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.

I'VE PEAKED.

OK, so three years ago I still thought the best was yet to come. I was gonna get svelte, learn how to dress for my shape and have better hair. 

Not so.

1095 days later: I'm still the same shape, dress in baggy t-shirts and leggings, and my hair is actually worse.

When I told my friends (it was just me who thought we hadn't peaked yet) one of them said "I don't think we've reached the steep part of the descent yet". Fucking great. Thank you very bloody much. 

In other news, I cant remember being 19. When did that happen? Where the hell was I? I can't imagine even being that age. 

It's depressing enough to make me eat the Daim bar I can see out of the corner of my eye… YOU ARE GOING BACK IN THE FUCKING DRAWER.

Holy CRAP. (And THAT teacher)

I did not realise it has been a month since I last posted... Sorry guys. 

So I should probably update you on what's been happening! Firstly, there HAS been running. That is something at least. I really am not improving as much as I should be, but my potential shin splints are not what we are here to talk about today.

Then there was dinner with my blogging school friend… Let's call her Blog Mate — she will love that I reckon. Or not. This should have just been a fun dinner, but unfortunately, it led to some weird stuff… OK, just realised I have made it sound like we lezzed out, so I will just get to the point. RIGHT. So, we had an English teacher at school who we probably all had a bit of a crush on because he was young and we were in a school for girls. He taught us in Year 10, but then left teaching altogether. Blog Mate said to him: 'I hope you know you're walking out on your career"… which is pretty funny, right? Yeah — until we found out he now owns several EXTREMELY popular restaurants in London…

For some reason, this has bugged the fuck out of me. I knew something was up when I saw him in the the British Airways magazine on a flight to Scotland, but I thought it was just a flash in the pan. I am not normally a jealous person, but this has made me go slightly mental with envy. I don't know why — I don't even want to be a fucking chef! I guess I am very jealous of his drive — he used to teach all week, and then work his butt off in restaurants on the weekend. I can't even bring myself to do one of my creative pursuits for just one hour after work. Blog mate and I calculated he was about 30 when he started doing the restaurant thing, so it means I really need to start doing my thing… oh… One year ago.

(OK, so it looks like this post is blatantly going to be about my obsession with my teacher. Sorry.)

Blog Mate and I figured that as we were meeting up, we should try out one of our teacher’s restaurants. I deliberately found some bad reviews of the Venetian one we went to so that I too could whinge about the chewy chicken and crap meatballs. Alas, it didn't quite work out that way... The place was buzzing, no, it was HEAVING. We sat down and took in the delicious menu, the gorgeous decor, the tasty smell of the food... CUNT CUNT CUNT. We ordered one dish off each section and a bit of wine, and then I asked the waiter if by any chance our teacher was there. The waiter smiled and said he wasn't, and we explained that he used to be our teacher, probably just to knock him down a peg or two. (Seeing as I was doing all the talking here, it was almost certainly for that reason.) I wonder if he believed us, since our teacher pretty much looks the same as he did 15 years ago, in the many, MANY Internet searches/extensive stalking I have conducted.

When the food came, it was all just brilliant. (I hate him. I hate him.) We had bread, an array of tasty starters, meatballs, pizza — everything was utterly delicious. Which just made me more mad and more hateful. It was a lovely evening, until some really quite inappropriate R&B came on the sound system very loudly... that was the one weird thing. So we both admitted he had done very well for himself, paid our bill and headed home. And I am so bitchy that I am not even going to give his amazing restaurant a shout-out. He doesn't fucking need it. 

(Wow, this happened over a month ago and I am still filled with so much resentment. Great.) 

But it did not stop there. I got a totally obsessed. The whole thing had riled me up for some reason, although I think it's fairly obvious it's to do with my own failings. Alongside the hate was the fact that we had eaten this totally dreamy cod paste thing there that I went crazy for, so I spent the next day violently trying to find a recipe for it. My search brought up the fact he had a recipe book out for this restaurant… I spent a lot of time looking at it. And I mean A LOT. Am I thinking about buying this book? Really? Am I actually going to put more money in his po... CLICK. Oh right, it appears I am. I have now made several things from the book, cursing my way through it at all times, for they were all delightful and it is a lovely cookbook. Well written, nice recipes, good paper, beautiful photos of Venice... I read all of it in bed across two nights. (I hate him. I hate him.) But now, every time someone reads about him in the paper, or sees him mentioned in an article, they tell me. Every time. He is everywhere. FUCKING everywhere. HAUNTING MY UNMOTIVATED SOUL.

So yeah — my boyfriend and I are planning to go to Venice for our anniversary… AND WHAT?

FINE! FINE! I will cook your stupid delicious food, you git…

Kick Up The Butt

Well, this is very amusing… Having finally decided to actually start writing this weight-loss/general moaning blog today, I logged into my blogger.com account to see that it was almost exactly one year ago today that I last blogged. Under a different name. About dieting. And never came back. 

Whilst this doesn't bode well for me (or you, as a reader) I am really going to try to stick with it. This year is all about pulling my finger out, facing challenges, DOING stuff instead of PLANNING to do stuff, fitting into the clothes currently being housed in my bulging wardrobe (why must everything in my life become fat?), using my creativity for good rather than for making my sister cry, and actually becoming the person I feel I am under all this cheap clothing and winter weight. And if you think this sounds a lot like my 'I Am Going To Be 30 — I Need To Change My Life' speech from last year, well you are wrong, my friend. 

I'm not exactly sure how am going to post just yet. Daily seems a bit much, but some of you might genuinely might want to know how many ProPoints I have eaten, or how many poops I can fit in before Weigh Day, or what I am choosing to omit from my tracker and then lie about in class, etc. But I figured that if I post every day and pretend people are reading this, I might actually stick to my weight loss plan/being a better me.

But writing about being fat can get a bit boring, so I am going to try and use it as a diary as well, and write about other things that are going on in my life. So this is a good time to let you know a little bit about me… 

I have probably been dieting since my early teens. My mum is a serial dieter and it has now very much become a part of my life. These days (now I am older and wiser, sort of) I think my weight loss issues have less to do with thinking I am a big fatty-fat-fat and more to do with the fact that I have only ever really wanted to lose about 25lbs — the very fact that I have so little will power to even get me halfway there is frankly, pathetic. But I do hate not fitting into my clothes — some of which I have never even worn. I hate boring my boyfriend and friends with the constant complaining about my fat arms ("Guys, remember the summer where I had amazing 'guns'?"). I hate feeling self-conscious in my baggy t-shirts and leggings. I hate wanting to be slimmer ALL THE LIVE-LONG DAY. And I hate the fact that I would now KILL to be 10st, a weight I hated being approximately 6 years ago. 

And that’s probably all you need to know for now. What more do you need, hmm?