7 weeks ago, I was meant to be stopping. For good. Christmas was well and truly over now, and I’d already ‘decided’ I was going to slow down. Stop this madness before I reached that ever-malleable ‘point of no return’.
I can admit now that, before this, my attempts had been half-hearted at best. But I hadn’t yet hit 180lbs, so I could still turn things around for myself, surely?
Christmas Day, I ate a late lunch with everyone else… and then I called through the drive thru on my way home. A large meal from McDonalds. Just to tide me over, so that I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, hungry! Or maybe as a last hoorah of sorts…
But then there was New Years. And a couple of late night car rides with friends, playing designated driver and taking them through drive thrus to get something for them to soak up the alcohol and make the hangover less horrific for them the day after. And of course, if they were getting something, then they insisted I do too, to thank me for ferrying them around. It would have been rude to say no!
…Not to mention, the amount of take-out I was eating. 4-5 nights of the week, I was cycling through the local options on my way back home from this commitment or that. Eating a hole in my wallet and myself out of my jeans, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
I felt heavy, even if I swore I was behaving myself outside of those moments. And then, 7 weeks ago, I was asked by a friend to join their sports team. They needed numbers, and this was it! My sign to get fit again, before my usual weekly sport started back up for the new season.
So, I cleared all my posts on this blog. I told myself I would lose the extra weight. And actually do it this time! I’d be training for sports 2-3 time a week, as well as playing games.
…Only, it didn’t quite happen like that. Of course it didn’t.
I started training, and my lack of fitness compared to the other girls was more than evident. I blamed it on my allergies, and just needing to get back into the swing of things. Trying to ignore the way my stomach bunched up as I laced up my boots. Laugh off how red I turned at the slightest hint of exercise, making a joke of it before the other girls could. And after the first few weeks, I started to notice an actual difference.
I felt fitter! Healthier! Slowly but surely, I was moving quicker, and getting less out of breath. So surely, it must be working? Right?! I had to be losing weight!
Sure, I was still eating take-out most nights of the week, but that shouldn’t matter! Not with how I was feeling…
Only, I saw photos of my first proper game in my new kit, and I looked… fat. Properly fat. I was so embarrassed when my friend sent them through, even going so far as to comment on how much weight she had lost playing and how I needn’t worry, it’d happen for me too! So earnest and nice about it, as I stated at my phone and flushed like I’d just run our training warm-up.
A week later, I missed our second game. Not because I was embarrassed, but because I had a girls trip that I had already planned and paid for months ago. So I wished my new team luck, and packed my bag full of clothes that I could wear out to restaurants and vineyards. The photos might have looked bad, but it was a sports kit! It wasn’t very flattering! I was still so sure my usual, nice clothes would fit.
Oh boy, was I wrong…
We were only gone for two nights. Travel, pre drinks, and then dinner at a restaurant that first evening. I packed my usual black jeans, a new jewel tone green shirt. Something nice, a little more masc-leaning. The couple drinks I had for pres must have bloated me more than I realised, though. Because my beloved jeans were tight. Tighter than I could ever remember being before…
I had to suck in, and fight with the zip. But I got them buttoned. And then I put my belt on, and that was a couple notches further along than I remembered it being… But it was FINE! I was just bloated from the two drinks I’d had, remember?!
I got compliments from my outfit from the girls, and we were all eating and drinking, so the rest of the night was fine! Everything felt a bit tight - especially by the end - but I looked fine.
Getting ready the next morning for the full day out drinking wine and cocktails and eating charcuterie and pizza? That was an entirely different story…
Almost everything I brought with me to wear didn’t fit.
My skirt was too short, exposing my ass. My plaid pants wouldn’t zip the last inch. I couldn’t wear my comfy sports tights- they weren’t nice enough! And I couldn’t wear my jeans; it was too hot, and besides, I’d worn them last night.
All of my tops were fine, thank god! But I had no choice but to wear the same outfit I’d worn around the same people to a birthday several months prior. And although it fit, it didn’t quite look the same… The pants didn’t sit at my waist, they were lower on my belly, not looking quite as flattering. Still, they would have to do! I didn’t have any other choice…
It was fine, for the most part. Until I noticed half way through a tour of the first winery that my pants had slipped down and my top had ridden up slightly, showing off a sliver of my round shape. Still bloated from the alcohol the night before. I fixed it immediately, and hoped that no one had noticed.
The day carried on, and thanks to the copious amount of drinks I had, and the good company I was in, I didn’t think too much of it. Did I look huge at dinner, before a tactical to purge the abundance of liquid and get rid of the bloat? Yes. Yes, I did. But I had my sneaky trip to the bathroom, and looked and felt all the better for it. Later, we managed to get back to the accommodation, and the next day we left.
We had a fantastic weekend, and I was glad to have done it. Until I saw the photos. The candid ones. In the winery, with my belly out, eating grapes before I had noticed the way my clothes had shifted. Group posed photos, where I was on the end and slightly turned in. My puffy arms, double chin, and round belly making me look so much bigger than my friends. Drawing attention to myself in what should have been nice pictures of us all…
Finally home, and seeing how big I still looked- despite picking up a new sport- despite totally being mindful of everything I was shoving into my mouth, I did it. I stepped onto the scale for the first time since mid-December. 3 months exactly since my last weigh-in.
The number that I saw shocked me: 182lbs.
I spent a week thinking about it. Only 1 sports training this week. No games. And tonight? Tonight, I caved. With that number in my head, those photos in mind, and the slightest nudge from someone who probably doesn’t even share this kink with me… I caved. And I stuffed myself stupid.
I’ve never been so fat. And I’ve never felt better. Tease me about it 😘
