As I walked towards our complex gate late yesterday afternoon to grab a lift with Da Husband to a joint appointment, one of the gardeners called out, “are you getting FAT?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. Did I just hear right? Then he started walking towards me and said genially, “yeah, I thought so… you’ve gained weight.”
Shocked, I muttered, “gee thanks” and opened the gate to make my escape but he would have none of that. “Why are you saying thanks? It’s true. You are getting fat.”
“Well, that’s no way to speak to a lady,” I managed to blurt out before stomping off and climbing into Da Husband’s car.
I was pissed off.
“He told me I was FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!” I wailed as Da Husband gave me a questioning look. To his credit, he knew to just keep quiet and fix his eyes on the road ahead.
The inconvenient truth
The truth is that I have gained weight recently. I haven’t run since 11Global, my cycling’s been minimal and my swimming is becoming less and less.
Obviously there’s My Left Foot and the constant pain that’s kept me from exercising. But there’s also the small matter of me still eating like an Ironman athlete while I’m doing very little to justify that appetite.
Basically, I’m like the Oprah of triathlon. Not because I get to invite Macca, Wellington or the Horners to sit on my couch and share their innermost secrets, but because I have the ability to go from svelte to orca the moment I stop training.
It’s crap enough to struggle to close the pants that hanged loosely around my non-existent hips only a few months ago. But really? For the complex gardener to act like my BFF and use the F word in front of me? That just wrong, man.
What the gardener doesn’t know, however, is that I’m in the first week of my weight-loss bid. There are a number of reasons:
- I had a mental butt-kicking when I saw the following note on my surgeon’s quote:
PLEASE NOTE IF YOUR BMI (BODY MASS INDEX – WEIGHT DIVIDED BY HEIGHT SQUARED) IS OVER 35 AN ADDITIONAL 50% WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR ACCOUNT. THIS CAN ONLY BE DETERMINED ON THE DAY OF THE OPERATION WHEN THE PATIENT IS WEIGHED IN THE WARD.
Not that my BMI is 35, but I’ll be damned if I have to pay an extra 50% fat tax on an already killer bill.
- A friend of a friend never woke up again after minor surgery a few years back. It was a shock to everyone. I know that I can’t control everything but the one thing I can control is being in the best shape possible before going under the knife.
- I will have very limited mobility for six weeks after the operation. So limited, in fact, that I will be working from home. With my leg in the air. Probably confined to my bedroom. The eating plan I follow now will be the eating plan I will follow while I’m at home. Might just as well get used to it.
But my real eye-on-the-prize goal is being at my goal weight when I start my 70.3 training again in August. Yup, you saw it here first. Despite the fact I may only start running in October, I have discovered a clever little loop-hole that may just be my ticket to greatness. More on that, next time.
Meanwhile, portion control and zero chocolate is hard when you’re stressed. Guess it’s time for those Big Girl Panties to make their reappearance because I’m going to need them!