Climbing Gear

"Nic is holding a minute silence for the demise of her trainers. A few hundred miles on these Primark specials were obviously too much for the poor things..."

But you know, for eighteen euros, or however much they cost me a few months ago, they've done me well. Yes, yes, I should have bought a proper pair of walking shoes, for not only would they last much longer, they'd support my foot, cushion my arches, protect my tootsies, and enhance the whole walking experience, but, pfff - my budget doesn't permit that kind of frivolous behaviour, and saving up for a decent pair means time spent not walking, and I've noticed that as soon as I pull back on the exercise I stop losing weight. Well, okay, I've stopped losing weight - I'm mid-plateau just now, and frustrated as hell, but any lessening at all of the amount of cardio I get in a week, or a hundred more calories a day, and the weight starts to creep back on.

It's so frustrating. I know; we all plateau when on a weight-loss journey. It appears to be the nature of the beast. I experienced it my first year. I lost two stones, sat there for a couple of months, then managed to put one back on again (although this was before I'd discovered the 5:2 plan, which kick-started the whole thing off again). I've ground to a halt once more, just further up the mountain. The view is stunning, and although I can see base camp, and the camp 1 (if you will) I'm now stuck at camp 2 walking in place and going nowhere.

Of course, physics decrees that I just need to eat even less and exercise even more, but then this turns into a Diet, and not something I can sustain for a lifetime (something I'm hoping to achieve with the 5:2 plan, and regular exercise.) I want to change my life, hell I HAVE changed my life: I eat really well, I exercise five times a week for an hour at home, plus I go for a well-paced walk of at least an hour and a half at least three times a week. I'm at the stage now where I get antsy when it's blowing a gale and chucking it down, because it means I can't get outside and go tramping around the neighbourhood.

I still have so much to lose. In all honesty that figure should be fifty pounds more, but the weight I'd be comfortable trying to maintain would depend entirely on how much loose skin I can cope with. My face has aged considerably as a result of the hundred pounds loss already, with so many little wrinkles and laughter lines that used to be stretched-out and made flat by my 'natural fillers'. And please don't mention my burgeoning jowls where my pudgy apple cheeks once were. My upper arms, or bingo wings as they're affectionately (and generically) called back home, are half-empty and rather more like flapping wings than before, the skin on my thighs, butt, and knees are noticeably saggy, and my tummy skin is concertina-ing in strange ways. I can cope with these just now - it's the price for leaving it until 'middle age' (eek -gads) to figure myself out, I guess, when your skin just doesn't ping back into shape like it might have done at a younger age. 'Tis the Fate's decree that I'd have to wait until now to be in a place mentally strong enough to cope with this emotional climb, and I just have to suck it up, as our American cousins say.

So, if you need me this afternoon, you'll find me sucking it up down in the shoe section of Primark.