I have no idea what's going on any more.
Had a dreadful night Sunday and spent most of the night trapped in the bathroom. The result was that when I woke up Monday morning feeling significantly lighter, I though I'd chance a sneaky unofficial weigh in.
18st 4.75!
'Fuck offfff!' I yelled at the Nazi Scales. I knew I hadn't had a great week, but there didn't seem any fairness to that result. I went away for a good fume.
That night, d had a yen to make pizza from scratch. Dough like a lover's embrace, homemade tomato sauce like the kiss that turns a day to fire, toppings laid out like blindfolded trust, and cheese that trapped them like a secret beyond all the shades of grey.
It was a damn good pizza. But of course it was pizza, so I kind of woke up Tuesday morning with a nugget of dread in my heart for the judgment of the Nazis.
18st 2.75, they said.
'What?!' I demanded. 'What the fuck do you mean?! I empty myself and weigh more than when I stuff myself with the pizza of the gods, what the-'
'Let it go, honey,' said d, with a sweet little smile that belonged in an episode of Bewitched. I was watching for the nose-wiggle, I promise you. 'It's the universe's way of telling you you have abbbbbsolutley no control over anything.'
I blinked.
'Erm...thanks,' I said.
So there it is - barely moved after quite a bad and undisciplined week. Need to get my ass - and the rest of me, actually - in gear again and push back beneath the 18 stone border.
Going away for a long weekend on Friday - there will be eating out, but there could also be long walks in the forest, so we'll see which side of the Force is bigger and better next Tuesday.
Wednesday, 27 August 2014
Tuesday, 19 August 2014
The Undisciplined Driftback
Arse. And then another arse. With shavings of lightly toasted arse on top for presentation.
Weigh-in today was (post-bathroom UP 2.75 pounds to 18st 2.5.
Sigh. I know why this is - have had a completely undisciplined week, and too many treats - granola, STILL! - occasional greasy meals, eating late, and practically buggerall in the way of exercise. So let it never be said I'm making undue excuses here - I fucked up, the licks I'm taking are 2.75 pounds of fat, alllrighty then, let's stop this shit right now.
Biked tonight for the first time in a week. Was entirely wuss-ass about it, doing 300 calories, or about 4.5 miles, and then getting off, claiming pressure of time.
Tomorrow, I walk my six miles down the Trail again for the first time in weeks.
Who knows, maybe this lax week will have fooled my system into a true sense of complacency, and it'll be shocked as hell again when I hit it with a disciplined week.
I do realise of course that this is NOT the way to go about things in a healthy manner. This is yo-yoing, and about as pointless as an ACTUAL yo-yo. But hopefully I can climb back on the yo, without the answering yo.
Tomorrow, folks.
Weigh-in today was (post-bathroom UP 2.75 pounds to 18st 2.5.
Sigh. I know why this is - have had a completely undisciplined week, and too many treats - granola, STILL! - occasional greasy meals, eating late, and practically buggerall in the way of exercise. So let it never be said I'm making undue excuses here - I fucked up, the licks I'm taking are 2.75 pounds of fat, alllrighty then, let's stop this shit right now.
Biked tonight for the first time in a week. Was entirely wuss-ass about it, doing 300 calories, or about 4.5 miles, and then getting off, claiming pressure of time.
Tomorrow, I walk my six miles down the Trail again for the first time in weeks.
Who knows, maybe this lax week will have fooled my system into a true sense of complacency, and it'll be shocked as hell again when I hit it with a disciplined week.
I do realise of course that this is NOT the way to go about things in a healthy manner. This is yo-yoing, and about as pointless as an ACTUAL yo-yo. But hopefully I can climb back on the yo, without the answering yo.
Tomorrow, folks.
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
The Granola Failure
OK, headline first - pre-walk, pre-bathroom, the weigh-in was 18st 0.75lbs.
Which of course was irritating, and probably the result of an overestimation of loss as a result of the Carpenter Capsules last week. However, aftera five mile walk, a large de-caff coffee and a bathroom trip, I weighed-in at 17st 13.75.
Shoot me, but for the sake of my own self-esteem, I'm taking the lower reading as gospel. The water loss during the walk I'm couting as more thatn compensated for by the coffee, so the bathroom trip that lost me that all important pound I'm taking as being a real equalising factor.
Either way of course, not good, inasmuch as it's at least a pound UP on last week. But then, to be honest, it's been that sort of week - the exercise has been sporadic and half-hearted as I've been working on my writing, and I've also developed a dangerous taste for granola. Gooooorgeous bloomin' stuff, to be sure, but in the quantities I've been having it, obviously a stupid move.
At one point this week, the unofficial weigh-in was up to 18st 2lbs, so I laid off the granola for a couple of days, and basically settled back to today's result.
"However much I beg and plead," I said to d when I finished the last bag, "don't let me buy more of this stuff. It's clearly Hellfood, disguised as nectar."
"OK," she agreed.
Which means I'm sorry to report that I bought a new bag of the stuff today, and had some for lunch.
(Ker-thunk, ker-thunk, ker-thunk. Bad Tony...Bad Tony...)
May end up wasting the majority of the price of the bag yet, because I can't chomp my way through another bag of that by next week, I'll lose any chance of making headway towards my next goal - 17st 7.
As it is, I'm just barely hanging on to the 17 by the granola-film on my teeth.
Must. Try. Harder. Grr.
Which of course was irritating, and probably the result of an overestimation of loss as a result of the Carpenter Capsules last week. However, aftera five mile walk, a large de-caff coffee and a bathroom trip, I weighed-in at 17st 13.75.
Shoot me, but for the sake of my own self-esteem, I'm taking the lower reading as gospel. The water loss during the walk I'm couting as more thatn compensated for by the coffee, so the bathroom trip that lost me that all important pound I'm taking as being a real equalising factor.
Either way of course, not good, inasmuch as it's at least a pound UP on last week. But then, to be honest, it's been that sort of week - the exercise has been sporadic and half-hearted as I've been working on my writing, and I've also developed a dangerous taste for granola. Gooooorgeous bloomin' stuff, to be sure, but in the quantities I've been having it, obviously a stupid move.
At one point this week, the unofficial weigh-in was up to 18st 2lbs, so I laid off the granola for a couple of days, and basically settled back to today's result.
"However much I beg and plead," I said to d when I finished the last bag, "don't let me buy more of this stuff. It's clearly Hellfood, disguised as nectar."
"OK," she agreed.
Which means I'm sorry to report that I bought a new bag of the stuff today, and had some for lunch.
(Ker-thunk, ker-thunk, ker-thunk. Bad Tony...Bad Tony...)
May end up wasting the majority of the price of the bag yet, because I can't chomp my way through another bag of that by next week, I'll lose any chance of making headway towards my next goal - 17st 7.
As it is, I'm just barely hanging on to the 17 by the granola-film on my teeth.
Must. Try. Harder. Grr.
Tuesday, 5 August 2014
The Carpenters Capsules
Strange week. Been doing quite well for most of it, then the night before last, something stopped working, not in my brain but in my body. This is not a blog known for its delicacy, so I might have to have a run-up at it...hold on...
My bathroom visits became simply Sudoku time? Is that sufficiently vague, while still imparting all you need to know?
All day yesterday, I felt myself weighed down, anchored by an increasing balloon of gut. Smoothing a hand down the front of me (and you know I do that for a ready reckoner), there was a distinct and immoveable bulge.
Ma, as we walked up an interminable set of steps on one of our walks, sniffed.
"Oh, that's started, has it?"
Something had started...or rather stopped, that much I knew.
"You get that from me," she said, seeming less than impressed that some genetic defect should have shown up.
"What?" I said, panting - the stairs went on apparently to the feet of God - "What exactly do I get from you?"
"Spastic -" she said, which I thought was rather mean, frankly. The words Fuck you, you can walk on your own if that's how you feel bounced loosely round my brain.
"- Colon..." she gasped, stopping "to admire the view" of what was essentially a construction site.
"That...sounds like a...horrible...present," I managed to say.
"It is," she agreed, with a degree of feeling that made me wonder oh so briefly how many Sudokus a day she was getting through at the moment.
"I've got something for that," she said. "I'll give you some when we get home."
Thus it was, ladies, gentlemen, readers all, that I passed a truly depressing Rubicon, being handed a small baggy of pharmaceuticals - by my own mother, no less - that promised not to get me high, make me see God or dance all night and gasp at the morning, but merely ensure that my digestive system did what a digestive system is under normal circumstances wont to do.
The moment had a particular resonance, as d and I had, only the night before, watched a documentary on superlative singer but anorexic nightmare, Karen Carpenter, who had gobbled these particular pharmaceutical sweeties down like there was goig to be a shortage, and whose heart had apparently given out largely as a result.
I took mine yesterday at about 4 o'clock in Tesco's cafe.
Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened, all night. I ate another meal, wondering all the while what effect it would have on this week's weigh-in. Ma's sage advice, on solemnly hading over her drugs, had been "Under no circumstances go walking in the morning." But when I woke this morning, still, nothing was happening. I woke, I chatted to d, she got ready for her lift to work.
BANG!
Something happened. I don't think you need me to tell you what.
The relief was staggeringly palpable.
I use the word advisedly. I staggered onto the Nazi Scales for this week's weigh-in, feeling rather more confident than I had the night before. I did the smoothing hand thing again, and it was flatter.
The result of all this chemical chicanery? A weigh-in result of:
17st 12.5.
So that's it. We're under the 18 stone marker, finally. I think that calls for a recount, don't you?
At 2lb a week, from here, I should be 16st 10.5 by the day after my tenth wedding anniversary (29th September). 16st 2.5 on my 43rd birthday on 22nd October. 15st 12.5 by Bonfire Night on November 5th. 14st 12.5 by Christmas Eve. And 13st 12.5 by 10th February, 2015.
Under 15st by Christmas? That's a goal worth reaching for. Onwwwwwaaaaaaard!
My bathroom visits became simply Sudoku time? Is that sufficiently vague, while still imparting all you need to know?
All day yesterday, I felt myself weighed down, anchored by an increasing balloon of gut. Smoothing a hand down the front of me (and you know I do that for a ready reckoner), there was a distinct and immoveable bulge.
Ma, as we walked up an interminable set of steps on one of our walks, sniffed.
"Oh, that's started, has it?"
Something had started...or rather stopped, that much I knew.
"You get that from me," she said, seeming less than impressed that some genetic defect should have shown up.
"What?" I said, panting - the stairs went on apparently to the feet of God - "What exactly do I get from you?"
"Spastic -" she said, which I thought was rather mean, frankly. The words Fuck you, you can walk on your own if that's how you feel bounced loosely round my brain.
"- Colon..." she gasped, stopping "to admire the view" of what was essentially a construction site.
"That...sounds like a...horrible...present," I managed to say.
"It is," she agreed, with a degree of feeling that made me wonder oh so briefly how many Sudokus a day she was getting through at the moment.
"I've got something for that," she said. "I'll give you some when we get home."
Thus it was, ladies, gentlemen, readers all, that I passed a truly depressing Rubicon, being handed a small baggy of pharmaceuticals - by my own mother, no less - that promised not to get me high, make me see God or dance all night and gasp at the morning, but merely ensure that my digestive system did what a digestive system is under normal circumstances wont to do.
The moment had a particular resonance, as d and I had, only the night before, watched a documentary on superlative singer but anorexic nightmare, Karen Carpenter, who had gobbled these particular pharmaceutical sweeties down like there was goig to be a shortage, and whose heart had apparently given out largely as a result.
I took mine yesterday at about 4 o'clock in Tesco's cafe.
Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened, all night. I ate another meal, wondering all the while what effect it would have on this week's weigh-in. Ma's sage advice, on solemnly hading over her drugs, had been "Under no circumstances go walking in the morning." But when I woke this morning, still, nothing was happening. I woke, I chatted to d, she got ready for her lift to work.
BANG!
Something happened. I don't think you need me to tell you what.
The relief was staggeringly palpable.
I use the word advisedly. I staggered onto the Nazi Scales for this week's weigh-in, feeling rather more confident than I had the night before. I did the smoothing hand thing again, and it was flatter.
The result of all this chemical chicanery? A weigh-in result of:
17st 12.5.
So that's it. We're under the 18 stone marker, finally. I think that calls for a recount, don't you?
At 2lb a week, from here, I should be 16st 10.5 by the day after my tenth wedding anniversary (29th September). 16st 2.5 on my 43rd birthday on 22nd October. 15st 12.5 by Bonfire Night on November 5th. 14st 12.5 by Christmas Eve. And 13st 12.5 by 10th February, 2015.
Under 15st by Christmas? That's a goal worth reaching for. Onwwwwwaaaaaaard!
Saturday, 2 August 2014
The Return of the Gymgrumble
It rained overnight, so I didn't go walking this morning. Not that this comes entirely as a surprise - I haven't walked for the last two mornings either, I've been up against a deadline crunch - this one of my own making. I've launched my new author website - www.fylerwrites.co.uk - and am trying to write, edit and begin trying to sell at least one novel before the end of October.
Anyhow, didn't walk this morning. Did go back to the gym with Ma though. 45 minutes of treadmilling accomplished barely 200 calories of energy-burn. Humph. The rest of the day, I've been in Starbucks and here at home, writing. Yes, actually writing, not editing. Somewhere along the line, I've also walked about 8000 steps, burning another 500 calories. Food...slightly heavier day than normal - breakfast at Carluccios; One slice toast, scrambled egg, portion of fried mushrooms, slice of pannetone. Two large decaffs, then tonight, a relatively new country heard from - Subway. Tried their Tandoori Chicken flatbread last night, went back tonight. Last night's was a 6-inch, and just 300-odd calories. Tonight I went footlong, so presumably 600-odd calories. Pulling the gym nonsense and the walking together, that means I had a calorifically null dinner tonight. Did follow it with a yoghurt and granola - couple of hundred calories - 400 at the outside, I'd say. So all in all, I guess not bad.
The important thing in all this guff is I've gone back to the gym. From Monday, I'll be incorporating the gym into the schedule more and more. It's time to see a 17, dammit. And from there, to push on down to 16. At some point I'm going to have to get some author photos taken, and I'd really like to be a little more facially defined than this before that happens. I know, I know, vanity, vanity, all is vanity.
Back down the Trail in the morning, just for a bit of variety. Six miles should be a good wake-up call.
Anyhow, didn't walk this morning. Did go back to the gym with Ma though. 45 minutes of treadmilling accomplished barely 200 calories of energy-burn. Humph. The rest of the day, I've been in Starbucks and here at home, writing. Yes, actually writing, not editing. Somewhere along the line, I've also walked about 8000 steps, burning another 500 calories. Food...slightly heavier day than normal - breakfast at Carluccios; One slice toast, scrambled egg, portion of fried mushrooms, slice of pannetone. Two large decaffs, then tonight, a relatively new country heard from - Subway. Tried their Tandoori Chicken flatbread last night, went back tonight. Last night's was a 6-inch, and just 300-odd calories. Tonight I went footlong, so presumably 600-odd calories. Pulling the gym nonsense and the walking together, that means I had a calorifically null dinner tonight. Did follow it with a yoghurt and granola - couple of hundred calories - 400 at the outside, I'd say. So all in all, I guess not bad.
The important thing in all this guff is I've gone back to the gym. From Monday, I'll be incorporating the gym into the schedule more and more. It's time to see a 17, dammit. And from there, to push on down to 16. At some point I'm going to have to get some author photos taken, and I'd really like to be a little more facially defined than this before that happens. I know, I know, vanity, vanity, all is vanity.
Back down the Trail in the morning, just for a bit of variety. Six miles should be a good wake-up call.
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