A long, long time ago...

... I wrote a post about goals for April, before merrily jetting off on a two-week holiday.

Which, thanks to that bloody volcano, turned into a three-and-a-half-week holiday. As somebody pointed out, some people are in the Big Brother house for less time than that. And with 10 of us together sometimes it felt a bit like Big Brother. But I've finally made it back to soggy green Britain, so let's see how those goals shaped up (warning: contains excuses):

Early April goals

• Try to exercise 3 times a week for at least half an hour.  Yeah... not so much. There was always a good reason not to go for a run. Like "I'm sleepy: I need sleep." "I just ate breakfast.:" "It's 2pm. It's too hot." "I'm already drunk." Verdict: entirely own-fault FAIL.

• Improve my swimming. It was not actually that hot, at least in the first part of the holiday, and at the beginning of April the pools hadn't had a chance to warm up properly. My non-mobile breaststroke didn't keep me warm enough and I can't swim at all when I'm shivering. Verdict: partially climate-imposed FAIL.
• Get some serious R&R. Sat in the sun, drank about 2831457 brandy sours and generally did some hardcore relaxing. Verdict: WIN. 
• Eat reasonably.  Er, yeah. About that. Cypriot restaurants believe that a vastly overfed customer is a happy customer. We kept eating Meze, which at times felt like the steak-eating contest Homer Simpson got into with a trucker. Most of the party put on an appreciable amount of weight after being there for nearly a month. Verdict: OH DEAR.

Late April goals

• Gym/other exercise 3 times a week. I managed to break my big toe on the day we were supposed to come home, in a manner so boring I won't repeat it here. I'm yet to find any exercise other than swimming that doesn't hurt, and my issues with swimming are well-documented. Verdict: excusable FAIL.
• WeightWatchers.  Wasn't in the country.
• Blog 4 times a week. Didn't have a computer.
• Get 8 hours' sleep a night. Well, I certainly managed that one.

So, in short, the only goals achieved were, er, the ones that involved not doing much. Still, the circumstances were exceptional. May will be a month of achievement!

I would highly recommend Cyprus as a holiday destination, though, although perhaps not for 25 days... And if you do go, I can give you some truly wondrous restaurant recommendations!

April Goals

My April splits into two parts – for the first two weeks I’m on holiday, then it’s back to work and the daily grind (albeit a new daily grind) for the rest. So I’ve made separate goals for each part to acknowledge this

Early April goals

• Try to exercise 3 times a week for at least half an hour. By exercise, I really mean running as there won’t be a gym available to us. We do have a swimming pool in both lots of accommodation but I swim so badly that I’d die of chlorine poisoning before I got a meaningful workout. Which brings me on to...
• Improve my swimming. The Boy tried to teach me breaststroke in Turkey last year. I’d like to try and master that and maybe be able to swim a length of breaststroke (in our weeny villa pool) by the end of the fortnight.
• Get some serious R&R. It feels like a long time since Christmas. I’ve been through an audit busy season since then, with no time off to speak of, and I am exhausted. I look forward to spending a reasonable amount of the next fortnight doing absolutely sod all.
• Eat reasonably. It’s a holiday. We’ve already discussed my, erm, issues with Middle Eastern/Mediterranean food. But neither of those are excuses to go totally nuts. Sure, I’m going to eat some things I wouldn’t normally have, but there’s no reason to do that at every meal. 

Late April goals

• Gym/other exercise 3 times a week. I’ve been matching or exceeding this one every week for some time, so it should just be a question of getting back into it post-holiday.
• WeightWatchers. I aim to go to my first meeting in the week of the 19th. Watch this space...
• Blog 4 times a week. Posting here really encourages me to think about my actions and choices, so I want to commit to doing it more in the hope of upping the mindfulness quotient.
• Get 8 hours’ sleep a night. I’ll be starting a new job and establishing a new routine. That should be a chance to give a decent night’s sleep the importance it should have, and hopefully make holiday relaxation last a bit longer.

What are your goals? What do you think about when you’re setting them?

Healthy You Challenge check-in

I’ve always struggled with motivation on Mondays. There is something about them that taps into my huge reserves of laziness. In audit we’d often spend Monday acclimatising: getting to know the new location, figuring out where the toilets and the kitchen were, trying to remember what all the client staff were called and doing some of the jobs that are easy in theory but quite often don’t actually work... Monday became a nothing day, filled with clockwatching. If the job involved staying in a hotel you’d not visited before there was also the gnawing worry about its potentially being a hideous pit in a tiny place with one option for dinner. (The job has given me an understanding of the purpose of chain hotels: you know exactly what you’re getting. I’d rather have the certainty of Premier Inn adequacy than the potential for either luxury or filth.)

It feels odd to be writing in the past tense, but it’s necessary... because yesterday was my last Monday in my current job. Thursday is my last day. Throw in the impending holiday and you have a thoroughly end-of-term mindset which has an unfortunate impact on my eating choices. I went out for lunch on Monday with a friend and had a burger... because the burgers were two for one and I needed to save money. This did not, however, force me to choose the cheeseburger over the chicken – I did that myself.

Then I grabbed a bar of chocolate from the office tuck shop – 240 calories of it. No particular need for it, a nagging craving which I justified as PMS. I’m on hormonal contraception: I don’t get PMS any more. And who are these excuses even for? It’s all very silly. Still, I have more or less managed to get back on track since.

The weekend got off to an excellent start. I was able to go to the Saturday morning Body Pump class for the first time in ages, and then I went for a run. I initially set the treadmill for 20 minutes, but wanted to get to 30 to prove to myself that last week was not a fluke. I made it, and thought “I can do 31!” At about 34 minutes I realised how close I was to 5K, so I kept going... and ran 5K in 37:30. Not a great pace, but a start... I was inordinately proud of myself, and celebrated with a soak in the hot tub and a steak sandwich for lunch. Not too unhealthy: we bought very lean steak and used oil spray to fry it and the onions, and had a big salad to go with it. Mmm, cow.

Dinner (after an afternoon of sedentary pursuits and kitchen-cleaning) was roast chicken with parsnips (roasted in honey and mustard), new potatoes and broccoli. Hugely satisfying and, again, not that unhealthy, with the dry-roasted chicken.

On Sunday morning we woke up fairly late, thanks to the hour that was stolen from us in the night (Curse you, BST!) and had a leisurely breakfast. The sun made us think of taking a walk, but by the time we actually got off our arses the weather had deteriorated so we went to the gym instead for a gentle bit of cardio – both of us were feeling a bit stiff after Saturday’s exertions. We then spent another quiet afternoon and evening at home, which was really nice and exactly what we needed. I did manage to make up some Thai-style sweet potato soup, in imitation of the awesome lunch I had on Friday from a cafe near work. It worked pretty well. Unfortunately I didn’t consider the effect that buying white sweet potatoes would have on the colour: the original was a pretty orange; mine is a nasty shade of greenish beige. Still tastes great, however.

No scales this week. I have decided to ignore them as a movement in the wrong direction (or not ‘enough’ in the right one) would ruin my mood and my enjoyment of holiday foods for days. I’m not planning to go nuts, but I do want to be able to enjoy the things I wouldn’t get at home without obsessing over 200g here or there. I intend to start at WeightWatchers the week after we get back, so will try to limit myself to the weigh-ins there.

Normalising normality

In one of the Two Fit Chicks podcast, a listener submitted the Blogger News that she had borrowed a ‘normal’ friend’s coat and been able to do it up.

I understand that victory. My two closest friends are much the same height as me and are much the same size as each other – I can remember how I felt when I joined them at that size and could finally experience the clothes-borrowing that was part of everybody else’s adolescence but which my lack of size-22 friends had denied me. We wear each other’s dresses and coats from time to time, and I still think “Hey, I can pass for normal!”

‘Pass’ is the key word there, because I very rarely actually feel normal.

I am sitting typing this in size 6 shoes, size 14 trousers and pants (which are both too big) and a size 10 jumper. My feet are exactly the average UK size, I believe, and since I’ve heard on several occasions that the average British woman is a 16, my clothes actually put me in the smaller half of the female population. The only, ahem, outlying item I’m wearing is a 30H bra.

But I still feel fat. In a lot of ways my mind still thinks I weight fifteen stone. It’s as if being morbidly obese, as well as leaving empty fat cells scattered across my body ready to absorb excess calories and reinflate, has left that space in my brain empty and dormant, just waiting for something – a look (real or imagined), a remark, a pair of jeans that don’t quite fit – to swell it into the full-blown mental scream of OH MY GOD I AM SUCH A BLOB LOOK AT ME LOOK HOW VAST I AM EWEWEWEWEWEW! My self-esteem is stretched and damaged and weakened in the same way as the skin on my inner thighs. And neither the clearly not-that-fat woman in the mirror nor the kind words of those close to me can repair it. "They're just saying that," I tell myself. If they know me well, it's kindness. If they don't, it's politeness. Which is stupid, because if I take that to its logical conclusion the only people whose opinion I can listen to are those who know and dislike me... WTF?

I worry about what all this crazy means for the future. I've long ceased to think that my life will be perfect when I lose weight - mainly because it's pretty damn good now (and I appreciate how lucky I am to feel that way most of the time). But the thing I do look to weightloss to improve is my self-esteem, and the rational part of my mind suspects that the irrational part may never be happy with my weight. I think I need to start working on my body image in tandem with working on my lifestyle.

One of my big goals when I started this journey at New Year was to wear a bikini by the pool in Cyprus. I bought it ten days ago. If I can find the courage to wear it, and feel comfortable in it despite my not-actually-totally-perfect body, I think that'll be a real step forward for me.

Another NSV

I've just eaten a pizza for dinner. It was one of the individual-sized Pizza Express ones you get in the supermarket, for those in the UK - everybody else, I think it's a 9".

As I took it out of the oven, I was so excited that I danced about a little bit chanting "Pizza pizza pizza!" It's not an item I've been allowing myself very often recently.

About half way through, I thought "Man, this is good. Why did I never used to buy these?"

And then it occurred to me: it was because they were 'too small'.  One of those was never enough to satisfy the giant pizza craving; it never left me feeling like I couldn't eat another bite and was entirely stuffed with melted cheese. Sure, I could have bought two, but I thought "Noooo, look at me, I'm no longer the girl who eats two pizzas at a sitting!" while conveniently ignoring the fact that the 1200 calorie monster I'd just bought had enough calories for two people.

But now I have pizza so rarely that it doesn't need to be the size of my car's spare wheel to get me excited enough to dance around the kitchen. And I'm happy and satisfied and best of all sated with a normal-sized portion.

I think that's a definite step forward.

Healthy You Challenge check-in

I asked for the scales back this morning, after some deliberation on whether that was a good idea or not. I didn’t experience the giant PLATEAU-BUSTING weight loss I’d secretly (and stupidly) hoped for, but I did lose the Evil Pound from last week, so I’m back to 67.8kg. I’m pleased with that, considering the social whirl since Thursday, which was the last time I weighed myself. (It feels so long ago!)

Friday was a normal day of normal eating, since I’d ruled out having two down days in a row ever again. I went for a pub lunch with my colleagues, and had fish and chips as I’d planned. The fish was delicious: the chips were disappointing enough that I was able to leave some. (Most uncharacteristic.) I compensated for this by having homemade Super Soup for dinner (billions of vegetables + no added fats of any kind + most of the contents of the spice cupboard = always win, always different). We were meant to go to the gym but both felt too tired and rubbish, so we enjoyed an evening of chilling on the couch instead.

Saturday we got up, enjoyed a bowl of porridge (with my latest idea for masking the taste of oaty sludge livening it up – apple sauce!) and coffee, and then headed to London to meet some people to watch the last games of the Six Nations. Our destination was the Eagle Ale House, recommended as a place to watch rugby, and it didn’t disappoint. We rocked up at about 1, and asked if they were doing food. “No, we don’t do food on match days,” was the response. “But if you want to go out and get something you’re more than welcome to bring it in.” Northcote Road is a treasure trove of the sort of pointless and poncy specialist shops you only see in certain places*, and that includes overpriced artisan food in abundance. I enjoyed a beef, rocket and parmesan ciabatta followed by an insane cake which seemed to be a caramel shortbread for people who didn’t like shortbread and wanted to replace it with MORE chocolate and caramel. The boys enjoyed what the Times recently claimed were the best sausage rolls in the world (or possibly just London, I don't remember or care) followed by a different beef sandwich and a tartelette aux framboises for the raspberry-obsessed one.

Lunch was vastly improved by being able to eat it indoors sitting down, so thanks pub! Other than that the pub was notable mainly for its wide selection of draught beer (not enjoyed by me due to designated driver status) and very friendly staff.

Wales won, Scotland won! Happiness in the SoupDragon household. Most people had gone by the end of the second (Scotland) game, and the three of us who remained decided that actually we wanted dinner more than to stay in the pub for France v England. So we headed over to Putney and enjoyed a ridiculously vast Lebanese feast for £10 each. I adore Middle Eastern food of any kind, and become a total pig when faced with it... am slightly apprehensive about how much I may eat in Cyprus.

Then we headed for home, and I must say that being able to go home, rather than sleep poorly on somebody’s couch, makes this sort of trip ten times more enjoyable. It was very nice to wake up in my own bed on Sunday morning and enjoy more porridge with the last rugby game. This confirmed that we’d made the correct decision the previous night as, like so many of England’s games this year, it was eye-wateringly boring!

We visited friends for Sunday lunch, then I helped make table settings for their wedding while the boys had a Call of Duty marathon. Home, tired, dinner, bed. Damn, another week.

*Painswick, Cotswold village extraordinaire, is a case in point. It has two or three shops, one of which is devoted to the sale of wooden toys. I'm sure that makes the residents feel much better about the lack of anywhere to buy sensibly-priced food... See also Northleach, Nailsworth, Clifton, Newton Mearns, Crouch End and sundry other corners of the country.

Working the NSVs

The Boy has hidden the bathroom scales (at my request, I hasten to add) in an attempt to stop my post-scale grumpiness ruining breakfast, and I am trying to focus on the non-scale victories. Fortunately yesterday provided me with some great specimens:

• After my Body Pump class last week I realised that I’d got a bit too comfortable with my weights – I wasn’t working to failure on any of the tracks, and I wasn’t feeling it the next morning the way I used to. So last night I racked up the weights on most areas, with the exception of shoulders – because I really, really struggle with that one anyway; I have such pathetic shoulder muscles – and squats – because the weight I was using before is already the maximum that my poxy upper body muscles can lift over my head. I felt the burn, and I’m still feeling it this morning!

• Then I went for a run. I’d initially planned to run for 20 minutes non-stop, but when I got there I thought “I can do another minute”. At 21 minutes, I thought “I can do 22!” Then I realised that if I went to 22:30 I’d have done 3km. Then I decided to go for 2 miles. By then I was nearly at 25 minutes, so kept going, and when I got to 25 I thought “Hell, I can do five more easily.” So I ran 4km in 29:40 (because I sprinted the last 100m). Which is the furthest and longest I’ve ever run without walking. I feel a little more optimistic about the 10K in July now!

Weekend plans: pub for Six Nations rugby for almost all of tomorrow, and lunch with friends on Sunday followed by an evening gym session. Not great food-wise, but I will try not to go nuts. No beer for me anyway as I’m off the sauce for Lent to try to aid weightloss.

Have good weekends all!