Not many things annoy me in life as much as my incessant battle with my weight. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not exactly morbidly obese, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not constantly obsessing about every morsel I eat then desperately trying to rectify my over-indulgences by working out like a lunatic. I probably don’t look too bad when I’m spanxed up to the max, but littledo people know about the horrors that lie beneath.
There’s nothing more depressing than the grim realisation that I’ve put on a few pounds; that my skinny jeans are now so tight that and I’m displaying a hideous camel toe that’s advancing into a moose knuckle at an alarming rate. That’s not to mention cultivating substantial love handles and astomach that would put Jimmy five bellies to shame. And don’t get me started on back fat. Over the years, my weight has been up and down – up mainly – and since turning 30 my life has become a perpetual losing battle with the lard.
My weight loss efforts are constantly thwarted by my gluttonous urges and alcohol binges that no amount of gym endeavour is going to remedy. A little voice in my head tells me to stay in at the weekend, that the carb binge that inevitably follows alcohol consumption will ruin any progress thatI may have made, but, every time, my feeble willpower deserts me and my ‘you’re only here once’ mantra prevails, and before I know it I’m being ushered towards the pub exit door for outstaying my welcome.
The following day follows the same pattern, every time – waking up with a raging thirst, swiftly followed by ravenous hunger that doesn’t subside until at least two days later. KFC, cakes, biscuits, and chocolate,topped with a Chinese or an Indian in the evening. What is the need, exactly? The little will power that I have on non hangover days is blown out of the water, and asking me not to eat unhealthy fat and sugar laden crap is like asking me not to breathe.
But it’s the weight loss ‘advice’ out there that really does my head in; and, of course, the skinny, pious irritants that proclaim ‘just burn off more than you consume, it’s easy. I eat what I want’. No it’s not easy actually, you smug cows. It’s difficult. If it were I wouldn’t bother my arse writing this, for a start. The amount of conflicting advice out there is mind-boggling. ‘Don’t ever starve yourself, it makes your body cling on to calories and prevents you losing weight’. But wait, the 5:2 diet advocates two ‘starve days’ where you must eat less than 500 calories in order to lose weight. Then it’s ‘eat whatever you want, but eat really slowly and stop when you’re full’ (easier said than done). ‘No, don’t do that, it’s sugar that you have to banish, it adversely affects your insulin levels and makes you gain weight. Eat as much fat and protein as you want, because carbs are the enemy.’ No don’t do that either, you’ll have no energy, bad breath and you won’t sustain your weight loss. Ok then, ‘get yourself toWeight Watchers or another slimming group because people lose more weight when they have the support of others.’ Nope, not that either because slimmers’ groups have a long-term failure rate of up to 95%, and you have to pay for the privilege. ‘Just eat sensibly – everything in moderation and do some exercise –that will do it.’ Well I do exercise – a lot. It’s the ‘eat in moderation’ bit I struggle with. I don’t think eating an entire large bag of Kettle Chips comes into the moderate category really, nor does the dozen vodkas on a Saturday night.I’ve never seen a diet where you can incorporate either of these two. Funny that.
No wonder my head is chocca. My fruitless efforts to achieve Nicole Scherzinger’s 6 pack are a constant torment. It’s her genes that make her look like that, I tell myself. But my rational mind tells me that her efforts to stay in shape are probably somewhat greater than mine – I doubt she frequents McDonalds or drinks her own bodyweight in Kopparberg, for example.
There’s nothing worse than celebrities – or indeed anyone –who say ‘I’m naturally slim, I eat what I like ’. It’s really insulting to people’s intelligence to expect them to believe such shameless hokum. If tummytucks, lipo, and God only knows other surgical procedures count as natural,then I dread to think what ‘unnatural’ would involve. Then there’s the constant access that rich and/or famous people have to chefs, dieticians, personal trainers and the like – the price of which is prohibitive to the average person. So they’re all just cheats really, bet they’d be fat without their endless resources. Not that I’m bitter or envious or anything.
One of my personal favourites is Victoria Beckham and her laughable claim that she sometimes eats five packets of crisps a day. Five packets a day? I’d be surprised if she ate 5 packets a year. It’s irritating, irksome and plain ridiculous to torment every woman who isn’t s dress size 4 by trying to make them believe that that her skinniness is a achieved without the diet, deprivation and herculean efforts at the gym that other mere mortals have to endure. Sorry Vicky love, but liar, liar bum’s on fire. She’ll be telling us that David eats nothing but pies washed down with ten pints of lager next.
Maybe I’ll escape this vicious circle one day, or maybe I’ll have to resort to gastric band. Or maybe just give up, and give in? I live in hope that they’ll invent chocolate, crisps and McDonalds that are totally calorie free. Until then I’ll no doubt carry on embracing every weight loss fad, until the inevitable happens and I get the crushing realisation it has failed, again, and it’s back to the drawing board.
Ah well, such is life. Anyone for a Dominos?
Rachel Nash
