I did the same thing yesterday. And the day before. Two coffees (no fat milk of course) before a light, 1:30ish lunch.
I also haven’t eaten dinner yet this week. Oh, and no snacks. Except for yesterday when I crunched through a Batlow Apple at about 3.30.
It’s just that I am so super busy with my new job (new job related post to come) that I haven’t had time to think about food.
Hmm, what an ever-so-noble excuse that would be.
The truth though, is that I am completely incapable of finding a balance between fat-sticks and extreme diet and exercise.
And, you know what? It really gives me the shits.
Between mid-February and mid-June this year I lost about 5kg. More than that, I lost a hugely impressive amount of body fat and equally remarkable number of cms off all the relevant ‘problem’ areas. These claims are by my standards and you don’t know how high or low those standards are so don’t judge.
So, anyway, that was really awesome. Except for the process. That wasn’t awesome. That was shit. I was at the gym two hours a day, six days a week. I drank awful ‘meal replacement’ milkshakes which wouldn’t satisfy a Kate Moss-sized hunger for lunch most days, snacked on fruit when I couldn’t bare the tummy grumble and slurped soup for dinner, if I allowed myself the luxury.
I think that’s basically anorexia…without the results.
The three to four months which followed included summer holidays (no gym, new flavours - yum, yum, yum), a bunch of farewell drinks/dinners in pub-friendly London, a whole lot of on-the-way-home travel and a heap of homecoming celebrations comprising more drinks, more dinners and still no gym.
I haven’t dared weigh myself but my clothes tell the story.
FUCK MAN. I have to start all over again.
But the real problem lies right here…
I am fit.
I am healthy.
I am not fat.
If someone my size whinged to me about being a fatty boom ba, I would kick them in the face. Untrue, I grant you. But gee, I would tell them they needed a good kick in the face with gusto.
But while I can tell myself, and my blog, that I am not fat, I still feel fat and I can’t shake it.
So, I’m perennially hungry all over again. I am back at the gym which will rule my life soon enough. And I have already put huge restrictions on my alcohol intake which means the anti-social (or at least significantly less social) version of me is on her way back.
Yep, I hear you. Everything in moderation. I totally support this mantra but it honestly doesn’t shift a gram for me. I also know skipping breakfast is a huge no-no but starting my metabolism at 7am lures me towards snacking right through until lunch. Appetite-suppressing coffee is my new snack. The jitters, my new state.
And the best part? I'll lose 5kgs and swiftly find something else I hate and need to fix. FRICK.
Is this my life? Will the gym always be my second home? Will I forever be hating something that’s too big, too soft, too cellulitey (it’s my blog and I will make up words)?
Or is there a magic age where I will stop placing so much importance on my size or, probably more significantly, shape?
I hope so. And if there is, I really hope it’s 29.
PS: I wrote this last Wednesday. I guess I was too weak to post it. Breakfast is now back on my agenda. I feel better. Still fat :)