So then, in a conscious effort to lose weight and tone up for my chic birthday bonanza gallavant to Milano later this year (December, so plenty of time for my weight-losing efforts to go wrong and be put right again), I purchased a rebounder (in laymans terms a mini-trampoline or trampette, oh how I do adore linguistics) in an attempt to tone up my abdomen and thighs (which are equal in size to that of Amazon’s tree trunks, you can see my predicament in trying to be incognito tourist amongst the wafer thin population of cityscape Italy) as well as it being a cheaper option to an extortionate monthly gym subscription. In addition, I am superly obsessively envious of the body beautiful that is Lady Gaga: Alejandro . Over the last few weeks, I have been quite successful except I require a pair of scales to determine exactly how many pounds of Shylock’s flesh (if any) I have managed to slink away.
In my late teens and 20s, I was the skinny uncurvy smug laughing girl taunting the Salad Eaters with American-supersized portions of cod & chips accompanied by copious amounts of Coco-Cola and melted Dairy Whole Nut or Snickers or Mint Aero (by placing the chocolate bar on the radiator, don’t ask) on a daily basis, wondering how bird and rabbit food could possibly be entertained as satisfying hunger (for anything other than a bird or rabbit). I happily moved on to sticky toffee pudding with lashings of the sweetest custard, or a large helping of tiramisu or three spoons of sugar (against my father’s objections) just because I could. However, the inevitable progression to my early 30s, has noted my ever-decreasing metabolism which is hitting a lifetime low – salad is actually fairly attractive.
I would even go so far as saying, it’s actually fairly enticing and in fact – stop! hold the press – I am c-r-a-v-i-n-g salad!
A variety of leaves (bar rocket which is about the most horrendous type of leaf in existence that I know of so far) teamed with basil, grilled avocado, mozzarella or feta cheese with slices of large fresh chilled tomatoes (fail: cherry tomatoes) and baked lemon or lime well-seasoned fillet salmon with the tiniest scintillating drops of fresh basil pesto or the lightest virgin olive oil, now forms the foundation of the tastiest delicacies known to my previously barefaced-laughing palette of calorific swamp food. That’s not to say I have not relapsed, only last Sunday, I gazunted a chilli laced donner kebab in naan bread (including salad of course).
My calorie counting neurosis (picking up M+S food items, internal debate with myself, shall i shan’t i, oh it’s over 100kcal, and then slotting the food item on to the incorrect shelf on the other side of the store after feeling guilty that it has been in my basket so long – apologies M+S it’s been me all along, guilty as charged) has raised high concern and questions from my dearest mid-20’s friends who have experienced eating difficulties in the past, and my countless promises of my personal body knowledge falls on to deaf ears as I sip a glass of non-pasteurised freshly squeezed orange juice with bits in i.e. not the fake gallupous stuff which turns to mucus as it tries to slide down my oesophagus and sits on the bed of my stomach like a vast ocean covered with oil slick.
Fruit and vegetable rich dieting accompanied with toning and cardiovascular exercise can only be a good option and it’s also a preventative measure for my future health with the females in older generations of my family suffering from under/overactive thyroid, diabetes, breast cancer, fertility issues…now is the time to fix up so I have a healthy future as the last year has also seen my banishment from the gym due to the emotion-breaking opposite sex, a year’s binging is hardly favourable for anyone let alone one who has intrinsic paranoid weight issues. Healthy carbohydrates and dairy products, in small portions, are also considered and consumed should the notion enter my headachey brain should I not be fully hydrated.
In the long run, for the body weight I crave, I beg forgiveness. But soon, I can commence toning properly and food intake will steadily increase once again. I refuse to see myself going through the same motions as my mother who is the most beautiful mother in the world (not through biasedness but through mass opinion), but was ephemerally moreso beautiful before the thyroid rampaged her life and dictated a daily dosage of tablets. The prospect of HRT in fifteen or so years is the only ‘disease’ I want to be worrying about. Smiley Face, Kiss.