Chubby Chops - a life in pictures. Part 7

The denial continues

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In case it isn't obvious, I don't much enjoy showing these pictures, but I realise that this is the point of this whole warts-and-all exercise, and I've noted that other bandit bloggers have shown their worst. I feel I can but try to do the same, particularly if it's to help me move on.

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On a positive note, it's down to John that there's any photographic evidence at all of me during these years. I often felt positively poisonous that he was taking the picture at all (most of the smiles are pretty strained!) but came to realise that in the future there would be no record to show that whereas I may have been too large, at least I looked young and my skin was smooth. I recognised that in old age I would probably come to appreciate this record - albeit imperfect, so I tried to stop looking miserable when he pointed his camera at me.

. Picture № 32, 1996, Gandía beach, Spain

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...Have you ever found yourself in a bathing costume, using a towel as cover, under the misguided impression that no one will notice your size?

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I worked in an office with young women who were always on diets and talked about them the live long day. As the office manager I could remain in the background, but it made me all the more determined to shut that particular door forever. At 14 stone (196 lbs, 89 kg) in the early nineties, I had let it go too far. I knew no diet would ever work for me because it involved immersing myself once again, and for too long, in a subject that now bored me to tears. I could no longer stand the idea of thinking about food all the time. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to talk about it, and I certainly didn’t respond to those who brought up the subject. John understood, and I shall always be grateful to him for that.

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. Picture № 33, 1996, John catching me unawares, as usual.

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I was now on insulin because pills couldn’t control my diabetes. Dieticians would talk earnestly to me about losing weight to help the diabetes, but the most I could manage was to try to learn to eat savoury and not sweet calories – at which I was moderately successful and can now steer clear of chocolate bars and puddings most of the time. But I would tell myself that it was merely swapping sweet for savoury, and it was definitely not a diet. I could no longer cope with this word.

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The problem was that my weight refused to stabilise (as I fondly thought it would), it just kept creeping up. I love to cook and try out new recipes, John was always very appreciative, and we ate out a lot (in order of preference, Thai, Chinese, Italian, pub food). Although I like fast food as much as most people, it requires driving some distance from where I live to satisfy these whims, so I rarely bothered. I shopped at the supermarket once a week, and as I’m not given to convenience foods, preferring to prepare dishes from scratch, the impulse buying instinct, though present, was not out of control. Finally, my insulin consumption was industrial, and I knew what happens to the body when the diabetes is not properly controlled. The weight crept up simply because I ate too much of the right stuff.

Not that I ever climbed on the scales during this phase – perish the thought – but even I had to acknowledge that my clothes were getting tighter, and I started to shop on eBay. I found that (1) I had left size 18 way behind and there weren’t many places where I could buy clothes that would fit me; (2) I was too easily tired to contemplate traipsing round the shops, and (3) I didn’t care anyway.

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In 1998 I sold the flat where I had lived for 13 years since my divorce, and we bought a house on the outskirts of Bristol. I acquired two lovable cats, completed my china dinner service by purchasing odd pieces on eBay, and gave dinner parties to experiment with the oriental and fusion recipes I had grown to adore. I bought a bread machine and had a wonderful time experimenting with the wonder of fresh breads of different kinds (I still find it to be a most wonderful invention, if only I could eat more than a morsel at a time…).

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Picture № 34, Christmas 2001 (aged 48 and goodness knows what weight), with my mother, sister & niece.

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There are few photos of us for a long period here – almost ten years, because John stopped using the stills camera when I gave him a camcorder, which became his pride and joy. I was forever trying to hide from the wretched thing.

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The situation might have continued indefinitely, but family issues caught up with me.

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(Next time will be the last instalment, you will be pleased to hear - hence this one is a bit shorter. )

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-oOo-

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