Changing priorities

This afternoon I went with my friend Elspeth to see the latest in the Bridget Jones' Diary franchise and I had a bit of an epiphany. Yes friends, Bridget Jones brought around a real psychological evaluation that I'd like to share with you all.

Let's begin by briefly discussing my state of mind for the last...year. It has not been pretty. If I am honest with myself I started beating myself up on the 14th September last year when I attempted the New Forest Marathon. Having come in to this with an incredibly positive mental attitude (despite having lost weeks of training to illness) I was certain that there was no way I wouldn't be able to achieve this and so, when I couldn't, I don't think I ever really forgave myself. Gone was the celebratory marathon and Tough Mudder themed tattoos (unfair on the latter as I did actually complete that and still consider that to have been the greatest fitness success of my life), I stopped running and slowly but surely I stopped caring. My nutrition went down south, my love for activity decreased and I just became overall complacent. Flash forward a year and two days and this has changed very little.

Bridget Jones is remembered for a number of things: big pants, sliding down a fireman's pole and singing 'Like a Virgin' in a Thai prison (to name but a few) but my single most pervading memory from the books is her obsession with weight and caloric intake. Bridget can proudly tell you the number of calories in a small banana and complain about being 9 stone 10 (b***h). First thing I thought of here is, God I hope I never get so obsessed with the number on the scale that I am at that level. Followed by 'F**k, I already am'. You see, I started September with every intention of rejigging my life. I've been doing the yoga 30 day challenge at Sweat Studios and I was meant to be eating well, hydrating well and therefore feeling ALL of the benefits. What has actually happened is I have done the yoga but I have forgotten to hydrate adequately, meaning that I've spent much of the last week either missing classes or feeling like death warmed up because I have such a headache; I have apparently thrown the nutrition handbook out of the window meaning I feel sluggish and overfull ALL THE TIME, and have gained weight. Last time I did the challenge I was dropping pounds on a daily basis. Anyway, that bit is really unimportant. The important bit is the obsession. See, the thing is I really shouldn't KNOW that I've gained weight. I should NOT be weighing on a near hourly basis seeing if I've shifted the pound I gained at breakfast or hoping that a good bowel movement will get me closer to my weight this time last year. I have lost the plot.

I am missing the opportunity to see my body work at its peak because I am completely overtaken by a number on a scale. I go to the gym to lose weight. I go to yoga and operate in blistering heat to lose weight. All I have thought about for months is weight. And as, obviously, that has not been moving in as expedient or consistent a manner as I would like, the way I have been thinking about my weight has become increasingly negative.

And then today, Mark Darcy stepped in. As many of you know, I am studying to become a lawyer and human rights is absolutely where my interest lies. And I'd kind of forgotten that. I'd become swept up with all of my obsession with weight and with the negativity that has been following me around like a bad smell and, quite frankly, I've been fucking things up. Not badly. Not enough to hold me back, but enough for me to notice. And then I remembered the way I was when I was younger and all I wanted in the whole world was to stand on a stage in the West End and play the role of Fanny Brice in Funny Girl or Eponine in Les Miserables. Every thing I did then was in service of my ultimate aim. Which is why, on the drive home, I gave some thoughts to my goals now. Career aspirations obviously include completing my legal degree with as high a degree classification as I can achieve, get a place studying for the BPTC, get pupillage, change world. But health wise, I just don't think that my 'weight' can be the priority. Right now my 'weight' is not serving me. It is holding me back. My aim is to be healthy. To go to bed feeling well and waking up feeling well and able to start the next day. Not feeling like I've put poison in my body that wracks my stomach with cramps at night and waking up feeling like I've been hit by a bus. To be fit. To give my body challenges that it has not achieved (or even tried) before and feel like I can do it. To not feel so lethargic. To not go up the three flights of stairs to my bedroom and feel exhausted at the end. To condition my body so that it is in excellent condition for as long as possible. Not my weight. My weight does not determine any of those things.

So kids, for now at least, I am banishing the scales. I will still record what I eat as a method of accountability but my focus has to be on getting the most from my activity, eating healthily and regaining my balance. But most important of all, finding the positivity that drove me on all that time ago when I first started this. And until then (and perhaps even then) my 'weight' can only hold me down.

I overcome all fears *part two*

As the title of this post will somewhat indicate, this is the follow up to my previous blog post. A summary, for those of you who missed it. I was about to take part in my first marathon and was bricking it. After much goading myself on I convinced myself that I was ready, had a thorough pre-marathon breakfast, the much needed *pre-race poop*, tied my laces and headed off. 

And here's the awful, painful truth that I almost didn't want to confess. I couldn't finish it. I hit the wall at mile 18 and the next three miles were achingly slow. My legs felt like lead, my insoles had apparently shrunk during Tough Mudder- something I might have realised if I hadn't had to take weeks out of training for illness related reasons- and I could feel a line of bleeding blisters along both sides of my feet. I hit mile 21- 5 miles to go and well over an hour and a half in which to do it in. Easy. 

No. I was broken. I was a shell of my usual jubilant self. The relatively small size of the marathon (under 500 people) and the ridiculously slow pace between mile 18-21 meant that my worst nightmare was realised. I was in last place. The recovery van that went around the course to pick up runners who had damaged themselves was literally on my tail. Every time I looked around they were there. I have described this in a number of ways- the Top Gear failure car for example, or *my personal favourite* the komodo dragon stalking his prey for days after that initial venomous bite. I sobbed and sobbed and hated every moment of them following me. I gave the driver an earful about how awful it was having him there. He looked down at my left ankle (my stupid inherently damaged ankle) and said 'I'm sorry miss, you're doing incredibly but that ankle is just making us all a little nervous especially with the next hill.' Oh god. A hill. JOY OF JOYS. Stubborn as ever I stomped up that hill just to show him. I got to the top, looked at my running watch thinking that I MUST be near that 22 mile mark. 21.2 miles. I called my mum and cried. I told her I was a failure and that this was HANDS DOWN the worst thing I had ever attempted. What was I even thinking?! The pain was overwhelming when I finally let the failure wash over me. I turned to the recovery van, nodded at him and hopped in. I didn't speak again for the 20 minutes it took for me to get back to the race village. I couldn't; it would've destroyed me. I kept getting told how well I'd done, the other runners in the car (they'd all picked up injuries and were en route back with me) commended me for getting past them. One chap was on marathon number 8. He vindicated my feeling that the New Forest Marathon is a lonely marathon. Beautiful scenery but there are so few people that you literally fall into your own little bubble and that's it.

It was not what I'd imagined a marathon to be. I've watched the London Marathon and the Great North Run (I know it's a half- calm down) and said to myself, it'll be that atmosphere that keeps you going when it gets tough. It's the other 40,000 people all achieving something very great who will keep you motivated. It was otherwise a perfect day. Not too hot, not due to rain and the perfect level of cloud cover. I ran through little villages where small children handed out sweaty handfuls of jelly babies (little boy from Brockenhurst- you were my rock!) and I started ludicrously well. The first 10 miles came smoothly and easily and I was at the half way point in just over 2 and a half hours. I could come up with countless reasons WHY I couldn't do it but quite honestly there is no point. And this is actually very important for me. 

My greatest fear has always been failure. I sat in the back of that van and was a failure. And then I started to think. Being a failure would have been never having the bravery to try in the first place. Being a failure would have been continuing on clearly over taxed limbs to the point of real and significant damage. Being a failure would have been not learning something from the experience. And as painful an experience this was, my god did I learn. 

I have learnt that sometimes I need to be nicer to myself. If you had told my younger self that I would be fit enough to run a marathon -ever- she would have laughed and thought something along the lines of 'even the 100m on school sports days hurt'. That sometimes I need to do things for the process rather than some arbitrary final point that I've set myself. I'm actually quite looking forward to just training- for nothing in particular. I learnt that (no pun intended) I can't run before I learn to walk. A marathon WILL happen. I WILL eventually be able to tick that off of my 'to do' list and I will finish a hell of a lot stronger than I could have this time. 

The reason I know this is because I truly can overcome all fears. All it takes is the bravery to try. 

I overcome all fears

Three weeks ago today, I woke up in a cottage in Cirencester having just taken on one of the hardest physical challenges of my life. The day before, I became a Tough Mudder. I had spent about 4 and a half hours running over hills and through dense woodland, climbing over walls and scrabbling through mud whilst being repeatedly thrown into water and a final bit of electric shock therapy at the end all for good measure. I crossed the finish line hand in hand with my brother, was handed my orange head band, finisher T-shirt and a cider. This was, hands down, the proudest moment of my life.   Four and a half hours earlier I had stood with my group of mudders and enthusiastically shouted at the top of my lungs my pledge to 'over come all fears'.

This morning, I woke up in a hotel room in Bournemouth to the sound of sea gulls and early enough that it was still dark outside- a sight I'm still not quite used to after a summer of early sunny mornings. I absentmindedly put on my trusty ronhill running tights and the T-shirt I acquired yesterday to face what is, undoubtedly, sure to be another of the hardest physical challenges of my life. Today, I run my first marathon. And here's a secret that I'm not altogether proud of- I'm scared. The week and a half after tough mudder left me struck down with a chest and ear infection that wiped out what remaining training time I had for the run and has tormented me all week. I've worked and reworked out how fast I need to do it to atlas complete it within the six and a half hour time limit (14.9 minute mile just in case you were wondering) and I've been plagued by memories of coming in last at races for school. I have been reassured by my friends and family, my personal trainer Heather is I'm sure sick to death about hearing me blabber on about it and is probably waiting on tenterhooks today for me to tell her it's done so we can resume work as usual.

This morning, I have done everything I can to ensure success. I had an early night last night and I'm waiting for the butterflies in my tummy to bugger off which probably won't happen until I step foot over the starting line and am actually doing this. Honestly, some days I look at myself and think 'what the hell have you done this for?!' and then I remember, today I will do what others won't so that tomorrow I can do what others can't. I do this for the challenge because, deep down inside- even when my confidence is wavering- I believe that I am capable of achieving anything I put my mind to. I do this because I know countless individuals who wish they could strap on a pair of running shoes and take in what will prove to be some of the most breathtaking scenery in the country but can't because of illness or injury. I do this because people tell me I am an inspiration and I believe that people who have the possibility of effecting change, no matter how small, should lead by example and be unyielding in their own determination.

I do this, because I overcome all fears.

Finding my joy.

Sorry sorry sorry for the absence. I've been busy doing exciting things---->  They say that life starts at the end of your comfort zone. After the last few weeks I have come to know that this is one hundred percent true. It used to be that the things that made me happy were lazy Sundays or Lord of the Rings movie marathons (I reckon that last one would still make me pretty f***ing happy). Now the idea of sitting still for more than an hour when I could be up, out doing something, anything makes me itch. It's why I make sure that my rest days are ones where I'm working or I know I would go cray cray with wanting to do something.

A few weeks ago I released a Facebook status.

I don't know why I didn't write a blog post the minute my feet once again touched solid ground but it's taken me almost a month to figure out exactly what that first half hour back on a horse meant to me. My first thought as I approached this beast of a horse was that he was absolutely massive. Of course he is, he (his name's Max btw and he is my new BFF-don't tell my cat) has to lift a (then) 16 stone unsure human as she tries to remember how to rise in trot without damaging her crotch. I took to the mounting block and then freaked out. I haven't told any one this so you're all the first to know. He's so tall, what if I fall off? What if I can't do this? What if I can't even swing my leg over his saddle? He kept moving about, wasn't close enough, was too close. All the excuses. I was once again the girl I was when I first went running back in July 2013. And then it happened. I threw my leg over, was sat on and we moved together. The tears happened almost instantly. Pure, unadulterated joy. When the half hour was up and I'd figured out how to get off of this enormous creature- I cannot stress enough just how large Max is- I stroked his face and thanked him for the most amazing gift. In that half hour, and every subsequent half hour, he has given me a part of life that I'd only ever really dreamed of getting. For months I'd thought that getting back on a horse was just so far off, and yet here I am with my booked in weekly 8am Sunday lessons (I am NOT a morning person, so you can work out for yourself how much this means to me) and loving every moment of the connection and every moment that I can feel my body getting stronger, more capable and increasingly up to the challenge that is horse riding.

I was thinking to myself on my way back from ballet this evening that a couple of weeks ago I would have said ballet and horse riding were my main joys. And they are. I clearly love that damn horse and I love rediscovering the awesome- actually kind of ridiculous- things I can do with my body that made me good at ballet in the first place. I was telling myself that the slog in the gym and running was remedied by the treat of ballet and my time with Max. Until today. I'd had a hell of a yoga class (this hot yoga is like on steroids or something, I have never sweated so much) and left with such a sense of achievement. With every run, I grow stronger and fitter, my endurance and stamina continue to grow and I get to think freely and just be with myself. In the gym I love competing with my own personal best, I love how competent I feel. Everything I do, activity wise, feeds into something else and my enjoyment and achievement of each activity enables a greater commitment to the others. When people say that I must be so proud of all I've achieved over the last 2 and a bit years I comment that it's not just a pride of the achievement. I have such an overwhelming sense of competency, of capability and that is not something I think I can truthfully say I've felt before.

This competency was tested with my latest challenge, rock climbing. To say that I've never been able to climb a rock is an understatement. I was always too afraid to lift my feet even a foot off the ground. But at my induction not only did I get to the top of the wall first time but, according to the instructor, I attacked the challenge with a gusto and a conviction that he had never seen in a first time climber. That is what this journey has given me. I haven't just grown to love activity- really love it this time- I am no longer afraid of the limitations of my body. Instead of automatically thinking I can't, I know that if I try anything with enough conviction it can be done.

There are 99 days left until I do Tough Mudder. One of my managers at work made a comment upon discovering that I was doing it that I must really hate myself to go through such an ordeal. I know that there are countless people out there that see obstacle runs and marathons and triathlons as some kind of punishment that only we masochistic individuals sign up for. Maybe that's true. But what I can tell you for certain is that, for me, completing Tough Mudder will be the culmination of 2 and a half year's hard work. Hard work that has shown me that I can do amazing things, if I only step out of my comfort zone.

An anniversary and an apology

The last few weeks in my life have been pretty awesome. This has not been caused by any one thing in particular but I can say with absolute certainty that I'm the happiest I've been in a good long while. So much so that I completely bypassed my second anniversary with Weight Watchers. It completely slipped past without so much as a howdoyoudo and I think that this is because this has become a part of my life rather than necessarily a conscious presence that walks along side my life. That's not to say that I don't still track and make decisions on a day to day basis that I think will benefit my life, it's just become a part of the furniture.

Whilst this makes me feel confident that I will be able to keep on keeping on- it has also made me a little complacent in recent weeks. I've just been pretty happily maintaining my weight, something that needs to change right now. I'm weighing in at 15 stone 12 currently and that's pretty cool and all but that means I'm one pound away from 8 stone lost and a step in the direction of goal. The focus on getting to goal has sort of just faded to the background. That's not to say that I haven't been engaging in activities that are leading to my betterment, mind, body and soul.  Whilst I am the fittest I have EVER been, I've forgotten to prioritise the ultimate weight loss goal- I need to remember that the two need to go hand in hand. I've become too comfortable so I need to kick it up a notch.

At work we talk about something called the 'stretch zone'. This is your optimum working position. You're not complacent, you're not comfortable but you're not panicking or stressing out. I seem, when it comes to weight loss at least, to very rarely sit in the stretch zone. Either I am comfortably eating mozzarella sticks at 2 in the morning or I'm stressing out over once eating a carb. Either I'm never in the gym and getting out of breath going up stairs or I live in the gym with a perpetual case of fatigue. Clearly, neither of these scenarios are ideal and, as a result of not being able to find this stretch zone I will not be doing the Milton Keynes Marathon next Monday.

This brings me on to the apology part. I feel, and have been feeling for weeks, that I owe you all some kind of an apology. That my failure to run the marathon is letting you down. I worked out weeks ago that the marathon was simply not going to happen. I'd been hit with a case of gastroenteritis when I realised 'crap. The marathon is in just over a month'. Before then I'd damaged my ankle again from overexertion after a bout of under exertion. In short, I failed to manage my marathon training correctly and, as a result, I've fucked up. I beat myself up about it over and over and considered 'just doing it' and sodding the potential damage to my body because I couldn't stand the idea of telling people that I wasn't doing it. That I was letting my charity, myself and anyone who has ever called me inspirational down. But all I can do, all anyone ever CAN do is remember how much I have achieved in the past two years and work to move forward; 'there are only two days that you can do nothing about. Yesterday and some day'. I know I WILL do the marathon, this Monday is simply not my time.

So, in the meantime, I accept my apology- I just hope you do too.

The rule of seven.

So, it's been a month since Jemma left (I can't believe it's been so long) and it's well time for a new blog post. Not just because enough time has gone by but because I actually have some really, very exciting news to share with y'all.

As of last night, ladies and gentlemen, I have lost 7 stone. If the daily mail is anything to go by (...) apparently I have lost Snooki. That's a full, grown up adult woman that has had a child. We'll ignore the fact that, if that's true, she is PAINFULLY underweight. I'm going to revel in that for a little bit. Yesterday was a good day. I woke up with an amazing feeling of optimism that, to be honest, I've been missing for a little while. Maybe it was the restorative day off from work, or it might have been the glorious spring sunshine baring down at me from my window. I did loads of spring cleaning, had an enormous amount of drive to get some course work done and was generally just feeling a heightened sense of wellbeing. I was also aware of the fact that I only needed one pound to tip me over the 7 stone mark. One pound. I was the equivalent of a can of baked beans to my 7 stone goal and with that only 2 lbs, or your average pineapple, away from having lost 100lbs. Triple digits. Crikey.

It was also significant because this was the first weight watchers meeting I've been able to go to since before Christmas. I've been going at it alone because my rota has had me on late nights for the last 9 Wednesdays. So I got dressed in my usual weight watchers uniform (clothing that I'm sure could well have me done for gross indecency), got my card and climbed into the car for the 10 minute drive. And then it hit me. I was actually nervous about going in. I felt like I did when I started. I was an anxious newbie. 'What if they've recycled my membership card because I haven't been in SO LONG?' (They hadn't). 'What if my scales at home are wrong and I've actually gained 10 lbs?' (My scales are fine). 'What if I stay the same and I nearly die of frustration?' This was a very real worry because I had not, by any stretch of the imagination, had a good week. I over ate on Thursday, ate ALL the food on Valentine's day (why is that day not outlawed?) and (sorry boys) it's my time of the month. Combine that with my utter laziness in the last week and none of this is all that conducive towards the best weight loss success. And yet I walked into that room and people did not recognise me. People who have been with me the entire length of my journey. People physically did double takes. My leader even said 'Welcome' to me before realising who I was and gawping at me stunned. {Inner monologue} "Calm down people, I've only lost like 10 lbs since you last saw me". My leader gleefully (finally) handed over my 75 lb certificate before exclaiming to the entire room that she'd better get on the computer and order the 100 toot sweet.

Wait...are you, you know, using a selfie stick?

And so, the moment of reckoning. Step on the scale, the number ticks down and settles on 16 stone 11. I did it. 7 stone. 14 silver sevens. In that moment I flashed back to the first moment I stepped on the scales back in April 2013. I remember looking at the dust settling before me and seeing the enormous challenge I had ahead of me. This time, all I can see ahead of me is potential and the amazing things that this body of mine has accomplished.  In that moment I think I realised that one of the great things holding me back the last few weeks has been fear. I don't think I was even aware of it at the time. I've held back from marathon training (stupidly) because I've been afraid of finishing last,  I've been afraid of not being able to hit my targets and have beaten myself up about it when that then materialised in slow, though consistent, weight loss. I was scared of the life I was going to live without Jemma, but apparently not too scared to sign up for Tough Mudder in August (I don't think the fear for that has had time to develop yet though). I've been afraid of letting life slip by and so haven't stopped to think about all the things I can do now, should do now. That, is what 7 stone means to me.

So, today I woke up on a rainy morning with all of yesterday's enthusiasm still buzzing. I got up, bought some new running socks, ate some sushi and headed to the gym to train with Heather (the new PT- you'll all be glad to know we get along, so I have no intention of dumping her). I had more than one opportunity to over eat today but I didn't. With so much waiting in the coming weeks, I suddenly found myself having no interest. That, I think will be my mantra this week. There are only 2 lbs till 100. Just keep going. And so, to sum up, I've lost 7 stone but have found myself and with every pound gone I get a little bit of the life I can have to keep me motivated, to keep me going. And when that's not enough, I get given stickers...

14 little shiny stickers for me.

Goodbye, I'll miss you.

I've been putting this post off for weeks but the time has come to do it. Before Christmas I'm at my personal training session, complaining about boys (as per usual) when Jemma stops me. 'I have something to tell you'. My head suddenly fills with all the worst case scenarios it can come up with. She's getting married to a Saudi Prince and has to leave immediately. She's developed a rare allergy to sweat and can no longer be a personal trainer. Oh shut up brain.

'I'm moving to Australia'- is what she actually said. Cue emotional and mental breakdown. *You will not cry in the gym...you WILL NOT cry in the gym*.

But Australia's so far away!

So yeah, my absolutely beloved personal trainer- someone who has been such an enormous part of my journey so far- is leaving next week to start the next part of her own journey. I'm torn by feeling proud that she's breaking out and having new experiences and screaming 'but what about me?! I can't believe that you're not going to be here till the end. We were going to start a weight loss empire and become millionaires!' {That is still totally going to happen...}

However hard the idea of being separated from Jemma is to contemplate, I want to focus on the amazing contribution this woman- my pint sized ninja sidekick- has made so far.

Jemma was by no means my first personal trainer. I have a history of unceremoniously dumping my personal trainers. I just kind of disappear, don't reply to texts or calls until they get the picture. Either I've not felt challenged, don't get on with the person or I just haven't been in the right place to take full advantage of the skills they were offering me.

Jemma though, was different. Not only did she appear in my life at exactly the point that we would both be able to benefit from our relationship with each other, she was the first personal trainer I have ever connected with. It started at the very beginning, she complimented my Ted Baker handbag. It was love. She realised early on that I was more capable than I, or anyone, might think and as such I was constantly challenged to do better, be better or just try something new. Through her, I finally learnt what it meant to love activity. I know now what it feels like to be able to say, 'woah, my body can do amazing things. Let's see if it can do X?' She's the reason that I have no doubt that I can do Tough Mudder in August or the Milton Keynes Marathon in May.

Ted Baker. Bringing people together since 2012

Shortly into our time together I went back to Bristol and was sure that I'd be able to continue that trend with other personal trainers. I was wrong and Vanessa and Dave became the next victims of, the now infamous, Hunter dumping. I neither connected with them nor felt challenged by the programs that they set me. They just couldn't put me at ease or felt confident themselves to see what would happen if they gave the 20+ stone girl some heavy weights and see what happened or tease gently when I pull my pouty face that I simply cannot do another rep.

As we worked together more, Jemma ceased to be just my personal trainer. She became my friend. I trust her totally, something summed up last week when I let her give me a piggy back. Think about that for a moment... As someone who hasn't been picked up by another human being in well over a decade, this was a huge moment for me and her. I had to try not to cry as we high fived and she said she was happy to have been the first person to pick me up. We talk about just about anything including failed tinder experiments and an unfortunate crush that may or may not have been had in the first few weeks of my new job. Awks.

Every time we have a session, even if I am hating life or just want my bed, I can honestly say I smile as I tie my laces and head out of the front door. For the first time in my life I am excited to see what can be achieved and working with her has me seriously considering qualifying as a personal trainer myself. I am not exaggerating when I say that she has changed my life for good.

So learning that today is our last session has left me flat out devastated. I nearly cried when we were boxing as I felt the loss rising up inside but I know that this is not the end. We WILL have our empire of fitness videos where y'all can experience the fun and laughter that our sessions bring. I can only say that training with her has been inspirational and an absolute pleasure.

So, there you have it. I had always hoped that she would be there till the end of my journey and she will be- just not as we'd originally planned. So Jemma, and I know you're reading this, I will miss you more than words can say and am so pleased to have had the privilege of having you in my life for the last year and a half. It's been an absolute blast and I hope you have an amazing time in Australia...even if the evil part of my brain is hoping you come home soon.

Goal by next Christmas

Recently in my life I've been thinking a lot about the past. It's, almost certainly, something to do with the time of year. It's around Christmas and New Year that people, or me at least, start to reminisce and  sentimentality is rife. For me this came about in the way of a flash back to me 4 Christmases ago. I'd started to really gain the weight back, after I lost 75lbs last time, and I'd just started a Christmas job- incidentally working for the same company I've come to make a home with this time around. Now, if you'll allow me to paint you a picture, I was squatting down to tidy up thousands of iPad cases after a (charming) teenage girl had apparently had an argument with them all and her victims lay at my feet, and the feet of more than a couple of would be customers. As I was replacing the bright pink belkin click in case I suddenly remembered myself in a not so different position trying not to cry from the agony in my feet as I put pack after pack of christmas cards back on the shelf. After trying to crouch down to do it in a more professional way I gave up and ended up sat on my behind much to the chagrin of some of my colleagues.

I started thinking about how much my life has changed from losing weight. I'm hella strong, I can be on my feet for 8+ hours with barely an ache and I felt no sense of sarcasm today whilst buying my new running watch in preparation for marathon training starting in earnest on Monday. I say without  a hint of sarcasm because in the past whenever I bought exercise gear I always did so with an enormous sense of irony. Lols, the fat girl is buying running shoes. Go home, you're drunk.

And so this got me really thinking. In January this year I wrote a blog about new years resolutions and how I don't make them. I have actually changed my tune but that's coming in a separate blog post in the next week or so. In that post I said that realistically 2014 was never going to be the last year that I was overweight. However, it is very possible that 2015 WILL be the last year I'm overweight. And I have never, ever, been close enough to be able to say that. Of course there is still a lot to do, 85lbs in just over a year is not something to be sniffed at but even if I'm not all the way there being that close can only be a good thing. I worked out last night that the last 11 weeks are the most consistent I have EVER been at losing weight. The most I'd managed before was 5 weeks loss at a time.

So as I come into the new year I'm not anxious about the fact that ultimately little will have changed by the time another year has gone by. This year's the year that everything changes. I honestly truly believe that, but I'm thankful for the last year and a half for even making it possible. I think now about the 11th of September 2014 when I nearly gave up, the day I made myself go to my weight watchers meeting to stop the downward spiral that was taking over. As I go into 2015 I think of all of the optimism and all of the opportunities that will present themselves to me as I continue to change my life. And maybe this time next year I'll be thinking about the things I couldn't do now that I'll be able to do then.

Taking stock of 25%

As a retail professional...ahem, I know the value of 25% off. For example, if you came into my department and saw ONE DAY ONLY, Macs 25% OFF you would probably lose your shit because suddenly a Mac is almost the price of a 'normal' computer...almost. So, you can perhaps imagine how I felt last night as I was checking over my weight loss spreadsheet and noticed, quite to my surprise, that I had lost 25% of my original body weight. That's a quarter of a person gone. More than that, you can (again) imagine my surprise when I realised I had hit said milestone nearly a month ago. That's right, major goal post hit and I never even noticed.

So I figured, now that I have resolved some rather unfortunate computer issues (ironic, I now work in computers no?), that now was the time to really take stock and have a little blogging session whilst I procrastinate over reading about criminal and civil culpability. So here goes:

The last 9 weeks have had me on a high weight loss wise. I'm averaging about a pound and a half a week which is more than okay by me. They recommend a 1-2lb weekly weight loss for healthy, consistent and maintainable weight loss so being slap bang in the middle of that is pretty good. More than that, I had convinced myself that the slowing of my weight loss had just been an inevitable part of the weight loss machine. People start to slow down the more they lose so it was fine that I wasn't even averaging half a pound a week in the (literally) 12 months between September 2013 and September 2014. Something interesting I realised after doing some quick maths the other day (dangerous, I know). In the last 12 weeks I have lost 22.5 lbs. In another 3.5 lbs I will have lost more now than I did in that entire year long period between Sept 2013 and Sept 2014. That has to count for something.

I haven't had a gain in 10 weeks which is doing wonders for my positivity and there is a very real possibility that I will hit 90 lbs lost by Christmas. There's only 2.5 lbs to go and with every pound I move away from that dreaded 75, the more confident I get that I'm not going to get stuck again. As of last night's weight watchers meeting I'm less than a stone away from 100 lbs which is quite frankly unbelievable. I think, somewhere inside, I never thought I'd see triple digits and yet I can practically touch it it's so close now.

Simon Pegg and I, we understand each other.

So let's talk a bit about my current mental/emotional state shall we? I've spent a lot of this journey banging on about how important it is to be in the right head space but I haven't, in all honesty, been practicing what I preach. I've been a bit mean to myself at times really and I have spent so much time in the not so distant past criticising myself for rubbish losses rather than celebrating the fact that my weight is dropping, that is a huge ask for my body and yet every time I push it instead of just crapping out and giving up it tries to stand up to the challenges I have given it.

Yesterday, when I was with Jemma between double whips of the battle ropes I saw the light. I started this journey knowing that there were things I wanted to do when I was at a better weight. Theoretically, by the time I run the Milton Keynes Marathon in May I will no longer weigh too much to get on a horse. I will never again have to worry about the seat belt coming off on a roller coaster again...thank you for that experience theme park that shall remain nameless, I'll be able to take helicopter flying lessons. By this time next year I will, hopefully, be within touching distance of my goal weight and I will never again have to worry about the things I'm limited in doing because of my weight. And that, ultimately is why I'm doing this. I have already reclaimed control of my fears, I feel unstoppable and for the first time, probably ever, I feel like I can see the end of the tunnel. And I couldn't be more pleased.

Fat in Love. Age rating 18.

Dear all.

In today's blog post I am FINALLY going to cover a topic that my friend Rachael mentioned to me oh, about a year ago. However, it's going to be discussed in two parts. First just a discussion about 'fat sex'- not the logistics- and then I'm going to talk about the search for love as a plus sized woman. So hold on to your hats kids, who knows where this is going to go! In fact, the more I've written the more convinced I've become that this carries an age rating 18. You have been warned.

The conversation that ultimately planted the seed of fat fetish, feeders, BBW (big beautiful women), and just fat sex came about from a Channel 4 documentary on 'My Big Fat Fetish'. The show follows the trend, particularly on the internet, for fat based pornography, images of bigger women eating or being fed and the impact on their health and personal relationships. If you have a spare 50 minutes, it's a fascinating insight and I would certainly recommend watching it. After a cursory glance at one prominent erotic literature website I can tell you that there are over 800 stories when I simply keyworded 'fat fetish', when I got even more specific this goes into the thousands. The titles also got increasingly disturbing so proceed with caution should you go on a journey of discovery like myself...ahem. A leading fetish site (I've been all over the internet so you don't have to- unless you want to, in which case 'right on'), again after a cursory keyword search, brings up a total of 1008 fat related fetishes. So basically, what I've learnt is that the umbrella term 'fat fetish' is big BIG business. I've also learnt that women (in particular) will go to extreme lengths to please their customers, including sitting on individuals for a fee and having feeding tubes shoved down their throats in a desperate effort to fit in to the next size bracket. Whilst many of the individuals portrayed on Channel 4 are more than happy with their bodies, the effects can be devastating. One of the guys who got sat on in the documentary complains of breathing issues and the woman he paid to do so is house bound and needs to be cared for entirely by her son. I'm a big believer in different strokes for different folks so I would never EVER dream about telling any of these 'artistes' that they shouldn't be doing what they're doing. These are just my observations from researching this topic.

Charming. Thanks for that Urban Dictionary.

The one thing that I kept thinking was, why is fat pornography different to 'normal person' pornography? The equal rights activist in me is screaming that fat porn stars should be capable of taking part in more of the 'normal' stuff (what IS normal anyway?) rather than having to go to more and more humiliating, degrading activities because that is currently the primary medium in which they can be seen. Again, if people want to be fed whilst sitting on customers then I will defend your rights to the end of the earth, I would just like it to be possible for women (and men, though much less frequently) to not only be pigeon holed into this very particular kind of market that often actively discourages women from changing their lifestyles for the better if they want to- like I said, BIG MONEY!

But going back to the whole 'normal' thing, a second Channel 4 series explains that fat sex, much like sex between disabled people, the elderly and even gay sex is abnormal. Now, I thought that we would be progressive enough to accept, even encourage the above between consenting adults but when watching the show a couple of years ago I couldn't help but take the message that if you're in one of those groups that your sex life deserved a separate show from the people having the 'normal' sex.

So now, let me tell you about the search for love as an overweight person. This is all my own opinion and conjecture and I speak for no one else. I have been told by people I know, people who love me, that the only thing wrong with me is my weight, that if I lost some weight I'd have the boys banging the door down (not a euphemism, mind out of gutter please) and that when I get to my goal weight I will be a quote 'stone cold fox'- I think that's good?!? A question I'm asked frequently is 'when are you going to start dating again?' and the truthful answer, the answer that probably demonstrates key self esteem issues, is that I don't think I'd want anyone who wants me where I am now. I have, in the past, given up on my own dreams (including weight loss) as a result of ex boyfriends which I refuse to let happen again, my body is (hopefully) changing consistently so what someone's attracted to now will hopefully not be that way within a number of weeks and, in part, because of the way that fat love/sex is portrayed in the media I question people's motives for demonstrating interest in me. In addition, the kinds of guys I'm interested in can only be said to be currently 'out of my league'. Exhibit A:

He's just so beautiful.

Personally, I have never been attracted to a plus sized guy-that may be wrong of me but it's in the biology and there's naught any of us can do about who we're attracted to, or not as the case may be. That being said, even when I do get a demonstration of some interest I refuse to believe that this could ever be genuine and brush it off as someone messing with my head. And here's the rub. Will that ever go away? Will I EVER, even at my goal weight, marathon runner fit, think that someone could be genuinely interested or will I continue to turn down drinks, roll my eyes or just leave the room to avoid the situation even if it is the scorchingly beautiful brooding man currently staring at me from my computer screen. If it does, I'm definitely going to need more cats...

When in doubt, count it out.

First, let me start by congratulating myself. After months of only managing to get to a lowest weight of 18 stone 5lbs I have finally broken through my weight loss plateau. I have now lost 77.5 lbs, that's 5 stone 7.5 lbs or 11 silver sevens gone. I want to quickly talk about how I have done this because plateaus, I feel, are the single biggest cause of giving up at weight loss. It makes sense doesn't it? You work effectively for weeks, months even, and then suddenly- zilch, nada, not an ounce. Try as you may, nothing happens. You get dragged into a 'diet', you start taking questionable weight loss tablets and when that doesn't help, bad habits start to sneak back in to your day to day life.

Pretty big plateau that.

So, after one too many nights of complaining to my parents and crying about how exhausting it is to have been losing weight for a year and a half but to not have moved in that last half, I did what I perhaps should have done all those months ago. I took to the internet, that font of knowledge, and typed in 'weight loss plateau'. And without fail, every single page asked 'are you eating enough?' Simple answer, as I said in my last post, was no. No I wasn't. Or when I was, I was eating too much. Basically, despite the fact that some very clever people designed the weight watchers ProPoints system with a precise daily allowance, I was ignoring that advice because, I knew better.

I've now been back to basics, actually eating my daily allowance- like I did in the beginning-for three weeks and after an initial week of stabilizing where I gained half a pound, I have lost 4lbs. Last week I was back at the lowest I'd ever been, this week I am now two pounds lighter. So this is the lowest weight I have been in, conservative estimate, 10 years? I now feel so much more in control and, for the first time ever, I can actually see the weight coming off as it happens. I'm stronger, and fitter, than I've ever been (I'm running the Milton Keynes Marathon in May), I finally fit into the dress options I bought for my brother's wedding in July and today as I was sorting my way through clothes that were too big, the first new look dress I bought all those months ago had to go because it just doesn't fit any more. I think, until I beat the plateau monster, I was reticent to get rid of my over sized clothes because I didn't really believe I wouldn't need them again. As a general update, I will be taking 4 more rubbish bags to the charity shop tomorrow and other than clothes for work, my closet is almost empty...I get to go shopping. YES!

An empty closet is a sad closet.

But perhaps, the best thing that has come out of the whole plateau thing is that I now know I CAN come out of it. That my body hasn't just decided, nope, sorry I'm going to stay at 18.5 forever and ever- you'll just have to get used to this weight as your baseline. So I'm definitely not done yet. Better than that, I now have the facility to help others. Before hand I could share my experiences and make people feel like they were not alone. That we're all in this together and that with the right positive mental attitude, we can achieve anything. Now, I can sit in a weight watchers meeting and not just share 'this week I lost X', 'this week I really struggled' or similar; I can tell the new members from experience that to lose weight, as counterproductive as it might seem, you need to eat and I was lucky to have one lady tell me that until last week she was at the end of her tether and then I said plainly, eat your points.

Go Wildcats!

The system works, it can just be difficult to trust in it. But you CAN trust in your comrades and colleagues because you have shared in their experiences. So, as long as I remember my old mantra 'when in doubt, count it out' -useful for everything from knitting to weight loss and beyond- I should manage to maintain this consistent weight loss. Let's do it to it!