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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Is Belly Gonna Get Me?

I weighed myself today and I have lost NO WEIGHT in the last 7 days.

NOT ONE FUKIN POUND.

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I had my surgery on the 21st April 2017 so that makes me 4.5 months post op. I feel this is a little early to just stop losing weight, no?

Is this ‘THE STALL’ I hear people refer to or is this just a bad week? HOW DO I KNOW?

I’ve been lax on the gym front this week thanks to 29847489384674830905058 viewings on my flat cutting into gym time but I’m PUMPED now to get back into my routine as I fear missing even only a few sessions has now collapsed my whole weight loss system and I am likely to explode into a huge ball of fat by Sunday.

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Tell me this isn’t so? Tell me this is just a bad week?

I talked myself out of cutting my excess fat off with some gardening shears this morning in the panic my slimming run was all over.

I joke, I joke. As if I own any fuckin gardening shears. I barely own a razor.

Like, what if this is it? What if by rule I was unable to lose any more weight? Would I be happy now? Would I be satisfied?

I weigh up the pros and cons

PRO – I am for the first time since birth a UK size 16 – come hit me up on Instagram to see the evidence you fuckin bbz @lillibee

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CON – My jelly belly still dominates my life

PRO – I feel less like I’m about to keel over and die

CON – My jelly belly still dominates my life

PRO – I think I’m going to live past 43 years old.

CON – My jelly belly still dominates my life

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Okay so you get le’jist?

So, I guess in a nutshell, yes, I could be happy now. I am happy now.

Of course I am highly dramatic and appreciate in reality is has only been a week but I feel it’s good to mentally prepare yourself for all eventualities, right?

2stone 12lbs is all I have left to lose to be GOAL SMASHED HAPPY. It’s so fuckin close bro.

I’m going to ramp up the efforts from now on. I was never sure I could ramp up the efforts considering how little I eat but it’s time to go all out.  PS… loving the word RAMP.

I’ve binned off all breakfast alternatives for strictly Protein Shake goodness, invested in a bulk buy from My Protein with treats such as Protein Pancakes, BCAA and Impact Diet Whey as well as a host of protein packed goody treats from Eat Natural. Which are LUSH BTW.

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Even Flearoy aka Leigh my long suffering beaut of a fiancé (of 1 year this week a thank yor) is all over getting on this ultimate health kick with me.

He blates loving our new sex life too, I reckon that is his motivation behind keeping our belly’s bound. GWARN LAD.

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Happiest Fatty in Homerton… STILL (Tough Crowd)

I had my 2nd group session of post fatty chat at the hospital yesterday.

You remember the first session where I seemed to be the only one not crying into my protein shake about how I was now unable to chow down on a family sized chocolate bar, it was embarrassing man.

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This one was slightly better, less tears.

It was amazing to see these people 3 months down the line. They all looked, well, smaller. I now understand people’s reactions when they see me for the first time since the operation as i have always assumed It’s just polite to tell someone they look like they’ve lost weight after they’ve had an operation to cut their belly off. And as I don’t see the results in myself it was reassuring to see them in others.

We went around the group and each spoke briefly about our new eating habits.

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So Sandra, how’re you getting on’… Sandra looks up from her Turkey slices wrapped in cling film now sweating in her clammy grip.

Well, the thing is I’m still really struggling to eat full meals. I still get very upset at dinner time when him indoors and the kids sit down to a roast and I’m left there watching and well, it just really gets to me’

Everyone nodded in agreement. How dare those bastards sit and eat their tea in front of us well we sit here like a shaking shitting Donkey from an NSPCC advert?

I watched from the back left hand corner of the room trying not to laugh and shout at them all. ‘BUT YOU’RE NOT STARVING ARE YOU, SANDRA. YOU CAN EAT. YOU COULD EAT WITH THEM YOU SILLY COW BUT YOU JUST LOVE MOANING DON’T YOU. YOU FUCKIN GREMLIN’

Look, I fuckin get it man. It’s hard at times. Can be frustrating. But come on, get a grip. If I can sit and eat a roast with my friends and family why can’t they?

Yes, my roast is minuscule in comparison to the others but who cares, it tastes ace and is great protein if you make a few adjustments. A little bit of chicken, a sprout and maybe a tater if I’m feeling fruity. I can enjoy that just as much as you can scran your roast like a bossman. What’s the beef?. mmmmmmm BEEF.

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It just felt to me like I was hearing a lot of excuses. Whinging for no real reason. Only me and 2 others had even started going to the gym yet. The other 7 still didn’t feel ready, was too tired.

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I’m over these people man. These are the one’s that will be blending up Mars Bars and chugging them down convincing themselves it’s a treat day every other day and end up having another surgery 4 years down the line. What a fuckin shame.

MOVING ON

I went on to have my own personal one on one with my dietitian. I’ve lost 56% of my excess body weight so far. Sounds good yeah?

But it did get me thinking. If I’ve lost 56% of my EXCESS body weight and still have another 44%, what the fuck do they class my target weight as?

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I’m 5’9 and 33 years old and looking forward to be a happy healthy 11 / 12 stone. By their math it looks like I’ll have to be about 2 stone before I’m no longer classed as overweight. Liberty bro. Pure. Liberty.

So, what to do about this. The plan of action is keep my own personal target in mind. When i reach that target, reevaluate the situation. If I look like road kill and my skin is blowing in the wind behind me, i’ll know it;s time to stop.

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Witness The Poor Fitness. One Hope One Quest.

I went running this week. Me. Yes. I.Went.Running

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I’d like to say this has become a standard part of my daily routine but NO.

3 reasons why:-

1 – I can’t run. It’s hard. It’s so tiring. I’m so unfit. I’ll die. I’m dead.

2- My tits are too big. Sports Bras are NEVER to be underestimated. I have a new found respect or every woman, ANY woman who can run and not die. I’ve done my research and will now purchase the most supportive straight jacket’esk Shock Absorber Sports Bra that has ever existed.

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3 – I bought the wrong size running pants. This seems like a silly thing to do, right? See, I’ve always sized up my entire life, bought a bigger size to ensure I’m not bulging out or busting at the seams. I need to stop doing this. Get measured. Mentally accept that I can and need to wear smaller sizes because that’s what my body is now, smaller. It’s hard to get my head round. Do you know what happens when you run with pants that are too big? They fall down. A lot.

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Picture a first time runner in the blistering heat with her tits flying around her head and pants round her knees. That was me. It was not cool.

Aside from that I did actually enjoy it. I could feel the burn. Literally. My thighs were fucked for 3 days later. I see runners now along the canal and give them the secret nod. You know the nod? It’s what we pro runners give each other to be like ‘Yo, cool run bro’

They still don’t seem to give me the nod back yet though. Maybe it takes more than 5 x 1 minute stints? Hmmmm.

Now as we will all be aware this week has been hotter than the fiery pits of hell. Hotter than Tom Hardy smothered in Foie Gras with an Apricot Jus and a pinch of black pepper. Jesus man I’m salivating.

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I usually hate summer. I still kind of do but for very different reasons this year.

I live in London and have to travel from East to West on the Central Line twice a day so my life is always going to be somewhat Les Miserables until the day I win the lottery and that shit commute can bounce.

The Central Line for those that don’t know is the most intense form of social torture one person can endure so you can imagine there’s a lot of sweat knocking about. A lot of body odour. A lot of, how shall we say, scent. Vile

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I also partake in this sweating shindig. Its 154862545932 degrees. Why would I not? But I do feel a certain change in my sweat patterns. I get hot, I chill and I cool down. This sounds like a standard format for sweating I know. But this is new to me.

I used to sweat, get worked up about being the hottest person alive, panic everyone would notice I was the hottest person alive, get hotter, then hotter, then die, never stop sweating, lose my breath, have an asthma attack then eventually cool down.

As of today I have lost 4st and 10lbs. That has made a HUGE difference to the smallest of things. Health was always my main objective and it’s reassures me every day of my decision when little things like that make a difference.

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The Running Man part deux will take place with week. Pray for Lilli B yo.

As Shania Once Said. ‘Man, I feel Like A Fuckin Fat CheeseBurger’ Da Da Dadada Da!

I spoke too soon. Double chin dilemma is the devil.

Why do I feel like my belly is getting smaller yet my face is getting fatter?

1 of 2 things has happened to me.

1 – The utopia of seeing my double chin disappear has now subsided leaving me back to square one with what’s medically known as ‘Fat Eyes’.

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Fat Eye is a common ailment found in 1 in every 1 person. You look at yourself in the mirror and your brain box defaults to the Negative Nancy that lives within you. Negative Nancy whispers to you ‘So what if you have lost over 4 stone, your face is getting fatter by the minute’

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Nancy is a cunt. Nancy fuels the Fat Eye.

2 – My face is actually getting fatter.

Is this possible? Has my body found new ways to disperse calories?

MINDBOX – ‘Don’t send those calories to her belly you fool, she’s on a diet. Throw it on her face, she has room for a few lbs’

It’s probably no coincidence I’m feeling like a Pig in blanket, it’s my first vagina blood bath since the operation. WELCOME SWEET AGONY.

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I’m craving sugar. I’m craving a bit of Chocolate, Caramel and or Gnocchi. Okay, that’s not quite a sugar fix but I fuckin love roasted Gnocchi with Parmesan.

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I’ve tried to scratch the itch with alternatives. SEE BELOW FOR BULLSHIT RESULTS OF BULLSHIT ALTERNATIVES.

SUGAR Snap Peas – BULLSHIT

SWEETcorn – BULLSHIT

BUTTERnut Squash – BULLSHIT.

What others foods lure you in to a false sense of security? Cock Coup? Fish Assholes? (That potentially is legit assholes) Different Kettle of fish but you get my point.

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1 final theory to explain Today’s potential body dysmorphic meltdown.

If it’s not my period making me swell like a tampon in bowl of hell blood, if it’s not calories collecting in my chin(s) the only other explanation is the reverse Beetlejuice syndrome. Viable?

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I’m holding off on my weekly weigh in until Aunt Flo has packed her bags and fucked right off for another month or so. By then this bloated, constipated belly of hormonal hell might have subsided and reward me another lb or so off my weight loss. Tactics man. Tactics.

Wish me luck.

 

 

Chins Up, It’s All Gravy Baby

3 major things have happened this week.

1 – I’ve shrunken into AND grown out of one of my ‘thinspiration’ skirts in what seems like the space of a week.

2 – I’ve lost another stone + 1 extra lb since my last weigh in on the 12th of May.

3 – I only went and joined the fuckin gym. YAS KWEEN.

All of the above are of course wonderfully ace and I am elated to be seeing such results but by the end of this month I will literally be dressing in bin bags unless I stock up rapid on threads as most of my clothes are edging from ‘casually oversized ‘ to straight up 90’s Hip Hop vibes. A look I’m confident I cannot pull off.

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I’ve set up somewhat of a rotator system. Buy clothes – wear 3 weeks – sell clothes – buy new clothes. This is working well man. I can’t replenish my whole wardrobe when weeks after purchasing I look like a deflated Sea Urchin from The Little Mermaid in my new garms. Fuck that bro.

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The gym has been an unexpected delight to me. I’ve always asserted myself as a firm believer in the bold statement ‘ALL GYM’RATS ARE TWATS’ but that’s not the case. I feared the scathing looks of ‘what is SHE doing in here’, the snarky comments of… I have no idea what I even thought these ‘Gym Rat’s’ would say. I just knew I detested the place and all it’s members would no doubt be wankers.

Me, generalise, noooo. Urgh. I’m a twat.

I am a total convert. I fuckin love that fact the gym, well, my gym is such an eclectic mix of fat old women, chubby new mums, ripped to fuck Stedhead’s with bodies like bubble wrap. I’m learning to buzz hard off them all.

I’ve even started taking Gym Classes. Okay, I joined 1. And the instructor didn’t actually turn up. But fuck it, I joined, right?

As I lose weight and gain confidence I’m realising the confidence is nothing to do with the size or shape of my body. Without getting all deep in yo’ass (that’s a saying, right?) I now know the confidence comes from within. I know, I know… ‘Shut the fuck up Lilli’ but seriously man, its confidence in yourself that you can actually do this. You’re not unfixable. You can do 3 more minutes on that fuckin treadmill.

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As for losing the weight, my once super tight muscular calves are now soft and podgy like high quality goose down pillows. My fat butcher’s arms and now flabby butcher’s arms and my boobs have definitely started to shrink. Leigh is monitoring them on the regular and is not shy of telling me I will soon have ‘Nana Tits’. I tell him I don’t mind this. I can buy new ones. HUZZAR. Lilli 1 – Leigh 0

 

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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