Holiday Weight

Woohoo! 2017! New Year, new me!! No more self-deprecating, cynical attempts at humour disguising my insecurities – make way for the tea cleanses, horoscopes and uplifting quotes on my social media!!!

15940659_1351275474894054_8634841430164323154_nIf only. Instead, I’m the same me that updated her blog a couple of weeks ago, except I’m now not only struggling beneath the crushing weight of January blues and the anxiety-inducing 21st birthday that is racing towards me with the precious gift of constantly feeling like I haven’t achieved enough for my age under its arm, but also the 4 fucking pounds of holiday weight I gained this Christmas.

I know ‘it’s Christmas,’ as everyone adopts as their temporary mantra as they pour another drink, crack open another box of Celebrations or tuck into a seventh cocktail sausage, but is that really an excuse? Other than the standard feast that is expected of your Christmas dinner, why else is there any need to eat badly? Is it the need to uphold festive tradition that makes me shovel food into my mouth? Peer pressure, perhaps? Or maybe I couldn’t bare to see food go to waste; there’s so many people who aren’t as fortunate as us, after all.

No. It’s because I’m a fat fuck, and I fucking love to eat. I will take any opportunity to eat with both hands, push that opportunity into my mouth, swallow it without chewing, and suck the residue of that opportunity from each and everyone of my fingers. I don’t wait before everyone has their plate before I start eating, and I’d break my brother’s legs to get the last of my mum’s homemade Yorkshire puds.

So I overate, is what I’m getting at here. I gained 4 pounds in the last three weeks from eating too much, and it’s nobody’s fault but my own.

Am I down about it? Absolutely not. Why? Well, because all it takes is a little hard work and willpower and I’ll be back on track, of course. That, and if I add weight loss stress to the fact that 2010 was officially seven fucking years ago instead of just two like I have thought it to be since 2012, I might just have a nervous breakdown. So, onward and upwards. We are on chapter one of twelve, so there’s still plenty of time to get the protagonist of this particular story on the straight and narrow.

15747762_1332209653467303_2769815220104261892_nNow, a show of hands: who here has a New Year’s resolution?

I hate New Year’s resolutions. I’ve always felt that if there’s something you really want to change about your life, you shouldn’t need to wait for a brand new year to roll around before you do it. That, who needs another opportunity to be a disappointment when you inevitably fail at whatever it was that you were vowing to do? Not this chick, that’s for sure.

So my attempt at restarting and succeeding in my weight loss journey is not a New Year’s resolution. It just happens to be something I’m doing at the beginning of the New Year.

I’ve been at this for over six months now, so really my progress has been quite slow. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not as motivating when the progress pictures don’t look much different and my clothes are still just as tight. As long as I keep going, even slow progress is still progress.

15781041_1335803696441232_2583150422447160416_nWhat will I be doing differently this year in order to keep making progress? Well, I’m going to slowly but (almost) surely be weening myself off of my ‘treat day’, which is another name for ‘day when I shove literally anything within a mile radius that contains even a minute amount of chocolate into my mouth,’ as, somehow, I don’t feel like it’s helping me form the best relationship with food. I’ve taken up jogging, and I use Strava to track my journey and duration of every jog. Right now, I’m working towards a ten-minute mile, which I think is a pretty decent goal considering I’m quite far away from that at the moment. Other than that, it’s all about staying hydrated, eating clean and trying to keep myself motivated, even when the cold January weather begs me to go to just stay inside and have a hot chocolate.

In other news, I’m currently on the pursuit to find out whether or not I have polycystic ovary syndrome, or PCOS for short. PCOS is a super common condition that effects 1 in 5 women, and it means you have these harmless little follicles on your ovaries, that are actually undeveloped sacs where eggs normally grow. With PCOS, women often don’t ovulate (release an egg), meaning it’s often hard for them to fall pregnant. Got you all good and grossed out with that little science lesson you weren’t expecting? Good, now you feel literally a sliver of how gross feel when I have six week long periods and have to shave my face every 2 to 3 days.

Yeah, on top of irregular periods and excessive hair growth, weight gain is also a symptom of PCOS, and having the condition happens to make it particularly difficult to lose weight. So, of course, it would be just my luck to be diagnosed with such a condition when I’m embarking on my weight loss journey.

Either way, I won’t know for at least another doctor’s appointment or two, so for now, it’s business as usual. Hopefully I’ll find out that my irregular periods are just bad luck and my hairy face is just inherited from my mum or something, but if it turns out I do have PCOS, then I’ll just have to work extra hard to shift this weight.

Last Saturday, I weighed myself and discovered I’d gained 4lbs over Christmas. This morning, I got weighed and was delighted to find that I’d lost 2lbs, putting me just 2lbs away from where I was before my indulgent Chrimbo. We’re headed back in the right direction! What a relief. It will be even more of a relief to finally lose 3 fucking stone, so I’ll be pushing for it over these next few weeks. Watch this space.

Until next week, happy new year and thanks for reading!