In spring 2013, I was motivated to lose weight. This I did, fairly spectacularly over about six months. By the time Michael was hospitalised in April 2014, I had lost another twelve or so kilos and was feeling particularly smug.
The weight crept back on. I think this is the bane of many women's lives in their forties and fifties. As a teenager and young woman, I would yo-yo diet. If I wanted to fit into a dress on the weekend, I just didn't eat much for a few days.
In my twenties, multiple pregnancies didn't help. I would gain and lose weight. After Alex was born, he didn't sleep through the night for a number of years. I was chronically tired and exercise was difficult. Eventually, I bit the bullet and took myself in hand. My slim years covered the death throes of my first marriage, a complete breakdown and a chaotic love affair with a serial predator. Unhappiness killed my appetite for quite some time.
After I met Michael, my mission from God was to put weight on him. He was a painfully thin sixty-one kilos. I fed him anything and everything. After his descent into poor mental and physical health, food, little and often, became one of his few pleasures. Gradually, he was gaining some weight.
Unfortunately, so was I! The sticky brown stuff hit the fan after we married. There was no escaping the awful truth. I was a short fat middle aged woman with not much neck and wobbly arms. Hence the weight loss to try and go from being enormously fat to cuddlingly chubby...
And here I go again. I am eighty kilos and I am having difficulty viewing my toes when I am standing up. Shenae, the lovely youthful dietician at Northam Hospital was not a total stick, which helped maintain my slightly fragile self-esteem. She was surprisingly helpful and I have committed to losing ten kilos over the next six months.
Today has not been a great day. Very carb loaded. One crumpet for breakfast and two apple cupcakes as lunch and snack. Oh well. thankfully tomorrow is a new day!
The story of my dieting life....
No comments:
Post a Comment