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 10: Invading the Den
I’m a people watcher. It happens to be a favourite hobby of mine. I always felt like you can tell a lot more about people by how they carry themselves – probably more than they’d ever admit in a conversation.
I’ve also got regulars – like the woman who wears the same thin pink belt with everything she owns everyday. From jeans, to dresses to shorts – that belt is firmly buckled to her waist. Or the man who takes his wife’s hand when they stand up to get off the bus every morning, just so she won’t stumble as the bus pulls up to the stop.
With this in mind, I realised recently that I was walking with my head bent down. I never paid much attention to it before. I guess I figured I was just flicking through texts, or choosing music on my ipod. So I made a conscious decision a few weeks ago to walk with my head held high. I’ve been doing this for just over a month now, and I know it sounds a little crazy but it made me feel quite nervous at the start.
I don’t for one minute think I’m model-like (clearly, since I’m writing a blog about needing to drop a few pounds) but I had to accept that people sometimes look. Sometimes for a split second, sometimes for a little longer. Granted on one occasion it might have had something to do with a bird leaving a present on my shoulder, but you get the point. In general it was a passing glance, over in five to ten seconds. And I took comfort in this.
I started thinking of how I’d let other people affect my making decisions. Embarrassed to go out running in case everyone would notice I wasn’t fit, or worse, would point out that a big girl was out exercising. Also, have you seen the machines in the gym? I have literally taken a screenshot of a keypad before and sent it to a friend asking for help. Why don’t they just hand you a manual on signing-up? It could save a lot of awkward ‘start-speed-slow-stop-speed-start’ moments. (Or in my case, ‘start-slow-speed-look around and hope a manager realises I’m about to kill myself’ moments.)
With this new perspective on confidence, I planned to put it into action pronto (mainly because I didn’t need the niggly self-doubt to creep in before I started putting my master plan into action).
So, I was recently let in on a little secret. And ‘cause I’m from the sharing is caring school of thought, I’m passing it onto you lovely ladies. Now you might already know this, but this little nugget of information blew my mind:
Lifting weights burns fat for up to 48 hours after your workout. 40.8. HOURS.
But here’s the catch (and no it doesn’t involve super-imposing your head onto Arnold Schwarzenegger’s body) – the weights section in the gym is like a breeding ground for males… and judgement.
Here’s just a fact of life. If you’re the self-concious type, you’d probably prefer stab your eye with a fork repeatedly rather than wade into this testosterone pit. But that’s exactly what I did (the weights section – no one had to witness a psychotic fork-to-eye incident).
My first thought was I probably should’ve rethought my attire that day. No this really isn’t a vanity check. My old college hoodie from my journalism degree sports the slogan “We’ve Got Issues” across its back. It may be a witty pun for a word nerd, but in the gym, I genuinely think they were questioning whether I was safe around loose dumbbells.
I popped my towel on a bench and picked up a set of weights, and brought them back to my spot. I wasn’t really sure what I was actually meant to do with these little blocks of lead, I looked around, had a moment of panic and then marched up to a gym instructor.
She (thankfully very slowly) went through a set of exercises with me and mapped out a little routine to get me started. Trusting her that little bit more, I sheepishly asked her if there was any risk I was going to start looking bulky. I told her I was trying to lose inches from my waist and really didn't want to be sending them up north to sit across my shoulders.
I have no intention of carrying anything more than an over-packed suitcase home from the airport, so I will never have a reason to look like I’m smuggling melons in my sleeves.
She reassured me that unless I was working hard on serious conditioning that I was in no danger of this happening. I wanted to grin widely back at her but my jumper slogan had done enough of the crazy damage for me.
I’m not going to lie, there were some looks from the regulars when I invaded their den. I’m also pretty sure I was encroaching on guy talk, but I turned up the volume and let some Michael Jackson block out their chatter. We’ve discussed this – I have no shame.
I was happy to stay in my little corner, and if they had a problem? Well, they can just Beat It.
So, the moment of truth:
Weigh day comes but once a week, and I now have my little routine. Mary is always there with a welcoming smile, and shedding my coat on a chair next to her,I step on the scales. This week, instead of waiting for my leader to tell me my fate, I waited for the loading bar to flash on the screen and my weight to reveal itself.
Three, two, one – down. I was down two pounds.
I am now half a pound off a stone, in 10 weeks.
I’m starting with the Man in the Mirror, I’m asking him to change his ways… and I’m starting to feel really really good about it.
This week's stats go a little something like this -
Height: 5ft 8
Starting Weight: 174 lbs
Current Weight: 160.5 lbs
Weight Loss To Date: 13.5 lb (So close to a stone)
Goal: 148 lbs
Feeling: Like I’m back in the swing of things.
The Dress in Question:
Photo via
Zara
