Since Liam and I got together it’s safe to say I’ve let myself go a bit (a lot). In the words of one of my groomsmaids, I got fat and happy.
Of course it happens. Once in a relationship, once you get comfortable in that relationship, once you leave the world of dating apps, once you stop scanning bars and clubs looking for attractive men as if you’re Liam Neeson looking for his daughter, once you’re removed from the world of rejection – you become less concerned about being considered attractive and assume that you’ve passed the attracting phase. At least I did.
Add onto that the fact I’d also quit performing as my main source of income and stopped auditioning, and suddenly I now have no one looking at me and judging. Which sounds great, but I need judging… because my edges have become fluffy.
I’m not trying to pretend that I’m in any way obese, but I’m not at my target weight either. First, I had to accept that medium T-shirt’s fitted better. Then I couldn’t do up the buttons on the bespoke shirt I’d had made not even 12 months before. Next, I had to get over the horrible transition from 30Reg jeans to 32Reg. Finally, I bought a multipack of fitted T-shirts (in size medium!) and could see my belly button dimple through the fabric when I looked in the mirror.
Now I have a wedding coming up and I don’t want to feel like Jabba the Slut slithering down the aisle. I want to feel great in my suit, ideally wearing 30Reg trousers. In fact, I want to be so skinny people come up and say “Gorgeous service… but have you been eating?”
OK maybe not that far, but I do need to get my (fat) ass in gear and take control of my fitness. They say good bodies aren’t made in the gym, they’re made in the kitchen. Well this body has been made in the kitchens of McDonalds and Greggs. So I need to keep myself socially distant from both Ronald and Gregg.
The regime has started. The same groomsmaid who coined the phrase “fat and happy”, Lindsay, gave me an intervention and booked me a 3 day juice cleanse with Presscription… no solid food, 7 juices a day. Day one was invigorating. Day two was disgusting. Day three was hysterical, thanks to my groomsman Darren who kept me entertained with his Dazza Diaries. He’s a PT and a nutrition expert so he was not best pleased with me starving myself except for a couple of smoothies. But he looks like action man so it’s easy for him to say! Where he has abs I’ve had 5 months of lockdown snacking storing up in case there’s a second lockdown over Christmas.
Anyway I lost 7.5lbs in 3 days so it was the detox I needed! I cleaned up a couple of bad habits; like switching a glass of Prosecco for a white wine spritzer, and planning meals more effectively.
Then lockdown started to lift and I went back to work. HERE ENDETH THE REGIME.
Despite the best will and intentions throughout lockdown, and all of the promises that “life will be different after all these lessons we’ve learnt whilst reflecting during lockdown”, when you go back to work you grab at every chunk of normality you can and so I’ve eaten out to help out and binged on Greggs, Maccies, Wok and Go and all of Bold Street’s finest establishments. Old habits die hard.
So now I’ve got to get this wedding date booked (yes, we still don’t have a date or venue!) so I can plan my just-under-two-year weight loss plan. Yes, it’s not just brides preparing for their fishtail dress hoping they look like a mackerel not a beluga whale: it’s us too! I’m not against wild and unorthodox methods… I’ll try them all. Hot yoga, running through forests, licking the face of someone with Gastroenteritis…
So whilst Misters Who Marry restart with the rest of the world, praying lockdown is over for good and the sequel isn’t on the way, the diet has to start and get serious. So far I’ve done a week back at work with term started (Liam has done 2), we’ve been eating better, planning lunches and alcohol intake has reduced – though it increases as we get towards the end of the week and my patience!
It’s a marathon, not a sprint… and ironically I’m in shape for neither. But here we go, I’ve put it in a blog now so it has to happen… otherwise the 6 regular readers will be so disappointed by my lack of progress. By my next blog post, I’ll be an American size 2 and you’ll be able to grate cheese on my cheekbones. Either that and I’ll give up and get married wearing an empire line dress to disguise my growing never-going gut! Tra!