effort.

Another positive is that we've been to the gym a few more times now and we are really enjoying it. We feel a bit more confident about which bits out of the plethora of kit we want to use (er, and how to use it!) and the people there really do seem so welcoming and helpful it makes you want to go back.

Oh, and the instrument of torture I called the cow (that abs track thingy) has a competitor. This one (similar to the one pictured) was apparently designed by Torquemada and can reduce this fat lass to a quivering, whimpering mass of frustration before you can say abdominals. Hard, you ask? Yep, but the beggar will NOT get the better of me!

I'm still volunteering, and am still really enjoying it too. Again, some super people, so there are definitely some blessings to be counted.

Ah, but as with all see-saws there are a few 'downs' too.

Next week will see a trip away. Sadly though, this isn't for nice reasons as we're travelling to a funeral. I'm dreading it if I'm honest, as this will be the first one I've attended since we lost my darling Mum, but no way can we not go.

I hate to say this but I'm struggling with the return of that bloody black dog, and pretty much on a daily basis I'm getting:
a) angry
b) downhearted
c) teary
Or all of the above. This happens at the drop of a hat just at the moment, and I seem unable to shake it off. The damned beast seems to have sneaked up behind me when I wasn't looking, settled itself on the sofa and made itself right at home.

I'm very aware that some of the causes are explained pretty easily (sadness at recent news and worries about the future with the apparently unending and fruitless job hunt), but I wonder if moving to a lower dosage HRT may be contributing towards these reactions and I guess a little of it relates to the time of year as well.

My darling lovely hubby is being especially caring at the moment, which is a great help. It does relieve things somewhat and I appreciate this more than he'll ever know. Strangely though, neither his TLC nor going to the gym is the solution to breaking this blues cycle. They are great, but offer only very temporary relief. I am trying to stay positive, but...

I don't have a lot more to say right now, so until the next time, it's onwards, as ever...

Stalled...

Hmmm, feels like I'm pushing that damn car, and it's an uphill slope.

I am going to try not to moan.

OK, I tried that, it didn't damn well work, so stuff it - here goes the fat lass with a whole heap of complaining. Navigate away if you like - nothing particularly cheery about this.

Firstly, this miraculous IF plan doesn't seem quite so stupendous to me right now. I'm not saying it doesn't work and it isn't that it is in any way hard to do. Indeed, neither of us feel any problem with restricting our 'eating' hours to those between 11 a.m. and 8 p.m, to 'fast' for the remaining hours. Furthermore I don't think we've been over-compensating and eating more as a result, although that isn't terribly easy to quantify.

But, (oh you just knew there'd be a 'but' didn't you) we started it with high hopes that IF would help the needle on the scales move. Now, if I'm being 100% truthful I guess this has happened. Unfortunately not in the direction I'd hoped for.

I wanted to get down another kilo to 54kg but that isn't what's happened - in fact I appear to have put ON a kilo. I am back at 56kg, and that's where my body seems to want to stay. You can imagine the less than polite words that are sliding through my mind, so for now I'll just say Grrr!

Next up is the job hunt. Well, I'm still hunting as the interview I had last week didn't bear positive fruit. I was pretty disappointed, not least because I messed up a couple of things with the aptitude tests. Nervousness mainly - I know I'm capable of better.

I have a call tomorrow to get some more constructive feedback and I really hope this will help if another similar position comes up, but...

On a marginally more positive (and hopeful) note though, I popped into our local Oxfam book shop today and have officially applied for a volunteering 'job'. Cross fingers that I'll hear more later this week. They would train me and I'd hopefully pick up a few more transferrable skills for my CV. Hey, so what if I wouldn't get paid for it - at least I'd be doing something constructive, getting out of the house with some sort of routine, meeting people and doing some good in the process.

Looking about, I don't need to think too hard to realise that there is another blessing to count too. This is that my lovely hubby had his diabetic review this morning and all of his blood results (HbA1c, triglycerides, cholesterol, kidney and liver function) are good, great, and super. Even if the IF isn't assisting in this, it certainly isn't hampering either.

OK, I think the moaning and mithering is over - there is something cheery to report after all. Onwards, ever...

Slow progress is still progress

Well, it appears that the scant couple of pounds water weight seems to be the extent of my losing at the moment as I'm still sitting at 58kg. Insert suitable rude words here. I have kept a close eye on what I'm eating and cut back on the unnecessary stuff, but...

The stroppy kid part of me kicks and screams and throws a tantrum. The grown-up bit reassures the brat that it's early days and things will happen and my weight will come off as long as I keep to the script. Rinse and repeat.

Lovely hubby's treatment is still going well (although he is a bit less comfortable as the days go by) and the GP is happy, so it's 'keep taking the tablets', as it were, for the foreseeable future.

I have bitten the bullet on the job front and put in an application for a part-time job (crossing fingers but not all that confident), and I'm looking around to see what else is out there. Still have no concrete idea what I'd like to do but there has to be something.

That damnable Black Dog is slinking around in the background, not threatening yet, just making his presence apparent, so I've put a link to Bobby McFerrin's 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' video on my desktop to help circumvent the beggar. If Robin Williams doesn't lift the mood I don't know what will.

Just a little reminder to the fat lass to make haste slowly. You may feel like the tortoise rather than the hare, but that is not a problem. What matters is that you keep on making sensible decisions and don't let worries and life's hitches derail you.

Onwards, ever...

Update...

...and the part of that word which spells 'UP' is spot on.

Sorry ladies, but I think what I'm trying to say is 'oh s**!'. The fat lass is back, and I'm sorry to say that I've fallen flat on my face and royally screwed up.

I am currently weighing in at 9 stone 4 lbs, nearly a stone heavier than my happy weight and, oh boy, does it show. My clothes are not comfortable (and some don't fit at all), and my dodgy knee is objecting to the extra load so 'happy' is a term I appear to have mislaid. In fact I'm pretty disgusted with my behaviour.

Ooh, while I remember, thank you if you're one of the lovely people who have commented on my previous posts. For some reason I don't seem to be able to reply nor leave comments back for anyone these days, but I really do appreciate your kind, supportive words.

So than, aside from the obvious singing 'la-la-la-la' with my fingers in my ears as the pounds piled on, oh and eating too damned much, what's the cause of this problem/faux pas/cock-up?

Well, you probably wouldn't be too surprised to hear that a big part of it falls squarely at the door of 'worry' - my constant nemesis.

My darling lovely hubby has had a few health hiccups to deal with over the last few months and has just started treatment for the latest one. I was pretty OK with it immediately after he'd seen the consultant, who seemed fairly blasé and unconcerned, but rather less so when I read the leaflet for the medication he's been prescribed. He's been diagnosed as having actinic keratoses, the symptoms of which are popping up like weeds at the moment, and the fluorouracil cream he's been given is classed as chemotherapy as it's function is to 'destroy cancerous and pre-cancerous cells'. Oh! That has given me pause for thought.

You see, I'd wrongly assumed that this was a pretty straightforward issue - just identify the problem, treat and forget - but it seems that I may have been just a shade over-optimistic in this. Perhaps getting such a rapid appointment with the consultant (within two weeks of speaking to our GP) should have given me a clue.

OK, it isn't a life-threatening matter but isn't quite the harmless inconvenience I'd first thought, and the treatment itself isn't a bundle of fun. My poor darling! At least the various hats he's wearing to shield him from the summer sun (when we see it) make him look marvelously distinguished.

Then there's my super sister. I'm waiting to hear how she got on having been sent for a CT scan after coughing up blood (again) a wee while ago. Shades of my lovely Mum all over again. She is being decidedly calm and stoic about the whole thing, but me... well let's just say I'm twitchy and fretting.

I am also worrying about work - or rather being out of it again. Yes, before you say it, I am very well aware that it was my choice to quit. Indeed, I still think this was the right decision to have taken as the job I had really wasn't doing me any favours, but I'm 'employed' in name only until the end of August and beginning to fret about getting another job again.

I've started looking at jobs websites again (intending to scale up the hunt properly after my sister has visited this coming week) but am not getting particularly warm feelings at the moment. This could be me 'borrowing troubles' perhaps, but that does seem to be my No. 1 skill.

I feel quite ashamed to feel this way. There are so many people in the world with much bigger things to worry about that I have (those poor people in Louisiana dealing with the flooding for a start), but I just can't find the 'off' switch for my fretting. Road-map or user guide anyone?

What I do have is a tentative plan to deal with the weight gain, if not the worries. What has worked for me to lose excess flab in the past is documenting everything I eat, and recording my weight and measurements on a regular basis. So, here goes - and the first step has been telling you good people about it.

Onwards and, this time, downwards please...

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...

Tricks, treats and consequences

With Halloween, and All Soul's Day, just behind us I thought it was about time to make my confessions. The fat lass, it seems, has lost the plot.

Let's talk about the tricks first as these led directly to the rest. My mind (I rather hesitate to say brain here - that appears to have taken leave of absence!) has been playing these on me just recently. Maybe it's been inadvertent, but maybe (more likely) with a dose of collusion on my part - the jury remains out at the moment.

You see, I've been sitting on my backside completing a plethora of online job applications of late. Not my favourite task, ever... particularly when they all seem to come to nought. I have got SO very fed up answering the same damn questions, with each and every organisation's application worded just differently enough to make me have to 'rewrite' the script every damn time. I'm also mightily tired of trying to portray myself in an engaging, positive and unmissable light, and in no way at all overqualified for this not fantastically paid but 'fascinating sounding' job. Er, me? No siree, not even slightly. C'mon someone, give me a shot and I'll show you I can do the damn job! Whinge, whinge...

Whether this has been the only trigger, I don't know. Inactivity certainly plays a part too, and it could still be some of the leftover stresses from the move as well, or even some of those old family issues raising their ugly heads again. Whatever the real cause, my internal dialogue (or the devil on my shoulder) has been pretty active of late too, and whispering slippery, subtle, dangerous words like 'working hard' and 'deserve' and 'make you feel better'.

On the back of this 'permission', my mischievous mind has also suggested (and, of course I've readily accepted) a variety of treats. Nothing 'bad' you understand, but...

Oh sure, they've all been low-carb so I haven't felt too sinful, but as we all know in our saner moments, even low-carb excess has a knock-on effect. Shame I seem to have mislaid 'sane'. A dollop of cream in my coffee, a handful of nuts here and there, a small bag of pork scratchings, cheese and olives at lunchtime (when a good breakfast suffices and we don't usually eat any lunch!). The odd snifter of scotch, or glass of red.

Get my drift? Yep, strangely enough that's also what happened to the scales! We'd managed to 'forget' to weigh ourselves for a couple of weeks, what with the birthdays and other excuses, but got back on the scale at the weekend. Oh dear - our very own Halloween nightmare! The damage for me? Two extra kilos. TWO of the blighters! There they are, cheerfully taking me over my magic eight and a half stone mark for the first time in I don't know how long.

Something went bump in the night alright. That'd be my sense of well-being and with it my self respect. Well, I can't say it should have come as a complete shock as the waistband of my jeans appeared to have 'shrunk' even though I hadn't even put them through the laundry! Darling lovely hubby fared less disastrously, but even he'd gained a kilo.

Right, we know 'what' to do, it's just a simple(!) matter of knuckling down and doing it. In the meantime, all I can do is repeat Flanders and Swann's 'Pee Po Belly Bum Drawers!' and get back to the drawing board. Onwards, and all that...

A very hard pill to swallow

I'm struggling at the moment... a bit of a dilemma (an internal battle) that's keeping me awake at night but one I know I can't truly engage in. This feeds into some of the anger and frustration I mentioned yesterday.

OK, bottom line - I have to accept that this is NOT my battle. What my darling friend is going through is fundamentally her business and she has to walk the path so she gets to choose which path to follow.

This is written with love, but I'm really, really struggling not only with what's haapening to her, but also to have done some of my own background research, partly at her behest, and come across something (and told her about it)  which makes SO much sense to me in beefing up the fight against this bloody cancer, but for her to dismiss the prospect. Oh Lord, this is hard.
[reminder to self: ALWAYS keep in mind these are her decisions to make, fat lass - not yours]

What I'm talking about is Dr. Dominic D'Agostino's research into metabolic disease. One thread of his work (in a fascinating area) seems to indicate that switching to a strict ketogenic diet can dramatically increase cancer survival rates.

Huh, you might say - why the heck does this seem a likely option? Well, setting any reaction to peer-reviewed papers aside, in an article for CBN News he explains the basics - in that:

All cells, including cancer cells, are fueled by glucose. But if you deprive them of glucose, they switch to the alternate fuel, ketone bodies.

Except cancer cells. A defect prevents them from making the switch to using ketone bodies as fuel and therefore, cancer cells can ONLY [my emphasis] survive on glucose. All other cells can use either glucose or ketone bodies.

One of the most challenging parts to me is that D'Agostino also firmly advocates hyperbaric therapy (a.k.a. use of a diving decompression chamber) in the fight against cancers, and that's something we've also discussed and she would accept... it just isn't bloody well available here. The F word is about to emerge again!

But...
Hell, fat lass, even though you think you are right and you think it would help her and it's a relatively simple and straightforward change she could make to give herself a stronger fighting chance... this is not, repeat NOT, your call to make.

So shut your yap.

Can this get any worse?

OK, I'll apologise up front for the foul language but I can't think of more 'appropriate' words to use. No, they're not for me - things here are crazy with the moving plans but with a positive slant. The 'worse' is for my darling friend. She was called in by her consultant to get her biopsy results early... I think you might guess why.

Yep, that bastard, bastard, bastard cancer has decided to leave the nicely contained security of her breasts (which was bad enough), take a wee wander around, and has now been found lurking in her lymph nodes. This new 'invasive' form it's taken is, as she puts it a 'total game-changer'!

Other than swearing a blue streak I don't know what to say, nor can I begin to know what to do. I'm so bloody angry that this can be happening to such a wonderful, full of life, big-hearted, lovely lady. We've been good friends for nigh on thirty years and I love her dearly, like a sister. I just wish I could turn back the clock and somehow change/shift/amend reality so this couldn't be. But I can't and it is what it is.

OK, right, I know this is still treatable (surgery plans will still go ahead, augmented by a whole helluva lot of post-surgical treatment), and I can accept that this isn't a moment to even 'think' about a 'black notice' but I'm so scared for what she has to endure and the effect it'll have on her and all her loved ones. And, as I mentioned, really, really angry. It's coming out in tears and short-temperedness for me. Tough cookie as she's always been, God knows how she's managing to handle things.

If you are the praying kind, please pray for my darling friend.

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!

Struggles

Dammit, I really have no reason whatsoever to be struggling... but somehow I am. Things at work are not exactly sweetness and light at the moment and I'm seriously short on patience... hence the tee-shirt image.

Try as I may, I'm just not making the grade at the moment. I'm extremely grumpy, and also quite down - to the point of being teary. Blasted black dog is definitely on the prowl. A whole raft of nebulous worries (about all sorts of things) seem to be my lot at the moment too. Doing 'something' about it though... er, that's not really happening.

In part, this is because I've still got precious little energy (I'm constantly tired and still coughing) and have practically no stamina so, apart from a bit of walking, the exercise plans are still just that - vague 'someday' plans. Having lost a load of weight while ill, I now find myself starving of the hunger a lot of the time so capable of munching for England. While initially happy for a bit of a gain back, I am getting worried that things could get right out of hand unless I curb this desire to eat... anything and everything.

I need to get a grip, to get out of this dark mindset and see the positives. They ARE there. Remember, fat lass, your lovely Mum knew that all too well, so look out (actively!) for those blessings.

On this basis, I read a quote somewhere which said something along the lines of "if you are struggling at least you are still trying". I guess that is, at least, a small silver lining. Ah well, onwards ever...

Climbing back... slowly

Well folks, that little spurt of 'hey, let's be positive' didn't see me through very far. By Monday evening last week that chesty man-flu had developed into a full-blown chest infection and as if that's not bad enough, it has cheerfully kicked off my (previously quiescent) asthma. Hell, talk about being steamrollered!

So, the fat lass was a good, dutiful girl and went along to see her GP midweek. Came away with a bag of drugs and I've been on antibiotics and inhalers ever since. At least I haven't needed the steroids he also prescribed... not yet anyhow.

I can't say I remember a great amount about last week... other than coughing and other negative things. When I could raise the energy, I was very peeved to have been put back on the inhalers as it's been such a source of pride to me that I haven't needed them, after so many years. But, you know what they say about pride, eh?

I couldn't really complain though - having checked my peak flow (in between coughing bouts) it had dropped from my usual c.450 litres per minute to just a shade under 300. Not good, so just as well to enlist a little assistance. And the good news is that the medication is helping.

So here we are again. Another Monday morning back at work, catching up (or trying to) on a shed-load of missed 'work stuff', still feeling like a wrung out dish-rag, but at least I'm definitely on the mend.

What's really surprised me was getting on the scale to find I'd dropped so much weight - not all that far away from half a stone in a week! At my lowest (Saturday) I'd gone down to 51.5kg, just a few pounds over eight stone. In such a short space of time that seems extraordinary and highly improbable, but it's creeping back up a little as I cough a bit less and start eating a bit more normally. Hmmm, never though the fat lass would want to put weight on!

What I really want is a magic injection of energy. If you see any spare supplies looking for a good home...

Picnic night

It was a pretty rough week last week, in a lot of ways, with some very, very difficult news coming in from my oldest friend (for her sake, and for her family's, I won't share this), a selection of getting older and housing-related worries, and a tad more of a variety of irritating people and issues at work than usual to test my patience and resolve.

Oh yes, especially fun was the start of the week when I was also bedevilled by another (actually, probably the same) little bug which settled itself into my sinuses making me headachy, with ringing ears, seriously grumpy and dog-tired - indeed so grotty did I feel that my rowing was knocked off the cards again!

Speaking of dogs, that darned black dog saw his chance and took it too, and he had a field day. The blighter was slavering in the sidelines and nipping at my heels all week. Tears and minor tantrums were a part of just about every day, and I'm aware that I've been very impatient and cranky.

It was oh so tempting at times to stuff down all those negative emotions with food (ah yes, vending machine crappy chocolate bars, I am looking at you!) or, in the evenings, with a large glass of something alcoholic from over the border. Thankfully I managed to avoid both bear-traps and I neither comfort ate nor turned into the friendly neighbourhood lush. Quite an achievement, this feels, to be honest.

So my darling lovely hubby and I decided that we needed to give ourselves a break. Friday night was going to be a stress free zone, and we'd have a picnic and a glass of wine, maybe even watch a film, and R-E-L-A-X!

So we did just that, and it was lovely. We had some leftover roast pork from earlier in the week, and I bought some rather nice cheeses (Fourme d'Ambert and a Spanish goat cheese) and some gorgeous tiny green olives. Chopped celery aplenty and a half strawberry (artfully fanned, thanks to a lesson from lovely hubby) to garnish and we settled down to a feast for the eyes and to the taste buds. We listened to some great music too, even though we didn't quite make the film part. It did us both a lot of good... as did the weekend.

Sometimes, in life, we just need to stop, take stock, appreciate the good things in life and remember how lucky we are (hey, we're back to my beloved Mum's blessings here).

So here we are on Monday. Onwards, with a lot more energy, ever...

Be careful what you say, fat lass!

 Oh heck, no sooner do I mention that "I now suffer far fewer and less severe infections of all sorts" than I get bitten by a stomach bug. Grrr, typical or what! Hmmm, 'bottoms' seems an appropriate comment.

It kicked off Friday night and I thought it must have been something I ate to start with, but no. I can only say that an 'interesting' weekend ensued... more detail than that you do not need. Indeed it's only just getting back to normal(ish) today. Food of any sort has been way, way down my priority list, but I've drunk for England.

One of the few nourishing things I've been able to handle is good old beefy Bovril.

 

Childhood goodness reincarnated.

I've ached and felt like a wet dish rag, and although I have been at work (er, several people have probably wish I'd stayed away, since I've been pretty cranky) it's knocked me off the morning's rowing - damn it. I hate it when I get derailed, especially just as I'd started stepping up the times. Still, can't be helped and I'm hoping I'll be back at it before the weekend.

Maybe a gentle row tomorrow?

Sometimes it's easy, sometimes it's hard...

...er, life, that is... and by extension, maintaining a sensible 'happy' weight, and keeping to my desired level of fitness.

So where am I right now? Well, a school report would probably say something like 'acceptable, but could do better' (actually, as a kid mine used to say things like 'could try harder' quite a lot).

My weight remains pretty stable, floating between 54kg and 55kg so that's OK. Mind you, it does seem a bit of a struggle to keep it in this range at times. If I'm honest, I'd prefer to be sitting in the 53-54kg range, but I don't quite seem able to hang onto this at the moment, even when I do get there. I think the fitness part feeds into this...

Fitness has taken a decided turn for the not so good - I'm not the woman I was. Hmmm, nor the one I want to be. The lack shows a bit too much for my liking, and my shape is oh so definitely not what I'd prefer to see. The waist size I'd expect at my current weight is not, repeat not, what I actually see. In fact, it seems to be a half- to one whole inch larger than it 'ought' to be, and that increase is a flabby one. Now I'll admit that I never have a flat tummy (my perennial leftover kangaroo pouch sees to that!), but I appear to have a new and unwelcome squidgy bit just above the waistband of my jeans - pooh!

(in some ways this makes me giggle, when I think back to the bad old days when the very thought of wearing jeans seemed an impossible dream)

I need to get back to my daily stints on Connie the rower (sorry babe, I've missed you). I need to get back to the abs work too. I plan to do both... but life seems to have ganged up on me to foil my feeble efforts. The course didn't help (oooh, but it's been one hectic month and I'd quite forgotten the stress of exams!) and now the run up to the festive season has set a nice series of obstacles for me too.

Still, I used to be able to figure a pathway through stuff like this... so why can't I do this now? Grrr!

OK, I'll take what positives I can from this - I'm 'alright'. But I want to be better, and I know that it's do-able. Guess I need to, as Nike so often tell us, just do it!

Up and down, comings and goings

Firstly, this means my moods, which are daily swinging from 'absolutely super' to 'decidedly 'orrid' and back again. Moderate and measured definitely isn't me at the moment, which makes me wonder whether the seemingly un-ending bl**dy menopause is throwing a little wobbly, despite the HRT - is that possible?

Whatever, it's been accentuated as work has been a real pig since we got back from the break (in a variety of ways, although none too serious), but more in that I am worrying about a slight change in my darling lovely hubby's health. Nothing major (crossing fingers, toes and everything else I can manage), but a nagging concern and enough to disrupt the odd night's sleep.

I also find, and this is unexpectedly tough, that I'm really, really feeling the absence of my beloved and much missed Mum as the evenings draw in. Silly, I know, but one of the problems is that I can't have just a quick nightly chat to her any more. Never expected to feel this so deeply after all this time (it's been nearly eighteen months since we lost her), but I keep telling myself it itsn't anything but natural. Ho hum.

Then there's weight. We came back to find that both of us had lost some weight, which was fabulous. But... just over one week on and I've discovered that I now own a stray kilo, which has plopped onto my body somewhere as my scales cheerily tell me. Bottoms! That doesn't make a girl feel so great... and I honestly have NOT gone silly with food, even when I've got irritable, stressed and gloomy.

And now to the comings and goings... it's going to be a hectic few weeks and I'll be MIA quite a bit. This is because I'm finally (after several years asking) booked onto a training course which should lead, er... I hope, to a nationally recognised qualification. The course starts next Monday and it's one week on (down in London to boot, with all the joys of commuting), a week back at work, another week on, then revision for two written papers... then a final one-to-one practical assessment.

Er, silly sausage that I am, I thought that this fast-track approach would be a sensible option - the alternative being six months of day release. The course materials turned up yesterday... and all I can say is 'aaaaargh'. Boy, all this stuff to cover (and remember!) in just over two weeks? And the perils of workplace legislation to consider too?? Poor old grey matter - do I ever have my work cut out for me!

If I'm honest, I'm nervous... er, let's make that scared... er, it's more like bricking it. However, it was my decision to do it, I signed up for it and I'll have to do my best with it. Who knows, I might actually enjoy it.

The upshot, as always, is to keep positive as much as possible and repeat my usual - onwards, ever...