I didn't get to post last week, because life, work and home hit me over the head. My rotten cold wouldn't shift (and it's still here) and an attack of the Januaries meant that I was getting up, going to work, coming home, eating and sleeping. Never has a king-sized duvet held so much attraction...)
And I had a gain . One and a half. Really annoyed with myself, but I had to accept it would happen if I let my chocolate habit get out of hand.
This week was different. On Wednesday night, I found that I had lost three pounds!
That's more like it -the balance is 5 and a half down, 94 and a half to go...
Friday, 5 February 2010
Saturday, 23 January 2010
Four down, ninety six to go..
A very, busy, tiring week. Only lost half a pound this week, but at least it's going the right way.It would be nice to get down to that first half stone by mid February, when I go to meet the folks...
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Progress!
Amidst the the mire and murk of Wednesday evening, I had a successful SW meeting. Three and a half pounds gone, ninety six and a half to go! I know it won't alway be as easy as this, but I'm getting into the swing of setting up my porridge the night before, and having something sensible available in the evening. Lunchtimes a bit trickier, as the staffroom microwave has turned up its heels. I'm glad that the canteen is a good one, as they usually have some good options.
Anyway, it's time to wake up Mr C and get on the daily trudge. Ar least there's almost no snow outside...
Anyway, it's time to wake up Mr C and get on the daily trudge. Ar least there's almost no snow outside...
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
The bottom line...
I braved the snow and the ice last night to SW last night. There had been a sudden flurry around lunchtime, leaving an inch of snow over the ice. There weren't many people there, but we did have six new faces.
I wasn't looking forward to jumping on the scales, but when I did, I was 20st 9 in my clothes , which I expected, really. I'd like to lose 2lbs this week, which is possible, if I really start thinking about what I'm eating.
Not looking forward to venturing out today - the main roads have been gritted, but it's a skating rink out the back where the car is. We haven't had enough snow at school, but it doesn't look promising. It's times like this when I didn't have the commute I do, particularly when the trains start playing up.
I wasn't looking forward to jumping on the scales, but when I did, I was 20st 9 in my clothes , which I expected, really. I'd like to lose 2lbs this week, which is possible, if I really start thinking about what I'm eating.
Not looking forward to venturing out today - the main roads have been gritted, but it's a skating rink out the back where the car is. We haven't had enough snow at school, but it doesn't look promising. It's times like this when I didn't have the commute I do, particularly when the trains start playing up.
Sunday, 3 January 2010
Last day of freedom...
Like most people in the UK, tomorrow brings the first, agonising workday of the New Year. I'm in a better frame of mind than I was a couple of days ago, but I can't say I'm truly thrilled. But work pays the bills, and the longer I can bear it, the better. It doesn't stop me playing the lottery on a regular basis, however. I know I don't really stand a snowball's chance of winning, but I don't care.
So here I am, in a wonderful library, which has become my second home, now that Borders has bitten the dust. I've been browsing my new library book, and have just discovered a great new author called Jacqueline Winspear. She is a crime writer very much in the style of Dorothy L Sayers, and I came across her completely by accident in Poundland. It seems that she has written several books which revolve around a young woman called Maisie Dobbs.Now that I've devoured (excuse the pun) all of the Sookie Stackhouse books i can currently find, it's time for a new obsession I think.
Back home, there should be a chicken which is nicely mooching away in the oven (providing Mr C has remembered to turn the heat down as requested. Better get back to it, I suppose.
So here I am, in a wonderful library, which has become my second home, now that Borders has bitten the dust. I've been browsing my new library book, and have just discovered a great new author called Jacqueline Winspear. She is a crime writer very much in the style of Dorothy L Sayers, and I came across her completely by accident in Poundland. It seems that she has written several books which revolve around a young woman called Maisie Dobbs.Now that I've devoured (excuse the pun) all of the Sookie Stackhouse books i can currently find, it's time for a new obsession I think.
Back home, there should be a chicken which is nicely mooching away in the oven (providing Mr C has remembered to turn the heat down as requested. Better get back to it, I suppose.
Friday, 1 January 2010
Three o'clock, and all is quiet...
My sleeping pattern is a bit bizarre at times, especially when my brain is going at three hundred miles an hour. I woke up at 1.20, discovering that Mr C was asleep in the end room. (nothing strange there- at various points of my irregular cycle, himself has commented that it's like sleeping next to a volcano.) FOF was with him- she prefers to sleep on him, as he doesn't wriggle half as much as I do.
I got myself a drink, read 700 Sundays by Billy Crystal,which is a thoughtful, affectionate memoir, but the brain wouldn't switch off. So now I'm sat up under the duvet, cloaked by suburban East Anglian suburban silence, half listening to Wolf Hall on my headphones. It's soothing and has enough depth to keep me engaged.
Just as well, really. I have gone through several periods of insomnia in the last few years, generally when I've got more in my head than I can deal with. Most of the time I'm fretting over nothing, but there is nothing like the silence of the middle night to make me feel like the last person awake.
Why am I awake? I've had a fortnight away from school, and while the break was much needed, I always find it hard to get back into the rhythm of work. I think it's going to get even harder, as I'm starting to question whether I'm in the right place at all. I've been there for six years now, but the atmosphere has changed. New boss, after somewhat of a political coup to move the previous one sideways. New boss is the same age as me, on the whole a reasonable human being and an excellent professional, but I don't feel comfortable any more. I'd love to find a job closer to home, but I'm expensive, and I don't have the emotional energy to go through the endless application forms, only to be brushed off with barely an acknowledgment. I've had more than my share of tussles to deal with in the last few years, and I'm running out of energy and enthusiasm for it all. It's not all bad, but the worst of it makes me want to scream sometimes.
Mr C has his own work issues. His company was swallowed up by yet another multinational, and most of the joy of his work has gone, too. What's holding us together is the glimmer of financial independence in eighteen months time or so. We bring home good money (compared to a lot of people), I have a secure job (for as long as I can bear it) and we have good friends. We're dreaming of selling up, moving closer to both sets of recycled teenagers, and living a quieter, calmer life. It will be worth it if we can do it.
I know it's wrong to wish your life away, but I'm impatient to move on. We have the plans - money is the only thing that is holding us back. So we keep plodding on, squirrelling funds away and living frugally.Mr C haunts RightMove.com , and we've both got a mental map of where we' d like to end up. This is what keep us going.
In the meantime, it's nearly four o'clock in the morning. The house is settling around us, with its usual creaks. There is a discernible frost on top of the cars outside. I've got a lot to do tomorrow, so hopefully I'll drift off to sleep again soon, dreaming of an older house in a seaside resort with amazing views of distant hills...
I got myself a drink, read 700 Sundays by Billy Crystal,which is a thoughtful, affectionate memoir, but the brain wouldn't switch off. So now I'm sat up under the duvet, cloaked by suburban East Anglian suburban silence, half listening to Wolf Hall on my headphones. It's soothing and has enough depth to keep me engaged.
Just as well, really. I have gone through several periods of insomnia in the last few years, generally when I've got more in my head than I can deal with. Most of the time I'm fretting over nothing, but there is nothing like the silence of the middle night to make me feel like the last person awake.
Why am I awake? I've had a fortnight away from school, and while the break was much needed, I always find it hard to get back into the rhythm of work. I think it's going to get even harder, as I'm starting to question whether I'm in the right place at all. I've been there for six years now, but the atmosphere has changed. New boss, after somewhat of a political coup to move the previous one sideways. New boss is the same age as me, on the whole a reasonable human being and an excellent professional, but I don't feel comfortable any more. I'd love to find a job closer to home, but I'm expensive, and I don't have the emotional energy to go through the endless application forms, only to be brushed off with barely an acknowledgment. I've had more than my share of tussles to deal with in the last few years, and I'm running out of energy and enthusiasm for it all. It's not all bad, but the worst of it makes me want to scream sometimes.
Mr C has his own work issues. His company was swallowed up by yet another multinational, and most of the joy of his work has gone, too. What's holding us together is the glimmer of financial independence in eighteen months time or so. We bring home good money (compared to a lot of people), I have a secure job (for as long as I can bear it) and we have good friends. We're dreaming of selling up, moving closer to both sets of recycled teenagers, and living a quieter, calmer life. It will be worth it if we can do it.
I know it's wrong to wish your life away, but I'm impatient to move on. We have the plans - money is the only thing that is holding us back. So we keep plodding on, squirrelling funds away and living frugally.Mr C haunts RightMove.com , and we've both got a mental map of where we' d like to end up. This is what keep us going.
In the meantime, it's nearly four o'clock in the morning. The house is settling around us, with its usual creaks. There is a discernible frost on top of the cars outside. I've got a lot to do tomorrow, so hopefully I'll drift off to sleep again soon, dreaming of an older house in a seaside resort with amazing views of distant hills...
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Twelve days ago, a false step in a slippery bath made me stop and rethink what I'm doing with my life. In my rush to get on with pre Christmas errands, I fell in the shower and damaged my shoulder. I could not pull myself out. My wonderful, long-suffering DH (aka Mr Century) couldn't move me either. I was in massive amounts of pain, and very panicky. Poor Mr C heard me scream, and after trying to extricate me and failing, he called 999.
In the ten minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive, all kinds of things went through my head. What have I done to myself? Will I be in hospital for Christmas? What will I tell my mum (who worries if I stub my toe from the other end of the country)? My weight was making me feel as though I was twice my age- nearer 75 instead of 37. Something had to change.
So, the paramedics arrived. Mr C had draped towels around me, so I was roughly decent. They checked my pulse, asked me all of the relevant questions, and then it took both of them to get me upright. Once I was sat on the bed, and calmer, we realised that I had come off relatively lightly.I was badly bruised on my knees, thighs and chest. The close encounter with the bath taps had cut into my breastbone, but that was more of a scrape. The paramedics checked me over again, filled out their paperwork, advised me to rest, take painkillers if required, and go to my doctor if the shoulder pain or mobility got worse.
I had been incredibly lucky, but also felt massively guilty. We had had the best part of six inches of snow over the past three days, and there must have been other demands on the ambulance service other than heaving a huge panicky female out of her own bath. Something had to change.
Let me state the facts. As I said, I'm 37. I'm with a wonderful bloke, who has been with me for the best part of 15 years. We married in 2005, and while we have no children, we have a torty garden tiger called FOF. I've never been a dainty or particular girly female. I'm 5'10", and as of 7.45am today, I weigh 287.75lbs in my nightshirt. Twenty stone, seven and three quarter pounds. Roughly 130 kilograms. I'm a size 22-24 in UK sizes, and it's about time I sorted my life out properly.
This is my own stupid fault. The women on Dad's side of the family have always been on the bigger (not taller) size. Mum (aka the recycled teenager) was plump until she hit her late teens, and then it melted away, and the largest she's ever been is a size 16, after two children. My sister is also tall, and and on the bigger side (although she's got a lot less to lose than me). Genetics made us tall, life has made us fat.
So now I need to change my life. I don't have a huge amount of time to exercise, as I do an round 80 mile commute to my job in education. I leave the house around 7am, and most nights don't get back until 6.30pm on a good day. I have always been a comfort eater, and this has got worse over the last few years. Hormonally, my thyroid is slow, and my periods are all over the place (and always have been). I'm knackered the whole time, and feel that there is a whole chunk of life that is passing me by.
So why am I blogging? I need help with my weight loss 'journey'. (Sorry for sounding like an escapee from reality TV hell!) I want to lose a hundred pounds, which will take my weight down to 187lbs (13 stone 5). That will take me down roughly 10 BMI points, and will take me back to a weight that I haven't been since my early 20s. I'd like to be there by the time I'm 39, which is April 2011.
I will be going back to SW, as C, my consultant, has been great, even when I've been messing it up at every step. I'll record my weight here, and use this as a means of recording the good and the bad.
In the ten minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive, all kinds of things went through my head. What have I done to myself? Will I be in hospital for Christmas? What will I tell my mum (who worries if I stub my toe from the other end of the country)? My weight was making me feel as though I was twice my age- nearer 75 instead of 37. Something had to change.
So, the paramedics arrived. Mr C had draped towels around me, so I was roughly decent. They checked my pulse, asked me all of the relevant questions, and then it took both of them to get me upright. Once I was sat on the bed, and calmer, we realised that I had come off relatively lightly.I was badly bruised on my knees, thighs and chest. The close encounter with the bath taps had cut into my breastbone, but that was more of a scrape. The paramedics checked me over again, filled out their paperwork, advised me to rest, take painkillers if required, and go to my doctor if the shoulder pain or mobility got worse.
I had been incredibly lucky, but also felt massively guilty. We had had the best part of six inches of snow over the past three days, and there must have been other demands on the ambulance service other than heaving a huge panicky female out of her own bath. Something had to change.
Let me state the facts. As I said, I'm 37. I'm with a wonderful bloke, who has been with me for the best part of 15 years. We married in 2005, and while we have no children, we have a torty garden tiger called FOF. I've never been a dainty or particular girly female. I'm 5'10", and as of 7.45am today, I weigh 287.75lbs in my nightshirt. Twenty stone, seven and three quarter pounds. Roughly 130 kilograms. I'm a size 22-24 in UK sizes, and it's about time I sorted my life out properly.
This is my own stupid fault. The women on Dad's side of the family have always been on the bigger (not taller) size. Mum (aka the recycled teenager) was plump until she hit her late teens, and then it melted away, and the largest she's ever been is a size 16, after two children. My sister is also tall, and and on the bigger side (although she's got a lot less to lose than me). Genetics made us tall, life has made us fat.
So now I need to change my life. I don't have a huge amount of time to exercise, as I do an round 80 mile commute to my job in education. I leave the house around 7am, and most nights don't get back until 6.30pm on a good day. I have always been a comfort eater, and this has got worse over the last few years. Hormonally, my thyroid is slow, and my periods are all over the place (and always have been). I'm knackered the whole time, and feel that there is a whole chunk of life that is passing me by.
So why am I blogging? I need help with my weight loss 'journey'. (Sorry for sounding like an escapee from reality TV hell!) I want to lose a hundred pounds, which will take my weight down to 187lbs (13 stone 5). That will take me down roughly 10 BMI points, and will take me back to a weight that I haven't been since my early 20s. I'd like to be there by the time I'm 39, which is April 2011.
I will be going back to SW, as C, my consultant, has been great, even when I've been messing it up at every step. I'll record my weight here, and use this as a means of recording the good and the bad.
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