I've faced some stark choices in life including moving away from friends and family for work and to start a family when I was still growing up myself (at 24 I may add). Yet the hardest choice of all has been the choice to become healthy. As mentioned previously my stated reasons are for my health and my kids, yet as heroic as I try to make this deep down I'm doing it for myself.
A week in and the signs are good, I've lost 10lb and there is a noticeable difference in my appearance that has drawn comments. The willpower required for this has been surprisingly low and the decisions I've being making have for the most part being simple ones - cut out the bread, eat something called fruit (which is quite tasty) and start to drink water without coffee & milk. I've even managed to do without loads of chocolate although I will admit to nearly robbing the kid on the bus the other day when he cracked open a box of heroes. I did get a few looks from the regulars on the train home when I reached into my bag and pulled out an apple (without toffee) as for the most part they are used to seeing me with some crisps on the way home. One even gave me one of those 'Good for you smiles'. The Bitch.
All this makes me feel great yet at the same time I know that the first weeks are the easiest and that sooner or later the fat side of my brain will be screaming for attention. Before I would easily fall (well slump) off the diet path and feed that craving with whatever came to hand; unless it slipped out due to the grease that is. 3 weeks is the best I've managed before and with Xmas around the corner I'm already starting to think ahead to how I'm going to get through the holiday season without piling the weight back on, and at the moment some form of food poisoning is the front runner. I wonder if aversion therapy will help? Maybe they do boxes of chocolates that play's Mr Blobby every time it get's opened...........
Tuesday 23 November 2010
Sunday 21 November 2010
The logic of DaddyFat
Whenever I look in the mirror I see exactly what I am, a tall man who is clearly one pie short of exploding. Yet at the same time I also see a happy man who tries to see humour in as much as life as possible and refuses to take things seriously. Unless i'm at work when i'm paid to and even then only when the boss is around. Over the years my philosophy for my diet has been either 'sod it, i'm still young' or (more likely) 'just one more'. In my old job where I was on my feet all day long this wasn't such a problem, but for the last 7 years I've been sat on my ever growing arse in an office eating everything in sight to stop boredom setting in. I am well known in an office of 1200 for being able to smell a buffet from up to 3 floors away. And my solution to this? I endeavour to play the game and stuff my face as this is what my friends and family expect of me having never experienced me in any other manner. Small wonder then that my kids refer to me as daddyfat. Even I laughed at first as it struck me as cute but the realisation that it's not actually a title to be proud of hit me like a large pie shaped frisbee.
The defence mechanism of humour is also starting to wear thin under the strain. When I was a doorman the regular abuse of 'fat b*stard' would elicit my textbook response of 'who are you calling a b*stard' Now this leaves the (usually) drunkard with no where to go, but masks the problem that even someone with 8 pints in them can see I have a intolerence/indifference* to healthy food. I also once introduced myself to the Underwood brothers as a fellow rugby player confirming that I played as the scrum. One laughed and the other looked at me like I was extracting the urine out of his chosen sport. But the fact that one laughed meant that I used the line time and time again with the same mixed results.
Having said of all this I find that my double standards are the most shocking of all. I'll think nothing of commenting at someone eating in the street or buying some treats in Tesco especially when they're on the large side as well. I even managed to scoff at someone once in Subway when they ordered a foot long sandwich and 2 or 3 extras as well. My comment of fat .... was heard by pretty much everyone including the victim who went bright red and nearly cried, to cap it all off he wasn't even that big. The shame I felt from that must have lasted for 5 minutes until I managed to fill my face with a delicious foot long meatball sub.
The amount of fat in my system must have also caused delusion at times as up until my darling wife came into my life I couldn't understand why no woman wanted me. By woman I mean a slim, gorgeous one. Plenty of prospective mates were turned away due to size or looks which clearly I had in abundance so how dare they try and talk to me? My dry spell record was nearly 18 months which is pretty short considering my arrogance. When I was drunk the levels of confidence went through the ceiling and all I could see in the mirror was a Brad Pitt lookalike albeit in larger clothes due to me being more muscular than him. When the girls laughed I just imagined they were laughing with me rather than at me as they also moved away at quite a rapid rate, some may even say the laughs were actually screams but I was too drunk to take notice as my next target would have come into view.
But no more laughs, no more playing the human dustbin and definitely no more laughing at others. To do this properly I have to focus and it's going to take all my energy which I cannot afford to waste....... especially as my poor diet has left me with the energy of a used battery.
The defence mechanism of humour is also starting to wear thin under the strain. When I was a doorman the regular abuse of 'fat b*stard' would elicit my textbook response of 'who are you calling a b*stard' Now this leaves the (usually) drunkard with no where to go, but masks the problem that even someone with 8 pints in them can see I have a intolerence/indifference* to healthy food. I also once introduced myself to the Underwood brothers as a fellow rugby player confirming that I played as the scrum. One laughed and the other looked at me like I was extracting the urine out of his chosen sport. But the fact that one laughed meant that I used the line time and time again with the same mixed results.
Having said of all this I find that my double standards are the most shocking of all. I'll think nothing of commenting at someone eating in the street or buying some treats in Tesco especially when they're on the large side as well. I even managed to scoff at someone once in Subway when they ordered a foot long sandwich and 2 or 3 extras as well. My comment of fat .... was heard by pretty much everyone including the victim who went bright red and nearly cried, to cap it all off he wasn't even that big. The shame I felt from that must have lasted for 5 minutes until I managed to fill my face with a delicious foot long meatball sub.
The amount of fat in my system must have also caused delusion at times as up until my darling wife came into my life I couldn't understand why no woman wanted me. By woman I mean a slim, gorgeous one. Plenty of prospective mates were turned away due to size or looks which clearly I had in abundance so how dare they try and talk to me? My dry spell record was nearly 18 months which is pretty short considering my arrogance. When I was drunk the levels of confidence went through the ceiling and all I could see in the mirror was a Brad Pitt lookalike albeit in larger clothes due to me being more muscular than him. When the girls laughed I just imagined they were laughing with me rather than at me as they also moved away at quite a rapid rate, some may even say the laughs were actually screams but I was too drunk to take notice as my next target would have come into view.
But no more laughs, no more playing the human dustbin and definitely no more laughing at others. To do this properly I have to focus and it's going to take all my energy which I cannot afford to waste....... especially as my poor diet has left me with the energy of a used battery.
Saturday 20 November 2010
Where to start
You just need to eat properly was the advice given by my darling wife. The problem with that is that for so long I have equated properly to quantity, why have 2 pieces of chicken when 4 will do that kind of thing. The fact the chickens were already deep fried never entered my mind. Even though i've eaten out of takeaways for years I cannot claim to be unable to cook as (mentioned previously) I'm a qualified chef. The truth of the matter is that I'm just too fat and lazy to stand in front of a cooker for 30 minutes as to me that' a waste of valuable eating time.
To my eternal shame I've also taken the huge and frankly disturbing step of joining slimming world, on the advice (insistence) of my aforementioned beloved wife. This is a level of bravery rarely seen from a man and surely matches the levels of embarrassment you get when you cry in public. I say surely as I've not cried in public since I was pushed down the stairs whilst in Year 10 at school. I've yet to attend a meeting though this is only down to me joining around 10-15 minutes ago and the meetings being held on a Thursday. I know that tonight I will have nightmares that it'll be just like fatfighters on Little Britain and that even worse I would deserve any shitty comments that come my way. I'd retain more dignity by appearing on Jeremy Kyle in that case as I know that for comfort i'd have to tuck into my emergency Yorkie bar carried for such an emergency. And yet deep down I know this is just another defence mechanism in my mind to avoid admitting that in fact the wife is correct (as always) ,and that if I actually attend and follow the advice it's pretty much cast iron guaranteed that i'll lose some much needed weight.
I wonder if they'll let me in under a pseudonym wearing a balaclava......................
To my eternal shame I've also taken the huge and frankly disturbing step of joining slimming world, on the advice (insistence) of my aforementioned beloved wife. This is a level of bravery rarely seen from a man and surely matches the levels of embarrassment you get when you cry in public. I say surely as I've not cried in public since I was pushed down the stairs whilst in Year 10 at school. I've yet to attend a meeting though this is only down to me joining around 10-15 minutes ago and the meetings being held on a Thursday. I know that tonight I will have nightmares that it'll be just like fatfighters on Little Britain and that even worse I would deserve any shitty comments that come my way. I'd retain more dignity by appearing on Jeremy Kyle in that case as I know that for comfort i'd have to tuck into my emergency Yorkie bar carried for such an emergency. And yet deep down I know this is just another defence mechanism in my mind to avoid admitting that in fact the wife is correct (as always) ,and that if I actually attend and follow the advice it's pretty much cast iron guaranteed that i'll lose some much needed weight.
I wonder if they'll let me in under a pseudonym wearing a balaclava......................
Food, glorious food
To me salad is something that you get on a burger or a nice kebab. But even I would never ask at Mcdonalds for a burger without lettuce as all this does is cement your position in their eyes as a fattie. Not to mention the rest of the queue. I do however have no shame in doing such a thing if I order a burger over the phone as lets face it the driver will probably be as fat as me anyway.
Even as a qualified chef I've always had a strong belief that green on food = mould and should be thrown and these thoughts have long transposed themselves to green food in general. I really don't mind veggies as long as they are encased in pastry preferably with some chicken in a nice pie, or failing that next to steaming hunk of beef and some greasy roast potatoes.
From the age of 20 to 23 I ran pubs up and down the country and was on first name terms with at least 2 delivery drivers from the various local takeaway who lovingly fed me with the money being provided from a nice fat expense account. This is a fatmans food heaven - I don't have to cook and even better I don't have to pay. If only I could have found someone to feed me then my world would have been complete.
My weakness has (and probably always will be) chocolate. It's a comfort food and being the size I am I take more comforting than most. So why not tuck into a family size bar? At least I wait till the kids are in bed, mainly so I don't have to share but all the same I still wait.
Now all this has changed and I really need to focus on what i'm eating, points from now on means being careful where as in the past points were something I awarded myself for finishing the biggest meal ever or for eating more hotdogs than my mate on a night out.
So let the fun begin..................................................... but first maybe one last orange. Terry's do a nice one!
Even as a qualified chef I've always had a strong belief that green on food = mould and should be thrown and these thoughts have long transposed themselves to green food in general. I really don't mind veggies as long as they are encased in pastry preferably with some chicken in a nice pie, or failing that next to steaming hunk of beef and some greasy roast potatoes.
From the age of 20 to 23 I ran pubs up and down the country and was on first name terms with at least 2 delivery drivers from the various local takeaway who lovingly fed me with the money being provided from a nice fat expense account. This is a fatmans food heaven - I don't have to cook and even better I don't have to pay. If only I could have found someone to feed me then my world would have been complete.
My weakness has (and probably always will be) chocolate. It's a comfort food and being the size I am I take more comforting than most. So why not tuck into a family size bar? At least I wait till the kids are in bed, mainly so I don't have to share but all the same I still wait.
Now all this has changed and I really need to focus on what i'm eating, points from now on means being careful where as in the past points were something I awarded myself for finishing the biggest meal ever or for eating more hotdogs than my mate on a night out.
So let the fun begin..................................................... but first maybe one last orange. Terry's do a nice one!
I'm a man, I don't do diets
Mmmm where to start. Well firstly i'm a very very proud Yorkshireman and we just don't do public expressions of emotion and feeling. Not unless we're drunk that is.
I've reached 30 with 3 great kids and a beautiful wife, which according to 'friends' makes me punching well above my weight . Pure jealousy. However if this is true then i'd be the biggest lightweight you'd ever seen.
My weight is not important however it is safe to say that it's on the wrong side of 21 stone (294 pounds to the rest of the world) which at 6'1 is still classed as well FAT.
It's always been a touchy subject with me and for so many years i've been able to carry it and at times use it to my advantage - nobody ever sits next to me on the bus for a start. Recently my health has started to suffer and my 3 year old affectionately refers to me as Daddy fat which has hurt me more than the doctor saying the same thing.
As i'm still a proud Yorkshireman the only way I can express my feelings and retain some dignity (through anonymity) is to write this blog as I enter the worst year of my life and try something called Salad. Or should that be salard?
I've reached 30 with 3 great kids and a beautiful wife, which according to 'friends' makes me punching well above my weight . Pure jealousy. However if this is true then i'd be the biggest lightweight you'd ever seen.
My weight is not important however it is safe to say that it's on the wrong side of 21 stone (294 pounds to the rest of the world) which at 6'1 is still classed as well FAT.
It's always been a touchy subject with me and for so many years i've been able to carry it and at times use it to my advantage - nobody ever sits next to me on the bus for a start. Recently my health has started to suffer and my 3 year old affectionately refers to me as Daddy fat which has hurt me more than the doctor saying the same thing.
As i'm still a proud Yorkshireman the only way I can express my feelings and retain some dignity (through anonymity) is to write this blog as I enter the worst year of my life and try something called Salad. Or should that be salard?
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