Yay. Back to the Trail walking today for about the first time in four days. V. Bad, as doubtless Bridget Jones would say. Felt both good and virtuous to get back to it today.
This evening, d and I went down to Cardiff for a past making class at our most local Carluccio's restaurant.
Bear in mind, if you will, that the last time I cooked, I cooked like a bloke - boil spaghetti. Boil canned tomatoes. Serve on on top of the other. (It's probably important to understand here that I never, when I cooked pasta, believed in leaving half a packet till next time - we're talking a whole packet of spaghetti...at a single sitting, here).
Anyhow, d and I have now been married nearly ten years. During which time, I've never made a meal. Principally this is because d has a palate, and I'd quite like her to still at least vaguely entertain the idea of sleeping with me, something which would I fear go up in smoke if I cooked her my bloke food. Also, cooking is something she loves to do. So that worked out jusssst nicely.
But tonight, we were faced with bare ingredients - flour, eggs, butter, sage, stock, cheese, spinach, seasonings. We were instructed on how to make our own pasta from scratch, and while d was undoubtedly a star of the class and I ran into early trouble by virtue of having small eggs (apparently!), with a steer here and there, I ended up with pasta - which we then cut into ravioli, cut and shaped (no less) into tortellini, and ribboned into linguine. Cooked a simple sage butter sauce, boiled the pasta, co-mingled the ingredients and then essentially scoffed the lot for dinner tonight.
Now: was this the kind of thing I should have done, the night before a weigh-in? Probably not. Would I do it again in a heartbeat? Oh hellyeah. The fun of doing something creative together, of just having a go, and having it come out right (or at least edible by this bloke) was thrilling, and I got the point - to take something from ingredients and making something edible is a fantastic thrill.
We'll see in the morning whether it's scuppered my distinctly dodgy and patchy week's Disappearing work, but whatever will be, will be, as Doris Day sang. Tonight, I had fun with food - not always an easy thing to say, or admit to one's self when one is 5ft 6 and over 18 stone.
Now - must sleeeeeeeep.
Monday, 30 June 2014
Friday, 27 June 2014
The Balance of Deadlines
Felt burned out by about 10ish last night, wuss as I am. Made a conscious decision not to walk this morning, but to do something later in the day. had my standard three Weetabix, with semi-skimmed milk and large mug of semi-skimmed coffee
Worked my ass off while sitting entirely down for the whole morning, made some solid progress. Then went to see a lawyer about a law suit...as you do. In my case, still the one where I'm suing the ass off my doctors for not on any of the many occasions within a window of efficacy when I asked if there was something they could give me to restore my hearing, actually giving me a damn thing worth a dime. Seemed quite a positive meeting, and things are moving forward from there.
Lunch was again on the heavy side of things - remains of last night's Chinese curry and some boiled potatoes.
Did, I have to be honest, step on my Nazi Scales for an unofficial weigh-in this morning, and as of today have made progress. Not entirely enough progress, but progress nonetheless. And so we plough on. Have three solid days to make enough progress for Tuesday. And rather less than that to finish the edit to which I can now turn my full attention, having just signed off my magazine one more time.
Sigh - s'all go, innit? This is me...all going to get the hell on with stuff...
Worked my ass off while sitting entirely down for the whole morning, made some solid progress. Then went to see a lawyer about a law suit...as you do. In my case, still the one where I'm suing the ass off my doctors for not on any of the many occasions within a window of efficacy when I asked if there was something they could give me to restore my hearing, actually giving me a damn thing worth a dime. Seemed quite a positive meeting, and things are moving forward from there.
Lunch was again on the heavy side of things - remains of last night's Chinese curry and some boiled potatoes.
Did, I have to be honest, step on my Nazi Scales for an unofficial weigh-in this morning, and as of today have made progress. Not entirely enough progress, but progress nonetheless. And so we plough on. Have three solid days to make enough progress for Tuesday. And rather less than that to finish the edit to which I can now turn my full attention, having just signed off my magazine one more time.
Sigh - s'all go, innit? This is me...all going to get the hell on with stuff...
Thursday, 26 June 2014
The Chinese Hail Mary
OK so did my six mile walk this morning before work, came back and had my regulation three Weetabix with semi-skimmed milk, plus one mug of coffee, large, also semi-skimmed.
Lunch, some hours later, was two small cheese rolls - carb and fat, I guess, technically, but am not worried about them so much midday.
Tonight...tonight I'm hoping for a sort of atheistic Hail Mary.
d had had a long, cold wait at a bus stop to get home, when the bus decided it had better things to do than follow its normal boring routing. It's probably en route to Rio De Janeiro as we speak. So she came up to the office and waved some takeaway flyers in my face. I chose a Chinese chicken curry and some boiled rice. Boiled, I figured was comparatively healthy...right? And British Chinese chicken curry has none of the joy, the delicacy, the finesse you might expect to find in a curry sauce prepared by a nation so culinarily advanced as the Chinese - it's a delight very uniquely British, as though some time in the 50s, when Britain was at its most limited, drizzle-grey and miserable, an inspector in a beige mac came along to the first mainstream Chinese takeaways and sneered, saying "Oooh, look, we don't want none of that foreign flavour muck over 'ere. Just make it hottish and vaguely brown, that'll do, thank you..."
Now don't get me wrong. We've been raised on it for generations and can't get enough of the stuff, I'm just saying that it's about as Chinese as chicken tikka masala is Indian. I'm also contending it's probably not a calorific riotfest, because if it was, then surely to God it would taste better. So - chicken curry and boiled rice. I'm hoping that won't entirely upset the Disappearing apple cart.
Walking again in the morning, anyhow. Let's see what happens.
Lunch, some hours later, was two small cheese rolls - carb and fat, I guess, technically, but am not worried about them so much midday.
Tonight...tonight I'm hoping for a sort of atheistic Hail Mary.
d had had a long, cold wait at a bus stop to get home, when the bus decided it had better things to do than follow its normal boring routing. It's probably en route to Rio De Janeiro as we speak. So she came up to the office and waved some takeaway flyers in my face. I chose a Chinese chicken curry and some boiled rice. Boiled, I figured was comparatively healthy...right? And British Chinese chicken curry has none of the joy, the delicacy, the finesse you might expect to find in a curry sauce prepared by a nation so culinarily advanced as the Chinese - it's a delight very uniquely British, as though some time in the 50s, when Britain was at its most limited, drizzle-grey and miserable, an inspector in a beige mac came along to the first mainstream Chinese takeaways and sneered, saying "Oooh, look, we don't want none of that foreign flavour muck over 'ere. Just make it hottish and vaguely brown, that'll do, thank you..."
Now don't get me wrong. We've been raised on it for generations and can't get enough of the stuff, I'm just saying that it's about as Chinese as chicken tikka masala is Indian. I'm also contending it's probably not a calorific riotfest, because if it was, then surely to God it would taste better. So - chicken curry and boiled rice. I'm hoping that won't entirely upset the Disappearing apple cart.
Walking again in the morning, anyhow. Let's see what happens.
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
The Home Fries Forgetfulness
Didn't go walking this morning - too much to do. Those of you with a gastro-intestinal obsession though will be delighted to know that yesterday's issue no longer exists. And that's all I have to say about that.
Had the intention to walk this afternoon, but things have continued to pile up and pile up and technically I now have too many competing deadlines to allow even sleep, let alone Disappearing. That said, I'm walking tomorrow dammit, and everything else can pick a number. But before that, there's today.
Had three Weetabix for breakfast, with semi-skimmed milk, and one mug of coffee, large, also with semi-skimmed.
Several nights ago, d made her famous baked pasta. That's carb, with baked ricotta cheese inside it. A paving-slab sized block of it was left for lunch today. I cut in half, and then took slightly less again. That was lunch.
Dinner tonight was a tomato, onion and pepper omelette (regular readers don't need to be told that the tomatoes were en carcosonne - Lori, d's best friend in the world, once remarked to her, exasperated, "Don't you cook anything normal?!" - along with some home fries.
Of course it only occurs to me several hours later that the clue is in the title there. Fries. Fries are against my perspex Disappearing rules, dammit, and yet I ate them without a word, because hell, they were good and I didn't think.
Definitely walking in the morning.
So carb, technically for breakfast. Carb and fat for lunch, and protein, vegetation, some fat and carb for dinner on a day of absolutely zero physical exercise. Not a bright and shining Disappearing day, it has to be said. But on the other hand, I'm too busy to worry about it, and will adddress it in the morning.
On we go.
Had the intention to walk this afternoon, but things have continued to pile up and pile up and technically I now have too many competing deadlines to allow even sleep, let alone Disappearing. That said, I'm walking tomorrow dammit, and everything else can pick a number. But before that, there's today.
Had three Weetabix for breakfast, with semi-skimmed milk, and one mug of coffee, large, also with semi-skimmed.
Several nights ago, d made her famous baked pasta. That's carb, with baked ricotta cheese inside it. A paving-slab sized block of it was left for lunch today. I cut in half, and then took slightly less again. That was lunch.
Dinner tonight was a tomato, onion and pepper omelette (regular readers don't need to be told that the tomatoes were en carcosonne - Lori, d's best friend in the world, once remarked to her, exasperated, "Don't you cook anything normal?!" - along with some home fries.
Of course it only occurs to me several hours later that the clue is in the title there. Fries. Fries are against my perspex Disappearing rules, dammit, and yet I ate them without a word, because hell, they were good and I didn't think.
Definitely walking in the morning.
So carb, technically for breakfast. Carb and fat for lunch, and protein, vegetation, some fat and carb for dinner on a day of absolutely zero physical exercise. Not a bright and shining Disappearing day, it has to be said. But on the other hand, I'm too busy to worry about it, and will adddress it in the morning.
On we go.
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
The Triple Weigh-In Neurosis
How many times would you say one could weigh-in on any given
day without it being classed as a mental disorder?
I ask because for reasons that appeared to me at the time to
make perfectly reasonable sense, I weighed-in three times this morning.
The mathematics of distinct oddness go like this.
Last week when I weighed in, you might recall I said if I
could, I’d maintain the same conditions, weigh-in to weigh-in. Weighed-in twice
last week – once post-bathroom, but pre-walk, and then once post-walk.
This morning I got up and attempted to stick to my word. The
bathroom though was not my friend – buggerall doing, frankly. So I weighed-in
pre-bathroom, pre-walk. That figure, ladies and gentlemen: 18st 6.75.
So – all very good and groovy, my 2lb achieved, with a moderately
insulting chaser of a quarter-pound – while still, technically, being as full
of crap as you’ve come to expect of your Disappearing Correspondent.
Went and did the walk, in the hope of making friends with
the bathroom on my return. Usually, I lose a pound and a half in simple sweat
doing the walk – and I wanted to weigh-in post-walk and pre-bathroom, to be
able to discount that water loss from whatever the true figure was. This
morning, just a pound of water evaporated out of me over the course of six
miles. Second weigh-in was 18st 5.75.
Tried again to make friends with my own porcelain. Shall we
say that this morning I continued to be a man of no substance, but a half-pound
pee took me down to 18st 5.25.
As it happens, buggerall of any effect has left me at all
today, only the numerous coffees I’ve drunk.
So what am I claiming as my actual weigh-in figure? 18st 6.75? 18st 6.25?
Has to be the first figure of the day – 18st 6.75. Happy
enough with 2.2lbs lost, it rather brings me down to earth after the big loss
of the first week – this is more what progress will look like going forward. Next week, the aim will be 18st 4.75.
Of course…that’s not technically going to stop me
weighing-in unofficially tomorrow morning post…bleeding…bathroom…
Cos, y’know, you can never weigh-in quite enough….right?
Addendum: OK, fine, so I came home from Starbucks and tried to make friends with my bathroom again. Tiniest bit of success. And yes, I weighed-in again. And no, I'm not gonna tell you what that said, cos, y'know...there's taking neurosis too far...
Monday, 23 June 2014
The Shang-A-Lang Insistence and the Gestapo Phone Inconsistency
Sooooo yeah. A 42 year old man walks into a Bay City Rollers concert...
Meets a bunch of nutters, has lovely time with wife, and then walks out before David Essex shows up.
As it happened, there was a policy decision somewhere up among the transport gods, an a decree came down to Man on tablets of stone, written by the finger of Gerroutofit, Chief Conductor of the gods. And he wrote:
Neither shall there be any buses from Cardiff to Merthyr on Sundays, nor shall the trains run all the way up the valley after 8.30 at night, for that would make Man complacent in his ability to get the fuck about the place, and that's the thin end of the wedge, you mark my words.
So we spent much of yesterday making complex plans to get a train halfway after the, and call out Ma for a Pontypridd pickup. But as it happened, when d asked a techie guy at the concert what time the Rollers were on, they turned out to be opening the show (surely some mistake there, but it worked in our favour), and they'd be done and off the stage by 8 o'clock. So we stomped, we sang, we met some Welsh nutters who, on hearing her accent and her stories of previous Rollermania, gave her a tartan scarf to come away with. Great time. Then we made the executive decision to give Gerroutofit the finger and catch his last train out of Dodge, in spite of his decree against Valleys enjoyment. Have been singing Rollers classics all day today!
Did no exercise of any particular note yesterday, and ate, Porridge, one bowl, with semi-skimmed milk, and baked pasta, with ricotta cheese, one fairly heaping portion. Oh, and two plums and an apple.
So - we'll see whether the pastafest kicks me in the Nazi Scales tomorrow morning.
Today has been another Starbucks day - and you know what? Tomorrow's going to be another! Sue me.
Walked the six miles this morning with Ma though, and that highlighted a thing I've been aware of for some time now.
The Gestapo Phone, which has a step counter, mileometer and calorie counter built into a single handy app...is...mental.
There's no consistency to it whatsoever. One day the six miles will register as six miles, 13,000 steps and roughly six hundred calories burned. That, I have to say, makes some sort of sense to me, having compared its readings with some other sites that do this kind of measurement. This morning, we were at the halfway point, when it was registering nearly 9000 steps, 5.2 miles and about 900 calories. By the time we got home, it was telling me I'd walked 18,000 steps, nearly 11 miles and burned over 2000 calories. See? Mental?
Now it's possible that what I'm sure is a fairly simple step-counter and stride monitor gives you more "steps" if you take them at speed, burning more calories, and technically amounting to a greater distance travelled, despite not in actual fact travelling any further. Certainly today's walk was done in an hour and a half, rather than the hour and 50 minutes that was usual last week, so maybe that accounts for some of it. The easier, more casual explanation though is that the phone is barking mad.
Today, offset against however many calories the walk actually burned, I've had three Weetabix with semi-skimmed milk, one sausage buttie, 400 calories, and probably about 1200 calories of decaff skinny latte.
And on we go to tomorrow and the weigh-in. Here's hoping for my regulation 2lb, to mean I've officially lost half a stone in two weeks.
Meets a bunch of nutters, has lovely time with wife, and then walks out before David Essex shows up.
As it happened, there was a policy decision somewhere up among the transport gods, an a decree came down to Man on tablets of stone, written by the finger of Gerroutofit, Chief Conductor of the gods. And he wrote:
Neither shall there be any buses from Cardiff to Merthyr on Sundays, nor shall the trains run all the way up the valley after 8.30 at night, for that would make Man complacent in his ability to get the fuck about the place, and that's the thin end of the wedge, you mark my words.
So we spent much of yesterday making complex plans to get a train halfway after the, and call out Ma for a Pontypridd pickup. But as it happened, when d asked a techie guy at the concert what time the Rollers were on, they turned out to be opening the show (surely some mistake there, but it worked in our favour), and they'd be done and off the stage by 8 o'clock. So we stomped, we sang, we met some Welsh nutters who, on hearing her accent and her stories of previous Rollermania, gave her a tartan scarf to come away with. Great time. Then we made the executive decision to give Gerroutofit the finger and catch his last train out of Dodge, in spite of his decree against Valleys enjoyment. Have been singing Rollers classics all day today!
Did no exercise of any particular note yesterday, and ate, Porridge, one bowl, with semi-skimmed milk, and baked pasta, with ricotta cheese, one fairly heaping portion. Oh, and two plums and an apple.
So - we'll see whether the pastafest kicks me in the Nazi Scales tomorrow morning.
Today has been another Starbucks day - and you know what? Tomorrow's going to be another! Sue me.
Walked the six miles this morning with Ma though, and that highlighted a thing I've been aware of for some time now.
The Gestapo Phone, which has a step counter, mileometer and calorie counter built into a single handy app...is...mental.
There's no consistency to it whatsoever. One day the six miles will register as six miles, 13,000 steps and roughly six hundred calories burned. That, I have to say, makes some sort of sense to me, having compared its readings with some other sites that do this kind of measurement. This morning, we were at the halfway point, when it was registering nearly 9000 steps, 5.2 miles and about 900 calories. By the time we got home, it was telling me I'd walked 18,000 steps, nearly 11 miles and burned over 2000 calories. See? Mental?
Now it's possible that what I'm sure is a fairly simple step-counter and stride monitor gives you more "steps" if you take them at speed, burning more calories, and technically amounting to a greater distance travelled, despite not in actual fact travelling any further. Certainly today's walk was done in an hour and a half, rather than the hour and 50 minutes that was usual last week, so maybe that accounts for some of it. The easier, more casual explanation though is that the phone is barking mad.
Today, offset against however many calories the walk actually burned, I've had three Weetabix with semi-skimmed milk, one sausage buttie, 400 calories, and probably about 1200 calories of decaff skinny latte.
And on we go to tomorrow and the weigh-in. Here's hoping for my regulation 2lb, to mean I've officially lost half a stone in two weeks.
Saturday, 21 June 2014
The Tiniest Triumph
It's a strange moment in these early stages. I'm not sure the loss is continuing, because if anything I feel pretty lumpy, but I'm still doing the right things at least, and currently trusting and holding true to those things in relative cluelessness about what's going to happen Tuesday.
Did my early morning six miles this morning, stopped off in McDonalds for 200 calories of plain porridge and a water.
Sian met d and I there, and one mug of coffee, large, with semi-skimmed milk, was had back at home.
Lunch was a sort of cheese and chicken salad, which d whipped up. Had three plums and an apple throughout the morning to keep the metabolism ticking over.
Tonight we went out for dinner before heading to see the Jersey Boys movie (Capsule review: So, so slow and lifeless). Dinner for me was a sort of very wet tomato and courgette risotto (apparently sub-500 calories), with a chicken breast (couple of hundred, I'm estimating) and two apple and raspberry J2Os - 86 calories. Given that the Gestapo phone by that point registedabout 18,000 steps and over 1,100 burned, I'm pretty much equating the walk to the dinner, meaning I've done today on porridge, fruit, salad and a coffee.
But for all the lumpy feeling, there has been one glimmering moment today. One tiny triumph to report.
A few weeks ago, d handed me a pair of trousers that should have fit me.
I could barely get my legs into them, let alone do them up over the flabby expanse of my gut.
Tried them on again today, and they did up.
Now mind you, they did up in a kind of straining, "She's gonna blow!" fashion that meant had I kept them on and decided to bend up to pick a £50 note off the floor, I'd have had to spend it on a new pair of trousers, but still - feels like evidence, in the absence of a weigh-in, that things are at least going in the right direction.
Am also still absolutely, easily, resolute about the perspex walls. d's offered me yoghurt today. And chips. And both times I didn't even have to think about it. No - I'm on a Disappearing jag, and it seems to be a proper one, where the mind is driving, rather than the simple necessity or hope or optimism.
Liking this really rather a lot. Back down the Trail in the morning, but there probably won't be a blog tomorrow night - we're in Cardiff, seeing the Bay City Rollers (Oh yeah!), Showaddywaddy (Squee!), David Essex (Hope he sings something from War of the Worlds!), and the Osmonds.
I know...how cool are we?!
Did my early morning six miles this morning, stopped off in McDonalds for 200 calories of plain porridge and a water.
Sian met d and I there, and one mug of coffee, large, with semi-skimmed milk, was had back at home.
Lunch was a sort of cheese and chicken salad, which d whipped up. Had three plums and an apple throughout the morning to keep the metabolism ticking over.
Tonight we went out for dinner before heading to see the Jersey Boys movie (Capsule review: So, so slow and lifeless). Dinner for me was a sort of very wet tomato and courgette risotto (apparently sub-500 calories), with a chicken breast (couple of hundred, I'm estimating) and two apple and raspberry J2Os - 86 calories. Given that the Gestapo phone by that point registedabout 18,000 steps and over 1,100 burned, I'm pretty much equating the walk to the dinner, meaning I've done today on porridge, fruit, salad and a coffee.
But for all the lumpy feeling, there has been one glimmering moment today. One tiny triumph to report.
A few weeks ago, d handed me a pair of trousers that should have fit me.
I could barely get my legs into them, let alone do them up over the flabby expanse of my gut.
Tried them on again today, and they did up.
Now mind you, they did up in a kind of straining, "She's gonna blow!" fashion that meant had I kept them on and decided to bend up to pick a £50 note off the floor, I'd have had to spend it on a new pair of trousers, but still - feels like evidence, in the absence of a weigh-in, that things are at least going in the right direction.
Am also still absolutely, easily, resolute about the perspex walls. d's offered me yoghurt today. And chips. And both times I didn't even have to think about it. No - I'm on a Disappearing jag, and it seems to be a proper one, where the mind is driving, rather than the simple necessity or hope or optimism.
Liking this really rather a lot. Back down the Trail in the morning, but there probably won't be a blog tomorrow night - we're in Cardiff, seeing the Bay City Rollers (Oh yeah!), Showaddywaddy (Squee!), David Essex (Hope he sings something from War of the Worlds!), and the Osmonds.
I know...how cool are we?!
Thursday, 19 June 2014
The Decaff-Addled Bean-Whore and the Disappearing Rubicon
"Tart!" said Sian when I told her my plans for yesterday. "Nothing but a coffee tart, that's what you are..."
Now, far be it for me to point out that the idea of a coffee tart is Homer Simpson droolworthy. You know, crisp pastry, smooth coffee-flavoured frangipane, left to chill in the fridge till it's a lovely cool mouthful of coffee-unctuous wonder...
Sorry, where the hell was I?
Oh yeah - I was in Costa before work, meeting Rebecca. You have to go and meet Rebecca while she's about. It's part of the price of having an international jetsetting superstar journo as a pal - she's usually jetting off to fabulous places about twenty minutes after her "meeting for coffee" window closes. Poland next week, she tells me.
You'd know if you'd met Rebecca. She's one of those people you just simply don't forget. Possibly the bluest eyes ever seen in nature, hair the colour of hellfire and cliche, and the kind of open, engaging nature that makes her staggeringly good at talking to people of all ages - particularly the young. It's true to say that if you're a Real World friend of mine, and you've made it this far without me wandering off and finding someone more interesting to talk to, you can rest safe in the knowledge that you're pretty freakin' special. Rebecca knocked out the room the first time we met, simply by walking into it, and she's been walking into rooms ever since. Which is why it's always a pleasure to catch a coffee with her when she's in town. The last time we did this though, I was miserable, and probably brought her mood right down. I was feeling massively out of control, and heavy and undisciplined and generally blech. Yesterday - notsomuch. Back in control to some degree, heading in the right direction, all pretty groovy, so a good coffee was had by all at the Costa on our local retail park.
"You've brought your briefcase to breakfast," she noted.
"I have," I agreed. "It's part of a cunning plan I have to ask a favour. When we've coffee'd our fill, can you drop me at the train station. Starbucks calls!"
I'd just told her about my antics in London with the Starbucks and the tachycardia and the yadda yadda yadda, so I'm not sure whether I saw a thinning of her lips, but she agreed anyhow. So from Costa, I went to Starbucks, and stayed there from about 11 till 7.30 at night, when they threw me out on account of having homes to go to. Slackers!
"Tart!" said Sian when I told her my plans for yesterday. "Nothing but a coffee tart, that's what you are..."
"I prefer to think of myself as a decaff-addled bean-whore, if you don't mind," I told her, and she allowed the description.
So yesterday largely consisted of pretty-much-buggerall in the way of exercise, and lots of venti decaff skinny frapp lights, with an occasional iced cappucino thrown in for good measure, and as an experiment. Surprisingly, I discovered that artificial sweetener does dissolve in a cold drink - in Costa. In Starbucks, notsomuch. (Shrugs). Information probably of use to no-one, but there it is nonetheless.Also had a steak roll for lunch and a jacket potato for dinner before heading home. That was yesterday - two coffee houses, scads and scads of work accomplished, celebrity friend-chat enjoyed, coffee-based insults duly accepted and possibly trumped.
Today's been altogether odder and full of bitty things. Woke up to the alarm I'd asked d to set - at 6.15. The plan was I'd do my Trail walk before the day began. Ended up doing nothing of the kind, but organising the bejeesus out of the office and working for three hours before I was due to start. Popped out for a thoroughly useless ear appointment at 11, and took off an hour early, at 4, to go and do my six mile walk then instead (sue me - I gave three and took one). That felt really good today, and much of it buggered off behind me without me consciously feeling it. Ended up, according to the Gestapo Phone, burning 900 calories in my running hither, yon, and yon-next-door throughout the day - which is just as well, as today has comprised of:
Weetabix, three, with semi-skimmed milk.
Coffee, two mugs, large, with semi-skimmed milk.
Toast, three pieces, with butter, and cold tomatoes, one tin (at which point half the readers retch in disgust, I'm aware...)
I reckon 900 calories is at least fairly close to putting me calorie-neutral on the day up to this point. Dinner is going to be an omelette with steak and tomatoes, so it'll be a little hefty, but mainly protein, with some veg and some fat. Important to remember I'm only trying to lose 2lb per week now the initial first-week impetus has passed. If I can get to 18st 7, it should feel like a landmark, but honestly it won't. It'll feel like I'm only half a stone over the boundary of where I said I'd never go again, rahter than a whole stone over it - for some reason on my first Disappearing jag, 18st was a Rubicon; beneath it I felt like a serious Disappearing Man, striving towards a goal. Over it, I felt like a Fat Fuck, swimming desperately downstream to avoid the surgeon's knife. So the first real landmark will be in hopefully a month or so, when we se a 17 on the Nazi Scales.
Back to Starbucks tomorrow - lots of work still to do!
Now, far be it for me to point out that the idea of a coffee tart is Homer Simpson droolworthy. You know, crisp pastry, smooth coffee-flavoured frangipane, left to chill in the fridge till it's a lovely cool mouthful of coffee-unctuous wonder...
Sorry, where the hell was I?
Oh yeah - I was in Costa before work, meeting Rebecca. You have to go and meet Rebecca while she's about. It's part of the price of having an international jetsetting superstar journo as a pal - she's usually jetting off to fabulous places about twenty minutes after her "meeting for coffee" window closes. Poland next week, she tells me.
You'd know if you'd met Rebecca. She's one of those people you just simply don't forget. Possibly the bluest eyes ever seen in nature, hair the colour of hellfire and cliche, and the kind of open, engaging nature that makes her staggeringly good at talking to people of all ages - particularly the young. It's true to say that if you're a Real World friend of mine, and you've made it this far without me wandering off and finding someone more interesting to talk to, you can rest safe in the knowledge that you're pretty freakin' special. Rebecca knocked out the room the first time we met, simply by walking into it, and she's been walking into rooms ever since. Which is why it's always a pleasure to catch a coffee with her when she's in town. The last time we did this though, I was miserable, and probably brought her mood right down. I was feeling massively out of control, and heavy and undisciplined and generally blech. Yesterday - notsomuch. Back in control to some degree, heading in the right direction, all pretty groovy, so a good coffee was had by all at the Costa on our local retail park.
"You've brought your briefcase to breakfast," she noted.
"I have," I agreed. "It's part of a cunning plan I have to ask a favour. When we've coffee'd our fill, can you drop me at the train station. Starbucks calls!"
I'd just told her about my antics in London with the Starbucks and the tachycardia and the yadda yadda yadda, so I'm not sure whether I saw a thinning of her lips, but she agreed anyhow. So from Costa, I went to Starbucks, and stayed there from about 11 till 7.30 at night, when they threw me out on account of having homes to go to. Slackers!
"Tart!" said Sian when I told her my plans for yesterday. "Nothing but a coffee tart, that's what you are..."
"I prefer to think of myself as a decaff-addled bean-whore, if you don't mind," I told her, and she allowed the description.
So yesterday largely consisted of pretty-much-buggerall in the way of exercise, and lots of venti decaff skinny frapp lights, with an occasional iced cappucino thrown in for good measure, and as an experiment. Surprisingly, I discovered that artificial sweetener does dissolve in a cold drink - in Costa. In Starbucks, notsomuch. (Shrugs). Information probably of use to no-one, but there it is nonetheless.Also had a steak roll for lunch and a jacket potato for dinner before heading home. That was yesterday - two coffee houses, scads and scads of work accomplished, celebrity friend-chat enjoyed, coffee-based insults duly accepted and possibly trumped.
Today's been altogether odder and full of bitty things. Woke up to the alarm I'd asked d to set - at 6.15. The plan was I'd do my Trail walk before the day began. Ended up doing nothing of the kind, but organising the bejeesus out of the office and working for three hours before I was due to start. Popped out for a thoroughly useless ear appointment at 11, and took off an hour early, at 4, to go and do my six mile walk then instead (sue me - I gave three and took one). That felt really good today, and much of it buggered off behind me without me consciously feeling it. Ended up, according to the Gestapo Phone, burning 900 calories in my running hither, yon, and yon-next-door throughout the day - which is just as well, as today has comprised of:
Weetabix, three, with semi-skimmed milk.
Coffee, two mugs, large, with semi-skimmed milk.
Toast, three pieces, with butter, and cold tomatoes, one tin (at which point half the readers retch in disgust, I'm aware...)
I reckon 900 calories is at least fairly close to putting me calorie-neutral on the day up to this point. Dinner is going to be an omelette with steak and tomatoes, so it'll be a little hefty, but mainly protein, with some veg and some fat. Important to remember I'm only trying to lose 2lb per week now the initial first-week impetus has passed. If I can get to 18st 7, it should feel like a landmark, but honestly it won't. It'll feel like I'm only half a stone over the boundary of where I said I'd never go again, rahter than a whole stone over it - for some reason on my first Disappearing jag, 18st was a Rubicon; beneath it I felt like a serious Disappearing Man, striving towards a goal. Over it, I felt like a Fat Fuck, swimming desperately downstream to avoid the surgeon's knife. So the first real landmark will be in hopefully a month or so, when we se a 17 on the Nazi Scales.
Back to Starbucks tomorrow - lots of work still to do!
Tuesday, 17 June 2014
The Unbearable Self-Righteousness of Progress
Today represents the danger zone, the tipping point, the day on which I need a good healthy slap around the kisser.
I mean as it happens, I don't, but it's the point of danger. It's the point at which you register the initial kickstart of progress, and at which it's phenomenally easy to say "Oh there you go, things aren't so bad..." and break down your perspex walls (or whatever methodology works for you) and have a chip supper.
Week one done, this morning's pre-walk weigh-in: 18st 9lbs. Five pounds gone. The post-walk weigh-in was actually down to 19st 7.25, but where I can I'm going to try and maintain weigh-ins under the same conditions. Not always going to be possible, but this morning I was lucky. So there you go: one week of taking it seriously, and five pounds gone. Oddly enough today have had two challenges thrown down for me. Firstly, Sian, my whippet-thin ultrarunning martial artist nutjob friend heard the five pounds figure and said "...So. Possibly a stone off by the end of the month then?"
And secondly, my pal Tig popped up from recovering from surgery and said she wanted to lost a stone (or technically 15lbs), so we could race - first one to a stone, with mutual encouragement all the way. I agreed in principle, but told Tig "I'm actually not aiming to lose more than 2lbs a week - medically recommended whatnot - but you always lose more in the first week, cos your system goes 'Bugger me, he's serious!'" and you lose your stored water.
To Sian, I actually recalculated when I should pass the first stone marker. According to my calculations, I should hit 17st 13 on 22nd July - five weeks today. Given the initial booster, some further recalculation was called for, so I kept on going. At 2lbs a week, every week, without fail, I should now hit 16st 13lbs by 9th September. 16st 1lb by my birthday on 22nd October. 14st 13 just ahead of Christmas, and by d's birthday on the 5th January next year I should be down to 14st 9lbs. After which, everything is pretty much uncharted territory in Disappearing terms. By the 10th of February, I should be down to 13st 13, which will surpass by half a stone what I achieved initially on this journey.
The thing about that sort of forward planning is it encourages montage thinking. It encourages you to think it's going to be easy. After all, week one was reasonably easy, and look at the results.
It's not going to be easy of course. There will be setbacks, there will be plateaus, there will be evil weeks and weeks when I feel like it's not worth the effort. Along the way, I'm going to have to change the routine, vary it, shake it up significantly to keep my metabolism guessing - what works right now won't work at some point, and I'll start to creep back up. The things on which to keep a firm mental hold is that 1) yes, it really will be worth it - and I know that now from having gone there before, and 2) it's got to be at least 1.5 stone easier than it was the first time, because I don't have that much extra to lose.
It's also of course worth remembering that fantastic as getting to 14st 9 felt the first time, it was by no means the achievement of my original target. I'm supposed to be something like 11 stone, given my height, weight sex and age. So off into uncharted territory is where I really need to begin the adventure. Everything before that is pretty much just a long walk back to control.
So I'm not going to go particularly cock-a-hoop over today's result - it was expected, it's mostly water, and I can't let it distract me. I'm still about seven stone overweight. Game on, head down, and on we go.
I mean as it happens, I don't, but it's the point of danger. It's the point at which you register the initial kickstart of progress, and at which it's phenomenally easy to say "Oh there you go, things aren't so bad..." and break down your perspex walls (or whatever methodology works for you) and have a chip supper.
Week one done, this morning's pre-walk weigh-in: 18st 9lbs. Five pounds gone. The post-walk weigh-in was actually down to 19st 7.25, but where I can I'm going to try and maintain weigh-ins under the same conditions. Not always going to be possible, but this morning I was lucky. So there you go: one week of taking it seriously, and five pounds gone. Oddly enough today have had two challenges thrown down for me. Firstly, Sian, my whippet-thin ultrarunning martial artist nutjob friend heard the five pounds figure and said "...So. Possibly a stone off by the end of the month then?"
And secondly, my pal Tig popped up from recovering from surgery and said she wanted to lost a stone (or technically 15lbs), so we could race - first one to a stone, with mutual encouragement all the way. I agreed in principle, but told Tig "I'm actually not aiming to lose more than 2lbs a week - medically recommended whatnot - but you always lose more in the first week, cos your system goes 'Bugger me, he's serious!'" and you lose your stored water.
To Sian, I actually recalculated when I should pass the first stone marker. According to my calculations, I should hit 17st 13 on 22nd July - five weeks today. Given the initial booster, some further recalculation was called for, so I kept on going. At 2lbs a week, every week, without fail, I should now hit 16st 13lbs by 9th September. 16st 1lb by my birthday on 22nd October. 14st 13 just ahead of Christmas, and by d's birthday on the 5th January next year I should be down to 14st 9lbs. After which, everything is pretty much uncharted territory in Disappearing terms. By the 10th of February, I should be down to 13st 13, which will surpass by half a stone what I achieved initially on this journey.
The thing about that sort of forward planning is it encourages montage thinking. It encourages you to think it's going to be easy. After all, week one was reasonably easy, and look at the results.
It's not going to be easy of course. There will be setbacks, there will be plateaus, there will be evil weeks and weeks when I feel like it's not worth the effort. Along the way, I'm going to have to change the routine, vary it, shake it up significantly to keep my metabolism guessing - what works right now won't work at some point, and I'll start to creep back up. The things on which to keep a firm mental hold is that 1) yes, it really will be worth it - and I know that now from having gone there before, and 2) it's got to be at least 1.5 stone easier than it was the first time, because I don't have that much extra to lose.
It's also of course worth remembering that fantastic as getting to 14st 9 felt the first time, it was by no means the achievement of my original target. I'm supposed to be something like 11 stone, given my height, weight sex and age. So off into uncharted territory is where I really need to begin the adventure. Everything before that is pretty much just a long walk back to control.
So I'm not going to go particularly cock-a-hoop over today's result - it was expected, it's mostly water, and I can't let it distract me. I'm still about seven stone overweight. Game on, head down, and on we go.
Monday, 16 June 2014
The Premature Panic
Soooo...
Tomorrow is it.
Tomorrow's the first weigh-in of the new regime.
Well, the first OFFICIAL one, that is. Gotta be honest with you, been weighing-in more or less constantly over the last week, so I know sort of how I've been going.
BUT...
Yesterday, did my six mile walk in the morning, and then in the evening sat down to the biggest meal of the week - d decided to barbecue. Felt like I'd eaten a gorgeously roasted farmyard by the end of the day - sausage, pork steaks, chicken, beef steak, corn, peppers, tomatoes, sweet potato, baked beans...fantastic feast, but man, that was a lot of food. A protestation not exactly helped into legitimacy by the fact that later that night, I had more baked beans on some toasted French bread!
And today, no walking, as I had to save some time for an event this afternoon, and while I didn't actually eat anything till 3 in the afternoon (busy, busy, busy!), I then had:
Three Weetabix, with semi-skimmed milk
1 mug decaff coffee, with semi-skimmed milk, large.
Beans on French bread toast
And this evening, 1 crusty bread roll, with chicken and thin slices of cheese.
Bit of a bread overload on the day really, so who knows what tomorrow will bring?
I biked tonight but at a very lacklustre speed - just 300 calories, so barely burned off the Weetabix.
Still, as I say, let's see in the morning. Actually intend to go down the Trail and do my six miles before weighing-in, because, not to get too scatological, at the time of day I'll be needing to do that, my system won't have woken up enough to allow me an accurate reading. So I'll bear in mind that normally, a walk before a weigh-in adds a pound and a half to the amount of loss. But for now, got some revision to do - interviewing a corporate type at 11 tomorrow morning, so it might be an idea to know something about their company before I do that.
Tomorrow is it.
Tomorrow's the first weigh-in of the new regime.
Well, the first OFFICIAL one, that is. Gotta be honest with you, been weighing-in more or less constantly over the last week, so I know sort of how I've been going.
BUT...
Yesterday, did my six mile walk in the morning, and then in the evening sat down to the biggest meal of the week - d decided to barbecue. Felt like I'd eaten a gorgeously roasted farmyard by the end of the day - sausage, pork steaks, chicken, beef steak, corn, peppers, tomatoes, sweet potato, baked beans...fantastic feast, but man, that was a lot of food. A protestation not exactly helped into legitimacy by the fact that later that night, I had more baked beans on some toasted French bread!
And today, no walking, as I had to save some time for an event this afternoon, and while I didn't actually eat anything till 3 in the afternoon (busy, busy, busy!), I then had:
Three Weetabix, with semi-skimmed milk
1 mug decaff coffee, with semi-skimmed milk, large.
Beans on French bread toast
And this evening, 1 crusty bread roll, with chicken and thin slices of cheese.
Bit of a bread overload on the day really, so who knows what tomorrow will bring?
I biked tonight but at a very lacklustre speed - just 300 calories, so barely burned off the Weetabix.
Still, as I say, let's see in the morning. Actually intend to go down the Trail and do my six miles before weighing-in, because, not to get too scatological, at the time of day I'll be needing to do that, my system won't have woken up enough to allow me an accurate reading. So I'll bear in mind that normally, a walk before a weigh-in adds a pound and a half to the amount of loss. But for now, got some revision to do - interviewing a corporate type at 11 tomorrow morning, so it might be an idea to know something about their company before I do that.
Saturday, 14 June 2014
The Perspex Bubble and the Safety Search
So – Cardiff today. Starbucks for a while before the All
Wales Humanist event.
This actually involved some work, and possibly some
equivocation – you be the judge.
As I’ve mentioned in previous entries, it’s a little warm to
be sucking down big mugs of steaming hot coffee at the moment. But the cold
options at Starbucks have always been relatively calorifically heavy – and I
speak as a man whose normal order in the cold section is a venti de-caff skinny
coffee frap.
When I got there this morning, I scoured the dietary
information chart for alternatives. Now, Starbucks veterans will tell me “Dude,
just get an iced coffee.” Which is all very well, but that’s entirely unsweetened,
and I’m a fiend for artificial sweetener. I tend to add a lot to my hot coffee,
and if you try and do that to an iced coffee, it kind of just sinks to the
bottom, refusing to play no matter how hard you stir.
So I found a compromise. It IS a frap, and so technically,
given my history, you might think my avatar issues would kick in – if it’s OK
to have one frap, then what’s the difference between that and, say a full fat
mocha choc chip frap with cream?
However, oddly enough, I seem to have developed a Perspex
bubble around the question. My normal venti de-caff skinny coffee frap
apparently has an even skinnier version – a venti de-caff skinny coffee light frap. That cuts the calorie count down from 250 to
137 per large cupful – it’s basically a cupful of ice, hope and betrayed
dreams, but it works, and as I say, I seem to have developed a Perspex bubble
around it where the avatars of full-fat creamy deliciousness can’t touch me. I
mean, granted I sound like the ultimate coffeehouse yuppie trying to order the
damn thing, but it works, so who cares? Takes it down from being a
meal-surrogate to being on a par with a large mug of ordinary coffee, and
that’s good enough for me right now.
Met d after the event, and we went for lunch at Carluccio's. Technically, this had the potential to be the biggest meal I've eaten since Tuesday. I had a starter of toasted bread with goats cheese, raw tomatoes, peppers and spring onion, and a main of more goats cheese, roasted peppers, pine nuts and assorted leaves in a balsamic dressing. Had...at least some of it. Regular readers will know I'm not a natural salad-eater, but oddly enough, today I had to choose between two different salads, as they were what appealed to me most.
Came home and had what might be described as a violent biological reaction. Then got on the bike and pedalled to a lacklustre 400 calories, having walked around Cardiff an equivalent of 500 calories during the day. Add to that three Starbucks, at roughly 137 calories per cup and the walking nullifies the Starbucks. The 400 calories might take the edge off the salad. So I'm left at 9PM with a calorie deficit of a single piece of dry toasted bread, and a heap of raw vegetables. There will probably be more before I close my eyes (at least one more coffee, I imagine). But still all in all, not bad. Back to walking down the Trail in the morning, prior to a barbecue at Ma's in the afternoon - need to burn off a bunch of calories before indulging in that proteinfest. And on we go...
Friday, 13 June 2014
The Augmented Reality Mindset
Ha. All that malarkey yesterday about how "one more walk will see me having walked a marathon."
As it turns out, and this needs to be made very clear - I do NOT have blisters.
I do however have sensitive areas, mainly on the right foot, that if something stupid and point-making were done to them, would moe than happily become blisters.
So I decided to get an early morning gym session in instead.
"Really?" said d when I mentioned this. "Thought you might do a Starbucks day, seeing as there's nothing on."
Part of me jumped at the prospect. Part of me, as I mentioned earlier in the week, didn't - far too hot to drink hot coffee all day, and far too calorifically expensive to drink the cold stuff. The fact, incidentally, that I'm thinking in those terms means one very important thing is happening.
Loooooooooooooong-ass readers of this blog will know what's happening. If you'd turn to the newbies and explain, that would save us all some time.
...
...No?
What's happening is the world is genuinely going perspex. Oh, I can talk about perspex boxes and how they separate me in my determination from all the things that will stop me achieving my goals till I'm blue in the face (or indeed, given the sunshine of this week, red and blotchy in the face). But when the world goes genuinely perspex, it's not, perhaps, the most hugely sane place to be. You know how some augmented reality apps on smartphones will show you the world through the lens of your camera, but with added content on, like the nearest toilets, or the nearest place to get falafel at 3 in the morning, or if you particularly need to know, the nearest opera house or somesuch? Well when the world goes genuinely perspex, I get that sort of information overlay on the world as I move about it. Meeting a friend for coffee? If they pick me up, it's all negative calories, but if I walk there, the road gets a little tag on it saying "Minus 100 calories". When I arrive there, every swig of coffee I take goes "ker-ching" in my little mental perspex world - "Plus 50 calories. Plus 50 calories. Plus 50 calories..." Every option, every choice that parades itself and can-cans before my already-overthinking brain gets an extra layer of Stuff To Think About overlaid on top of it. Which is why, although it's a fundamentally useful mindset to be in when trying to Disappear, if and when d reads this blog, she may well cry, or hide, or run off with a Belgian gas fitter to Rotterdam or something, because she's been through this with me before, and I happen to know she's of the opinion I could do with a couple of hundred volts across the temples to short circuit this shit before it really gets started.
But now it's got started. The genuine perspex is here, or at least hereabouts. If it's not really here just yet, then any minute now...any day...I can feel it coming. To be honest, I'm fairly certain it's already here, because the resolve is growing. Man, how it's growing.
When I restarted this, just four days ago, I was spurred on by the tachycardic incident and the closeness to my original starting point for the Disappearing Man project, what now seems like allllll those years ago. What was it, three years ago? Bloody hell, in three years I lost 6 stone, put 4.5 of it back on, and now and determined to start going the other way again. Suppose that answers the question of what the hell I've been upto for the last handful of years. Anyway, that was the initial spur, but there's something else now. The resolve is thickening around me. I genuinely believe at this moment you could put a chocolate fudge sundae in front of me, and I wouldn't be interested. A plate of sausage, chips and gravy, and I wouldn't crack. This is goooooood, both in terms of the project, and in terms of me and my relationship with the world. Feels like the first levers of control are jusssst out of reach, but with time, and patience and bloody-minded stubborn-bastardy, they'll be slipping into my hands soon enough.
All of which was by way of a diversion really, and an unplanned one at that.
Happened to mention the idea of spending the day in Starbucks to my mother. She very calmly told me that freaked her out more than somewhat, but she realised I needed to get back to normal.
I figured normal can wait, and went up to her place to work for the day - that meant no gm this morning either. So I've just got back on the bike, the exercise bike that takes up a fair chunk of my office and has been sulking for weeks that I wouldn't give it a ride (Scottish readers, feel free to piss yourselves). Rode it tonight, for a restrained 500 calories, on top of a bare 100 of walking just about the place throughout the day.
Food intake today:
Weetabix, 3, with semi-skimmed milk.
Coffee, mugs, regular. Honestly, about seven.
Apples, Pink Lady, large, 1
Plums, origin indeterminate, 1
Plus whatever d is whizzing into majestic life in the kitchen downstairs as I sit here, tapping out gibberish to friends, family and fellow Disappearers. It's late in the day to eat of course, but that's entirely my fault for the biking resolution.
Tomorrow will be in all likelihood another biking day, because I'm out most of tomorrow at the first All Wales British Humanist Association meeting. Should be a laugh, but you can never tell - humanism is no guarantee of non-dickheadery. Certainly tomorrow, there will be Starbucks, but this is not some giant Rubicon to be crossed - I was back in Starbucks in Canary Wharf the morning after the latest tachycardic adventure.
And so we head into the weekend, with a thickening resolve, hopefully a thinning layer of blubber and a faintly demented excitement about self-denial. Are we having fun yet?
Perversely, I really am.
As it turns out, and this needs to be made very clear - I do NOT have blisters.
I do however have sensitive areas, mainly on the right foot, that if something stupid and point-making were done to them, would moe than happily become blisters.
So I decided to get an early morning gym session in instead.
"Really?" said d when I mentioned this. "Thought you might do a Starbucks day, seeing as there's nothing on."
Part of me jumped at the prospect. Part of me, as I mentioned earlier in the week, didn't - far too hot to drink hot coffee all day, and far too calorifically expensive to drink the cold stuff. The fact, incidentally, that I'm thinking in those terms means one very important thing is happening.
Loooooooooooooong-ass readers of this blog will know what's happening. If you'd turn to the newbies and explain, that would save us all some time.
...
...No?
What's happening is the world is genuinely going perspex. Oh, I can talk about perspex boxes and how they separate me in my determination from all the things that will stop me achieving my goals till I'm blue in the face (or indeed, given the sunshine of this week, red and blotchy in the face). But when the world goes genuinely perspex, it's not, perhaps, the most hugely sane place to be. You know how some augmented reality apps on smartphones will show you the world through the lens of your camera, but with added content on, like the nearest toilets, or the nearest place to get falafel at 3 in the morning, or if you particularly need to know, the nearest opera house or somesuch? Well when the world goes genuinely perspex, I get that sort of information overlay on the world as I move about it. Meeting a friend for coffee? If they pick me up, it's all negative calories, but if I walk there, the road gets a little tag on it saying "Minus 100 calories". When I arrive there, every swig of coffee I take goes "ker-ching" in my little mental perspex world - "Plus 50 calories. Plus 50 calories. Plus 50 calories..." Every option, every choice that parades itself and can-cans before my already-overthinking brain gets an extra layer of Stuff To Think About overlaid on top of it. Which is why, although it's a fundamentally useful mindset to be in when trying to Disappear, if and when d reads this blog, she may well cry, or hide, or run off with a Belgian gas fitter to Rotterdam or something, because she's been through this with me before, and I happen to know she's of the opinion I could do with a couple of hundred volts across the temples to short circuit this shit before it really gets started.
But now it's got started. The genuine perspex is here, or at least hereabouts. If it's not really here just yet, then any minute now...any day...I can feel it coming. To be honest, I'm fairly certain it's already here, because the resolve is growing. Man, how it's growing.
When I restarted this, just four days ago, I was spurred on by the tachycardic incident and the closeness to my original starting point for the Disappearing Man project, what now seems like allllll those years ago. What was it, three years ago? Bloody hell, in three years I lost 6 stone, put 4.5 of it back on, and now and determined to start going the other way again. Suppose that answers the question of what the hell I've been upto for the last handful of years. Anyway, that was the initial spur, but there's something else now. The resolve is thickening around me. I genuinely believe at this moment you could put a chocolate fudge sundae in front of me, and I wouldn't be interested. A plate of sausage, chips and gravy, and I wouldn't crack. This is goooooood, both in terms of the project, and in terms of me and my relationship with the world. Feels like the first levers of control are jusssst out of reach, but with time, and patience and bloody-minded stubborn-bastardy, they'll be slipping into my hands soon enough.
All of which was by way of a diversion really, and an unplanned one at that.
Happened to mention the idea of spending the day in Starbucks to my mother. She very calmly told me that freaked her out more than somewhat, but she realised I needed to get back to normal.
I figured normal can wait, and went up to her place to work for the day - that meant no gm this morning either. So I've just got back on the bike, the exercise bike that takes up a fair chunk of my office and has been sulking for weeks that I wouldn't give it a ride (Scottish readers, feel free to piss yourselves). Rode it tonight, for a restrained 500 calories, on top of a bare 100 of walking just about the place throughout the day.
Food intake today:
Weetabix, 3, with semi-skimmed milk.
Coffee, mugs, regular. Honestly, about seven.
Apples, Pink Lady, large, 1
Plums, origin indeterminate, 1
Plus whatever d is whizzing into majestic life in the kitchen downstairs as I sit here, tapping out gibberish to friends, family and fellow Disappearers. It's late in the day to eat of course, but that's entirely my fault for the biking resolution.
Tomorrow will be in all likelihood another biking day, because I'm out most of tomorrow at the first All Wales British Humanist Association meeting. Should be a laugh, but you can never tell - humanism is no guarantee of non-dickheadery. Certainly tomorrow, there will be Starbucks, but this is not some giant Rubicon to be crossed - I was back in Starbucks in Canary Wharf the morning after the latest tachycardic adventure.
And so we head into the weekend, with a thickening resolve, hopefully a thinning layer of blubber and a faintly demented excitement about self-denial. Are we having fun yet?
Perversely, I really am.
Thursday, 12 June 2014
The Complacency Trap
Ahhh, my old friend, I wondered when you'd show up.
The Complacency Trap, yes?
Word to the wise - which in this case means anyone starting out on a Disappearing kick. Weigh-in at the very beginning...and then don't do it again till your next scheduled weigh-in.
No good can come of it, no matter what your Nazi Scales tell you.
If they tell you you haven't lost a scrap, you'll get disheartened.
If on the other hand they tell you you've lost a sudden or surprising amount...why therein lurks The Complacency Trap.
The idea that "See? I only needed to put a couple of days of solid effort in and it's really having a big effect."
That's barely a hair's breadth away from "Look how well I'm doing." And that...that my friends is one footstep away from "I'm doing so well I deserve a treat now. Or a rest. Or something..."
It won't surprise you to learn that since I started on Tuesday I've been weighing-in unofficially every day. Yesterday was pleasing, today was moreso. Plenty of time for it all to go to pot before the official weigh-in. And today I had my first whisperings of "Look how well I'm doing" - The Complacency Trap.
Brushed them aside of course and kicked their rotten faces in, but they are an insidious bunch of whispering gits, so all I'll say is beware. And stop weighing in.
Walked 7.7 miles today - closing in on my first marathon distance! What have I done now, 21, 22 miles in three days. Tomorrow will put me over a marathon's length. Which I must say, really puts a perspective on demented people who run the bloody things, and in a handful of hours too. Generally, based on the last few days, would take me eight solid hours to walk a marathon - except of course it wouldn't, cos 7 miles here and 7 miles there are nothing like the same as 14 consecutive miles.
Anyhow, walked 7.7 miles, and ate this:
Three Weetabix, semi-skimmed milk.
Apple, 1
Decaff coffee, two mugs, large, made with semi-skimmed milk
Chicken and pepper salad - chicken breast, 1, raw red peppers and half cherry tomatoes (had this out at a restaurant and only realised afterwards it's similar to what I've had the past two nights at home!)
Two half-cobs of boiled sweetcorn, one pat of butter each.
So far, holding The Complacency Trap at bay, although I do realise it's just day three, so that's not exactly a great fanfareworthy achievement.
Day four tomorrow, and in a switch-up, am doing the walking early in the day, then going up to Ma's to work. And work. Annnnnnd work some more.
All go, innit?
You deserve a reward now, you know. Impressive, three days on the trot...
Shurrup!
The Complacency Trap, yes?
Word to the wise - which in this case means anyone starting out on a Disappearing kick. Weigh-in at the very beginning...and then don't do it again till your next scheduled weigh-in.
No good can come of it, no matter what your Nazi Scales tell you.
If they tell you you haven't lost a scrap, you'll get disheartened.
If on the other hand they tell you you've lost a sudden or surprising amount...why therein lurks The Complacency Trap.
The idea that "See? I only needed to put a couple of days of solid effort in and it's really having a big effect."
That's barely a hair's breadth away from "Look how well I'm doing." And that...that my friends is one footstep away from "I'm doing so well I deserve a treat now. Or a rest. Or something..."
It won't surprise you to learn that since I started on Tuesday I've been weighing-in unofficially every day. Yesterday was pleasing, today was moreso. Plenty of time for it all to go to pot before the official weigh-in. And today I had my first whisperings of "Look how well I'm doing" - The Complacency Trap.
Brushed them aside of course and kicked their rotten faces in, but they are an insidious bunch of whispering gits, so all I'll say is beware. And stop weighing in.
Walked 7.7 miles today - closing in on my first marathon distance! What have I done now, 21, 22 miles in three days. Tomorrow will put me over a marathon's length. Which I must say, really puts a perspective on demented people who run the bloody things, and in a handful of hours too. Generally, based on the last few days, would take me eight solid hours to walk a marathon - except of course it wouldn't, cos 7 miles here and 7 miles there are nothing like the same as 14 consecutive miles.
Anyhow, walked 7.7 miles, and ate this:
Three Weetabix, semi-skimmed milk.
Apple, 1
Decaff coffee, two mugs, large, made with semi-skimmed milk
Chicken and pepper salad - chicken breast, 1, raw red peppers and half cherry tomatoes (had this out at a restaurant and only realised afterwards it's similar to what I've had the past two nights at home!)
Two half-cobs of boiled sweetcorn, one pat of butter each.
So far, holding The Complacency Trap at bay, although I do realise it's just day three, so that's not exactly a great fanfareworthy achievement.
Day four tomorrow, and in a switch-up, am doing the walking early in the day, then going up to Ma's to work. And work. Annnnnnd work some more.
All go, innit?
You deserve a reward now, you know. Impressive, three days on the trot...
Shurrup!
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
The Motivation Relocation
Day two in the Disappearing House...
Walked 8.1 miles yesterday, and ate the following:
Three Weetabix, semi-skimmed milk
Two mugs, de-caff coffee, large, with semi-skimmed milk
One apple, Pink Lady
One 100 calorie portion pack of cranberries and cashews
One "proper dinner", to borrow from a slimming aid commercial - small quantity of spaghetti, with roasted tomatoes, peppers and onions and one chicken breast.
Not feeling hungry or antsy for food.
Today - exactly the same, down to the meal we had for dinner.
Walked 7.2 miles today. That's over 15 miles in two days, which doesn't seem too shabby as a way of beginning. We'll see what happens tomorrow, and whether the feet are up for a third Trail walk on a third day - or whether I'll substitute some gym time instead (as I'd actually intended to do today).
The one thing that I'm pleased about is that while, to some extent the Disappearing heebie-jeebies have already arrived - the smell of chip shops is more intense and achingly provocative, programmes about biscuits - yes, really, there was one on last night and we watched some of it - make me have to run out of a room mentally, if not physically yelling "LALALALALALAAAAAA!" - I'm actually not yet having any substantive difficulty doing the thing about which I waxed lyrical yesterday: relocating my focus from the immediate gratification of unhealthy food, or the delicious potential of doing buggerall exercise to the the ultimate goal of losing the weight and not dying quite so soon.
Oddly, I feel almost as though I should do a Starbucks day tomorrow, but a lack of building work here and a determination to just stick to simple coffees, rather than all the creamy "dessert-in-a-cup" stuff to which I was getting rather partial pretty much joins with the fact of having very particular home-based stuff to do tomorrow to make me think that probably in fact, I won't do that at all, but will stay here and edit like my ass depends on it.
One helper in the fight to get the Disappearing regime back on track has been the fact of the light summer evenings Went walking both yesterday and today after 5PM, rather than at the crack of sparrowfart, and that worked rather well - it seems far enough away, somehow, in the muscle memory, to make one forget the ache in the feet from the day before.
So on to day three, and whatever it brings, but with a quiet certainty of not cracking in either the ice cream aisle of Tescos or the local chippy. Early days of course, but this feels highly positive, and the normal habitual behaviours of gluttony don't appear to be taking hold on me just yet. Did I mention - tachycardia: bloody good motivator!
I still don't recommend it!
Walked 8.1 miles yesterday, and ate the following:
Three Weetabix, semi-skimmed milk
Two mugs, de-caff coffee, large, with semi-skimmed milk
One apple, Pink Lady
One 100 calorie portion pack of cranberries and cashews
One "proper dinner", to borrow from a slimming aid commercial - small quantity of spaghetti, with roasted tomatoes, peppers and onions and one chicken breast.
Not feeling hungry or antsy for food.
Today - exactly the same, down to the meal we had for dinner.
Walked 7.2 miles today. That's over 15 miles in two days, which doesn't seem too shabby as a way of beginning. We'll see what happens tomorrow, and whether the feet are up for a third Trail walk on a third day - or whether I'll substitute some gym time instead (as I'd actually intended to do today).
The one thing that I'm pleased about is that while, to some extent the Disappearing heebie-jeebies have already arrived - the smell of chip shops is more intense and achingly provocative, programmes about biscuits - yes, really, there was one on last night and we watched some of it - make me have to run out of a room mentally, if not physically yelling "LALALALALALAAAAAA!" - I'm actually not yet having any substantive difficulty doing the thing about which I waxed lyrical yesterday: relocating my focus from the immediate gratification of unhealthy food, or the delicious potential of doing buggerall exercise to the the ultimate goal of losing the weight and not dying quite so soon.
Oddly, I feel almost as though I should do a Starbucks day tomorrow, but a lack of building work here and a determination to just stick to simple coffees, rather than all the creamy "dessert-in-a-cup" stuff to which I was getting rather partial pretty much joins with the fact of having very particular home-based stuff to do tomorrow to make me think that probably in fact, I won't do that at all, but will stay here and edit like my ass depends on it.
One helper in the fight to get the Disappearing regime back on track has been the fact of the light summer evenings Went walking both yesterday and today after 5PM, rather than at the crack of sparrowfart, and that worked rather well - it seems far enough away, somehow, in the muscle memory, to make one forget the ache in the feet from the day before.
So on to day three, and whatever it brings, but with a quiet certainty of not cracking in either the ice cream aisle of Tescos or the local chippy. Early days of course, but this feels highly positive, and the normal habitual behaviours of gluttony don't appear to be taking hold on me just yet. Did I mention - tachycardia: bloody good motivator!
I still don't recommend it!
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
The Rise of the Perspex
Sorry folks - blogged in a bit of a hurry last night, so didn't give you the full colour or flavour of the London weekend, or the new, largely fear and humiliation-based determination I have to get this sorted. Fear of dying a meaningless death on the floor of a mall somewhere with my potential leaking out into the ether, untapped. Fear of not finding out where the story goes, cos man, that would piss me off. And I daresay will piss me off, whenever my story actually ends. For those of you who believe in ghosts, I'll be the voice you can't get out of your head, whispering "Go on...and then what happened?"
And of course, the humiliation of the Self-Esteem Dalek, essentially. Lots of fat people say that "inside, there's a thin person trying to get out". Yeah, well I've met mine. I've been mine (not thin exactly, but shedloads thinner than this!). Granted, he was a bit of an ass. But then, the fat me's a bit of an ass too, so I'm figuring it's time to just accept my Inner Ass, and be the version that's less statistically likely to fall over and die in a random Starbucks.The one who can go into stores and pick clothes off racks. The one people are less likely to laugh at when he walks by. Sure, why not be that ass?
So today, we begin again.
Weighed in this morning, unexercised, at 19 stone dead (so to speak) - that's 266 lbs. Just one and a half stone (21 lbs for our American friends) lighter than when I first started all this, having been given the option of bareatric surgery.
Same schtick as ever - the aim is to do this for a year, minimum, losing 2 lbs a week (the recommended safe limit amount). This time round I know a thing or two, like I'll drop a good few pounds as soon as I really start, and that most of it will be water. Like there'll be evil bastard plateaus where even if I'm good, I'll go backwards. The thing to do of course is to locate your focus in the future, on the long-term goal, rather than the short-term pleasure of eating things that will stop me achieving that goal as quickly and safely as I could.
Let's do the mathematics of optimism for a moment.
2 lbs a week means 8 lbs per calendar month, or 16 lbs (1 stone 2 lbs) every two calendar months.
So on the weigh-in nearest 10th August, I should be down to 17st 12.
10th October should see me at 16st 10.
10th December, 15st 8.
10th February, 14st 6.
10th April, 13st 4.
And 10th June 2015 should see me at 12st 2. If I get anywhere near that, I'll probably instigate a goal of getting to see an 11 before the one-year deadline, and push through the seven stone barrier. I've also just done the pound-mathematics, and if I get to 11st 12 lbs, I'll have lost a hundred pounds from where I am today.
The point is, I probably won't. As I say, I know a little bit more this time, and I know setbacks will happen. But if nothing else, the mathematics of optimism are a useful delusion to help push me forward.
A useful bit of honesty to push me forward was delivered by my optician this morning - he's very happy with me. All of the diabetic retinopathy issues I had when I saw him a year ago have been "re-absorbed" - don't tell me the body's not a weird little wonderland! - and there's no change in my prescription. All good with the eyeballs, which, as I may not have to tell you, is a BIG freakin' relief, given that my living is made through their use.
Today begins the rise and rise of the perspex walls again - the perspex walls between me and what will keep me from my goals. I'll be honest with you - I've almost entirely forgotten what self-denial feels like (though oddly enough, not the guilt that attaches to self-indulgence - can't win in my head!), so there may well be whining and bitching and moaning to be had here in the early stages...which probably means about the next half-year. But there's an odd, non-celebratory, quiet sense of getting on and doing this thing in my head too, which I'm hoping is a good sign. I know we've begun again many a time, but on the other hand, you should be used to it by now. So let's begin again...again...and see where we end up. Will it be seven stone or a hundred pound lighter? Probably not. Will it be less haunted by the Self-Esteem Dalek and less likely to drop dead of a tachycardic madness?
Yes. Yes, that much at least I can promise.
And of course, the humiliation of the Self-Esteem Dalek, essentially. Lots of fat people say that "inside, there's a thin person trying to get out". Yeah, well I've met mine. I've been mine (not thin exactly, but shedloads thinner than this!). Granted, he was a bit of an ass. But then, the fat me's a bit of an ass too, so I'm figuring it's time to just accept my Inner Ass, and be the version that's less statistically likely to fall over and die in a random Starbucks.The one who can go into stores and pick clothes off racks. The one people are less likely to laugh at when he walks by. Sure, why not be that ass?
So today, we begin again.
Weighed in this morning, unexercised, at 19 stone dead (so to speak) - that's 266 lbs. Just one and a half stone (21 lbs for our American friends) lighter than when I first started all this, having been given the option of bareatric surgery.
Same schtick as ever - the aim is to do this for a year, minimum, losing 2 lbs a week (the recommended safe limit amount). This time round I know a thing or two, like I'll drop a good few pounds as soon as I really start, and that most of it will be water. Like there'll be evil bastard plateaus where even if I'm good, I'll go backwards. The thing to do of course is to locate your focus in the future, on the long-term goal, rather than the short-term pleasure of eating things that will stop me achieving that goal as quickly and safely as I could.
Let's do the mathematics of optimism for a moment.
2 lbs a week means 8 lbs per calendar month, or 16 lbs (1 stone 2 lbs) every two calendar months.
So on the weigh-in nearest 10th August, I should be down to 17st 12.
10th October should see me at 16st 10.
10th December, 15st 8.
10th February, 14st 6.
10th April, 13st 4.
And 10th June 2015 should see me at 12st 2. If I get anywhere near that, I'll probably instigate a goal of getting to see an 11 before the one-year deadline, and push through the seven stone barrier. I've also just done the pound-mathematics, and if I get to 11st 12 lbs, I'll have lost a hundred pounds from where I am today.
The point is, I probably won't. As I say, I know a little bit more this time, and I know setbacks will happen. But if nothing else, the mathematics of optimism are a useful delusion to help push me forward.
A useful bit of honesty to push me forward was delivered by my optician this morning - he's very happy with me. All of the diabetic retinopathy issues I had when I saw him a year ago have been "re-absorbed" - don't tell me the body's not a weird little wonderland! - and there's no change in my prescription. All good with the eyeballs, which, as I may not have to tell you, is a BIG freakin' relief, given that my living is made through their use.
Today begins the rise and rise of the perspex walls again - the perspex walls between me and what will keep me from my goals. I'll be honest with you - I've almost entirely forgotten what self-denial feels like (though oddly enough, not the guilt that attaches to self-indulgence - can't win in my head!), so there may well be whining and bitching and moaning to be had here in the early stages...which probably means about the next half-year. But there's an odd, non-celebratory, quiet sense of getting on and doing this thing in my head too, which I'm hoping is a good sign. I know we've begun again many a time, but on the other hand, you should be used to it by now. So let's begin again...again...and see where we end up. Will it be seven stone or a hundred pound lighter? Probably not. Will it be less haunted by the Self-Esteem Dalek and less likely to drop dead of a tachycardic madness?
Yes. Yes, that much at least I can promise.
Monday, 9 June 2014
The Samaritan and the Sweatbox
Well...that was interesting.
d and I went away for a long weekend to London. Interesting, really to see the sorts of things that are really important to us, when faced with a city we called home for nearly ten years ago, but now to see it as tourists.
Friday we arrived at our hotel in Canary Wharf, and went for an Adventure - which in our terms is a random bus ride. By some strange inevitable force of logic, we ended up back in Stratford, where we spent all those years living, laughing, loving and hating a reasonable portion of the human race.
d went off to M&S to find a scarf, taking my bank card and her dead phone. I went to Starbucks, with my credit-loaded Starbucks card. I took one sip of my decaff delight, coughed...and found I couldn't focus my eyes. My head went swimmy and I was pretty much heading for the deck when I realised what had happened.
Tachy-bleedin'-cardia.
Normally I lay down, elevate my feet and do some breathing exercises and the damn thing straightens up and flied right. Notsomuch this time. A passing doctor happened upon me, diagnosed it (for the first real time - it's been recognised as tachycardia before, but really you need to diagnose it precisely while it's going on - mine apparently is supra-ventricular tachy), and helped, but I was still massively out of control. Mall Security called me an ambulance but it would have taken 40 minutes to arrive. Jumped in a cab to Newham hospital and fortunately, on the way there, the symptoms dissipated and I was fine again.
Decided not to press on to the hospital, as it would have further knackered what was supposed to be a romantic weekend.
But I'd like to pay tribute to the nameless doctor who stopped to help a stranger in distress, in London - where many people in my town think people would stab you soon as look at you. To which I simply say ha!
Great weekend apart from that - went to see Miss Saigon, and managed to keep it a secret from d till we arrived - she's wanted to see it for a while. The hotel room was an interesting challenge though - last night it was 27 degrees in there, with the air-con on! Basically turned us both into bacon.
One quick thing. I first started Disappearing after a health scare, brought on by tachy-bleedin'cardia.
I've had enough of this shit. Tomorrow, the perspex walls go up again - have bought salad and everything. The Disappearing Man is freakin' back!
2lbs a week has always been the rationale. We'll see what I weigh tomorrow, and calculate where I should be a year from tomorrow accordingly.
Let's do this bloody thing!
d and I went away for a long weekend to London. Interesting, really to see the sorts of things that are really important to us, when faced with a city we called home for nearly ten years ago, but now to see it as tourists.
Friday we arrived at our hotel in Canary Wharf, and went for an Adventure - which in our terms is a random bus ride. By some strange inevitable force of logic, we ended up back in Stratford, where we spent all those years living, laughing, loving and hating a reasonable portion of the human race.
d went off to M&S to find a scarf, taking my bank card and her dead phone. I went to Starbucks, with my credit-loaded Starbucks card. I took one sip of my decaff delight, coughed...and found I couldn't focus my eyes. My head went swimmy and I was pretty much heading for the deck when I realised what had happened.
Tachy-bleedin'-cardia.
Normally I lay down, elevate my feet and do some breathing exercises and the damn thing straightens up and flied right. Notsomuch this time. A passing doctor happened upon me, diagnosed it (for the first real time - it's been recognised as tachycardia before, but really you need to diagnose it precisely while it's going on - mine apparently is supra-ventricular tachy), and helped, but I was still massively out of control. Mall Security called me an ambulance but it would have taken 40 minutes to arrive. Jumped in a cab to Newham hospital and fortunately, on the way there, the symptoms dissipated and I was fine again.
Decided not to press on to the hospital, as it would have further knackered what was supposed to be a romantic weekend.
But I'd like to pay tribute to the nameless doctor who stopped to help a stranger in distress, in London - where many people in my town think people would stab you soon as look at you. To which I simply say ha!
Great weekend apart from that - went to see Miss Saigon, and managed to keep it a secret from d till we arrived - she's wanted to see it for a while. The hotel room was an interesting challenge though - last night it was 27 degrees in there, with the air-con on! Basically turned us both into bacon.
One quick thing. I first started Disappearing after a health scare, brought on by tachy-bleedin'cardia.
I've had enough of this shit. Tomorrow, the perspex walls go up again - have bought salad and everything. The Disappearing Man is freakin' back!
2lbs a week has always been the rationale. We'll see what I weigh tomorrow, and calculate where I should be a year from tomorrow accordingly.
Let's do this bloody thing!
Friday, 6 June 2014
The Self-Esteem Dalek
Well...that's it then...
Don't know what hit me early this week, it was like being slapped in the face with an Exhaustion Shovel. My week, which had been going quite well - walks down the Trail etc - suddenly got a reverberating CLANNNNNNG!!! in the face that lasted three days.
Felt like I had no energy whatsoever, like I couldn't move, and being conscious was too much effort.
Which made its presence felt in what was, ultimately a reasonably minimal weight-gain on Tuesday - up a pound and a quarter - but of course when you were 18st 12.75, going up a pound and a quarter has symbolic importance, because what you actually do at that point is look 19 goddamned stone in the face again.
Seemed to get some of my mojo back yesterday, but none of it really translated into exercise as I did a day in Starbucks.
Tonight, I've been hit with a Self-Esteem Dalek. In fact, I've probably been hit by a self-esteem Dalek Supreme.
Tomorrow, d and I decamp for a long weekend in London. I'd booked us a hotel, but last night, d went looking and found us a different one, with a pool.
Yes, I realise this is macho bullshit, but that didn't do my self-esteem much good and I had a sulk about it, mainly because I spend my life in a state of constant overthinking and - despite blogging appearances to the contrary - actually constant underspeaking, meaning the only place most of the thinking plays out is within the walls of my own skull. I had naturally overthought the choice of hotel, whirring factors in my brain like little neurotic Nijinskys...and when I say the factors...OK, let's just do this as a thought-experiment.
Old or new?
Conference or townhouse?
a) Charm - townhouse.
b) Likelihood of many stairs, no lifts - so conference.
Location - distance from train station for Monday morning.
Location - distance from West End for returning from show.
Facilities:
a) Room size
b) ratings for cleanliness
c) option for hypoalergenic bedding
d) view potential
e) potential shortness of walking distance to eating locations
f) potential gym/pool availability
Price
a) Not so expensive that it becomes a financial worry in terms of "can we afford this? Really?"
b) Not so cheap that it gives off the message: "Hey, it's been ten years, beeatch, the romance is gone!"
Ambience
a) Not naff corporate schtick, but also
b) Nothing that says "I'm shallow and just wanna stay in bed the whole weekend"
I'm paraphrasing, and cutting the factors down just a little so you don't think I'm COMPLETELY insane, but imagine all these factors whizzing round the inside of my head for a week and a half, further complicated by Customer Reviews - thank you, hotel comparison websites, for that little bit of additional choice-related hell, and you begin to get the faintest glimpse of the kind of shit that goes on in my head every...conscious...second of the day.
Last night, d found a hotel that I'd discounted on both of the location criteria, canceled my booking, and booked the new one. And it's better in lots of ways - did I mention the pool? Also happens to be a shedload cheaper, and have breakfast thrown in. But as is the way with men all over the planet (even my ego won't allow me to think I'm in any way special), in trying to consider every conceivable factor to get it "right", I'd got it, if not exactly wrong, then less right than was possible, simply by not being in the brain of the person I'm trying to please. d of course owns that brain, and so with a handful of clicks it was done - better place, cheaper room, job's a good 'un, sorted. But suffice it to say, I did have a good old proper sulk about it last night. Did you catch the bit where this kind of crap is going through my brain every conscious second of the day?
Anyhow, tonight we went out for dinner with Ma, who's newly returned from a mini-break of her own and it was good to catch up but it meant that we didn't begin packing for the mini-break till late in the night.
Did I mention the new hotel has a pool?
Haven't been in a pool for quite some time. d had dug out one pair of my swimming trunks - the ones from a point somewhere along the downdrive of the Disappearing, where I was losing.
I can't even get them all the way to the top of my legs.
That, ladies and gentlemen, that right there is the Self-Esteem Dalek. That little bastard shot me alllllll to fuck and drove me here to moan and bitch to you lot, in the hope of exorcising the damn thing before morning, cos I can't take the Self-Esteem Dalek on our break with me, I just can't.
So at some point tomorrow, we're going to have to spend precious minutes or even hours of our time away together looking for Really Huge Fat Bastard Swimming Trunks again.
Shhhhhhhhexy, no?
Turning my back on the Self-Esteem Dalek now, and going to try and freakin' sleep.
Don't know what hit me early this week, it was like being slapped in the face with an Exhaustion Shovel. My week, which had been going quite well - walks down the Trail etc - suddenly got a reverberating CLANNNNNNG!!! in the face that lasted three days.
Felt like I had no energy whatsoever, like I couldn't move, and being conscious was too much effort.
Which made its presence felt in what was, ultimately a reasonably minimal weight-gain on Tuesday - up a pound and a quarter - but of course when you were 18st 12.75, going up a pound and a quarter has symbolic importance, because what you actually do at that point is look 19 goddamned stone in the face again.
Seemed to get some of my mojo back yesterday, but none of it really translated into exercise as I did a day in Starbucks.
Tonight, I've been hit with a Self-Esteem Dalek. In fact, I've probably been hit by a self-esteem Dalek Supreme.
Tomorrow, d and I decamp for a long weekend in London. I'd booked us a hotel, but last night, d went looking and found us a different one, with a pool.
Yes, I realise this is macho bullshit, but that didn't do my self-esteem much good and I had a sulk about it, mainly because I spend my life in a state of constant overthinking and - despite blogging appearances to the contrary - actually constant underspeaking, meaning the only place most of the thinking plays out is within the walls of my own skull. I had naturally overthought the choice of hotel, whirring factors in my brain like little neurotic Nijinskys...and when I say the factors...OK, let's just do this as a thought-experiment.
Old or new?
Conference or townhouse?
a) Charm - townhouse.
b) Likelihood of many stairs, no lifts - so conference.
Location - distance from train station for Monday morning.
Location - distance from West End for returning from show.
Facilities:
a) Room size
b) ratings for cleanliness
c) option for hypoalergenic bedding
d) view potential
e) potential shortness of walking distance to eating locations
f) potential gym/pool availability
Price
a) Not so expensive that it becomes a financial worry in terms of "can we afford this? Really?"
b) Not so cheap that it gives off the message: "Hey, it's been ten years, beeatch, the romance is gone!"
Ambience
a) Not naff corporate schtick, but also
b) Nothing that says "I'm shallow and just wanna stay in bed the whole weekend"
I'm paraphrasing, and cutting the factors down just a little so you don't think I'm COMPLETELY insane, but imagine all these factors whizzing round the inside of my head for a week and a half, further complicated by Customer Reviews - thank you, hotel comparison websites, for that little bit of additional choice-related hell, and you begin to get the faintest glimpse of the kind of shit that goes on in my head every...conscious...second of the day.
Last night, d found a hotel that I'd discounted on both of the location criteria, canceled my booking, and booked the new one. And it's better in lots of ways - did I mention the pool? Also happens to be a shedload cheaper, and have breakfast thrown in. But as is the way with men all over the planet (even my ego won't allow me to think I'm in any way special), in trying to consider every conceivable factor to get it "right", I'd got it, if not exactly wrong, then less right than was possible, simply by not being in the brain of the person I'm trying to please. d of course owns that brain, and so with a handful of clicks it was done - better place, cheaper room, job's a good 'un, sorted. But suffice it to say, I did have a good old proper sulk about it last night. Did you catch the bit where this kind of crap is going through my brain every conscious second of the day?
Anyhow, tonight we went out for dinner with Ma, who's newly returned from a mini-break of her own and it was good to catch up but it meant that we didn't begin packing for the mini-break till late in the night.
Did I mention the new hotel has a pool?
Haven't been in a pool for quite some time. d had dug out one pair of my swimming trunks - the ones from a point somewhere along the downdrive of the Disappearing, where I was losing.
I can't even get them all the way to the top of my legs.
That, ladies and gentlemen, that right there is the Self-Esteem Dalek. That little bastard shot me alllllll to fuck and drove me here to moan and bitch to you lot, in the hope of exorcising the damn thing before morning, cos I can't take the Self-Esteem Dalek on our break with me, I just can't.
So at some point tomorrow, we're going to have to spend precious minutes or even hours of our time away together looking for Really Huge Fat Bastard Swimming Trunks again.
Shhhhhhhhexy, no?
Turning my back on the Self-Esteem Dalek now, and going to try and freakin' sleep.
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