Eating the Elephant

It's that time of year when we clear the decks, resolve to do better and get on the self-improvement kick. Or not.

I stopped making New Year resolutions a long time ago. About the time when I realised that they didn't last beyond Twelfth Night.

This year, though -  just after New Year, when I'd scarfed down the last of the chocs, I knew there was one thing I had to do.  Lose some weight. Really. My knees were begging me.

There should be a warning written on every publishing contract. Sign this and, unless you are an exercise bunny with a will of iron when it comes to biscuits, this contract will add 20lb to your weight before you know what happened.

In the new house I have to walk up two flights of stairs to the office and about half way up the second flight last week, my knees said "enough". Loudly. Actually, just lately they've been complaining when I put my feet to the floor in the morning and pain is the one thing that will make me pass on cake.

Since I have absolutely no faith that the scales will have survived the move with any degree of accuracy, I decided not to worry about poundage. I'd let my chatty knees do the counting. They'll keep me in line. The jacket that won't quite button around the middle and the black velvet trousers I've never worn will tell me when I'm making progress.

I'm not doing anything fancy. I've cut out bread, upped the level of protein to carbs (I'm eating a lot of fish) and while I couldn't say I leapt out of bed this morning after just three days the knees took the move without complaint. The stairs are already easier and I've switched from Radio 4 (talk radio) to Radio 2 (pop music radio) and I'm jogging around the kitchen while I work to those oldies that were the soundtrack of my youth.

I've lost maybe two pounds (the first few days it always falls off) but the difference is already noticeable to me if no one else.

Exercise is the next step. I keep threatening to dig out the swimsuit and get to the pool. It's attached to the high school so they get first dibs on times and I have to figure out when I can fit it in.

I've made a start. That's the main thing. It feels a bit daunting at the moment, but losing weight is like writing a book. You know how it goes. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Happy New Year!

AN AWFUL WARNING

AN AWFUL WARNING…

For most of my adult life I was a trim 7 stone, 12lbs. That's 105 lbs for those of you who do things that way. If you’re working in kilos you’re on your own.

I had kids and lost the weight without any special effort. The pointer on the scales seemed glued to that 7/12 spot.

Back in 1991 I had a day job helping to organise the Brecon Jazz Festival and twice a day I tackled the steep hill from my house to the office, usually at a run (I also had two teenage kids so I was doing everything at run). I was writing in my spare time, stories a little girls picture paper called "Twinkle". The odd magazine article. Had a ghost story published.

Then I gave up the day job and concentrated on my writing and within a year I'd reached the goal I'd set myself when I sold AN IMAGE OF YOU to Mills & Boon. We moved that year and started building our own house. I am, of course, using “we” in its loosest possible sense. For the best part of a year, while the dh was on site doing man-stuff, I was holed up in a room in which we’d stored most of our furniture. There was just enough space for me to slide into my chair and get at the computer.

That Christmas, because I’d put on a little weight, I decided to buy a size larger skirt – it’s hell sitting all day with a tight waistband. With the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight it's clear that what I should have done was cut down on the fast food (building a house and writing four books in a year, the faster the food the better) and started jogging. Instead I kept my butt attached to the chair and went on writing. And the word number wasn’t the only thing increasing by the day.

It isn’t called “Writer’s Bottom” for nothing.

I’m not going to tell you my present poundage, just that I’ve tried diets – the Atkins was fabulous and had me whizzing around like a three-year-old on speed, but you begin to crave bread like a junkie craves a fix. I’ve done the really healthy diets, too, I’m on one now. I even joined a gym (I really, really hated that). I’ve lost weight. (It’s easy. You exercise more and eat less.) And then I’ve put it back on again.

Three weeks ago I decided that I needed to lose half a stone (7 lbs) before I do my mother of the bride bit so I treated myself to a wii and I'm suddenly an exercise junkie…

Five lbs of the Liz “mii” have already disappeared, the tummy is flatter, the legs are looking a little thinner. I get up each morning and put in half an hour of yoga, and stepping and even running and it’s not a trial. For the first time in my life I'm actually enjoying taking a little exercise. But there's no getting away from the fact that there's a long way to go before I begin to approach my ideal weight -- 117 lbs. (Apparently I was underweight for all those years.)

But I really, really wish that when I'd reached for that large size skirt back in 1991 someone had tapped me on the shoulder and said, "DON'T DO IT!"

So for any new writers out there who've got their butt glued to their chair for ten hours a day, for the writer whose skirt is getting a little tight around the wait, consider this a friendly tap on the shoulder from someone who's learned the hard way that it's a lot easier to take off 5 pounds than the 37 that I've still got to shed.

Award-winning author Liz Fielding's novella, The Temp & the Tycoon is published as part of the Mills & Boon Centenary Celebrations. Her next Mills & Boon/Harlequin Romance, Wedded in a Whirlwind, will be published in November.