November 2009 – progress so far

39 and counting

By Vicki McLeod

 

This diet lark isn’t as easy as it looks you know – eat less exercise more, I thought, can’t be that tricky.

 

Having publicly declared I’m on a mission to not be the ‘fat chica in the pictures’ by the time I turn 40 it seemed like a good idea to start with roping in the support of Margaret Whittaker OBE (the founder and chairman of Slimming World, and the owner of Mood Beach restaurant). There’s nothing that Margaret doesn’t know about nutrition, weightloss, and slimming psyschology. So over a large café con leche for me (‘Darling, you’re going to have to stop drinking those – it’s all the hidden fats you know’) and a cup of tea for her (with leche desnatada) she explained the principles of Slimming World. I used to know about healthy eating, somewhere in the dim recesses of my memory, I’d just not actually put them into action in a very long time. So it’s low fat, low sugar, and plates groaning with veg all the way.

 

It’s got to be said though that diet friendly food in Spanish supermarkets is a bit thin on the ground. You can’t even rely on old faithful, low fat cottage cheese, being on the shelves. And what’s happened to yoghurt since I last looked? I know that Quark is a good option instead of adding creamy things into sauces, but it took me two weeks to realise that there were two different types of Quark – 20% fat, and 2% fat. Bet you can guess which one was in my basket. Doh.

 

So in hindsight it shouldn’t have been a surprise that in the first official ‘on a diet’ week, I only lost a lb, but it was quite disheartening. Back to the drawing board to figure out where I was going wrong. One of the culprits was staring me straight in the eye, my lovely (ex pro chef) husband admitted that the low fat cooking spray I had (designed so that you can grease a pan without having to use loads of oil) was ‘great stuff if you pour half a bottle in the pan’, and the other big one, oddly, was my job – many sedentary hours spent in front of a PC interspersed with regular attendance at parties and openings of envelopes where cava flows freely. With those two revelations established it’s got a bit easier (plus a quiet word with the wine and chocolate-loving devil who turns up on my shoulder waving Cadbury Twirls and glasses of cool vino Rosado when I am either tired, or bored) and I’m on my way.

12 lbs down. Only 36 to go. Gulp.

39 and counting by Vicki McLeod

 

Tick tock.

I can’t remember ever having been what you would call comfortable in front of a camera.

Like many other people, I’m not being happy with what I look like; I have a well-honed line in self-deprecating humour – get in first with the put downs before someone else can, that’s the big girl’s way. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, we all know that, but if you don’t like what you see, then you either have to learn to live with it, or you change it.

I would criticise myself in private, but not actually do anything about how I was feeling until recently when the penny dropped. The crunch point came this summer when my little girl enquired politely if perhaps by any chance Mummy might be coming to the beach with her this time, Purrrlease? I hate going to the beach, not because it’s the beach, but because of what you have to wear when you’re there. Swimwear, I hate it. Unforgiving, evil, tight fitting non-clothes, bring back bloomers that’s what I say: plenty of fabric to hide chunky thighs and wobbly tummies behind.

Don’t get me wrong, it is what is on the inside that counts, but it’s what’s on my insides that really concerns me – I hardly ever exercise, I don’t eat regularly or healthily, I drink far too much coffee, I smoke, I work long hours, I suffer from stress with deadlines and negative cash flow, I don’t really ever relax, and when I do my most favourite fruit is wine.  I’ve seen those nasty commercials where the kids plead with their parents to get healthy.  And I’ve seen those TV shows where they show you how old your body is compared to your actual age. Scary stuff.

My little girl just turned four, next year I turn forty. The way I’m going I might not be around to celebrate her fortieth. Things have got to change, for my sake, and for hers. If not now, then when? The big birthday looms bright and large in my future, and I don’t want to be the fat chica in the picture anymore. Well, everyone needs a project over the winter, don’t they? So here, in print, I’m making a pledge, to my health and to my little family. With the help of some of the island’s most qualified experts, I’m going to change my lifestyle (hopefully without losing my sense of humour).

Over the next few months I’ll be reporting back on that process in ML&S, and in between times you can join me if you’d like to at www.39andcounting.net