Eighteen months ago I began the process of trying to understand my body and why it seemed to be a complete bastard to me everytime I wanted to change it. I slowly came to understand that I turn to food whenever I am trying to not feel something. Food has been a comfort blanket protecting me from the world, and I found that removing it was actually the thing I needed to do to free myself of any fear that I had attached to losing it. And then I learned how to feel the feelings instead of eating my way around them. And I lost twenty kilos. For the first time in my life I was healthy without the horrible feeling of deprivation.
I wore a size 14 dress on my wedding day. I felt like wonder woman. I felt beautiful.
And then the Life Wedgie: my little NHS adventure, followed by a stint in The Hole, and then the relief of leaving the shitawfulness; all in less than a year. I stopped noticing what I was eating, and while between contracts I gave myself a free pass. I was happy to be cooking and baking and enjoying the full sensory experience of taste without limits or rules.
Its seems that the only thing harder than losing thirty kilos, is losing the last 10 and then maintaining the whole lot.
I spent the first two weeks of new job avoiding the fabulous on-site cafe from 2-4pm when the ginger and walnut cake would actually sing to me. And then a couple of colleagues mentioned weight watchers, and I just said ‘yes count me in!’ and now its been a month and I have lost 5 kilos.
Its a bit culty: the ritualistic weigh-in and the patronising annoying jargon leaves me a little naseous, but I like the science behind it and the fact that its a lifelong approach: nothing is off limits. And the weirdness is that I am actually enjoying it. There is a cool little app, a squllion on-line recipes and two on-site cheerleaders. I am planning out recipes days in advance, we are eating a very small garden’s worth of vege in a week, I have a fruit bowl on my desk. I have more energy. I feel happier.
So yeah. Back on the horse.