The Upside of Self-Loathing

Hello! (Echoes of 'Hello!', 'Hello!', 'Hello!' reverberate through the chasm of this blog).

Been a while. I've meant to update you after every weekly weigh-in. Suffice it to say I've been playing hopscotch back and forth over the State Line of 19 stone (266 pounds) for several weeks - one week, 19st 4, the next, 18st 13, the next, 19st 1, the next 18st 11.5, the next 18st 13).

Last week's weigh-in was 18st 13.
Needless to say, discipline has been nowhere to be seen of late. On the upside, I have finally finished a solid draft of my novel...preeetty much since I last wrote anything in this blog, so there you go - discipline has been rather funneled down that particular rabbit-hole. Back to the editing game now, leaving the novel aside until later this month, when I intend to go through it again and Make It Funny, which is something I think perhaps it sorely lacks at the minute, given the premise and the potential for Funny Stuff To Happen.

In the meantime, physical self-loathing and self-destructive behaviour rules, ok? Have done stupid shit even actively knowing it's stupid shit - went to the movies one night, and had both ice cream and Pick 'n' Mix. Haven't been walking very regularly at all, and despite the good intentions that have seen me vow to get back on the bike or go to the gym, very much in the region of buggerall has actually come of these good intentions.

But that stops - again, I know, I know - now. Or technically, that stops Monday morning, but hopefully tomorrow will see me start to blister the bejesus out of my feet again, as am going walking with Ma.
I figure, at 19 stone, give or take a damn, it doesn't actually take that much to start me making progress again. We all know that in the first two weeks of actually trying to do this shit, I'll lose a good few pounds, simply of water as my body goes "Oh look...he's trying again...how sweet..."
But the point is to actually try. To commit to making an effort, and maintain it.
I'm thinking: on the bike, every morning (unless doing something else appallingly physical with Ma) - at 7.30. Can then do an hour of dedicated biking and shower before technically the day job requires me to be at my desk. Am thinking a return to Sensible Breakfasts - ie 2 Weetabix, rather than an enormo-bowl of Bran Flakes. I'm thinking beginning a new blood testing chart and regime - and yes, before you go "Ah, but do you know where the testing kit is, cos that always scuppers you" - I'm looking at the needle right now, so nehh. If nothing else, facing the daily judgment of the blood test will give me something to hold me accountable for my actions, rather than the weekly judgment of the weigh-in - which my devious brain is full of stratagems for getting around by now. I'm thinking appalling healthy snacks - apples and carrots and suchlike vegetarian garbage. And I'm thinking the heaviest meal in the day being lunchtime, not dinner time. More protein, less carb. Fewer Starbucks-fests, because even with my decaff-skinny-imitation-coffee malarkey, it's still a lot of milk in any given day. Also, of course, costs a shedload! Perhaps an hour's biking every evening too - 5pm-6pm, which tends to be sort of weird ghostly wasted time at present (I've rather fallen under the thrall of a pointless game called Hay Day - might be time to knock that on the head too, so as to free up more time).

I'm also thinking to set short-term, more realistic goals. It's the middle of November now and I'm probably going to weigh at least 19 stone on Tuesday. If I can get down to 18 stone by Christmas - or perhaps, as an extra-special Yuletide bonus, if I can see a 17 stone 13 - that would perversely feel like excellent progress. Yes, technically, it would be roughly what I weighed on my 40th birthday, more than three years ago, but looking back at the photos of that day, while I'm chunky, I'm a lot more like the me I want to be in them than I am in my mirror today. Say I start the new year at 17st 13, if I can be under 17 stone by the end of February, that would be excellent. To see a 16, given that I'm now probably over 19, would be really invigorating. If I can see a 15 by the end of April - excellent. Which means if I can see a 14 by the end of June, I'll be utterly thrilled. And at that point, we reassess where we are and what we're doing. Pretty much half a year, broken into chunks of achievable goal. but only achievable of course if I get my ass moving and do the things I set out to do. We all know that I'm capable of doing them - that's perhaps the most galling thing - having gotten there once (admittedly with a degree of massively unpleasant chemical help), I know what the good place feels like. This - where I am right now - does not feel like a good place. It feels like a boulder of worry on my shoulders, avoiding mirrors, avoiding eyes, knowing there's both pity and contempt in them. Knowing that no matter how I strive to dress to minimise the effects of three fairly solid years of eating madly, I still look wrong. Knowing that I've worked perversely, particularly hard to get back to looking like this - and believe me I have, the excesses, when they've happened, have been obscene, and feel akin to silent, secret dragging of a blade across skin. Except of course there's ultimately nothing secretive about my self-harm. Not only do I come here and tell you about it, but it's marked on the body for you all to see - look, look - Fat Man Walking. Roll up, roll up, see the Disappearing Failure.

The upside of such maudlin self-loathing of course is that if you can harness it right, it can power you on. It's been three years since I stopped actively Disappearing, and started working, one way or another, towards regaining all the weight I worked so monstrously hard to get rid of. You need, on some quiet, still, steel-rod level, to go to war with yourself to do either half of this - the Disappearing, or the Rebuilding. Because the impulse is itself a bifurcation of the mind. The impulse to eat the wrong stuff, and do nothing in the way of exercise makes so much sense, it's almost frightening. But the impulse to eat the right stuff, and move your ass, is a gateway to things you want to do, not least of which is in all probability living longer. As an atheist, I get no second chances. Being a good person doesn't get me another bite of the cherry of life - it just gives me a warm glow of satisfaction. But in terms of living, this is all I get. I don't want to regret any more years of not being able to do stuff. And yes, I'm back in that category - there's stuff I'd like to do that I'm not physically able to do as a result of my weight. That, when you really break it down, is just bullshit. It's time to begin the climb again. The climb down from the high numbers to those that allow my body to work more effectively, to carry me through life with less strain and stress, and allow me to do some of the things I want to do. As I say, technically this begins Monday. And so does the resumption of more regular reports to you lot (such as you are - anyone still out there?). Again, having to report the day to you is an incentive not to fill the day with stupid shit: it actually used to work that way - many's the day when the thought of having to admit a degree of failure on this blog stopped me failing. So let's see. As I say - objective 1: 17 stone 13 by New Year. Six weeks, at least 14 pounds - I'm essentially counting on the water loss bump in the first two weeks to make this any kind of possibility. But that's Base Camp for The Disappearing Man 2015.

Come back, come along - there's still plenty of bitching to do, I promise.