Here I am again. Two kids and twenty-five extra kilos, quickly heading towards my late thirties, which seem much closer to scary things that happen to other people like diabetes and having to give up butter. I’m desperately wanting to believe that I can lose weight without actually changing my eating.
Because I do love food! The taste! The textures! It makes me so happy to make a meal that other people enjoy, particularly my own discerning young gourmands. The way it can transport you back to a happy memory. The satisfying feeling of a sugar hit or just being contentedly full.
But I don’t love my old favourite clothes that don’t fit, trying to find an attractive webcam angle when I skype my family, sitting in aeroplane seats or not being able to keep up with my two year when she makes a run for it.
Giving up is of course an option, but I know that I need to do something sooner or later. There’s no reason it’ll be any easier after Christmas or Easter or in 2020. What I need is a plan.
What are our liabilities?
- comfort eating – stupid feelings
- the temptation to snack when I pass by the fridge
- feeling like I should say yes to offered food to be social, and also because it’s yummy
- eating out with friends
- being desperate for a sugar hit at the very end of an hour and a half of small children making screaming noises at a birthday part
And our assets?
- I like to cook and am quite decent at it
- I like to learn new things. I think I could get geek-excited about making nice food with waist-reducing ingredients
- I tend to feel better when I write about things
- I’ve found quite a decent weight loss group with a leader who doesn’t hate fat people
- I have a couple of friends on the same journey
- I like wearing nice clothes
That’s it? Impossible. If I had a month to plan, maybe I could come up with something, but this…
So my plan for this week is:
- come up with a meal plan
- get sensible things in the shopping
- cook one new thing
- stay on plan
The reluctant slimmer 