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. _____________________________________ 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 56: Festival Fear Last week I spent my weekend in wellies, listening to great music, enjoying the company of a great friend and drinking and eating my way through a festival. I was relishing in Glastonbury and all it had to offer, and I decided I wasn’t going to be careful. I wasn’t going to point, or calculate or skip out on the burger you need to eat after a few hours of drinks. While I could have lied to myself and told the skinny girl inside that I was practically dancing off the calories, I knew better. Having made it home, to a shower (and ok, an entire Dominos pizza for one), I had the joy of trying to put on my clothes for the flight home. A pair of skinny jeans and a tshirt. Which would have worked out great… if I hadn’t had to the pants dance struggle just to get the zipper up. (No this isn't me... but it's pretty close to what happened) It was a sign that I’d let things slip when walking through the airport lounge, I mentally started trying to work out where I’d find some fast food. Or some chocolate for the flight. That was totally justified right? Right?! It was only when I went to the till (arms laden with magazines, popcorn and chocolate) that I realised what I was letting the festival fear take over. I kept telling myself one more day to be bold, one more day to eat the extra calories. To eat everything. What I didn’t do was dare reason with the fact that if I struggled to pull on my jeans, a trip to McDonalds or the sweets aisle wasn’t going to solve the situation. So instead I gave myself my last cheat day. Wednesday was my new start to the week, being back to work and with great plans to reclaim my size 12s in comfort. Kick starting the day with fruit and a yoghurt, I felt like I was in control. I could do this. I swiftly followed with a big salad bowl for lunch and fish and veg for dinner. I even took a long stroll along the coast and enjoyed the summer evening. All sounds pretty great right? Thursday was working out along the same lines until I headed to see Paloma Faith in the Iveagh Gardens. With the sun shining, I decided to have a pint while sitting out on the grass. And a burger. I know. My willpower is non-existent. Then Friday rolled around and I turned up to work with a cupcake on my laptop. Delicious but not exactly in line with my decision to stay on the straight and narrow. Instead of embracing the fact that we were heading into the weekend, I handed my cupcake away (with a sadness in my heart) to a colleague who was grateful for the sugar rush. I also happened to shove a mandarin in my mouth so I couldn’t prise the golden crumbs from her hand mid-bite. So I felt a small sense of pride to last the day in the office staying on plan (and last night’s slip up will just have to come out of my extra allowance). I’m also heading back on the scales for the first time in weeks next Wednesday, and will report back. I’ll be saying a prayer. Seriously. At least it means I can’t eat if I’m muttering away.