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 18: Re-evaluation
This week, after long chats over cups of tea and staring out our apartment window to watch grey clouds float by, my roommates and I decided to book a girly holiday.
You know the type – sangria, sun, sand and making best friends with the locals in the bars. It’s going to be great.
And with this decision came the bigger gulp of realising I needed to buy a swimsuit.
I haven’t been on a sun holiday in two years. I’m thinking even with the fact that people are all about walking around in slightly more than the birthday suit, that may not stretch to me having pillows of pudge poking through the size 1o costumes and bikinis designated to the back of my drawers.
Even when I hit my dress goal, I imagine they could be a tight squeeze and I have no intentions of making myself miserable so that I can drape barely there material over my bum. I’d rather invest in new swimwear with cute patterns than live off a head of lettuce for the next two months. It’s not ice-cream, it’s not cheese, and for that reason, I’d last until noon before wrestling someone for their lunch.
I wait in eager anticipation for the announcement that there’s a diet where you’re restricted to eating chocolate every day to lose weight. If someone could work on that, I will happily be your brand ambassador.
Meanwhile, this week I had the great equaliser for all women shopping. I had to go pick out essentially my public underwear.
I honestly wear more to bed than I do on the beach. And no-one even sees me there. I’m a creature of comfort. I don’t need the stress of looking attractive while I drool from my overbite onto my pillow. So shopping for a bikini is my idea of hell. People will see me. In all my pale glory. God help them.
Turns out whether you’re of the curvier variety like yours truly, or have the tummy of a taut gymnast, bikini shopping is the dressing version of going to hell.
Picking up three or four non-offensive styles, I trotted off to the changing rooms for my turn of “sucking in ‘cause I’ll definitely look this thin in two months”. Oh and don’t forget to stand on your tippy toes ‘cause with all those extra gym sessions and legs training you’re clearly going to look more toned in a few weeks too.
Pulling off my dress and tights, I pulled on the polka dot two-piece (I’m pretty much obsessed with all things dotty) and took a step back.
For starters I was glad I was already a stone down. This was depressing enough. I didn’t need to add the couple of bags of sugar that used to take pride of place over my tummy and thighs three months ago.
Then I noticed some fine silver lines running on the inside of my legs. Like the corners of a spiderweb, running down the inside track. I’d never seen them before. Then I noticed they had sprouted on my hips too. I had stretch marks.
I’m 26 and I’ve stretch marks. And no I haven’t had a baby. Or lost half my body weight on a reality show. I just happen to have skin with a sense of humour.
I started inspecting them in the mirror and just as I was about to slip into a party of self-pity, I heard someone in the room next to me tutting and sighing. Then I froze. She knocked on my door and asked could she get my opinion for a minute.
I opened the door, poking my head out, and keeping my bikini firmly behind the protective panel.
She was in a bikini. And she probably had the most toned tummy I had EVER seen. My jealousy cup runneth over. WHY HAD SHE BEEN SIGHING?!
“I’m really sorry to bother you, but I’m shopping on my own, I’m meant to be going away tomorrow and I can’t decide if this looks ok or I’m just settling.”
“If I looked like you I’d be walking down Grafton Street like I was a contestant in Miss World. Your figure is amazing.” I had it out before I realised what I was saying.
Her cheeks burned red and I could see she was doubtfully tugging at the imaginary love handles that should have been nestled on her jutting hip bones.
“Honestly, I think it really suits you.”
She thanked me, and then said something that really hit home,
“Thanks. I’m never that comfortable with this much skin on show. I feel like I look like a boy, I’ve no chest at all. And I’ve hair on my lower back and tummy that just makes wearing a bikini a nightmare. Thanks anyways, really appreciate it, think I’ll go with it.”
She hadn’t said it to make me feel better about my wobbly bits, and she hadn’t done it in search of heaped praise. She was just as awkward as I was, and she was trying to make the best of what she’s got.
I stood back and looked at myself. Really looked at myself. I made myself look at my own bikini with the same eyes I’d appraised my neighbouring Miss World. I realised no woman is confident. We all have our hang-ups, and maybe if we were kinder to ourselves, others would be too.
With this does of reality, I assessed the dotty situation head on. I have long legs, and decent boobs. I have clear skin and with the exception of hedgehog stubble on my unshaven legs, I was relatively hair free.
Ok, I’ve a few extra pounds, and the fastest way I’ll have abs is if I draw them on with a marker, but I’ve got some good bits too. I bought the bikini and popped it in my bag.
My stretch marks are my war wounds. My body’s way of telling me I’m working hard. I’m losing weight and it’s taking time but I’m doing it right. Silver lines on my thighs mean I’m closer to reaching the gold. Winning myself the body I really want.
This week I toddled off to weight watchers, where one woman admitted she feels like she’s in a rut. That she’s hit a weight loss plateau and nothing is shifting the unwanted flab.
What happened made me realise how incredible some people are – the women all started pointing out how far she’d come. That she now sat in the front row at meetings rather than hiding down the back. That they heard her laugh more. That she had worn a red dress the week before and half them had trawled the rails in Dunnes to bag it for themselves after seeing how amazing it looked on her.
They showered her in support and upgraded her self-appraisal to make sure she saw how far she’d come. You know what? I loved that in the group, it’s not just my problem, or her problem, we’re planning on helping everyone stay in top form.
And when they heard I was down 2lbs? They told me it was the best smile they’d seen all week.
You know what? I don’t doubt it either. I was ecstatic.
This week’s stats go a little something like this -
Height: 5ft 8
Starting Weight: 174 lbs
Current Weight: 156.5 lbs
Weight Loss To Date: 18 lb
Goal: 148 lbs
Feeling: Pretty happy with life.
The Dress in Question:
