I've read a lot about this acting 'as if' technique. Like acting slim before you are slim, acting confident even when you don't feel it. Supposedly the more you act, the quicker you'll get where you want to be. It means stepping outside your comfort zone.
I figured I was doing quite well, looking in the mirror and telling myself I didn't mind what I saw. But then I saw these Avatar fans and realised my idea of stretching my comfort zone is, well, a tad modest to say the least...
23 February 2010
17 February 2010
Wake up call
I hate it when I whine and mope. It gives me ugly frown lines and, it appears, stops the pounds falling off. Am I just imagining that? Nope, the scales (sadly) don't lie. Since coming back from my ski holiday a month ago I've been more than a tad grumpy about life (read 'miserable old bag') and, would you look at that, I've only lost a pound!
I can't help feeling there's a connection, so I decided to take it up with the Universe. (I've always hated poor customer service)
Hey, I know I said I was not going to set myself time goals anymore but, as my blog is my witness, I don't remember saying I wanted my mission to grind to a virtual standstill. Give a girl a break!
'Stop your wingeing and it's a deal,' she said flatly.
'You're on!'
See, what I've been forgetting to do whilst preoccupied with my post holiday blues was to get up every morning and focus. Instead I've picked up a few of my old 'fat girl' habits: never looking in the mirror other than critically, not caring too much about my appearance, and forgetting to spend some time daily imagining how great it will be when I reach my goal size.
Blimey, if I can let it all go to hell in a handbasket in less than a month on the tide of a low mood, I'm going to have to be a whole lot more vigilent.
It's time to track down Inner Goddess and get her out of hiding.
Expect more blogs...
I can't help feeling there's a connection, so I decided to take it up with the Universe. (I've always hated poor customer service)
Hey, I know I said I was not going to set myself time goals anymore but, as my blog is my witness, I don't remember saying I wanted my mission to grind to a virtual standstill. Give a girl a break!
'Stop your wingeing and it's a deal,' she said flatly.
'You're on!'
See, what I've been forgetting to do whilst preoccupied with my post holiday blues was to get up every morning and focus. Instead I've picked up a few of my old 'fat girl' habits: never looking in the mirror other than critically, not caring too much about my appearance, and forgetting to spend some time daily imagining how great it will be when I reach my goal size.
Blimey, if I can let it all go to hell in a handbasket in less than a month on the tide of a low mood, I'm going to have to be a whole lot more vigilent.
It's time to track down Inner Goddess and get her out of hiding.
Expect more blogs...
14 February 2010
Beefed up
Yup, it's true. I've been a bit preoccupied and blogging has taken a back seat lately. Oops.
Unfortunately my back seat has taken this as a signal to spread out and make itself comfy.
Unimpressed, my jeans have staged an intervention.
Jeans: "FAT COW FAT COW FAT COW!"
Me: "What? Who?"
Jeans: "You heard us missus. You're doing it again. You've stopped listening to your body and Inner Goddess has obviously gone AWOL so we had no choice but to speak up. We're not going to let you do up that top button till you start 'thinking slim' again. It was working so well, why are you slacking off?"
Me: "Good question. Not sure. Other things on my mind, probably."
Jeans: All the more reason to get a grip then. Unless of course you WANT to look like that Kenny Everett sketch of Rod Stewart prancing around singing 'If you think I'm sexy' while his leopard skin pants inflate to they point they explode?"
Me: Good point, Jeans, good point. OK, I'll get back on the case tomorrow, I promise. But today's Valentines Day and Mr S is rustling up roast beef, Yorkshire Pud and all the trimmings. Oh, and there's cheesecake for afters.
Jeans: "Brace yourself lads, looks like we're in for another uncomfortable evening then!
Me: "Oh quit you're panicking. What do you think tracksuit pants were invented for? Sport?
. . . "oh yeah, once more from the top....If ya think I'm sexy..."
Unfortunately my back seat has taken this as a signal to spread out and make itself comfy.
Unimpressed, my jeans have staged an intervention.
Jeans: "FAT COW FAT COW FAT COW!"
Me: "What? Who?"
Jeans: "You heard us missus. You're doing it again. You've stopped listening to your body and Inner Goddess has obviously gone AWOL so we had no choice but to speak up. We're not going to let you do up that top button till you start 'thinking slim' again. It was working so well, why are you slacking off?"
Me: "Good question. Not sure. Other things on my mind, probably."
Jeans: All the more reason to get a grip then. Unless of course you WANT to look like that Kenny Everett sketch of Rod Stewart prancing around singing 'If you think I'm sexy' while his leopard skin pants inflate to they point they explode?"
Me: Good point, Jeans, good point. OK, I'll get back on the case tomorrow, I promise. But today's Valentines Day and Mr S is rustling up roast beef, Yorkshire Pud and all the trimmings. Oh, and there's cheesecake for afters.
Jeans: "Brace yourself lads, looks like we're in for another uncomfortable evening then!
Me: "Oh quit you're panicking. What do you think tracksuit pants were invented for? Sport?
. . . "oh yeah, once more from the top....If ya think I'm sexy..."
2 February 2010
Snow blindness
You really can't beat a big mug of coffee and a mid morning muffin on a snowy day like today.
My line of work is not really a flabbuster's best ally. The temptation to snack, particularly in the winter months, is high, and with nobody around to wag a disapproving finger while I excavate the kitchen with Mr Slimma's trowel in search of digestives (hey, marrying an archaeologist does have some perks after all!), it's so easy to rationalise away the ugly truth that one is simply being piggy.
As it is, the trench I've just dug in the kitchen hasn't even unearthed a measly crumb. Rats!
Me: I need the energy to keep warm. Hypothermia could be just minutes away! What shall I do?
Inner Goddess: How about a nice piece of fruit?
Me: How about you stick your head in the oven and I bake it? This is serious! I'll need to brave the snow for supplies. I'll need to refuel at Starbucks so don't wait for me, I may be gone for some time...
Inner Goddess: Sure. Next you'll be telling me it's good exercise!
My line of work is not really a flabbuster's best ally. The temptation to snack, particularly in the winter months, is high, and with nobody around to wag a disapproving finger while I excavate the kitchen with Mr Slimma's trowel in search of digestives (hey, marrying an archaeologist does have some perks after all!), it's so easy to rationalise away the ugly truth that one is simply being piggy.
As it is, the trench I've just dug in the kitchen hasn't even unearthed a measly crumb. Rats!
Me: I need the energy to keep warm. Hypothermia could be just minutes away! What shall I do?
Inner Goddess: How about a nice piece of fruit?
Me: How about you stick your head in the oven and I bake it? This is serious! I'll need to brave the snow for supplies. I'll need to refuel at Starbucks so don't wait for me, I may be gone for some time...
Inner Goddess: Sure. Next you'll be telling me it's good exercise!
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