My primary goal is to lose weight and rid myself of my massive baby gut, as I have told you all many, many times before in my whiny, woe-is-me posts. The change in my body has been quite significant, but now that I have had the chance to recover from the shock of actually losing weight despite my presence in the PCOS weight gain Hall of Fame, I'm now worried I am now not losing enough. Common sense tells me that I have been doing this since the beginning of August, and as I'm approaching my weight loss in a healthy and realistic way (ie eating well, but not dieting/starving myself), I can't expect to have lost 15 pounds or something.
I know I've lost a fair amount of weight - not only are my trousers a bit looser (that never sounds like a real word to me), but some of them are in danger of completely falling down. My tops do not enhance a series of massive, inflated rolls, but rather only slight rollage. Contrary to popular myth, the boobs are not the first thing to go on everyone, as mine cling steadfastly to voluptuousness. Bastards. My legs are firmer, my thighs slimmer. I do exercises with weights, so my arms, chest, and back are more toned than they have been since I was an athlete all of those years ago.
I think I'm doubting the extent of the weight loss because no one has remarked that I look better. Well, The Dude never shuts up about how much better I look, but he is matriomonially obligated to flatter me regardless of circumstances. I don't believe in scales, so I have no quantifiable way of knowing how much I have actually lost. I feel that I look vastly different, but if I really do and it's not all in my head, why are The Dude and I the only people to see the changes?
When I was sick, I didn't eat anything beyond a couple of bananas and an orange in three days. I know I lost quite a bit even in that brief period, and I would be lying if I wasn't slightly pleased. The thought has gone through my head that my limiting my calories even more, though not to that extreme, I could lose more weight quickly. My rational self knows that doing that is most naughty indeed, as I am also doing this to be healthy, and eating 700-800 calories a day is not that. As it is, the only sugars I consume is in fruit and my two blessed coffees per day. It's an amount of discipline I never thought I'd be able to maintain, but I have for a few months now.
I am a bit slack in the other exercises I do, I must admit. I always plan to break out my folder of exercise diagrams, cobbled together from newspaper and magazine articles, but I so rarely do. The busiest part of my year falls during the summer months, so I have been working some 10 hour days, coming home to a miserable tyrant of a toddler, and then running three or four times a week after P is in bed. When I get back in from running at 9pm, I hardly want to spend another 15-20 minutes lunging and contorting for 3 sets of 20 reps. One of the articles in my folder states that one should be dedicating 45 minutes 5 times a week to cardio! On what planet? I could totally do that if I was a housewife with no kids, but that life is not mine.
There is a point to all of this. As I'm coming to the end of my Couch to 5k programme, I have no idea what to do next. The objective of it is to run 3 miles in 30 minutes, which isn't a problem. I could do that now if I wasn't so OCD about adhering to the plan as rigidly as I do. Do I try and increase distance, or speed? I know from haunting Doctor Mama's maggot posts that I shouldn't do both simultaneously. Also - I really should find some time to do other exercises, shouldn't I? I do the weights three times a week or more, mainly whilst watching television. Ah, how I do love to combine sloth with exertion.
My head usually convinces me that I'm doing well. Otherwise, how else would I have been able to squeeze into my skinny jeans? Yeah, they aren't so much skinny as skinny-er than the denim tarps I have been wearing, plus I look like a most uncomfortable Talouse sausage escaping its casing, but whatevs man - SKINNY JEANS. The last time I wore them, three years ago and sans baby weight, I was told I had a "hot arse". Yeah, that's right. Hot. Arse. It wasn't even my husband who said it, I hasten to add.
Long story long - I would like to hear what works for you, or even what doesn't work for you. Share your wisdom so that I may live the hot arse dream again.