Week 22 & 23 : Lanzarote Restaurants — Watch Out!

I am sooooooo sorry. My blogging has been massively shite of late, but basically my life was 'illness, holiday, shitloads of work, illness" — and that was it for a month. But I am back on it now so should be able to bring you all the events from the the last four weeks in a funny yet succinct manner. You may just have to settle with succinct. Or maybe not even that.

So, after a week of sickness, it was finally time to get out of the country — THANK FUCK. I was a bit wary of packing on the pounds whilst away, so the plan was to enter everything I ate into MFP. Needless to say, that plan went out the window once I shoved the first mojo-covered Canarian potato into my gaping pie hole (incidentally, I am totally off pie-based products these days).

Steak, Canarian spuds, pork, chicken AND salad.

For me, one of the best things about going on holiday is the opportunity to eat nice food. And Lanzarote had plenty of it. We stayed in a fantastic self-catering apartment in Puerto del Carmen called Montana Club, and on the first night there we had a very delicious BBQ in the pool bar. I did get a slightly odd "Helloooooo!" from the chef who was distributing the food — at first I thought it was because I'm so darn attractive, but I then figured it was probably because he had just realised he’d run out of little Spanish sausages (the last one went to BF — nooooooooooooo!) and he needed to create a distraction (too late mate, I clocked it). However, he did give me a massive pork chop to compensate, which I split with BF for half a sausage. It was pork well spent in my opinion, as that chorizo sausage was delicious.

We opted for self catering because we like to get up late on holiday, and we decided to keep lunches simple. Sandwich and crisps and then back out to lounge by the pool. Why does everything taste so much better on holiday? Everyday, we ate cheap ham and cheese in a baguette with garlic mayo, with crisps and a cake for afters, and it was always really tasty. Yet if we ate that at home, we'd consider it the shittiest lunch ever — weird. Also, I know French bread is a bastard when it comes to calories, so although I was missing breakfast, I was more than making up for it four hours later.

The holiday was filled with excellent food. There was a lot of variety, but one thing we agreed on was that we would not eat at any Italian places — that is just too shit. I mean, we even avoid Italian at home as a rule, so I certainly wasn't going to eat it on holiday. However, we did end up having a Chinese on the second night… shame! It was here I realised I really can't eat satay chicken curry. It's too fucking sweet and makes me feel a bit ill. It was beautifully cooked, but not to my taste. The night before, we had Mexican, where I ate a massive burrito and had some chocolate tequila — LUSH! I also had my only dessert on this holiday here, which was cold hot chocolate poured over a scoop of vanilla ice cream and topped with whipped cream — really very nice.

Slightly embarrassed when this giant plate arrived…

I also had the best tapas of my life on this break. The restaurant we visited had 4.5 stars on Trip Advisor and was the only place on the whole holiday where we had to wait for a table, But boy, was it worth it. We ordered a little too much, despite the owner telling us we needed to cut a few dishes. When the last dish came out, I was just poking it with a fork and looking stressed. The owner came and stood by the side of the table and with a glint in his eye went "Full…?" Cheeky bastard. I wanted to shout, "DUDE! I'M GONNA BARF!", but I just nodded — he could tell I was suffering so he didn't rib me further. Everything we had there was absolutely fantastic. We had delicious bread with spicy garlic butter, a deconstructed tortilla with sausage, garlic prawns with octopus, pork in blue cheese sauce (my favourite meal on the holiday), and mini pork burgers with a frozen shot of their amazing sangria. Taberna de Niño, we salute you. 

Burgers, prawns, pork. All eaten.

On the fourth night, we had a barbecue after we had visited Timanfaya National Park, and after what can only be described as a white-knuckle coach ride. Big coach + small road = me crying. Honestly, I thought we were going to topple into some volcanic crater/ravine. But that was me being a baby — the driver was excellent. Which made it worse when I realised we had no money to leave him for a tip for not letting us perish in the volcanic landscape.

It was on this death trip that we met an 81-year-old man who was on holiday alone. His wife had been placed in a nursing home due to dementia back in England and I am guessing it had been a stressful six months for him, because he told us his son booked this holiday for him as he probably needed a break. He very much enjoyed talking to the young folk, especially as he seemed quite lonely here on his own, and he was actually a pretty interesting guy. However, he kinda made us come to his hotel the next night (not for any shenanigans!) because they put on big shows there and stuff. We were going to try and wriggle out of it, but he REALLY wanted us to come, so we obliged.

So the next day, we trot up to his hotel, but not before I walk into a ruddy great big CONCRETE BENCH. Oh yes. In the busy street. Outside an even busier cocktail bar. It hurt like a motherfucker, but that's what you get when get distracted by some girl's hairdo. I kept turning my head to look at her (whilst walking at speed because we were late) and before I knew it, I was planking in the fucking street like a nob. FUCKING MORTIFIED. FUCKING PAINFUL. 

We got to the hotel, and it turned out our new friend wanted to have dinner with us… I should add that there were two Irish sisters that we had met on the same trip who were also roped into this plan, so we weren't alone in this odd situation at least. Because new buddy wanted to pay, he took us to this road side cafe that he had been into for lunch a few times, as it was cheaper than the hotel buffet. We didn't want to let him to pay anyway, so we should have just gone to somewhere decent, because this place was pretty unglamorous. I ended up having a bolognese pizza (and thus breaking my Italian food rule) but one of the girls had a tropical pizza that had pineapple, banana and apple on it. Eww. Anyway, I was annoyed as wasting a night of good eating in some tiny Spanish version of Little Chef, but my BF said it was the right thing to do, as this guy really wanted the company. Anyway, after a few jugs of sangria, I didn't care so much. BF kept saying to me "Hey, it's a story at least" — and he was right. I've waffled on about it for three paragraphs!

On our last night, I finally squeezed in some paella, which was very important on this trip. I feel really bad saying this, but I still kinda prefer the one I get in Tesco… I know, I know — I have no style whatsoever. Oh well. It was very good, but I couldn't finish it because I had eaten a shed-load of Canarian potatoes as a starter, whoops. They were just so darned tasty and always came with three sauces, so I couldn't resist. Didn't eat a single fucking salad like I said I would, but fuck it. And then I also stuffed in one more tapas meal before we left, during which we caught a Northern woman have a really awkward argument with a Spanish waiter…

I stared into this plate during the aforementioned argument.

I really didn't feel like I had stuffed myself on this holiday and was feeling quite virtuous, but then I remembered one thing I hadn't taken into account : alcohol. And I had drunk copious amounts of it. Beer… cocktails… the free shots they dole out after every meal… sangria… all empty calories. Delicious, empty calories.

So, my weight before I went away? 11st 5.8lbs. And when I came back, I had put on exactly 3lbs. Now, considering I had put on the same amount after 48 hours in Cambridge a few weeks earlier, I was pretty chuffed. 3lbs over a week was tolerable.

But fasting again after my holiday was not, apparently…

Week 20 & 21 : My Giant, Consuming Body

Sorry for the delay — I have been mega ill and kinda still am, so blog activities have been on the back burner. But seeing as I will be on holiday next week and will have lots of food-related stories to tell you when I get back, I figured I should probably sum up the last two weeks.  Let's start with Week 20.

As I was not going to be home on my usual Weigh Day, I had to check in on the scales a day early (Friday). To my surprise (but total delight) I had shed the 0.8lb gain from the week before — woo! BRILLIANT. I was very happy to start my weekend in Cambridge with my uni gals with this very delightful news. So what better way to celebrate than to buy a half dozen box of Krispy Kremes, eh? YUP. If I hadn't had such a heavy and FUCKING EMBARRASSINGLY SQUEAKY suitcase to wheel around Liverpool Street station, I might have even gone for a dozen box. But thankfully, my inner Jiminy Cricket wasn't silenced by me stuffing a doughnut in its mouth — it was able to speak out and make me realise that three girls do not need to eat four friggin' doughnuts EACH over the course of their 48 hours together. And so a six pack it was, which we happily tucked into with a lovely glass of prosecco when we arrived at the hotel.

It was a lovely weekend. We had a disappointing Italian meal the first night (me and my friends agreed that there was nothing worse than wasting precious calories on SHIT FOOD), but we got over it. My mates both looked lovely, by the way. They have both lost weight recently and they looked gorgeous. I have to admit, it made me feel a bit guilty that I hadn't done as well as them, but this was not a weekend to calorie count.

We had a cooked breakfast at about 11am in the hotel, which was delicious, and then we headed out to see the sights. That didn't take long because Cambridge is surprisingly small. We stopped off at a tea shop called Fitzbillies at about 2ish — I'd overheard a girl on the train recommend it and it did not disappoint. So I had a scone with clotted cream and jam, and a pot of tea. By the time we had finished it was about 3.15pm, which would have been fine, if we didn't have dinner booked for 4.45pm. FUCKER. We wanted to get drunk that night so had decided to have an early dinner, but we were all feeling pretty full after our cakes. DOUBLE FUCKER. So we wandered around the shops in the hope of building up an appetite... FUCK.

Turns out, this was not a problem. We went to Cau, an Argentinian steak place that had good reviews on Trip Advisor. We all had a steak each, with triple-cooked chips, garlic mayo, coleslaw and onion rings. OH. MY. GOD. Get yourself down to this restaurant, people! It was absolutely amazing — the best steak I have ever eaten. It was so amazing that I totally forgot to take a picture — sorry! I was worried mine was on the more raw side of medium, but it was actually cooked to perfection. We were stuffed by the end though, so we waddled back to the hotel. I immediately started stuffing myself into control pants AND control tights… We had a fun night out, marred only by the fact the fucking garlic sauce repeated on us BIG TIME. It was so bad that we could actually tell when one of us had burped on the dance floor  — SEXY!

We left the next day, with terrible hangovers, obviously. But it was a fab weekend. I started to feel a bit ropey come Sunday night, but I assumed it was just because I was hungover. But the real nausea was to come on Monday morning when I got on the scales... 11st 8.8lbs.

Five pounds. I put on FIVE FUCKING POUNDS in one weekend.

FUCK CUNT SHIT FUCK CUNT FUCK SHIT FUCK MOTHERFUCKING MOTHERFUCKER.

That is pretty much the last clear memory I have, because since then I have been incredibly ill. And I have been ill for over a week now. Most people would lose weight, but I've still been eating, so my weight has only come down slightly to 11st 5.4lbs for Week 21. But still, that's better than nothing eh?

To make matters even worse, I've had to shop for a swimsuit for the last-minute holiday my boyfriend and I are going on. Cue lots of crying. Never go looking for a swimsuit whilst you are chubby and delirious.

I would really like to not pile on the pounds on the holiday, so we are doing self-catering — we don't get up for breakfast so we'll just have a sandwich at lunch, and then dinner and drinks in the evening. If I only put on a pound or two, that would be great. I normally like to enjoy my holiday to the max, but it wont make me feel better if I go mad and put on loads, so I am going to try and stay a bit focused. This might be a bit easier given that we are going to hot Lanzarote, so the heat might make me want to eat more salads. Here's hoping....

... even though right now I am speed-eating a carbonara and have actually got it in my hair.

I am disgusting.

Week 19 : I Bloody Told You.

It caught up with me.

I fucking knew it would. I even predicted it. Which basically means I willed it to happen. Which it then did. I put on 0.8lbs this week, which is EXACTLY what I lost the week before. If nothing else, my weight journey was strangely poetic.

To be fair, I've eaten a lot of nice things in the past seven days, so if there was going to be any week I was going to get chubby, it was going to be this one. (I was just about to write "get my chub on" but then remembered that means something TOTALLY different in other parts of the country!) At the beginning of the week, I met up with my FFF (Former Fat Friend) for dinner whilst she was down in London for a few days. I will just add, she looked even slimmer than the last time I saw her. Bitch. We went for a drink before food, and I wasn't supposed to have anything alcoholic (I was trying to be good), but then she had a pint and I figured that as it was a mini reunion, a Diet Coke would almost certainly ruin the catch-up session. So it was a bottle of Desperados for me — my new favourite drink. For dinner we went to ASK, because a) it was close by, b) I could get a discount with my Taste Card, and c) I knew I could log it easily with MFP. I had all the low fat options already worked out, so my shortlist was pretty small. Seeing as I'd had a beer already, I knew that I should have been ordering the Fettuccine Verdure (peas, tomatoes, some other boring shite but only 423 calories), but then my mate ordered some creamy gnocchi dish and my willpower started to waver... I started looking at the pizzas... then spaghetti carbonara… then some meatball rigatoni dish... All the while, my neck was getting really hot. My palms felt clammy. I could feel myself getting flustered and sweaty... Will it really make a different if I have something more tasty? ARGH! NO! Be good, be good, be good! So I was, to my shock. The fettuccine was actually OK, but like my friend said, I would have felt terrible if I'd ordered something calorific. Especially considering what happened 36 hours later.

So, a few days along, BlogMate and I met up. We had been planning this meal since the last time we were sat down for a meal together. Finally, we were going to hit Shake Shack. Hard. Excitement was in the air! We weren't even put off by having to queue in the cold and then potentially eating in the cold. We were two women on a mission. A tasty, cheesy mission. And I tell you — the mission was a success. Behold, the below picture.

You are looking at the following:

• Shack Stack Burger: a cheeseburger with a breaded-and-fried-til-crispy portabello mushroom filled with melted cheese
• Crinkly fries
• Fifty/Fifty: Half lemonade, half iced tea
• Sticky Toffee Concrete: Frozen vanilla custard, chocolate toffee, chocolate chunks, salted caramel sauce and malt powder

Sorry the picture isn't great, but a) I am shit at taking photographs, and b) I don't really want to be one of those dicks who spend ages taking pictures of food for no apparent reason. This meal was absolutely delicious. The burger was fucking amazing — all melty and beefy and cheesy. The chips were crisp, the drink was refreshing and the ice cream was THE creamiest thing I've ever eaten. All in all, worth the wait. (And worth the weight, to be honest, which is what I accidentally typed out first). It is very unsurprising I put on, given that the total of this meal was a whopping 1640 calories. What's worse is that I was supposed to eat light that day, but I somehow ended up eating a million Viscount biscuits so my daily intake was through the roof. Ah well. There is no light way of doing burgers — if it's light, it's not right. 

So the next day, I was fasting (thank fuck) and I decided to go to H&M to try on some skinny jeans, and these jeans were as fucking skinny as they come. They didn't have a size 16, so — as they were very stretchy — I stuffed all my fat into a size 14 pair. They didn't look too bad actually, so into the basket they went. I also tried on some, ahem, leather trousers… I have had an obsession with them forever, so I just wanted to see. What I saw was that they were going to go no higher than my knees, so they were promptly peeled off. Not one to be defeated, I then tried on something of a halfway house — leggings with a leather panel down the front. I managed to get these on, but whilst checking them out in the mirror, I started feeling a bit funny and hot...FUCK! Even that small strip of leather was making me sweat and go weird (think Ross in Friends), so they were also a no-go. There was also the brutal fact that I am simply a foot too short and, coincidentally, a foot too wide to pull them off. So bye-bye leather pants — I'm afraid we just can't be together. It's not you — it's me. 

So given the fact that I hadn't lost any weight, I was a bit more carefree than usual on the weekend. In Guildford, I almost had a pretzel-coated sausage, but I couldn't face brandishing something quite so phallic-looking in public (especially with that bit of sausage poking out the top) so instead I had the pretzel-wrapped Twix. Unfortunately this also had an air of pastry penis about it, but once I'd got it into my head that it was like a healthy deep fried Mars bar, there was no turning back. And obviously, it was ridicuously tasty. Melted things are just good. That is what I have learnt this week.

Add to this a McDonald's Quarter pounder with cheese meal, a strawberry milkshake, 2 pints of blonde beer, pizza, crisps, tiramisu and fuck knows what else, it was not a particularly virtuous weekend. Which is only made worse by the fact that I am now ill so morale is running low for fasting. The best I can hope for is to stay the same to be honest. Next week's results might also be a bit weird as I am going away with some lady-friends for the weekend. I'm not promising I'm going to be really good, but I am also going to try not to go mental. We shall see...

Week 18 : Back To Where I Was 12 FUCKING WEEKS AGO… Crap.

It sounds like I'm moaning, but I'm not really. I was fairly happy until I realised that I have been up and down for the last 12 weeks, and that I was this fucking weight in Week 6. That was a bit galling, if I'm honest. But what's done is done now. Can't cry over spilt chips and all that. (Even though I would proper bawl in that situation.)

So this week, I was fuelled by the loss of the past two weeks, which was a really nice feeling and is what good weight loss should be about. Last week I decided that I wouldn't be doing a fasting week, I would just be trying to keep an eye on it and exercise. 

On Monday, I headed up to Westfield (a massive shopping centre in West London) for a shopping trip with the BF. Of course, we don't actually shop together — that would be suicide (or murder, depending on how badly it went). We go our separate ways and meet up for food/advice. Seeing as we got there at lunch time, we started with some food (YESSSS!) so I had a very nice Lebanese wrap with fries, and then off I went to buy some knee high boots. Fuck me — there was nothing I particularly liked, and everything cost about £100. I wandered in and out of clothes shops as well, trying on the odd dress (MASSIVE mistake) and by the time we met up again for a sugary afternoon snack, it only took about three sips of tea before I started crying. In public. In the middle of Westfield. I know... I shouldn't have tried on any clothes, because I just felt so fat in all of them. And I definitely looked fat in all of them too. The boot shopping had also been unfruitful, so blurting out "I hate shopping so much. I really fucking hate it…" through tears and sniffs was the only thing I had the energy left to do. BF was excellent and talked me through it — he really is very good at helping me, I must say, especially in shopping-related incidents (he is a hardcore shopper). We worked out that I hate all my clothes and don't look the way I want to (this is a constant issue with me) and one particular thing he said really turned it around for me: "Why not just buy the clothes you see yourself in?". This might sound blimmin' obvious, but I have never worn the clothes I imagine myself strutting around in, mainly because I don't have the figure. 'Imaginiation Me' has much smaller hips than 'Real Me', so instead I wear what hides me a bit, or what is comfortable, or what I know, or what is safe. And this is where I have been going wrong. For years. FUCK.

Time to dig out my inner rock chick!

On the plus side, I was feeling so shit that I didn't even eat the nice pastry I was planning to. I had a 70cal Alpen bar instead, and some new-found enthusiasm. BF came round to a few shops and helped me pick some short boots (as they are trendy and cost less!) and made me realise the only reason I was buying long boots was so that they would go with clothes that I already own and dislike. Fucking stoopid. I ended up buying two pairs that I love, one of which is on the left. I wasn't going to get them, because the shop didn't do returns (I am a BIG returner — shopper's guilt), but then I just thought, "Sod it, I'll find something to wear with them cos they make me feel fucking AMAZING". It's just as well I did buy them because I later checked online — no size 6 pairs anywhere, and the ones I bought were also the last size 6 in the shop too. It was meant to be, people. 

Sorry — I'm a bit distracted by all the shopping excitement! I was feeling good when I got home (did I mention I treated myself to a new necklace as well?), and was also still quite full from lunch. So instead of having a big dinner, I had a buttered scone and a lemon puff and went to bed feeling happy and virtuous (although butter on baked goods is hardly something I should be patting myself on the back about). But anyway, no dinner — RESULT.

My mum and sister have just started 5:2 as well. I advised them that Monday and Thursday is a good split, but something had gone a bit wrong with their plans and instead they were fasting when I went over to visit. The reason this is bad news is because my mum cooks excellent food and I don't want her to be on a fast day eating soup when I head over there for my Tuesday dinner! Totally selfish, I know… Anyhow, they had eaten their meal, so it didn't bother them when I ate 2 enormous fajitas in front of them. I also ate four digestive biscuits right after with a cup of tea. I mean, who eats four?? I think I was mentally eating my mum and sister's share or something — even they were disgusted when they found out, so much so that my mum ratted me out to BF when we were both over there next. (Thanks mum.) The conversation later turned to snacking on 5:2 and my dad asked what the calorie count was for popcorn (we have an air-popper at home that he is obsessed with). Obviously, we did what we usually do and shunned him for his silly ideas (there is a reason he refers to the three of us as 'The Coven'), but actually, it's really not bad at all. 8g of popcorn is 31 calories — and that was about a cereal bowlful. It's an excellent snack if you get stuck!

By Thursday, the no-fasting guilt hit me, so I did actually squeeze in a fast day. Ish. I had a soup from EAT which was only 198 calories, and then a chicken and noodle salad from Sainsbury's that was really nice and only 292 calories — perfect if you are too lazy to cook. That day, I had 766 calories (I er, had a few snacks too…), which is more than I should have, but at least I tried fasting a bit. Especially as the next day it was my friend at work's birthday, and she was planning to bring in Krispy Kremes. 24 of the little bastards. On the right is a picture of one. My SECOND one. In a single day. Honestly, you can barely tell you have eaten them — they are like motherfucking clouds. I had already snorted half of it before thinking about taking a picture. Granted, it doesn't look that appealing here — sitting on a very unsexy paper towel, releasing it's grease everywhere (or is that my drool?)… But it was very appealing in my mouth. As was the Burger King meal I had on the way home, a bit pissed after said friend's birthday drinks. Sorry.

After all the extreme snacking, I was not sure I was going to lose any fucking weight, but somehow, I lost 0.8lbs. I was quite shocked, but I really think getting on the exercise bike has helped. Although it doesn't burn as many calories as running, I think that I was such a bad runner (along with the calf issue/asthma/butt pain) that my uber-slow jogging wasn't burning off that much anyway. And seeing as I have plenty of natural butt cushioning, I might as well make use of it. I'm a bit worried that as I have been going over my weekly calorie intake by quite a large amount for the last few weeks, it's all going to catch up with me in the next 7 days… I will need to be careful.

So, after losing this week (A-WOO-HOO!), I am now 11st 3.8lbs and the lightest I have been on 5:2, and probably the lightest I've been this year actually. I'm not entirely sure because I ripped up all my WW shit when I started 5:2… It's hardly momentous, but it's movement in the right direction. And that's what matters really. So next goal, get under 11st  — TALLY HO!

Week 16 & 17 : THIS IS SPARTAAAAAAAA!

This also has no relevance. But I was trying to think of something good and shouty and celebratory, and that was the very first thing that popped into my head. Kinda like the time when my boyf asked me what my wrestling entrance music would be (don't ask) and the first thing I started humming was the Hawaii Five-O theme tune (again, don't ask). I have never lived that down, mainly because it would be the shittest entrance music ever. Even I know that. 

Anyway… seeing as I'm being all shouty, you can probably work out that I lost weight these past two weeks — WOOOOOOOOOOO!  I'm pleased about this because I didn't want this post to be informing you about how I had lost 1.5lbs in Week 16, only to put it on again in Week 17, which is what I feared would happen. But in the second week, I lost 0.4lbs, so that's just under 2lbs in two weeks, which I am very happy with. 

Being back on fasting (and calorie counting, AND exercising) is working. I know the whole point of 5:2 is that you don't have to watch everything you eat, but maybe us foodies have to accept we're not lucky enough to get away with that. Chucking in a fast day here and there is the best way forward for me. I really haven't felt deprived these past two weeks, and I've still managed to lose — so that's a pretty good place for me to be in at the moment, especially as I often don't stick to the 500 calories one is supposed to on fast days... whoops.


Some nice fast day food I have eaten (if you want some ideas)

• Sainsbury's Hungarian Beef Goulash Soup — 201cals
• 1 red pepper, 150g peeled prawns, 30g light cream cheese, 100g mushrooms (all stir fried together, then stir in the cheese and add water until it melts) — 228cals
• Sainsbury's Chicken and King Prawn with Thai Noodles Salad — 267cals
• Dry Roasted Chickpeas, Bombay Firecracker Flavour (Holland & Barratt) — 88cals
• Fajitas (but with no wraps) — work out the chicken etc, but this is a great fast meal, even if you just use vegetables and the seasoning

One thing that has changed is that I am now an exercise bike convert. Yup — you heard it. The BF suggested I use his bike on numerous occasions, and I've been all "No, it hurts my bum…". But since having butt pains from running, I've had to reASSess. The bike hurts my butt a bit, but not as much as I would have thought. Although if you had seen me the very first day I gave it a go, you would have wondered what the fuck you had walked into…

So, first day on the bike. I was alone in the flat in the evening. I popped the TV on — a billion channels and FUCK ALL to watch, not even Friends!!! So I settled on Fat : A Year to Save My Life. Motivational perhaps? So I start cycling. I get about 10 minutes in and I am dripping with sweat and struggling, so I take a puff of my inhaler. 20 minutes in and I feel like I am actually going to throw up — I almost stopped because the nausea was so bad. But no, I was determined to keep going for my planned 30 minutes. The show starts getting emotional… I start sniffing and getting teary — FOR FUCK'S SAKE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? NOW?? This exercise is FUCKING AWFUL and I am drained of all energy… so now I actually start to cry. This woman (after losing a ton of weight) is still bigger than me but has almost completed a 10k swim IN A FUCKING RIVER. I cry even more at my own pathetic attitude, but it ends up spurring me on. If she can do it, so can I, goddammit! I finally hit 30 minutes. Knackered, teary, sweaty and nauseous, I stumble off the bike and go and stand over the toilet for a bit in case I chunder. And lo, the Cry-cycle was born. (One friend very kindly pointed out that it could also be a Crisycle, because it definitely sounded like I was having a crisis… Thanks mate.) It was a blimmin' awful experience, but weirdly satisfying due to the sweat levels, and I have improved with each session. A glass of squash keeps the nausea at bay now and I do intervals to get the most out of it. I also get to use the crap sports bra that was loitering in my bra drawer, which is pleasing.

Me. On a bike. Unheard of. You know what else is unheard of? Me chucking away a doughnut. I KNOW! Crazy, right? But it is a true story. I panicked in Greggs and bought a Banana Shake Doughnut. It was gross. Not so much the flavour, but the amount of sugar that was in it. It was covered in bright yellow, sickly-sweet banana icing, and then filled with something very similar. I looked like the biggest dick ever walking down the street — this was not a discreet food item. It might as well have been waving and talking to people down the high street. I even tried to use the paper bag it came in to wipe the icing off the top, but that was messy as fuck and I was scaring the good people of Hitchin, who don't normally let weirdos like me walk around covered in fluorescent yellow goo. The BF was going to try it, but he got one whiff of the banana stench and decided against it. We stuffed it back into it's bag, chucked it in the bin and tried to forget about it. Which we did, until I fucking burped. That thing repeated on me all afternoon. Grim.

Another thing I realised: you don't need chilli cheese fries when you have a massive burger. In fact, plain fries are a much nicer accompaniment. I worked this out whilst out for dinner with the girls one night. I was having the chicken burger, which meant it was the perfect time to have the fully loaded chips, as I wouldn't be doubling up on my beef. Fuck me — by the end I was stuffed. There was so much chilli and hardly any chips to be. It was tasty, but I will not be doing that again — can't mess around with chips!

Urgh, I'm going to share this with you, but you won't like it. I emptied an old jar of Chinese curry sauce into the sink the other day. It was old so it kinda came out in two chunks. Unfortunately, those chunks landed in a pan that was full of water. Swear to god, if I hadn't seen that all happen, I would have honestly thought someone had taken a dump in my wok. It was vile. I almost took a picture of it, but then I realised that no-one wants to fucking see that. Or read about it. Sorry.

Week 15 : URGH

So, as I suspected, this week hasn't been as frugal as I would have liked. What a fucking surprise.

Monday was supposed to be about 900 calories, but I ended up eating 1380. It was someone's birthday at work, so she had brought in lots of delicious food that I couldn't resist. So, according to MFP, I spent 678 calories on snacks that day… That is ridiculous and embarrassing. And this is the reason I struggle with my weight. And then someone gave me a tub of Habas Tapas from their Graze box, which I also ate even though I wasn't hungry. Actually, no — that last reason is why I struggle with my weight. At least when I went home, I saw some bloody sense and decided to just eat hummus with vegetables for dinner. Not really pat-on-the-back material, but a shift towards being sensible at least.

Tuesday night went a bit tits up — BF and I were heading to Tesco, but we fell out just before we got there. So, feeling sad and in the mood for sabotage (sadotage?) I ended up buying a bag of crisps and a GIANT bar of Cadbury's Marvellous Cola Pretzel Honeycomb. The moment we got back to the flat, I shut the kitchen door and shoved the crisps into my mouth, along with three bits of chocolate. But, as predicted, it didn't make me feel any better. It just made me annoyed that I had let it get to me and now I was about 200 calories over where I wanted to be. Classic case of comfort eating gone bad. At least I had been for a run that morning… *sigh*

Speaking of runs, I think mine have gone now. Great. Just what I wanted this week.

Speaking of actual runs, mine are being hampered by a deep butt cheek pain. I do not want someone to massage me there, so I need to get a tennis ball, apparently. 

I really wanted a curry or chips, or curry with chips on Wednesday night, but I decided to run home and avoid eye contact with any of the restaurants down my road. But the moment I got in, I devoured half a bag of Cheese and Chive Combo Snacks. The guilt was fucking awful — what a stupid fucking thing to do. I calculated that it was 367 calories-worth of damage. So I just had a handful of salad for the rest of the evening. Something the fast diet has taught me is that you won't die any time soon if you miss a meal. And you certainly won't die having just eaten half a huge bag of crisps.

The main shock on Thursday was that Blog Mate DOESN'T WATCH THE GREAT BRITISH BAKE OFF. I'm not sure I can ever trust her again really. No, I definitely can't. 

On Friday, I had an amazing burger at Byron. Get yourself down there, and order a chilli burger with skin on fries (THAT I SHARED, SO DON'T EVEN!). Half an Eccles cake in the afternoon to 'line my stomach' before drinking in the evening. It wasn't even that nice!

God, you know what? I am fucking typing this up and every day I am just reading another paragraph about the variety of ways in which I am weak-willed. It is really fucking depressing. Lack of will power, lack of spirit, lack of strength. It is so frustrating, but I can't blame anyone else. I once had a short excahnge with Blog Mate on Facebook. I get the impression it was supposed to be motivational, but I things didn't go to plan.

Her: "What do you like more: clothes or food?"
Me: "Food."
Her "Oh."

I think nowadays, she knows me a bit better… Joking aside, I think that the problem is that I would really love to have arms like Jodie Marsh, but I absolutely LOVE eating. And the latter always wins. I reckon it's because I have never reached a point where I am happy with my body. These days I can accept it, but in the past I have never enjoyed it, or bought it amazing clothes or thought it looked fab. (Well, sometimes I have, so that's a lie). Shopping is an ordeal because nothing really fits how it should, or the sizes don't go up past a 14 or 16 in what I want to wear… I mean accepting your body is one thing, but wearing clothes that you dont really want to wear because of your size is something different surely? How can you be happy with that?

If I woke up thin tomorrow, would I maintain that body because shopping was now actually a really fun activity because I look great? Or would my love for chips and cheesecake always take over? Food makes me happy — I wish I could get to a place where clothes did that for me — maybe that's when things would change in my brain. 

So, up 0.6lbs and 4 weeks to go… better get back to fasting next week!

Week 14 : SHAMONE MOTHERFUCKERS!

Yup — lost just under two pounds! I am well chuffed. EXCEPT — (why does there always have to be an 'except'?) — the fact that it may not reflect what I have truly lost. I will explain after I have filled you in about this week…

So this week, I've really tried to get back to basics with the fasting. For my fast days, I've been sticking to around 500 calories, avoiding caffeine, not eating anything in the morning and tracking like a bitch on the weekends. If I'm honest, I still ate a lot on the weekends (just a bit more than the 2000 calorie guideline amount on each day), but I think I would have eaten loads more if I hadn't been keeping an eye on it. Bit disappointed I didn't exercise more but I will try harder next week.

My Monday fast was made up of salad with Bernard Matthews turkey (202 calories) and dinner was an absolutely delicious Chinese-style brown rice with vegetables (305 calories — next time I make it I'll take a photo and give you the recipe). So I was pretty happy with that total. On Thursday I had a Subway sandwich which came to 280 cals — I was researching this ALL FUCKING DAY to make sure I wasn't fucking my fast day up, and then I had a tuna salad for dinner, which made my total 517 cals. I also had a third of a Daim bar, which is embarrassing, but I just couldn't stop myself. So in the interest of weight loss, I am not going to buy anymore Daim bars until further notice. Even if they are only £1 a pack in Morrisons for a limited time only. ARGH.

The rest of my days were a lot higher in calories than I would have liked them to be, averaging at about 1650 cals. Not great, but I will try to be better next week (man, that is becoming my new fucking mantra…). 

On Friday, it was my boyfriend's birthday, so he was going for drinks after work. I decided that as I wouldn't be eating dinner, it was probably a good idea to line my stomach — cue a steak wrap with chips for lunch… and no mention of said wrap in MFP diary. It was delicious and totally worth it though, so I don't feel guilty about it. It was also someone at work's birthday that day and she had done some baking — cardamom and coffee cakes and a bakewell tart. I FUCKING LOVE bakewell tarts. I try to take any opportunity I get to eat them because my boyfriend doesn't like them and I don't want to get a Mr Kipling pack of six if it will mean just me eating them for a week. I mean, I have done that in the past, but the guilt is too much nowadays. So I enjoyed a slice with my tea in the afternoon. And then shamefully, I had another in the evening whilst I was hanging out in the office waiting for it to be 7.30pm. I think I can still see the box on the table as I type this… 

So yes, BF's birthday drinks. It was a lovely night filled with cocktails and fun and 6.30am trains back home… Man, I am too old for these kinds of shenanigans. Technically, so is he but he is much younger at heart than me! We both looked like death on the way home having been up for 24 hours, so a cheese and ham croissant and chocolate torsade at Euston station was a must before we got home and passed out. I think my control pants are still tossed somewhere in the living room… So, seeing as I had gone for a long time without any proper food and the alcohol had probably dehydrated me a bit, my weight loss for this week was potentially more than it should have been… But, I always go with what the scales say, so that is what we are sticking with.

Oh GOD — this is just too good!

I have discovered something that might be the death of me. Being a massive idiot and trying to do a food shop on a fast day, I ended up buying the item on the right. It's so fucking delicious. And addictive. And delicious. I have yet to spread it on anything — at the moment I just eat tiny spoonfuls of it straight out of the jar… I know this is bad, but I ain't the only one doing it!  

I thought it would be nice incorporated into some cupcake frosting, and lo and behold, someone more capable than me has already started doing stuff with it here: http://www.domesticsluttery.com/2013/04/baking-for-beginners-lotus-spread.html
Read the comments below the recipe — tonnes of crazy women (obviously — men tend to not eat stuff out of jars in a wild frenzy), all hooked. I rest my case. Get yourself down to Sainsbury's and grab a tub, just once. And I am totally making those biscuits.

Other craziness at work — someone else was having a birthday and in a bid to look amazing (she is already very slim) she was eating only 700 calories a day. It was only for one week, but we all gave her a lecture about it, because that blatantly sounds dangerous. I think it was also because a friend of hers had recently slimmed down a lot, so she was feeling bad that she wasn't being very disciplined with her own diet, so she took up this weird regime. I told her off, but since then, the idea has taken over my brain a bit and resulted in me trying to do something similar this week. Obviously, no one is worried about me, because I have virtually no willpower, but for the next week (especially as I'm eating out twice) and I am going to have very low days calorie days wherever I can fit them in. Not 500 calories (maybe 800 or so) but I would like to see what happens. I can almost guarantee it won't result in weight loss, because I will almost certainly cheat. But I am going to give it a go. 

Another reason it might not be a bad idea is that last Tuesday I took a bit of a funny turn. I was round my parent's at dinner, and about 3 hours after eating, I really thought I was going to be sick, ie. I went to hang out in the toilet just in case. That wasn't a bad plan, because let's just say things didn't feel great the other end either…! Now, for lunch that day I had eaten a fig, walnut and Gorgonzola salad. It was extremely tasty, but I did worry that the blue cheese might have been the problem. The next day I gave it to my friend because the thought of it was making me hurl. She concluded that seeing as I wasn't a veteran blue cheese-eater, I should have started out with something less hardcore, and I agree. Right, stomach should go back to normal now! Not so. A week later, and it still hasn't. I'm not sure what's wrong, but I don't really want to take anything for it in case it's helping my weight loss… That is so wrong, I know… In fact, the last two paragraphs are so wrong and make me sound like a dieting nutter, but it's not stopping me from eating and I am curious about how long it will go on for. It's an experiment. (I am in no way endorsing this behaviour, or advocating it. But I then I also have a blog to write every week and need all the fodder I can get!)

So essentially, next week is going to consist of me eating very little (apart from the odd calorie-heavy restaurant meal), and then shitting several times a day. It's exciting! We literally have no idea what is going to happen… 

Will I shit myself on my run? Dunno. 

Will I even make it out for a run? No idea. 

Will any of this actually help me lose any frigging weight? 8-ball says 'UNLIKLEY'. 

Week 13 : IT STARTS NOW! (Again)

Well, I told you this week was going to bad. And I was not wrong. 1lb fatter. See how it creeps up when you get slack? In this instance, the term 'slack' means 'only having one fast day this week'. And it turns out that 'only having one fast day this week' also means 'having a fast day until I get home and eat several pieces of fridge cake'. Yes sir, things got bad…

Let's blame it on the Bank Holiday. It's an excuse to stuff your face, which is what I did. The BF and I went to a local burger bar and it was amazing. The food gets better every time I go. I tried to restrain myself by ordering plain fries instead of loaded fries with my chilli burger, but the moment BF's arrived (he ordered his with cheese, bacon and spring onion) I instantly regretted it. The burgers suddenly looked smaller than they used to — mainly down to the fact that we had not eaten a thing all day — so we though about ordering some chicken wings to go alongside if we needed them, but we were pleasantly stuffed by the end. I ordered a Oreo milkshake with added malt for dessert (even though I was pretty full) as it seemed like a nice way to end a very tasty meal. Plus, I knew the shakes came in just a normal tumbler size. At least, they used to.

Along came the waiter, placing what looked like a 1.5 litre steel vat in front of me. It was full of ice-cream and Oreos and malt and milk. But I was already full of burger and chilli and chips and mayo… It was really delicious, but I barely made a dent in it, which is unusual for me. Luckily, my BF managed to drink quite a lot of it after his ice cream (where does he put it? WHERE DOES HE FUCKING PUT IT???), so at least it didn't all go to waste.

Now, Mondays are usually my fast day, so if I didn't want to fast that day, I should've moved it to another day. But I didn't. Instead, I decided that as I was going to visit my mum on Tuesday I couldn't possibly fast then, and then Wednesday I wanted to run so I couldn't do that either… so my only fast day was Thursday. And that was a piss poor effort, let me tell you. I was fairly good all day, and then I just went home and caned several bits of fridge cake with tea, probably with some crisps as well. *Sigh* I think it was because earlier in the day, I had been writing the previous week's blog, and I realised I had 6 weeks until my weekend away with my uni gals. That made be realise I needed to get serious. But seeing as I had pretty much ruined the week with no exercise and only one fast day, there was no way I was going to lose weight. So I thought I would just eat what I wanted, and draw a line under it. I was OK with that though and I kinda felt good about having a fresh start with a challenge. 

I need to track more on the weekend, though. I end up eating so much due to boredom, and it's all the wrong food too. Well, it's the right food taste-wise, but the wrong food waist-wise — BOOM! At least if I know I've eaten most of my daily allowance by lunch, I will feel guilty and eat less for dinner (ha!). Next week I'm sticking to calories, drinking water, exercising and focusing on my six-week goal. 

OH, FUCKING HELL.

I almost forgot to tell you. So, by Friday, I knew it had been a week of epic fails, so a colleague and I decided to go out for lunch as we had recently been paid. A former colleague of ours was also meeting us with her baby and partner, but she was running late, so me and Work Mate decided to head down to the pub and order our food as we only had the one hour for lunch. Work Mate decided just to order some chips, but then she is tiny. I really didn't think a small portion of chips was going to fill me up (I'm about twice her girth), but they had a large chip option as well. Brilliant, I will order that. 

So we are sitting chatting and the waiter comes out and puts our chips on the table. I honestly could have died of embarrassment…

These chips tasted amazing — I WILL be going back!

I'm not even sure this picture does it justice. Suddenly — to anyone who may have been watching (mainly these two women who were just gawping at me from the next table, even though they were both bigger than me!) — it was quite apparent why and how I was double the size of Work Mate. I tried to distance myself from the chips as much I could, pushing them into the centre of the table, leaning forward to take one and then sitting right back into my seat whilst I ate it. I was hoping it would look like I was just a bit of a grazer who was nibbling a little, rather than some greedy pig hunched over a plate of chips. Oh, and I kept saying "You HAVE to help me eat these!" really loudly even though I didn't want to share them AT ALL. To be fair, it was only as much as you would get from down the chippy, and a normal person would probably manage to eat that. It just looked worse because of Work Mate's tiny bowl next to it… Yeah, let's blame her, stupid skinny bitch! Luckily, our friend arrived shortly and and I shoved the chip bucket in the direction of her and her partner and left them with it.

But I totally could have eaten them all. I just had to pretend I couldn't for the safety of general public.

Week 12 : 7-Week Challenge

A shortish post this week, mainly because I am feeling sheepish about being very slack over the last few weeks. It's just me being lazy — pure and simple. It's not about the fast diet not working — I really think it works. I have just become very weak-willed for no apparent reason.

So this week, I ended up putting on 0.6lbs. It's not the end of the world, but I think it's safe to say that when trying to lose weight, one should not instead be getting fatter. Staying the same is one thing, but turning back into a roly-poly is quite another! My first fast day on Monday was absolutely horrendous. For some reason, I started getting into the habit of eating once I got into work, when I usually wait until lunch. And I think this has been partly responsible for my downfall (that and all my overeating). Starting the food train in the morning meant I would keep eating until lunch and then I would just have a massive panic at 4pm because I'd eaten all my calories. This happened to me on Monday morning when I decided to start off the day with not one, but TWO nutritious and delicious Oreos. I mean, can you think of anything worse to start your fast day with?? God, Michael Mosley would fucking kill me...

So I ate the Oreos, and for lunch I had a very nice hummus and vegetable stick platter from Morrisons. I am quite lazy, so this was ideal for me, but it wasn't particularly filling. For dinner, I rustled up a turkey curry, but ate more than I should have, so went over my calories. (Urgh, this amount of honesty is actually killing me and I feel very embarrassed, but I need to be truthful). Then, of course, I just felt shit about being so pathetic, so I ate some Kettle Chips. As you do. Oh, and according to MFP, 4 chocolate fingers. 1000 calories, my friends — ON A FUCKING FAST DAY. I crawled into bed early (although it's a wonder I could move at all after all that food) and felt as miserable as sin. I mean, the least you should do after eating all that is enjoy it, but no — I had a massive sulk instead. And whilst in bed, clutching my fat stomach under the duvet, I heard the voice of my BF singing whilst going to collect his dessert from the kitchen: "Mmmm… cheesy cake… cake with cheese… cheesy cake! Mmm-mmm-mmmmm! Cheesy cake…". 

On Tuesday I went to Pizza Express for dinner with my friends, and after much soul-searching, I decided against ordering the pizza I actually wanted that was over 1000 calories and opted instead for something lighter. I couldnt bring myself to order a Leggera — they depress the fuck out of me. But maybe that's why I'm not losing weight!

I have started doing a weights routine as well now. My arms look crap at the moment, so I feel a lot better pumping some iron! Had an awkward moment in the living room when my BF corrected my form whilst I was doing bicep curls, but we managed to get past it once I admitted I was being defensive. Also, I think I need to constantly be looking at Jodie Marsh’s body whilst exercising — I am seriously jealous. She looks amazing and I would love to look that buff. But with less effort, obviously. 

BF and I went out for a meal on Saturday night, which ended up being three courses. But, I was pleasantly surprised with the outcome. Whilst I finished my starter (goats cheese tart, delicious) I didnt actually finish my main or my dessert — YEY ME! This NEVER happens to me. I ordered the fish and chips because I'm a massive chip lover, but I was quite happy for my BF to take some chips off me and I even gave him the last bit of fish I was saving because it was the best bit. I know it's nothing to write home about given the weight that I put on, but normally, I would just shovel it in no matter what. Actually, I felt a bit sick halfway through — I think it was just the fact that it was all fried and my system freaked out.

I also decided to make fridge cake over the weekend, which was a stupid idea because it is so fattening. But I just wanted it. URGH. Probably because it's a week before Lady Time and I've realised that's when my cravings/mood swings start. I've tried to be more aware of these cycles because it makes life easier for my BF if he has a bit of warning about when I'm going to turn into a moody (yet weepy) bitch. It also makes it easier to understand why my thighs can suddenly become HUGE overnight. Seriously, I woke up on Tuesday and there were two new massive saddlebag-shaped lumps that weren't there the day before! I know I haven't been losing, but I have felt pretty good about my body otherwise. Well, that's my theory…

So anyway, this week wasn't great. And actually, given that I have only kinda got my arse into gear like 10 minutes ago after seeing a formerly fat friend's skinny arm on Facebook, next week might not yield great results either! But I'm meeting up with my uni friends in 7 weeks, so that is the perfect event to use as a goal. I've coasted along a bit, but it would be really nice to get under 11st by then — and that is only 14 fasts! Piece of piss, right? RIGHT?

Week 11 : "I'm Late! I'm Late!...

... And I've put on weight!
No time to say hello, goodbye!
I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"

Yes, sorry for the delay getting this post out. I really don't know why I didn't do it on Monday. But by now, you may have worked out that I put on this week. Probably because like in Alice In Wonderland, I am a big girl who basically just sees "EAT ME" written on everything… I packed on 1.2lbs — but I am totally OK with that. I was still fighting off sinusitis last week, making a very half-arsed attempt at fasting and absolutely no attempt at any exercise. So I was expecting this result.

What I was not expecting, was to arrive at the office last Monday to find clotted cream, jam and scones at work (brought in for a birthday) along with a million other snack foods. That was hard to deal with on a fast day, even though I had recently eaten the Scone Cake Monstrosity (see previous post). But I did manage to resist until the next day, which is something given how shit I was feeling. Oh, but I did eat three giant pretzels that day. And by three, I obviously mean five.

The rest of the week is a bit of a blur I'm afraid… All I wanted to do was eat nice things that felt comforting, although him indoors stopped me from going down the chippy, which initially I resented massively, but then was thankful afterwards. Sort of. And I really craved curry, probably for the strong flavours because I couldn't taste much, but I couldn't be arsed to make one, and my parents had made chicken with salad when I went round to visit. Not what I had in mind, but I kept telling myself it was better for me and really healthy, blah, blah…

However, by the weekend, I knew I would be well enough to re-start my new exercise programme. So you can imagine my excitement when Saturday finally came — at last, I can go running! Two weeks of feeling crap, but now I could run past the cows with wind in my hair, a burning sensation in my calves and sweat dripping from my brow — hallelujah!

I did nothing. And then I did nothing on Sunday either, deciding to sleep in until 1pm instead. Shame. On. Me. I felt really guilty by the end of the weekend, so naturally I drowned my sorrows/sabotaged myself even further with some pasta and garlic bread. Punishment Pasta, that's what it was…

I think my initial fasting excitement has waned a bit — it's understandable. But I think I just need to get a few good weeks of weight loss under my belt and I will be re-enthused (is that a word?). I have been a bit up and down so I think it's just about getting back into it, which doesn't really feel like an awful, terrible imposition on my life at all. In general, I feel good about my body — I am especially liking my legs right now — so overall, I think that's more important. My body looks better and I feel better about it than I did three months ago, so that's good enough for me right now.

Although next week will be Week 12 — time to have a review and get the measuring tape out I think…

Week 10 : A Bit Of A Blur

I am currently suffering from sinusitis, and it is really dragging too. I feel like I have been in a bit of a daze for a week now, and everything has been a bit hazy to say the least! I was genuinely excited about my new exercise plan, but it was halted before it even really got off the ground, but I would really like to run tomorrow, if only to not feel so bad about needing so much sleep at the moment! 

I went for a lovely Greek meal with two of my friends last week, and I didn't even have ice cream for dessert! I was pretty impressed with myself. Hey, it's a start… So I was very pleased to have lost a bit of weight (0.6lbs), given my fasts have been terrible. I have decided that soup is just not filling enough because when I get to the afternoon, I am ravenous and end up snacking, which takes me over my 500 calories. So going to have to think of some better food to eat. Sorry soup — you are cheap and easy, but you are not quite big enough for this ride (?)

I had a bit of a fuck up with a cake I was making in the week, actually. That was depressing because I was really looking forward to it and it was just a massive let down. So the story goes: I wanted to make a nice cake for my sister who was coming back from Japan after a year. Instead of rolling out the usual cupcakes, I decided to make a sponge filled with whipped cream and strawberries — summery and easy, right? Apparently not. I baked the sponges and they looked great, so I got to work on the filling, which was strawberries mixed with jam, and whipped cream. Fuck knows what was up with this pot of double cream. I decided against using an electric whisk because I wanted it to be in soft peaks, but I had literally only whisked it about five times with a balloon whisk when the cream went PROPER THICK. Like, way thicker than I needed it to be. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! OK, never mind, I thought. I will just gently mix in some more double cream, right? Wrong. It just got thicker and thicker. In a panic, I decided to dump it on the sponge as it was and then maybe just try again with the last of the cream. This did not work either. Even though I was stirring slowly WITH A SPOON, it went really thick again! There wasn't much I could do at that point, so I just popped on the top sponge, decorated it and put it in the fridge. The next day (after eating way too much of my mum's curry), I presented the cake to my sis and tried to cut a slice. Motherfucker. No joke — it was a struggle to get quite a large butcher knife through it. I reckon I might have knocked too much air out of the batter when folding in the flour, and it probably didn't help that I had chilled the cake in a very cold fridge for 24 hours. And because it was so dry, it had TOTALLY absorbed the little moisture that was left in the cream. If I had wanted to be positive about this baking monstrosity, I would have said it was like a scones-and-clotted-cream cake. Except the sponge was no way as nice as scones, the strawberries were soggy and the cream had turned into what felt like chunks of butter. Disaster. But everyone had a piece. It tasted OK, but it was not what I had in mind… Welcome home sis!

Like. A. Rock.

My sinusitis was getting worse and worse and come Friday, I had to take a sick day. I didn't feel like going down to the shops to get any food, but then I remembered I had bought something from the reduced aisle the day before — doughnut sandwiches. Yes, I know you all think they sound disgusting, but I kinda liked the idea! (They obviously aren't sugared or filled with jam.) I like to try new things and I had previously read about something similar here that made me drool : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luther_Burger. 

Eww. It was GROSS. I ate the BLT but I could not get through the second, and I will eat almost ANYTHING. I really hate waste, but this was too grim, and no amount of sriracha was going to help. Oh yes readers, I thought the situation was going to improve once I added a spicy eastern sauce to the mix. I think the combination of crisp salad veg against the backdrop of a greasy doughnut bun was what did pushed me over the edge... Yuk! I tossed it into the kitchen and shut the door for the rest of the day *shudder* On the plus side, it has put me right off doughnuts. 

Oh god, me and Blog Mate watched a very interesting documentary on the BBC. It was called The Men Who Made Us Thin, and it was depressing as fuck. Catch it on iPlayer if you can. It's all about diets and how basically everyone — after losing weight on ANY diet programme —will put it back on in five years. What the fuck is the fucking point??? How do we lose fucking weight then? Do fat people just have to accept they will always be fat?

URGH. I am going to try and watch it again and see if I can glean any meaning or hope from it… If you have any thoughts on it, please let me know!

Week 9 : Foodie Heaven, Dieting Hell

I knew this week was going to be difficult, so I'm not sad about the fact that I only lost a paltry 0.2lbs. In fact, given the circumstances, I'm fucking lucky I didn't put on! This week was going to be a challenge from the very start (I barely counted anything on my app), because there were going to be three 'eating out' events. And none of them involved me making particularly sensible choices.

My Monday fast was not as good as it could have been (605 calories, whoops!), but it also wasn't a total washout. So I drew a line under it and moved on. On Tuesday, a colleague and I went out for lunch — here we come, vegetarian Chinese buffet! We both regretted this decision three hours later when we were still uncomfortably full. I initially thought that the fact there was no meat involved would mean the calories wouldn't be as bad. But they still have spring rolls. And (veggie) prawn toast. And tempura vegetables. And chow mein. It turned out to be just too much food for lunch, so I won't be doing that in a hurry again.

Obviously, I didn't snack in the afternoon, and I didn't eat a very big dinner. The original plan was to eat NO DINNER, but we were having fajitas and I wanted some. My rationale was "If I eat now, I will only eat half as much as usual, because I am not that hungry. If I don't eat now, I guarantee I will be at hungry at 10pm, and then I will eat a whole big proper meal, on top of my massive lunch". Makes sense, right? Yes, of course it does. So I had two fajitas only (I accidentally put some bad cheese in my first one — grim. But I still ate it…), and then I thought I would have a little bit of cheese cake.

Now, I tell no word of a lie — we had two cheesecake pieces in the fridge (vanilla and billionaire's). I took a TINY piece off each. Each piece was about the length of my finger and not an awful lot wider — I wish I had taken a picture to show you how little they were. They looked like the kind of mini desserts you get with a coffee in a restaurant. In total, they weighed 100g. I was chuffed that I had been so good. So then I thought I had better tot up my calories on myfitnesspal. 50g of Tesco Finest Billionaire's Cheesecake is… wait for it… a WHOPPING 220 calories. I could not believe it. Seriously. It was so titchy! It killed me to press 'SAVE' on my app… 50g of New York Vanilla cheesecake only came up marginally better at 180 calories. I begrudgingly added that to my diary as well. So very, very fucked off, but I should have checked first. Whilst 5:2 is about having a bit of what you fancy and getting on with your life, I think cheesecake, along with garlic bread, must only be eaten on special occasions. The only thing that made me feel slightly better that evening is that I kinda had the shits — too much chilli oil at lunch? This is what constitutes as good news in my world.

So Tuesday, Blog Mate and I had planned a meet up/food fest. We had been perving on the menu for Shake Shack in Covent Garden all day, only to arrive and find out that a) the queue was fucking massive and b) it was more like a fancy McDonald's (ie. you get everything on a tray at once and sit down) rather than a place where two school friends could sit for ages and have a good old natter. So, with heavy hearts, we decided to go to Byron Burger instead.

Clearly, I was feeling the loss, because I felt really sad about not getting the food I had planned in my head — "Will we go again? Are you sure you want to eat here? We could always go back there…". But Blog Mate made it all better by assuring me we would definitely go back once the summer had passed and the tourists had fucked off, which was a brilliant idea. The menu at Byron didn't excite me particularly, but instead of going for the double cheeseburger (because it would be massive and fill the sad Shake Shack-shaped hole in my soul), I went for the chilli burger. And you know what? It was friggin' delicious. In fact, I got half way through it and was very thankful that I didn't go for the double burger (it was called The Big B — another reason I didn't order it) because it would have been too, well, big. I got to the last three mouthfuls of my burger and thought "Hmm, I could leave the rest of this…", but that just seemed like a really, really, stupid thing to do, so I finished it. Eheheheheh.

Seeing as none of the desserts were that appealing, we hunted down somewhere we could have some ice cream. We turned down a street, which I mistakenly thought was the same street we visited when we went to THAT teacher's restaurant. Laughing, my friend pointed out we visited his restaurant in Soho, and we were now very clearly in Covent Garden, so it definitely wasn't and we were safe. Silly me! So we had a giggle, and continued walking down it. But then, my face dropped. There, in the distance, I noticed a restaurant sign… No. Fucking. Way. Maybe it wasn't his restaurant? We got a bit clos... No, it DEFFO was. HUGE FUCKING CUNTS. WHY IS HE EVERYWHERE??? It's like I have have some kind of homing device… URGH. YES SIR, I AM 31 AND HAVE DONE NOTHING WITH MY LIFE YET! YES, I KNOW YOU STARTED YOUR HUGE EMPIRE AT THAT AGE AND I CANT EVEN FIND A PLACE THAT SELLS ICE CREAM, EVEN THOUGH I HAVE AN IPHONE AND GOOGLE MAPS! BUT SERIOUSLY, FUCK OFF!

Eventually — after a small but public spaz-out — we found an ice cream place. Now, I'm not a big ice cream eater. I like it, but I can't eat a lot of it in one sitting. I just wanted one scoop of ice cream, but of course, this place didn't do just one — it was two scoops minimum. Now, this is a dilemma that all people who are trying to diet will have had at some point. Do I ask for one scoop and just pay the price for two? Or do I get two scoops, eating what I can and then just wasting the rest? The tightwad in me went for the first option, which was probably the wrong one. (I forgot my mantra of not being a human dustbin.) I ate all my mango sorbet but left about half of the ice cream, which I made sure I didn't eat by violently schmooshing a napkin into the pot. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, the world is against us and wants us to just get fat. We have to take these measures.

Thursday's fast was great — I was slightly under my 500 calories, which made a change! And then on Friday, it was my five-year-anniversary dinner. Obviously, I was not going to diet that evening, although I did purposefully ignore the cheesecake for dessert. But again, a three-course meal proved to be too much, as we were both quite stuffed. The service was excellent and everything we ate was absolutely delicious (FYI, I had chicken wings, steak with frites and rice pudding brulee). But I did feel bad for my bf — I got a bit tipsy on one glass of pink prosecco and just waffled on at him about what I had been watching on 4od for fucking AGES. Oh yes, and then I got teary telling him about a particularly sad bit in an episode of the sensitively-named Why Don't You Speak English? — what a total tool.

God, I need to stop typing but I am just on the last bit, I promise! I have been fucking exceptional with my exercise this week — four runs and 90% of my Davina DVD — not too shabby! (I couldn't do any more lunges, I just couldn't.) I am in a lot of muscular pain today, but it feels goooooooooood. And it stopped me from buying a two-pack of cream doughnuts last night. They were on offer, but I managed to convince myself that a saving of 42p was not worth the 550 calories they would cost me on my fat arse later down the line.

My sister is coming back from Japan after a year of being away, so that's quite exciting. She has missed salt and vinegar crisps and hummus (I've eaten a shedload of both), so I will be take those round to her this week. I also have an evening invite to a wedding on Friday, but other than that, this week is pretty clear week event-wise. Which means I should see a decent loss by the end of it. I am going to say 1.5lbs… I might be pushing my luck a bit, but I reckon I can do it.

Week 8 : Back on Track

Well, after the mess-up that was last week, you will be pleased to know that I lost this time. To be fair, it wasn't quite a full pound, but hell, it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick (as my dad would say). However, I'm glad that I did lose it, because it keeps me motivated and proves that this diet is working for me — I just have to not fuck it up.

I went to a wedding on Saturday, which was lovely. However, after last week, I did have to stuff myself into my control pants, and only my second-best pair at that. I did try to wear my hardcore pants (it was a special occasion after all) but it was just too hot and I was just too sweaty to get them up past my knees. I didn't fancy re-enacting my huffing and puffing and groaning and tugging half pissed every time I needed the toilet, so Asda pants it was! As I wasn't going to be buying a new dress for the event, I decided to treat myself to a new clutch and fascinator to go with my shoes for the outfit below. 

I have to admit, I have Gok to thank for this inspiration!

I loved my outfit once I put it all together — very pleased with myself. And the accessories only cost me £20, so a bargain I think. I was less pleased with the fact that during the week I started developing a heat rash/allergy all over my face… I was hoping it would go away, but my Friday, it was mean and red and fucking itchy. I legged it to the chemist and got a cream, and I got some stronger antihistamine tablets whilst I was there too. I probably took a few too many tablets and rubbed in a bit too much cream (I was panicking, man!) but by Saturday, it was ever-so-slightly better. There was no way I was going to NOT wear make-up so I just had to deal with the itching and get on with it. It's kinda cleared up now, but my face feels weird and scaly…

ANYWAY… Back to the wedding. The couple looked very happy and a lovely day was had by all. They picked a cracking menu too, actually. Crab and avocado starter, lamb with mash and veg for the main and creme brulee with a strawberry sorbet for dessert — all very nice. Unfortunately, it was a traditional wedding cake (yuck!), which everyone took a piece of but no-one ate, because really, who the fuck likes fruit cake???  I ate the little strip of marzipan in mine and that's all I could manage, so I can probably add fruit cake to my list of foods I dislike — woot! Every cloud…

Nothing else to tell you really, other than I would really like to shift that pound-and-a-bit left from last week. I really don't want to put on again, so I am going to do my best to be good. Although that might be tricky given that on Tuesday I am going out for lunch, Wednesday I am meeting Blog Mate for a VERY unhealthy dinner, and Friday is my five-year anniversary. So it's a food fest. BUT I am going to try to be as good as I can the rest of the time. Here's hopin'…