RIP 10 Stones of FAT! Laters Potatoes

YO! Long-time no see hey?

So I took a little time out from my incessant chatting of shit whilst my whole weight loss ‘journey’ was being severely dominated by the bane of my existence that is my Gall Bladder.

I have bored myself to tears many times now talking about them, moaning about them, over explaining to my boss why I can’t get off the floor because of them. Unfortunately the stones care not for my plea to FUCK OFF and remain a solid fixture until my surgeon whips the whole gall bladder out.

When will this be? How long is a piece of string, Bro? Who the fuck knows.

I do however FINALLY my Pre Op Assessment have on the 22nd on January so maybe…MAYBE we will get some confirmation. A little shiny light at the end of this pretty fuckin painful tunnel.

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Anyway, let’s move on to more pressing issues like.. ME HITTING MY FUCKIN GOAL WEIGHT.

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Yas, it happened. Now, let me first of all stress that this is MY goal weight, not my Doctors goal weight.

According to my Bariatric team I should weigh approximately 10 to 11 stone whereas for my height and build my aim has always been 12 Stone aka 168 Lbs aka 76.6Kg

Now, call me crazy but having lost 10 stone 2Lbs aka 142 Lbs aka 64.3Kg I feel quite a sense of achievement in that.

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I feel healthy happy, both mentally and physically and I whilst it’s been such a challenge adjusting my mind-set to my new diet I feel like I have a great balance I am confident I can maintain which to me is the most important thing. Not going backwards.

Going backwards, the dreaded gain, the ‘popping that one extra mince pie in at Christmas’ which will catapult you a hundred miles an hour straight back to Fatty Ville is every VSG Post Op’ers realest nightmare.

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I weighed myself this morning after a heavy weekend on the sauce in Switzerland followed by a Chinese last night upon our return.

1lb gain. MELTDOWN?  No, I’m not going down with that ship. It’s so very easy to become obsessed with the scales, too easy to beat yourself up and tear yourself down over a 1 pound gain as opposed to cheer yourself on for the other 168 that you have actually lost.

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Today I’m back on my protein shake breakfast, my skinny decaf and my high protein low carb lunch. That lb will have fucked off my Friday and life shall go on.

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I’m guessing what you want to know by now is what happens to someone’s body when they lose 10stone?

Okay, the truth. My truth at least.

My tits are fucked. They look like suet puddings.

Nice with chips & gravy but not what you want stuck to your chest. When I lie down I feel like a 6 year old boy. My ribs stick out higher than my boobs. Not ideal.

Weirdly it’s not like they’ve sagged, just deflated. Could I have picked a more apt blog name before this all happened? Maybe I jinxed myself. Ace

Next is my arse. ‘What arse’ I hear you say? Exactly. It’s gone. The only reason I know I still have one is thanks to my constant state of protein induced constipation.

Belly? It’s defo like jelly now. I kind of like it. Feels like velvet when I’m in the bath and I squidge it all together.

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Will I need plastic surgery? Maybe. I 100% want my boobs reflated.  I have always had jugs a plenty and I miss them greatly. Plus it would be nice for my Fiancé to revert back to my original nick name of ‘Big Joooceh Titties’ as opposed to the ‘Tiny Cupcake Tits’ he calls me now.

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Urgh.

Don’t Whinge If You’re Gonna Binge

Why is it still so easy to drink alcohol?

I wish it was more of a chore but it’s just as easy as it ever was.

Why can’t I drink water like I can drink Wine?

And Beer.

And Prosecco.

And anything else wet.

As healthy as I can be all day, week, month.. the minute someone asks me if I want a drink. Bitch be like…

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I’m hungover in work today and its days like this that make me feel like this operation never existed.

I’m binge eating.

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I’ve eaten every single piece of food for the day that I brought to work with me.

In fairness, thanks to my unprepared hungover brain I didn’t actually bring any legit pre prepped goodness with me. I fear my little food haul is somewhat lacklustre

I asses my food pile to see what damage I’ve just done to myself and I’m alarmed to see that even in this fragile state things are somewhat very positive.

Has my brain finally engaged and processed that to binge on hangover food it doesn’t always mean that the chosen binge food has to be total fat head horse shit?

Here’s the damage.

100g of Bernard Mathews Turkey Meat – 119 Calories & 20.7g of Protein

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25g of Skinny Popcorn – 114 Calories & 8.6g Protein 

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Half, so (30g) of CarbKilla Protein bar –  107 Calories & 12g Protein 

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I mean come on, things could be so much fucking worse. I even chose to walk 30 minutes around Notting Hill for the fucking pleasure of it before getting into work 1.5 hours EARLY.

Of course it helps that I can now leave work early but it’s also because i’m pretty sure i’m bloody Spartacus.

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I now feel pretty pleased with myself. I bought these items without a second thought, the internal turmoil of SAUSAGE BUTTY WITH LURPACK ON ACE BREAD WITH LOADS OF BROWN SAUCE vs Fruit.

Okay fine so I didn’t buy any fucking fruit BUT I didn’t buy the Sausage Butty either did I? NO. Lilli 1 – Life 0

I purchased Low Cal, High Protein snacks that was through my very own pudgey little fat brain’s choice. YAS.

On a low note I now have no food left as I gave the other half of my Protein Bar to Ginger Joe in the office and now I feel so sad like only Chunk from the Goonies could possibly understand.

Oh Chunk.

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I AM NOT MO MOWLAM. Repeat To Self 10 Times & Breathe.

PANICK OVER.

The stall was but a very short one. Things haven’t moved majorly since my last weigh in but they have moved. That’s all that matters.

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My last weigh in 28.08.17 I was at 7 stone 2.9lbs lost. As of today I’m 7 stone 4.7lbs lost. 2.2lbs in 2 weeks I not the worst thing 5 months down the line.

I’m considering upping my meal replacement shakes from 1 a day to 2 and being strict to make sure I’m not exceeding 800 calories a day.

I’m aware everyone has their own process which works well for them but I feel like I have no clue as what I should / should not be consuming calorie wise on a daily basis at this stage. Then again, I had a heavy weekend. My brain is mush.

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Is it sustainable to live off 800 calories a day? Any advice on that is more than welcome man, hook a brother up AKA tell me what to do.

ACID UPDATE. My theory of never sitting down to eat ever again in my whole entire life seem to be working.

Eat – Walk, Eat – Walk.

The minute I’m sat down post food the death pang kicks in and I need to dash out the door to power walk it off immediately but shit gets serious.

I very nearly missed a vital hair appointment last week thanks to that dreaded pang but luckily a mighty fart after a power walk brought me back to the game.

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Its vile man but you got to do what you got to do, Yas?

Speaking of that hair appointment, I booked myself for a fresh cut and colour after months of going seriously au natural. With bright ginger roots beaming through like a glow worm enough was enough.

I came away from the salon £172.00 lighter and also very sad to the core of my icy cold heart. The hair was buff, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was it for the first time it was very apparent to me how much thinner my hair has become. WEEP.

AM I MO MOWLAM? I asked myself through teary eyes.

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It’s always been my ultimate fear to have Mo Mowlam hair. Fine baby hair spare across a big bulbas head like spun sugar on Croquembouche

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You see where i’m going with this? Not the strongest of looks is it?

I have this recurring nightmare that ill wake up one morning, sit upright in bed and realise I’ve morphed into a hard boiled egg. A bald, sponge of protein filled mess.

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How to stop my mind running away with itself? No clue man, wine?

Wine always helps.

If you’re not totally sold on my wine theorem then try a before and after photo to jolt you back to reality.

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These also help A LOT.

Not as much as wine though.

 

 

 

I AM ALEX MACK.

Since the 21st April 2017 I have now lost 82.6lbs and I look like a deflating water balloon.

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That’s fine. FINE. But like, when this belly of joy finally fuck off? ‘It’s been 3 months HAVE PATIENCE LILLI’. No. I shall not.

I’m morphing into a modern day Alex Mack. SOS.

Too dramatic?

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I’ve decided to eat no more, no less than 800 calories a day for the rest of my life. Is this achievable?

I fear not as I cast my eyes down to my turmeric stained fingers from fishing out a piece of Chicken from Leigh’s curry last night after a bottle of wine. Oops.

Don’t judge me, it was Thursday. And everyone knows that Thursday is the new Friday. AND I’m not going to drink tonight AND I’m already over explaining myself through the guilt of LOVING BOOZE SO MUCH.

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I have so much guilt over drinking booze again 3 months down the line. I imagine my fat little liver bathing in a swamp of Pinot Grigio wearing a skin tight Tankini like a fat kid by the poolside in Benidorm covered in Ice Cream.

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Oh liver, what doth become of me?

I tried to redeem myself this morning by wearing my tropical swimming cozzie under my work threads. How can I not go to the gym / swim straight from work if I’m already dressed for the occasion. FOOL PROOF G.

Little do my work colleagues know (who think I’m super dedicated to the gym)  that I’m only wearing this flamboyant M&S cozzie to work because it was easier than finding knickers and a bra this morning amidst my white wine hangover daze.

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On the subject of brazier’s I’ve road tested out my new Shock Absorber Gym Bra thing and FUCK IN HELL its pure magic man.

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Like, my tits are almost protruding out of my back it straps them in so hard. Brilliant.

It’s amazing how much more energy I have to focus on exercise when I’m not contending with the ‘Mitchell Brothers’ scrapping away in my bap hammock.

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I’ve never experienced life with small breasts before. Not since I was like, 3.

Anyone with big boobs will agree that the minute you whip your bra off after a long day you can’t help but stand, belly out, head back jiggling your boobs in your hands for a good 5 minutes before you acknowledge how weird the situation has become and you put a T Shirt on before the neighbours in the flat facing call the police.

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So strapping them down to make life somewhat easier has become a real treat. I feel like this is the female version of ‘tucking’

I shall just leave you with this mental image. You’re welks yo.

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Desperately Seeking Stella

I tried booze for the first time in 7.2 weeks.

I had no intention of doing so until my dietitian session last week, turns out everyone in my post fatty crew admitted to having a few ‘cheeky’ bevvies on week 2.

I was straight edge man. And it felt so very dark.

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That night I sent Leigh to the shop to get me a sick bottle of Riesling as I’d been craving this since our Berlin jaunt earlier this year.

Guess what he came back with?

Blue Fuckin Nun. Okay so yes, technically this is a Riesling, technically. But the last time I drank Blue Nun was at G ’Nan’s kitchen table with Sunday Dinner with I was 12.

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God bless G’Nan for always keeping my glassed topped up even as a nipper.

Old school as fuck man.

It tasted decent though, just the mental recognition I was drinking booze was enough to settle my misery. I had approximately 5 sips of this shit before my face flushed red like the colour of Mars. Was I pissed? Was I having a reaction? Was I due on?

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I went back to my water. My safe place.

Leigh’s family were visiting this weekend so to join in the famalam camaraderie I decided to treat myself to a plush bottle of plonk from good ole’ Marks & Sparks.

3 sips this time. It tasted like shit.

My dietitian warned me my taste buds would change, things would taste different. Not always with nice results.

Had this happened to me?

So I CAN’T drink beer because of the fizz, I get this, it’s a no go area. My stomach will burst out my arse hole. Fair play.

But what if all wine in the world now tastes like dog shit? Do I just endure it for the sake of having 3 sips of booze?

I’ve always loved the taste of alcohol 😦 WEEP

I don’t want this pleasure to be taken away from my mouth box. What will become of me?

Kate Moss one said ……….

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Well, Kate. YOU ARE WRONG. Camden Hells tastes better than being skinny. So does Rum, Port and Stella to name a few.

Kate’s a cunt.

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I shouldn’t panic as this stage, should I?

I’ll try a few more alternatives. Worst case scenario is I live the rest of my life with Blue Nun as my tipple and try and make it my ‘quirk’.. that will never work.

Urgh. This is all Kate’s fault.

PS … I got new hair.

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