In this weekly feature, Her.ie’s 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 65: Results
I had a moment one morning this week that I think most women run into on a daily basis.
I was trying to work out what to wear for work (or if I’m being honest, what was clean and could pass as acceptable attire).
Grabbing a shirt from the press, I pulled out my boots and realised my jeans were sitting in the press I ran into the shower and told myself another job done and dusted.
So needless to say I was a little shocked when I pulled on the denims to realise there was a problem.
My size 12s were too big.
Like I could pull them out and squeeze a small child between me and the waistband.
I didn’t really know what to do.
That might sound stupid, but jeans stretch out as the days go on and I didn’t have a belt to wear.
Realistically, I hadn’t needed a belt in years.
There was nothing for it, but to change into the tightest fit jeans I had (which still had a serious amount of wiggle room), but that I wasn’t concerned would take a trip down south to swim around my ankles by 7pm.
Ok, I was mildly inconvenienced, but I was also over the moon. The last time I was a size 10 I’d had a gastric flu for two weeks.
This time I was looking at a skinnier frame for all the right reasons.
I’d started my training just six weeks earlier and already felt a huge difference in my body.
Yes, I was skinnier but there were some other benefits that are just as important to me.
For starters, I was exhausted in a whole new way.
I know that sounds like a stupid benefit, but honestly, it’s been one of the best gifts of regular exercise. Where beforehand I just felt constant lethargy, and little motivation, now I sleep properly.
I’ll climb into bed and sleep for at least nine or ten hours of solid,real, rejuvenating sleep. I don’t need to put on Netflix in the background anymore, take a hot shower to lull me into comfort or set five alarms to wake up.
When the alarm clock rings its foghorn tune, I’m pulling a Katy Perry.
I also noticed my stress levels are down.
We all know that between work, family, friends and the daily occurrences that happen out of the blue, it’s pretty easy to feel a little tense. When I had one or two unwelcome surprises over the past few weeks, I kept up with my workouts and may have taken out a few punches of anger and frustration during our boxing sessions.
I’d head to the showers feeling worn out, but also secretly satisfied that the build-up was gone. I can genuinely see the positive effect exercise was having on my mental health, and it was nice to know that if I was having a long day I could work through some of that on a rowing machine or by doing my circuits.
Last but not least, I was feeling a bit more confident.
Before I had the jeans revelation, I was noticing small changes in my body.
Like my bingo wings didn’t have a jiggle anymore, or that my stomach didn’t sit out a little when I was at my desk. People were noticing little changes too and I was secretly delighted when someone paid a sincere compliment.
Some of my snugglier jumpers had room around the shoulders and arms and my skin was clearer.
I know that a good diet will drastically improve your skin but it looked fresh and I was using less concealer and make-up ‘cause there wasn’t as much need to cover-up.
So when I stepped on the scales this week, I can hand on heart say I wasn’t going to be upset if I hadn’t lost any weight.
I was reaping rewards in other places.
But progress is slow and steady, and if you keep trying and plugging away, there can be a little reward at the end of it all.
A reward that came to a half pound.
While that mightn’t sound like a lot, for me, it’s an achievement.
And it’s all going in the right direction.
So stepping off the scales, I tottered back to my chair, wrote down my new weight on my record card, and put it in my purse alongside the gift cards I got at Christmas.
Because after class I was off to buy some new jeans and tops.
All size 10.
