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Six months down and I’ve still not drunk any alcohol or eaten any chocolate. It’s quite a milestone, but how on earth do you celebrate it without breaking it?
I wasn’t sure if my slight over indulgence on holiday (combined with extra walking) would mean I gained or lost weight and to be fair my scales seemed confused. When I first stepped on on my return I seemed to have put on about a kilo, but the next morning I was two kilos lighter than when I set off. I was sceptical about this. For some reason my quite swanky digital scales occasionally seem to forget how to do their job. It seemed unlikely that I would have lost weight and my belt was tighter, so I tended to believe the higher figure. But then it stayed low for the next two days, before suddenly leaping back up again. Literally in the space of a minute. I weighed myself before the show and was 82 and a bit kg, then I weighed myself after I had dried myself and I was 85 and a bit. I don’t think I could have retained that much water in a few minutes. Apart from that nothing was different and the scales hadn’t moved. Consistency is all I ask from my scales, but I can comfort myself by believing that the scales were right at the lower level and have now gone wrong rather than the other way round.
Anyway, the new correct/incorrect weight put me at exactly the same point at which I had started the holiday. After these few days of being back to normal I have lost a little weight and so I’ve lost almost a kilo this month, which is not too bad considering how little I have been trying.
Luckily I am seeing weight as being a useful indicator rather than bee-all and end-all of this. In the past an unfair weight gain in a week has derailed a diet with me shouting “Oh what’s the fucking point then?” and stuffing my face again, even though logically the lesson should be that you need to try a bit harder (or accept that weight fluctuates a bit and shouldn’t be of that much concern).
Despite the obsession with weight in this entry I am over that now. Though it is still annoying if scales are not trustworthy and consistent.
But I’ve not been consciously dieting for a while. In fact aside from keeping up the dog-walking and staying off the booze and chocolate I haven’t been counting calories for the last three months - just trying to vaguely judge when I’ve had about enough food - and been snacking on relatively healthy stuff (and Soleros) a bit more. I’ve still managed to lose 4 kilos since the beginning of April.
I am going to do myfitnesspal properly again in July and started that today and did feel pretty hungry by the evening. Which shows that I have got used to more calories. But I’ve really more than hit my target as I would have been happy to get to 87kgs and maintain it, then had the secondary loose target of 85kgs and if that worked thought it might be nice to get back to 83kg, which I stayed at for quite a few months last time I successfully lost weight.
I am currently just under 85 and have lost nearly 14kgs this year.
So let’s see if I can get to 83 (as my duplicitous scales lyingly told me I had). Five years ago when I lost the weight I got down to under 80 by August (partly due to an extra push from having a personal trainer for that Men’s Health thing), but I was also doing way more exercise that time. So it’s interesting that it can be achieved with more moderate movement (and I’ve noticed that on the days when I do a Park Run I just eat loads more anyway).
Anyway, sorry for the dull blog. I will try and keep this stuff to a minimum (though it’s useful for me if I do end up writing a book about this). I have got through six months without drinking before and I did a whole year of not eating chocolate), but it’s still quite a big thing. And I don’t feel like I will be going back to either any time soon. I think I might drink again, but I know for sure that if I eat chocolate again I will more or less immediately return to having to eat ALL the chocolate.
I feel a lot better than I did in December and my energy levels are much better - even though I am still knackered thanks to my stupid fucking children (but imagine how much worse it would be if I was hungover and lugging another 14kg around with me at all times) and I am not waking up in the middle of the night full of existential dread any more.
I know that giving up drinking seems like the hardest possible course (especially if you live in the UK) and maybe it’s a bit easier when you’re in your fifties, married and rarely go out (but on the flip side having two young kids was what me drove me back to the bottle on a regular if not especially heavy basis), but you might be surprised how much better you feel without it.
And as always I fully expect to be blogging about how great being pissed is before the end of the year. It’s like I am two different people. I wonder which one of me is better at snooker.
