In a new weekly feature, Her.ie newbie Liz is going to share her weight loss journey. She'll be filling you in on fighting temptation, her willpower struggles with the cocktail menu and taking painfully slow steps towards regular exercise. All in the name of a dress.
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Hanging on the wall at the end of my bed is the constant reminder I plan on shedding nearly two stone this year. I also plan on marking the trials and tribulations of ‘trying to be good’ – the favourite saying we all tout, and quickly replace when a cake is put in front of us.
Week three: Weighing in. Not even the spanx could help me now.
Taking some deep breaths and with all the sucking in you can manage before passing out, I stepped on the scales. I had painted my toe nails in a bright orange so that even if the number didn’t keep my spirits up, there was something positive waiting for me when I looked down.
This was Week 1 of Weight Watchers and I was praying for a result.
I looked away when the number flashed on my leader’s screen, silently handing her the card to fill in the result. When she handed it back, I squealed and she jumped. As did the elderly woman behind me. (*Note to self, do not give heart attack to the other members of your meeting group.)
I lost 4lbs in a week. A WEEK. This would have taken me at least a good month before.
I toddled back to my chair, patting myself on the back. I’d love to say I instantly felt my jeans were looser and I’d need to invest in a belt, but the streets of Dublin can breathe a sigh of relief. Those jeans aren’t about to drop to my ankles any time soon.
Radiating a smile that resembled a hanger stretching out my mouth, I settled on a seat in the back row. I’ve been told to stay for the meeting, apparently it’s the secret way to success. Well, if they told me drinking holy water would speed up my metabolism I would’ve downed a bottle on the spot. Their words of wisdom were my new commandments.
Munching on a snack bar (I clearly wasn’t eating this before I ventured onto the weigh pad), I sat back and waited to be told what were the best foods to eat, what would speed up my metabolism, which new product was being flaunted as the recipe for the abs success story and basically the tips to trick my body into being ready for The Dress.
The meeting started and that’s when it happened. My new found delight was starting to ebb away. I heard two things I was really hoping I could avoid:
- There is no miracle food. Good foods to concentrate on are fresh fruit, veg, wholemeal carbs and lean protein. Bold foods set to break my heart and be banished from the kitchen presses were like a list of my perfect date night in –i.e cakes, crisps, biscuits, chocolate (basically anything tasty and sugar filled)
- This plan, or any of my goals to zip up The Dress on my body, were not going to be successful without exercise. Yes, I gulped when I heard this. (I swear I felt a twinge in my thigh muscles from the torture trail last week when this vital tidbit got dropped into the conversation).
Needless to say, I felt a little cheated. I know this is going to sound crazy but I was expecting the plan to work like the pop-up ads that drive you crazy when you’re surfing online (no I didn’t mean porn, but I’m not here to judge). You know the ads where the stomachs turn from an inflated balloon into a six-pack Jane Fonda replica. Well, now I was being told the diet plan I’d invested all my hopes and dreams in was going to lead back to the exercise bike (and me walking like an extra from an old western film). Again, I know this thinking wasn’t rational, but it’s me being honest.
I wanted the results. I just didn’t want to exercise to get them.
I gave myself all the usual excuses on the bus home. It wasn’t really my fault that I didn’t exercise. I couldn’t help how tired I was after work, or that the pilates class I planned on dropping into was already booked up. Life happens. I’d tried. Right? No, apparently I was really wrong.
Biting the bullet (and not a slice of cake), I did a google search of exercise classes I could consider taking on. I ruled out anything that required catching/kicking/throwing a ball of any description. I spent four years in secondary school faking my period to get out of PE. I wasn’t about to sign up for my idea of hell on a court/pitch/playing field of my own free will.
I also love to dance, but having been freaked out by a slightly over-zealous Zumba teacher last summer, I knew I’d shake my hips for a couple of classes and then sidle off. I needed something that I could do in my own time that was an overall workout while going at my own speed. I settled on swimming.
My only tip I can give to anyone who is in the same position as me? Don’t pick exercise you know you won’t enjoy. You’re only lying to yourself, and you’ll be back on the sofa with a cuppa before the sweat dries on the jersey.
I took swimming lessons last year so I could master more than the doggy paddle, and it was honestly one of the few things I always set aside some time for in a hectic week. Digging out the one piece (not a hope in hell was I planning on rocking a bikini), I did the quick dash from the changing room to the pool side and clambered down the stairs. I was working away at some lengths of a breast stroke when the worst thing possible happened. The local football team decided to have a swim after training. All eleven of them.
It did motivate me though. I kept swimming up and down that lane for a solid hour longer than I thought I’d ever manage. It’s amazing what the fear and point blank refusal of walking around in a swimsuit will do for a girl.
If I’m down a stone next week, you’ll know the lads have made it a nightly ritual.
This week's stats go a little something like this -
Height: 5ft 8
Starting Weight: 174 lbs
Current Weight: 168 lbs (Officially out of the 70s bracket)
Weight Loss To Date: 6lb (4 more lbs to a dress size down!)
Goal: 148 lbs
Feeling: Motivated but self-concious
The Dress in Question:
Image via
Zara 
