Weight(y) Matters

Hi. I have lost weight. I am aware of this as it is my body that has diminished in size and I do spend the vast majority of my time inside my body. There really is no need to point this out, certainly not in the way that I have encountered in the recent weeks, maybe even months.

I used to be fat. I wasn’t always fat. I have been various different sizes during my nearly 35 years walking this lovely earth. I have been a “normal size”. Then I was overweight. Then I was skinny. Then overweight, then small again, then slowly getting fatter until I decided to do something about it.  Now I am no longer fat. Regardless of my weight or size, there have always been people who seem to think it appropriate to comment on it. These are mostly people meaning well or people who may not realise the impact of their flippant comments but can I please just address one and all of you when I say there is no need for you to comment on weight lost or gained. To anyone.

Granted, my weight loss right now is noticeable. Shedding 30% of your body weight tends to show. I am pleased and proud of myself for the hard work that I put in and that paid off but listening to comments about my weight is never something I want to be subjected to. Nobody should be. You may mean well by exclaiming “Wow, you’ve gone to nothing!”. I am aware. The pounds didn’t magically vanish overnight and I am not in a state of shock trying to figure out why my trousers won’t stay on me all of a sudden. Step aside, Captain Obvious, I’ve got this.

When I first started losing weight, all the comments on my appearance were positive. As I continued to lose weight, the tone changed.

“Ooh, don’t you think you’re losing too much?”

“Have you stopped eating altogether?”

“Turn sideways and we won’t be able to see you!”

“Be careful now, you don’t want to overdo it”

“Are you sure you’re not ill?”

That last one really baffles me. Really. What if I was ill? How would you feel if I turned around and told you I was seriously ill and that was why I had lost weight? Bet you’d think twice about blurting out the first thing that crosses your mind. Sometimes I think that is said only in search of juicy gossip but then that’s awfully cynical of me, isn’t it?

To the commenters exclaiming that I “must’ve stopped eating” , let me assure you, that is not only physically impossible, going against every survival instinct years or evolution has hammered into you, also something I would never be able to do because I love food. Maybe you’ve never seen me destroy a three course dinner but rest assured, if you’ve seen me eat, you know what the likelihood of me ever letting go of that pleasure good food gives me is.

I mentioned this on Twitter this morning and discovered these seemingly well meaning people are everywhere. No matter what the person’s size, there’s always someone out there to pass comment on it. And make assumptions. If you’re fat, you’re lazy, eat badly and sit on your arse all day. And apparently it’s ok to point this out. If you’re slim, you’re unhealthy, don’t eat and are about to collapse from exhaustion. Apparently it’s okay to point this out, too.

I feel amazing. I have more energy, I love the way I look and I can run a decent distance without wheezing my lungs out. To achieve this, I eat so I don’t pass out while exercising. It really is that simple. On the days I don’t exercise (and this may shock some people) I also eat because that’s what you need to do in order to stay alive. The fact that you don’t see me eat doesn’t mean I don’t do it. There are a lot of things I do that you can’t see. For example, I shower every day. You don’t see me do it, yet I do it and nobody has questioned my personal hygiene habits purely on the basis of the lack of visual proof.

What annoys me is the assumption these people make that it is perfectly acceptable to pass a comment on someone’s weight or appearance. Not everyone welcomes it, no matter how positively you mean it. I daresay most people would feel awkward having someone you don’t even know that well making a comment about how you look. I, for one am touchy enough when it’s coming from someone I love. Just don’t say it unless the person you’re talking to has explicitly asked you to comment on their weight. Even then it may be best to avoid commenting altogether. Weight is a touchy subject.

Even if it is “just words”, you are invading my personal space with your comments and opinions. Just like a touch, when unwanted, it is uncomfortable. I work with people, a lot of people. I can meet and chat to hundreds every day. Not one has passed an unwanted comment. It’s the ones who know me superficially who seem most keen to point out there’s less of me than there was a few years ago. Again; I am aware. There has been a few leery ones. The really uncomfortable ones where a man (yes, always a man. I’m only stating a fact, not hating everyone with a penis) decides he needs to inform me that due to my weight loss I am now more or less attractive to him than I was before. Yeah. I really don’t want to know. I really, really don’t need to know that you may spend a moment thinking about me in a way that is in no way related to what I do for a living. I’m not saying I don’t do that about people I meet but at least I have the common sense to keep these thoughts to myself.

Now, if you find yourself just itching to pass a comment on someone’s appearance, here’s a few you can try instead:

                “You look great”

                “ I like your top/jeans/shoes/hair/scarf/eyes etc..”

                “What a lovely smile”

                “You look happy”

If talking to someone you’re not all that particularly fond of, add sarcastic tone to the statements above and you’re good to go.

Getting There

Let's talk about exercise for a while, shall we? Yes, really. Exercise and being healthy, to be more exact. I know, if we were to rewind back in time to about 2 years ago, even I would be laughing. Yes, me talking about exercise and healthy(ish) living.

I posted this photo on Twitter and Facebook recently. Just shows you where it started and where I am now. Actually, I may be a tiny bit further than the "after" photo since it's six months old now but you get the idea. On the left, I'm singing at my brother's wedding in September 2012. On the right, I'm posing for a mirror selfie at home in March 2014.

So, what happened in between? I wish I could tell you. If I had a simple answer, something that set it all in motion, I'd bloody bottle it and make my millions faster than you can say "Run, fat bitch, run!". Something did click in my head, though. Some people might put it down to the fact that I turned 30 in 2011 and all that but I'd like to think that had only a little to do with it.

Anyway, that winter I made the most of my free time. I walked. Just walked because it didn't require anything more than the runners I already had and the comfy trackie bottoms I was wearing to arse about the house in. I also took full advantage of the miles of car-free paths at work. I can tell you there's nothing more frightening than walking down a country road around here when you know around the next corner there could well be a predatory car hurtling towards you, its next victim. In short; roads here are narrow and people drive like lunatics.

Food-wise I really got into 5:2 diet.5 days of eating normally, 2 days of restricting your calorie intake to 500kcal per day. Worked for me, since there were days at work when I'd only eat very little if anything at all and eat only once I got home. On the fasting days I never felt hungry, the day after I only ever felt lovely and light and full of energy. I must say I've talked to people who've had terrible experiences with the same diet so I am only speaking for myself when I say it actually works. It made me take a good look at my relationship with food and actually minding what I put into my body. Saying that, I still eat rubbish. Just in moderation.

Back to exercise. I never liked exercise unless it was for a purpose. I didn't see being healthy and fitter as a purpose until now. What started as walking soon progressed into jogging and running. And to my surprise I actually loved it! I loved the feeling of setting off on my lap knowing that with the music in my earphones and the steady beat of my feet on the road would help me clear my head of whatever might be floating about in there. It didn't always feel great, there were days when I would've rather been just about anywhere else but the knowledge of that floaty, happy, endorphin-induced bliss at the end of it was enough to keep me going.

There's one particular run I remember vividly and it's that one I conjure up in my head when I need motivation. It was a perfect setting. February this year, dusk. I was on the last quarter of my lap, I had just cleared the small incline and was on the terrace of a Victorian castle. The castle to my left, to my right a lake, its surface like a mirror. Beyond the lake mountains growing darker as the sun was setting. In front of me a wooded path and beyond that more mountains. Biffy Clyro's 'Biblical' was blasting through the earphones. I had found my stride.In that moment, I'm fairly certain I could've ran all the way home.


So, that's where I was and that's where I need to get to again. Sadly my joints have aged with me and my poor battered knee has decided to remind me that what happened when I was good 15 years younger than I am now, will come back and bite you if you don't look after yourself. Patellar dislocation or a wandering kneecap, as he's also known, has me off running and jogging for a while. So I'm walking. Walking and wishing I was running instead. Hopefully in another six months I'll be able to tell you I'm back on first name terms with my stride, but for now I'll remind myself that I was there once, I'll get there again. In time.

Fat Cats

No, not talking about greedy bankers or crooked politicians, although I’d have plenty to say about those as well. I’m talking about actual, fat cats. Overweight felines. Namely my own two specimens, Lily and Tom. I have decided to put the two of them on a diet.

They really do have an easy life. Lily gets up around 6.30, jumps off her radiator bed and jogs into our bedroom. She then jumps onto the bed, walks over Mr S and lands on my stomach with just enough force to wake me up. There was a time when I didn’t always wake up to this. It was some time ago now and Lily weighed a lot less. Tom usually sleeps in the bed with us, at the foot of the bed, unmoving no matter how much Mr S and I may toss and turn at night. Tom’s bulk helps him stay anchored to his chosen spot all night long. Quite an impressive bulk, I might add, at least for a cat. Or a small child.

So, before Tom and Lily head down the route taken by my cousin’s cat whose belly dragged the floor on the rare occasions he decided to walk anywhere rather than being carried around by my well-meaning aunt, I have put them on a diet. They’re not seeing the benefits of this and are quite disgusted at this recent development. Their bowl has always been full of kibble, Mr S and I filling it to the brim whenever we left the house just to make sure the little furballs wouldn’t go hungry. How could they?! They sleep all day and most of the night, too. When I come home from work I’m met by two cats stretching in the kitchen looking like I do first thing in the morning, blinking at the bright daylight and looking vaguely displeased at having to be awake in the first place. Usually there are two, still warm, cat-shaped indentations on our bed.

We have started giving Tom and Lily food only once a day. In the evenings, around 7pm. You’d think they’d wolf down whatever was put in front of them, especially there not being anything else available to them all day long. Wrong. They sniff the food, take a bite and then wander off. Snobby eaters. I gave them some leftover ham the last day. Tom played with his piece for a while, Lily pushed hers around the kitchen until she found a suitable spot for it and then walked away. Tom stared at his piece, seemingly trying to will it to move to make the hunt a bit more interesting and failing to do so, returned to his spot on the couch and went back to sleep.

Mr S has two cats at his hotel. He said he gave them a tin of cat food each the last night. The food was gone in a flash, the cats’ heads firmly inside the tins until every scrap of food was definitely gone. Then Rocky and Molly returned to their normal activities, hunting mice and birds around the hotel and occasionally sneaking inside and stretching in front of the fire.

I feel responsible for my pets’ wellbeing and obesity is a big problem. Tom already has had kidney stones of whatever the feline equivalent is called, and the vet told us in no uncertain terms that they were likely to reoccur unless he lost some weight. Lily used to be quite a svelte cat. Now, when she sits up in a certain way, she looks like a white penguin. I’m sure I will find a protest-poo somewhere surprising quite soon. I’m also preparing to be ignored in a way only cats cab master. You’ve never felt as small and insignificant until you’ve been ignored by a cat. Trust me.

But it is for their own good. 

Back In To The Swing

I returned to work yesterday. Saying it was painful would be an understatement of this soon to be over decade. I had an incredible ten days off over Christmas due to bad weather and what not. I think it's safe to say that of those ten days, eight were spent on the couch watching DVDs and steadily increasing the circumference of my arse. I spent all of my first working day on my feet and my god did I feel it!

When I got home my feet and legs were aching, my back was in bits and I generally felt that if I was a horse of any kind I would be kindly led out the back and put out of my misery. The positive here was the fact that our water was finally fixed and back to normal. In other words, our landlord had finally pulled his finger out and sorted it properly. He had "fixed it" the day before to an extent where we had cold water in the kitchen and nothing else anywhere in the house. He deemed this to be enough before he took off to a funeral (=drinking session in the pub).

Being in such pain after only a days' work in more than a little worrying. I think I really need to get my ass into gear and get fitter. Because I'm getting old. And the older you get, the harder it gets. I always found losing weight and getting fit quite easy once I actually got down to doing it. Finding the motivation to do it is that much harder. Maybe I'll paste fatty pictures onto the fridge. It doesn't help that my brother and his fiance sent proper Finnish chocolate and sweets alongside lovely homemade scarves for both myself and Mr S. Maybe we'll just eat the treats in one fell swoop and be done with it.

Anyhoo, work was busy, seemingly there are a lot of people who are coming out of their cabin fever state of mind and are only delighted to get out of their houses. I'm facing into another day of this today. Right now, actually. Better get going.

Vol. 318

I have decided to join a gym. Scary thing is, I actually want to join. There is no scary gym-man the size of an average wardrobe behind me forcing me to do this. I have picked one 30min drive away because it seems really nice, is open until late and doesn't allow children in after 7pm. Now to figure out how to ask whether or not they think I'll be the fattest person there. Le sigh

I don't like broccoli...

...which stands greatly in the way of my pursuit for Better Life (vol. 317). And it's not just broccoli, it's majority of vegetables I don't like. I remember being insanely jealous of a vegetarian friend of mine in college, who managed an entire week's food shop for roughly around 10 or 15 euro. That left a hell of a lot of money to spend on drink and cigarettes. What was I thinking buying all that minced beef and ham for my sandwiches!? Well, I was thinking that I don't like vegetable so I'll just buy some processed crap instead, spend a lot more money on than my veggie loving friend and spend last four days of each month eating nothing but pasta with a drop of ketchup mixed in.

I would love to eat healthy. I know I probably should start now rather than five years down the line. But I don't like healthy food. If it really is so good for us, how come it doesn't taste better. Surely it is some kind of an evolutionary fuck up that the things that are good for our bodies, things that supposedly fight of diseases and generally make us live longer, aren't the things we crave in the wee hours after a hefty drinking sessions when our poor abused bodies are most in need of a health boost. Why don't the late night revellers flock to a steamed vegetable van instead of the one that sells deep fried meat from an undetermined animal source?

I'm sure broccoli would taste alright if you deep fried it, covered it in ketchup and stuffed it inside a burger bun. Our old head chef used to make me taste vegetables as a part of his little twisted ways to figure out whether or not your taste buds actually changed every 5 years or so. Problem was, he drowned the offending articles (in this case broccoli and it's nerdy little albino cousin, the cauliflower) in so much melted butter, the only thing I could taste was an impending arterial blockage.

With all this "food science" around, surely the boffins and Green Isle could manage to make the vegetable taste better. If they can make a deep fried potato shaving taste like a perennial 1970's dinner party starter or better yet, bacon, there must be a way to make lettuce taste like chips.

My sister-in-law has a talent for that, should she ever wish to give up her career as corporate banker, she could quite easily make a living showing notorious veggie-dodgers such as yours truly how to cook them in a way that makes them taste of things other than fertiliser. One of her famous successes must be The Aubergine. I never liked the look of them, all strange, shiny and purple like an alien egg. She slices them up, puts some red pepper slices and Parmesan on top and bakes them in the oven until crispy. My mouth is watering, yet we're talking about two types of vegetable and some cheese. Maybe it is the cheese. Everything is made better by the presence of cheese. Maybe the Americans have got it right after all. Would you like some cheese with that?