A Year On The Dry

 I don’t recall the day I took my last alcoholic drink but I do know it was towards the end of January last year and that drink would have been a very nice glass of red wine or two. Or three? Maybe four? It did not make me sad that these would have been my last drinks because I fully intended that I would resume taking alcohol after a month. That was the idea.

For quite some time I’d been thinking about cutting down on the number of days during the week that I’d drink wine. Maybe I’d just have a drink on the weekend, or on some special occasions. I knew that I was drinking more that the recommended amounts and definitely far too much for a person my age.

So when Bert was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes and decided to quit his nightly glass or two of cider, I joined him in going alcohol-free, partly in support and partly out of curiosity about what a break might do for me.

Well! It was all a bit dull at first. I missed my nightly glass or two of wine. The evenings seemed too long. Two weeks passed. I thought I might carry on until the end of February. But by then I’d got used to an alcohol-free life and I’d started to lose weight. That took my mind off wanting to drink. So I kept going. I was still not going to stop drinking forever.

By the summertime I’d lost 20lbs and was well-used to the dry. Christmas was going to be the decider. By October I knew I was going to have an alcohol-free Christmas and after that I only had to get to the end of January to have completed a year without wine. And you know, I still miss it. If I thought I could just have the occasional glass, just now and again I’d still be drinking.

I heard this recently. No one really wants the second glass of wine. They just want the first one over again. For me that rings true. The first one is wonderful. But then I want it again. And again.

Even though I don’t remember the exact date I had that last drink, I do remember when I stopped smoking. That was on the 15^th March 2004. Almost twenty-two years ago. I wonder what I’ll be giving up twenty-two years from now? Maybe chocolate? Blogging? Living?

By the way, the weight loss eased off but since last January I have lost a total of 25 lbs. I’m still old though.

Days of yore. I'm sure Katy is giving me a disapproving look.

It's All Over Now

 

I feel a bit churlish for ranting in my previous post about my jury service - especially since, from that day forward, I was never called again.

Of course, there were several more days that I had to go online at 5pm to check but as time went on I became more relaxed about it. Then came the best 5pm call-in. 

You have completed your jury service.

And y'know the next thing I thought of?

This calls for a celebratory glass (or three) of wine.

Which was odd as I had been on the dry for over 10 weeks. See! I'm still counting.

Needless to say the urge for wine quickly passed and it has now been 11 weeks since I last had an alcoholic drink.

And I've lost 15 pounds because I'm off the sweeties too.  Losing weight in one's later years is not all it is cracked up to be. I have turkey neck!

 

More Apple Dumpling

I am finding it hard to settle to fresh blogging. So back to the trusty stopgap - a recycled post. This one is almost 20 years old. Some things have changed since I wrote it, some things haven't. Swisser is still annoying me, and I have not gotten any fatter. The big change is that Matty's not here any more. She will be gone thirteen years tomorrow.

Apple Dumpling

Mother and I went to the Hospice shop in Magherafelt yesterday where I picked up a denim skirt and pink stripy cheesecloth blouse both size 20. That shop is damn good as there is little competition in the area and there are lots of rich people (good quality cast offs) about. There are also loads of large well-fed people too as there were plenty of XL sizes. I am building up an extensive wardrobe of size 20 (and above) garments since getting amazingly fat. Sometimes I console myself that I’ve only gone up one dress size and that I was only kidding myself I was size 16 anyway.

Whilst putting on the denim skirt this morning I noticed that my waist appears to have risen. Let me explain. You know ladies that a huge amount of us wear the wrong bra size and that the starting point of measuring up for the proper size is underneath the bosom. Well that is where my waist has crept up to. My under-bust measurement and my waist are the same and in the same place. Nelly is now the shape of an apple with little arms and legs sticking out – and is that a cherry on the top?

A wise woman once told me that I shouldn’t worry about putting on weight as a result of stopping smoking. She said that after about a year the weight would go down again. Oh God I hope she is right.

Then another wise woman told me that a menopausal woman turns into an apple with little arms and legs sticking out, and then she gets diabetes. Thanks for that Swisser.

Nelly Christmas

About five weeks ago I decided to cut down on the eating and drinking as I was getting way too fat. And, it was all going so very well. I'd have a few glasses of red wine on a Saturday night and avoided alcohol on the other six days of the week. I watched what I ate, reduced my portions, got back to a daily walk. I was feeling lots better and had reduced my tonnage by 9 lbs. Some of my trousers were actually getting a bit fally-off.

Then Christmas. I had good intentions about the scoffing but the drinking got in the way of that. Stepped on the scales this morning to find that I have gained 6 lbs. Ah well. I will just have to start all over again.

Here is a picture of chubby ol' Nelly hiding behind a dog. Photo courtesy of Miss Martha.

Peak Fatness

As almost everyone agrees breast feeding is very advantageous to mother and child. I'm in favour for I was breast fed myself and nursed all my children beyond a year old. My own daughters did not break the tradition. In all likelihood we're from a long line of breast feeding mums that stretch back to Cro-Magnons and beyond. It was touch and go with me and my ma though. I weighed a mere 5 and a half pounds at birth and afterwards was failing to thrive. The District Nurse was on the yard every single day, had me stripped and on the scales and my poor mother demented with worry. So worried that she wasn't eating so no wonder I was losing those precious ounces. It wasn't until my Aunt Sadie called and advised Matty to make me a bottle of formula, thickened with Farex and sweetened with sugar that I stopped crying with hunger.

Of course I don't remember any of this but in my subconscious there was fear laid down from that early starving. It would explain my childhood greed, a greed that has continued throughout my entire life and that has resulted in my carrying extra weight for most of that life. Or 'being fat' as a plain-speaking person might say. Being fat.

I like to think that I reached peak fatness at 9pm last Sunday night. I'd been in contemplation and starting the next day resolved to eat in a more sensible manner. After all, I'm not that starving infant any more - I'm a grown-up woman who knows exactly when and where her next meal is coming from.  So here's hoping to get from peak fatness to peak fitness. I'm on my way.

Small Steps

This evening I was looking at some pictures of myself taken in February this year. Oh dear. Was I ever a fat lump? Thankfully I’m not quite as roundy now as I was then.

And I’m not the only one who has been making an effort to reduce the tonnage. Dan Tobin (or his clothing) over at Surgical Strikes puts it rather well.

No longer a fatty-fatty-fat-fat, … still a fatty-fat-fat.

And so it is with myself. I’m a fatty-fat-fat moving towards being merely fatty-fat. It’s small steps people, small steps. But they’re rather brisk small steps and lots of them. That’s the way to do it.