I'm in the interesting situation of cooking meals for a friend who's just come out of hospital, eats like a bird at the best of times and needs to pick up a bit of weight, and feeding myself so as not to put on weight. I've decided she'll just have to have plenty of bread and butter and add butter to her baked potatoes. Of course, I have baked potato plain. I have for years. I don't even add butter to asparagus or artichokes. I'm so virtuous, me, how did I get in this state?
Yesterday, I made leek and potato soup with home-made ham stock and some milk added at the end - no other ingredients except seasoning, I didn't even sweat the veg in butter first. After it was cooked it was still slightly salty from the stock, which is the reason for the milk, though I'd have added it to her portion anyway, for the added nutrition. I also made a fish pie, topped with mashed potato. Instead of cream and lemon juice, I added greek yoghurt to the sauce. She had enough, with a chicken salad, to last her for today, but I've been making a pot of minestrone soup today to send round, and will think of some sort of casserole as well. And then there's Sunday. Hm. At present, Ro is planning to cook Sunday lunch, because I'm looking after the grandbabies all morning.
Hm again. I need to do quite a lot of cooking tomorrow.
Friday, 29 February 2008
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Z weighs herself again (2)
It's only a fortnight since the last time, but I started this diet at the end of October, so the end of the month seems neater than the middle.
10 stone 4.5 pounds, which is about a pound and a half down.
Half an inch off my bust measurement, no other change.
This is fine - I'd like to lose a couple of pounds a month on average, and I realise that I'm likely to lose weight quicker at the start, so I'm glad that my slightly casual attitude isn't taking me off track.
At home, it's easy to plan low fat meals and, having cooked for my mother for years, who eventually needed a very low fat diet, I'm adept at adapting recipes and cooking methods to shave off the oil without anyone noticing. When I'm out, it's often difficult to know quite how much hidden fat there is in a meal. Once I start eating, I'm usually aware of it, however, and the simplest thing to do is to eat slower and not to finish the plateful. I make a point of it, in fact. If everyone else is having cakes in a tea-shop, I'll have one too, but I'll only have a couple of bites. If I'm given a plate of lasagne, I leave some. If I'm at someone's house and trouble has been gone to, then I do try to eat it all - far easier if I can serve myself, or at least if the food is served at the table. One friend always dishes up in the kitchen and is generous with helpings, but I know that now and simply explain. It's easier not to sound rude or picky because I can say, regretfully, 'doctor's orders'. People accept that more readily than a 'vanity' diet, because I'm not (and Badgerdaddy has backed me up here) visibly obese, though not by any means slender.
In addition, it helps not to make other people self-conscious about what they are eating. I've always been aware that, because of my small frame, I need to eat less than many people do. There's nothing wrong with a hearty appetite and everything right about appreciating and enjoying food. I don't want to draw attention to myself in either a martyrish or a self-satisfied way.
Actually, a very large friend asked me, the other day, how I'm getting on with my diet. I wouldn't dream of mentioning food or size to her, and I felt a little awkward even talking about the subject in relation to myself, but she started the conversation. It was generous of her to do it, I thought.
10 stone 4.5 pounds, which is about a pound and a half down.
Half an inch off my bust measurement, no other change.
This is fine - I'd like to lose a couple of pounds a month on average, and I realise that I'm likely to lose weight quicker at the start, so I'm glad that my slightly casual attitude isn't taking me off track.
At home, it's easy to plan low fat meals and, having cooked for my mother for years, who eventually needed a very low fat diet, I'm adept at adapting recipes and cooking methods to shave off the oil without anyone noticing. When I'm out, it's often difficult to know quite how much hidden fat there is in a meal. Once I start eating, I'm usually aware of it, however, and the simplest thing to do is to eat slower and not to finish the plateful. I make a point of it, in fact. If everyone else is having cakes in a tea-shop, I'll have one too, but I'll only have a couple of bites. If I'm given a plate of lasagne, I leave some. If I'm at someone's house and trouble has been gone to, then I do try to eat it all - far easier if I can serve myself, or at least if the food is served at the table. One friend always dishes up in the kitchen and is generous with helpings, but I know that now and simply explain. It's easier not to sound rude or picky because I can say, regretfully, 'doctor's orders'. People accept that more readily than a 'vanity' diet, because I'm not (and Badgerdaddy has backed me up here) visibly obese, though not by any means slender.
In addition, it helps not to make other people self-conscious about what they are eating. I've always been aware that, because of my small frame, I need to eat less than many people do. There's nothing wrong with a hearty appetite and everything right about appreciating and enjoying food. I don't want to draw attention to myself in either a martyrish or a self-satisfied way.
Actually, a very large friend asked me, the other day, how I'm getting on with my diet. I wouldn't dream of mentioning food or size to her, and I felt a little awkward even talking about the subject in relation to myself, but she started the conversation. It was generous of her to do it, I thought.
Monday, 25 February 2008
Z plumbs the shallows again
So, what really got to me was the humiliation of the doctor advising me to lose weight. Splendid chap, yes he's right and all that, but it wasn't very polite of him, was it? I've known him for years, our children went to school together and we meet at parties and stuff. And I'm not that fat. Not really. Am I? Tell me, Badgerdaddy, am I really that fat?*
So, I sniffled miserably for a bit - confirmation of the arthritis added to the gloom a bit, and it wasn't until the middle of the night that determination set in, which was when I decided to go and buy the bike. It had to be new and expensive, because I don't waste money, so I would then have to use it.
I will say, having moaned mightily in my last post, that the Sage appreciates me no end. He is reet proud. Not that he says so. He tells other people though - not about the diet, that'd be rudely personal and he's vastly polite, but that he's proud of me for doing something actively about my hip. They tell me. They also tell me that Al boasts about me. This is sweet. In other respects, the Sage makes clear his appreciation. He can hardly keep his hands off me. This is splendid and most enjoyable, even with my present lack of flexibility.
I'm wondering - jesus, I can never resist planning ahead - what excuse I can formulate for going to the doctor in another six or nine months. You know, when the weight loss will be very noticeable and I can slink in through a crack in the door hinge. I don't want to be ill, obviously. I just want him to weigh me and change my medical record, without having to embarrass myself again and ask him to.
Right, I'm just off to buy the day's vegetables. Got to keep a good supply of carrots, or I might eat something foolish.
*honesty is appreciated, darling boy, if I do strike you as an absolute porkster you can tell me. After all, I'm half a stone lighter than when you last saw me, so I'll take that into account.
So, I sniffled miserably for a bit - confirmation of the arthritis added to the gloom a bit, and it wasn't until the middle of the night that determination set in, which was when I decided to go and buy the bike. It had to be new and expensive, because I don't waste money, so I would then have to use it.
I will say, having moaned mightily in my last post, that the Sage appreciates me no end. He is reet proud. Not that he says so. He tells other people though - not about the diet, that'd be rudely personal and he's vastly polite, but that he's proud of me for doing something actively about my hip. They tell me. They also tell me that Al boasts about me. This is sweet. In other respects, the Sage makes clear his appreciation. He can hardly keep his hands off me. This is splendid and most enjoyable, even with my present lack of flexibility.
I'm wondering - jesus, I can never resist planning ahead - what excuse I can formulate for going to the doctor in another six or nine months. You know, when the weight loss will be very noticeable and I can slink in through a crack in the door hinge. I don't want to be ill, obviously. I just want him to weigh me and change my medical record, without having to embarrass myself again and ask him to.
Right, I'm just off to buy the day's vegetables. Got to keep a good supply of carrots, or I might eat something foolish.
*honesty is appreciated, darling boy, if I do strike you as an absolute porkster you can tell me. After all, I'm half a stone lighter than when you last saw me, so I'll take that into account.
Sunday, 24 February 2008
I don't know, I've never kippled.
I got home from church tired, hungry and in want of a square meal. I'm cooking roast chicken tonight, however, and had intended to have salad. I really wanted something hot and comforting to eat.
It's just as well I didn't have a pizza in the freezer, because I'd have eaten it. As it is, I had scrambled eggs. A dab of butter for cooking, none on the toast. I don't know which, pizza or eggs, has more calories and I don't care, because that's not how I reckon food (though I do check the backs of packets sometimes, just to know how much I'm saving by being shocked into not eating the food in question) - but it must be better to eat a couple of eggs once in a while, than a bought pizza loaded with uninteresting cheese, which comes out of the oven with a puddle of grease on top.
This whole thing is so boring. I feel very disheartened. I can see why people go on crash diets, because quick results are something to be pleased about. And indeed, some real rigour at the start of a diet, while you are full of determination and need the spur of that first couple of pounds lost, is not a bad plan. I know I'll keep up this diet, pretty well, forever. Give or take the occasional sausage roll or chocolate biscuit, that's fine with me. I accepted at the start, not least because the doctor instructed me to be content with losing at the rate of a stone a year, that this is a long haul. But, whilst I didn't argue with him, it's very hard to manage that. If I don't take it pretty seriously, it's too easy to think that 'just a little' won't hurt.
I'm not being that rigorous. I'm keeping that for if Plan A doesn't work. But I'm bored already, after nearly four months, of thinking about food all the time. And I can't help it.
A few weeks ago, I was encouraged that I felt a bit thinner. But now I'm used to that, and already impatient that I am not nearer the size that is (poor foolish Z) what I think of as the 'real me'. My waist is smaller and so are my thighs. But not small enough for me, and I'm nowhere near dropping a dress size, although my clothes are becoming looser.
I'm complaining about nothing, I know. I'm already worrying about the next time I weigh myself, in case I'm no smaller. But the purpose of this blog, to some extent anyway, is to whinge. Sorry. I don't do it anywhere else, or to anyone else. This blog is where I don't treat triumph and disaster just the same.
It's just as well I didn't have a pizza in the freezer, because I'd have eaten it. As it is, I had scrambled eggs. A dab of butter for cooking, none on the toast. I don't know which, pizza or eggs, has more calories and I don't care, because that's not how I reckon food (though I do check the backs of packets sometimes, just to know how much I'm saving by being shocked into not eating the food in question) - but it must be better to eat a couple of eggs once in a while, than a bought pizza loaded with uninteresting cheese, which comes out of the oven with a puddle of grease on top.
This whole thing is so boring. I feel very disheartened. I can see why people go on crash diets, because quick results are something to be pleased about. And indeed, some real rigour at the start of a diet, while you are full of determination and need the spur of that first couple of pounds lost, is not a bad plan. I know I'll keep up this diet, pretty well, forever. Give or take the occasional sausage roll or chocolate biscuit, that's fine with me. I accepted at the start, not least because the doctor instructed me to be content with losing at the rate of a stone a year, that this is a long haul. But, whilst I didn't argue with him, it's very hard to manage that. If I don't take it pretty seriously, it's too easy to think that 'just a little' won't hurt.
I'm not being that rigorous. I'm keeping that for if Plan A doesn't work. But I'm bored already, after nearly four months, of thinking about food all the time. And I can't help it.
A few weeks ago, I was encouraged that I felt a bit thinner. But now I'm used to that, and already impatient that I am not nearer the size that is (poor foolish Z) what I think of as the 'real me'. My waist is smaller and so are my thighs. But not small enough for me, and I'm nowhere near dropping a dress size, although my clothes are becoming looser.
I'm complaining about nothing, I know. I'm already worrying about the next time I weigh myself, in case I'm no smaller. But the purpose of this blog, to some extent anyway, is to whinge. Sorry. I don't do it anywhere else, or to anyone else. This blog is where I don't treat triumph and disaster just the same.
I broke my arse...
...falling off the wagon.
Friday night, myself and SLW decided to have a few drinks. We were watching a movie – an old favourite, The Frighteners, which SLW had not seen – and chilling. A friend came over, and we ended up staying up til 1:30 drinking and chatting. A fine, fine night indeed, and really relaxing after what was a hard week for both of us.
Between the three of us, though, we demolished 4.25 bottles of wine. That's quite a lot, though I'm delighted to report that I got drunk on far less than I had been of late.
Saturday, I had a bit of a hangover, as did SLW. I felt pretty rough, and consequently went shopping for meat. I bought 3lbs of sausages (the local ones are amazing, though I had consciously been eating less saturated fat so not so many sausages...), some rump steak and a pound of bacon. And a Scotch egg, and a large pork pie.
We went 'meatatarian' Saturday night, I think it's fair to say, and I ate 4.5 sausages, a reasonable sized rump steak and three slices of bacon, and a load of fried onions. Lunch was half the pork pie, and breakfast was a few packets of cheese and onion crisps.
Well, I'll be in the gym this afternoon for certain; the Carling Cup Final is one, Chelsea v Tottenham, and I thought that as they have Sky down the leisure centre, I might go and exercise for the entire 105+ minutes of the final. 45 minutes first half on the treadmill, 15 minutes core strength training on the ball at half time, then the final 45 on the cross trainer, so it's 100 per cent cardio training.
Should be fun, and hard, and I'll get to watch the footie. And I might, just might, make up a little bit for yesterday.
PS: Weighed mysefl on parents' scales, and it said I was about 16st 12lbs, which I'm certain can't be right – two members of my notoriously scathing family said I looked like I had lost weight, y'see. They NEVER say things like that. I think their scales are fucked...
Friday night, myself and SLW decided to have a few drinks. We were watching a movie – an old favourite, The Frighteners, which SLW had not seen – and chilling. A friend came over, and we ended up staying up til 1:30 drinking and chatting. A fine, fine night indeed, and really relaxing after what was a hard week for both of us.
Between the three of us, though, we demolished 4.25 bottles of wine. That's quite a lot, though I'm delighted to report that I got drunk on far less than I had been of late.
Saturday, I had a bit of a hangover, as did SLW. I felt pretty rough, and consequently went shopping for meat. I bought 3lbs of sausages (the local ones are amazing, though I had consciously been eating less saturated fat so not so many sausages...), some rump steak and a pound of bacon. And a Scotch egg, and a large pork pie.
We went 'meatatarian' Saturday night, I think it's fair to say, and I ate 4.5 sausages, a reasonable sized rump steak and three slices of bacon, and a load of fried onions. Lunch was half the pork pie, and breakfast was a few packets of cheese and onion crisps.
Well, I'll be in the gym this afternoon for certain; the Carling Cup Final is one, Chelsea v Tottenham, and I thought that as they have Sky down the leisure centre, I might go and exercise for the entire 105+ minutes of the final. 45 minutes first half on the treadmill, 15 minutes core strength training on the ball at half time, then the final 45 on the cross trainer, so it's 100 per cent cardio training.
Should be fun, and hard, and I'll get to watch the footie. And I might, just might, make up a little bit for yesterday.
PS: Weighed mysefl on parents' scales, and it said I was about 16st 12lbs, which I'm certain can't be right – two members of my notoriously scathing family said I looked like I had lost weight, y'see. They NEVER say things like that. I think their scales are fucked...
Saturday, 23 February 2008
Z's sin is pride, not gluttony. YES IT IS
It's not been a particularly good week, food'n'exercise-wise. I can't remember Monday; that is, bits stand out, but I don't know why I didn't cycle to the high school, though it wasn't mere laziness *cough*. I was out all day Tuesday in Norwich, I did cycle on Wednesday (bloody early too, whatever possessed me to make an 8.30 am appointment at the hairdresser?), I was out again on Thursday in Norwich and it was wet and windy yesterday.
Food wasn't much better. I had leek soup and bread when I went out for a snack lunch with friends one day, but the soup turned out to be full of cream. Thursday's lunch was roast chicken and vegetables (including fried potatoes) and a lemon mousse. Not too bad; I left the accompanying cream, but I ate the chocolate that came with coffee. Fuckit, life's too short.
It's been general slight overeating and not doing enough - not a week I will have lost weight, which doesn't really matter as such, but I don't want to start taking as the status quo. It's all too boring at the best of times. And I've eaten all those ruddy ricecakes. Really, no one needs to eat a whole packet of ricecakes in two days - it's not as if one salivates helplessly at the sight of them.
I've redeemed myself somewhat today though. Porridge for breakfast, a tiny piece of Stilton (really, it was) with dry bread and cucumber for lunch, and yoghurt to follow. Since then, a few ricecakes - no need to go cold turkey here, and the packet is still half-full after two days - and lots of raw vegetables. Tonight, I'm cooking a gammon joint, mashed potatoes, sprouting broccoli, turnips and carrots, which is virtue personified. And wine. Jesus, darlings, I've stopped cutting down on wine. I'd rather eliminate the ricecakes. Oh, and I did cycle in to town. I also spent the morning working in the shop and I didn't half ache at the end.
If only it were vanity that had put me on this diet. It'll be pride that keeps me on it, however.
Food wasn't much better. I had leek soup and bread when I went out for a snack lunch with friends one day, but the soup turned out to be full of cream. Thursday's lunch was roast chicken and vegetables (including fried potatoes) and a lemon mousse. Not too bad; I left the accompanying cream, but I ate the chocolate that came with coffee. Fuckit, life's too short.
It's been general slight overeating and not doing enough - not a week I will have lost weight, which doesn't really matter as such, but I don't want to start taking as the status quo. It's all too boring at the best of times. And I've eaten all those ruddy ricecakes. Really, no one needs to eat a whole packet of ricecakes in two days - it's not as if one salivates helplessly at the sight of them.
I've redeemed myself somewhat today though. Porridge for breakfast, a tiny piece of Stilton (really, it was) with dry bread and cucumber for lunch, and yoghurt to follow. Since then, a few ricecakes - no need to go cold turkey here, and the packet is still half-full after two days - and lots of raw vegetables. Tonight, I'm cooking a gammon joint, mashed potatoes, sprouting broccoli, turnips and carrots, which is virtue personified. And wine. Jesus, darlings, I've stopped cutting down on wine. I'd rather eliminate the ricecakes. Oh, and I did cycle in to town. I also spent the morning working in the shop and I didn't half ache at the end.
If only it were vanity that had put me on this diet. It'll be pride that keeps me on it, however.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
Never an empty mouth
I've gained a worrying addiction to rice cakes. They may only be 17 calories each, but they still are food. It's my own fault of course, for bringing the packet in here.
A friend said 'but they taste like cotton-wool'. Well, so what's wrong with that? Quite toasty cotton-wool, after all.
It's having something to nibble that is irresistible. If there's no food, I don't think about it. I must remember to make bowlfuls of raw vegetables to keep in here instead. I don't believe raw vegetables have any fattening properties whatsoever, however many of them I eat.
Right. I'm going out to lunch. It'll be a set lunch and I don't know what will face me. Think of me. I may be gone some time and return two pounds heavier.
A friend said 'but they taste like cotton-wool'. Well, so what's wrong with that? Quite toasty cotton-wool, after all.
It's having something to nibble that is irresistible. If there's no food, I don't think about it. I must remember to make bowlfuls of raw vegetables to keep in here instead. I don't believe raw vegetables have any fattening properties whatsoever, however many of them I eat.
Right. I'm going out to lunch. It'll be a set lunch and I don't know what will face me. Think of me. I may be gone some time and return two pounds heavier.
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