I know. It´s hot outside, and it has been hot for over two weeks. And yes, my body is probably retainig water. Still, what I saw this morning on my scales was making all the red lights go on at once, complete with klaxons and whistles.
98 kilograms before adjusting for brekkie.
Just two kilos away from that shameful two-zentner mark.
And I know already that even when it gets cooler most of the regain will not disappear in a water whoosh.
Which means I have to do something fast. Hmm, a fast would probably be it. Only that would make DH freak.
Fatlogic.
I got the book by a german author who gives quite a rundown of Lies We Tell Ourselves Why We Are Fat. Guilty on all counts, I fear.
Things to take along:
There is no such thing as a starvation mode that would prevent the body from burning off fat.
-Of course, or else it would be impossible to kill a person by not feeding them once that person had been obese in their life, or what?
Human thighs do not touch when walking in their state as nature intended it.
-D´uh. If the ability to walk bare-thighed without getting a serious case of friction burn is an indication of someone being at their nature-intended weight, then I have indeed been overfat my whole life. As it is, I cannot remember ever being able not to wear at least pantyhose to reduce friction and - lets call a spade a spade- chub rub.
Which means, again, that my father- this hurts to admit- was right about me being overweight. Fuck the height-weight tables.
Former dieting episodes do not fuck up one´s metabolism for good.
- That was the one I stuck to the most. Daddy forced me to diet at age seven (see above), I dieted several times in my life, that is why dieting does not work for me any more and my metabolism is permanently and irrevocably down in the dumps. What really is out of whack is probably my sense of portion sizes. If I eat what I perceive as normal portions and to a point of what I perceive as satiety I would probably down some six thousand calories a day, without having the feeling of having overeaten. Even now, I can gobble up some two thousand calories between coming home and dinner and still feel that I have barely eaten anything.
There is no such thing as a food one may consume ad libitum (except water).
-Reading the low-carb and paleo diet books gave me one problem I did not use to have, Namely, I lost my avoidance of fat as a macronutritient. Now, I have cravings, not so much for carbs but rather for dripping fat. Butter, slathered on half a centimeter thick. Bacon strips with grease dripping out of them. Cream. Sausage. My mouth starts watering when I think of these.
At home, we never had that kind of food because of my mother´s hep C. I was actually revolted by fatty food, as with like-to-be-MIL´s oil, butter and cream cuisine.
Today, I crave the stuff. Unfortunately it is all too easy to consume a full day´s worth of calories in the guise of a few bags of nuts, or slices of bread piled high with butter and camembert cheese.
The one thing I still won´t wrap my mind around is exercise. I hate my body too much to voluntarily engage in any activity that would make me feel my body. Or that would interrupt my surfing and expose me to real life.
Weightloss that would require me to exercise will never be sustainable for me. So what it comes down to is bite the bit but not the food, count calories and reduce them.
I have found a german calorie-counting site and app that has a lot more foods saved already than myfitnesspal., and is easier to use when logging. I will have to weigh and measure everything I eat and drink. Perhaps I should bring a pair of food scales to the office, too.
98 to 62 makes 36 Kilograms to lose. What I want to be able to do is wear a skirt (a long one, of course) with nothing but my panties underneath. Or with nothing at all. Without having the inside of my thighs rubbed raw and bleeding.
And wear high-heeled boots again without my feet hurting like hell.
I stopped recondensing after my mother´s birthday, having no more goal to achieve. I do not know just how much of my success up to that point was due to the urgent desire to kick my asshole of a father in the face with high-heeled boots. What I do know is that I did not have a real why any more after that day. And that I never had a goal for myself to achieve. Something that would make me feel good, quite apart from the burning desire for revenge for a fucked-up childhood.
This heatwave has at least reminded me that there might be something I could wish for. Having to swathe myself in long trousers and compression stockings at 35 degrees centigrade is not what I would like to do. And as the climate is getting ever warmer I would have to do this quite often. NOT.
80 pounds (non-metric ones) to lose. 280.000 calories of fat to burn.
If I stay 500 calories below my TEE that would take me 560 days. One and a half years. Or else, I would be at goal at the end of 2016.
Were I to go down by 1000 calories a day I would need 9 months. Goal date: sometime around April 2016.
If I were to cut down to a 1500 calories a day deficit, I would be at goal... in December. 2015. Six months.
But that would mean either eating just 500 calories a day or expending as many.
So 1000 it is.
In the time that other women take to make a baby, I want to get rid of the fatty equivalent of quintuplets. Drat.
But if I do not react now, I might become immobile again. The pain is already back. So are the difficulties dressing or cleaning my body.
Kicking myself for allowing this to happen again does, unfortunately, not burn enough calories.
