Baby, keep a little 2 for me ;)
So after getting tired of spending half my runs yanking my leggings back up around my waist, I decided it was time to downsize and invest in some workout clothes that fit! I also took the opportunity to randomly try on tops and jeans and dresses in different sizes to try and work out where the hell I am in the whole clothes malarkay, and, whaddaya know, I fit 12s. Not just on the bottom. Not just on the top. Not ridiculously tightly. I actually fit 12s. So I got some black leggings and a dark blue t-shirt, and it's seriously weird how different I think I look when I was wearing them earlier. Turns out still wearing my older clothes that are really getting too big was kinda masking my idea of how much my body had changed, because looking at myself in the mirror earlier, I almost looked... dare I say it... not fat?
Here's the killer: I tried on some trousers in size 10, just for a laugh. They fit. They were hideous, and I had a bit of a muffin top, but they fit. And they weren't stretchy material or in an oversized style. Holy crap. I'm actually doing this, aren't I? I'm actually almost a normal size, aren't I?
I haven't mentioned this yet, because I'm having a hard time actually convincing myself of it, but I only have 3 or 4 more pounds to lose before I enter a 'normal' weight range. Now, I'm aiming for the middle of 'normal', so it's not like I'm approaching the end of my weight loss by any means, and even when I reach my goal I'll obviously still want to work on my body and my fitness, and it won't really be an end goal at all.
But it's still an odd thought. In not too long, I won't be overweight anymore.
Well, I'll deal with that thought when I get there, I guess!
In other news, I went with a friend to a Zumba class tonight, which was AMAZING fun and bloody hard work. And when did that become a good thing...?
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Sunday, 19 February 2012
I'm a fucking genius.
Not to boast or anything.
So I quashed the marzipan craving with a 65p 170cal Thorntons 'Chocolate Almond Marzipan Bar'. And then I went and made the most amazing Mediterranean Fish Stew ever. I chopped up the chorizo to sautee with the onions, carrots, and peppers, so I didn't have to add any oil, and then simmered it all up with chopped tomatoes, garlic and paprika until it was all rich and silky. Then I added white fish, I used pollock because it was cheap at my supermarket, to poach for a few minutes and then the prawns to warm through. Topped with chopped coriander, chives, and a few basil leaves.
The best thing? Less than 250cal per serving, and that's a good filling bowlful. I even made wholemeal flatbreads to bump the servings by a couple hundred calories, because I had the space to.
So I quashed the marzipan craving with a 65p 170cal Thorntons 'Chocolate Almond Marzipan Bar'. And then I went and made the most amazing Mediterranean Fish Stew ever. I chopped up the chorizo to sautee with the onions, carrots, and peppers, so I didn't have to add any oil, and then simmered it all up with chopped tomatoes, garlic and paprika until it was all rich and silky. Then I added white fish, I used pollock because it was cheap at my supermarket, to poach for a few minutes and then the prawns to warm through. Topped with chopped coriander, chives, and a few basil leaves.
The best thing? Less than 250cal per serving, and that's a good filling bowlful. I even made wholemeal flatbreads to bump the servings by a couple hundred calories, because I had the space to.
The chorizo made it so tasty, and now I have half the sausage left in the fridge to slither into all sorts of things. Mushooms fried up with chorizo is NOM.
In other news, myself and a couple of friends from dancing have decided we should go to the gym together, so I have - for the first time ever - bought gym membership. It's pretty damn cheap because it's with my uni. So anyway, my only experience with gyms before are hideous school sessions with overbearing teachers, humid, sweaty rooms, and hideous mirrors broadcasting my red-faced, sweaty, panting failure to the whole room. But I'm feeling pretty keen to dip my toes into the gym again, now that I know I have some basic fitness and I'm not about to fall off the treadmill.
Well, I may well fall off the treadmill, but it will be down to my own clumsiness and not lack of fitness.
Moreover, guess who lost 2 pounds last week, and another 2 this week?
Fuck yes.
Monday, 13 February 2012
Ay, there's the rub.
So, recently I've been having bad dreams again. Not really bad and not as frequently or as intensely as in the past, and I only really notice because I'd barely remembered a dream in so long that to have two that lingered so long within the last week has struck me.
The first, a few days ago: I was maintaining some kind of secret from... T (in true secretive style, let T stand for that person I'm unendingly in love with), and T and I were talking on the phone a lot and our relationship was really close. It wasn't really a secret, I just get the impression it was something I was being careful not to mention, or something I knew T would misinterpret. (Oh the history here, I know exactly what this dream is about... but why now??) Anyway, it comes out that my mother (who adores T and actually took T's side the one major time we fought, despite having no idea why we were fighting, making me feel like an utter worm) somehow lets slip to T whatever I was concealing, and as I had feared T flies off the handle and I'm left struggling to explain as T spits in my face, calls me a liar and a fake, and I watch our relationship shatter like glass. Hey, subconscious, I know what you're on about, but what do you want me to do about it now? Four years later? Why NOW?
The second, last night: I was on a journey with my brother-in-law, quite ordinarily, I think we were heading home after doing some shopping, because I was in a supermarket carpark and he'd gone somewhere, I think to check bus times or train times or something. Anyway, I'm alone, and there's a man who I don't like the look of coming near to me. I try to smile and turn away, but his face changes and he lunges for me. I run, trying to get away. I call my brother-in-law, shout his name into the phone until he answers. I jabber that I'm scared, I'm scared, help me, help me. It's all dark suddenly, and the man is coming for me. I dart and dodge out of his way, but he grabs me and I scream and fight, and claw at him like a cat. I trip him and he falls against I wall, hits his head. I slam his head against the wall over and over again, terrified that I'm powerless, that he will any moment shake me off and overpower me. He's bleeding now, but he doesn't look defeated, he looks furious and powerful and contemptuous and I'm fucking terrified. I drag him across the carpark, and that's when my brother-in-law and some other 'good people' arrive. They don't look at me. I limply let go of the man. They take him and carry him away, as if to take care of him. None of them look at me. They leave. And I can't breathe, I have to get away. So I turn and run through the hallway (we're now at my childhood home, and the scene of a recurring nightmare about a crocodile from when I was very young), out into the back garden. I run and run as fast as I can. There are lots of trees, and amongst them I see my best friend from school, but instead of running to her, I shrink back, desperate for her not to see me. I slip past, run to the bottom of the garden, scramble over the gate and into the next field, through the long grass, as fast as fast as fast as I can. But I have the sickening certain feeling that I'll never be able to get away from them. They're coming after me. They'll catch me... and then I wake up.
Now what in the flying fuck does that mean?
I don't believe that dreams have divinatory power or contain messages from the supernatural, nothing of that sort. But I do believe they represent the most pressing anxieties of our subconsciouses, processing our experiences, filtering our memories, addressing the problems we may not even know or admit that we have. I believe they are worth paying attention to.
But I'm sort of scared to try to unravel that one...
The first, a few days ago: I was maintaining some kind of secret from... T (in true secretive style, let T stand for that person I'm unendingly in love with), and T and I were talking on the phone a lot and our relationship was really close. It wasn't really a secret, I just get the impression it was something I was being careful not to mention, or something I knew T would misinterpret. (Oh the history here, I know exactly what this dream is about... but why now??) Anyway, it comes out that my mother (who adores T and actually took T's side the one major time we fought, despite having no idea why we were fighting, making me feel like an utter worm) somehow lets slip to T whatever I was concealing, and as I had feared T flies off the handle and I'm left struggling to explain as T spits in my face, calls me a liar and a fake, and I watch our relationship shatter like glass. Hey, subconscious, I know what you're on about, but what do you want me to do about it now? Four years later? Why NOW?
The second, last night: I was on a journey with my brother-in-law, quite ordinarily, I think we were heading home after doing some shopping, because I was in a supermarket carpark and he'd gone somewhere, I think to check bus times or train times or something. Anyway, I'm alone, and there's a man who I don't like the look of coming near to me. I try to smile and turn away, but his face changes and he lunges for me. I run, trying to get away. I call my brother-in-law, shout his name into the phone until he answers. I jabber that I'm scared, I'm scared, help me, help me. It's all dark suddenly, and the man is coming for me. I dart and dodge out of his way, but he grabs me and I scream and fight, and claw at him like a cat. I trip him and he falls against I wall, hits his head. I slam his head against the wall over and over again, terrified that I'm powerless, that he will any moment shake me off and overpower me. He's bleeding now, but he doesn't look defeated, he looks furious and powerful and contemptuous and I'm fucking terrified. I drag him across the carpark, and that's when my brother-in-law and some other 'good people' arrive. They don't look at me. I limply let go of the man. They take him and carry him away, as if to take care of him. None of them look at me. They leave. And I can't breathe, I have to get away. So I turn and run through the hallway (we're now at my childhood home, and the scene of a recurring nightmare about a crocodile from when I was very young), out into the back garden. I run and run as fast as I can. There are lots of trees, and amongst them I see my best friend from school, but instead of running to her, I shrink back, desperate for her not to see me. I slip past, run to the bottom of the garden, scramble over the gate and into the next field, through the long grass, as fast as fast as fast as I can. But I have the sickening certain feeling that I'll never be able to get away from them. They're coming after me. They'll catch me... and then I wake up.
Now what in the flying fuck does that mean?
I don't believe that dreams have divinatory power or contain messages from the supernatural, nothing of that sort. But I do believe they represent the most pressing anxieties of our subconsciouses, processing our experiences, filtering our memories, addressing the problems we may not even know or admit that we have. I believe they are worth paying attention to.
But I'm sort of scared to try to unravel that one...
Saturday, 11 February 2012
Really not pregnant...
I swear. I'm not. I'm really not.
But I am having some serious cravings for marzipan and chorizo.
Not, I might add, together. But still. What the hell, brain?
The one for marzipan is the worst, and also I have no idea how to satisfy it, save buying a pound block of marzipan from the supermarket and trying not to eat it all. How does one procure smaller amounts of marzipan? Who in hell craves marzipan anyway? I didn't even LIKE marzipan until maybe a year ago!
I have plans to cook a Mediterranean fish stew with chorizo this week, which will hopeful take care of that, but God only knows about the marizpan. Oh the trials and tribulations of my life...
But I am having some serious cravings for marzipan and chorizo.
Not, I might add, together. But still. What the hell, brain?
The one for marzipan is the worst, and also I have no idea how to satisfy it, save buying a pound block of marzipan from the supermarket and trying not to eat it all. How does one procure smaller amounts of marzipan? Who in hell craves marzipan anyway? I didn't even LIKE marzipan until maybe a year ago!
I have plans to cook a Mediterranean fish stew with chorizo this week, which will hopeful take care of that, but God only knows about the marizpan. Oh the trials and tribulations of my life...
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
I am still alive!
Sorry for being missing in action for so long. I'm also really apologising to myself here, because this blog is meant to be where I let out my thoughts and examine my head and work out what I should be doing, and I obviously haven't been doing that, and it really would have helped, I'm sure.
So, collected thoughts from the past few weeks, here we go:
Just because I'm not restricting for a day does not mean I can go and eat half a fucking tin of biscuits. That's not okay. Expecially because they weren't mine. Why do I get such strong urges to binge on other people's food? It's like some crappy eating-disordered kleptomania. Makes me feel even more shit. Needs to STOP.
I think I need to force myself to comprehend that the days of losing two or three or four pounds in a week are gone. My body just can't sustain that rate of weight loss even if I give it the requisite deficits. Okay, maybe two pounds is feasible, but I really really need to stop seeing a 1lb loss as some sort of failure. A loss is a loss, and one pound gone is one pound gone. It's a good thing, and a realistic goal, and it's what I need to be aiming for.
Also, I may (may!) consider investing in some electric scales, not because I think they'll give me kinder readings, but because they'll give me instant readings that I don't have to 'interpret', deciding whether the arrow is nearer the one line or the other and caculating what each of those lines actually stands for and confusing myself. I guess that sounds a bit silly, but when the loss might only be a pound, it's very very easy on mechanical scales (especially the ones I have here, which are my housemate's and have a pretty small face for reading from) to look like you're getting a reading a pound, two pounds, or more either above or below where you actually should be. So we'll see.
Otherwise, life is going pretty well. I've found somewhere to live next year (FUCK YES), so that's one major source of stress out of the way. All my uni courses are still new and interesting and have yet to dole out unbearable workloads, so all is good.
Now all we need is the weather to warm up a bit, and we're golden.
So, collected thoughts from the past few weeks, here we go:
Just because I'm not restricting for a day does not mean I can go and eat half a fucking tin of biscuits. That's not okay. Expecially because they weren't mine. Why do I get such strong urges to binge on other people's food? It's like some crappy eating-disordered kleptomania. Makes me feel even more shit. Needs to STOP.
I think I need to force myself to comprehend that the days of losing two or three or four pounds in a week are gone. My body just can't sustain that rate of weight loss even if I give it the requisite deficits. Okay, maybe two pounds is feasible, but I really really need to stop seeing a 1lb loss as some sort of failure. A loss is a loss, and one pound gone is one pound gone. It's a good thing, and a realistic goal, and it's what I need to be aiming for.
Also, I may (may!) consider investing in some electric scales, not because I think they'll give me kinder readings, but because they'll give me instant readings that I don't have to 'interpret', deciding whether the arrow is nearer the one line or the other and caculating what each of those lines actually stands for and confusing myself. I guess that sounds a bit silly, but when the loss might only be a pound, it's very very easy on mechanical scales (especially the ones I have here, which are my housemate's and have a pretty small face for reading from) to look like you're getting a reading a pound, two pounds, or more either above or below where you actually should be. So we'll see.
Otherwise, life is going pretty well. I've found somewhere to live next year (FUCK YES), so that's one major source of stress out of the way. All my uni courses are still new and interesting and have yet to dole out unbearable workloads, so all is good.
Now all we need is the weather to warm up a bit, and we're golden.
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