In a new weekly feature, Her.ie newbie Liz is going to share her weight loss journey. She’ll be filling you in on fighting temptation, her willpower struggles with the cocktail menu and taking painfully slow steps towards regular exercise. All in the name of a dress.
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Hanging on the wall at the end of my bed is the constant reminder I plan on shedding nearly two stone this year. I also plan on marking the trials and tribulations of ‘trying to be good’ – the favourite saying we all tout, and quickly replace when a cake is put in front of us.
Week five: Tired from exercise. Not excuses.
Something amazing happened this week. I ran. I ran for two whole kilometres. For all those seasoned runners who are smugly congratulating yourselves, I really don’t care. This is HUGE. I ran, and it didn’t involve chasing a bus or being bent over rooting for my inhaler.
I mentally high fived myself when I realised that little achievement and even though I hobbled for the next day or two, I felt something kick-start in me this week. So I went out again. This time I had to stop mid-run and work out why people were staring. Note to self – do NOT sing along to your music when jogging. People will stare. You will look crazy.
This little burst of exercise came after psyching myself up following last week’s disappointment. I was determined to see a real drop on the scales – one that wouldn’t be questionable over whether I should take the keys out of my pocket for effect. I had to get in the zone.
So now that I was an Olympian, I needed to eat like one. I seriously doubt athletes live on a diet of sandwiches and pasta. So I did a food shop. Here’s something no-one warns you. Eating well – eating lean proteins and fresh fruit and vegetables – can be expensive. The upside? They’re a million times more nutritious than anything found in a packet and if you add the right cheese (ok, so it may be a slight addiction), well the chances are it’s going to taste better than anything made in a microwave.
So with this started my Neeson week (a.k.a taking no prisoners). I knew that BD (before dress), last week would have stumped me. I would have felt defeated. Here’s the thing though. I was being ridiculously hard on myself. Like we all can be at times. I refused to acknowledge the achievement I’d made and after a few days behind me, and allowing for some valuable hindsight to kick in, a half a pound was still a loss. It was time to stop throwing myself the pity party (‘cause seriously, who wants to hang out with that girl) and get my rather sizeable ass in gear.
So my challenge this week was to get a bit of exercise every day. It didn’t have to be marathon running, or Olympic swimming, but I had to do it for an hour and I had to feel the effects of it. I’m not about to wax lyrical about how amazing it felt. It hurt, and there were times I wanted to watch another episode of Sex and the City, but the annoying thing about hanging a dress on your wall means you have to walk past it if you’re moving to the kitchen to get another bowl of cereal. So I’d pull on my runners and toddle out the gates. I looked like a shiny tomato for half the week, but I’m sure even the duckling took some unattractive growth spurts to turn into a swan.
After my 2K victory (yes, victory, don’t even think about taking that away from me), I wanted to mount my own steps Rocky style and punch the air in glory. I instead decided to start the ‘jeans jar’. For every pound I lose, I’m throwing a euro in the jar.
Way I see it, if this mission goes to plan and I really do pull it off, I’m going to need a great new pair of jeans that I deserve to own. They’re going to be skinny, and fit perfectly, and there won’t be an elasticised waist or leg in sight. After The Dress slips on, I plan on slipping into a pair of size 10 jeans that are totally impractical for everyday use. They will be my ‘going out jeans’ and they will be fabulous. Please feel free to send me suggestions of the best jeans to get – at the moment my choices tend to revolve around whatever wiggles up past my thigh.
This fund also means I’m not going to treat myself with chocolate if I lose weight, ‘cause let’s just face facts – it’s the most impractical way to shift those inches. It’s like only tanning the body parts on show, and then explaining to a guy the next morning why your legs resemble a dimpled chicken while your arms have been living the life in Bermuda. I now feel if I turn up to my weight watchers leader with a gain, I’ll be explaining how I ate right, did exercise and then ate the corner shop out of their Cadbury’s collection. No half-assing it anymore.
So, was I all talk and no action? I lined up with the rest of my fellow ladies to weight in, gave Mary a wave (she’s always an early bird and told me she gets in early to get her favourite chair) and did the routine removal of the jumper and shoes. I’m not the most religious of people, but I do believe in something, and man, woman or whatever is in that big sky, I was looking for a sign that this was going to happen. That I wasn’t just holding on to a notion that I could slim down.
I was called up to the weighing scales and felt nervous. Like really nervous. The nerves you feel before your first confession, where you think the priest is going to recoil in horror when you admit you pinched your sister under the dinner table ‘cause she got the chicken leg.
I handed over my card, took a deep breath and stepped up to the plate (well the scales). Then it flashed up on my screen and the week’s frustration, the teary moments, the deprivation of my favourite chocolate treats were all wiped clean from my slate. I was down three and a half pounds.
Three and a half pounds. A half pound looks a lot better when there’s a three in front of it.
After a congratulations from my leader, I rushed over to Mary who opened her arms and gave me a hug. The kind of motherly hug that makes you realise she’s never lost the knack of being an Irish Mammy. I was back on track for my July deadline, and I was over half a stone down in four weeks.
This week I Neeson’ed it. And I totally put it down to some kind words of encouragement.
I’m now one dress size down. I think I’d be more excited if Easter wasn’t around the corner. This will be interesting…
This week’s stats go a little something like this –
Height: 5ft 8
Starting Weight: 174 lbs
Current Weight: 164.5 lbs
Weight Loss To Date: 10 lb (One dress size down!)
Goal: 148 lbs
Feeling: Determined to stay on track
The Dress in Question:
Photo via Zara
