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 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 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 6 : "Welcome to Dumpsville… Population: You."

Just so you know, I did not get dumped. But I tell you this much — if I did get dumped, I would not be writing this blog anymore. I would be out there, running down the street, flaunting my too-depressed-to-eat skinny body in hot pants and a boob tube. 

No, I'm talking about a different kind of dumping, people. (Don't worry — it won't be for very long.) I weighed myself after my second fast day last week and my weight was exactly the same as the week before. Given how much I had eaten over the weekend, plus eating out at work, I was quite content with being 11st 5.2lbs. At least this way when I weighed myself on Saturday (my official day), I wouldn't be shocked at the results. 

As an aside (and an excuse to squeeze a picture in, cos that's what blog reader want, apparently), I believe in keeping fast day meals simple — I don't want to be faffing around with food when I am not free to just chuck stuff in. You can eat what you want all week, so two days should not need to be sexed up! This was some lovely spiced basa fish with griddled courgettes and mushrooms I had — very low in calories, so perfect for fasting :-)

This is even better with smoked basa…

So Saturday arrived and I (officially) got on the scales. 11st 4.6lbs. What the hell? After having a Chinese takeaway last night?? Man... OK... Just over half a pound is good, but how could I make it better? Hmm, could I try going to the loo…? Would that make a difference? Worth a try, surely? Well, I'm glad I tried, because boy, did that poo pay off! 11st 4lbs — IN YOUR FACE, FAT BODY!

There is a part of me that feels slightly dishonest doing a Weigh Day evacuation because I don't always try for a Number 2 before I get on the scales every week. But then I thought, "Fuck it — I'm in the fat-weighing business, not the poo-weighing business. It's not cheating!" And it's not like the old days where I used to pop a bunch of Sennakot before bed and pray to have a massive shit the next day… ANYWAY. Poo stories aside — I lost over a pound. I win. The End. 

So I was feeling excellent on Saturday. And when you feel excellent, you want to do all you can to continue feeling this way. So, time for some exercise! I had nipped out earlier in the day and stepping out the front door was like entering an oven, so running was out of the question — I didn't want to miss my friend's birthday celebrations suffering from heat stroke. So I decided to do my Davina Power of 3 DVD. It had been well over a year since I had done it (I used to do it religiously) but at least exercising in the living room was a bit cooler. 

The warm up was fine, but then I started doing the leg workout. The moves were feeling intense. Too intense. Every squat felt like someone was kicking me in my butt cheek — HARD. Halfway in, I decided that this was a stupid idea, especially as I was planning to wear proper heels for the first time in year later that night — I really didn't need jelly-leg syndrome! So I did some arm work and then went off to ice some birthday cupcakes, naturally.

After stuffing our face with three fajitas, we headed out to my friend's birthday. Excellent night out (although we were all sweating like little bitches), lots of nice snacks (that I didn't need but ate anyway) and I didn't fall and break my ankles, which is my constant fear when in heels — RESULT! As we didn't get a chance to grab a hot dog after the club, I rustled up more fajitas when we got in at about 3.30am, as well as defrost some dhal — never underestimate the effort a drunk foodie will put into a worthy post-club snack! Finally, it was time for bed.

The next morning —OH DEAR GOD. I could not move. Seriously, everything was aching. Thighs, calves, butt, hips, triceps — everything. It took me ages to get out of bed and I actually felt like I had been in a fight. FUCKING DAVINA!! (I am still in pain as I write this.) However it reminded me how good this DVD is, so I am going to try and squeeze it in once a week.

Having eaten all that food before bed, I didn't have a hangover at all the next day, so it should have been a good day food-wise. Unfortunately, there was no proper food in the house, so I gorged on cakes, biscuits and crisps ALL DAY. Not very satisfying or nutritious really. And it means I have to really be careful this week, as well as being on top of my exercise. In fact, my new technique when I am feeling tired on my run is to grab a handful of my saddlebags — honestly, that keeps me moving! (Although I probably look a bit mental.)

I have lost just over 8lbs in 6 weeks. My next goal is 10lbs (because it's a nice round number) and then after that it will be to get under 11st. If things keep going at this rate, a bit more of the wardrobe should start to fit at last. Roll on dinner with the girls!

Week 3 : Whoops…

Yup — I didn't lose this week. Well, technically I did lose a tiny bit. But I don't think a post-poo 0.2lbs is worth mentioning, do you? (And yet I just did…)

It's fine, seriously. In a way, it was good to test the limits of this diet a bit. This week, I did four exercise sessions and had about 2000 calories every day ( I know, what a lard-bucket), resulting in me staying exactly the same weight as last week. So as maintenance plans go, that's not bad! But seeing as I don't want to maintain this chubby body, I will be running a tight ship this week. And by 'tight' I obviously mean a fairly loose regimen that has me eating Cadbury Trifles and such. 

I am getting to grips with 5:2 otherwise. Soup for lunch, protein and veg for dinner — it's nice not having to obsess over EVERY meal, EVERY day. I tell you one thing though — I am so fucking pleased when I go to bed on a fast day, because tomorrow will be filled with a cheese muffin or some crisps or a biscuit.

However, I did notice one quite disgusting thing about last week! According to my weekly round-up on myfitnesspal (MFP), I ate 19% protein and a whopping 41% of FAT. DOUBLE THE AMOUNT. That is gross. And wrong. And explains a lot. So this week I need to keep an eye on my intake. Especially as I am terrified of dying. (Ha! You were not expecting me to bust that one out, were you?) Like, ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED. It is the one thing that genuinely makes me feel like I might throw up. My brain can't compute death — mine or anyone else's. I know I HAVE to die (as does everyone), but it might be nice to prolong my life by a) not getting diabetes, b) cutting back on salt, c) staying fit. URGH. 

Bearing this in mind, it means that running (or any exercise) can no longer be something I only do when I want to lose weight — it needs to be a way of life. Which is why God bestowed a lovely belated running injury on me at about 11pm on Saturday night. Fuck knows what happened — my run at 4pm was absolutely fine. Then suddenly, 7 hours later, I can barely walk on my left foot. I think my hardcore massaging just made it worse ("Squeeze out the pain! Squeeze out the pain!"), because it was still really stiff all of Sunday, but today it seems better. But I think I should skip Zumba tonight… you know, just in case... (Get nasty, get nasty…) 

Oh, I forgot to mention — last week in Zumba, we did what the instructor called "a song from the East" — it was some sort of Asian tune. I swear she was making waaaaaay more eye contact with me (being the only brown in town), as if to say "Come on, you've been shit at everything else today — you should at least be good at THIS one…" — that is fucking racist, man! What, just cos I'm brown?




Sadly, I nailed that dance. BIG TIME. 

Week 8 - Devil Burger with Chilli Cheese Fries… Really?

So this week has had its ups and downs. Went for my second audition with that old rockers band. I did well but the next day I was shitting it and thinking "What if they ask me to join? Do I want to gig that much? Shouldn't I be excited about the prospect, rather than feeling sick?". After much discussing with the boyfriend, I decided to write to the band manager (an absolutely lovely woman) and explained that I would be pulling out of the runnings, as I think gigging every other week is a bit too much for me. She sent me a lovely email, and I felt so much better about my decision after she told me — and this is because I asked her, not because she is a bitch! — that the guy who auditioned before me already knew the set list (I didn't) and that as he could start sooner, that would have swayed it anyway. But out of six blokes, only two of us got a call back, so I am pleased that I managed to hold my own with the big boys! It's made me feel so much more confident, especially as she passed on a message later that evening saying she spoke to the band and they specifically asked her to pass on that they were very impressed with my playing and that I should never doubt the fact that I am a very good bassist. With excellent timing. Oh, and that my part on Alice Cooper's School's Out was 'note perfect'. GET. IN.

WEDNESDAY

Bollocks — didn't get up for my run. I am really annoyed with myself. My breakfast of strawberries, oats and yoghurt is going down well, as are the caramel digestives one of the girls at work brought in. Don't worry — I pointed it. And the half scone I ate after dinner. Eheheh. I made gnocchi with leeks and cheese sauce, only to later have my boyfriend tell me in a really roundabout that, well... I'm still not sure what he was trying to say. You tell me.

Him: So… is gnocchi better for you than pasta?

Me: No, I don't think so. 

Him: So does it cook more quickly then? 

Me: Well, yes. It's good if you don't have much time. Although fresh pasta cooks very quickly too.

Him: Do you like gnocchi more than pasta?

Me: Hmmm, I'm not sure... No, I probably prefer pasta.

Him: Yeah, me too… Gnocchi seems quite bland… I can't tell if I maybe needed to add more salt…

Me: Oh, did you not like dinner then?

Him: Oh no, it was nice... I dunno… Maybe it was all the leeks in it…

Me: It's OK — we don't have to eat if you don't really like it.

Him: Well, I'm not saying I wouldn't ever eat it again ever…

This went on for fucking ages. And all I worked out was that a) it may have needed salt, b) there was too much spinach, c) gnocchi is stodgy, and d) there may have been too many leeks. I liked it! But then I chucked a load of red chillis over my portion. Anyway, eventually the outcome was that next time we will try a more piquant sauce. (I'm sure he will be on here commenting as soon as I post this, criticising my re-telling of this story…)

THURSDAY

FUCKSTICKS — couldn't face going on my bastard run again this morning. I am feeling really frustrated with myself. I HAVE to go tomorrow. It's the 1st of March. That was the deal.

FRIDAY

CUNTING HELL! When will I learn? Seriously, when? Right after I eat my own body weight in foamy bananas, chocolate raisins and Smarties, that's when. Oh, and a mini bag of Skittles. That I am not writing down.

SATURDAY

OK, I had a very busy day ahead so I didn'tt feel too bad about not running. We drove round Hitchin and Bedford today (get me on the motorway!), and I managed to exist on grapes and a packet of Velvet Crunch snacks. Which meant a curry for dinner! Sounds fun, but it definitely wasn't. Back in the old days of WW, a biryani was a lot less points than it is now. So suddenly, all my planning went out the window and my head was a mental place to be. "What about a fish curry? Maybe I shouldn't have naan and rice… What about a korma with salad? Is a prawn biryani better than chicken? Perhaps tandoori chicken… but I don't want to eat that… shit shit…". All this whilst stuffing my face with poppadoms and mango chutney — it's a hard life I tell you. Anyway, went with the chicken biryani for 37 fucking propoints. AND it wasn't even that good! Plus, even though I was full when I wasn't quite halfway through it, I still ate it all, to the point of being really uncomfortable for the next two hours. Why? Although I don't think it's just me who does that — my boyfriend was struggling too, so much so that by the end, he was propping himself up against the wall next to us in a bid to finish. He gave his last bit of garlic naan to me because it was just too much — I WIN!!

SUNDAY

Seeing as I needed to dye my hair and had a very important audition today, I decided that there was no time to run… And I was right really, as I only just made it out the door in time. Ugh, nerves make me eat…

MONDAY

SHAMONE MOTHERFUCKERS! DID MY RUN!!! Sort of. I woke up at a decent time, but I found myself just lying there thinking a lot about my run, but not really committing to getting up and doing it. Soon it was 7.50, my cut-off time for a run, as it doesn't leave me enough time to get ready afterwards. But then the guilt set in… FUCK FUCK! OK, lets go for a short run then — about 15 minutes. It's better than nothing, right? Wrong. Fuck me, it was the worst run I have ever done in my life. I mean, worse that the very first time I went for a run ever. I was feeling a bit chesty beforehand, and rather than take my inhaler, I just thought "Nah, I'll be fine". About six minutes down the road, I felt like my lungs were going to collapse. But I couldn't stop running because there was oncoming traffic and I didn't want them to think I was some kind of lazy bitch, so I had to wait until I turned off the main road. Fucking hell. I felt like such a massive dick walking slowly in running gear, but I could not take a deep breath at all. I ended up walking the whole circuit, until I hit the same main road home, at which point I started running again. Not a great result, but maybe — just maybe — I have broken the cycle… (I suspect this is also what I would end up admitting to my boyfriend after trying to get my fat arse on his exercise bike).

TUESDAY

Eat-Light Tuesday! My favourite day of the week. Although I have to admit, it's less and less exciting as each week passes on. The first few weeks I would just get calorific light things to eat for the sake of it, but now a little bit of guilt has set in. Which is good. After getting weighed, I met the girls for dinner in a burger place tonight — the portions were huge (they weren't before!) and I was severely cheesed out with cheesy chilli fries. Some might say I had a nerve stuffing my face, given the information below…

WEEK 8 : 1.5lbs put on (11st 7lbs)
This 'one step forward, two steps back' thing is sure to get boring soon. It will.