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 20: Finding the inner fun
I’m writing this after a successful(ish) trip to the beach.
I LOVE Dublin in the sunshine – there is nowhere better when the clouds clear. Everyone is in better spirits and we have some of the best food, drink and lounging spots a lady could ask for.
I had the luck of growing up beside the sea and trips to the beach meant digging your toes into the sand, building miniature forts and splashing your brothers and sister by jumping waves in the sea.
My milky white skin was plastered in a thick white cream and I would be ordered to sit and wait for it to dry in the car before running out after the rest of the clan. Despite her best efforts, mum knew she’d have one kid crying on her lap later that night with burning shoulders and a freckled face. I always turned lobster red.
I have yet to find a summer holiday snap where I don’t resemble a raspberry ripple between swimsuit marks, dresses of different legs skimming my legs/knees and the collection of burns in between.
I also had a swimsuit I happened to think was the coolest thing ever. It was purple, with yellow, pink and neon green bows dotted over the shoulders and pictures of sweets and ice-creams dotted over the body. Whenever we heard we were having a beach day, I would run up to the drawer in my room that grew dust for 90% of the year and dig out that swimsuit. Mum would insist I wear shorts and tshirts over it, but I’d refuse.
It would take longer to take them off when we got to the beach – wasting precious sand-castle building minutes. I had a fort to make. With a moat that required endless trips to the sea with my bucket and spade. I did not have the time to be taking off shorts and tshirts (or even worse – a dress.)
I would chatter away in the back of the car, sitting in my swimming togs and waiting to turn the corner at the lights before running onto Dollymount Strand or Portmarnock beach, depending on the day.
I look back really fondly, and then with a hint of sadness that I don’t have that same excitement anymore.
Ok, nobody forces me to eat a grainy ham sandwich these days, but I can’t help but wish I had the same carefree attitude to my seaside adventures like I had when I was a kid.
This time when I decided to set out for the beach I rummaged through my bikinis and togs for the least offending swim suit. I didn’t want to rock the new two piece I bought for my holliers (sure I haven’t even sipped a cocktail in it yet) and settled on a black Speedo swimsuit.
I know, I’m just that sexy.
But I reasoned I’d rather be covered and comfy, than wearing something that I’d double guess myself for the rest of the evening. Or spend an afternoon draping my arms over my tummy in case anyone saw the wobble or noticed my abs had also taken a holiday day.
As for driving to the beach without a shorts and tshirt combo – well granted it’s a different scenario nowadays and being the actual driver might cause some strange looks if I was stripped down to my swimwear.
Pulling up at Portmarnock, I parked the car and rooted out the spot with friends. We settled on a space close to the grass banks for a BBQ later that evening and after doing the arm shuffle under the tshirt, I pulled off the outer hiding layers and lay down on the towel.
The heat on my skin was the start of summer dreaming, and laughing with a few friends we raced down to the water to push each other in. And everything I loved about my childhood days came flooding back to me.
But I couldn’t help but feel a pang of self-consciousness that my thighs were wobbling, or that some of the tiny stick insect girls, who could still eat ice-creams (‘cause that’s fair), would be looking and silently judging.
It was actually an old couple who pulled up beside me that gave me the sense to stop the niggly doubts and enjoy the day.
She was by no means slender but did she care?! Not one single bit.
Plonking herself beside us, her long suffering but clearly adoring husband pulled their bags and deck chairs while she started stripping. But she didn’t stop.
She stripped right down to bikini bottoms and when she dangled the clothes off the end of her foot, she gave her husband a wry smile before picking up her book for a relaxing read. There was no embarrassment that she wasn’t exactly a size 10 and he certainly wasn’t looking at the other models on the beach. He had the best seat in the house. In his eyes anyway.
I mightn’t have had the beach bod I thought I’d need, but I did get a nice little glow.
Both the freckles over my cheeks and nose and a warm sense that people are meant to come in every shape and size. Maybe I lost my way a little from the days of purple swim togs excitement, but then life throws you a curve ball and you realise the important things.
They’re all the same.
Like sitting in the sun, with people you love, having fun. 99 cones are always an added bonus.
PS: My abs are still on vacation.
This week’s stats go a little something like this -
Height: 5ft 8
Starting Weight: 174 lbs
Current Weight: 157 lbs
Weight Loss To Date: 17.5 lb
Goal: 148 lbs
Feeling: A warm glow (but it’s not a burn!)
The Dress in Question:
