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Day 1 and the Saturday night torture…

Its 10:50pm I havent even opened my text book to revise. What is wrong with me? Instead I feel the need to wallow in my own self pity and look at old instagram pictures of when my life looked fun and I was happy going out partying knowing I would see my man at the end of the night. Big sighs! I’ve been on POF tonight, great. What a disaster that was previously in my life, not quite sure what I thought I would get out of it. I even had the urge to just text that guy from last week something forward and enticing but what the hell is that going to prove? My urge to just have random sex with a random man has now gone and I now have Cher singing to me and that empty lonely feeling. The summer is coming, my exams will be over and there is no way I will be staying in like this every weekend. I am sure it will get me in to trouble but I can’t just waste my life like this. I need to laugh. I need to feel good about myself and socialise with people this is just depressing!

Anyway …

Day 1 has gone well 1,177 calories.

Breakfast – mixed grain crispbreads (bit random but was all I could find)

Lunch – Subway, turkey breast and ham on honey oat week

Dinner – Chicken and rice

Snacks – Salt & vinegar crinkly cheddars (my fave)

I walked 8,383 steps with no exercise. Tomorrow I will be going to the gym and doing an 8k training programme.

I will be looking fab for summer and be out ALOT!!! Why should my life stop because he got himself locked up?!

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Food is not Love

Ironically my second post in my last blog was relating to diet. Exactly how I am feeling tonight. I have even lost weight since 2012 but I am finding myself a little body conscious again with no real motivation to do anything about it. When he first went to prison I couldn’t eat, now it is completely the opposite. To be honest I get away with eating far too much without much notice in my clothing or scales.  I am starting to feel it now though and my boy does not want to be greeted with Jabba the Hut when he is released. Must step up!

Gaining 5 and a half stone during pregnancy was not the plan. For someone so body conscious and always constantly on a diet, reaching nearly 20 stone at 38 weeks pregnant was a horrific experience. I did not recognise myself, I would get to a certain weight bracket and promise myself “no more” , “must stop eating” but it never happened and the weight creeped up and up. My job as a waitress in a American Diner did not help with my addiction to food, and thats what it was. An addiction. With a partner on nights, no real hobbies and concern of being in public for too long. I turned to food. White bread, chocolate, crisps, pizza’s, whatever I fancied I would just eat. My mind constantly either telling me to enjoy this time eating or get a grip and stop eating so much.

I do regret gaining so much, and the thought of another pregnancy petrifies me. I missed out on having pictures taken being pregnant and none at all as a new mum. I also have the horrific evidence of me still looking rather large on nights out and a fair few stretch marks to go with it.

But  I am now a changed woman, unrecogniseable even no one would call me fat on my 5ft 9 frame. I have my own body hang ups still and I have got alot better but every so often people do need to remind me how well I have done. I dyed my hair from blonde to dark about 3 years ago, and I certainly have alot more confidence. Without a doubt back when the confidence grew I would kiss someone in town at the weekend, if I hadn’t I would hear compliments from strangers. Part of the reason I used to party each weekend was the massive confidence boost getting all dressed up and having a random man call me beautiful. For me even now the dressing up, going out and feeling a million dollars is more fun than the going out itself.

Being a single mum meant my diet was no way near structured , skipping breakfasts, late lunches and toast for dinner is not unusual, but back when I was working in a health club meant I trained as much as I could. I often worked late too and I almost never cook at home. The time I got serious with my man was the only time I started cooking. Something in me made me domesticated, and funnily enough I enjoyed it. I loved how much he enjoyed eating my dinners. His heritage is Jamaican and boy do they love their food. They also very much appreciate a woman cooking for them. A new me. Since he has gone, I know longer cook at home. Not like that anyway. December is a month I won’t get to the gym, some days I wake feeling great, other days not so. I want to get back to what I was before I just met my boy. About 12lbs, I can do it. I will do it.

Starting tomorrow.

#DietStartsTomorrow