Prudence, Week 1

The button on my jeans popped off this morning. Made a clean break for it…sailing straight through the air and landing awkwardly about a meter away. It was as though it had completely given up on me, was sick of all the hard work and couldn’t take one more day of straining to pull my jeans together. For the past two years, this button had been my friend. In fact, it had been a fellow soldier, battling in the trenches with me, endlessly faithful and unquestioning until I pushed it just too far.

Lying on the floor, it was like the button was saying, “Hey Prudence, you’re nice and all but I just can’t take it anymore. It’s not me, it is most definitely you. You’re in denial. Just because you can somehow manage to squeeze yourself into a pair of jeans you bought two years ago doesn’t mean they actually fit. Because they don’t! The overhanging stomach, muffin top and stretched seams should have told you as much but clearly drastic measures had to be taken to make you listen. So that is it. We’re done. There is no way I’m feeding your delusion anymore.”

So I guess the button is really gone. At first I wanted to cry. Buying new jeans is up there with bikini or any swimwear shopping for that matter — a torturous exercise to be avoided at all costs. My second instinct was to rip open a packet of Tim Tams and devour the lot, standing right there in the middle of my room with my fly gaping. Instead, I decided to listen to the button. I decided it was time to stop being in denial about my love handles and do something about it. Admittedly, I have an array of failed diet and exercise attempts under my large, well fed belt. Yet never before had I had an epiphany such as this button provided me with. I’m determined to show this button who’s boss! Weight loss starts here!

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Prudence, Week 2

Since my jeans button popped off, I have become excruciatingly self aware. I now know it was just the incentive I needed to kick my weight loss into gear. I have since discovered that I have one massive personality trait I must first overcome in order to achieve anything. That is, I have to squash/kill/put down/neuter my flawless, artfully perfected skill of procrastination.

Case in point 1: Woke up yesterday morning feeling determined and inspired. I told myself I no longer considered my gentle rolls of stomach fat my enemy, but rather saw them as my inspiration. I had visions of me pounding the pavement, iPod in ears, hair coiffed into a perfect ponytail, impressing locals with my agility and speed. I then thought that in order to fulfil my vision I need to buy some nice tights, and a proper exercise tank. My running shoes could use an upgrade as well. Suddenly, the thought of throwing on my available exercise clothes was mortifying. I became certain that I would not be able to successfully run unless I had the correct outfit. I need to dress for success!
As a result I spent the morning browsing numerous sports websites, admiring their clothing selection. I then got further distracted putting together my perfect exercise playlist, checking my email and youtubing an amusing clip on Julia Gillard’s pronunciation or rather mispronunciation of the word “negotiate.”

Case in point 2: After my little internet distraction, I was back to my euphoric high. Full of fist pumping, chest bumping, sweaty, sporty action I was sure that this was it, and that I was finally going to turn my fat switch off. But in order to avoid a travesty of this magnitude I figured it was only sensible to do a bit of research. Knowledge is power…or something to that effect.

So again, it was back to bed, laptop on lap, magazines by side and a good few hours of solid, university style, “research”.

Such are the skills of my procrastination that I didn’t even realise what was going on. Finding excuses not to exercise were easy and endless, after all I’ve had 30 something years experience. So now my immediate, realistic plan is as follows – walk to my newsagent, grab a copy of the best health magazine available and flip through it on the train ride home. And if I get some light exercise while providing solutions to all of my procrastination protests then so be it! Two birds with one stone!

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Prudence,Week 3

Started the week feeling pretty good with myself. I had invested in some suave workout gear that I felt I had to wear simply to get my money’s worth – any reason is a good one at this point – and with this I had defiantly decided my new exercise clothes should be used as they were intended. Despite my wishes, I did not become a triathlete overnight. Actually, I was scarily shocked at how unfit I was revealed to be. But my “money’s worth” mind and I, are making sure we get out and do a good solid hour jog every morning!

There is some not-so-skinny news, I must divulge! The true hurdle hit me, though, when I had to face my true demon: food. Unfortunately, the expression “can’t live with it, can’t live without it” is all too literal in my case. It is not for lack of understanding about what is and is not healthy; it is a matter of self control. Or lack of.

After some recent very helpful research sessions, I wandered into the kitchen to examine the contents of my fridge and pantry. With my newly knowledgeable and aware eyes, I planned on giving my kitchen a good clean out. Having just read about the benefits of various detoxes, a handful of low-carb/high-protein diets, smatterings of lifestyle-adaptation diets (that included the caveman diet, the French women diet and the boyfriend diet) I was ready to tell the food who was boss.

And now for the REAL not-so-skinny news… My resolve crumbled somewhat when I came face-to-face with my long time companion, the Cadbury dairy milk family block. Despite just having read about some guy who claimed to have lost a ton of weight by eating chocolate, my sensible side told me such a miracle was not going to happen to me. My newly informed brain told me to get rid of it. This meant one of two options: either throw it or eat it. Either way, out of sight was out of mind. With my hand hovering over the bin, a wave of Western guilt hit me like a tsunami. What right did I have to throw out perfectly good food? I didn’t want to be wasteful or ungrateful!  Soooo I ate the entire thing. I was doing it for the hungry children of the world after all.

It is going to take a few morning jogs to work this disaster off…

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Prudence,Week 4

Since my last disastrous run-in with old mates, chocolate and procrastination, things have definitely improved. There is hope. I have successfully managed to clear all naughty food companions out of my pantry and fridge, having realised that, (yes, 30-something years in the making) I can’t eat something that isn’t there!

While it was a bit sad to say goodbye to some of my old favourites, (wholemeal products anyone?) and for snack-attack/no-control Prudence to admit this, I actually have noticed a health change in just this short time. I have managed to last 7 entire days eating healthy, balanced meals without sneaking in the odd sugar hit…or ten.

While I have always eaten fairly healthily, I had reached a point where my snacking was out of control. With my new healthy outlook I have almost (it won’t happen overnight but it will happen!!) managed to rein this habit in. Now when I feel hungry between salads, instead of reaching into the Arnott’s tin at work (although truth be told I open the box, smell it and close it again), I reach for handful of almonds. I don’t advocate this method, but I urge you to find something that works! Whenever I feel thirsty I drink water, not the sugar-laced cordials and fizzies I used to reach for. I have even managed to cut down on the amount of tea and coffee I drink, and replaced it with the puritan option of green tea. The old me would have looked at the slightly newer, cookie-tin-sniffing me, and thought, “Wow, what a boring existence!” But it turns out eating healthy is far from boring, and as an added extra it has major benefits.

Other than cm (spell out centimetre?) loss (which is not occurring as fast as I would like—I still have wobbly bits!), I simply feel better. Granted, it has only been a week without any major mess ups, but already I can see some changes at work. I feel slightly more energetic, my mood has lifted and I even have a slightly smug/holier-than-thou/yes, that’s right, I am pure and healthy glow in my cheeks. Divine! Who would have thought healthy eating would look so good! With these slight results, I am more motivated than ever to keep going.

As far as exercise goes I am still only slow jogging, but it feels good and the spring in my step improves by the minute. Gosh, if I continue on this vein I could be rivalling Sally Pearson for a winning place at the next Comm Games. Let’s hope I am not off to a false start. Sally watch out … Onward, Upward and NOT Outward…

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Prudence, Week 5

It will forever be a mystery to me as to why there is such a significant difference between the metabolisms of men and women. A permanent cruel joke by the universe it would seem. I completely comprehend that the female species superior ability to store fat is connected to basic survival and breeding, but you would think that in the process of evolution our metabolisms could have evolved to meet the demands of the 21^st century. Surely?

Personally, mine is definitely stuck in the dark ages, a fact made blindingly clear whenever I spend time with my boyfriend, Theodore Thinman. Last night we organised to watch some DVD’s and have a quiet night. I was feeling tired and wasn’t really in the mood to cook, as is often the case, so I suggested we get some takeaway for dinner. Theodore instantly suggested pizza, which is where the problems began. With all the gooey cheese and carby goodness, it is not the healthiest of meal choices and, lo and behold, it just happens to be a premier favourite of mine. Here I raise a compelling point, if my metabolism is stuck in the dark ages why then do I want modern processed foods? Shouldn’t I be craving fish, wild boar, turnips or a parsnip even? Logically this makes complete sense though many instances throughout my life have taught me that you can’t always count on logic.

Based on this premise I sat gazing from my inner city apartment window and waited and watched for at least 20 minutes …maybe I could get lucky and have the opportunity to eat and look like my ancestors… but not one wild boar passed by for me to tackle and enjoy the fruits of my labour so I was logically left with no other option…. I ceded defeat, and told Theodore that pizza was fine on the condition that we ordered from a gourmet place, not a lousy chain store option. If I’m going to splurge, it better be amazing!

On this fateful movie night with Theodore I was true to form and ate pizza until I was holding my stomach and rolling around on the floor thinking “why? Logically why?” Major setback to weight loss progress!

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Prudence, Week 6

To celebrate our (something) year anniversary, my boyfriend, Mr Thinman himself, and I went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. I thought it only right to spruce myself up a little for the occasion so I got a haircut, took my time carefully applying layers of make-up to achieve the ‘au natural’ look, and zipped up my simple but classy LBD. I stepped outside to meet my boyfriend in the car, and was greeted with a grin, a thumbs up and “lookin’ good!” And I was!

I have finally started to notice some clear, physical changes to my physique as a result of all my hard work. My arms appear smaller, my face a bit trimmer and my tummy slightly tighter. I’m still a loooong way from appearing on the cover of Sports Illustrated but it is a good start! I am however, beginning to worry about the effects these changes have had on my social life. This night out was my first since I had started this challenge, and I wasn’t quite sure how to face all the potential weight-gain traps that I knew would be waiting for me in the restaurant. In the big wide world! Some expert advice that I had read made it very clear that while trying to lose weight you should never give yourself a night off because that would mean falling 5 steps back. So this meant no bread basket, no wine, no entree, and certainly no dessert.

On the other hand, I’ve read articles from other “experts” that state that it is simply unrealistic to expect that you will be able to maintain an iron-will 110% of the time. As such, these experts say you should enjoy yourself on the odd occasion (like your Something year anniversary!) and have a small glass of wine. You can even eat dessert if you like, just make sure to skip the bread basket as compensation!

Another school of experts has informed me that telling your body to skip anything will only make you crave it more intensely. To avoid this, you should have a bit of everything , only in teeny tiny portions. One SMALL glass of wine, a few bites of bread and an incey wincey bit of dessert. Apparently this is foolproof, but every school of thought is – according to that school anyway!

In my attempts to dodge these various, fat-filled landmines with my overly helpful and seriously varied yet conflicting advice, the night out with Mr Thinman was NOT a success. I was second guessing each and every single decision. After ordering a bottle of wine, my boyfriend poured me a glass and I spent a full five minutes staring at it before deciding it was safe to take a sip. In the spirit of enjoying myself I ordered an entree, but felt guilty with every bite. When choosing a main course, I had the poor waiter running back and forth between the kitchen and our table, loaded with questions about the fat and calorie content in each dish. By this stage I was getting worked up, so I had 2 more glasses of wine to calm down. Of course, I then had to compensate for my drinking and barely touched my main meal and refused to order dessert. Mr Thinman insisted on him being able to eat dessert however, and after having one teeny tiny taste (ala School of thought three) of his deli cious looking baked cheese cake I ended up eating more of it than he did!
Overall, I finished the night off slightly tipsy, still hungry yet somehow stuffed full of calories. It appears over thinking just makes it worse! I need help…

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Prudence, Week 7

As I continue on this arduous journey of weight loss, I have become acutely aware of my various food related weaknesses and short lived gung-ho, all in, on again off again exercise routine. It wasn’t until a couple of days ago though, that I realised how very normal my experiences are. As it turns out, I am completely run of the mill. I am not the exception to the rule; my relationship with food and exercise appear to be, for the most part, the rule of thumb.

This golden nugget dawned upon me as I was catching up with my closest girlfriends over lunch. As per my new, brilliant self, I was perfectly organised ahead of time, eating a small healthy snack before I left the house so I could happily order a salad at the café without feeling like a prisoner of war. As lunch progressed, the conversation barley moved beyond talking about weight, exercise tips and super foods. I found I was dominating the conversation, sharing tips from all the reading and research I had been doing and the girls were eating my every word. Back and forth we began sharing stories about our love handles, our wobbly thighs, our less-than-firm tummies and the ever growing weight loss products appearing on shop shelves. This is when a true fat bombshell was dropped. My friend mentioned a product that she had heard about which wasn’t available on shelves. She said all she knew was that it had been shown in a scientific study to promote healthy weight-management while sparing lean muscle and that it used some kind of advanced peptide technology. Whatever the hell all that means? My skeptic self immediately awoke – blah blah. What got me though; was that I knew, from all my research, that successful results when clinically trialed and tested is most definitely a rare selling point of weight loss products because let’s face it, most are a big fat crock. Said friend promised to enquire further into this for all of us. When I know more, be sure, that you, my regular readers, will to be amongst what could be the very thing that whisks us to right to Skinnydom. No promises just yet but this does sound encouraging.

Other than this rather large and exciting revelation I realised from this gathering that I wasn’t alone in all of this. For such a long time, I had found my weight loss struggle incredibly private and embarrassing. I was cutting a lone figure on a deserted island, surrounded by a sea of lard and oil. Gross. Finally I could see a ship in the distance, with my friends waving the big, white, weight loss flag. The thing that surprised me most about this was that none of my good friends are particularly overweight but they were all just as insecure about their figures as I had always been. This was truly groundbreaking stuff!

I left the lunch feeling upbeat and positive. A strong sense of resolve has settled in and Skinnydom was visible now, it’s not close and there are a few noticeable obstacles but it’s there in the distance – achievable! Since lunch, we have organised to meet up once a week to go for a long, hard power walk. Great plan! With all the talking that will undoubtedly happen, the walk will seem less of a chore and the calories should just melt away with no apparent effort. This is how exercise should be and this is how you keep it going. Gung-ho, all in, is only ever short lived!! For someone who has been struggling to reach the flag for many years… trust me!

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Prudence, Week 8

My apologies for such a long silence. I have been somewhat distracted by this product OsoLean and my subsequent shrinking waistline.

Now first, a disclaimer. I am not a huge fan of conventional weight-loss products. I have been sucked in before (many times) and found the results vary from bad to awful. At best, previous products have made no difference to my waistline, only helping to thin out my wallet. At worst; they have given me terrible cramps and diarrhoea (Over share? Sorry!) To be frank, I initially ignored my friend’s advice, and continued to slog it out with my diet and exercise routine. Soon enough however, she wore me down by telling me that there would be a good chance I would lose 2 inches around my waist. Well, I could hardly say no to that, could I! Now I have to admit, this OsoLean stuff seems to be pretty alright. The taste is surprisingly good and absolutely no heinous side effects. I have also lost a few more kilos! I’ve realised this OsoLean stuff conjures up all the words a woman looks for in a man – dependable, fulfilling, easy to get on with and sharing that very important common goal – getting me thin!

Of course, I am still keeping up with my super-amazing exercise routine. Just last week, I managed to run for 25 minutes straight, with no walking breaks. I never, ever thought I would be able to get past the 2 minute barrier, so I’m over the moon, astonished, flabbergasted, overwhelmed, proud, amazed, delighted, … to say the least. My lazy boyfriend is starting to feel a bit threatened by my new, fabulous fit-self and as well by my current man replacement – OsoLean!!! I feel like I’m having a legitimate affair, he (OsoLean) ….. completes me!

Anyway, despite my running milestone, I am still not what you would call a “Runner”. I don’t get-off on the burning in my lungs, the aching in my legs or the blisters on my feet. Nor can I get past the sensation of my thighs rubbing together with every step and consequent need for regular petroleum jelly purchases – I can feel my chemist judge me a little more each time I buy a new container! Rude minds some people! Frankly, I don’t understand anyone who actually enjoys the horrible activity of running. Never fear my fat burning friends; I am yet to turn into a super-human, exercise toy. But…it’s a mental game as they say, I’m staying brain strong…hoping the body will follow!

Until next time…

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Prudence, Week 9

Now that I am using OsoLean and have seen such incredible results, my close circle of girlfriends have also begun to dabble. I don’t blame them at all, as all they have heard from me in the past month or so is how incredible it is. Over every lunch, coffee and cocktail we have had, I have waxed lyrical about how fabulous I am feeling and urged them (not too subtly) to jump on my OsoLean/healthy lifestyle bandwagon.

Last weekend while we were all meeting up at a local Japanese restaurant, I had a sudden out-of-body moment. As I was sitting there doing my usual superfluous commentary on my latest weight loss success I realised I was starting to sound like a broken record. I was starting to become one of those women I used to hate, who do nothing but talk about diet and exercise. When I was a bit softer around the edges, I used to make snide and cynical remarks about the genetically blessed who wandered around talking about their 6am runs, their amaaaaazing personal trainers, their ‘clean’ diets, their revolutionary skin-care routine and  their monthly colon cleanses. I used to dismiss these women as artificial, boring, brainwashed cardboard cut-outs. Sitting there and talking over a plate of sashimi, clutching a tiny cup of green tea, I became suddenly aware that I had most definitely joined the dark side and was an undeniable member of this group.

I get up and go for a run before work 3 mornings a week. I am eating clean, healthy foods with a new awareness and total gusto. I see my preternaturally good looking trainer once a week. I have been taking OsoLean and marveling at the results. I haven’t yet had a colon cleanse, but who knows! What surprised me most about this realisation was that not only did I not mind being a member of the fit and keen, I was overjoyed! And not only this, but I had roped my entire group of friends into this as well. I felt like a Nu-body – in more than just the physical sense! It feels good.

Soon, we will start a dance class together to see how that helps with our new healthy direction. I will report back and let you know how the hip-shaking goes!

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Prudence, Week 10

Sooooooo, it turns out that dancing is kind of hard. It seems I am inflicted with a terminal case of UPD: Unco Person Disease. This unfortunate disability runs through my blood, having been passed down generation to generation in my unco-ordinated, pasty and seriously uncool family. The surprising thing is, until I took professional dance classes I never actually knew that I had such a serious case of UPD.

I had always had a niggling suspicion that I had a weak strand of UPD running through my veins. I have never been a massive dance-floor girl, only ever venturing out onto the dark, pulsating masses amongst the safety of, what shall we call it, a few too many vino’s. Once out there, I have always had to stick to the side-step shuffle with a slight finger wiggle. Anything outside of that was instantly deemed way too difficult. I couldn’t run the risk of looking like a poor man’s J-Lo!

However, I generally presumed that if I were given strict instructions on how to dance that I would discover that I too could be Jenny from the block. I have the derriere after all! So it was with naïve bundles of enthusiasm that I dragged my three closest friends to a hip-hop class in the city. The programme promised “fun, exhilarating and high energy moves that will be sure to get you toned and terrific in no time”. Well hello! We turned up in our coolest street gear (red tracksuit pants from Witchery and white singlets from Country Road. We arrived and to our shock horror – turns out we aren’t so ghetto). The instructor was a chipper young girl, in noted; Adidas matching ensemble, who just seemed so genuinely excited to see everybody there. She kept on clapping her hands and shrieking with glee whenever somebody new arrived. Kind of cute, but also kind of OTT. Anyway. She soon popped on the music and had everybody shaking and grooving to Beyoncé. Everybody, that is, but me. While my girlfriends were Popping, Gliding and doing the Harlem Shake, I just couldn’t seem to work it out. While they all moved one way, I seemed to be going in the other. I was constantly bumping into people, facing the wrong direction and just generally looking stiff and uncomfortable. I’d master one move but… a good 5-6 moves too late!

The bubbly little instructor kept calling out for me to “feel the music”, but all I could feel was the burn of embarrassment on my cheeks. Seriously!! At the end of the hour, the rest of the class were dripping with sweat, their chests heaving with exhaustion. I, on the other hand, was dry as a bone.

I am not sure that I will give hip-hop another go. I don’t know if it is worth fighting a losing battle against UPD.