How to lose weight.
Supermarkets. The bane and saviour of my life. Truly a concept made in heaven. It was about 10 years ago that our local town decided it was time to put in a supermarket that opened 24 hours. When I moved home in 2002 I knew that my sleepy town was an idyllic 50s throw back. I knew that my mobile phone wouldn’t work and I would have to change networks, that I would have to get used to a slower pace. To live in a town where the gas had been cut off because when the main pipe burst in the 60s not enough people used gas to warrant them restoring the supply. I was happy to move back to a gentler existent. What I wasn’t ready for was the chip shop closing at 7pm, the town shutting down on Thursday afternoon. No really, everything, the butchers, the Coop, the chemist and the news agent. There I was our first day back, being a Thursday looking for a sandwich so I could refuel before unpacking. The town was shut and I was flabbergasted. When I realised that the next town along which was Skegness had no 24 hour supermarket I was astounded. So when Tesco opened its doors I could have kissed the grey splogged floor tiles as I walked through the automatic doors. Now that was funny, watching the amount of people that went to push the doors open only to see them move before their very eyes. I welcomed the coming of the 20th Century to our Easterly corner of Lincolnshire.
But I blame the supermarket for my increased weight, and the habits that I formed when I moved back. You see it wasn’t that Skegness was a long way from us, on a good day I could walk there. It was just the fact that for 8 months a year you avoided the place. When the holiday makers turned up the road in and out was a nightmare and so if you needed to go in to do your shopping you did it first thing or late at night and you bought everything you could possibly think of. I got fat. I over ate, I was seduced by the 2 4 1 offers and the thought of having to go without or having to pay more in the town where I lived. I blame the supermarkets.
Now there are those of you that I hear say, “What a lot of collywobble.”
Some of you would be right. I should have had more self control, I shouldn’t have been so greedy. But you see I hate waste and I had to feed a teenage girl. The only problem was that I never knew if and when she would be home and so I catered for her and when she never came home, I used to eat what she never and so I put on weight. Don’t get me wrong, I lost it, several times, but never quite got back to my former fit and fantastic self.
If I hadn’t have had the supermarket I would never had learnt about bulk buying and chocolate bars in packs of 4. What I never understood until now was why I started to eat and shop the way I have been. Now being here in my death bed I fully get it.
Yes I am dying, slowly but surely. There are three types of death, bare with me on this one. There is Death. Note the capital D. It’s permanent, final, end of all things you. Not never going to be around ever again type of death. Not something I intend to do until I’m at least 66, but that’s another story.
Then there is the I’m dying a death type of death, dying of thirst, dying of hangover, dying with laughter. The type of death that ends something that has happened. You have been struck by a cold that resembles Man Flu, that’s dying a death, when it’s over the dying bit stops and the death of the Cold is the conclusion. Dying of a hangover, the conclusion of a good night out. The death of the fun you had when intoxicated. Then there is the third type of death, the type that leaves you empty. I’m dying, type of thing. As in, I’m standing on a stage and bombing, it’s killing me that my act is dying. My writing isn’t making people think, so my work is dying, I’m feeling empty because no one is reading, liking or sharing, so I’m dying.
I’m on my death bed at the moment because I have a hangover without touching a drop of alcohol. Last night I suffered a migraine and I take these amazing tablets that keep me from killing myself by taking an axe to my own neck because the pain is so bad, although I do believe that Mark may have done it for me. I spoke to him this afternoon and apparently in my state of delirium I screamed at him at 5am to take the dog out, although she was fast asleep in her bed. Don’t remember what happened, I do remember the pain I was in. So here I sit in my bed suffering from a medication hangover. The irony of ironies. The only medication that cures my migraine, cures the paralysis, and the sickness gives me a hangover and a splitting headache.
I’m also on antibiotics, I’m sure I mentioned that the other day, and HRT. This is that other story I was going to tell you. The doc thought I was going scatty so he sent my to the local NHS trickcyclist. They declared me fit for duty, and sent me away. I went back to the doc and said, oi, not funny, still feeling like a rag that has been used to mop up gunk. Sluggish and heavy. You’re old, says the doc, here have some HRT.
The antibiotics are for the horsefly bite and I have to take them on an empty stomach and an hour before food. So I’ve cut down my consumption of snacks over the past week. The funny thing is, I’ve lost weight. I know it’s a miracle isn’t it. Taking the HRT, I should be, by general statistics, although not proven by medical research, putting on weight, but I haven’t. I have whilst only eating in a set period of time lost 3lb. Whoohoo.
What I have realised during this time is just how much crap I buy from the supermarkets. Multi packets of crisps, multipacks of chocolate bars, 2 4 1 jars of stuff, and extra large size packets of cheese. I am over buying because there was a time when I had to. When I had a family and that included the 15 kids Mandy would bring home with her on Sunday. I remember at one time stretching a loin of pork between 6 people. Hammered out like a snitzel, stuffed with apricot stuffing, par boiled, roast and sliced it went a long way with new potatoes, lots of veg and a lemon meringue pie. Not I hasten to add on the same plate.
The problem is I still do it. Instead of buying the bacon that has 6 slices, I go for the family size packet. And of course once opened I have to finish it. The hummus has to be consumed within three day, which means pita bread. Snacks.
The list is endless. This week however I haven’t been able to and I’ve found out that hunger is a strange feeling. It’s not like I remember. I remember hunger as being that ten minutes before the time you know your mum is about to dish up the Sunday roast. I remember hunger as being the time that you get to your destination in the car and haven’t been able to stop for something to eat. Times that weren’t actually hunger, true hunger is a knot in your stomach, and if I ever had to endure as those who starve through no choice of there own I don’t think I could survive. It has been an experience I never want to repeat and given me a greater appreciation of those that go without.
I woke this morning hungry, really hungry. Having been sick throughout the night, my stomach was empty. I couldn’t eat because it hurt. I looked in my fridge at all the wonderful goodies there for my instant gratification and couldn’t eat anything. I had to have something, but had to wait until an hour after taking my antibiotic. I had toast, the go to when one is ill. The two hour wait until I could eat, hunger again gnawed at my stomach but once again I could not eat, so only had some bread and cheese.
I hope I have learnt my lesson, I feel that I have been forced into a realisation, I don’t need to eat all the food that the supermarket tells me is a good bargain, I don’t need to buy the offers. I’m not saving money I’m using it to store fat. And hunger isn’t an excuse to satisfy a craving, it’s a feeling of emptiness, nausea and pain, one that I never want to feel again.
So I blame the supermarkets for making me fat, and antibiotics for helping me to understand that I can lose weight, I don’t have to eat unless I am hungry.
Does this all make sense, or am I just rambling on my death bed?
Hoping to be back to my normal self soon, this non self inflicted hang over is killing me.