What's occurring?

Blimey! It's December already and nowhere near the start of the month. Deep breath - er, hello world.

I can't imagine there's many out there to remember this rather 'absent' fat lass but, surprisingly, I am still here. If there is anyone left, I can almost hear the question "And where exactly is 'here' these days"?

Well, I'd love to report that all is Yuletide cheer and joy, but reality is not quite along those lines. Let's get the toughest bit out there first. About an age and a half ago, way back in May, which I gather is over half a year back, I wrote:

"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 body weight. Hell, it hurts typing that."

As of the start of the week, my weight is 59 kg = 130 lbs = 9 stone 4 lbs. Oh crap, when you look at it this is not really sterling progress for this time-frame, is it?

Sure I have lost 'some' weight, but it's minimal and has been a damned hard slog, with one step forward, two back (and repeat). Here I am still a kilo above the top of my 'Ideal Weight' range (for my age/height/frame) which is 58 kg = 128 lbs = 9 stone 2 lbs. A long way away yet from my 'Happy Weight' of 54 kg = 119 lbs = 8 stone 7 lbs.

Is this from lack of trying? Well, of course it is partly, as earlier in the year I wasn't truly committed, whatever I thought, so backsliding was commonplace.

However, in the six or so weeks since the end of October I have been putting in a great deal more effort and trying a helluva lot harder, and still my progress is minimal. Some of the strategies that have worked for me in the past don't seem to be cutting it any more.

What am I doing right now? 
Low carb (keto) eating, with just two meals per day.
Intermittent fasting in the form of time-restricted eating. In practice, this is not eating after about 7:30 in the evening until at least 11:00 the next morning, usually longer than this.
Minimising snacks (with chunks of cucumber and mooli being my most common snacking choice).
Remembering to drink water as often as I can, and keeping the alcohol to one glass of something at weekends.
Weighing myself regularly, and checking measurements too.

What am I NOT doing right now? 
Moving my ass. Sadly, my 'new' new job is seriously sedentary and I'm sat on my tush for the vast majority of the day, tied to a computer.
Because there's a lot to get done (jeez, understatement here!) I'm working extra hours so I'm too damn tired to even consider a return to the gym.
Now it's winter I'm not walking to or from work in the cold and dark, and weekend walking isn't too tempting either.
Oh yeah, keeping the stress to acceptable levels - this is so not happening (the new role is... pretty hellish, if I'm honest).
Not getting enough sleep, despite being tired (see stress above), waking frequently, having bad dreams/nightmares and the odd 2 a.m. panic attack.
Ah, and to add to the mix, the continuing effects of coming off HRT are still giving me grief.

What am I proud of?
It's tempting to say "not much" here, but there are some chinks of silver lining to my cloud.
Although my weight isn't much changed, my measurements have reduced and my podgy, padded middle is a shade less overstuffed. I am wearing a pair of work trousers that I could barely get done up a few weeks ago.
I'm also really delighted that having just 'enjoyed' the third of this year's festive celebrations today, I have stayed true to my low carb ideals. No sweeties, or chocolate, or mince pies, etc. for this fat lass (and there have been and still are a wealth of temptations in the workplace!).

What am I pissed off about?
Well, my weight is obviously a major one. What I want to see on the scales and what I do see is not motivating in the least, making this period harder for me than I can say I appreciate.
Getting older doesn't endear itself to me. My darling Mum always said that old age doesn't come alone and she was right - it brings things like dry and sagging skin, dry eyes, aching joints, sleepless nights, health concerns (for me and for loved ones), constipation, and a raft of other fun things.
I'm actually also quite angry about work. I won't go into detail but it isn't exactly what I (or others) had been led to expect.
My other, and possibly biggest, problem is that old faithful, the Black Dog, who is my constant companion at the moment. Here he is again with a rumbling growl, firmly attached to my side, having invited his good mate 'Anxiety' along for good measure.
Things have been pretty rotten in this respect recently. Lovely hubby gently mentioned how concerned he has been about me, and what he said he was worried about really shocked me to the core. More than for myself, I really hate how this crap is affecting him.

So, what's next?
Keeping on doing the good things I'm doing.
Learning to be patient and keep the end goal in mind (now I'm heading for 60 this stuff isn't as straightforward as it was back in my 40s - things take longer).
And, once the darkness of winter begins to lift and work shakes down into a more manageable routine (please Lord!) I will get this flabby bottom moving more. Whether that will involve gym membership, or something else, it's just too soon to say.

Hey ho. Onwards, ever...

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!

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...

Connie good, fat lass bad

Well, I'm delighted to say that I did get back on Connie, the lovely rower (let's hear it for good old Connie), and I have increased my morning times since. That's all well and good and I am really pleased with the way it's going. But, oh, if all of life were like that.

Unfortunately, there's a 'but' and that is that I seem to be battling a nasty case of the Januarys... or should that be 'oh hell, now what else can go wrong' January blues! This is mostly a work-related thing so in theory I 'should' be able to go home at the end of another (hassle-filled) day and forget it all. Should... not can!

It's been pretty full-on since that oh so distant festive break ended (whoooee, but that seems like an age ago now...) and things have not exactly gone smoothly since. I seem to be paddling like hell to get nowhere fast a lot of the time, and feel like I'm falling behind on planned work because of all the fire-fighting stuff!  This 'too much going on' has quite often stopped me getting out to walk at lunchtimes too, and I'm less than impressed. And the stressing and mild sense of panic also means I want to eat... anything will do. This is somewhat of a daily struggle.

Although I've mostly won on this 'eat me' front, so there haven't been any disastrous effects on my weight (er, yet!), all this doesn't do much for my positivity and, for some silly reason, I can't let go of it at the end of the day. I guess it doesn't help that often I wake up and fret about things in the early hours too so I have also been growing increasingly tired.

Worse, I'm taking my bad attitude, frustration and short temper back home with me and my poor lovely hubby catches the brunt of it nine times out of ten. Not a great plan for maintaining marital harmony. Thankfully, he's a very patient, understanding man, so I'm very lucky.

The more logical half of me manages to keep relatively calm and cheerfully say 'hey, all this shall pass' but, unfortunately, my emotional part has her fingers firmly stuffed in both ears and is singing 'lah lah lah lah lah' at the top of her voice whilst running around like a headless chook.

The upshot is this - I'm officially fed up with January. Could we give February a try please? Who knows, it 'might' be better!

To end on a more upbeat note, I've been for my mid-life 'are you going to keel over soon' health check and it was hilarous. It started pretty well when the automatic 'I guess your height, weight and blood pressure' machine decided I was two inches shorter than I actually am! Ho hum. OK, so we corrected that pronto. Not that it's a huge deal, but hey, these are 'my' records and a three percent error will make a noticeable difference to that jolly old BMI value you know.

Then I did a silly thing and apologised that my BP was bit higher than I'd expected (at 129/59). Hmm, must admit here that this was because the fat lass got a tad tetchy when the instructions on the high-tech whizz-bang machine and what you 'actually' have to do didn't tally = instant grrr and raised BP! Oh, the rather surprised nurse said, but it's really good and your resting heart rate (55 bpm) is great too! Alright, so our perception differs a little here, but never mind.

Then the weekly alcohol intake, exercise patterns, smoking, family health history questions came and went. All responses seemed to make her a happy bunny. Doing OK so far... and those bloods results (full lipid panel amongst other bits and bobs) are still to come back, but the reaction when we discussed diet was an absolute cracker.

I was asked whether I felt my diet was 'good', 'poor' or 'alright'. Now who's going to say anything less than positive, eh? I told her mine was 'super' thanks. She then asked if I was aware of the 'low-fat diet' advice so I said that indeed I was, but added that I totally ignored it.

Oooops! There was a sharp intake of breath, so I explained that I followed a ketogenic diet and this helped me maintain substantial weight loss (at this point she checked on my records to see what I had been, and 'ooohed' a bit).

Then, because she looked a wee bit bemused at this 'ketogenic' business, I started to explain what it was, i.e. low carb - yep, this seemed an acceptable thing to do, with moderate protein - er, I guess that probably seems OK, and that this means my diet is high in fat - WHAT!!

Oh dear, I'm not convinced that she (or her student) expected me to manage to leave the consulting room before I dropped like a stone from imminent heart failure. Hmmm, I think both of us might look at those detailed blood results quite closely. An interesting morning, eh?

Onwards, and a shade frustratedly, ever...

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...

Let it be

A great mantra this, and one I'm leaning upon really heavily right at the moment.

Yep, when you find yourself in times of trouble... let it be! That is what I'm telling myself in the face of a variety of actual and potential disruptions to our holiday, having had a series of phone calls with various people last evening which may (or may not) cast a shadow on our break. I'm also telling myself not to be selfish, to go with the flow, to cut other people some slack, and employing various other clichés to stop my inner brat throwing her toys out of the pram!

The positive part of me is working overtime, and mostly succeeding, and I'm trying to smother the negative part of me, which is grumbling and muttering away under it's breath in the background about 'everything going pear-shaped', which really isn't true.

The main point here is, we ARE still going away, we MAY be joined by my sister and her hubby and we WILL have a good break. All the rest is just fluff and smoke.

Onwards ever...

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.

Hungry Tuesday

Well, so much for the positivity folks! Oh boy, but this Bank Holiday didn't exactly go according to plan...

First off we didn't get to see our lovely new baby girl after all (a long and involved story... er, maybe later) and then having postponed that visit, unfortunately, we didn't get to go for our 'consolation prize' long walk either. It being a British Bank Holiday weekend, it rained so darned hard on Saturday that we'd have drowned before we'd got halfway there!

So, it wasn't quite what I'd expected, but I guess the upside is that the house is nice and clean and all the ironing is done, although heck, housework wasn't exactly what I wanted to be doing. Ho hum.

But the main reason I'm feeling stressed today (and thus starving of the hunger, I suspect) is that, as if there hasn't been enough, we've had some more bad and worrying news.

My poor cousin, who is in his mid-sixties (this is a cousin I've been close to for the whole of my life), underwent emergency repair surgery for an abdominal problem in the early hours of Saturday/Sunday (following 'routine' surgery earlier last week) and is still knocked out and in intensive care.

Yes, thinking logically, I know there's nothing I can do to change the outcome. I also 'know' he's in the right place, and I do have confidence that he is being looked after as well as he possibly could be, but I'm still scared for him. Really scared. He's not the fittest person around, even under normal circumstances, and this isn't an insignificant thing. Hence my fears - and I suppose some of this worry is selfishness as, in addition to my concerns for my cousin, his wife and their children, I really don't want to lose another precious family member.

So today, my concentration is not what it could be, my thoughts are casting around and I find I'm looking for something (anything) to eat once again. I've taken the precaution of sellotaping my 'snack' drawer shut so I can't easily open it to binge on nuts. My packed lunch (leftover chicken and bits 'n bobs) stayed intact throughout the morning... and I went for a very, very brisk walk at lunchtime to distract myself.

One way or another I need to keep these roiling emotions tamped down and stay in control. Onwards, ever...

Just a little update - I have successfully managed to avoid (ignore) the sweet Sicilian treats one of the team brought back from their holiday and left in our communal kitchen. They looked lovely too.

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...

Life may not be fair...

...but it's the only one we're going to live.

I particularly need to remember that and make the best of it... and be sure to count my blessings every day. Just at the moment, this is turning into a pretty constant mantra for me as I find myself struggling to deal with life's various worries and crises.

Heck, that sounds pretty 'down', doesn't it, but I'm not going to moan - I am doing my utmost to stay positive, look at things practically and not let those lurking blue meanies get a grip. But why is this necessary, you may ask.

My main worry is for my poor sweet Mum. We've just found out that, after the fall a couple of months ago and subsequent problems, she won't be able to return to her own home. Her physical condition has deteriorated to quite a degree, she's unlikely to improve hugely, and she now needs round-the-clock care. This physical set-back has also led to a slowing in mental acuity.

Getting old just isn't nice. She always did say that 'old age doesn't come alone' and often added the rider that she wasn't too keen on it's choice of friends! Perceptive, wasn't she, my Mum.

Whilst all of this isn't a particular surprise (in fact I was getting scared about the prospect of her going back home and being alone for most of the time) there's a lot for us kids to plan and organise for her... and at a distance! Then factor-in that our family's 'communication' record isn't the best... which makes it all so much more difficult.

Crucially though, this will be a massive change for poor Mum to adjust to. She's SO wanted to go home and it just can't happen now. She's going to need all of our support and help and this will require us to set aside our various baggage and differences and focus purely on her needs. Easily enough said... rather harder to get active co-operation from all concerned.

The real shame of it is that where she is right now is fantastic - she couldn't have better, more empathetic, personal and caring support, from all of the lovely staff there... but she can't stay there as it's only a short-term rehabilitation unit. We HAVE to move her and put her through the whole readjustment period once again and, to be honest, wherever she moves to will really have their work cut out to live up to current standards.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - I absolutely HATE living so far away from her. I desperately want to do more for her and have to fight the feeling of 'failing' her somehow on a pretty regular basis. Sure when I consider this logically, I know there are many, many people in similar situations, dealing with the self-same concerns but... this is happening to MY Mum, and to me she's the most special lady in the world.

Of similar concern is a new health issue for my darling lovely hubby - oooh, what great timing, huh? I won't go into the detail, but he had surgery for this very darned thing about four years ago and the problem has raised its ugly head again. It's returned with a vengeance and, this time, it hasn't progressed slowly but has accelerated quite rapidly from a minor niggle into a fairly major worry. He's been referred to a specialist and I'm sort of holding my breath at the moment. I'm on tenterhooks about the appointment, and living in hope for a good outcome.

All of this 'stuff' has an impact way beyond the obvious stresses. Sleep is not a given these days. Regular exercise has been hit quite hard as we're travelling across the country pretty regularly and this means we are both dog-tired. I have been trying to keep up with some of it, at least, but my best-made plans don't always come off! Meals have been a whole lot less 'sensible' than we'd like too, for all we try to eat well and healthily. To be quite frank, supermarket picnics eaten in the car during the long journeys are beginning to lose their appeal!

The good news is that having gone low-carb, and been eating this way for quite some time, helps a lot. Really, really, really helps! I truly thank heavens for a low-carb lifestyle as I'd be sunk without the help it gives me. You see, there are days when I feel quite overwhelmed and could easily dive into a comfort-food-fest and stuff my face until I burst.

But, even on particularly 'bad' days (like Wednesday, after we found out about Mum) when I find myself reacting to the latest stress point and standing in front of a vending machine with a coin in my hand... everything inside, however prettily packaged in shiny wrappers, looks like inedible sugary crap. I honestly don't want any of it - even though I'm desperately craving 'something'. Strange eh?

What I have had to do though, is strictly limit the snacks I keep available to me at work - even the 'good' snacks like nuts, for example. Eating too much, or rather mindless emotional eating which leads to eating too much and which I obviously have not managed to conquer, is a potential problem. Low-carb or no, I could still find it all too easy to munch my way to oblivion.

So far, my weight remains around 55kg - a wee bit higher than my 54kg 'happy' number, but not too bad... considering. It's still very much a learning process, this maintenance business, and the review, adjust, adapt cycle is on-going. But I'm happy to keep at it as it keeps me from throwing away the years of hard work to get where I am with my weight and health. Er, stating the obvious I may be, but gaining weight right now would NOT help this fat lass.

So, a few of my blessings for today:

• The sun is shining and the sky is blue.
• The river looked lovely on my way to work.
• I'm still strong, healthy and (mostly) happy.
• I have a wonderful lovely hubby, a fabulous sister and brother-in-law and the best Mum in the world.

So far, so good...

It's been a roller-coaster weekend.

The upside? Walking on the banks of a beautiful river in the sunshine with my lovely hubby, my niece (who's expecting her first child in a few months time) and her very cute dog.

The downside? A lot of travelling and a real scare so some intense stress when I thought I was going to lose my darling Mum (she was very poorly indeed on Saturday).

By Sunday, as a reduction of panic and sweet relief kicked in, I came close (oooh, so very close!) to falling off the low-carb wagon. I wavered, and almost succumbed to the lure of fresh Welsh cakes, but... was saved at the last moment. Phew!

It's also been my first week on Premique (after the switch away from Tibolone) and I'm pleased to say that, on the menopause front, things do already seem to have settled down a bit. I feel more like 'me' again. However, it's very early days and I wasn't expecting much when I got on the scales this morning (my first chance after the weekend) so I had a pretty nice surprise. I'm down a kilo and it feels great!

Onwards, very definitely upwards!

Black dog in the sunshine and the return of Alecto

Sorry folks, but there are some serious growls and miseries ahead. You may want to go read about someone else who's feeling more cheery and motivational, but I want to get this stuff out of my system in the hope that it'll take the hint and go away.

I know there's a whole lot going on in the world which should me feel grateful to be who I am, and where I am. I feel for those caught up in events, but I'm living in my skin and this ramble is kind of personal to me.

Well, the only polite thing I can think of to say about my life at the moment is... rude words, fuss and bother. It just shouldn't be like this. Now that the sun has shown her face and there are blossoms and flowers about, and there is finally a bit of spring to be seen, my moods should be shifting towards the positive, right?

Er, wrong...

In fact, it seems quite the opposite. After a pleasant weekend with lovely hubby, pleasing ourselves and doing LOADS of walking around London on Saturday (albeit mostly in the peeing rain), and successfully managing to remain low-carb in the face of a sea of cafes and restaurants apparently wanting to stuff us and the rest of humanity with bread and pasta, I should be on a high, shouldn't I.

But, for some reason, instead of the high, the fat lass is struggling with two problems. The first is the return of my very own version of Alecto (go on, look her up in Greek mythology)... er, irritability, that is, she says, putting it very mildly indeed! The other thing is an unexpected 'black dog' period.

The former has been building for a couple of weeks now, and hit a bit of a peak earlier in the week when I actually lost my temper with a colleague. I can't remember the last time I lost control at work, but I'm embarrassed to say I ended up doing my screaming harridan act.

This was triggered when, in mid-discussion (as I was trying to engage quietly, reasonably and calmly to resolve a problem), he first harrangued me and then, when that wasn't getting him anywhere, turned his back and stalked away from me, cutting me off completely. I'm afraid to admit that this sparked off an instant 'light the blue touch-paper and stand well back' reaction!

Thankfully, it was pretty much only the two of us around at the time, but I'm not proud of myself at all. I should have been more adult and professional, even if he wasn't being very reasonable. I'm actually rather worried that I didn't/couldn't stay calm, and also that it took a long while for me to get over it. Oh well, it's over and done, and I must move on and resolve to NOT resort to a similar reaction again.

The blues part of the duo kicked off on Sunday. There've been hints of it popping up in the last few weeks, but it all came to a head with a particularly teary bout on Sunday morning. At first, I put it down to tiredness from our looong day out and from a lot of disturbed nights with the night sweats... again, but there seems to be more to it than that. I'm just 'down' in a rather nebulous and unspecified way, and I don't like it!

Both aspects of this 'may' be to do with switching to these darned tablets. It certainly seems quite a coincidence that they and my mood changes started about the same time. I'll talk to my GP about this later and see what she thinks.

If it isn't the tablets, and I'm blaming them unfairly, what else could be causing it? Well, it could be that I'm a tad under the weather (I have been running on 'hot' over the last few days, in the daytime as well as at night). It may be an overspill from work stuff and the various tensions there. It may be worries about my Mum and her deteriorating condition: she's now skimming her mid-nineties, just had another birthday, and isn't doing all that well to be honest. It may merely have been far too long a winter... or it could be a combination of any or all of these. I just don't know. But I do know that I'm feeling sorry for myself, and I don't care for this at all.

On a marginally more positive front, I'm forcing my sorry self to stay active. Rowing, the abs work and walking continue, and I'm even making a little progress with increasing what I do. I do feel slightly 'stronger', although I can't say I can see too much difference to my body tone as yet, but time should tell, eh?

I'm avoiding the siren call of chocolate (e.g. cling-film wrapped a piece of 'death by chocolate' birthday cake I was presented with, and gave it to another colleague for his little girls) and other comfort foods. I'm making myself comply with and adhere to the low-carb dietary guidelines and sticking with the daily carb limits which I know I'm better for. However, I have to admit that I am finding things really rather hard at the moment.

My weight fluctuations aren't helping to keep me in a positive frame of mind either. Best description of my relationship with the scales would be 'variable' at the moment. The needle is up and down like a lady of the night's undergarments, and my mood (sadly) pretty much follows it.

On Monday morning (even after all that walking at the weekend) it was a kilo higher once again - grrr! Hmmm, not a great start to the week. I was pleased to say it dropped back a bit again... briefly, but this morning saw it back up again. For want of the language I'd really like to use here, I'll just say bottoms, bellies and other wobbly bits!

I know, it isn't a complete disaster but, despite reining in hard and being extra careful with what I'm eating, I'm four or so pounds up from where I 'want' to be. As you'd imagine,I'm not feeling exactly 'happy' with this. In fact, I feel distinctly 'old' and  'stout' and 'matronly' at the moment, nothing at all like the 'lithe' and 'energised' woman I'd wish to be.

Anyway, that has at least got it all off my chest. I guess I just need to grit my teeth, give myself a smart kick in the pants and get on with it. This feeling isn't permanent. It will pass. I just hope it passes soon.

Onwards, ever...

A helping hand?

I've been a real Moaning Minnie over the last few weeks (sorry about this chaps), but, when I was up in the middle of night recently... worrying again... something positive and wonderful struck me and I was so surprised and delighted that I simply have to share it. It's a bit of a 'eureka!' moment for me and I'm quite excited about it.

And it's that, despite being pretty darned stressed at the moment (and even having those 'diving into chocolate' thoughts), the scales have been, and still are, telling me that my weight has stayed spot-on-the dot stable for weeks. Funny how staying 'the same' isn't something I noticed, whereas a rise (or even a drop) would have made me sit up and take notice pronto, eh?

It's a very 'good' thing, and I'm grateful for that. Grateful not to be gaining, oooh yes indeedy, but also because it's a 'positive' in what seems a sea of negatives at the moment. Enough of the 'poor me' stuff though - I'm well aware that everyone has their own troubles, and mine could be a whole lot worse, so it's time I shut up!

Now, to that stability - once the 'oh, wow' had given way to a bit of thought I'm guessing there's a reason for it... and it's name is 'comfort food'.

In the past, during periods when 'bad stuff' has been going on, I've really struggled to stop myself eating too much, and badly to boot. I've had to lean heavily on my wavering 'willpower' (usually giving myself a 'good talking to' along the way) and it has never, ever been easy. The foods I've naturally gravitated towards and felt drawn to eat (or inhale madly!) were things like bread, potatoes (including crisps and mash), pasta and 'sweet things' of some sort, like biscuits and scones. Comfort foods for the fat lass, please - forget those salads!

I probably don't have to tell you that it's been hard to keep strong and eat sensibly at times like these, and I often failed and fell off the wagon, even if I did manage to haul myself back on track... eventually. But this time seems different, and I'm only just figuring out why.

You see, I hadn't realised it until now, but I simply don't seem to have the same very 'real' urge to stuff my worries down with food. Yes, it crosses my mind that I would really like to 'eat something nice' please, but it's more of an abstract thought now (almost an old habit I haven't quite shaken off), not a 'clear and present danger'. It just isn't accompanied by the same old sense of absolute desperation and real desire to put my thoughts into practice 'right now', say 'to hell with it', and E-A-T everything in sight! It's almost like the 'indulge me' demon has had some of the fight knocked out of him... or is my demon female I wonder.

Anyhow, it could be that merely being more 'aware' of the composition of what I'm choosing to eat, so actually 'thinking' about the food more deliberately, rather than a pure focus on calories alone, could be just an added reminder to me to choose more wisely. So part of the change could be assigned to 'mindfulness', and be more of a staying 'in the moment' matter, I mean.

Similarly, it could be that my habits and tastes have changed enough along the journey so my immediate thoughts of and interest in those age-old 'comfort' foods have just lessened because of that. I'd say there is certainly an element of this going on here too, as I know that some of my old 'go-to' foods (cheese & onion crisps, for example) don't really hold the same appeal any more.

But, I think there's more to it and I'm really beginning to believe that, for me, low-carb life may be a saving grace when it comes to maintaining a steady weight under stress. Maybe, finally, I will not (as for so many years) start piling on the unwelcome avoirdupois when I hit a rocky patch? Well, I certainly haven't suddenly morphed into a dietary angel, and can't see that ever happening!

I know that, where I am concerned, I've mentioned a pretty healthy scepticism about an 'addiction' to sugars (or foods which are broken down into sugars) in the past. I've never really felt that it was an issue for me in the same way as it can be for others - particularly anyone who is unfortunate to have the genetic make-up which means they are carbohydrate intolerant/insulin resistant.

But, I'm simply not 'craving' those filling, stodgy, comfort foods in the same way as I used to do... and this makes me have to think again about a probable 'addiction' factor.

I may be way off base here, but think many 'addictions' may take hold because they are coping mechanisms when the going gets tough. Smoking is probably a reasonable example - how many times has a smoker told me a cigarette 'relaxes' them. However, unless there is a chemically 'addictive' quality to a substance, like nicotine (hmmm, the jury here is still hung when it comes to sugars, although we've just bought John Yudkin's book so I may be converted yet), I feel that a 'substance' of choice (whether it be a drug or food) may often be 'addictive' simply because it provides a 'feel good' of some sort, even if short-lived, which calms us in times of stress.

That's what I would have said about my old desire to eat stodge when things got hard - it wasn't an 'addiction' as such, but those foods gave me a temporary 'feel good', a release from stress in some way. Maybe something to focus on, or maybe a feeling of things being 'safe' or 'normal' or 'unthreatening' in some sense. Hey, guess that's why they are called 'comfort' foods.

Another element is that I 'may' be feeling more satisfied in general with what I'm eating (if so I guess that'll probably be the fat component) so maybe I'm less likely to feel the first inklings of incipient hunger and immediately think I 'need' to eat.

However, I think I'm finally warming to the idea that significant physiological or biochemical changes may indeed have been triggered in my body by the move away from my previous 'normal' or mainstream 'healthy' diet to low-carb way of life.

That is, I'm beginning to believe that there 'could' have been actual changes in 'me', meaning that I'm not experiencing the cravings for comfort foods in the same way as I used to. The trigger-points, that is the stress (in whatever form it takes), may not have disappeared completely, but the responses to it are certainly different and much less prominent.

If things do get bad enough to feel panic stricken and overwhelmed by the worries and that I want to stuff myself silly, which I have to say hasn't really happened in earnest recently, I've noticed that I'm actually picking up low-carb nibbles like nuts or cheese (without really being conscious of doing so). What's more, once I start with the nibbling, I'm not carrying on eating and eating until everything disappears.

For example, I've got a jar of peanut butter (my former 'banned substance' of foods) on a shelf above my desk. I've maybe had the odd teaspoon every few days while things have been stressing me. Even I can hardly credit that the jar is still there and, even better, it's still way more than half full. That'll be a first, as my lovely hubby could tell you! I have some toasted coconut chips too. Now I've always been partial to coconut and it's been something I could eat until I burst. The bag hasn't even been opened yet.

These things may not sound a huge deal but, by 'eck my dears, they are for this fat lass! And I don't think my 'mind' or my 'willpower' or my 'psyche' has changed a jot, so I'm guessing the difference is must be in some aspect of my metabolism, and the only reason for that to happen (that I can think of) is going low-carb.

So, I did a quick Google search to see if anyone has experienced something similar... and found a few things which seem to support my thoughts (as well as some stuff which doesn't). I need to read and understand a LOT more before I start trying to get it down in black and white, but it is a possibility that restricting those sneaky carbohydrates consistently has more benefits than I'd given it credit for.

Thank goodness for low-carb!

It's just snow joke

No, indeed it has not been funny, as South Wales did get the white stuff dumped upon them and so was hit with the anticipated travel disruption and the Met Office's most super-dreadful, 'oh my word just don't even think about it' warnings not to attempt to move at all! Rightly so though, to be fair to them, as we wouldn't have been able to make it if we'd tried, with sections of the main east-west UK routes closed.

And... not too long after that all kicked off, the snow found us too. Terrific!

This caused a particular problem as not only didn't we get to go and see said relatives, but my darling Mum was very poorly indeed over the weekend (on the verge of hospital admission on Saturday) in part because her evening carers on Friday hadn't been able to get to her... and no-one knew. This is getting beyond a joke. I absolutely HATE being so far away from her as it makes me feel completely powerless to help her. I know I shouldn't but I also feel an abject failure at some level and am really frustrated and angry and... all sorts of emotions, all of them negative.

So, my dumps are even deeper than they were last week. Add to this a weekend clearing snow (only for it to pile up deeper afterwards - grrr!) and a long but short-tempered and irritable attempt, with lovely hubby, to put 'something' in a letter to the relatives, during which we both got pretty cranky, with each other and with the situation in general.

So, does this make me happy to be back at work instead? Nope - don't be daft! I came in (yes, through the snow) to 1) 'surprise' from my boss (huh, of course I made it - this isn't bloody Siberia!), 2) a pile of problems, and 3) the prospect of a loooong week ahead.

Given half an opportunity, I feel like I could dive into a great big pile of chocolate and not bother coming up for air. I won't, I guess... but hell, it sounds like a great option.

Walking the tightrope....

...and occasionally falling off?

I don't like to admit to this, but I'm going to. I've been struggling for a while. Struggling a lot, somehow, but not in a practical manner. Rather more of an internal struggle, often in the form of a battle with my inner child.

With some good news and an end in sight to my darling lovely hubby's health problems (well, we think that's pretty much the case), life 'ought' to be straightforward and cheery and I 'should' be happy as a lark, but somehow things are not quite like that.

Hmmm, so what's been going on here? Blowed if I can figure it out yet, but let's get it down in black and white and see if that helps.

When I look back at the last month or two, I've had spells where I seem to have sunk into a bit of a pit, and have lost the incentive (interest?) to look after 'me' properly. This bit sounds really silly, but I haven't even been taking care of those little personal things, like shaving my legs or painting my toenails. Sure I got my hair cut, but I'm not too fussed about the results of that even.

My eating has slipped, quite badly, for short periods. My inner brat bellows "I want" very loudly and 'me' has been giving in to her raucous demands just to shut her up. Then I realise what's going on and I get it back in hand... for a while, until it happens again.

I'm not exercising daily as I should be. Huh? Why ever not? I would usually do my exercises willingly and get pleasure from it. At the moment, it all seems a huge chore to be endured not enjoyed.

As you'd imagine, the combination of poor food choices and lack of exercise is having the expected effect - my waistband has got tighter and weight has been fluctuating.

Not very happy to say this aloud, but a week or two ago I was nearly half a stone heavier than I want to be [picture a horrified face here, à la Edvard Munch's 'Scream'].

I had begun to feel old and tired most of the time. My joints were beginning to complain and I'd started to look pretty darned flabby, not toned. Er, although I've managed to shed some of those pounds, I still feel that I look flabbier than I want to... and that's despite some assurances from lovely hubby that I'm not really turning into a complete jellified blob again.

The worst part is that I 'know' what I have to do to get back on track... but just can't find the will/energy/self-discipline to get up and at it, then keep on keeping at it.

Buffetted by the strong side-winds of life's stresses, I can feel myself wobbling on my tightrope and feel in real danger of falling. So far, when I've slipped,  I've just about managed to grab hold of the rope on my way past and pull myself to my feet again, but look out! There's peril ahead. I'm likely to miss my grip at some point, and I know if that happens my own personal 'gravity' will take over. It's an awfully long way down from here, and it won't be a comfortable landing. Worse, I'll have a serious battle to haul myself back up onto the rope. My weight loss efforts over the years will have been wasted.

I'm also scared that, if that happens, it'll sink me deep into the black despair I've felt in the past and that's just hovering in the periphery at the moment. Something needs to change.

It may be, in part, a reaction to the emotional roller-coaster ride of the last year, with periods of intense stress and spells of relative calm, but no real resolution until recently.

It may be, in part, that it hasn't been possible to take a break - almost all of my annual leave allowance has been used when lovely hubby came out of hospital after the various rounds of eye surgery. Boy, I could do with a holiday, but...

Whatever the cause, I need to take full control. It is MY choice, and my choice alone, whether I descend off the rope into a crumpled (and obese) heap, or whether I hold up my head and walk onwards, despite the odd wobble.

The plan is to choose the latter path. Onwards ever...

Sweet & Sour

Hmmm, that just about sums life up at the moment. The last week or so has been... mixed.

First the sweet stuff... I am delighted to report that my beloved lovely hubby is doing well and his surgeon doesn't want to see him for another six months. A major victory! Also, our weekend visiting Mum went pretty well and she was (er yes, I did indeed use the past tense!) doing really well.

Then the sour... on the way home from seeing her we stopped off and bought a little piece of Scandinavian (I think) coloured glass, and promptly left the darned thing in a coffee shop! They still had it, and kept it for us, but it's taken a loooong drive and a day we could have used for other things to retrieve it. Grrr.

Worse, my poor Mum had a minor fall after we'd gone (although she wasn't really hurt) and her all too fragile skin has broken out with a collection of small leg ulcers. She's seen the district nurse just about every other day since then. Not a good thing at all and I'm pretty worried about her.

I could tell a similar sweet and sour story about the last week at work, the weather and all sorts. And that 'all sorts' also includes my weight, which walloped it's way back up the scale over the week due to... yep, overindulgence and the age-old crutch of stress-related munching!

Mea culpa. I've recognised it, I've stopped myself (again), I don't like the result and... now to get it shifted... once again!

Stop stressing!

Yep, fat lass, that means you!

I don't know why you are waking in the night at oh-dark-hundred fretting about stuff, but you really need to stop. It's high time to focus on the positive stuff and push the worries off to the side. This would not be a great time to come unglued.

Good news no.1 - lovely hubby is making good progress and does NOT need you fussing about like a mother hen!

Good news no. 2 - your weight is under control. You haven't over-indulged, resorted to chocolate, hit the bottle or anything else destructive up to this point so stop worrying about it.

Good news no.3 - lovely hubby's weight, blood sugar and diet are all under control and he's serious about keeping it that way. Again, stop the overprotective stuff!

Good news no.4 - it's dry and sunny outside, meaning walking in the autumn leaves should be an absolute pleasure. Get out there and enjoy it while you can. We have been granted an unexpected respite from winter so make the most of it.

Good news no.5 - it Brussels sprout season. That means yummy time!

It got worse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know I 'can' do it.

I know I 'need' to do it.

I have 'started' to do it.

I just need to keep at it!

Fitter, but holding steady

OK, let's give you the good news first. The daily dose of walking, rowing and abs work definitely means I feel fitter and a bit more energetic and rather more like my old self. Yippee!

But... oh, and isn't there always a 'but'? But... my weight is pretty much unchanged. Pooh! says the fat lass. OK, being realistic, that isn't too surprising as I've still been eating outside my 'weight loss' zone.

Right, that's the physical side of things. Mentally though, things ain't that grand and I feel like I'm really going through the mill. The stress is ongoing, and has been compounded by some major worries for my darling lovely hubby's health. I won't go into detail but the problem, er... actually problems plural, have sent me into another tail-spin. I've shed more tears and been more shaky and out of control in the last week than for a long time. This has not been good - not good at all.

Once we have some more concrete information to work with about the problems themselves and the possible solutions available, things may be easier to handle. Appointments and tests and all-sorts on the horizon. Wish us well and watch this space.

Thankfully, and I really don't quite know how, I seem to have been able to keep myself away from the really unhealthy snacks (a.k.a. crisps and chocolate), despite my customary response (dare I call it 'old' behaviour yet?) of eating crap until the scary stuff gets hidden. That said I have probably been comforting myself a bit too much with those 'healthier' snacks like fruit and yoghurt. My bread consumption could do with being cut down a bit too. Not perfect behaviour, I know, but better than the alternative.


Well, I'll keep trying and keep at it and keep a good old Blighty 'stiff upper lip' as much as possible. And, showing those grey hairs, as Howard Jones (remember him?) sang way back in the 1980s "Things can only get better". So, here are some instructions for life to think about. Thanks to Anjie for these.